L.

Sterile antiseptic and latex is all you can smell right now as you work on sewing shut the body in front of you. You’d already followed out the previous steps– things that were automatic to your process. The bleeding had already been taken care of, and you were fine to continue on with the rest of your procedure. The wound was cleaned, the site was numbed, and you had the proper tools in hand to start your suturing. 

Your hands were smooth, your movements were precise– there’s no sweat coming off your brow. There’s nothing to be worried about.

“You know,” Sam murmured beneath you, “it would’ve been real nice if you were this calm back when we were on the field in Afghanistan.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at him. “I was a rookie back then. So were you. Now shut up before I ‘accidentally’ stab you with this needle the wrong way, just like the old days.”

“That’s cold,” he whispered, but there’s a smile playing on his lips despite the pain that he’s in– a good sign. There’s some color that’s returned to his face now, and his breathing had finally evened out from how it was when he was first brought to your table. 

You finished out your work on his torso, and bandaged him up. You could go into a long winded spiel on infection, and how he needs to keep the wound area clean to make sure that he doesn’t get sick otherwise he’ll have to come see you, but one look at Sam’s face tells you that you don’t even need to say it.

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushed off, carefully rolling over to his side to push himself off the table. You cringed slightly at the way he sat up– he’ll pop his stitches at this rate. “I know. You talked my ear off for years.”

“And here I thought, you never listened,” you scoffed, beginning to clean up the area around you.

“Oh, I don’t. I just let you think I do.”

You fight back the desire to roll your eyes at him, and he laughed– or at least he attempted to. Sam’s hand flies to his side, and he groans in pain. Instant karma. The numbing injection could only do so much for the pain, after all.

“Want me to prescribe you some painkillers?” you offered, a hum on your lips.

“Fuck you.”

You grinned, already pulling out a bottle from the medication cabinet to toss over to him. He catches it, obviously, but if he was who he was a few years ago? His reflexes wouldn’t have been this sharp. Sam had come a long way since the Air Force, and you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t proud of him.

Hell, you had come a long way from the Air Force.

You still remembered when he knocked on your door, and asked you if you wanted to join the Avengers initiative. You laughed in his fucking face, thinking that it was a joke– that it was just some funny opener that he was hitting you with after not seeing you for a while to make you smile after your shared grief of losing Riley. But Sam didn’t laugh. 

He said they needed someone reliable, a good medic on the team to patch them up after their missions— told you it was too much work and money to keep flying doctors into the country from other parts of the world. 

You had the same experience that Sam did, which was what he used to argue with you that you were more than qualified to join this team. You couldn’t really say anything against him when he brought up your history together. The two of you had been hand chosen straight out of basic training for the Falcon initiative, which was covered up to be known as the pararescue team that served two tours. 

Sam spent two weeks knocking on your door daily— sometimes multiple times a day. He wasn’t asking anymore. He was begging you to join him, to come back and fight beside him like you once did.  

You told him that you didn’t know if you were worthy of being an Avenger– not after what happened all those years ago. You couldn’t even save the people that you were supposed to protect during the war overseas. How were you supposed to protect the entire world?

So, you compromised. You would be their medic, just like he was asking you to do– but you didn’t want to necessarily join the Avengers in the way that he was doing it. You would keep up with the training to keep your body in shape if they really needed you– but you told Sam that you couldn’t live with yourself again if you lost someone right in front of you on the field. 

He understood. So, saving the world became his thing, while saving the Avengers’ lives became yours.

More times than not, you still ended up joining the Avengers on their longer missions away from the base. You wouldn’t necessarily join them on the ground, but you would stay back on the jet. You would keep an eye on the monitors that tracked each and every single one of their vitals, making sure that none of them entered dangerous territories of stress levels or suddenly passed out somewhere without anyone knowing. 

You were also there as their emergency evac if it was ever needed. You had military experience on the field, but Natasha helped train you to move more stealthily so that you could get across a battlefield without anyone noticing. 

When things were said and done, and if everything went miraculously well, all you had to do at the end of missions was just check up on everyone. Do quick, fine tune-ups, to make sure that everyone was alright– that they were cleared for the next mission without any concussions or any other traumatic brain injuries that would put them out of work for a couple of weeks. 

You’d treated almost every single one of the Avengers at one point. 

Shit– you’d become somewhat of a mechanic and a scientist overnight for what you had to do for these guys. After all– they weren’t fully human.

Steve was the first one to trust you with a more interesting question based on his genetic code. You should’ve expected it, honestly– Steve was the closest to Sam, and Sam constantly sang your praises to anyone that would listen.

“The serum that I was given– I don’t know if you know too much about it,” Steve said with a sigh as you patched up a gash on his arm.

“I’m kinda aware of it,” you hummed. “What’s going on?”

“Well, it’s supposed to accelerate my healing,” he said slowly, “but I feel like my muscles are still too tense these days? Like knots are forming all over my back– I think it’s affecting how I move on missions.”

You paused at his words, nodding slowly. You finished up on his arm before going around behind him, slowly running your hands around his back before sucking in a deep breath. 

“You do have some muscle tension,” you murmured softly. “Do you ever get massages? I think it might help.”

“I didn’t think super soldiers need massages.”

Your hands stopped their examination, and you stared at the back of his head, blinking at him. You let out a slow, deep breath before closing your eyes, taking a moment to calm yourself down. 

“Steve… You’re still human. You know that right? Your body will still hold tension and trauma whether you like it or not,” you said slowly.

“... Ah.”

You made Steve come back to your lab once a week so you could bully the knots out of his back, digging your elbows into his muscles until there was nothing left that could cause him discomfort. Then, you made him go see a massage therapist once a month. 

After that, you studied more of his mannerisms. You took note of how long his body healed compared to a regular human, and how fast he could run a mile– how much food he ate compared to Sam. You were studying everything about this enhanced human’s biology in case he came to you with something else.

Except the next person that came to you was Rhodey. Asking if you could help him out with his prosthetic because it wasn’t working properly and he wasn’t able to walk like he usually was.

“I’m not a mechanic,” you said slowly.

“Weren’t you in the Air Force?”

“Yes, but–”

“With Sam?”

“I mean–”

“Then you should have some basic understanding, right?”

“Rhodey–”

“Tony’s not here. You’re the closest help I can get, please.”

You prayed to every God out there that you didn’t fuck up the delicate technology of his metal braces. Honestly– this was more stressful than any other life saving technique that you had to do on the field. 

That night, you studied Stark’s machinery. You opened up his manuscripts and went through his lab. You made his stupid A.I. walk you through everything to help you out with the things that you couldn’t wrap your head around– and when Tony came back from wherever he went? You slammed his blueprints in front of him and made him explain.

That man was a little too excited to talk your ear off. 

Just when you thought that you had finally gotten a break, you had another visitor. One that made your blood run cold when you saw her waiting for you outside your med bay. Still, you invited her inside and asked her what you could do to help her. 

“Sometimes I feel a burning sensation under my skin," Wanda told you as she sat on your examination table. “Do you know what causes that?”

You could only stare at her blankly, a million different thoughts racing through your head. 

NO! you want to scream at her. I DON’T KNOW!!

Instead, you give her a smile and nod in understanding. “Does it feel like that right now?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Is it okay if I take a sample of your blood?” you asked, already moving towards your supplies. “And the next time you feel that burning sensation, come to me immediately so I can take another sample. I want to compare the two different blood samples to see if there’s a difference.”

Wanda nodded like you had somehow made a dent in cracking the code towards her existence as an enhanced individual– but you had no idea what you were doing past rubbing an alcohol wipe on the inside of her elbow and wrapping the tourniquet around her bicep.

Strangely enough– there was a difference in her blood. 

“Overuse,” you told her, exhaustion thick in your voice. “Your powers are burning into your blood, and mixing into your bloodstream. You’re basically ripping your blood cells apart. You need to be more careful, or just get a better grasp on your powers. Try to train more and increase your endurance.”

The only person that you have not had the pleasure of helping?

Sergeant James Barnes.

Part of you believed that he didn’t even know you existed. In fact, if it wasn’t for his curt nods of dismissal when you tried to check him over after missions, then you would’ve completely assumed that he didn’t even know that you were around. 

Bucky had been injured. More than once. You’d seen him walk onto the jet before, limping, holding onto his side, and closing his eyes while trying to pretend that everything was alright. Each time– he denied your help. Well, he didn’t even deny it. He didn’t even talk to you. He actively avoided your gaze, and only nodded at you if it was unavoidable.

You would’ve thought that you had done something to offend him, to bother him– but you had never even had a conversation with this man. No– you’d never even spoken one word to this man. Your interactions with him were limited to a nod, a head shake, and one second eye contact from across the jet. When you were in the compound? He walked straight by you in the hall like you were part of the air in the room.

You wondered if it had anything to do with his former Winter Soldier status, even though he wasn’t that guy anymore Right now, he was just another one of the Avengers to you. Albeit, he was a little grumpy, a tad bit mysterious, and very easy on the eyes.

You weren’t bothered by his lack of visits to your med bay. You figured that he just didn’t want strangers to touch him. You didn’t blame him for that. Besides, it’s not like he was required to use your services whenever he was hurt. You were there to help out if any of them needed you, and that’s all. 

After all— if none of them needed your help ever again, then that was the best gift they could ever bestow upon you.

The supply drawer slid shut with a satisfying click, and a smile fit over your face. 

Finally, you were done organizing the med bay. You’d gotten a new round of supplies a month back while you were out on a week-long mission with half the team, and returned to find that some of the recruits had just… haphazardly restocked your place. You wanted to scream when you saw everything. 

The rational part of you made you realize that you didn’t label any of your drawers or cabinets. Then again, you didn’t ever think that you needed to. It was only you that went through the items, only you that restocked the med bay, and only you that distributed everything. You had your system in your own head, and you didn’t need to explain it to anyone.

Except, it seemed that you needed to now.

You didn’t even have the time to organize everything for a while. The back to back missions, the influx of injuries that rolled through your doors– you had to make do with what you had, and fix everything as you went along, grumbling under your breath.

Now? Everything was right where it should be, even though it was nearing three in the morning. Still, sacrificing your sleep for this was worth it. You would wake up to find your workplace fully functional and prepared for another work week, and you would send out an order for the next restock to be simply left in its box if you’re not around to take care of it yourself. 

“Visitor outside Med Door One,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice suddenly rang through your lab, alerting you.

You paused, sitting up straighter on your stool as you turned towards the door– Med Door One was near where the hangar was. It was where the team would filter in after they came back from missions. You weren’t aware of anyone being dispatched. 

“Unfrost the glass, please,” you muttered, eyebrows still furrowed.

“Right away,” the A.I. replied immediately.

The entire glass wall turned clear, and you startled. Bucky was standing on the other side of the glass, a trickle of blood coming down from his temple along with a bruise on his cheek. He was nursing his vibranium arm, clutching it towards his torso, and leaning against the glass slightly. His eyes met yours without the obstruction in the way, and you immediately shifted out of your seat, breath catching in your throat.

“Unlock the doors,” you ordered, already moving towards him.

The glass slid open, and Bucky pushed off the walls. The man gave you a brief nod of acknowledgment as he attempted to appear undeterred by the injuries all over his body. 

“Didn’t think you’d be awake,” he forced out.

“I didn’t think you were gone,” you breathed, hands shooting out on either side of him in case he stumbled forth. “What happened to you?”

“Solo op,” he grunted, a low hiss escaping through his teeth as he took a few steps forth. “Left early this mornin’.”

“Jesus, Barnes,” you whispered, backing up slowly as he continued to step forward. Your eyes raced all over him, trying to take in his physical state. It was hard to decipher how badly he was injured with all his tactical gear still on his body, but from the way he was limping? “Why didn’t you radio back to base?”

“I made it back in one piece, didn’t I?” 

You don’t know whether to feel relieved or to shoot him where he stands. 

For now, you choose to lead him to the examination table instead, and you’re grateful that the soldier doesn’t dismiss you like he usually does when he’s injured. There’s a soft noise of pain that exits his lips when he manages to sit down, and you’re already reaching for your gloves.

“Is it okay if I take a look at you?”

“My arm is what’s killin’ me the most,” he muttered. “If you can do anything for that, then shit– go ahead. I think there’s a wire out of place in the bicep.”

Your hands freeze mid-pull of the latex glove, and your eyes drop down to the glistening vibranium arm. You can see it– the slight tremor of the metal, the involuntary twitching against his body as Bucky attempts to keep the prosthetic under his control. You suck in a tight breath, and remove the gloves on your hand, and go for a different drawer in your office– a toolbox that you had for when Rhodey came to bother you. 

Bucky looked briefly surprised when you turned back towards him, dragging your stool with you to sit in front of him, but there was no protest. His flesh hand dropped back down to his lap, and he let out a small sigh.

“Do the plates just pop out?” you asked softly, swallowing thickly. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about this. Now that you were sitting right in front of him, you could hear the faint buzzing coming from within his arm, almost mocking you about your lack of experience with this kind of thing.  

“Yeah– just… be gentle,” he murmured, his voice tight. 

Your eyes flitted back up to his face, meeting his gaze. He didn’t look nervous per se, but he didn’t look relaxed either. His body was wound up tightly– and you had always known Bucky to already be a pretty tense guy. Even for him, this was pretty bad. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders were squared off– even his thigh muscles were flexed like he was waiting for the impact of something to hit him.

You could chalk it up to the fact that he had other injuries that were bothering him, but that wouldn’t be right either. You weren’t sure where his solo mission took him, but if Bucky didn’t even try to patch himself up on the way back to the base, then you were certain that he wasn’t even able to take care of himself with the amount of stress that his arm was putting him in. 

Shit– you weren’t even sure that Bucky ever had an issue with his arm in the past before, let alone let anyone touch it before. You didn’t even think Tony was allowed to make tweaks with it after Wakanda gifted it to him. If there had been any issues with his arm, then there weren't any incident reports logged in that you were ever made away of. 

“Can you take your arm off for me?” 

“With how it’s shocking my every nerve right now? I really wish I could.”

A shaky breath exited your lips as you looked back down at his arm– the vibranium seemingly shining back into your eyes under the sterile lighting of your lab. It really was pretty. You enjoyed looking at his arm– to steal a glance at it on the jet whenever you had the chance. 

Slowly, you reached out to touch him. You wondered briefly if he could feel the weight of your hands underneath the metal– if there were some sensors that were built into the new prosthetic that was gifted to him. You wondered how badly his arm was hurting him right now, and if your touch only added to the pain he was feeling.

You gently traced over the vibranium, your eyes studying the onyx and gold design as you felt each groove and plat beneath your fingertips. You were searching for the point of impact– where he had sustained the most damage for him to be complaining of some kind of pain. 

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you the entire time, watching you with an intensity that made your heart race.

It could be from the fact that you’d never treated him before. He’d never been under your care– he’d never been one of your patients. Out of the lengthy time that you had worked with him, this was the closest that you had ever been to the man, and this was the first and longest conversation that you had with him. You could laugh, honestly. You wanted to, if it weren’t for the fact that you had to deal with Wakandan technology and the highest level of technology you were ever formally trained to deal with was U.S. military.

You reached for your toolbox, and released a breath. You steadied your hands. This would be like any other procedure– you didn’t have to be nervous. If anything, the stakes were lower. There was no blood. Just some open fucking nerve endings that were directly connected to his arm, shooting pain directly into the rest of his body.

No pressure at all.

Gently, the plates on his arm came open. A soft puff of air escaped your lips– one that you didn’t even know you were holding. Your heart still hammered in your chest regardless, and you were certain that Bucky could hear it from how close you were to him. Maybe he could even sense the anxiety rolling off of you. If he did, he didn’t say anything– didn’t even make it known that he noticed. 

You were careful as you placed each of the vibranium pieces on the bedside table next to you, memorizing exactly which piece went where, and not taking out more than what needed to come out. You studied the hinges inside his arm, making sure that there wasn’t anything that you were missing as you took him apart.

Then, you saw it. 

The soft, electrical shock in his arm– a wire connected inside. 

“Fuck– what happened?” you murmured, eyes narrowing at the inside of his arm before you reached for the next appropriate tools.

“Asshole jammed this thing in between the plates– pumped me with several thousand watts of electricity. I think I’m lucky only one wire came loose,” he murmured back to you.

“Thing, huh?” you repeated with a laugh. “Can’t even tell me what it was?”

“I was a little busy trying not to die, sweetheart.” Despite the amount of pain he was feeling, he was well enough to hit you with a sarcastic remark— a great sign of his physical and mental wellbeing.

“Well, you did good on that front,” you told him, and looked up to meet his gaze before giving him a grin. “I’ll put you back into one piece, soldier.”

There was a soft chuckle of a response from him— gentle and light. Your hands paused, allowing the moment to pass before you went back into his arm to start poking and prodding once again. (This was an excuse. You wanted to listen to the soft rumble of his laughter.)

You tore your gaze away from his face, and looked back down to his arm, trying to focus once more at the task at hand. 

“I’ll contact Wakanda tomorrow morning… Talk to Princess Shuri, make sure that there isn’t anything else I need to do for you,” you said softly as you began to connect the wire back into its rightful socket. You took a mental note of the positioning, the color of the wiring, and everything else that you could think of. “Make sure that there’s nothing that we need to replace or fix so that it doesn’t become some sort of chronic pain for you.”

“You don’t have to do all of that,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head in dismissal. “It’s fine– I’ll figure it out if it happens again.”

“Are you gonna be able to pry apart the plates yourself if your arm goes to shit— You wanna scratch Wakandan vibranium?” you asked, glancing up at his face briefly.

Bucky met your eyes, and closed his mouth. He just stared back at you, and didn’t respond. You gave him a small smile, then turned back to the metal in front of you. You let out a small gasp as the wire finally connected, and the small buzzing noise in his arm stopped. 

“Flex your hand– be careful. Your arm is open. Think of it as if your arm is skinned,” you quickly warned him, almost frantic with your words.

“You’re kinda dramatic, Doc.”

“I’m being cautious, Sarge. Have you ever tried that?” you shot back.

A small scoff fell from his lips, and Bucky rolled his eyes– but there was a twitch of his lips, like he was mildly amused. It was there, just ever so slightly there, before it was gone– replaced by the perpetual stoic and generally irritated look he usually wore. 

Bucky’s fingers twitched first, almost as if he was afraid to move. The movement was slight and slow, but he eventually created a full fist with a slow breath exiting his lips. Soon, his palm opened back up, and he felt brave enough to lift his arm halfway up, and your own sigh of relief escaped your body. 

“You fixed me,” he reported, his entire body relaxing with his words.

“Told you I would. Now try not to die from things out in the field,” you hummed. 

“Alright—“

“I’ll get some replacement parts for wires and plates sent over from Wakanda,” you cut him off, humming to yourself. You reached for the loose plates that were at your side table, ready to put him back together. “I think you got lucky that nothing was fully damaged– just dislodged– but you’re not leaving my med bay without stitches on your flesh wounds though.”

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t argue with you. After you carefully put back together his metal arm, you were able to move onto his actual body– which was a hell of a lot easier on your nerves than the vibranium Wakandan tech on him. 

You breathed easier when your mind wasn’t racing a thousand miles an hour, and you didn’t have to force your hands to stop shaking under the constant pressure of fearing that something would go wrong. Bucky, of course, was as still as a statute the entire time. You were just glad that he didn’t complain when you told him to take off his gear so you could inspect his body. 

The sun was coming up over the horizon by the time you were done with your full examination on the soldier. You’d gone through several syringes of lidocaine in stronger doses– something that you learned that needed to be done when you had to patch up Steve– and had laced even more stitches through Bucky’s skin, but the man was finally in one whole piece before you. 

“If you take those stitches out yourself, I’ll kill you,” you threatened under your breath as you watched him slide off the table. “Come back here in three days.”

“Only three?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“You and Steve heal faster than the others,” you dismissed, clearing off the last of your workspace. “I’ll come look for you in two days and check your progress, but I think three should be more than enough. How’s the arm?”

Bucky’s arm rotated from the shoulder in a quick circular motion, and you could hear the gears whirring as he moved. His hand opened and closed experimentally, then he extended his arm outwards. All the while– the light shined upon the vibranium plates, the golden detailing gleaming against the black like starlight. It really was like artwork attached directly towards his body. 

You had to remind yourself to not openly stare at him.

“Good as new. I’ll let you know if it bothers me again,” he told you, grabbing his gear that you had stripped off of his body so you could have examined him properly. 

He was barely halfway out the door when you spoke again.

“I’m putting you on bed rest until those stitches come out, soldier.”

Bucky froze in his place, and turned back to look at you– to see if you were being serious about what you had just said. You could only give him an innocent smile before you sent off the report on your tablet. Moments later, a matching buzz resounded on his own phone– everyone on the team was now aware that he wasn’t allowed to be on missions or in training.

“You fuckin’ traitor,” he whispered, betrayal and a hint of respect written all over his face.

Strange things began to happen around you.

You sent out the order to make sure that no one would restock your lab on their own, only to find out that someone else had already done it for you.

Except, there was no log of it.

There wasn’t an incident report, and none of the recruits would tell you. In fact, they all looked like they were about to shit their pants whenever you brought it up. Last time you pressed one of the recruits, they ended up scrambling to check the security cameras because they mistakenly believed that you were asking because someone else had restocked your med bay without your permission and they needed to find out who to rat out. 

You had no idea what was going on. You didn’t even get a chance to tell them that no one had restocked– that you were just trying to get answers on who gave the order out before you could. In the end, it benefitted you, so you weren’t too upset about it. 

If this was all that happened, then maybe you would’ve left everything alone. Maybe the coincidences wouldn’t have bothered you as much.

You mentioned to Natasha that you were running out of your preferred bullet rounds– but it wasn’t urgent for Tony to order since it wasn’t often that you actually ended up going out into the field. You just wanted to let her know for whenever she did a bulk order of her own rounds so she could add your casings to it.

Two days later, you had a whole box on your bed, along with two extra handguns. It was the exact same brand and type that you specifically used– one that Natasha normally told you had you waitlisted for a few months when she ordered it directly from the supplier from how difficult it was to make. Naturally, you brought it up with the assassin the next time you saw her.

“I didn’t order anything yet,” she said, shaking her head. “I order everything at the end of the month, remember?”

“But on my bed…” you trailed off, gesturing down the hall towards your room. “Who got me the casings?”

Natasha only tilted her head at you, eyebrows furrowing as she stared at you. “I didn’t order anything,” she repeated to you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine,” you said slowly then shook your head. “Never mind. I must’ve– uh. Sorry. I thought I was running out of ammo. I’m good. You don’t have to order me anything.”

Her confusion only deepened with your words, but you were spiraling. You managed to dismiss yourself from the conversation before you made things even more awkward. 

It wasn’t even limited to supplies or work-related items. 

After sending out a text in the shared group chat asking to borrow a phone charger for a couple hours because yours was acting up, you found yourself with a new phone charger in your room that same night– in the box with the plastic wrap untouched and everything. 

Later, you found a gift box on your work desk. Upon further inspection, you found that someone had mysteriously gifted you an assortment of your favorite time of the month snacks along with a fresh bottle of Tylenol. You were briefly disturbed, only until a brief memory came to mind of you asking Clint to pick up some feminine products from the store for you when he went out into the city.

“I only got you those pads and tampons you asked me for,” he said, holding his hands up in defense when you cornered him in the hall. “Besides, how would I know that you liked Ferrero Rocher chocolate? Or dried mangoes? You do your own grocery shopping unlike the rest of us– we make Tony have our shit delivered to the compound every other week since we’re too fuckin’ lazy to go out into the city. I only went out because I was getting some shit for my kids, and stopping at the store was just on the way–”

“You’re the only one I mentioned to that my period was coming up,” you hissed at him, frowning. “Are you the one that got me those guns, too?”

“Shit, someone got you guns and chocolate? You have a secret admirer, doc?” he asked, a teasing grin matching the light in his eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, that sounds like one hell of a way to flirt. Has your suitor tried getting you a new scalpel yet? Maybe some latex gloves?”

You’ve never wanted to strangle the archer so bad in your life. Unfortunately you took the Hippocratic Oath, and you had to let him free.

Your breaking point came when you said you wanted to start reading again in your free time, but had no idea what to read. An assortment of different books were waiting for you— science fiction, self help, and fantasy. All different things you enjoyed, but had never once spoken out loud. 

You searched the security cameras. You set up your own cameras in discrete corners, and didn’t tell a single soul. Whoever was leaving you these little gifts either didn’t exist, or had some sort of power that allowed them to be undetected by modern technology because you could never catch them. 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was specifically ordered not to allow anyone into your room or med lab without your permission— only for you to find a pair of brand new combat boots waiting for you at the edge of your bed. 

The stupid fucking A.I. wouldn’t even tell you who managed to break through her security protocols. Tony couldn’t even figure it out, much to his dismay. Part of you felt bad for giving him something else to work on, on top of upgrading the entire team’s gear— but shit someone managed to bypass a Level One order and there wasn’t a trace. 

“I thought you were my friend,” you said into the void. 

“I apologize, doctor,” the A.I. replied to you. 

“I’m not a doctor,” you scoffed, shaking your head as you organized your notes on your most recent findings on Steve— the man purposely didn’t sleep as much as he should, but when he didn’t have anything to do? He slept like a man who had more than twenty four hours in one day. 

“The others refer to you as a doctor,” a new voice chimed in as the doors to your med bay slid open. 

“Didn’t go to med school, Barnes,” you said, pushing back from your desk to take a look at him.

Bucky was dressed in a compression shirt that left little to imagination, and you wondered if there was really no other size left for him to take when he joined the team. Then again, he also could’ve just gained all that muscle. Still, he could’ve worn another fucking shirt before coming to your lab. You could see every single line and ridge of his muscles with each movement and breath. 

“How can I help?” you asked, deciding to play off your blatant staring as a medical check.

“I have a contusion,” Bucky said.

“What?” you barked out before you could stop yourself. 

“You know, internal bleeding caused by—“

“I know what a bruise is,” you cut him off, holding a hand up to stop him from speaking further. “I— what do you want me to do about that?”

“Don’t you check out our injuries?” he asked, as if he was speaking the obvious. Which— yes. Obviously. You did check out their injuries. But none of them came to you for a fucking bruise. 

You could only stare at him, briefly wondering if the man was bullshitting you. Was this his attempt for conversation after fixing his arm, after ignoring your presence for who knows how long?

He wasn’t backing down from this. 

Bucky held your gaze, expectant and waiting for you to do something about his playground injury. You quickly realized that you would be fighting a losing battle if you didn’t just give in to his request. 

“Okay,” you said slowly. “Show me your… contusion.”

He took off his fucking shirt.

Your mouth went dry– and if you weren’t blatantly ogling him before? You definitely were now. You thought the compression shirt left little to your imagination? You were wrong. There was plenty hiding underneath the thin piece of fabric that he uncovered for you, now fully showcased. 

A thin layer of sweat clung onto his body, and you guessed that he had come straight from the gym— which would explain why his body looked so fucking massive right now. You watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath, how his abdomen muscles rippled as he shifted to the side to drape his shirt over a free table. 

Last time he was in your med bay, there was no need for him to strip down to his skin. He didn’t complain of any torso injuries, just some lacerations on his face, arm, and another cut to his leg that you took care of. 

Honestly, the human body shouldn’t affect you like this, not when you’ve studied it like your life depended on it, but this was different. This was a walking statue of pheromones and all things unholy and filled with temptation. 

“Doc?” Bucky called out to you, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Where’s the bruise, Sarge?” you asked, snapping out of it as fast as you could. 

The soldier turned his back to you, and you felt the final nail plunge into your coffin. He straightened his spine, his back muscles shifting along in the process as he did. You couldn’t help but lock your gaze onto him, the broad shoulders, the large wingspan of him—  Jesus Christ. 

Yeah. You were going to hell.

You forced yourself to collect your thoughts, clearing your throat lightly as you looked down his back. You saw it. The light purplish blue spot. Gently, you reached out, fingers resting upon his warm skin. Bucky didn’t flinch, but you didn’t press against him to elicit such a reaction either. You simply just grazed upon the hurt, feeling for any swelling or lump.

“Doesn’t feel like a hematoma, doesn’t appear to be large enough to be one either,” you muttered, a frown settling upon your face. “You’ll be fine, Barnes. Why did you come to me for this?”

Bucky shrugged, already reaching for his shirt. “Just making sure that it wasn’t anything serious.”

“I’m watching the discoloring fade back into your regular skin color in real time,” you pointed out, still zoned in on the injury. It was a fascinating scene– being able to watch as his body healed itself before your very eyes.

“Then write it down in your notes,” he said, tugging the black fabric of his shirt back over his head. “Better yet– start a file for me with all the other freaks on the team that you take care of. James Buchnanan Barnes, in case you forgot my full name.”

You almost missed it. The hint of jealousy in his voice– the way he didn’t turn back to meet your gaze. Your eyebrow twitched slightly as you stared at the back of his head, assessing him in a way that you had never seen him before.

You cleared your throat, and reached to push a couple files to the side. Bucky couldn’t help but let his curiosity get the better of him as he heard you shuffle some papers around.

A smile fit over his face as he saw it on your desk– clear as day. A folder with his name written on it, with your handwritten notes already tucked away neatly inside of them. When his pretty blue eyes met yours, you couldn’t help but mirror his smile.

“I’ll add your little boo-boo to your incident report log, soldier.”

“You fuckin’ suck, sweetheart.”

Despite his words, Bucky still kept coming to you. In fact, you began to see more of him than you had ever seen before. It’s as if the barrier between the two of you had somehow got torn apart like it was never there.  

The next time he came to you, you almost ripped your brain apart. You were completely, extremely, and utterly distraught, as if you had somehow managed to miss something in the few years of research that you had been doing on Steve.

“You… have a headache?” you asked him slowly.

“Yeah. A horrible migraine,” he replied, nodding to you.

“Rate it on a scale of one to ten,” you told him, already reaching for your computer to pull up Steve’s archived notes. “Ten being: Please sedate me bad.”

“Uh– six.”

Your fingers paused over your keyboard. That wasn’t a horrible number, but not the best either– especially not for a super soldier. Six usually meant that the pain deterred a person from being able to do their tasks without thinking about the symptoms they were under, and he described his headache as a migraine. 

“Are you okay?” Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you took in a sharp breath, looking back at him.

“Yeah, fine– sorry,” you muttered quickly, quickly browsing through Steve’s medical history. You didn’t find a single thing that could help you, and a soft curse exited your lips. You reached for your gloves, and quickly crossed the room towards him, already herding him towards where you wanted him to go. “Can you get on the examination table for me?”

“It’s– it’s a headache,” he stuttered, bewildered at your sudden hovering.

“Steve said that he doesn’t get headaches, and the serum that you got was developed after him which means that technically– you should be developmentally better than him biologically speaking,” you told him.

From the look in your eye, Bucky couldn’t help but listen to your orders, and got on the table. You kept him in your med bay for a while, trying to figure out why the hell his head was hurting– but he stuck to the same script. Said he woke up wrong, and the pain just kept increasing throughout the day.

There was an abnormal amount of muscle tension across his neck and back when you ran your hands across his body, but there weren't any of the same muscle knots that Steve had. 

“I stretch before and after training,” he muttered when you brought it up. His voice was a bit lower, slightly thicker. You figured it was from the pain he was feeling in his head. 

“You and Steve might just be carrying tension in your muscles differently,” you said with a frown, smoothing your hands over his shoulders. “He has back pain. You get headaches– makes sense though– are the headaches left side dominated since the metal weighs you down? I see you compensate for the weight, but when you’re tired you sometimes lean.”

Bucky paused for a second, then looked over his shoulder at you. “You noticed?”

“I notice everything, Barnes.”

His eyes stayed fixed onto your face for a bit, something unreadable in his gaze. You watched as he wet his lips slowly, and turned to face forward again. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the actions under your hands.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Left side dominant migraine.”

“I’m prescribing you 2000mg of ibuprofen.”

Bucky spun around to face you once more, and you could read the expression on his face this time– fucking shock and doubt. “Sweetheart, are you trying to kill my liver? What the hell are you going to do when it shuts down from shock?”

“Did you forget who you are, soldier?” you asked, staring at him with equal amounts of disbelief. “Your liver will chew through a regular dose of 200mg of ibuprofen and shit it out like it’s a tic tac– take 2000mg or you’ll spend the rest of the week with your own personal drummer using your head as its instrument.”

He grumbled, but you watched him swallow down the cup of pills you poured out from your stash in the medicine cabinet along with the water from your own personal water bottle. You quietly realized you would need to get a water dispenser in the med lab. Even so, you weren't in any rush to do so as you drank out of the same water bottle when he left.

Bucky continued to come to you for more… superficial wounds that didn’t require you to do a full body examination on him. You never meant to downplay the injury or the pain that he may or may not be feeling, but the super soldier came to you for you to blow on his scrapes. You were wondering what the hell his thought process was in his head, but you also couldn’t just turn away a patient. 

He had the leg of his sweatpants tugged up past his knee, but the fabric was strained against the thick muscle of his thigh. You had to force yourself to ignore the fact the stitches were basically ripping at the seams.

“This will heal in like, an hour, Bucky,” you told him. “You barely fell on your knee– this was definitely through the clothes.”

“You stopped calling me by my last name,” he said, ignoring your words of examination. His voice was soft– softer than you had ever heard it before. “When did that happen?” 

Suddenly, you were keenly aware of the fact that you were kneeling in front of him– the position you had so naturally assumed when he had exposed his leg to you, and he was just staring down at you. You could feel the warmth creeping up your neck, and you knew that he could see it. 

“Focus, soldier,” you replied, snapping your fingers in front of his face. You pointed your index finger between his face and yours, connecting a line between his eyes to yours. “Back to the scrape.” 

You didn’t know if you were telling him or yourself, honestly. There was a smile on his face that you would later categorize in your notes as devastating. You could barely tear your eyes away from his, looking back down at the already healing injury.

That day, you sent Bucky away with a saline wash and a bandaid slapped onto the joint, knowing full well that he would be fine. You hoped that he wouldn’t come back with something stupidly bad for your heart, but no. 

He just came back with something stupid period. 

“Back in my day, people used to die from papercuts. Did the Aerospace Medical Training not teach you that, Doc?” he mocked you.

“Did you Google which training I got?” you rolled your eyes at him. “Didn’t know that you knew how to use search engines, Sarge.”

“I asked Sam, actually,” he grunted, almost like he didn’t even want to admit it to you. 

“You spoke to him. Good for you,” you said, pretending to look impressed. “Did you guys argue before he told you who trained me? Did he tell you that I graduated top of my class, too? While we’re on the topic, let me tell you that I also retired from the military with the highest of honors–”

“Can you shut the hell up and look at my injury before I die from some unknown disease?” he cut you off.

You held his pointer finger in your hand, glaring at the tip of it like the pad of it owed you something. “There’s nothing here, Buck.”

“Do you need glasses? Goggles, maybe? I’m sure Sam can hook you up with that,” he chuckled, clearly happy with himself for the jab.

You really tried to fight back the smile that threatened to creep up onto your face, but failed miserably. You couldn’t help it. You also made fun of Sam the first time you saw him in his hero uniform– sent the picture straight to his sister and the two of you spent a good two hours on the phone cackling in front of him.

“There’s no papercut,” you told him again, releasing his finger. “And even if there was– people don’t die from papercuts anymore. Of course, unless you’re not fully vaccinated. And at that point… I don’t know what to tell you. Are you not vaccinated, soldier?”

“I’m vaccinated against everything that exists,” he informed you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’s the vaccine called? H.Y.D.R.A. serum?” you shot back.

His reply came just as quick. “Yes, actually.”

“Sounds like some good stuff– how many times did you have to get it for it to be this effective? Do I gotta get it once a year like a flu shot?” you joked. 

“Just once, but there were all these different side effects, doll. Like, frying my brain, my personal agency ripped from me for several decades, and insane amounts of trauma– crazy shit. Don’t recommend it. I’d stick to what the CDC pushes out to the regular civilians,” he said, and waved a dismissive hand in the air. 

You had to bite back a laugh, covering your mouth with a hand as you looked to the side. You weren’t even sure if you were allowed to laugh at his trauma laced up with a pretty bow. 

“It was funny, you gotta admit,” Bucky said, nodding to himself more than to you. When you looked back at him, there was a charming smile on his face, one that you couldn’t even believe that he had on at that moment.

“You are awful.”

“And I’m still at risk of dying from an infection. Sweetheart, you gotta get me right,” he told you, a hint of a Brooklyn accent peeking from under his words. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a slight tingle than ran through your entire being at the sound of his voice.

You cleared your throat, attempting to steel your mind and soul once more since your body clearly wasn't listening to you. “Didn’t you just tell me that you were immune to every disease possible?”

Bucky’s lips parted, and he cocked his head to the side as if he was trying hard to formulate an excuse. You waited patiently as you watched him shut his mouth, and look over to the side as if your closed medicine cabinets would give him some answers.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” he settled with.

“Do you just come here for me to lick your wounds?” you asked, moving to go sit down at your desk. You couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Because I’m starting to think all you do is come here to waste my time.”

He shrugged, a little noncommittally. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to talk to a friend.”

“A friend,” you echoed, a chuckle leaving you. 

“Yes, a friend,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously. “Why do you say it like that?”

“I just– I didn’t realize that’s what we were,” you admitted.

Once more, the man in front of you paused. This time, there was a crease between his eyebrows as he looked at you, and his hands fell to his sides. Confusion was evident on his face. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, the start of a frown beginning to settle over his face.

The change in the air was clear. Colder, and even though he was right in front of you, he had felt farther away than he had ever been before. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked away from him, down at your desk in front of you. “We’ve worked together for years. You didn’t bother with me until three weeks ago, Bucky. Coworkers, yes. But friends? I didn’t think we were close enough for that.”

“You take care of the entire team as it is– was it wrong for me to try and take care of myself?” he defended himself.

Your gaze flitted over to him quickly, finding that he was leaning over one of your worktables, arms crossed in front of him. He was genuinely upset, you realized. You couldn’t figure out why. 

“No, Bucky– I’m just saying. You never even talked to me before,” you sighed, shaking your head. “At some point, I just gave up on communicating with you all together. If it weren’t for the fact you nodded at me during missions, then I would’ve fully believed that you just didn’t think I was there.”

“Of course I knew you were there,” he replied back instantly. “But you were busy. With everyone and everything else. Me and Steve heal faster than the rest of them, but you always seem to try and check up on us first.”

“Because you two never seem to take care of yourselves— it’s my job to take care of you,” you stressed to him. 

“I never asked you to do that for me!” he shouted at you.

You blinked at him, taken aback. Did he just yell at you?

 It took you a second to collect yourself, to be able to even look him in the eye without the last bit of your patience snapping. 

“It’s in my job description, just like it’s in yours to take care of me if I have to go out in the field for an evac, Barnes.”

“We’re going back to last names?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you. The edge in his voice was sharp, thick. It made you want to smack the attitude out his mouth. “So we really aren’t friends after all?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, leaning back in your seat. You brought your hands up to cover your face. “What the fuck is your issue with how I address you? Barnes is your name isn’t it?”

“Well, excuse me– I thought we were closer than that,” he said, spitting your words right back at you. 

You sucked in a deep breath before dragging your hands down your face to look at him without any obstruction.

“Okay, sure– then why did you ignore my existence for so fucking long despite us being on the same team? Even if you don’t need my help, it doesn’t explain you pretending I’m nothing but air around you up until recently,” you demanded from him. 

“I just– I didn’t want to add to your workload,” he told you, shaking his head.

“And you think that coming into my med bay with a fucking papercut isn’t increasing my workload? I have other shit to take care of,” you scoffed at him, voice laced with sarcasm. Your body felt the regret before your mind caught up with you– and you wanted to scream. The words had come out faster than you could stop it. 

Bucky’s body tensed, and his eyes dropped down to the metal table before him. His fingers tapped along it, a soft beat resounding against the silence as he nodded slowly, processing your words. Then, there was a wave of calm that rushed through him. His body loosened. Accepted your words as if they were scripture. 

“Okay,” he finally said, his voice softer, and his fingers stopped moving. He stood up tall, and didn’t look at you again. “I got the message. I won’t add to your busy plate. I know you have a lot going on.”

Bucky moved towards the doors. Something told you that he wouldn’t come back if you let him leave– even if he had some sort of grave injury. He would definitely try to take care of it himself.

There was a tightness in your chest that you wouldn’t be able to explain in medical terms. There were no heart palpitations or anxiety attacks. No, this was just you being a fucking asshole to him. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., lock the doors and frost the glass,” you ordered as fast as you could.

Bucky had to step back quickly, otherwise his foot would’ve gotten caught with how the doors came sliding shut. Finally, the soldier turned to look at you where you sat at your desk, frowning at him.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. unlock the doors,” Bucky said, holding your gaze.

“I can’t do that, Sergeant,” she replied, making a sigh of relief exit your lips. 

“You stupid fucking A.I. —“

“We’re in my lab,” you interjected his words, running your hand through your hair. “Within these walls, she listens to me. Well, usually she does. I still need Tony to fuckin’ fix her and tell me who’s been sneaking past my shut down protocols to sneak presents into my rooms when I’m not around.”

Bucky tongued at his cheek as his eyes narrowed at you. “Thought we weren’t close. Why are you holding me hostage in your lab, sweetheart?”

You released a breath, and gave him a small, weak smile. One that you hoped looked sincere. You watched as Bucky’s exterior slowly melted away as he stared at you, and you let out a shaky breath.

“You’re not adding to my workload– I didn’t… I didn’t mean that,” you whispered, still keeping your eyes locked onto his. “I like it when you come to visit me, even if it's for some stupid shit that I have to log into your file, but if you just wanted to be my friend– you don’t have to make up excuses to come and see me. You can just… come visit me.”

The silence was loud. You didn’t dare look away from him, afraid he would take it the wrong way if he did. Then, you saw it. A slight shake of his shoulders. 

The smallest of laughs escaped his lips, and he shook his head, chin tilting downwards to his chest until he was looking at his feet. You could see the slight tug of his lips, curling upwards into a smile.

“Activate Override: Protocol Doc authorized by White Wolf, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Bucky spoke.

You pushed out of your seat quickly, lips parting. You felt betrayal deep in your bones as you watched as the doors slid right open, and the glass turned clear once more– and there was a disastrous smile on Bucky’s face that stole the air from your lungs as he met your eyes.

“It was you–”

“We’re not gonna be friends, sweetheart,” he told you, a chuckle on his lips as he turned towards the door. “I don’t leave flowers and chocolate for my friends on their beds.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Flowers? I haven't gotten flowers!”

Bucky didn’t respond to you. The man just walked right out of the med bay, forgetting about the papercut injury that threatened his health, and left you with that fat piece of information to sit on. 

When you regained your senses, you rushed out towards the door, but it was useless. He was already gone. You couldn’t find him on either side of the hall. Your next stop was your bedroom, and just like Bucky said– there was a bouquet of fresh flowers waiting for you on the edge of your bed.

You could feel your blood pressure rising with each passing moment. 

The monitors mounted on the walls of the jet were blaring at you with different warning lights on each of the Avengers– showing you where each of them had sustained critical injury. Every few moments, an explosion went off, causing the aircraft to tremble with you inside of it.

“Can I get a status report?” you asked, eyes glued onto the screens.

Static crackled right back to you through your earpiece before it connected– you could hear the sounds of battle and gunfire. The sounds of the team shouting over each other to take cover, to watch each other’s six– it was too much. 

“Someone talk to me!” you shouted. “Do you need an evac?!”

“Stay put!” Steve barked on the other end. “It’s too dangerous for you to–”

The ground shook beneath the jet, toppling you over. The comms cut off into a buzzing silence as you hit the metal floors, your heart racing in your chest– that wasn’t just a mini explosion set off by Tony or Rhodey. That was something bigger. More lethal and heavy.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. get them back online!” you ordered as you scrambled to your feet, slamming your hands on the sides of the monitors to force them to reconnect with everyone’s suits. 

Slowly, the screens came back to life– and your stomach dropped through your body. Critical warnings were showing onto the screen before you. A gaping hole in the side of his torso that ripped through his gear. Foreign bodies were detected to have entered his skin– and the scans could barely show it but you were certain there were broken bones.

“Evac– Am I evacuating Bucky?” you demanded, trying to will your voice to stay even as you connected through the comms. 

Radio silence. The only noise that greeted you back was the sound of your own heart pumping wildly through your ears. 

You moved quickly, grabbing the keys to the motorbike that was docked at the end of the jet. There wasn’t any time to wait– not when the entire team was injured badly, and Bucky was potentially dying out in the middle of the field. You swung your leg over the seat, and removed the hooks that kept the bike in place–

You froze.

You had no information.

If you went out onto the field, you would be going into a warzone without any eyes or ears to let you know where to go. You’d be going in blind, creating more of a liability for the rest of the team to try and take care of while you pulled Bucky out of there. 

You had a failsafe. If they needed you to come out, and couldn’t reach you through the earpiece, then Tony would’ve contacted you through F.R.I.D.A.Y.. You had been instructed by Steve to stay put. Disobeying direct orders would put the entire mission, the team, and you at risk.

Your hands trembled as you rehooked the bike into place, and slowly unmounted the seat. All you could do was prep the examination table in the jet, pulling it from the middle of the floor, and grabbing out all the supplies that you could possibly need. 

All you could do was wait for the dust to settle, to watch the monitors for any more injuries that inevitably came– and pray to every higher being out there that Bucky’s heart didn’t give out before they brought him back to you.

Your earpiece crackled to life after what had seemed like an eternity. 

“Incoming!” Sam yelled, and you immediately moved to open the rear ramp. 

The shape that Sam was in– it made you want to throw up. His goggles were cracked, suit ripped in several different areas. This mission went sideways and been thrown upside down more times than you could’ve counted. 

But Bucky– he made your heart stop. His skin was nearly devoid of color, and blood fell down his body with each passing second in thick droplets. His lips were pale, dry, and cracked. Soot and ash caked onto his face, his hair sticking onto his forehead with a mixture of sweat and dirt. You didn’t even know where to start when you looked at him.

Sam dropped him onto the table, and you immediately took to his side, fingers pressing against the pulse point on his neck. It was faint, but there– but still wasn’t good enough for what you needed. 

“What happened?” you breathed out.

“Cap lost his shield– fucking RPG came out of nowhere. Bucky threw himself in front of it– blocked Steve from getting the blast, but he took the brunt of it,” Sam said, watching as you ripped open Bucky’s vest. 

Your eyes immediately fell on Bucky’s torso, your lips parting in shock. Shrapnel was buried deep into his side– but his body was already rapidly healing around it. You’d never seen this before– not with Bucky or Steve. This was different. Bucky’s body healed faster the more it was damaged.

“An RPG?” you whispered, meeting Sam’s eyes. 

Your hands were shaking. You didn’t see what happened, sure, but just from the looks of it– from what you were seeing in front of you? Bucky unconscious, the labored breaths, the blood seeping out from his side– the weapon that took him down– it was too much.

The flashbacks of everything were coming back to you. The failure, the fear–

“He’s still alive,” Sam cut through your thoughts, grabbing your wrist. “Don’t freak out on me now. We’re not back in the trenches. I need you to focus because Buck’s not the only one injured right now.”

As if on queue, everyone else started piling into the jet. A shaky breath exited your lips as you watched them limp on board, leaning onto each other and groaning in pain. For the most part– they were alive. They were doing much better than Bucky.

“How is he?” Steve asked, setting Natasha down onto the benches.

“He’s lost a lot of blood– Tony, we need to get back to base quick,” you told him, and watched as the man got out of his suit and assumed control over the front console. “I gotta get this shit out of his body before we get there– he’s healing around the metal.”

“How the hell are you gonna do that?” Sam asked, frowning at you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes darting around your supplies. “You guys are gonna need to hold him down… I don’t have any anesthetics on board.”

Both men froze in front of you, but they shifted to assume positions. Steve rested his hands on Bucky’s arms, pressing down firmly, while Sam held onto Bucky’s legs. You released a breath before you brought the scalpel to his torso– you needed to reinjure him. You needed to open him back up quickly to pull out every single foreign body within him otherwise it would only cause him some more issues.

“Starting,” you muttered out your warning.

Then, you cut into him.

Bucky’s body tensed immediately, eyes flying open as he jolted– Sam and Steve fighting to push him back down. His left arm immediately tried grabbing for you, only for Steve to readjust his grip to force Bucky back down.

“Shit– Buck! It’s just us!” Sam shouted at him, trying to get his attention. “You’re gonna fuckin’ hurt her if you don’t calm down!”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes land on you, the breaths coming out of his chest fast and uneven. Soon, he managed to fall limp under Steve and Sam’s hands, though his body still twitched as you dug into him, retrieving each and every single broken piece of metal within him.

“I’m sorry– I’m so sorry,” you kept repeating to him, wincing as your tweezers dug deeper into the tissue– as you had to reach for the scalpel again to cut back into him. His body kept healing before your eyes. You hadn’t had to deal with this before. 

You could barely keep your hands from trembling. Every ounce of your concentration was going towards the task at hand, trying to pull out the smallest pieces of metal while also trying to make sure his wound didn’t heal too fast, but also trying to stop him from actively bleeding out on you– you were panicking.

It was too similar. Too close to home. It reminded you too much of what had happened back on the war field all those years ago when you lost Riley. There was nothing that you could have done to stop his pain after he went down. You were ill equipt– you didn’t have the right tools with you to help him. Your team was too far away from your headquarters, and it didn’t even matter how fast you got there. He was already gone.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Bucky’s hand cradled your face, the metal thumb brushing away a stray tear that fell.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he muttered to you, forcing his eyes open to look up at you. He offered you a small, weak smile. “I got that crazy vaccine, remember? I can’t just roll over and die so easily.”

“You’re going to die by my hands if you don’t shut the fuck up and save your energy,” you whispered back to him.

Despite the pain, he laughed on the table. He regretted the action a second later, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he struggled to catch his breath again, but you appreciated him all the same. He was attempting to make you feel better. And it worked.

Bucky’s hand dropped from your face, but it lingered on you. He rested it on your hip, squeezing you lightly whenever you had to cut back into him– a quiet move to let you know that he was okay and to keep doing what you were doing for him. 

With Bucky’s comfort, his touch– the light tap of his fingers against you– you managed to calm down your nerves well enough to get everything out of his body before the jet touched back down onto base. The second the doors opened, Steve and Sam were carrying him onto a stretcher for you to do your full assessment on him.

With how fast his body was healing, you needed to move rapidly– faster than you had ever done before. You didn’t have time to give him any numbing agents, despite how badly you wanted to. The fractures that the monitors had detected must be already attempting to set into place during the time that you were focused on his torso, and you really didn’t want to have to rebreak bone in order for him to heal properly. 

Even after Bucky was finished up, fully patched and stitched, you didn’t even allow him to leave. You managed to get him transferred from your table to a more comfortable hospital bed, then you drugged him to really make sure the man wouldn’t be able to walk out of your med bay. 

He was pumped with sedatives that you knew knocked out Steve, and you felt some sort of comfort when you watched Bucky fall asleep without pain etching into his features. While he slept, you had fluids pushing through his body, replenishing him while you moved on to take care of the rest of the team. 

Thankfully, they weren’t as bad as Bucky was.

You needed to push a collarbone back into place, reset a broken nose, stitch some wounds together– but nothing like pulling foreign bodies out of a torso. You could breathe easier. 

“You okay?” Sam asked you as you tugged the needle through his arm. 

“I think we should invest in a medical team,” you replied. “I think just having only one of me around isn’t cutting it anymore.”

Sam let out a small chuckle, and shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.”

Your hands paused over his arm, and you looked up at him. You met his gaze– he looked just as exhausted as you felt. Your eyes dropped back down to his injury, and you kept working.

“The hell are you talking about?” you murmured, even though you knew exactly what he was about to start on. 

“I haven’t seen you act like that since Riley got shot out of the sky,” he said softly. “Damn near thought you were gonna pass out on the jet.”

Your jaw clenched as you released a breath. “Sam…”

“It scared me, too– don’t get me wrong. It was… I’m glad you weren’t there to see how it all unfolded on the field.”

The words died down between you. You could only hear the light sound of the sutures being pulled through his skin as you punctured him repeatedly, gently closing the wound back into place. 

“On another note,” Sam spoke, breaking the silence, “Don’t think I missed the way that Robo-Cop held you on the jet–”

“We’re not talking about this right now–”

“And he called you sweetheart,” he whistled lowly, and you could hear the grin on his face without even looking at him. “Is there something you wanna tell me–”

A sharp cry exited his lips, cutting off his words as you dug the needle through him. Your eyebrows furrowed in feigned concern as your eyes flitted up to meet his gaze in mock apology.

“Haven’t heard you scream like that since Riley was around,” you mused, tilting your head at him. “You gonna pass out on the floor of my lab?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

This time around, Bucky wasn’t discharged back into regular duties for over two weeks. You put him on strict bedrest, even though he hated every single moment of it. Thankfully, the other members of the team snitched on him every time they found him roaming the halls near the training grounds, and you would immediately herd Bucky back into his room.

He told you that it was overkill. Subconsciously, you agreed. He didn’t need to be out of commission for that long, and he was honestly fine after a week and a half. You had already taken the stitches out of his body. X-Rays showed that his bones had healed the right way, and he had made a full recovery. 

You were still worried. You couldn’t shake the memory— having to continuously cut into him, him bleeding in front of you… It really did mess you up, more than you wanted to admit. 

One look from you made Bucky concede, and follow your wellness plan without another complaint. 

However, it didn’t stop Bucky from bringing you gifts. Except he hand delivered it to you now, rather than leaving it in your room like some sort of off season Santa Claus. 

Bucky sat on the bench beside you, watching you open up the little package. He wasn’t even around you the other day when you said you’d been having a hard time sleeping recently, and now? You had lavender incense and some candles– peach scented. Along with the aromas, he also presented you with a small plush toy.

“How the hell did you know that I like Miffy?” you asked, raising your eyebrow at him. “Scratch that– how do you even know what Miffy is?”

Bucky shrugged beside you. “You’re not the only one that notices everything.”

“So you just… never talked to me, but you remembered everything I ever said? Even when you weren’t in the same room as me?” you mused. You took out the small bunny toy and placed it on your desk like a little guardian watching over your med lab. You tapped on its head, a smile coming onto your face. 

“I’ve had a crush on you for a while, doll,” he said, as if it was old news. “I just didn’t really know how to approach.”

“So you thought depositing a gun in my room was the best way to approach me?” you questioned, turning to look at him. 

Bucky paused, the words going over his mind and filtering through. The man took a slow, deep breath before meeting your gaze. Then, he smiled. That same smile that made you go weak and dizzy in the head. “Kinda romantic, right?”

The sheer audacity of him made you roll your eyes, a scoff falling from your lips not too long afterwards. Even so, you couldn’t help but mirror his smile. You did have to admit it– fine. It was a little romantic. 

“And here I thought, we were gonna be friends,” you teased lightly.

“I told you, sweetheart– we’re not gonna be friends,” he shook his head.

“Oh? Then what are we going to be?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Lovers,” he said, like it was the most obvious answer. “Do you think I just take my shirt off and tell you to look at a contusion without any ulterior motives?”

“You keep saying it was a contusion to make it sound worse than it actually was, but it was literally a bruise, Bucky,” you sighed, shaking your head. “You’re sick in the head for that.”

“And you’re a pervert,” he accused. “I could feel you staring at me. Don’t tell me that you weren’t.”

“I’m the pervert?” you repeated, eyebrows up to your hairline.

Bucky hesitated for just a second as he looked at you. His eyes roamed over your face for a few moments, then he shrugged. “Well, I don’t think I can really say much. I really liked seeing you on your knees that one day.”

You slapped his arm, the smack resounding off the walls of your lab, quickly followed by the rumble of his laughter. You stood up, needing to take a second to get away from him as heat crawled back up your neck and threatened to appear on your face. 

“And I thought you were a gentleman,” you huffed, moving to turn towards your workbench.

Bucky’s hands caught your wrist, pulling you back towards him. The action was so smooth– so quick, but so gentle all at the same time. You found yourself standing between his knees, barely any space between your bodies as he looked up at you. His hands slid down from your wrists to rest into your hands, lacing your fingers together.

“I can be a gentleman, sweetheart,” he told you, the softness of his voice matching the look in his eyes. “Is that what you want from me?” 

“You… are on bedrest, soldier,” you warned.

“What do you mean?” The corners of Bucky’s lips curled upwards slightly. “I’m not doing anything– is there something that you want me to be doing?”

Maybe you were the pervert after all.

All Bucky was doing was sitting there before you, looking up at you with those blue eyes that seemed to hold the world, and a soft smile on his face like you had given him that world– and you were coming undone. 

Was there something that you wanted him to be doing to you? Absolutely. You.

“Something about the way you’re looking at me right now tells me you don’t want me to be a gentleman right now,” he murmured to you, releasing one of your hands in favor of reaching up for your face.

“You spend too much time watching me if you can tell what my thoughts are just from looking at me,” you whispered back. You leaned into his touch, allowing him to pull you down into him until your forehead rested against his.

“You were mine before you even realized it, doll.” 

“Could’ve just hit on me sooner, y’know. Didn’t have to come here asking me to look at papercuts—”

“Shut up,” he sighed, his hand slipping to the back of your neck to close the remainder of the distance between you two. 

You could feel the smile on his lips against your own as he kissed you, tugging you impossibly closer to him. Your hands flattened against his chest for stability, a soft hum escaping your throat. 

Bucky’s teeth caught at your bottom lip, dragging down lightly until you willingly granted him the entry he was asking for. His tongue glided over yours, the hand at the back of your head pressing you deeper into him. 

He tasted sweet— like plums with a hint of syrup. You wanted more of it, wanted to consume him and his entire being into you. Thankfully, it seemed like he felt the same way. 

You found yourself fully situated on his lap, legs framing his hips. One of his arms looped around your waist, hand pressed onto your upper back to hold you against him as he kissed you harder. A sigh fell from your lips, one that he greedily swallowed up for himself. 

He pulled away, but didn’t stray too far. 

Bucky peppered kisses down your jawline and neck. You could only tilt your head to the side, giving him the space to play with whatever he wanted. 

“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” he murmured against your neck— right before he sucked a bruise right onto your skin. 

You forced back a gasp, your body tingling and screaming under his touch. He pressed his lips against the wound, tongue gently lapping over to soothe. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.—“ you called out, cut off by another nip of his teeth on your neck. You swallowed thickly, trying to get your bearings as you buried your hands into his hair, tugging him away from you to give you some space to think. 

“Yes, doctor?” the A.I. spoke, waiting for your instruction. 

You were breathless, just from one kiss and two hickeys. Bucky stared up at you, eyes filled with innocence, lips slightly swollen from the kiss you shared with him. From where your other hand rested, you could feel his heartbeat thrumming against his neck. 

“Block the glass, lock the doors, and turn the lights down. If anyone asks for me, I’m not here,” you ordered. 

“Understood.”

The room dimmed around you, and all doors slid shut. The glass and windows in your med bay turned to frost, while the blinds and curtains quickly got drawn shut. On the outside— it looked like you weren’t in. 

“Turning the lights down, doll?” Bucky whispered to you, a hint of tease in his voice. “Creating a mood for us?”

“Be quiet,” you muttered, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Bedrest. Now.” 

“Something tells me that this isn’t the same bedrest you prescribed,” he whispered.

“You don’t want me, soldier?” you asked, tugging on his hair again. 

A low groan escaped his lips, and his eyes shut for a second. You watched how his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Don’t put words in my mouth, sweetheart.”

Bucky stood, carrying you with him as he crossed the room. He laid you down onto one of the recovery beds in your lab— the same beds that you would nap on if you ever spent too much time working. You were certain that Bucky knew that about you, too. 

His weight gently blanketed you as his lips caught yours again. Bucky slotted himself between your legs as if he’d always belonged there, like there was no place that he should’ve ever been. You wrapped your arms around his neck, a soft moan pulled from your lips as his hands dipped under the hem of your shirt, seeking skin. 

The contrast of the cool, smooth metal against the warm, calloused texture of his organic hand was enough to make your head spin. His hands continued their journey, fingers stopping just at the edge of your bra. 

“Is this okay?” he muttered against your lips. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “It’s okay, Buck.”

He exhaled slowly, breath mingling with yours as his hands ventured beneath the last piece of clothing. He cupped the mounds, feeling the weight of you, and cursed under his breath.

“Fuck– I might die,” he whispered, massaging your breasts slowly.

“What?” you breathed out, trying to focus on his words as his fingers caught the hardening peaks of your nipples. 

“I might die, sweetheart,” he repeated to you, eyes glued to your chest even though he couldn’t see anything from the layers of fabric over his hands.

“You’re not allowed to. I want you inside me.”

Bucky’s eyes shot up to you, brain malfunctioning for a second. Then, he dropped his head down to your neck. He was trying to catch his breath– and you hadn’t even done anything to him. This reaction was purely from your words, from just touching one part of you.

“I’m trying real hard to be a gentleman here,” he murmured against your skin.

You huffed, reaching between the two of you. Bucky’s body twitched as you undid the tie of his sweatpants, loosening the fabric around his waist. Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of the fabric, feeling him waiting for you. 

“You can be a gentleman while you fuck me,” you murmured, taking him in your hand. A low moan filled your ears as you began to stroke him– the hard, heavy length of him. 

You could feel his resolve breaking apart with every single slow pump of your hand. Bucky groaned into your neck with each of your movements, his hips pressing deeper into your hand as if to assist you. 

You could feel him throb in your hand, a thick vein coming to life against your palm. You took him from the very tip, thumb brushing over the head of him and smearing over the bead of precum that leaked over, and ran it all the way down to the base of him. 

Part of you thought it was a waste. You wanted to lick it up– swallow whatever leaked out of him. You wondered if you would be able to convince him to let you get down on your knees again for him.

Bucky didn’t even give you a chance to entertain the idea any farther. His hand gripped at your wrist, pulling your hand out of his pants as he sat up. His chest was rising and falling in slow, barely even breaths as he stared down at you.

The softness you saw earlier was gone. It was replaced with hunger, desire– you were about to be consumed by him. A tingle ran throughout your body, going straight down into your core as he reached for the buttons of your pants.

He moved slowly, peeling the fabric off of you like you were a present to unbox. Bucky even unlaced your boots, gently removing them and resting them onto the floor neatly before he was able to remove the rest of your pants. You could only watch with bated breath as he folded it, and put it on the bedside table, then turned back to you.

“Look at you,” he whispered, already shifting downwards onto the bed. “So pretty.”

He parted your legs, hooking your knees over his shoulders before pressing a featherlight kiss to the inside of your thigh. He continued forth, more kisses trailing upwards towards where you need him most, but you couldn’t dare breathe a word to rush him– not when he was holding you like you were something precious, not when he was pressing kisses against your skin that felt more sincere than anything you’d ever heard before. 

“Do you like these panties?” he asked you, glancing up to your face.

“They’re comfortable,” you answered, resting up onto your elbows to look at him.

“You have more?”

“Yeah–”

The sound of fabric ripping filled your ears, then you watched as he chucked the ruined article to the side like it meant nothing. You didn’t even have a chance to say a word before his mouth closed around your heat, taking you in. Your head dropped back against the pillows, a shaky moan escaping your lips as his tongue flatted against you, then parted your folds. 

Bucky groaned at the taste of you, eyes fluttering shut like you were the best thing he had ever had. His hands tightened around your hips, tugging you closer to his face– trying to drown himself in you as his tongue nudged at your entrance, just barely dipping in and out. His nose brushed against your swollen clit, and your legs trembled around his head.

“Bucky–” you moaned, hands reaching for his.

His fingers laced with yours, and he hummed in acknowledgement. The vibrations only made your hips twitch against him, lifting off the bed and up into his face. You couldn’t help it– you were chasing the pleasure that he was giving you just with his tongue alone. 

Bucky’s thumbs brushed against the back of your hand in quiet encouragement– as if to tell you to let go whenever you wanted to. You wouldn’t be the one to deny him, not when he was giving it to you so deliciously. 

You came apart with his name on your lips, his head between your legs, and his fingers intertwined with yours. Bucky kept lapping up your arousal, desperate to not let a single drop go to waste. 

“Buck– shit– too much,” you gasped out, trying to wiggle yourself away from him.

A soft grunt came from him, but he relented. He came up for fresh air, licking his lips as he did. You caught the way your own slick glistened against his chin, how he looked so satisfied with himself– Jesus. It was a sight to behold. 

“Need you,” you whispered. 

“I’m all yours,” he replied. 

Bucky lowered himself back onto you without another second to waste. You could taste yourself on his tongue– the saltiness mixed with sweet. You craved more of him– all of him. You nearly cried out in relief when you felt him tug down the fabric of his sweats, pooling them around his knees.

You both moaned into each other's mouths as his cock pressed against your folds. Slowly, his hips moved, covering himself in your juices, the tip of his length nudging and catching on your clit every few moments. A shaky breath fell from his lips as you angled your hips just slightly, and his length caught slightly on your entrance. 

Very slowly, he stretched you out. Neither of you could say a word– you could hardly breathe as you took him in. You felt every single ridge and vein of his dick entering you, splitting you open and forcing you to learn the shape of him. 

“Fuck,” Bucky moaned above you, hips fully flushed against yours.

You could only nod in silent agreement, barely meeting his eyes. His breathing was labored as he looked down at you, eyes roaming all over your body before landing back onto your face. Bucky reached for you, and pulled your shirt up over your chest, taking your bra with it.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, grinding his hips against yours before he started at a slow pace. His hands ran up and down your torso, as if he was trying to memorize every part of you, catching every single contour of your shape. 

“You– you’re pretty, too,” you barely managed to force out as his thrusts naturally picked up speed, his cock dragging in and out of you in deep, hard strokes. 

Something mixed with a chuckle and a low moan ripped from this throat as he smiled down at you. Again– absolutely catastrophic. You couldn’t help but clamp down around him at the sight, and felt as his hips stuttered against yours. 

“You think I’m pretty, sweetheart?” he whispered, falling back into rhythm quickly. He found purchase at your waist, pulling you into him with each thrust, meeting you halfway– the pressure he was building was making you go insane.

“Mm– mmhm,” you nodded frantically, reaching to grab onto his wrists– his biceps– something to hang onto as he picked up the pace. “Your arms– fuck your arms are so pretty, Buck.”

“Knew you liked ‘em,” he chuckled, hips snapping into yours harder than before. A sharp cry ripped from you, as you dug your nails into him. “I always feel you staring, especially the left one. You really like this one, huh?”

Excitement shot through your body as you felt his vibranium hand trail up and close around your neck. Even against the dimmed lights of the med bay, the onyx and gold detailing still shimmered like stars against your eyes. You couldn’t help it– your walls clenched around him, fluttering madly.

You didn’t even need to warn him. Bucky’s efforts doubled in an instant, his cock hitting you deeper with renewed fervor. His other hand slipped between the two of you, fingers beginning to rub tight circles into your swollen clit. His metal hand tightened, just ever so slightly around your neck– and you were done for.

Bucky groaned out your name as you came on his cock, legs twitching on either side of his hips as he continued to fuck you through your high. It was too much, yet still not enough at the same time.

“Gonna– god, I’m close,” he grunted, his hands migrating towards your hips as he chased his own climax, using your body. “You’re so– fuck, you’re so warm, doll. So warm and wet and so fuckin pretty–”

His own words were cut off, your name falling from his lips once more in a choked out moan as his hips faltered against yours. You could feel his cock inside of you, trembling and pulsating as he emptied himself within you, painting you with a warmth that made you shiver beneath him. 

Bucky caught himself before he collapsed over you, forearms caging you on either side of your head. His breath fanned against your face as his forehead rested against yours. You tilted your head upwards, pressing a kiss to his lips– one that he returned right away. He kissed you slowly, moving against you with unhurried passion, just reverence and affection.

Slowly, his cock softened within you. The two of you sighed against each other as you felt him slip out. You could feel the remnants of him leaking out of you and onto the bed, but you would deal with it later. For now, all you could focus on was Bucky’s lips and the kisses he pressed all over your face.

Before long, Bucky carried you onto another bed– one that wasn’t soiled by your sinful activities. The two of you naturally shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed, you tucked into Bucky’s chest with his arms thrown around you. 

“You still think we’re friends?” he whispered into your hair. You could hear the smile in his voice, and you nudged yourself deeper into his warmth.

“I’m gonna put you on bedrest for another two weeks,” you warned, though there was no edge to your voice. In fact, it came out a little sleepy. “You’re obligated to report to me daily in the med bay.”

“You’re threatening me with a good time, sweetheart,” he chuckled, squeezing you tighter against him. 

“That’s the point,” you muttered, settling into him. “You like my version of bedrest.”

Bucky didn’t argue with you, but you already knew that he wouldn’t. The soldier pressed another kiss to your hairline, then shifted to cradle your face, angling your head upwards towards him. His lips met yours once more in a brief peck– just to let you know that he agreed with your treatment plan. 

masterlist

Rain sheeted down in silver ribbons across the stoop, drumming against the overhang in a low, relentless roar. You stood there shivering, hair plastered to your cheeks, one hand clutching the plastic handles of a takeout bag that looked like it had been dropped more than once.

Bucky opened the door with the tired ease of a man who’d been halfway to sleep and didn’t mind being woken. For a second, he just took you in—the dripping coat, the smudged mascara, the way your shoulders were hunched like you were trying to fold yourself in half.

His expression softened. That small, tired smile he saved for you tugged at his mouth.

“Jesus,” he murmured, stepping aside without asking anything. “You walk here in the damn hurricane?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just slipped past him into the hallway, your wet shoes squeaking on the wood. The takeout bag sagged ominously as you set it on the credenza.

“I didn’t—” Your voice cracked. You swallowed. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Hey.” He shut the door behind you, the latch clicking home with a finality that made your throat tighten. “You never have to explain. You know that.”

You tried to shrug it off. The motion just made water sluice off your shoulders, leaving a dark patch on the floor. Bucky sighed, reached for the collar of your coat.

“C’mere,” he said, so gently you almost started crying on the spot. His fingers were careful as he worked the buttons free, peeling the soaked fabric down your arms. His metal hand was warm from the radiator—he’d been standing near it before you arrived—and the contrast against your chilled skin made you shiver again.

“Bad night?” he asked, voice low, as he hung your coat on the hook.

You gave a hollow laugh. “You could say that.”

When he turned back to you, you were hugging yourself tight, chin tucked to your chest. His gaze flicked over you—your bare arms, the damp cling of your shirt—and something darkened behind his eyes. But he didn’t touch you yet. He knew better than to push before you were ready.

Instead, he nodded once, like you’d confirmed something he already suspected.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

He reached past you, flipped the switch on the little lamp by the door, and the soft glow spilled over both of you. For the first time, you really looked at him. His hair was loose around his shoulders, eyes shadowed with sleep and something else you couldn’t name.

You swallowed again. The ache in your chest pressed up, begging to be let out.

Bucky tilted his head, studying you. “You wanna talk about it now, or you wanna sit?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Only a choked breath.

So he reached for you—slowly, so you could pull away if you needed to—and his big hand curled warm and solid around the back of your neck.

“Hey,” he murmured, thumb brushing your jaw. “You’re okay. You’re home now.”

You didn’t pull away from his hand right away. Just stood there, eyes closed, breathing in the warm, familiar smell of him—clean soap, leather, the faint trace of old aftershave.

But the ache wouldn’t stay contained. It pressed up through your ribs until you felt like you were going to splinter apart.

Bucky’s thumb paused at your jaw. “You wanna sit?”

“No,” you said, sharper than you meant. You stepped back, dragging your palms over your face. “I—fuck. I need to move.”

He didn’t argue. But his gaze swept down your dripping clothes and came back up, jaw tightening.

“Hang on.” He turned away, disappearing into the bedroom. You stood there shivering, arms wrapped tight around yourself, until he came back holding one of his hoodies.

“Gimme.” He made a little circling gesture with his hand.

You blinked at him. “What?”

“The shirt. You’re gonna get sick.” His voice was quiet but brooked no argument. “Arms up.”

You huffed, but your hands were trembling as you obeyed. He caught the hem of your soaked shirt and peeled it carefully over your head, warm fingers brushing your ribs. He didn’t linger, didn’t let his eyes drop lower than your face—though you felt the heat of his gaze like a physical thing.

“Shorts too,” he said after a second, even softer.

Your breath caught. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. But then you swallowed and pushed them down, kicking the wet denim into a pile with the shirt.

He held the hoodie open, waiting. You ducked into it, grateful for the dry softness, the way it fell almost to mid-thigh. The familiar smell of him wrapped around you all at once.

“Better,” he murmured, smoothing the sleeves down your arms.

You didn’t quite trust your voice, so you only nodded.

Bucky stepped back, looking you over like he needed to be sure you weren’t about to collapse. His jaw flexed again, but he didn’t say whatever was behind his eyes.

Instead, he gestured toward the living room. “Go on. I’ll pick that up.”

You padded over to the couch, the oversized hoodie swaying against your bare thighs. The TV was still on, some old black-and-white war movie you’d watched together a hundred times, but it sounded thin and far away.

You started pacing in front of the coffee table, arms crossed tight.

“I don’t even know why I’m so mad,” you burst out, voice shaky. “It’s not like it’s the first time. He just—God, he looked at me like I was the problem. Like I’m supposed to be grateful he even tried.”

Bucky came back, arms folded, leaning against the archway. He didn’t interrupt.

“And it’s always the same bullshit,” you went on, voice rising. “They act like they’re doing me some big favor by—by fucking me at all, and then they roll over like they deserve a medal. And I’m supposed to lie there and pretend it was good.”

You stopped pacing, pressing your palm to your forehead.

“Do you know—not a single one of them has ever made me come?” you blurted.

His brows shot up, mouth parting.

You didn’t notice, too caught up in your own fury.

“It’s not that hard,” you snapped. “It really isn’t. But they don’t even try. And when I say something, they look at me like I’m broken.”

You let your hand fall to your side, shoulders sagging.

“Maybe I am,” you said, quieter. “Maybe it’s just me.”

Bucky’s voice was rough when it finally came. “Hey.”

You looked over. He’d pushed away from the archway, his eyes locked on yours, dark with something you couldn’t name.

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head once, deliberate. “Don’t even start thinking that.”

You tried to shrug. “I’m just—I don’t know. Tired. I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t matter.”

His gaze swept over you, from your flushed cheeks to the way the hoodie fell around your bare legs. His jaw flexed again, but when he spoke, his voice was soft.

“You deserve better than that,” he said.

Your breathing had gone ragged again, each inhale catching at the top of your chest. For a second, neither of you moved—just stared at each other across the living room, the blue light of the TV flickering over the floor.

Bucky’s eyes swept over you, taking in the tremor in your hands, the way you were hugging your elbows tight to your ribs. His expression softened.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

You shook your head once, but it was halfhearted. When he stepped forward, you didn’t step back.

He reached out and cupped your cheek with his warm palm, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. Up close, you could see how tired he looked—lines etched at the corners of his eyes, dark circles under the lashes. But the way he looked at you—like you were the most important thing in the room—made something twist low in your stomach.

“You’re not broken,” he said quietly. “You hear me?”

You swallowed, throat tight. “Yeah. Sure.”

His brows pulled together, like he could see straight through the lie. But he didn’t call you on it. Just slipped his hand behind your neck, guiding you gently toward the couch.

“Sit down,” he ordered in that soft, rough voice that didn’t leave you much room to argue.

You let him steer you. When you sank into the cushion, the hoodie fell around your thighs like a blanket.

He turned away for a second, picking up the damp bundle of your discarded clothes. You watched him kneel by the credenza to fold them into a neat pile—some ridiculous part of you wanted to laugh that he’d do it so carefully, like it mattered.

When he came back, he held out the big fleece throw you usually stole on movie nights. You hesitated, but he gave you a look that brooked no argument.

“Arms up,” he said again, softer this time.

You obeyed. He draped the blanket over your shoulders, tucking it carefully around your legs, like he was building a little nest he didn’t want you to escape.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Bucky settled next to you, close but not quite touching. His knee brushed yours, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric. He reached for the remote, turning the volume down so the old movie was just a low murmur filling the silence.

You were the one who broke it.

“I just don’t get it,” you said, voice quieter now. “Why is it so hard? To—to care if I feel good?”

He didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands, flexing the metal fingers once, and you saw the muscles in his jaw work.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough.

“It isn’t hard,” he said. “They’re just idiots.”

A shaky laugh slipped out of you, more a breath than a sound. “Thanks.”

He glanced up then, meeting your eyes. Whatever you saw in his expression made your heart trip over itself.

“You deserve someone who gives a damn,” Bucky said, his voice low and certain. “Someone who—” He cut himself off, looking away.

“Someone who what?” you pressed before you could stop yourself.

His throat worked, like he was swallowing something back.

“Someone who wants to learn every way to make you feel good,” he said finally, not quite looking at you.

The air between you tightened, all the oxygen burned up in a single heartbeat.

Your mouth went dry. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. Just pulled the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders and stared at the flickering TV, pretending you couldn’t feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your skin.

The movie flickered across the screen, voices crackling from old speakers, but neither of you were really watching.

You were still holding the blanket closed under your chin, your fingers twisted in the fleece so tight your knuckles were pale. Every breath felt too loud.

Bucky sat there, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped. You could feel him trying not to look at you—but failing. Every few seconds, his gaze dragged back up your bare thighs where the hoodie had ridden a little higher, the damp ends of your hair brushing your collarbone.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this—sleeping in his clothes, curled up against his side on this same couch—but it felt different now. Like your rant had cracked something open you couldn’t shove back into place.

You took a slow breath. “Sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t even sure what you were apologizing for.

“Don’t,” he said immediately, his voice low and sharp. He lifted his head, finally meeting your eyes. “Don’t say sorry.”

You held his gaze, heart hammering behind your ribs.

“It’s just—” You hesitated, words tangling in your mouth. “I know I shouldn’t dump this shit on you.”

He made a rough sound, almost a laugh, but there wasn’t any humor in it.

“You think I don’t want you to tell me?” He shifted closer, not touching you yet, but so near you could feel the heat of him, the steady weight of his attention. “You think I don’t—”

He stopped. His metal hand flexed once on his knee.

“Don’t what?” you breathed.

His gaze dropped to your mouth for the briefest second. When it came back up, something raw and unguarded shone there.

“You think I don’t wonder what it would be like?” he said, so low you almost didn’t hear it.

Your breath caught.

Bucky shook his head, jaw working. “You sitting here telling me nobody ever bothered to make you come—like it’s nothing.” He let out a quiet, disbelieving huff. “Like that doesn’t make me—”

He stopped again, a muscle jumping at the hinge of his jaw.

You couldn’t look away. Couldn’t pretend you didn’t understand what he wasn’t saying.

The silence stretched, taut as a pulled wire.

Your heart was thudding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

When you finally spoke, your voice felt small. “Bucky…”

He dragged in a slow breath, steadying himself. When he met your eyes again, there was something unmistakable in his expression—something possessive and aching and so full of want it made your skin prickle with heat.

He didn’t touch you. But you felt the promise there, unspoken but heavy between you: if you asked, he’d give you everything.

You opened your mouth—then closed it again. Neither of you looked away.

The TV kept flickering, but the rest of the world had narrowed to this: the taste of his name in your mouth, the heat of his gaze on your bare skin, the quiet certainty that nothing between you would ever be the same.

The rain had softened to a steady drizzle, a hush against the windows that made the living room feel even smaller, more intimate. You hadn’t moved. Neither had he.

Bucky’s gaze was still locked on yours, and something about the way he was looking at you made your skin feel too tight.

You shifted under the blanket, your mouth dry. “We should—maybe I should go home,” you tried, voice thin.

He didn’t move. Just tipped his head a fraction, studying you.

“Not yet,” he said softly.

Your heart stuttered.

His jaw flexed once. You watched the muscle jump before he spoke again, his voice so quiet it barely carried over the sound of the TV.

Heat flooded your face so fast it made you dizzy. You pulled the blanket higher, like it could hide you from the question.

“Bucky,” you muttered. “Don’t.”

He didn’t look away. If anything, his focus sharpened, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he blinked.

“Tell me,” he said, and there was no teasing in it. Only something rough and incredulous, like he couldn’t reconcile the thought with the woman he knew.

You swallowed hard, your throat working. “It’s not—God, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” he said immediately, voice low. “It’s a big deal to me.”

You tried to look away, but his hand came up, warm fingers brushing your jaw, turning you back to face him.

“I need you to say it,” he went on, softer now but no less relentless. “You’ve never—?”

Your breath caught, shame burning through you.

“Not…not with anyone,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “I mean—I can, by myself. But no one’s ever…cared enough to figure it out.”

His eyes closed for a moment, lashes dark against his cheek. You could see the way he inhaled, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to calm himself down.

When he opened them again, they were darker than you’d ever seen, the blue swallowed up by something deeper.

“You just faked it?” he asked, voice rough.

You made a helpless gesture with one hand. “It was easier,” you said, miserable. “Less awkward.”

His thumb dragged slowly across your cheekbone, like he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck,” he breathed, almost to himself.

You didn’t know what to do with the way he was looking at you—like you were something precious and breakable and he was furious on your behalf.

So you stared at the floor, heart hammering against your ribs, and waited for him to say something that would let you pretend none of this had happened.

But he didn’t.

He just kept touching your face like he couldn’t stop.

His thumb traced a slow line along your jaw, the gentleness at odds with the hard set of his mouth.

“Look at me,” Bucky said quietly.

You hesitated, staring at the blanket bunched in your fists. But he waited—he always waited—and eventually, you lifted your eyes.

He didn’t soften. He just held your gaze like he was determined to see every part of you you tried to hide.

“You’ve been faking it,” he said, low and certain. “Every time?”

You swallowed, your throat so tight it hurt. “Not…every time.”

His brows pulled together, and you rushed to clarify, your voice a nervous tumble.

“I mean—sometimes it was just easier to pretend. So they’d feel good about themselves. So I didn’t have to explain why it wasn’t working.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling slow through his nose. When he opened them again, the blue had gone almost glassy, like it was barely holding something back.

“And not one of them,” he said, voice ragged, “ever thought maybe it wasn’t your fault.”

You tried to shrug, but it looked more like a flinch. “It’s not that big a deal,” you whispered.

“Stop saying that.” His fingers tightened at your jaw, not enough to hurt but enough to make you feel the strength coiled behind them. “It is a big deal.”

You couldn’t look at him anymore. You dropped your gaze to his mouth instead—huge mistake, because you immediately imagined what it would feel like there.

Your voice was small when you finally spoke again. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

His hand slid back, cupping the side of your neck. His thumb rested in the hollow under your ear, and your pulse leapt against it.

“Because you trust me,” he said simply.

Your chest tightened so painfully you had to suck in a shaky breath just to keep from crying.

You nodded once.

“I do,” you whispered.

His thumb stroked your skin in a slow, calming circle, but the look in his eyes was anything but calm.

“I don’t know how anyone could have you,” he said, voice low and steady, “and not want to learn every way to make you feel good.”

Your heart stopped. Just stopped.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t back down.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, your pulse fluttering against his thumb. Neither of you moved.

Outside, the rain finally tapered to a hush, the last drops sliding down the window glass. But the air inside felt thick enough to drown in.

Bucky’s hand slid down, his palm spreading warm and steady over the side of your throat, like he could anchor you in place just by touching you.

His eyes searched yours, quiet and lethal all at once. You knew that look—like he’d made a decision in his head and nothing was going to shake it.

When he spoke, his voice was so soft it barely carried.

“I wanna change that,” he said.

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

“What?” you whispered, because you’d heard him but your brain refused to believe it.

His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw again, deliberate, almost tender.

“I want to show you,” he said, each word measured and certain. “How it’s supposed to feel.”

The air whooshed out of your lungs.

“Bucky—”

“I’m not asking for anything more than that,” he cut in, voice low. “Not if you don’t want it. But I’m not gonna sit here and pretend it doesn’t make me fucking crazy to hear you talk like you don’t deserve it.”

He leaned in then, just enough that you could feel his breath ghost warm over your cheek. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and unflinching.

“You do,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a rasp. “You deserve to know what it’s like when someone gives a damn.”

Your hands were shaking again, so you curled them tighter in the blanket.

He waited, silent, like he knew you needed the time to process it. Like he’d sit there all night if you needed him to.

And God help you—he looked so sure. So calm. Like he’d already made peace with crossing the line he’d been toeing for years.

You swallowed, but your mouth still felt too dry.

“Are you sure?” you managed, your voice a whisper.

Bucky’s jaw flexed, the muscle ticking in that slow, lethal way that should have terrified you—but only made your whole body ache.

“Yeah,” he said, so soft it was almost a promise. “I’m sure.”

The moment stretched between you, so thick you could barely breathe.

Bucky hadn’t moved. His hand stayed warm against your throat, thumb brushing your skin in a slow, steady rhythm that somehow made it worse—made you feel like you were already his, and you hadn’t even said yes.

Your voice came out rough. “If we do this…”

His eyes never left yours. “Yeah?”

Your throat worked as you tried to find the words. “What if it ruins everything?”

Bucky’s expression didn’t flicker. He just shifted closer, so close you could feel the heat of him soaking through your thin borrowed hoodie, the blanket sliding a little down your arms.

“It won’t,” he said simply.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” His thumb traced the edge of your jaw, gentler now, like he knew exactly how fragile you felt. “Nothing about this—nothing about you—could ever be wrong.”

Your breath shivered out of you.

“And if it’s a mistake?” you whispered.

His jaw flexed again, that slow, deliberate clench that made your pulse stutter.

“Then it’s mine to make,” he rasped, so quietly you felt the words more than heard them.

You tried to look away, but his hand shifted, tilting your face back toward him.

“Hey.” His voice was low, steady. “I’m not gonna pretend I haven’t thought about it. About you.”

Your heart stopped.

“But this isn’t about me,” he went on, eyes searching yours. “It’s about you. You sitting here thinking you’re broken when you’re the furthest damn thing from it.”

Your throat was too tight to answer. You could only stare at him, your whole body strung tight as a bow.

“You tell me to stop, I stop,” he said, each word measured. “You tell me no, it’s no. But if you let me—”

He leaned in, so close his mouth almost brushed your cheek.

“I’ll make sure you never think you’re the problem again.”

The blanket slipped down your arms. Neither of you noticed.

The room felt too small. Too quiet. Your heartbeat was the only thing you could hear, loud and frantic in your ears.

Bucky hadn’t moved. His hand was still cradling your jaw, warm and solid and impossibly careful. Like he was afraid you’d shatter if he held you too tight.

You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. “Bucky…”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, threaded with something that made your stomach clench.

You made yourself look up. Made yourself meet that steady, devastating gaze.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, the words cracking on the way out.

He exhaled slowly, and the tiny crease between his brows eased.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

His thumb traced the line of your cheek, gentler than you thought anyone that strong could be.

“You just have to trust me,” he said, and the way he said it—calm, certain, like it was the easiest thing in the world—made your breath hitch.

And God help you, you did.

All the fear and doubt and exhaustion folded in on themselves, leaving only the quiet ache you’d been trying so hard to pretend you didn’t feel. The one that had been there for longer than you were willing to admit.

Your voice came out so soft you barely recognized it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He didn’t move, didn’t push, didn’t so much as breathe too hard.

“Yeah?” he asked, so low it felt like a secret.

You nodded, the motion small and helpless. “Yeah.”

His eyes closed, and when he opened them again, something in them was raw and unguarded and so full of relief it almost undid you.

“Okay,” he rasped.

He leaned in, not to kiss you—but just to press his forehead to yours, the heat of him sinking straight through your skin.

“I got you,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your mouth. “I promise.”

For a long time, neither of you moved.

His forehead rested against yours, the heat of him sinking through your skin, anchoring you to the moment. You could feel every quiet inhale, every unsteady exhale, like you’d both forgotten how to breathe without each other.

Bucky’s hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking a slow line under your eye. His other arm rested along the back of the couch, but the tension in his shoulders made it feel like he was holding himself perfectly still on purpose—like if he moved even a fraction, he’d lose his grip on the restraint that was barely hanging on.

Your heartbeat thudded so loud you were sure he could hear it. You wondered if his was the same—fast and heavy and aching in the hollow between you.

Neither of you spoke.

Because there weren’t words big enough for it—for the way it felt to sit here in the wreckage of everything you’d pretended you didn’t want.

His breath ghosted over your lips as he exhaled, slow and ragged.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” he murmured finally, his voice low and certain.

Something in your chest clenched so tight it almost hurt.

You swallowed, your voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”

He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, letting you feel every ounce of the tension vibrating through him. Like he needed to give you one last chance to stop this—stop him.

But you didn’t.

Couldn’t.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was already looking at you. And whatever you saw there—want, hope, something softer you didn’t dare name—made your breath catch.

Your hand came up almost without thinking, fingers curling around the back of his neck. His skin was warm and smooth under your palm.

His jaw flexed once, slow and lethal.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded, heart beating out of your chest.

“Yeah.”

His breath hitched when you nodded, the smallest break in his control.

Then, slowly, Bucky lifted his head. His gaze swept over your face like he was memorizing you—your parted lips, your flushed cheeks, the way your hand still trembled against his neck.

His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, so soft it made your stomach twist.

“You tell me to stop,” he murmured, “I stop.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. “I won’t.”

The look he gave you—hungry and unguarded and something close to reverent—made your breath catch.

Then he leaned in.

The first touch of his mouth was almost tentative, a featherlight brush that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He paused there, lips barely grazing yours, like he needed that last second to make sure you were real.

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you felt him exhale, a shaky breath that tasted like relief.

Then he kissed you for real.

Slow at first—careful, almost too careful. But it didn’t stay that way. The moment your hand tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck, a low sound rumbled in his chest, and his mouth moved harder against yours.

Heat flooded through you, fast and overwhelming. Every inch of your skin felt too sensitive, alive to the rough scrape of his stubble, the warm slide of his tongue when you parted your lips for him.

One of his hands slid into your hair, tipping your head back so he could deepen the kiss. The other cupped your jaw, thumb stroking along the hinge as he tilted his mouth over yours again and again.

You didn’t realize you were making noise until he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice low and ragged.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You have no idea…”

He trailed off, shaking his head like he couldn’t find the words.

You swallowed, your own breathing wrecked. “No idea what?”

His gaze met yours, blue eyes dark and heavy-lidded.

“How long I’ve wanted this,” he said hoarsely.

Your heart stuttered, and before you could think better of it, you kissed him again.

The second kiss wasn’t careful at all.

It was hungry—like the dam had finally broken and neither of you could stop it if you tried.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, rough sound from deep in his chest. Bucky’s hands slid down, one bracing at your waist, the other splayed wide between your shoulder blades, holding you close.

His mouth moved over yours with a deliberate, claiming heat that left you dizzy. He kissed you like he’d been thinking about this for years—because maybe he had.

When you pulled back, gasping, your lips felt swollen, your whole body tingling with awareness.

You didn’t let go of him. Couldn’t. Your hand stayed tangled in his hair, your forehead pressed to his.

Bucky’s thumb traced your lower lip, his breathing as wrecked as yours.

“We can’t go back, can we?” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unflinching.

“No,” he said, voice low and certain. “We can’t.”

You swallowed, the truth of it settling into your chest—heavy and inevitable.

“And you’re okay with that?” you asked, your voice so small it almost hurt to hear it.

He huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. Only a raw, aching honesty.

“Baby,” he rasped, thumb brushing your cheekbone, “I’ve been waiting for this longer than I wanna admit.”

Your breath caught, a soft sound that turned into a shaky exhale when he leaned in to kiss you again—slower this time, but no less sure.

And in that moment, you knew—there was no going back.

You didn’t want to.

Your lips were still tingling when he pulled back, just enough to see your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, tracing the heat there like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried.

The quiet between you stretched, weighted and electric.

You swallowed, trying to steady your voice. “Bucky…”

His hand stilled against your skin. “Yeah?”

Your eyes flicked up to his, searching for any hint of doubt—but there was none. Just that steady, lethal certainty that had always made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

“Are you sure?” you whispered.

His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking once before he leaned in, close enough that your noses almost brushed.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, voice low and rough.

Your breath shivered out of you.

“But if you don’t—”

You didn’t let him finish. You lifted your hand to cup his face, your palm sliding over the rough edge of his jaw.

“I do,” you said, barely more than a whisper. “I want this.”

Bucky’s eyes closed, and for a moment, he just breathed—like he needed to feel the shape of those words in the space between you.

When he opened them again, there was something raw in his expression—something that made your chest ache.

“Okay,” he murmured, and it sounded like a promise.

Then he kissed you again, slow and sure and devastating.

And you let yourself kiss him back without thinking about what it meant, without worrying about tomorrow.

His mouth was still on yours when he shifted, the subtle movement of his body so deliberate you felt it all the way down to your toes.

Bucky’s hand slid from your cheek to your hip, his fingers curling around your thigh. He tugged, gentle but firm, coaxing you forward.

You hesitated, just for a heartbeat. Then you let the blanket slip from your shoulders and moved, swinging one leg over his lap.

The moment you settled, your knees bracketing his hips, both of you sucked in a breath.

His hands flexed on your thighs, warm and steady. Like he was reminding himself you were real, that you were really here.

Your heart was a wild, unsteady thing in your chest. But when you looked at him—his hair falling loose around his face, eyes dark and focused on yours—it wasn’t fear that clenched in your belly.

It was want.

Bucky dragged his palms slowly up the outsides of your legs, under the hem of the oversized hoodie. His fingertips traced the bare skin of your thighs, higher, higher, until you felt the heat of his hands at your hips.

He paused there, his thumbs brushing just under the waistband of your panties. Waiting. Giving you one last chance to tell him to stop.

You didn’t.

Instead, you tipped your face down and kissed him, a soft, lingering press of your mouth to his.

That was all it took to break whatever fragile control he’d been holding onto.

His hands slid up, spanning your waist as he kissed you back—slow but hungry, all careful edges dissolving into something hotter, needier.

You gasped when he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. Your hands found his shoulders, bracing yourself against the solid heat of him.

One of his hands traced up your spine, splaying wide between your shoulder blades. The other slipped lower, fingers digging into the curve of your ass, urging you forward until you felt the thick, unmistakable press of him through his jeans.

You broke the kiss on a ragged exhale.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice wrecked.

His eyes opened—dark, blown wide, hungry.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, his thumb stroking your hip. “I’m right here.”

Your breathing was ragged when you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his.

Neither of you spoke.

His hands stayed on your hips, warm and steady, thumbs stroking slow circles against your skin. You felt every quiet tremor in him—like he was holding himself still through sheer force of will.

Bucky drew in a slow breath, then tipped his head back just enough to see your face. His gaze swept over you—your kiss-swollen mouth, the flush spreading down your throat, the way your hands were still bunched in the fabric of his t-shirt.

It wasn’t just heat in his eyes. It was something deeper, something that made your chest ache.

Like he’d been waiting so long to touch you this way that he didn’t quite believe you were really here.

He swallowed, his throat working. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your heart was beating so hard you felt a little lightheaded. “Yeah.”

He searched your face for a long moment, as if he needed to be sure.

“You’d tell me if you weren’t?” he asked, voice rough but gentle.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”

His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking as he dragged his gaze down your body, then back up to your eyes.

“This isn’t something we can undo,” he said quietly. “You know that.”

You nodded again, your pulse tripping over itself. “I know.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady himself.

“Okay,” he murmured. His thumbs stroked another slow circle against your bare skin. “Then we’re gonna do this right.”

Your stomach flipped, heat licking up your spine.

You didn’t know what that meant, not really. But the way he said it made you feel like you were about to come apart in his hands—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

Bucky’s hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, until his thumbs brushed the edge of your ribs under the hoodie. He didn’t push it higher yet—just rested his palms there, feeling the way your breath shuddered.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and unflinching.

“You know what I want?” he asked, his voice low and rough at the edges.

Your throat went tight. “What?”

His jaw flexed, like he was trying to hold something back and failing.

“I want to learn you,” he said simply.

Heat sparked low in your belly, so sharp it almost hurt.

“Learn me?” you echoed, your voice a breathless rasp.

He nodded, his thumbs stroking slow circles over your ribs.

“Every sound you make,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth, “every place you like to be touched.”

Your pulse kicked hard, thudding against the base of your throat.

“I want to know what makes you feel good,” he went on, softer now. “What makes you come so hard you forget every asshole who ever made you feel like you were the problem.”

Your breath stuttered out of you, your hands tightening in his t-shirt.

He looked back up, his blue eyes so dark they were almost black.

“And I’m not in a hurry,” he said, voice low and certain. “I’m gonna take my time.”

The heat pooled between your thighs, liquid and overwhelming.

“Bucky…” you whispered, because you didn’t know what else to say.

His hands slid higher, just a little, the rough drag of his thumbs brushing the swell of your breasts through the thin cotton. He still didn’t push, still didn’t rush.

He just looked at you like he’d never wanted anything this much.

“You okay with that?” he asked, and God, he sounded wrecked.

You swallowed hard, your voice small but sure.

“Yes.”

Your heart was beating so fast it almost hurt.

You tried to steady your breathing, but it was no use—every slow stroke of his thumbs made your body feel lighter, hotter, like you were teetering on the edge of something you didn’t know how to name.

Your hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, pressing against the warm solidity of him as you tried to find your voice.

“I’m…nervous,” you admitted, the word cracking in the middle.

His hands stilled for a moment, thumbs resting just under the swell of your breasts.

“That’s good,” Bucky said quietly.

You blinked, your brows pulling together. “Good?”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“It means you care,” he said, his voice low and certain. “It means this isn’t just…” He trailed off, jaw flexing once before he went on. “It means you want this as much as I do.”

Heat licked up your spine, spreading through your chest in a slow, heavy ache.

“I do,” you whispered.

His eyes softened, though the hunger there didn’t fade.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re not nervous,” he said.

Your breath shivered out of you.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he murmured, leaning in until his mouth brushed your ear, “you won’t be able to think about anything else.”

A small, helpless sound caught in your throat, and his hands flexed on your ribs like he was barely holding himself back.

“You trust me?” he asked, his breath warm against your skin.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His lips grazed your jaw, soft and deliberate.

“Good,” he rasped.

His mouth traced a slow path along your jaw, every warm exhale sending sparks dancing across your skin. His hands slid higher, finally cupping your breasts through the hoodie—just a gentle weight, but it made your breath catch.

“You hear me?” he murmured, voice low and rough.

You swallowed, your throat working. “Yeah.”

His thumbs brushed over your nipples, slow and deliberate, and you felt your whole body tighten in response.

“I’m gonna touch you,” he went on, every word like a promise etched into the quiet. “Until you can’t remember a single one of those assholes.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, your chest, lower.

“Until all you can think about,” he rasped, “is how good it feels to be wanted.”

Your hands fisted in his t-shirt, your pulse a wild stutter.

“Bucky—”

His mouth found the soft spot just below your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’m gonna learn you,” he said, so quietly it felt like a secret. “Every sound. Every way you fall apart.”

A soft, helpless noise slipped out of you, and his hands flexed around you like he was trying to hold you still.

“And when you come,” he murmured, his lips brushing your pulse, “you’re gonna know it was never you.”

Something in your chest cracked wide open.

You tilted your face toward him, your voice breaking on the words.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

His jaw brushed your cheek, rough stubble scraping tender skin as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

And the look there—hot and certain and impossibly gentle—made your heart stop.

“Okay,” he said softly, and for one dizzy moment, you knew exactly what he meant.

Then his hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, warm palms skimming bare skin, and you forgot how to breathe.

His palms dragged higher, heat blooming everywhere they touched. He didn’t rush. Just pushed the hoodie up, inch by inch, until the cool air hit your skin and you shivered.

Bucky paused, his eyes sweeping over you—your bare thighs straddling his lap, the flush spreading down your chest, the way you were already breathing like you’d run a mile.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Your heart kicked hard.

He didn’t give you time to argue with him, to shrink away from the way he was looking at you like he’d never seen anything he wanted more.

Instead, he caught the hem of the hoodie in both hands and tugged it higher. You lifted your arms without thinking, letting him pull it over your head.

The second you were bare to him, his breath stuttered out on a quiet, wrecked sound.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his hands settling at your hips again. “You—God, baby.”

Heat pooled low in your belly, sharp and insistent.

Your voice was unsteady. “You can… You can touch me.”

His gaze flicked up to yours, blue eyes dark and glassy.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, your own breath shivering. “Yeah.”

Slowly, carefully, he guided you backward. One big hand braced between your shoulder blades as he shifted you off his lap, laying you out along the length of the couch.

The cushions dipped under his weight as he followed you down, his knees pressing to the floor so he could look at you from above.

His palms smoothed over your thighs, thumbs tracing the delicate skin where it met your hips. You couldn’t stop the small sound that slipped out of you, a soft exhale that made his jaw clench.

“You tell me if you want to stop,” he said again, voice rough.

“I won’t,” you whispered, your cheeks hot. “I want this.”

A low, almost relieved sound rumbled in his chest.

“Yeah,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “Me too.”

His hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, hooking his thumbs there. He looked up, searching your face.

“Can I?”

Your throat was too tight to speak, so you just nodded.

He dragged them down slow, careful not to rush you. When he finally pulled them free, he let them drop to the floor without looking away.

For one breathless moment, he just took you in, his gaze sweeping over every inch of bare skin.

His hands smoothed up your thighs, thumbs pressing gently outward. And as he lowered himself between them, your heart stopped—and then started again, faster than it ever had before.

His hands moved higher, his thumbs skimming the sensitive skin where your hips met your belly. Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to your thigh, a slow, deliberate kiss that made your breath catch.

“Tell me what feels good,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin.

You couldn’t answer—could barely think—so you just let out a soft, shaky exhale.

He kissed you again, higher this time, and again, every press of his mouth anchoring you to the moment. When he reached the spot where your thigh met your center, he paused, inhaling a slow, steady breath.

“Christ,” he rasped, and you felt the heat of it all the way through you.

His hands framed you, thumbs stroking the delicate crease as he bent lower. His nose brushed you, and the soft, helpless noise that slipped out of you made his jaw flex.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me hear you.”

One of his thumbs trailed lower, tracing a careful line between your folds, and your hips lifted before you could stop yourself.

“Good,” he breathed, his voice rough. “Just like that.”

His touch was light—exploring, learning, testing. He circled you slowly, then pressed just a little firmer, and the quiet sound that broke in your throat made his gaze snap up to yours.

“There?” he asked, his thumb stroking again.

Your hand flew to your mouth, but he caught your wrist before you could hide.

“Don’t,” he said softly, guiding your hand to rest on your belly instead. “I wanna hear every sound you make.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but you nodded, your breath shaking.

He dragged his thumb in another slow circle, watching your face. And when your eyes fluttered closed, when your hips tipped up to chase more, he made a low, wrecked sound that set your whole body alight.

“Yeah,” he rasped, leaning in to kiss your thigh again. “I’m gonna learn everything.”

Your breath was coming in soft, shaky gasps by the time his thumb drew another slow circle over your clit. Every nerve in your body felt raw, like you were being rewired from the inside out.

Bucky watched you for one more heartbeat—like he needed to see exactly how undone you already were. Then he slid his hands under your thighs, spreading you a little wider.

“Keep looking at me,” he said, voice dark and certain.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the second your gaze met his—heavy-lidded, hungry—you felt something tighten low in your belly.

“Good,” he rasped.

Then he lowered his mouth to you.

The first slow swipe of his tongue made your hips jolt. A soft, broken sound slipped out of you, and his hands flexed where they were bracing your thighs.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your skin, the vibration making you shiver. “Let me hear you.”

His tongue traced you again, a little firmer this time. He didn’t rush, didn’t tease for the sake of teasing. He tasted you like he’d been starving for it.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his mouth wet against you. “You taste so good.”

Heat surged under your skin, your hands scrabbling for something to hold on to. He caught one of them, threading his fingers through yours and pressing your joined hands to your thigh, grounding you.

“Bucky,” you gasped, your voice ragged.

“Right here,” he said, his lips brushing your clit. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Then he closed his mouth over you and sucked—slow and deliberate.

Your back arched, a soft cry tearing out of your throat before you could stop it. His grip on your hand tightened, like he needed the anchor as much as you did.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his breath hot against you. “God, you sound so fucking pretty.”

He flicked his tongue in a slow, steady rhythm, and you felt your legs start to tremble. Every thought you’d ever had about this—about him—disintegrated into heat and wanting.

Your free hand tangled in his hair, your hips lifting to chase the pressure. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he groaned low in his throat and pressed in harder, like he couldn’t get enough.

“Just like that,” he rasped, the words muffled against you. “Let me taste you, baby.”

And you did—helpless, aching, your whole body strung tight as a bow.

You couldn’t think anymore.

Every slow drag of his tongue, every soft scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs, made your vision blur at the edges.

Bucky’s hand was still laced with yours, his thumb stroking soothing circles over your knuckles even as he pulled another soft, helpless moan from your lips.

You felt the heat coil tighter and tighter in your belly, your breath catching every time he circled your clit just a little harder.

Your hips lifted, chasing the friction, and he let you—didn’t hold you down, didn’t tell you to be still. He just hummed against you, like he liked that you couldn’t keep quiet.

“Yeah,” he rasped between slow licks. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”

Your free hand trembled as you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging without meaning to. He groaned low in his throat, and the vibration sent a shockwave through you so sharp you cried out.

“Bucky—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing you softly before he dragged his tongue in another devastating circle. “Gonna take care of you.”

The pressure built and built, a tight, unbearable ache that made your thighs start to tremble.

You were right there—right on the cusp—and you knew he could feel it in the way your hips kept lifting, in the way your breath broke every time he sucked you into his mouth.

But then he slowed.

His tongue eased into a soft, teasing pattern, not quite enough, and you let out a helpless whimper.

“Please,” you gasped, your voice wrecked. “Don’t stop—”

His mouth curved against you in something that might have been a smile.

“I’m not stopping,” he rasped. “I’m learning.”

And he did it again—building you up with slow, relentless pressure, then easing off just when you were about to tip over.

“Bucky,” you begged, your voice breaking on his name.

His hand squeezed yours, and he kissed you once, slow and possessive.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, sounding almost wrecked himself. “I know. You’re so close.”

You nodded frantically, your hips moving without your permission.

“Then let me,” he whispered, and this time when he sucked you into his mouth, he didn’t hold anything back.

The second he stopped holding back, your body went taut.

His mouth sealed over you with a slow, devastating hunger, his tongue pressing exactly where you needed it most.

One of his hands slid from your thigh to cup you more firmly, his thumb spreading you open as he sucked you into the heat of his mouth. The other stayed locked with yours, grounding you when you felt like you were about to come apart completely.

“That’s it,” he rasped between licks, his voice dark and certain. “Let me feel you.”

Your breath caught, your whole body shaking.

“I—oh, God—”

“Don’t you dare hold back,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin. “I want all of it.”

You felt the wave building again, hotter and heavier than before. His mouth never stopped moving, and when he slipped two fingers inside you—slow and careful—your hips jerked off the couch with a strangled cry.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, and he gave you exactly what you needed—his mouth relentless, his thumb circling, his voice a low, steady growl of praise.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Come for me. Let me see you.”

Your vision went white.

Heat detonated behind your ribs, the pleasure cresting so high you couldn’t breathe. You felt yourself clench around him, heard yourself sob his name, and then you were falling—hard and helpless and absolutely undone.

His mouth never left you. He kissed you through it, his tongue softening as he eased you down, his hand steady and patient as you shook apart beneath him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, brushing his lips over the inside of your thigh. “That’s it. Breathe.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he kissed the salt from your skin.

“I’ve got you,” he said again, his voice low and gentle. “I’ve got you.”

Your heartbeat was still thundering in your ears when the last wave of pleasure finally eased.

You tried to catch your breath, but every time you inhaled, your whole body shivered, like you hadn’t quite found your way back into yourself yet.

Bucky didn’t move away.

He stayed between your thighs, one big hand smoothing up your side in slow, reassuring sweeps. His mouth pressed gentle kisses to the sensitive skin just above your knee, then higher, warm and unhurried.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice raw but so tender it made your chest ache.

You nodded, your eyes fluttering open to find him watching you—his pupils blown wide, lips swollen, hair falling around his face.

“I’m…God,” you managed, your voice hoarse. “Yeah.”

His mouth curved in the barest smile as he leaned in to press another kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“That’s not a face anyone ever faked,” he said, and the quiet, almost awed pride in his voice made something warm spread through your chest.

A soft, embarrassed laugh bubbled up, but it broke when he kissed you again, higher this time, right at the crease of your hip.

“You did so good for me,” he murmured, and there was nothing teasing in it. Just a quiet certainty that made your eyes sting all over again.

Your hand lifted to brush his hair back from his cheek, your fingers trembling.

“Bucky,” you whispered, because you didn’t know what else to say.

His eyes softened, the heat there still simmering but gentled by something deeper.

“Perfect,” he said simply, pressing one more kiss just above where you were still achingly sensitive. “You’re fucking perfect.”

You felt the truth of it settle under your skin, warm and solid and real in a way nothing else ever had.

And when he finally eased back, just enough to see your face, you knew there was no going back.

Your breathing had barely started to slow when you felt the couch shift beneath you.

Bucky’s hands slid up your sides—warm, patient, steady. He pressed one last kiss to your thigh before he rose to his knees, leaning over you.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice low and sure.

Your heart kicked hard.

He cupped your hips in both hands and helped you sit, moving slow so you wouldn’t feel rushed. The hoodie you’d abandoned earlier lay crumpled on the floor, leaving you bare to his gaze.

Bucky’s eyes swept over you—every flushed inch, every lingering tremor—and he let out a quiet, ragged exhale.

“You okay?” he asked, his thumb stroking your hip.

You nodded, your voice still shaky. “Yeah.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything more. Just shifted back and pulled you gently with him until he was sitting against the cushions, his legs spread wide.

You hovered there, your knees bracketing his thighs, suddenly aware of how exposed you were. But his hands stayed steady, guiding you carefully forward until you were straddling his lap.

Your breath caught when you settled, the hard, unmistakable pressure of him thick and hot against you even through his jeans.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed, a low groan slipping out of his chest.

“Jesus,” he rasped, his hands tightening on your hips. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. Your hands came up to brace on his shoulders, your palms sliding over warm, solid muscle.

“Show me,” you whispered, your voice smaller than you meant.

His eyes opened—dark, wanting, and so soft it made your chest ache.

“I’m gonna,” he promised, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into your skin.

Then he leaned in and kissed you—slow, deep, thorough—until your head was spinning all over again.

His mouth was still on yours when his hands started to move—slow, deliberate paths down your back, then lower, until he was cupping the curve of your ass in both palms.

He broke the kiss just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice a low, wrecked rasp.

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming against your throat. “Yeah.”

One hand slipped between your bodies, pressing you down just a little, and the thick, hard line of him settled right where you were still sensitive, heat blooming across your skin.

Your breath stuttered out, a quiet gasp you couldn’t bite back.

“Good,” he said, and you felt his mouth curve against your cheek. “I want you to feel all of it.”

He guided your hips in a slow, rolling circle. The pressure made you shiver—hot and almost too much after how he’d touched you before.

“Bucky,” you whispered, and he groaned low in his chest.

“Just like that,” he breathed. “God, you’re perfect.”

He tilted his hips up, meeting you halfway, and the friction sent another helpless sound spilling out of you.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his hands steady as he rocked you against him again. “Don’t hold back.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your hips moving without your permission, chasing every slow drag of heat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his jaw flexing. “Look at you.”

Your head tipped back, a soft moan breaking in your throat. His mouth found your neck, lips dragging along the delicate skin as he guided you through another slow grind.

“You feel how hard I am for you?” he asked, voice rough and dark.

Your whole body went tight. “Yes—”

His teeth scraped lightly at your pulse, and you felt his breath catch.

“Been thinking about this,” he admitted, his voice ragged. “Thinking about you. For so fucking long.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—only move the way he was guiding you, your thighs trembling around his hips.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing the hollow of your throat. “Let me see how good it feels.”

And God help you—you let him.

Your breathing was ragged, your whole body strung tight as a bow, when Bucky finally eased your hips still.

He kissed you—slow, deep, the kind of kiss that left no space for doubt—and then leaned back just enough to look you over.

His gaze dragged from your flushed cheeks to your parted lips to the place where you were wet and aching against him.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, “you gotta let me make sure you’re ready.”

Your heart kicked hard. “I—I am—”

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw.

“I know,” he said gently. “But I want you shaking for me.”

A quiet, broken sound slipped out of you.

He guided you up, just enough that he could reach between you. You felt him unfasten his jeans, the rasp of the zipper impossibly loud in the hush.

When he freed himself, your breath caught—thick and flushed, the sight of him somehow making everything inside you clench.

His jaw flexed when he saw your eyes widen, and he let out a low, almost pained groan.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, wrapping one big hand around himself. “You’re gonna take all of me.”

Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his hips.

He held himself there, just brushing against you, but didn’t push closer yet. Instead, his free hand slid down, his fingers gliding through your slick heat.

You choked on a gasp, your hips tilting without meaning to.

“That’s it,” he breathed, his thumb finding your clit. “So fucking ready for me.”

He circled you slow, teasing, until your head tipped back and a soft moan broke in your throat.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice dark and steady. “That’s all you.”

“Please,” you whispered, not even sure what you were begging for.

His mouth curved in a slow, devastating smile as he pressed one thick finger inside you, the stretch making your breath catch.

“You gonna let me ruin you a little?” he rasped. “Make you forget every man who didn’t deserve you?”

Your answer was a helpless sob, your hips moving to take him deeper.

“Yeah,” he growled, kissing the hollow of your throat. “That’s my girl.”

Your breath was coming in soft, broken gasps as he worked you open with slow, careful strokes of his fingers.

Every time he pressed deeper, your hips tilted helplessly, chasing the heat that was building faster than you could stand.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice wrecked.

He kissed you then—hard and sure—before he eased his hand away.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and impossibly gentle.

You nodded, your pulse a wild flutter. “Yes. Please.”

His jaw flexed, something raw and possessive flickering behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Okay.”

He shifted under you, guiding the thick head of his cock to your entrance. You felt the heat of him, the way he was already trembling as he held himself there.

His hand lifted to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“Look at me,” he rasped.

You did—and the way he was watching you made your chest ache.

“Gonna go slow,” he murmured. “Wanna feel every inch of you.”

Then he started to press in.

Your breath punched out in a quiet, wrecked sound. The stretch was deeper, fuller, than anything before—more than your fingers, more than any rushed, careless night.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his other hand gripping your hip. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Your hands slid up his chest, grasping for something to hold on to.

He stopped halfway, breathing hard, like he needed the pause as much as you did.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yeah,” you gasped. “More—please—”

He let out a low, broken laugh, kissing you again.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your mouth.

Then he pushed in deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside you.

Your head fell forward to rest on his shoulder, your body shaking.

“Baby,” he rasped, his voice dark and ragged, “you feel like fucking heaven.”

A soft, choked noise slipped out of you, and he kissed your temple, his hand sliding up your spine.

“Breathe for me,” he murmured. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—your forehead pressed to his shoulder, your whole body trembling around the thick, perfect stretch of him.

Bucky’s hand rubbed slow, soothing circles between your shoulder blades, like he could feel every ragged breath you couldn’t quite catch.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice low and wrecked. “Look at me.”

You lifted your head, and the moment your eyes met his—dark, soft, so full of something you couldn’t name—you felt the last of your fear dissolve.

“You okay?” he asked again, thumb brushing your jaw.

“Yeah,” you breathed, and God, it was the truth.

His hand slid to your hip.

“Then let me show you,” he rasped. “Let me show you how good this can be.”

He guided your hips in a slow circle, and the pressure—deep and overwhelming—made your breath catch on a soft, helpless moan.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Just feel it.”

You couldn’t think anymore. Couldn’t remember why you’d ever let anyone else touch you when this—this—was what it could feel like.

He rolled your hips again, slow and deliberate, and you felt him throb inside you.

“Baby,” he groaned, his voice breaking. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You pressed your mouth to his, gasping into the kiss as he rocked you down again, the friction sending heat spiraling low in your belly.

“Bucky—”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he rasped, kissing you breathless. “Say it.”

Your hands slid up to cradle his face, your body shaking as the pressure built and built.

“Please—don’t stop—”

“Not gonna,” he whispered, his voice a dark promise. “Gonna make you come all over me. Want you to feel it every time you close your eyes.”

His hand guided your hips faster, and you felt the wave rising—hot and unstoppable.

“Look at me,” he said, and when you did, there was nothing but want and devotion in his eyes.

“Bucky,” you gasped, your whole body tensing. “I—I—”

“Yeah,” he groaned, his thumb brushing your clit. “What do you need, baby?”

“I love you,” you whispered, the words tumbling out broken and true.

His jaw flexed, and for a heartbeat, he just held you still, his eyes locked on yours.

“Jesus,” he rasped, his voice shaking. “I love you too.”

Then he kissed you, and you fell apart—your body clenching around him as you came with a soft, wrecked cry.

His hand held you close, his mouth never leaving yours, as he murmured against your lips—

“That’s it, sweetheart. My perfect girl. All mine.”

For a long time, neither of you spoke.

You were still straddling his lap, your cheek pressed to the warm, solid line of his shoulder. His heartbeat thudded under your palm, slow but so steady, like he was anchoring you to the world.

Bucky’s hand stroked up and down your spine in unhurried passes. Each sweep of his palm made your body relax a little more, the last shivers easing out of your muscles.

He didn’t pull out. Didn’t even try. He stayed buried inside you, warm and thick, and somehow it didn’t feel overwhelming—it felt right.

You shifted, just enough to look up at him. His eyes were already on you, dark and soft in the low light.

“Hi,” you whispered, because it was the only word that made sense.

His mouth curved in a tired, crooked smile. “Hi.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. “You okay?”

His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Better than I’ve been in…fuck, I don’t know how long,” he murmured.

Something in your chest went warm and aching.

You laid your hand over his heart, feeling it beat strong against your palm.

“Me too,” you said softly.

His breath caught, and for a moment, he just looked at you—like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Then he bent his head, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Stay here with me,” he whispered against your skin.

You closed your eyes. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His thumb stroked your cheek, slow and steady, as if he needed to reassure himself you were really here.

Your heart was still thudding hard, every quiet second stretching between you like something too big to look at directly.

When you finally spoke, your voice felt too small for everything in your chest.

“Bucky?”

His gaze lifted to yours—dark, tired, so unguarded it made your breath catch.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, the words tangling behind your teeth. But you forced them out, needing him to hear it.

“Did you…mean it?” you whispered. “When you said…you love me?”

His jaw flexed, and he closed his eyes like he needed a second to steady himself.

When he opened them again, there was nothing hidden in them—just the soft, raw ache you’d felt from the start.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice breaking on the word. “I meant it.”

Your throat went tight.

“How long?” you asked, even though you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

A rough laugh slipped out of him, low and unsteady.

“Longer than I should admit,” he said, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “Long enough I tried to bury it. Pretend it’d go away.”

Your chest twisted, equal parts heartbreak and something that felt suspiciously like relief.

“And it didn’t,” you whispered.

His thumb traced your lower lip, slow and reverent.

“It never even faded,” he said.

Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t look away.

You whispered, the words tumbling out before you could lose your nerve. “I think…I always have.”

He closed his eyes again, exhaling like you’d lifted something heavy off his chest.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you, soft and lingering. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

The kiss was slow—less like he was trying to start something and more like he was trying to prove you were real.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. Just angled his head so he could press his mouth to the corner of your jaw, then lower, tracing a warm line down your throat.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His hands smoothed up your sides, careful, tender, like he didn’t quite trust that you wouldn’t disappear.

“Meant every word,” he murmured against your skin.

He kissed the hollow of your collarbone.

“Every single one,” he added, and there was something raw in his voice—something that made your chest ache.

His lips found the delicate spot beneath your ear, and your breath caught.

“Love you so damn much,” he rasped, and you felt the quiet shiver that went through him as he said it.

Your fingers slid into his hair, holding him close.

“I love you,” you whispered again, because you needed him to hear it as many times as it took to believe.

He kissed your shoulder, the curve of your neck, the underside of your jaw—like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, and you could hear the unsteady edge in his voice. “You always have been.”

Your eyes burned, but you didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch from the way he was laying every part of himself bare.

“Bucky,” you breathed, and his gaze lifted to yours—dark and open and so impossibly gentle it almost broke you.

He kissed you again, slow and sure, and you felt the truth of it in every careful touch.

When he finally pulled back, you felt the cold without his mouth on your skin.

Your hand drifted to his cheek, thumb tracing the faint stubble there. The softness in his eyes made your throat go tight.

“What happens now?” you whispered.

His brows drew together, like he hadn’t considered that you might still be afraid.

“What do you mean?”

Your gaze dropped to his chest, too many old doubts crowding your lungs.

“This…us,” you said softly. “What if it ruins everything?”

Bucky’s thumb brushed your chin, coaxing your eyes back to his.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and steady, “look at me.”

You did—and the quiet certainty there made your heart stutter.

“It’s already changed everything,” he said. “But not in a bad way.”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

He cupped your cheek in his big palm, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth like he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m not gonna pretend it’ll be simple,” he went on, softer now. “But I’d rather spend every day figuring this out with you than go back to pretending I didn’t love you.”

Something inside you cracked open, warm and aching.

“You mean that?” you asked, your voice small.

His gaze never wavered.

“Yeah,” he said, and there was no hesitation in it at all. “I mean every word.”

Your throat worked around a tight, shaky breath.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered.

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours.

“You’re not going to,” he said, his voice low and certain. “Not ever.”

Eventually, the quiet between you shifted. Not because either of you wanted to move, but because your limbs were starting to tremble with exhaustion.

Bucky kissed you once more—slow and lingering—before easing you carefully from his lap.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me clean you up.”

Your face went hot, but he didn’t tease, didn’t look away. Just helped you stand, his hands steady on your hips as he tucked himself back into his boxers.

You wobbled a little, your thighs still weak. Without a word, he bent and lifted you into his arms, carrying you down the hall.

The bathroom light was soft and golden. He set you on the counter, his palm warm on your knee as he ran water over a clean cloth.

You watched him, your chest tight with something you couldn’t name.

When he turned back, he paused—like he felt it too.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I just…I can’t believe this is real.”

He smiled, tired and so gentle it made your heart ache

“It’s real,” he said. “All of it.”

He cleaned you carefully, never rushing, never letting his touch feel anything but tender. When he was done, he pressed a kiss to your knee before lifting you into his arms again.

“Bed,” he murmured, and you nodded, too wrung out to argue.

He set you down in the middle of his big, rumpled sheets and crawled in beside you. The second you curled into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just breathed together, warm and quiet.

Then, so softly he almost didn’t hear it, you whispered—

“I wish…”

He tilted his head to look down at you, his thumb brushing your bare arm.

“Wish what, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, your chest tight.

“I wish no one else had ever touched me,” you admitted, voice small and raw. “I wish…it had only ever been you.”

His breath caught, and for a moment he didn’t speak.

Then he bent to kiss your hair, his hand tightening on your side.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice low and certain. “You’re mine now.”

You closed your eyes as his lips brushed your temple, your heart finally settling into something steady.

Looking at him outside of the station, you were about ready to kill him yourself. Your eyes burned with tears and if looks could kill, he’d be dust. It took everything not to slug him right then and there for daring to think that he could throw his life away like that, for a town that hated him. 

How could you? Your look said. 

I’m sorry. Came the silent reply as he dared to take a step closer. When you didn’t step back, his arms wrapped around you tightly. 

The two of you held each other for a long moment, and each passing second your anger dissolved as the emotions you’d been ignoring and repressing over the past few days started to surface. You couldn’t do this here. You couldn’t allow yourself to process this outside of the police station, not when the two of you were covered in sweat and blood. 

His hand gripped yours tightly, as if you were the last lifeline he had in this world. There was so much more that needed to be done. He had to tell his uncle he was alive, you had to check on Max and the others, Eddie probably needed some sort of lawyer. You had to see Steve and Robin and see what happened with Vecna while the two of you were in holding. 

But it was late, nearly midnight and neither of you had a walkie talkie anymore and the weight of what the two of you had been through was starting to catch up. 

Your apartment was small, cozy even. Eddie walked in with you, having followed you blindly back home. You couldn’t let him go, even when you dropped his hand to get you both some water from the kitchen you were constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure that he was still there, that he was still real. 

The whole time, he was looking at you, too. 

The two of you sat on your bed, hands clasped together tightly as you both tried to figure out what to say or do. You’d won, Vecna was dead and the gates were closed. You were alive, Eddie was alive and his name was cleared. If this was Eddie’s campaign, you two would be heroes, celebrating and drinking and would be standing tall and proud. 

Instead, the two of you were holding hands on your bed. Staring down at the floor as you both tried to sort through the horrors you’d seen in the past four days. Your eyes closed, and you saw everything; the news of Eddie being suspected of murder, the bats attacking, the upside down, Eddie’s back as he ran away-

A tear slid down your cheek and you gripped his hand harder, and in response he squeezed back. You took a deep, slow breath-

“We... stink.” You weren’t sure you meant to say that out loud but it broke the silence between the two of you. Eddie was silent for a few seconds before letting out a breath that almost counted for a laugh.

“Yeah... yeah we probably do. I haven’t showered in... shit. I don’t want to think about it.” He said. 

“We should shower.” You said, not meaning anything by it. 

“We should.” 

The two of you were quiet for another few minutes, neither of you moving. Having Eddie out of your site, even though you knew he’d be in a room that he wouldn’t be able to disappear in, made your stomach twist unpleasantly. 

But he needed a shower, he fucking deserved to hog all the hot water he wanted after what he’d been through. So you stood up, still holding his hand. “I’ll... show you how the shower works.” 

He followed you wordlessly to the bathroom, and you rummaged through your cabinet and pulled out a spare toothbrush for him. Eddie grabbed it and the two of you made your way over to the sink, brushing your teeth as the first step to feeling like a human again. 

“The left one is the hot water.” you said, turning the shower on for him. “And this button makes it a shower and not a bath.” 

He was staring at you, and you had the feeling that what you were saying was the least important thing going through his mind right now. You didn’t blame him. 

“There’s clean towels right there.” you pointed to the towels on the hooks by the sink. 

The water ran, and it was already starting to get a bit foggy in the bathroom. You turned to look at Eddie, who was still staring at you. His mouth partially opened as if he wanted to say something but for once lacking the words. 

“Take all the time you need.” you said, and started towards the door. His hand grabbed yours, stopping you from moving forward. 

“I...” Eddie said, his large doe eyes were looking at yours with a million different emotions. He didn’t want you to go. You didn’t want to leave. 

There had been an underlying tension between the two of you through this whole week. From the finale of his campaign with Hellfire to you saving his life there was something there. You would have always easily admitted that you found Eddie attractive but had never let yourself move past that. 

The moment that he’d disappeared, you felt like your world had blacked out, only returning to  your senses when he’d had you pinned against the wall of Reefer Rick’s boathouse with a broken beer bottle against your throat. You’ll never forget the fear in his eyes, like a wild animal cornered as the glass poked at your neck as his gaze darted between you and the others. 

What a terrible time to realize that you might be in love with Eddie Munson. 

You had been swallowing your emotions all week, focusing on the task at hand. Dustin brought Eddie junk food, you made sure there was something of substance in the grocery run. At least something that he could heat up so he wasn’t surviving on pure sugar. When the others were busy trying to piece together Vecna, you’d kept your own walkie close, updating him every step of the way. 

You don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up to Reefer Ricks as the basketball team seared for Eddie. You’d given him just enough time to escape without suspicion, and as thanks you had been witness to the gruesome murder of Patrick in the water of Rick’s boathouse. 

The memory was pushed down as far as you could, and you were brought back to reality by Eddie taking a hesitant step closer. You had never realized how badly you needed him in your life, the freak who’d given you a place to feel safe in a town where a toe outside of normalcy was seen as a crime. 

You needed him, and by the look in his eyes, he needed you, too. 

There wasn’t anything to say, words wouldn’t do anything in a time where actions meant everything. So you squeezed his hand and pulled it away, reaching up to his shoulders to start pushing off both his battle jacket and leather jacket. The heavy garments fell to the floor and he pushed them away with his foot to a corner. You reached up and pulled off his bandana, freeing his hair and tossing it as well. 

Eddie kneeled down and unlaced his shoes, as well as yours. Your shoes and socks were both discarded as he stood back up. You took his hand again, removing each of his rings carefully followed by his bracelet and watch and setting them on the counter. There was blood in the mouth of the pig ring that made your stomach turn and you looked back at Eddie instead. 

His Hellfire shirt was stained with blood and sweat and god knows what else, and he discarded it quickly. Small cuts and bruises littered his body, and you looked over each visible wound. Distress filled you, and you swallowed hard, trying not to think about the bats attacking and biting him just hours before. You’d been so strong up until now for him, and you’d be strong again until you could finally be alone. 

You weren’t expecting him to cup your jaw and tilt your head up to look at him. His brown eyes looked straight into your own and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes slid close, one of his hands moving to the back of your neck. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the slightly scratchy callouses of his fingertips, the way his hand would squeeze slightly on reflex reminding you that he was here and safe. 

Safe. 

That thought alone nearly broke you as it passed through your mind. Eddie was safe, and he wasn’t dead and he wasn’t going to jail for murder. He was alive and cleared and free. 

You let out a choked sob and tried again to push down everything you were feeling but his hand squeezed tighter and his other hand wrapped around your middle and pulled you close. You let out a shuddering sob against his chest, holding his arm for dear life as you tried to calm yourself. 

It’s... really hard to cry with the scent of blood and sweat and boy filling your nose and shocking your senses. 

You met his eyes as you pulled away, but his hands remained firm on you, keeping you grounded. Eddie’s eyes were red and bloodshot, both of you were exhausted. 

Just hold it together. You said to yourself as you pulled your shirt off over your head, and fought with the button on your jeans. Eddie reached down to help you, his thumbs brushing over the bruise on your hand you’d earned from punching a demobat. You stepped out of your pants and reached for his, dropping the bullet belt on the ground which echoed with an alarming clang. 

“Jesus.” Eddie muttered. 

“Why did Erica even grab that?” you asked, as you both stared at it. “Those bullets don’t even work with Nancy’s gun.” 

It was a question without an answer, one of thousands from this week. 

You went back to his pants, pulling on the belt and.. Well that didn’t work. There was a handcuff around his belt that you tugged on. You’d noticed it before a few times, and had always wanted to question this particular fashion choice. But you never did, not wanting him to know that you had ever glanced at his crotch, no matter how innocent the circumstances. 

“Here, it’s uh... a little fiddly.” Eddie said, moving your hands away as he jiggled the cuff and it opened with a metallic click. You reached out again, removing the offending item and hesitated for a moment as your thumb and forefinger held onto his zipper. 

You looked up at him. Are you sure? He nodded and you pulled down his pants, leaving you both in your underwear.

A gentle push on your shoulder had you turning around as he unclasped your bra, letting it join the rest of the discarded clothes before you slid your fingers into your underwear and pulled them down before you lost the nerve. 

You could hear Eddie let out a shuddering breath and when you turned around there was a red flush underneath the layer of dirt on his face. But he didn’t look down at you, not yet, only focusing on your eyes as he also pulled down his boxers.

Neither of you made a move, only staring up at one another for a long time as the water ran. You took in every detail of his face, as if this was the first and last time you’d seen him. His long hair was a greasy mess, his fringe plastered to his forehead and covered in sweat. Dirt and blood speckled his face and there was a cut on his cheek. 

How were his eyes so impossibly round and expressive? You had no idea how he could wear every emotion on his face and yet still not have a clue what he was thinking. You two stood naked in the bathroom, something that would have been laughable to imagine just a few weeks ago, but now it was the least crazy thing that had happened to you in even twelve hours. 

Eddie made the first move, carefully placing his hand on your lower back and pushing you towards the shower. You stepped in, Eddie right behind you as the hot water hit your skin. You let out a hiss as it hit a cut on your shoulder, but other than that it felt... fucking amazing. 

You reached out of the shower to the sink to grab the antibacterial soap that Eddie had left at your place months before after getting the black widow on his chest done. Your mind flashed to him leaning against the counter with his shirt off as you had carefully cleaned the fresh ink. He’d been making a fuss about how it burned and you had scolded him for going to a shady scratcher’s basement and that he was lucky that he didn’t get an infection. 

Had that only been a few months ago? 

Now his tattoo was healed, but there were new wounds to tend to, new permanent fixtures on his body that you wish were just from an illegal tattoo gun. You grabbed a clean washcloth and finally looked over his body. 

It wasn’t like it was your first time seeing a man naked, and you’d seen Eddie shirtless plenty of times before. There was no denying this was different though, and your eyes wandered down between his legs for just a moment, curiosity getting the better of you in the moment because it was better than letting your mind stay trapped in the Upside Down. 

He wasn’t hard. You didn’t blame him, you doubted you could get aroused in this state. You were both tired and gross. You pulled your focus away from his crotch and back to the washcloth, lathering it up and began to wash his shoulders and neck first. 

Eddie’s hands made their way to your hips, unable to stop himself from touching you. Touching you meant that you both were real. 

He let out a small noise in the back of his throat as you began to gently wash away the gime on his neck and shoulders. Dirt and sweat flowed down each of your bodies from the water stream, and you focused as best you could on cleaning each of the cuts on his body, even if he let out grunts of discomfort. 

Your hands started washing lower, running the cloth against his chest and the black widow you’d cleaned a dozen times for him before. Eddie hissed as the cloth brushed over his hard nipples and you couldn’t tell if it was because it felt good or didn’t. You moved lower, washing his stomach and his hands held your hips tighter. It was becoming a game of chicken to see how far down you’d go. 

You were staring at his dick as your hands hovered at his hip bones. It’s not like you could help it, well, that was a lie, you probably could. But it had twitched just slightly, and your mind had raced with a thousand dirty thoughts. 

Not the time. You scolded yourself as you tried to figure out how to proceed. 

Sensing your hesitation, Eddie reached behind you for another washcloth and turned you around. 

“It.. might be better if I do this part.” he said in your ear and your skin erupted in goosebumps. “Between the lake water and the sweat and everything, yeah. Just, give me a second to do that part myself.”

Jesus Christ, he was talking about washing his ass and your body had still reacted. What the fuck was wrong with you? Well other than falling in love with your friend and Dungeon Master, nearly losing him to monsters, nearly losing him again to the justice system-

Something soft rubbed your back and the tension you’d been holding suddenly evaporated. While you were distracted, Eddie had finished his own business and had grabbed your loofah. He was washing your back in slow circles, getting the dirt off of you as well.

You let out a quiet noise and his hand froze for just a moment before resuming. Maybe in another timeline you would have been embarrassed about the noise you made, but not this time. Not when you were touch starved from him, not when he was naked and touching you, not when you two felt impossibly close and yet still so fucking far apart. It was a balancing act, a dance that neither of you knew the music to. Each movement was careful, hesitant, as if one wrong move might scare the other away. 

There will be no more retreating from Eddie, the Banished. Did that extend to you? With the way his fingers slid down your spine you were assuming so. One hand was firmly on your shoulder to keep you in place (as if you were ever going to move away) while the other ran your loofah over your sides. 

He turned you around, endlessly deep brown eyes meeting yours while his hand holding the loofa twitched just slightly. It was his turn to look down at your body fully, eyes raking down over your chest, your hips, and your legs. You saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, looking back up at your eyes. 

When you gave him a nod, Eddie reached out again, working the loofah over your neck and shoulders. You tilted your head back, letting him get as much grime off you as possible before his hand moved lower, running over your breasts carefully. Eddie’s eyes darted between your chest and your face for any sign that this was too much, that he’d gone too far. But you only leaned closed to him, resting your hands on his forearms as he washed you. His hands drifted lower, not lingering too much on your breasts when getting clean was more important than the hormones that were starting to stir in both of you. 

Just like you had, his hands stopped at your hips, just above your mound. You turned him around the same way he had for you, deciding that you could also wash your own ass for the time being. 

You closed your eyes as you washed yourself, imagining a world where taking a shower with Eddie wasn’t the result of a week of trauma. Maybe he’d joke about how he’d make your tits squeaky clean and you’d respond with a joke about him dropping the soap. Maybe in another life the two of you would be blasting music and he’d be rambling about the latest song he was learning on guitar while you two swapped off who was under the hot water. 

Your bodies were clean now, Eddie taking the free moment to wash off his legs and feet while you did the same. You pulled him back around and reached up to his face with a warmed washcloth, and his hands went back to your hips. Once you were satisfied with that, you grabbed the shampoo and conditioner. 

“Sit down.” you said quietly. 

The tub was comfortable enough for one person to lay in and stretch out but it was more cramped with two. Eddie sat down and you sat behind him, working the shampoo through his hair slowly, your fingers digging into his scalp. Eddie tilted his head back and let out a moan as you massaged and scratched at his head. 

There was a small part of you that said that you shouldn’t be having a reaction to this, that you two had just gone through something terrible and this wasn’t the time to unpack those feelings. 

You told that part of your brain to shove it. 

You peered over Eddie’s shoulder as you worked the lather through his hair, and took in a deep shuddering breath as your gaze was met with his cock standing at full attention. The warmth inside of you was growing as well, made hotter by his constant groans and murmurs of enjoyment. 

You rinsed his hair, and started working the conditioner through his ends. 

“Let that sit for a bit.” you instructed and he made a noise of understanding. You quickly worked on cleaning your own hair, and as the last of the sweat, blood, and tears slid down the drain you were now faced with it being just the two of you, naked, raw, and alive. 

Eddie turned around and leaned against the back of the tub and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in as well. He pressed your back against his chest, his head resting on your shoulder. You leaned back into him, letting him hold you as the warm water washed over you both. 

Your hands reached down to his, and his fingers immediately laced with yours. Around you there was only the thick steamy air and the warmth and safety of the shower. Your fingers rubbed against his, unused to the bare skin without the heavy metal rings he wore. You wondered briefly if they were silver or pewter or some other metal. 

Something soft on your shoulder brought you back to reality, A shiver ran down your back as Eddie’s lips placed small kisses along your clean, wet skin. You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. 

The kisses stopped after a moment, and he pulled you closer until you were completely flushed against him. His cock was pressing into your back, and you felt him shift his hips to try and find a way to have you close without bothering you about his physical reaction. 

You shifted in his arms, turning around to face him. The porcelain dug into your knees, but you ignored it to look at Eddie. His eyes were wide and everything stood still. He reached for you again, placing his hand on your jaw, his thumb resting on your cheek. In return you held onto his shoulders, one hand on the side of his neck. 

It didn’t matter who moved first. It didn’t matter if his hand pulled you in or if you had leaned after you looked at his lips. All that mattered is that Eddie’s grip on you tightened and his mouth was on yours and you were pressing up against him and his hands were moving around you and-

You slipped, your knee sliding against the soaked porcelain and your body was pressed fully against his. Eddie’s hard cock was pressed against your stomach, and he jumped at the sudden accidental movement. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, sitting up a bit to check on you. 

No, you weren’t okay. And you didn’t think you’d be okay until he kissed you again. So instead of answering you kissed him again, deeper than before. He didn’t hesitate in responding to the kiss, his hands were sliding around you again, rubbing your back as your fingers tangled in his hair. 

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, meeting each other’s lips over and over again as the hot water fell on you. You’d occasionally shift and feel his cock rub against your stomach and he’d moan into your mouth in response. You liked that, and found every reason to squirm and rub against him as the two of you kissed. 

Eddie’s tongue pressed into your mouth, as easily as if the two of you had kissed a thousand times before. You moaned as he did, the taste of your toothpaste still lingering in his mouth melded with the taste of him. The moan only encouraged him to keep going, exploring your mouth and licking against a spot behind your front teeth that made you shudder. 

The water was getting cooler and it took everything inside of you to finally pull away. Eddie looked up at you with a hint of confusion on his face as to why you pulled back. 

“Did I-” he started and you shook your head. 

“Water’s getting cold. We should get out.” you said. 

He nodded and the two of you untangled from each other and helped each other stand up. You finished rinsing the last of the conditioner from Eddie’s hair before turning off the water and stepping out, grabbing you each a towel. He took it from your hand and wrapped it around your shoulders, using it as an excuse to touch you and pull you into another kiss. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck and he pushed you up against the wall, needing the closeness as much as you did. Each press of his lips was slightly different each time, as if he was trying to decide the best way to kiss you, or maybe to just have the chance to kiss you every way he could. Making up for lost time? Making up for the uncertain future? It was hard to tell. 

“I’m here.” You don’t know why you said it, but those two words slipped out of your mouth in the two seconds that Eddie had pulled away to breathe. 

He was panting, and staring intently at you, his look of surprise mirrored your own thoughts. Then his mouth was on you again, kissing you rougher, holding you tighter, his hands were grabbing at you in a near bruising grip. Eddie’s cock was rubbing against your hip now, and he groaned feeling your soft skin against him. You could feel your own wetness start to pool between your legs as you kissed back, trying to keep up with him. 

“I’m here, too.” His voice echoed back. 

Your hips rocked up against him, and up bit his lower lip, sucking on it hard. He groaned again, and grabbed at your breast, squeezing it before rubbing his thumb against your nipple. You squirmed at the touch, and all you wanted was to be closer, closer, closer. 

When Eddie pulled back, it was your turn to look confused. You were dazed from the kiss, breathless with your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Eds...?” 

“Bedroom.” He pulled himself away from you like ripping a bandaid off. You followed his lips, kissing him again and he shuddered, stumbling back towards the door and reaching blindly for the doorknob. 

With some fumbling, you both managed to stumble into your room, lips locked together. It was cooler outside of the bathroom, and you could feel goosebumps raised along his arms as you both fell back into your bed. 

You wasted no time straddling him, pushing him down by his shoulders and giving him quick rough kisses. 

“Don’t you-” you kissed him “ever” you bit his lower lip “run like that” another bruising kiss “again.”. 

“I won’t” he replied, running his hand to the back of your neck and squeezing it. “I won’t. I won’t run.” 

Before you could capture his lips again, he pulled you down by your neck and latched his mouth against your throat. Eddie wasted no time with soft kisses, immediately sucking hard on the skin and pulling the blood to the surface until a deep bruise bloomed on your neck. You cursed, and ground your hips down on his cock, feeling the length drag against your clit. 

Eddie hissed and kissed the spot lightly where he’d been sucking. His hands gripped your hips, moving his own in rhythm with yours in a desperate attempt to get friction on his leaking cock. One hand slid down to grab your thigh, squeezing the back of it in a way that made your hips shudder and sparks of pleasure shoot right to your core. 

“Fuck, Eddie.” you whispered. 

Hearing his name had him grabbing you and rolling you below him, kissing your neck more. His lips trailed up to right below your ear, breathing in deeply before moving his mouth down to your chest. 

Eddie latched onto one of your nipples and sucked hard, making you gasp and arch your back up. His hand slid down, lower and lower until it was between your legs, sliding a finger through your slit with a trembling hand. The touch to your sensitive folds made you let out a small giggle at the feeling and your hips jerked again before settling back down. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Eddie said, talking to himself more than he was talking to you. He played with your entrance for a moment as he kissed and sucked along your breasts, sliding two fingers through your folds and stroking your clit with careful circles. 

You wanted to beg for more, roll your hips and tell him to keep going, but you couldn’t. If this was any other scenario, you would have. But when his head tilted back to look at you, all words died down in your mouth. This wasn’t something that you two could rush, not now, not after everything. This was more than just sex, more than a desperate quickie after the heat of battle. This was something you didn’t have a name for yet, but you two would figure out in time. 

Eddie leaned over you more, resting one arm by your head. His wet hair ticked your shoulders, and looking up at him, you thought about how a few hours earlier, you were on top of him like this as well, shielding him from monsters. He leaned down and kissed you again as he slid a finger into your entrance. 

Your hands gripped his shoulders, gasping into his mouth. He pumped his fingers in and out slowly, never letting your lips disconnect. Eddie was fingering you, Eddie who’d all but bullied you into joining Hellfire when you were the new kid. The same Eddie who you’d bickered and squabbled with regularly because you two loved to get on each other's nerves. The same Eddie who you’d seen cry when no one else was looking over the death of Chrissy Cunningham-

Another finger slid in carefully and this time he did pull back, looking into your eyes for any sign of discomfort. Instead he found your face warmed and your lips parted in pleasure. You let out a small moan as he moved his fingers again, your nails digging into his shoulder. 

A quiet cry escaped your lips as he curled his fingers inside you, moving them back and forth until you gave him the signal that he had found the right spot. His name escaped your lips in a way he never dreamed that he’d hear. Eddie’s forehead pressed against yours again, taking in every reaction as his fingers explored your inner walls. 

His thumb brushed over your clit, stroking it in shaky and clumsy circles. As unpracticed as it was, it felt good. It felt good because it was him, and because you needed him, and when the fuck was the last time you had even had a chance to get off with everything going on?

“Eddie,” you panted as you moved your hands to his jaw. You kissed him again, and he kissed you back. His fingers sped up, pressing more into that sweet spot that was turning your brain off, removing any thoughts of the Upside Down, or of the shared trauma you now held. Right now, there was only you and Eddie and a mind-numbing pleasure that was building up inside you.

“It’s okay.” he whispered, his hand shaking a little. “Tell me what you need, please.” Eddie looked at you like getting you off was the most important thing he could do right now. You’d only seen this look in his eyes once as he’d cut the sheet rope that connected the two worlds-

“Tell me you’re here.” you begged, the words spilling out without thought. “Fuck, Eddie- just tell me you’re here. That you aren’t going- oh... oh God, please-”

“I’m here.” His voice sounded desperate, looking down at you. “I’m here, I swear. I’m not going anywhere again I- I’m so fucking sorry. I’m here, I’m here, Sweetheart.” 

It was that simple nickname that had you tumbling over the edge. That pet name that had always been reserved only for his guitar. His lips crashed onto yours as you reached your peak, swallowing your moans as your pussy clamped down around his fingers. Your body tensed up hard, and you tangled your fingers into his hair pulling at the roots. Eddie moaned at the feeling, his fingers faltering for a moment before slowing down and then finally pulling out. 

Immediately you felt empty, the orgasm not enough to satiate the need to have him as close as possible. You could still feel your pussy contracting as you came down from your orgasm, and you realized he was still talking. 

“‘M here.” Eddie whispered against your temple as he placed gentle pecks to your skin. “I’m here. I won’t leave again.” 

“I need you, Eds.” you said, looking up at him. “Fuck, I’ve needed you for so long.”

You hoped that he understood what you were saying. This was more than needing him inside you, this was about everything you two had been through together over the past few years. Every Hellfire Club meeting, every Tuesday at the Hideout, every shared joint between the two of you, every shitty study session that never went anywhere because you two would get too distracted and end up talking to each other about everything and nothing. 

You needed it, all of it, all of him. Eddie had made an indent on your life that you never wanted straightened out. You could not, and would not, conceive of a world without Eddie Munson in it. His death would have destroyed you in every possible way. 

Friendship, romance, sex, you didn’t care. If he was willing to just exist in your life, that’s all you fucking wanted. 

You didn’t even notice that you were crying again, until Eddie was wiping away your tears with his clean hand. He had a panicked look on his face as if worried that he’d done something wrong. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. Did we take this too far?” he asked, grabbing a tissue from your bedside table and wiping his own hand off before offering one to you. You took it and shook your head, wiping your eyes and trying to take in a deep breath. 

“No, not that’s not it.” you said. “I just... I was so scared that I was going to lose you, Eddie. I’m still scared that when everything is done you’re going to disappear on me again.”

Eddie looked down at you, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “I thought I was doing the right thing, buying them more time.” he said quietly. “I thought if I could keep them distracted for just a few more minutes, everything would work out. If I had climbed back up, I thought- I was convinced the bats would either break in and attack you and Dustin or they’d go after the others.”

“You’re stupid.” you sniffed. 

“I know.” he agreed. 

“A total buttface jerk.” you added. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Eddie spread your legs more, putting himself into position. His cock was sliding through your folds now. 

“Y-you’re a freak and my fucking hero.” you gasped out as he pushed himself inside you carefully. Eddies cock stretched you pleasantly and easily. 

“I’m getting mixed signals here, Sweetheart.” he mumbled, kissing along your jaw. Your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, and you pushed your own face against his neck, sucking your own mark against the front of his throat. You didn't care if anyone else saw, you wanted to see proof of this night on him. 

You wanted proof on him every night for the rest of your life. 

“I'm never running away again.” he groaned in your ear as his hips started moving. Eddie held you tighter, nearly suffocating you as he did. How many times had he hugged you like this before, with you laughing and pushing him away, only for him to squeeze you harder telling you that your Strength stat sucked? 

“I'll find you.” You whispered in his ear as he grabbed your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his hips. “I'll find you every time, I fucking promise.”

He moaned loudly, his hips pushing harder into yours. Eddie was as deep inside you as he could possibly be, and each drag of his cock inside you made every nerve light up in your body. 

“Why did you come after me?” Eddie's voice was a near growl. His voice was strained, as if asking that question would snap the connection between the two of you. His lips never left your skin, kissing every inch that he could reach on your neck and face. 

“I couldn't let you- ohh oh God... I couldn't let you go. Couldn't let you disappear again” your body shuddered under him as his angle shifted slightly, just enough that it was rubbing up against that spot again that made it hard to think. 

“You could have died too.” Eddie's voice rattled around your head, frustration dripping from his lips as he sank his teeth into your shoulder. You cried out, dragging your nails down his spine in return, leaving raised marks down his back. 

He hissed and smashed his lips to your again, biting at your lower lip and sucking hard. Eddie looked at you, frustration now in his eyes as he looked down at you. 

It seemed like you weren't the only one processing your emotions through sex. 

“You could have died too.” He repeated. One hand went to the back of your neck, his thumb pressing right below your ear. You met his eyes, suddenly feeling small under him. 

Eddie had only ever looked at you like this once before. You two had a blow up fight the night that Chrissy had been murdered. You'd been so fucking mad at him for not moving Hellfire, having missed that whole conversation as you had a different lunch period. 

You hadn't learned about it until Erica Sinclair had walked in with Mike and Dustin. You'd swallowed the fight until after the campaign, when everyone was celebrating and Eddie was sneaking towards the back of the gym. 

It hadn't been pretty. You two had yelled at each other, called each other every name in the book. You were furious that he'd abandoned a party member and wouldn't budge. 

Eddie had hated that you were the only one to really stand up to him, to call him out for refusing to budge this one time. His brown eyes had turned black as you said things that didn't even fucking matter anymore. 

You saw him leave pissed with Chrissy Cunningham. You wondered if anyone else saw you two fighting that night which would have made him look worse when the cheerleader showed up dead in his trailer. 

Another moan passed your lips and your eyes closed as he started thrusting faster inside you. His hand on your neck tightening and loosening rhythmically, the blood running to your head and cutting off over and over again. 

“I can't lose you either.” He panted, kissing you again in a way that you were sure was going to screw you up forever. “You think I wanted to watch you die, too?” He demanded. 

“Eddie, I-” you didn't know what to say, all you could do was lay there as he mercilessly pushed into you, watching as the anger turned to anguish as he leaned over you. 

“Look at me,” he said, his voice low and firm. The same subtle husky voice he used when he ran his game, the same voice he'd conditioned you to listen to over the past year. 

You nearly came again right there.  

Eddie’s warm brown eyes bore into yours and you didn't look away, even as his pace hit that perfect stride that had your toes curl and made your eyes want to roll back.  

“If I can't run away, you can throw yourself into danger.” He said. “I'm not losing you either.”

“Not gonna lose me-” you panted. “Fuck Eddie, I just-” your back arched as his lips sucked another bruise into your shoulder. “Don't put yourself in danger again and I won't have to.”

“We’re never doing that again.” he grunted into your shoulder. “No more monsters, no more fucking spellcasters, no bullshit alternate dimensions.” His hands were everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted or needed to grab you. “Gonna get us as far away from this shithole town as possible.”

Us. 

That word echoed through your brain. Us. That meant there was something more here, a future. A future with Eddie that he wanted you to be a part of. 

You kissed him again, and any more words between you died down as it didn’t mean anything anymore. The Upside Down, the future, none of it. Eddie’s hand finally made its way down to your clit again and stroked it fast. You tangled your fingers into his hair and pulled at the roots, his hips were starting to falter with their thrusts. Each push making your brain grow hazy as the pleasure continued to build inside you. 

Eddie pulled away from the kiss, pressing his lips against your ear again instead. “I’m here.” he promised. “Fuck, right- I’m right here.”

“I’m here, too” you repeated, your own voice breathy and desperate. “Eddie, I-” 

“I love you.” 

Those three words from his lips, had you seeing white. The whole world stopped and your body tensed up. Your nails sank into his back, and if you had been in a more clear state of mind you would have noticed you’d accidentally drawn blood. You cried out, unsure if you had managed to say those words back at all until the orgasm had started to subside. You felt dizzy, lightheaded and you breathed out the air that you had been hoarding in  your lungs. 

Eddie was staring at you with wide doe eyes, lips parted slightly in surprise. His hips were rocking slower now, as if unsure if he should continue after having apparently shattered your mind.

“I... love you, too.” you managed to gasp out, meeting his gaze. That was enough for Eddie as he picked his pace back up, rougher than before. He pressed his lips against your neck, breathing you in completely, listening to your overstimulated cries of pleasure as he pushed faster into you. 

It didn’t take long before he was cumming too, his hips jerking and shaking as he finally slowed down his thrusts. His weight was fully on top of you now as he started to soften inside you. 

You don’t know how long the two of you stayed like that, with him laying on you and with you stroking his back and matching his breaths. Maybe the two of you dozed off a few times, trying to savor the moment of peace between the two of you. 

Eddie was the one to break the silence with a chuckle. 

“What’s so funny, Eddie?” you asked, your eyes still closed. 

“We’re gonna need another shower after that.” he replied, slowly getting up off you. It was cold without his warmth and you whined at the loss. 

“Sounds like a tomorrow problem.” you mumbled, looking up at him. His curly hair was frizzing badly in its half-dried state. But he still got up and went to the bathroom, you heard the sound of running water and the a toilet flushing before he came back with a towel to clean help clean you up. 

“Did you mean what you said?” you asked quietly, as he settled back into bed with you, the two of  you getting over the sheets. 

Eddie nodded, looking at your blankets before meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good.” you said and gave him a reassuring smile. “Because I don’t want to fight anymore monsters either again.” 

“Wait that’s-” Eddie stopped and laughed, shaking his head. “You know what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Did you mean it?” He asked. 

“Yeah. I meant it.” you reassured him. 

“Say it again?” he asked, cupping your jaw again. “I want to know it wasn’t just my amazing dick making you say it.”

You laughed. It felt so fucking good to laugh with him again. Had there been any doubt about your feelings for him, that would have sealed it. 

“Eddie Munson, I love you.” you said, looking into his eyes. “And if you ever do something stupid like that again, I’m going to be the one to kill you personally.”

“I love you, too.” he said, and for the first time in a week, his eyes were clear. There was no haunted look in his eyes, no anger, no frustration. For this brief night before reality came back the two of you could just exist with each other. Neither of you knew what was going to happen after this evening, but you knew in your gut that the two of you were going to get through this together. 

----

You were his partner, the love of his undead life, and he couldn’t protect you from the same town that initially drove him into hiding- the town that he had died saving.  He couldn’t protect Wayne, either, or the Hellfire Club kids for that matter.  He couldn’t shield any of you, or stick by your side throughout the day- the wings and claws that Vecna had so graciously given him upon his return to the living made hiding a little more than necessary.  And hey, if those new features weren’t bad enough on their own, Hawkins still wanted Eddie’s head on a pike.  If any Hawkins citizen saw him like this, in a new and monstrous form, that would be more than enough of an excuse to murder him then and there.

In short, Eddie was helpless.  His new features, the claws and fangs which were meant to maim and kill were useless when it came to defending his loved ones.  He was entirely unable to take care of the people he loved most, and he hated it.  

Anger and resentment festered inside of him.  He worried about you whenever you left the house.  Even when you were safe with him, a dark corner of his mind still spiraled through all the horrible possibilities.  He wanted to keep you safe, to keep you unharmed and alive, and the idea that he wouldn’t be able to do that gave him a sense of dread like no other.  

And then his fears were realized.

-

It started out as a simple shopping trip.  You needed to pick up a few things, so you went out to get them.  That’s how most people go about grocery shopping.  It was normal.  Painfully average considering everything else going on in your life, and honestly, you kind of liked that.

You didn’t go out alone.  Max also needed to pick up a few things, so you brought her with you.  You were smart about it.  You both kept your guards up and your keys between your fingers.  You were safe.  Or you were until you fell for the faux sense of safety provided by the fluorescent lights and the bland music playing overhead- a sense of safety that would be brutally fucking shattered.

Before that, though, you were just looking at juice.

The grocery store shelves in front of you were filled with bottles and bottles of beverages.  For a moment, you pondered just how many forms of cranberry juice a company could make.  The answer was a lot, apparently.  

At your side, Max was fidgeting, impatiently tapping her cane against the ground.  You couldn’t blame her, you’d been staring at juice for like, five minutes.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet, “If it’s cool with you, I’m gonna go grab the-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you snapped out of your juice-induced haze, “Go for it, I’ll be here.”

Letting her go was your first mistake.

She nodded at you and left the aisle, ignoring the pointed glare served to her by a middle-aged woman who occupied the aisle with you.  As soon as Max was gone, the woman’s glare found its true target.  The killer’s girlfriend.  The Munson boy’s accomplice.  You.

Unfortunately for the woman, your attention was already back on the juice.

Apple.  Blackberry.  Blueberry.  Cranberry.  Cran-apple.  Cran-pineapple.  Cran-mango.  Cran-cherry.  Cran-pomegranate.  There really were a lot of cranberry juices.  In all seriousness, you didn’t actually care about juice that much.  It was just a nice distraction from the oncoming-

“Devil’s whore.”

Oh, yep, there it was.

You said nothing as the woman swore at you.  You tuned out her whispered rant about your audacity- the nerve you had to go out in public after dating that ‘child-murdering monster.’  You were used to this treatment.  Not everyone in Hawkins was this intense.  Some were worse, and some were better, but there were enough angry citizens kicking around for you to grow numb to the insults.  As long as they weren’t threatening your life, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.  You just focused on the juice and let her voice fade out.

That was your second mistake.

You tuned back in to the sound of a click- the sound of a gun’s safety turning off.  Panic filled your body as you returned to your surroundings.  The woman was gone.  Where she had vanished to was a mystery, but you didn’t really care.  Not when, in her place, a man stood, aiming a gun right at your stomach.

After noting the gun, the first things you noticed were the man’s eyes- ice blue, cold, and cruel.  He wore a sweatshirt beneath a white and green varsity jacket, the hood of which he had pulled up and over his blond hair.  It was a clear attempt to provide your attacker with some anonymity- of course, that was instantly cancelled out by the print on the sleeve that read, “Hawkins High, ‘84.”  He was your age- and when you looked closer, you realized that you knew him.

Kurt Robertson.  He had been a classmate of yours, a jock who had treated “freaks” like you and Eddie rather poorly.  Clearly, he had continued his athletic pursuits given his muscular frame.  Fear pooled in your stomach as you realized that you were no match for him.  You wouldn’t have been a match for him even if he didn’t have a gun.

You put your hands up slowly, “Hi, Kurt.  It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Don’t even try it, bitch.  Come with me,” he grabbed you by your shoulder, pushing the gun into your hip.

“Uh, maybe,” you were playing with fire, “Can I ask what this is about?”

“You know full well what this is about.  That freak boyfriend of yours murdered Chrissy- he murdered Jason, too.  They were good kids, and there’s no justice for them.”

“So you decided to find some at the grocery store?”

“Shut up, bitch, I’m talking,” he slammed you into the shelving unit.  You yelped like a wounded animal.  Two bottles of cranberry juice fell to the floor, cracking open as they met the ground.  Red spilled across the tiles.

“I’m here, we’re here,” he gestured to the store’s exit.  The implication of backup made you shiver, “To do good by Jason.  And Chrissy.  Munson took their lives- we figured we’d return the favour.  Send his slut to hell for him.”

A crooked smile spread across Kurt’s face as he let you go, pulling back from the shelves.  He gestured to the glass doors again, “Now, let’s get a move on, shall we?”

“What, you’re taking me to a secondary location?  Too afraid to kill me where everyone can see it?” It was an attempt to escape- to convince this guy to let you go.  If you could get him to fuck off, you might be able to slip out the backdoor and get to Eddie.  If you got to Eddie, you would be safe.

“No,” Kurt pressed the gun back against your stomach, “I just respect this fine establishment too much to get your fucking guts all over it.”

“This is a grocery store.”

“Hey!” your head jerked to the side to see who had spoken.  Kurt did the same.  Max was standing at the end of the aisle, her groceries in one hand and her cane in the other.  She looked angry, murderous- you were proud of her for that glare alone.

“Is there a problem here?” she scowled at the man in front of you.  You felt the gun turn.  Its side pressed against you, hiding from view in the fabric of your shirt.  The barrel was aimed at Max.  Shit.

You turned back to face Kurt.  He wouldn’t look at you.  His eyes were fixed on the red-haired girl- his new target.  You had to protect her.  She’d probably be pissed at you for having that thought, but you had to protect her.

“There’s no problem,” you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice, “I just ran into a former classmate.”

Max looked like she didn’t believe you in the slightest, not that you could blame her for that.  Everything from Kurt’s proximity to you to the juice on the floor spelled out trouble.  You blinked.

“Actually, do you think you’re good to find your own way home?  I think I’m gonna be a while.  Just catching up, y’know?”

You blinked again- three short blinks.  Three long blinks.  Three short ones.  You hoped she noticed.

She stared at you for a minute, looking deep into your eyes before nodding.  She coughed out a quick, “Yeah, it’s fine.  See you around,” and with that, Max was gone.  You could only hope that your message had been received.

Kurt waited for a moment.  The doors opened and closed.  Max had left.  Now, it was just you, a man with a gun, and a dozen shoppers who didn’t give a shit about whether or not Eddie Munson’s whore girlfriend got shot in the middle of the juice aisle.  

“Kurt,” you tried, watching as he took in your surroundings and fixed his eyes on the door, “Chrissy was a good kid, and I’m so sorry that she’s gone.  She didn’t deserve to die, but I promise, Eddie didn’t have anything to do with it-”

He took your arm in a grip that would surely leave bruises- if you lived long enough for them to form.  You winced but continued on, trying again to free yourself diplomatically, “And Jason- Jason was extreme, you have to admit, but I’m sorry about him, too.  He did some awful things, but he wasn’t evil-”

“Yeah, you’d know a lot about evil, wouldn’t you?” Kurt sneered, pulling you out of the store and into the alleyway behind it.  A pickup truck was parked there, waiting for you.  Diplomacy had failed.  You had to try something else.

The first thing you did was grab the gun and shove it away from you.  Kurt’s arm went with it, and he stumbled slightly.  You stumbled, too, but your balance came back to you faster than his did.  You used your brief advantage to punch your assailant in the face.  Your fist connected with his jaw, sending Kurt right to the ground.

You shook out your hand and took a step away, momentarily stunned by your pain and your power.  The doors of the pickup began to open.  You ran.  You were being chased by former jocks.  You didn’t get far.

Two arms wrapped around you- one around your chest, and one around your neck.  You tilted your head down and bit as hard as you possibly could.  The guy screamed, letting go of you just as another pair of arms took hold.

You struggled, turning around in the man’s hold and scratching at his eyes.  Someone ran behind you and grabbed at your arms, trying to stop you.  You thrashed, hissing and fighting like an angry animal.  It was futile.

You were pushed to the ground and a gun was pointed at your face.  Kurt glared down at you, his eyes full of hate and his lip gushing blood.  The rest of the boys backed off for the moment, standing on the sidelines, watching their leader.

“I should kill you.  I should kill you right now you fucking bitch.  Send you to hell with your Satanic fucking boyfriend.”

“Then do it,” you barked, adrenaline and impulse speaking for you more than anything else, “Kill me.  Unless you’re scared to do it you quivering pussy-”

Kurt slammed the gun into the side of your head.  Your vision went black.  Your hearing faded to a soft buzz.  Blood dripped down the length of your face.  You didn’t feel it.  You couldn’t feel anything.  You didn’t hear the panicked whispers of the jocks, nor the quietly exclaimed, “Holy shit, dude!  You fucking killed her!” or the, “She’s not dead, just knocked out, calm the fuck down,” that followed it.

For the moment, you were out of the game.  

The boys loaded you into the truck as fast as they could.  Their arms held you down, their hold on you tight, as if your unconscious body would spring up and perform a series of badass jiu-jitsu moves on them.  That didn’t happen, but they wanted to be prepared.  

The pickup sped out of the alleyway, putting the grocery store in its rearview mirror with law-breaking speed.  If any of the jocks had bothered to look in said rearview mirror, they would have noticed a red-headed girl using the payphone that stood near the grocery store parking lot.  

“Eddie?  It’s Max.  We have a problem.”

-

You woke to the stench of rotting wood and decomposing hay.  Beneath you, a filthy concrete floor provided a cold embrace.  Small stones and various pieces of dirt and debris dug into your soft flesh.  In this position, your leg was twisted under your weight at an awkward angle.  

Damning the discomfort, you kept still.  Every part of you was tense, ready, waiting for some sign or sound of your abductors.  Nothing happened.  The only sound was the faint scurrying of mice, and the wind blowing through the trees outside.  Still hesitant, you opened your eyes.

Most of the structure around you was made of decaying wood.  Planks and beams extended across a vast room, stretching up to a high ceiling to meet with crumbling rafters.  In some places, red and white paint had been applied to cover up some of the damage, but after years of neglect, the attempted solution had faded and chipped away.

Beams of golden sunlight streamed into the barn through dirty glass windows, and through a large square hole in the wall that had once housed a door.  Far above your head, shitty old lights buzzed harshly, illuminating all of the grime that the sun couldn’t reach.  

Outside, you could see a weed-filled field running off to a line of trees in the distance.  Brambles twisted up near the barn’s entrance.  Wildflowers bloomed among nettles and thorns.  Vines tangled with the faulty wood of the walls.  Even inside the barn, little sprouts popped up through cracks in the concrete.  Dandelions puffed near rusted old farming equipment and piles of wasted hay.

This place was oddly beautiful- and clearly abandoned.  You were far from help, and from the sound of it, you were completely alone.  

Cautiously, you got to your feet.  The spot of concrete that had served as your pillow was stained red.  You didn’t want to think about that too hard.  Putting it out of your mind, you took a few shaky steps, stumbling your way toward the exit.  Your bruised body screamed in protest.  The sound of your footfalls echoed through the barn.  You kept going.  It wasn’t like you had much of a choice.

A rusty pitchfork lay against the wall a few feet from the hole in the wall.  Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have touched the thing for fear of tetanus.  Unfortunately, these were not normal circumstances.  You armed yourself quickly and continued on, inching forward until the concrete turned to gravel underfoot.  

You didn’t make it far.

The sound your movements made alerted your captors to the fact that you were awake.  You could hear something drop around the side of the barn- something heavy.  Male voices swore loudly.  The sound of curses and other exclamations rang through the field, polluting the otherwise beautiful golden hour.  

You looked around, desperately searching for a place to hide.  You found nothing.  There was no hiding place among the weeds and brambles, no space for nature to pull you in and protect you.  Your fists tightened around the pitchfork as you realized that this would come down to a fight.  

Unfortunately, you were right.  

Jocks ran out from behind the barn like ants swarming from a hill.  Someone cried out, “Skin only!  Don’t kill her yet!”

You vaguely recognized some of the faces before you- the first one was Andy, one of the jocks who had been after Eddie in ‘86.  You were able to push him back with your makeshift weapon.  The next jock, unfortunately, got much closer.  The smell of weed assaulted you, which was quickly followed by an actual assault.  A fist met your cheek, and you staggered back, keeping yourself up with the handle of the pitchfork.

The jock didn’t let up.  Another punch came your way, but you managed to step back and avoid it.  The guy kicked at you weakly, but you easily dodged that, too.  In retaliation, you raised the pitchfork and brought it down flat over the guy’s head, knocking him to the ground.  

Alas, you were still surrounded.  Five more jocks were perfectly ready for a fight, and you were quickly running out of strength and luck.  Panic and pain surged through you as another hit connected with your jaw.  A fist collided with your stomach.  You fell to your knees.  Another hand met your face.  A ring broke the skin of your lips.  Your chosen weapon fell to the ground as blow after blow fell upon you.  

You did your best to shelter yourself from the attack.  Sharp aches echoed through your limbs with every blow.  You tried to separate yourself from the moment, mentally and physically.  Curling into a ball on the ground and disassociating didn’t exactly make you feel brave or heroic, but it kept you from taking too much damage.  Still, you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day- if you lasted that long.

You barely noticed when the kicks and punches stopped coming.  You only snapped out of it fully when someone grabbed your arm.  You winced.  It was the first reaction they’d gotten from you since the attack began.

“Good,” Kurt grinned, “We didn’t break you.”

You said nothing, biting back several sarcastic remarks.  None of them seemed appropriate for the situation.  Instead, you slid your tongue over your lip, collecting the blood that pooled there.  The next time Kurt opened his mouth to speak, you spit in his face.  

“You fucking bitch!” Kurt shrieked, wiping frantically at his face, “Tie her up and get her back in the barn.  We’re gonna take this slow, got it?  She doesn’t get a quick death.”

Kurt’s lackeys obeyed.  Someone bound your wrists together in front of you with duct tape.  Rough hands pulled you up from the ground and shoved you back toward the barn.  Fear began to take anger’s place as they threw you to the concrete.  Blood dripped from your lip to the floor.  You watched as it bleed between rocks and cracks below you.  How much blood would you lose tonight?

Your heart raced.  Breath escaped your battered lungs, but you couldn’t seem to pull any air in.  Kurt glared down at you, his form outlined by the light of the setting sun.  He looked at you like you were some sort of vermin he had to dispose of.  You were sure that in his eyes, that was the truth.  

The gun was in his hand.

“Remind me, Andy.  How did they find Jason’s girl again?”

“I dunno.  They didn’t even let her parents see her face.  But Patrick,” Andy knelt down in front of you and grabbed your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look at him, “I got to see Patrick.  All of his bones were shattered.  Some kind of freak ritual, I guess.”

“Well, we don’t have a freak ritual, but,” Kurt aimed the gun at your leg, “We can always improvise.  Answer me this, boys- will a bone break apart if you hit it with a bullet?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

His finger wrapped around the trigger.  

A deafening bang echoed off the barn’s walls.

The sound didn’t come from the gun.  Something had crashed into the roof.  Dust reigned down on you and the boys as you all looked up, peering at the ceiling.  Above you, the old lights began to flicker.  The air seemed to chill by a few degrees.

The jocks staggered slightly, their eyes off of you and fixed on the ceiling.  They all jumped as the horrendous screech of tearing metal met their ears.  Whatever had landed on the roof, it was now clawing its way off.  The boys turned to face the door, gripping their weapons and putting up their fists.   

An inhuman sound split the calm twilight.  You knew it well- that unnerving, predatory growl.  You’d heard it a few times before, while running for your life in the Upside Down.  While you watched the bats tear your lover apart.  You fell back, crawling deeper into the barn.  

The lights flicked off.

When they came back on, Eddie was standing in the would-be doorway of the barn, wings spread and fangs bared.  

“Is that-?” one of the jocks whispered.

“Munson,” Andy spat.  Kurt raised his gun, aiming the barrel at its new target.

He didn’t get the chance to shoot.

Eddie attacked first.  He flew forward, seizing the face of the nearest man in his claws.  In seconds, the man’s head was nothing more than a bloody mess.  Screams filled the air as the first jock fell to the ground.  Eddie fell with him, teeth to the man’s neck as blood pooled around them, a blood-red mirror on the concrete floor.  

Your attackers stood stunned as Eddie moved on, leaving a body behind.  Garnet drops flew to the floor as Eddie tore the next attacker into tiny little pieces.  You were almost hypnotized by the way Eddie’s teeth sunk into the guy’s neck, by the way Eddie’s claws tore through his flesh.  You could practically hear the sound of blood draining from his veins.  When he pulled back, Eddie’s sweet brown eyes were blood red.

He was quick to jump at his next victim, claws and fangs tearing, and slashing, and biting until the man stopped moving.

It was only after that third man’s body was drained that your attackers shook themselves from their reverie and began to retaliate.  They’d been aching for a chance to hurt Eddie for years.  Now, they had even more of an excuse to kill him- if Eddie was a freak before, then what was he with wings and fangs?  To them, he was a monster.  He always had been, and he always would be.

They attacked.  

It wasn’t too effective, all things considered.  A fist flew at Eddie, and in response, he grabbed the offending hand, pulled the man close to him, and put his claws through the man’s chest.  You almost felt sick at the sight of it- your boyfriend’s hand, rings and all, coming through the back of a man who beat you minutes before.  

You knew Eddie was stronger now, inhumanly so, but you had never seen him use that strength like this- not on a person, at least.  You were never afraid of Eddie.  You knew that he would rather die than hurt you.  But watching what he could do to a human- it filled you with unease, and with some other emotion that you refused to name.  

That nameless emotion screamed in your ears as Eddie pulled the man towards him using the hand still in his chest.  Eddie brought his fangs to the man’s throat and drank.

The sound of wood splintering filled the air as Eddie blocked a blow from a bat with his claws.  He pulled his mouth away from his latest victim’s neck so that he could handle the weapon.   He discarded the bat quickly, throwing it clear across the barn.  He threw the wielder next, impaling him on some old farming equipment.  The dandelions that lived beneath the aged machine were showered in a gush of ruby and wine.   

Andy was next.  He came at Eddie with a crowbar, and your stomach turned as you realized that all the jocks’ weapons- the bats, the crowbars, and the gun- were meant for you.  You winced as Andy managed to land a hit, striking Eddie in the shoulder with enough strength to down a regular man.  Fortunately, Eddie was not a regular man.  He seized the crowbar and bent it, letting it fall to the floor.

“You- you killed Chrissy!  And Patrick, and Jason-!”

Eddie’s eyes bore into Andy’s, speaking untold volumes, simmering with rage.  Eddie wiped the blood from his mouth and took a step toward the jock.

“I didn’t kill any of them.  I didn’t touch any of them.  But you?  You made my girl bleed.  You’re gonna pay for that.”  

In seconds, Andy was on the ground, unconscious or dead, you couldn’t tell.  Blood dripped from his nose and mouth.  Eddie didn’t bother drinking from him.

For a moment, then, the world fell silent.  Eddie’s eyes met yours across the barn, across the sea of blood that he had spilled to protect you.  Despite the gore, despite the blood that stained Eddie’s hands and the space under his nails, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.  He was here.  You were safe now.

But thinking that was your third mistake.

Eddie smiled back, and as he did, another ear-piercing bang echoed through the barn.  There was nothing on the roof.  There was nothing clawing down to the barn.  There was nothing but you and Eddie, Kurt and his gun.

Eddie brought his hand to his side.  When he moved it away, his skin was stained with both his blood and the blood of those he’d slain.  You screamed.  Eddie fell to his knees.  Kurt took aim again.  He levelled the gun at Eddie’s head.

You leapt at Kurt, using your bound fists as a weapon.  You caught the man by surprise, knocking him right to the ground.  The gun slid across the floor, away from both of you.  Kurt quickly took the advantage, rolling over and pinning your hips to the ground with his.  He raised his fist and brought it down on your face, once, then twice.

He didn’t land a third punch.  Eddie tackled him off of you, hurling Kurt’s body away from yours.  He stayed in front of you, protecting you from Kurt, blocking him from view.  He was your shield, keeping you safe and out of the other man’s reach.  Eddie snarled like an animal- a predator.  It was a warning to Kurt.  A message telling him, on no uncertain terms, to stay put.

Kurt did no such thing.  He jumped at Eddie.  Thick fingers dug deep into the bloody mark on Eddie’s side.  He cried out in agony- the sound was something akin to a roar.

“You’re a monster,” Kurt yelled, his hands now covered in the dark cranberry shades of Eddie’s blood,  “You’re a FUCKING MONSTER!”

Eddie stumbled backwards, a pained gasp leaving his lips.  Your attacker showed no mercy.  He advanced, landing a hit on Eddie’s jaw.  Eddie fell to his knees.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” Kurt reached for the gun.  He couldn’t find it.

Another shot rang out.  

The sound echoed around the barn.

Blood spilled out from the brand-new bullet wound in Kurt’s chest.  He fell to the ground with a dull thud.  His blood pooled beneath him, like cranberry juice on the floor of a grocery store.  Another blood-red mirror to reflect another lifeless corpse.  Another red stain on the concrete.

You stood behind him, gun held tightly in your bound hands.

Silence followed.  You could hear Eddie’s panting, and the sound of your heartbeat rushing in your ears.  The busted farm lights buzzed overhead.  Outside, in the twilight, cicadas sang, serenading you both.  Each breath you took was tainted by the iron scent of blood.  A chill danced up your skin.  The barn was still cold- so fucking cold.

Eddie was struggling.  New blood coursed through his system, making every inch of him feel warm.  Something beneath his skin started to itch.  He wanted to move.  He wanted to hunt.  He wanted you.  He wanted to see you spread out before him, breathless and quivering, completely drunk on his cock.  He wanted the taste of your blood to stain his tongue.  He could feel an unending pulsation spread through him, driving him forward, almost controlling him in a way. His eyes met yours for just a moment before he forced himself to look away.  A growl left his lips.

Across the room, you watched Eddie’s silent crisis, completely unaware of the feral desires harboured behind his big doe eyes.  His claws curled at the concrete.  You could hear them scratching against it- almost carving through it entirely.  His breath seemed to come faster and faster, his chest rapidly rising and falling with every second that passed.  You panicked, slightly, taking a small step towards him as your fear for his safety overtook your brain.

You lowered the gun.  

“Eddie?” You called out, shattering the quiet with your desperation.  Your voice was weak, shaking.  You sounded broken.

In an instant, Eddie was on his knees before you.  His cold clawed hands ran up your thighs and over your hips, slender fingers checking for hidden injuries, leaving goosebumps in their wake.   His movements were gentle, though they edged on desperate, almost animalistic.  Your heart twinged with guilt as sparks flew from each place he touched.  Despite the situation, you wanted more of this- more of him.

You got just that when his lips joined his hands.  He painted each part of you with kisses, brushing his mouth over your knees, your thighs, your hips.  He paused over the faint purple of a forming bruise on your leg, his touch hovering over it slightly as passionate concern tore a growl from deep within his chest.  You could feel his breath against your skin, hard and fast, nothing short of panicked.  His fear for you melted your heart.  You whispered his name.  It came out as a plea- a blasphemous prayer in a God-fearing town.

“I’m here,” he replied, his voice low, “I’m right here, sweetheart.  I’ve got you.  Are you alright?”

You nodded, trying to breathe again as you adjusted to the safety of his presence.  His hands slid up your body as he leaned in, pressing his lips and then his teeth against the soft skin of your thigh.  He bit down, enough to mark you but not enough to make you bleed, “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.  I promise.”

You whimpered, taking his chin between your fingers, urging him to meet your eyes.  His face was pale, and his normally messy hair was wild and slightly damp from sweat.  Blood spilled from his bottom lip.  You couldn’t tell if it was his.  Gently, you brushed the blood away with your thumb.  He leaned into your touch, shutting his eyes for a moment, letting himself be there with you.  When he opened his eyes again, there was something dark contained in the sweet brown of his irises- a grim determination.

“Baby,” he groaned, raising a hand to your wrists, “I’m gonna untie you, and then-” he paused, taking a deep breath.

“And then?”

“And then I need you to run.”

“What?  Why?  What’s wrong-?” a fresh wave of panic shot through you at Eddie’s warning.

Eddie paused for a moment.  When he spoke again, he almost sounded afraid, “It’s nothing.  Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.  I just- I need you to run from me.”

“Eddie, what do you mean?”

He didn’t answer.

“Eddie- Eddie, please-”

He dug his fingers into your thighs, pulling you down and knocking you onto your back.  A small cry escaped you.  Your heart began to pound in your chest as one of his massive hands curled in the dust beside you.  In the time it took to blink, he was leaning over you, caging you in with his body.  One of his legs found its home between yours.  The way he stared down at you was a new kind of desperate- he looked hungry.  Empty.  Starving.

“I’ve had too much blood tonight, baby,” he leaned in, nipping at your throat, all teeth, no fangs.  He made a point not to bite, “And it did something to me.”

“S-something?”

He slipped his hands into yours, pinning your arms above your head by your still-bound wrists.  He pulled back to look at you, ravenous devotion clouding his eyes, “Something, baby.  I don’t know what, but I-”

He cut himself off, looking away from your face and shutting his eyes tightly as if he could somehow fend off what he was feeling by pretending to be somewhere else.  His grip on you tightened, and you fought off the urge to whimper.  Again, you whispered his name.

“I want to taste you,” Eddie sounded horrified at his own words, but he didn’t stop, “I wanna feel you succumb beneath my hands.  I want to feel your heart race for me, but I can’t tell whether it’s your blood I want on my tongue, or you.   And I- I can’t hurt you, so I need you to run, okay?”

His eyes were still closed.  He still refused to look at you.  He seemed so deeply ashamed- and yet, heat pooled inside you, flowing down to your core.  You drew in a breath, your chest rising sharply.  Blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your face until everything beneath your skin felt like fire.  Your eyes widened.  Your thighs shook slightly.  Any sense of self-preservation you had was throwing itself out the window in the wake of the fire that Eddie had unknowingly set inside of you- a fire that you had no intention of putting out.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed at your physical response.  He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear, “Are you afraid?”

“Afraid?  Of you?” your voice shook, and your body trembled beneath him, but a small smile took over your features at the thought, “Never.”

Eddie pressed his forehead against your shoulder.  A small grin crossed his features, though there was no joy in it.  There was something tragic in every movement he made.  A desperate longing drove every action- a want for something he could not have.

“Goddamnit, I love you,” he whispered.  His words were almost a whine, “But I need you to get out of here, okay?  I need you to get somewhere safe, somewhere away from me, and I need you to stay there.”

He pressed his lips back to your neck, sucking your skin in between his teeth with enough pressure to bruise, but not to break.  His claws bit into the tape, beginning to tear it.

“Eddie-” you spoke fast, panicking at the thought of leaving him like this, “Eddie, I’m not going anywhere.  Not when you’re hurt.  Look, I know you’re afraid to hurt me, and I know that you think you’re a monster, but you’re not,” you flushed as your voice broke, “You’re not a monster, Eds.  You- you make me feel safe.  I want to stay.”

He stopped tearing at the tape.

“Eddie,” you sounded more sure, “I’m here.  I’m staying, and you won’t hurt me, you won’t lose control-”

“You don’t know that,” he hissed, his voice filled with so much self-loathing that the sound of it broke your heart.

“But I do.  Eddie, everything you did tonight, you did to save me.  To protect me.  You aren’t gonna hurt me.  You’re not-”

His hand was on your throat.  He didn’t squeeze.  There was no pressure, but his claws pricked in against your fragile skin.  You should have been afraid of him, or at the very least you should have feared for your life.  Eddie was dangerous.  You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, but you’d just witnessed him murder several people with the claws that were now against your throat.  But in fear’s place, that deep longing still burned inside of you.   

”Baby,” Eddie warned, “I need you to understand.  There is so very little inside of me that wants to be nice, and there is so much of me that wants to-”

A sharp sting spread out from your neck as his claws drew the tiniest drops of blood.  He leaned closer to you, to your neck, “I don’t want to show mercy or kindness.  I want to fuck you until my cum is spilling out of you, until you can’t move, and then I wanna keep going.  I want to use you until you know that that pretty little slit between your legs belongs to me.  I want to claim you.  To own you.  To ruin you for everyone else.  I want you to bleed for me, and that is terrifying.”

He paused, releasing your throat from his hold and bringing his lips to your neck.  He lapped at the drops of blood that spilled from the pinprick-like wounds he’d made.  The second his tongue was on you, he took his other hand off your wrists and moved his touch down your body.  He stopped at the hem of your shirt, his fingers biting into the material, almost tearing it like they had torn your skin just moments before.

“Sweet girl, I wanna fuck you until it hurts- fuck you while we’re surrounded by the bodies of our enemies- and then I want to drain you.  I am a monster.  And I want you the way a monster would.  Do you understand?”

Again, you should have been afraid.  You should’ve let him free your wrists, and then you should have run away.  You should have screamed.  

Instead, you moaned.  

You couldn’t help it.  It just sort of slipped out of you- his words, the intensity of his gaze, the sweet sting at your neck- it all poured gasoline on the already raging fire burning inside your core.  Your legs fell apart for him, thighs spreading wide as arousal pooled between them.  Eddie looked a little surprised.

“Did you- did you just fucking moan?”

You grumbled, desperate to hide your face in shame.  Your humiliation doubled when you realized that with Eddie’s heightened senses, he could probably tell that you wanted him.  He could undoubtedly hear the racing of your heart and smell the want between your legs.

“You fucking heard me,” you sighed, looking away in defeat, “But you- you can’t just say shit like that.  You have to know that I want you.”

“You want me?  To what, to kill you?  Because-”

You cut him off, sighing again at your boyfriend’s dramatics, “Oh my god, Eddie, I  want you inside of me.”

He froze for a second, stunned into silence.  You took that as a cue to carry on,  “I want you to fuck me. To claim me.  I want you to use me, to ruin me, whatever, I just want to be yours.”

Eddie remained quiet, though his features had softened slightly.  You turned back to face him, shoving your shame out of your mind.  You sat up in his hold, letting him wrap his arms around your waist as you encircled your still-bound arms around his neck.  His eyes were still wide with shock, but there was an undeniable sense of adoration within them.  In turn, Eddie saw no fear in your gaze- just determination.  And arousal.  

“I want you to take me,” you begged, twisting your fingers in his hair, “Right here, and right now, and if you have to do that ‘like a monster,’ then do it.  I don’t care.  I just want you.”

Another growl ripped itself from Eddie’s throat as he pushed you back to the ground, keeping your arms around him, “Do you understand what you’re getting yourself into?”

You nodded, leaning up and pressing your lips to his in a quick and surprisingly chaste kiss.  He smiled against your skin- a genuine smile, this time.  You’d convinced him.  He sighed, reaching up to gently cup your face.  He traced over your cheek as he spoke, “Use your words for me, sweet girl.”

You turned your head to press a kiss to his palm, “I know.  Do you understand that I don’t care what I’m getting myself into?”

He raised an eyebrow.  You continued, a devious smirk on your face.

“You could do whatever you want to me because I want this.  I want you.  And, hey if you don’t fuck me at this point, maybe I’ll do it myself and make you watch.”

On the last word, you parted your lips and bit Eddie’s hand.  He choked.  A blush covered his face, painting his features pink up to the tips of his ears.  You smiled, satisfaction with your work sinking in as you leaned up to press a kiss to Eddie’s cheek.  His skin was warm, far warmer than the palm he had on your face just moments before.

Eddie shook his head, snapping out of his flustered state.  His eyes darkened as want crept back into his gaze.  He took your arms from around his neck, pressing a kiss to your hands before he pressed them into the ground above your head.  You were pinned.    

“Even now, you’re such a fuckin’ brat,”  Eddie purred, “Y’know, it might be a little tough for you to get yourself off seeing as you’re, y’know, at my mercy, but I’d like to see you try.  I can’t complain about a show like that.”

You gave a defiant wiggle, stretching your hands as much as you could with your wrists still pinned and bound, “I know.  That’s why I-”

A moan swallowed your words as he pressed a kiss to the column of your throat.  The sound heightened in pitch, becoming a cry as his teeth bit into your soft flesh.  Eddie smiled against your neck as he released his hold on your wrists.  His hands moved down your body, his actions slow, fingers weighed down by intent.  His touch lingered by your breasts for a second, giving your tits a harsh squeeze before he reached further.  A sharp gasp left you as you felt his cold digits press against the bare skin beneath the hem of your shirt.   

His grip tightened on the fabric, claws piercing through it before he tore it from you entirely, leaving your upper body exposed to the chill of the barn.  Goosebumps rose on your skin.  Beneath your bra, your nipples pebbled from both the cold and your arousal.  Eddie made short work of that garment, too, not bothering with the clasp.  In less than a second, your bra was in pieces on the floor beside your poor, poor shirt.  

Eddie paused, taking in the sight of your chest.  His hands slipped up and over your waist, stopping just beneath your breasts, “Holy shit,” his voice was rough, gravely- and it had you arching up into his hold, “You’re so fucking beautiful.  So fucking perfect.”

He leaned in, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, nipping at your flesh ever so slightly.  His fangs threatened to pierce your skin, and you knew you wouldn’t mind if they did.  You meant what you said.  Eddie could have his way with you however he liked.  He could cut you, bleed you, break you, and you would let him.  You would lie there for him and just let him take everything he wanted.  (Of course, you knew he wouldn’t.  He loved you far too much to ever cause you real harm.)

You let out a whine, running your hands into Eddie’s hair.  It was a little difficult- your wrists were still bound- but you did your best.  He moaned, lips still against your skin, and you found yourself writhing at the sensation.  Your body begged for more, for him to do more than touch and bite- you wanted to be fucked.

“Eddie, please- please,” the attempt was sweet, but your pleas went ignored.  Eddie pulled his mouth away from your nipple, moving just slightly to mark up the rest of your chest.  You tilted your head back, panting as his hands descended to the hem of your shorts, squeezing and scratching your sides as he went.

“Eds, please-”

“That’s it, good girl,” Eddie purred, teeth still against your chest, “Beg for me.”

You whined, bucking your hips up, trying to get some friction.  Eddie laughed a little as you tried desperately to squeeze your thighs together.  The leg he kept between yours prevented it, and you groaned, tugging on his hair in retaliation.

Eddie moaned, leaning back until you could see his eyes shut in pleasure, “So pretty.  And such a fucking brat-”

He sunk his fangs deep into your chest.  You cried out, digging your nails into his scalp.  You keened weakly as he drank from you.  He didn’t take much- he was already enduring what could be considered a blood overdose- but he did take enough to shut you up, to make you hurt.

When he pulled away, you were a mewling mess beneath him.  Your whines only got louder when he dragged his tongue over the bite wound.  A sharp grin exposed his fangs, now stained with your blood.  He leaned in, kissing you deeply, sliding his tongue passed your lips.  You could taste the copper tang of your life in his mouth.  

He pulled away, breathless, and in seconds he was back on your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your arm, biting at your wrist and drawing blood before he moved back to your chest.  He pulled your other nipple between his teeth, nipping and biting, making you whine.  You moved your body against the thigh he kept between your legs, grinding on it.  You were desperate and Eddie knew it.

He kissed down your stomach, biting at your hip as his grip tightened on the fabric of your shorts.  You yelped at the sting of his teeth, the sharp piercing of his fangs in your flesh.  Eddie’s tongue laved over your hip, lapping up the blood that dripped down your side.  He tore your shorts to pieces before the blood could stain them, ripping your panties off with them.

A loud gasp escaped you, and you let out a whine as the cold barn air met with your dripping cunt.  Eddie’s smile was almost shark-like.  Lots of teeth.

“So pretty,” Eddie whispered, “And so wet for me, baby.”

He pressed a kiss to the new bite mark hip before he continued, “Y’know, watching you fuck yourself for me- I’d only last so long before I just took you for myself.”

Two fingers moved up your slit, gathering your arousal before meeting with your clit.  His skin was rough, callused from fighting and from his guitar.  His touch was electric, sending shockwaves through your spine.  You couldn’t hold back your moan, nor could you control your hips as they bucked up into his hand.

“S-so,” you tried to speak as his fingers moved in tight circles over your sensitive nub, “You’d still fuck me, then?”

“I’d clean your fingers off first, but yes.”

“Oh, good.  So either way, I get what I want.”

He paused his ministrations and pulled his fingers away entirely, digging them into your sides.  You made a noise of protest, but Eddie remained still.  For a second, he just stared at you, half squinting.  In the time it took to blink, his teeth were on your chest again.  He didn’t break the skin, but he got so dangerously close to it that you couldn’t help but shiver as want dripped down your thighs.

Eddie’s grip tightened on you, and you wondered what the bruises his ring-clad fingers left on your hips would look like later on.  An especially sharp bite pulled you back to the present.  You mewled, whining as Eddie nipped at the soft skin over your heart.  You could almost feel your blood pumping faster through your veins, sending that same fire through each one of your nerves.

Slowly, though, Eddie’s fangs distanced themselves from you.  It was just his lips on your skin.  The pressure was still bruising to be sure, but something had changed.

“I’ll give you whatever you want.  Whatever,” you could feel Eddie speaking against you, his breath warm on your chest, “Whatever you want, just stay with me.”

A few short moments ago, he’d been begging you to run away from him.  Now, he wanted you to stay.  A quick kiss to your bloodied temple told you why.

‘I will,” you pulled his forehead to yours, locking eyes with him, “I promise I will.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, wrapping your arms around his neck as your nails gently scratched at his scalp.  He melted into your touch before leaning in, pressing his soft lips against yours.  The kiss was so gentle, so different from the harsh bites and scratches he’d delivered so far.  Your body overflowed with want, a broken fountain pouring desire onto the floor.

“You,” you muttered against him, “Are everything I want.”

He looked down at you for a second, eyes wide and wanting.  You leaned up, capturing his lips with yours.  One of his hands came up, cupping your face gently, holding you like you were something precious.  Your lips fit against his perfectly.  The fire inside you was threatening to take down the goddamn barn.  

You paused.  Wrapping a strand of Eddie’s hair around your fingers, you gave a slight tug.  You met his gaze with a small smile, removing your arms from around his neck and bringing them in front of you.

“Also, I would like to be untied, please.”

He laughed and did as you asked, freeing you with a swipe of his claw.  Instantly, your hands were on his face, your fingers running over his cheekbones, sweeping under his eyes.  With your new freedom, you were able to run your hands up and through his hair properly.  Above you, Eddie seemed to purr.

Eddie lowered himself, kissing and biting down your breasts and stomach, leaving bruises as he went.  His movements were the same as before, but there was a new passion to them.  You brushed your fingers over his shoulders, scratching at him slightly.  He gripped onto the soft skin of your inner thighs, threatening to tear into it.  You arched your hips up towards him.  He grabbed them, grip tight and claws digging in.  You cried out quietly as he pushed them back to the ground.  Your back stung slightly, but the pain was quickly put out of your mind.

“Stay put for me, will you, sweetheart?”

You barely had a moment to register his words.  His lips met with your heat, and you cried out at the sensation.  His tongue moved up and down, teasing your entrance before his lips closed around your clit.  You couldn't keep your thighs from closing around his head when you felt the harsh edges of his teeth.  He didn’t seem to mind.  More than that, he moaned against you.  You had to fight to keep still beneath him.

Eddie kissed and bit you, eating you out like a man starved, like an animal that hadn’t been fed in an eternity or longer.  The pleasure he brought you was almost violent in nature.  You let out a string of incomprehensible words, moaning and whimpering as he drank your arousal.  

“You taste so good, baby,” he pressed his lips to your clit, “So sweet.  You’re perfect.”

One of his hands slid back up your body, leaving goosebumps behind.  He stopped between your breasts, strong fingers pressed against your sternum ever so slightly, holding you still.  Over the next few moments, as his teeth and tongue teased you relentlessly, dragging you to the edge at a rapid pace, your hand slipped into his.  His claws bit into your skin.  Your nails bit into his.

“Fuck- fuck, Eddie-”

“Gettin’ close, sweetheart?  Gonna cum for me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your words fell to nothing as you cried out his name, shaking as you came for him.  Your voice echoed off the walls, and Eddie didn’t think he’d ever heard a sweeter sound.  He could feel your heart racing under his hand, your pulse racing through your wrist.  The way your fingers squeezed around his- like you wanted him, like you needed him- made him feel weak.  

It took you a minute to come back to earth.  You could barely hear Eddie shrugging off his shirt and jacket over the sound of your own panting.  The metallic clink of his belt buckle meeting the floor as he removed it got your attention.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him.  Your eyes traced up his slender waist, over scarred and tattooed skin.  His wings cast sharp shadows over his body.  He freed his cock from his pants, and you tried to keep yourself from drooling as it sprang up against his stomach.

Eddie had always been gifted.  He had always been big, thick- the sight of him was always enough to make your mouth water.  Even before the Upside Down had so kindly bestowed him with new shit, you thought he was perfect.  But after?  

You weren’t sure why Vecna had decided to give your boyfriend’s cock ridges and a few extra inches, but you weren’t about to look a gift dick in the mouth.  You would never get used to the sight- it would always make you shiver with want, make you drip with need.  Perhaps a rational person would be intimidated by the sheer size of him, by the ridges that now covered his length, but you?  Never.  You didn’t care about anything.  You didn’t fear anything.  You just wanted him.

Your eyes caught his- honey shining in the twilight, warm, wanting, and slightly hesitant.  His pupils were blown out, dark voids drinking in the sight of you.  He wanted to give you a moment to catch your breath.  He wanted to take a second to kiss you and to hold you close.  Eddie wanted to be gentle, but something deep inside him- specifically all the blood he’d drained from you and your attackers- demanded that he get his cock inside you as fast as he fucking could.  

“Baby, are you- are you sure you want this?  I’m not- I’m not gonna be nice.”

“I don’t care, I don’t-” you sat up, grabbing Eddie’s shoulders and pulling him down on top of you, “I want you, Eds.  I don’t care about anything else.”

“Okay.  Okay, just- promise me you’ll stop me.  If I hurt you, or if it’s too much, promise you’ll stop me.”

“I will,” you could barely hear yourself over the pounding of your heart, “Whatever you need, I promise.”

He took a deep breath before taking his cock in his hand, stroking it twice.  He lined himself up with your entrance, pressing against you ever so slightly.  He kissed up your jaw, pressing his lips against your ear before he whispered, “I love you.  And I’m sorry.”

In one swift movement, he was inside you, buried to the hilt.  You were wet and ready for him, but the sudden stretch- the sudden ache of his length pressing against your walls was still a lot for your already sore body to take.  Tears sprang to your eyes.  A scream tore itself from your throat before you could block it, mingling in the air with the sound of Eddie’s moans.

You could see the guilt in his eyes, but he didn’t slow his pace.  His thrusts were fast and deep, almost violent in their intensity.  The drag of his cock inside your needy cunt- the feeling of his veins and ridges against your walls- had your eyes rolling back, had you moaning like some mindless slut.  

Eddie wasn’t doing much better.  He quickly lost himself in the feeling of your body writhing under his, squeezing his dick every time moved.  He brushed against a spot inside you that made you see stars.  Your muscles clenched as his cock brushed it over and over again.  Pain and pleasure shot through you, sparking through your veins and making you dig your nails into his back.  He barely felt it.

Eddie took your hips into his hands, his grip bruising, his claws digging in.  You could feel your blood pooling beneath his claws, staining his nails red.  His lips were against your chest again, his teeth biting and scratching your skin.  You barely noticed.  You were too focused on him, on his cock forcing its way deeper and deeper inside, finding places that only he could reach.  

“Still with me, sweetheart?” His voice was raspy, rough around the edges as he tried to catch breath that he didn’t technically need.

“Still with you,” your voice was just as breathless as his, “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.  The sound of his hips slamming into yours cut through the silence of the night.  Your fingers moved over Eddie’s back, scratching white lines into his skin.  Your hands danced over the bones and flesh of his wings, darting over every sensitive spot.  You knew his body well, and in seconds he was melting into you.  Maybe it was a dirty move- you pulling out all of the stops on him- but you were sure he didn’t mind if his moans were anything to go by.  His cock twitched inside your walls, and you moaned at the sensation.  You were weak and wanting, and he was much the same.

“That’s it, baby,” he purred, “That’s my girl.  So fucking good for me, so tight.”

His words slurred together, morphing into a low growl as he fucked into you.  The smell of sex filled the barn, overtaking the stench of blood and decay.  The barn itself seemed to fade further and further from view with every stroke, leaving only Eddie behind.  For the moment, it was just the two of you.  There were no threats to your life, no disgusted old ladies in grocery stores, and no jocks that wanted you dead.  It was just you and the boy you loved.

One of his hands left your hip, moving back downwards to press his fingers against your clit.  You could feel him trying to set a pace while also trying to keep his claws from scratching your delicate skin.  As his fingers traced those familiar tight circles, you spiralled under him, walls clenching down around him as you drowned in the feeling of his skin on yours.

You could faintly hear him whispering filthy things in your ear- descriptions of all the depraved things he would do to you spoken over the deafening roar of your beating heart and the sound of skin on skin.  Between words, his lips pressed kisses to every part of you that he could reach.  Tears rolled down your cheeks as you neared overstimulation.  Eddie kissed them away.

Mindlessly, one of your hands slipped away from his wings and over his side.  Your fingers brushed something wet, a gouge in Eddie’s skin.  The bullet wound.  Immediately he flinched, clenching his jaw tightly to keep from crying out.  You pulled back with near-inhuman speed, but the damage had been done.  In your panic, you didn’t notice Eddie’s pained gasp turning into a laugh.  You didn’t feel his cock pulsing inside you.  As apologies spilled from your mouth, he took your now-bloodied hand in his free one.

“Damn,” he spoke over you, his voice rough and low, “I guess I deserved that, huh?”

You stared up at him, stunned into silence.  Your face burned under his gaze.  Even if you knew how to respond to that, you didn’t get the chance.  Eddie brought your fingers to and past his lips, stealing your breath from your lungs in the process.  His tongue moved around your fingers with a certain grace as he licked the cranberry colour of his blood off of your skin.  The sight of it- of his lips around your fingers, drawing you in- was enough to take you to the edge.  A little added pressure on your clit was enough to send you over, into a white-hot abyss.

You cried out as your walls clenched down around him.  Tears stained your cheeks as your orgasm overtook you.  Eddie pulled back, groaning slightly.  Transparent strings connected his lips to your now damp fingers.  A devilish grin overtook his features, “You liked that, huh?  You came hard for me, sweet thing.”

You let out an embarrassingly loud whine in agreement, your body shaking as it came down from its high.  Eddie let out a groan that matched your volume as he moved his hips against yours at a harsh and unforgiving pace.  

He panted, “I’m- I’m gonna need you to use your words, baby.  Need you to- fuck- need you to tell me.  You can do that for me, right?”

You let out another whimper before you let out a broken confession, “I- I liked that,” he leaned in to kiss you, but you cut him off again, “But you didn’t deserve it.  You don’t deserve to be hurt- unless y’know, it’s kinky.”

Eddie froze for a second.  Your words had caught him off guard.  As he stilled inside you, his smile changed.  Everything about him became less devilish and more genuine.  He broke eye contact.  You could just see a pink flush spread over the pale skin of his neck and cheeks as he buried his face in your shoulder.  When he spoke again, his words were muffled by your flesh against his mouth.

“You’re too good to me.”

His thrusts picked back up again, the same as they were before.  He slowly placed your hand back where he found it, “Far too good.”

A sharp sting spread through your body as his teeth pierced your flesh.  A fresh round of tears pooled in your eyes at the new ache.  Blood dripped down your shoulder and over your chest, painting red lines down your tits.  Ruby-red droplets jumped slightly with each snap of his hips.  You felt him twitch at the sight of it.  His grip tightened, and he made a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr.

“You’re- fuck,” his voice edged on wicked, desperation seeping in as he reached up to wipe your tears away, “You’re mine.  I’m gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to.  Gonna make sure they know- make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

“Please, Eds.  I want you- I want you to claim me.  Want you to show them that I’m just your slut-”

Eddie felt a twinge in his chest, guilt taking arousal’s usual place.  Degradation was usually fun to some degree, but he knew what people in this town called you.  He knew what they thought you were and he knew the danger it put you in; and with the events that had led you here, his fear was raw.  Worry burned through his head, turning brain cells into exposed wires.  His lips quickly pressed his lips to yours bringing your pleas to a brief halt.   When he pulled away, he whispered, “You know you’re more than that, right?”

“I know,” you leaned up to kiss him, recognizing the emotion in his eyes, “A thing can be two things.  I’m a person, and I’m yours, body and soul.  Just yours.”

He shut his eyes, chasing down your lips and kissing you breathless.  It was sweet, not gentle, but kind- and you wanted to change that.  You wrapped your teeth over his lower lip and bit down.  You didn’t draw blood.  You weren’t sure that you could, but you sure as hell tried.  Eddie growled, but before he could say anything, you were whispering into him again.

“You’re mine, too.  Remember that.”

The smile that crossed his face was blinding.  Desire consumed him again as his hips moved against yours.  His thrusts came faster, deeper, and impossibly harder.  His eyes clouded over with lust, and you were pretty sure that if you had a mirror, you would see the same thing reflected in your own face.  The want.  The need.  Your body melted beneath Eddie’s as he fucked into you the way he said he would- like a fucking animal.

Your body craved his- you wanted him to keep his word, to take you, claim you, protect you.  You wondered, briefly, what it said about you- that you wanted your partner to commit acts of violence in your name.  You brushed those thoughts away as a familiar tension began to build in your core.

As your edge grew nearer, Eddie could feel his monstrous instincts overtake him.  He knew that his grip on your body was just a bit too firm, that he was leaving dark bruises and deep bite marks all over you.  If he wasn’t careful, he would hurt you, but careful seemed to be the last thing you wanted.  You kept begging him for more, arching your body into his, digging your nails into him.  Soft, depraved pleas escaped your lips, morphing into cries as you came undone beneath him.

Eddie wasn’t sure what happened next.  He blinked, eyes falling shut, and when he opened them, he was using your body with a level of violence he had always tried to keep you from.  

A broken scream ripped its way out of your throat as the head of Eddie’s cock rammed against your cervix with bruising force.  A blinding agony spread through you, crawling through your nerves and making you gasp for air.  You could barely feel Eddie’s claws digging into your sides, barely feel it as he thrust back into you.  Your thighs slammed shut around his hips.  A whimper escaped your lips as your nails scratched down his back, desperately searching for purchase.  

Eddie paused for a split second, looking down at you with wide, panicked eyes.  He didn’t stop.  He couldn’t stop.  He hated himself for it.  You took a deep breath as he kept moving, as he kept thrusting deep within your walls.  You tried to relax, to let the pain fade.  You failed.  You felt the head of his cock hit your cervix a second time, and you bit down on your lip, drawing blood.  Tears streamed down your cheeks as you held back a scream- you couldn’t hold back your pleas for mercy.

“Eddie-” your voice broke, “Eddie, stop.  Please, please, stop- I can’t-”

All pleasure had left your voice, leaving only pain and fear behind.  Again, he didn’t stop.  He wanted to stop- he desperately wanted to stop.  He needed to stop, and he knew that.  He was hurting you, and that killed him, but some shameful part of his blood-drunk mind was excited by your pain.  It wanted to keep going, even if he didn’t.

In a panic-fueled attempt to end your agony, your hands pressed against Eddie’s shoulders, pushing him back.  It was enough to snap him out of it and make him stop- and it made him notice the blood dripping over your lip and down your chin.

The first word to pass his lips was, “No.”

There was a deep, disbelieving horror in his voice, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he had done to you.  He reached for you, slowly and cautiously, giving you plenty of time to stop him.  When you didn’t, he wiped the blood off your face with his thumb, cradling your jaw with the rest of his fingers.  

“Shit- shit, shit, shit,” his other hand came up to hover near your face.  Tears filled his eyes.  If you didn’t see it, you would’ve heard it in his voice.  Your boy sounded so broken,  “I’m sorry, baby, fuck, I’m sorry.  I wasn’t careful enough.  I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“I know, baby.  I know.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “You know.”

Eddie wrapped his hands around yours and pinned your arms to the concrete above your head.   He kept your fingers intertwined.  As much as he hated himself for it, he didn’t want to let go.  A whimper escaped you, and you watched Eddie’s face as he shut his eyes and hissed.  For a moment, you thought he was hurt.

“Eddie-”

“You know that the man you love is a monster.  You know that every time I touch you, I risk hurting you.  You know I could kill you, the same way I killed those men tonight.  The same way they tried to kill you, I could just-”

His hands squeezed yours.  He wouldn’t look you in the eye.  He looked anywhere else, just not into your eyes.

“Eddie,” your voice was softer, reassuring.

“Sweetheart, when I fuck you, you are being violated by a monster.  If I claim you, it means that you’re owned by a monster.  If we-if I got you pregnant, if you had my kids… they’d be like me. A monster just like their dad.”

He shifted slightly, preparing to pull away from you as he began to sink into that familiar pit of self-loathing. Eddie had barely moved an inch when you latched onto him further, clinging to him, wrapping your legs around his hips to make him stay.  

“You think this is a violation?  Eddie, I asked for this.  Do you not want-?”

“Oh god.  Baby, I want this.  I want you, more than I should, but I hurt you.  I didn’t stop when you needed me to, and that- it terrifies me.  This was a mistake, I never should’ve-”

“I don’t think this was a mistake.  Any of it,” you sat up a bit, just enough to press your forehead against his, “You stopped.  I’m okay.  And, uh… I kind of liked what you were saying.  But-”

“But?”

“You really think our kids would be monsters?” you asked, “With you as their father?  No way.  Menaces, maybe, but not monsters.”

He said nothing, but a small smile crossed his face.  He didn’t pull any further away.  He just stared at you with those sweet doe eyes of his, so warm, so enamoured with you, and still so full of guilt.   

It wasn’t a surprise that his mind had gone to such a place- he had killed a bunch of people moments before, fucked you on top of their bodies, and now, he had hurt you.  It was an accident, you both knew that, but the guilt would eat him alive if he let it.  You weren’t willing to let that happen.  You hadn’t let those dark thoughts get to him in the past, and you sure as shit weren’t going to start now.

“Eddie.  Everything you did tonight, you did to save me.  Everything you do is to protect the people you love and care about.  Tonight, two years ago, and even further back. You love with everything you have.  You- are so brave, and so deeply kind, even if you pretend not to be, and if that makes you a monster, then I hope our children are monsters, too.  And I hope they have your eyes.”

He remained still for a moment.  His expression betrayed both his shock at your statement and his want.  In the next second, his lips were on yours.  He let go of your wrists, bringing his hands back to your face.  

“I love you,” he whispered into the kiss, “I love you, I love you.”

You leaned up and into him, kissing him back as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, “I love you too.  So much.  And I want you to remember, I also killed a man tonight.  If you’re a monster, then…”

He let out a quiet laugh, lips moving down your neck, feathering kisses over your skin all the way to your collarbone, “We’re monsters together, then.”

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, “Exactly,” you purred.  You paused for a second, becoming violently aware of the weight of his cock inside of you.  You taped your fingers against his spine before you thrust your hips down against his, “You can, uh… you can start again now.  I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

You leaned closer, whispering against his lips, “I am.”

He pressed his lips to yours, tongue slipping between your lips as he began to thrust into you again.  His pace was quick, but not painful, and not quite so unforgiving.  Your fingers reached up to wrap around the messy strands of his hair, tugging gently.  He moaned into the kiss, sounding hungry and desperate once again.

As you drew nearer to your edge, your thoughts began to race.  His words spilled through your mind, drowning your psyche with every sentiment he’d put forward.  He loves you deeply.  He’s terrified of hurting you.  He’s desperate to keep you safe.  You mean something to him.  He’s thought about having kids with you, and you wanted him to think about that- fuck.

Your walls tightened around him.  His cock twitched inside of you as he neared his own edge.  

You whimpered out Eddie’s name, tugging on his hair until he pulled away from you.  His brows furrowed in concern as he took in the sight of you, but you didn’t look like you were in pain.  Your eyes were wide, filled with lust, and your chest heaved with every breath you took.  You were covered in blood and sweat, and you were the most beautiful thing Eddie had ever seen.  He felt your hands move to his face, and his gaze focused on your lips as you spoke.

“Eddie,” your voice was soft, “I need you to cum inside me.”

You watched as his eyes widened, as his lips parted in shock and a faint blush covered his cheeks.  You were kind of proud that even in a moment this intimate, you could still get him to flush like that.

“You- you want me to-?”

You nodded, cutting him off and pulling him closer, “I want you to fill me up.  Breed me, please.”

He shivered, a current of electricity running through him at your words.  His body and his instincts screamed at him to do exactly as you’d said.  

“You,” he whispered, “You’re perfect.”

His mouth slipped downwards, lips pressing against the space between your throat and your shoulder.  His teeth sunk into your shoulder.  Pain spread through your skin, white-hot as your blood dripped over your chest.  Your muscles spasmed around him as the coil snapped.  Your grip tightened on his hair.  You could faintly hear him cry out in your own haze.  His claws dug into you as he fell over that all-consuming edge.

Eddie bit down harder on your throat as he came, drinking just enough from you to make you see stars.  His cock throbbed against your walls as his seed spread inside you, thick, and hot, and perfect.  You clung to him, your breath stuttering as your muscles clenched, milking him for more.  

As he finished, the monstrous need to fuck and breed you faded away to nothing.  He was left with the more human parts of him after that- the parts of him that knew what aftercare was and that you would need it, the parts of him that knew he had to get you somewhere safe, somewhere away from the bodies of your attackers.  Your body was limp beneath Eddie’s.  Your eyes were closed, and your lips slightly parted.  You were fucked out, completely cock drunk, and utterly perfect.

Eddie brushed your hair off your face.  You could hear him repeating your name softly as you came back to earth.  When you opened your eyes, he was hovering above you, looking at you with more affection than you could put into words.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and slightly shaky.

“Hi,” you let one of your hands move up to his face, brushing your fingers over his cheek.

“You okay, pretty girl?”

“‘M more than okay.”

He smiled, taking your hand from his cheek and pressing his lips to it, “Thank god, I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t.”

“You’d probably lose your mind.”

“Oh, I’d definitely lose my mind.”

You finally caught your breath as he kissed each of your knuckles and your wrist before he brushed his lips down your arm and to your shoulder.  He let his cheek rest against your chest, listening to your heartbeat as it finally slowed down to something resembling normal.

Once it had, he lifted his head back up to look you in the eye, “We should probably get out of here, though.  Get you home.”

“God, I would like that so much.”

He pulled himself up until he was kneeling, fixing his pants and passing his shirt to you.  You pulled it over your head, watching as he got to his feet.  He held out his hands to you and you took them, letting him help you to stand.  You shook slightly, weak in the knees from both the attack and from everything Eddie had done to you.  You buried your face in his chest as his cum dripped down from your abused cunt onto your thigh.

“Ah,” you hissed, “I have no pants.”

Eddie left a hand on your arm, supporting you as he stooped down to collect your torn clothes, “I guess there’s no saving these?”

You shook your head, smiling slightly as he winced.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it baby,” you leaned up and kissed his cheek, “It was more than worth it.”

His grin showed you his teeth.  He picked up his jacket off the ground and wrapped it around your shoulders.  You still had no pants, but it would be enough for now.  You pressed a kiss to his bare collarbone as thanks.  He tilted your chin up with two fingers and kissed you properly.

“Come on,” he whispered, “Let’s go home.”

You pulled away from him for a second, looking around at the abandoned barn.  It looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie.  Blood covered the floor and stained the walls.  Seven bodies laid out on the concrete, mutilated in various ways.  You felt Eddie’s fingers on your jaw, gently bringing your gaze back to him.

His eyes were wide- something in them was almost scared.  He didn’t want you to fear him- to hate him.  He didn’t want you to think that he was a monster, but the bodies in the room only led to one conclusion- and you didn’t mind it.  Monster or otherwise, Eddie was yours.  

“Yeah,” you brushed your lips against his, “Let’s go home.”

A grin crossed his face, and the fear faded from his eyes as he bent down and scooped you up, pulling you into his arms.  Maybe two years ago, when he was still human, he wouldn’t have been able to carry you home, but his vampiric strength was at present, a gift.

You let your head rest against his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck as he stepped through the blood, out of the barn, and into the night.

-

You fell asleep on the way home.  You shut your eyes outside the barn, with the moon shining above you like a pearl in an inky black ocean, and opened them in the safety of the home you shared with Eddie- Hopper’s old cabin.

It had been in a bit of a state when Hopper had given it to you, but it was more than worth the hours you’d spent fixing it.  It was a safe place for Eddie to stay- secret, isolated.  It was the only place you could stay without the fear of capture and torture hanging over your heads.

At least, it had been.  But that fear had come too close, breaking down your door and ripping its way into your life.  You had been saved this time, but the experience followed you home.  You weren’t sure what would come next.

You turned your focus away from the nebulous future and towards the present.  Beneath you, your couch was soft.  The living room was warmly lit by a lamp on the end side table next to you.  You couldn’t see Eddie, but you could hear the sound of the tap running in the bathroom.  From your spot, you could see grocery bags neatly folded on your kitchen table.  With them sat a bottle of cranberry juice.  You didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry at the sight of it.

You sat up and immediately, you had regrets.  Every inch of your body ached.  Your face stung from the blows you’d taken, and the space between your legs burned and throbbed.  The bite marks that marred your skin stung, and you somehow managed to hit every bruise you had in the small act of sitting up.

Despite that pain, you forced yourself to try and stand.  You failed miserably.  Your knees buckled beneath you, and before you could do anything to maintain your balance, you were back on the couch.  The door to the bathroom swung open, and Eddie burst out with a wet cloth in hand.

“Shit!  You’re up, hi!”

You couldn’t help but smile at him as he sped towards the couch.  He was still shirtless, wearing the same pants he’d worn while saving you.  His missing shirt still covered your body and your legs were still bare.  His jacket was thrown over the back of the couch beside you.

“Hi,” you reached out for him as he got to the couch.  He took your hand in his, kissing it before he placed another kiss on your lips.

“Hey, hi,” he pulled back from you, giving your hand a squeeze, “Sorry, pretty thing, I was just- I was trying to get you cleaned up.”

“Oh!  Well,” you reached for the hem of your shirt, “That should be a little easier now that I’m up, right?”

He flushed as you pulled your shirt over your head.  It didn’t seem to matter that his cock had been inside you maybe an hour earlier, he still went red at the sight of your boobs.  You smirked at him, reaching out and running a hand through his hair.

“You are far too cute, Eddie Munson.”

“And you,” he pushed you back onto the couch, throwing himself down next to you and pulling your legs over his lap, “Are far too beautiful, sweetheart.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your knee.

“So, do you uh- are you okay with this?” he raised the wet washcloth in his hand, “Or do you wanna shower, or?”

“Well, I would get up, but when I tried I fell, so,” you grimaced.

“I could help you,” he gave your leg a squeeze, “Could hold you, up if you want.”

You sat up, pressing kisses to his jaw, “I would like that.”

With a smile, he wrapped your arms around his neck and picked you back up.  The trip to the bathroom was a short one.  It took even less time for Eddie to remove his clothes and get both of you into the shower.

You kept your arms around him, leaning into his chest as warm water flowed over your back.  You could feel your muscles begin to relax, knots unravelling the longer you stood there.  Slowly, he started to move.  His touch was heartbreakingly gentle as he cleaned every bite mark and every bruise.  

In turn, you washed the sweat and blood that came with the fight off of him.  Your fingers grazed his side, and you were pleased to find that the gunshot wound he’d taken had almost healed completely.  Your hand remained there for a second, your touch feather-light and shaking slightly.  You didn’t want to hurt him.

“Hey,” you whispered, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He laughed a little, though the sound was void of joy, “Yeah?  I’m glad that you’re alive.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to your shoulder before asking you to hang onto him.  Your hands clutched onto him as he knelt before you, washing off your thighs.  You took a deep breath as his hands neared your cunt.  He looked up at you with wide eyes, a question held within them.

He quickly put it into words, “You down for round two?”

You grinned as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, “Yes, please.”

His mouth was on you in an instant.  He hooked your knees over his shoulders, pressing you up against the shower wall, keeping you steady with his hands.  You tilted your head back at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your arousal.  You found yourself biting down on your bottom lip as his lips wrapped around your clit.  Your hands moved over your chest, pinching lightly at your nipples.  In minutes, you were coming undone against him.  Both of you were breathless as he pulled himself away from you.

When he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his lips.  You wondered if he could taste himself in you.  He cradled your face in his hands

“How’re you feeling?”

“Stupid good,” you murmured, brushing strands of Eddie’s dripping hair out of his eyes.

“That’s what I wanna hear,” he pulled you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist as he kissed you a thousand more times.  You let out a content hum, smiling into him as you lost yourself in him.

As the two of you climbed out of the shower, you caught sight of your body in the mirror.  You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the reflection of your bruised and battered body.  Bitemarks littered your skin.  Splotches of red and purple covered your skin. 

You felt heat build within you at the sight of everything Eddie had done- and you felt your stomach twist at the sight of the things he hadn’t.  The marks he hadn’t left would leave scars on your mind.  You hoped they wouldn’t stain your body longer than they had to.

Eddie noticed your gaze, your eyes riveted to the mirror.  He stood from where he’d been drying off your legs and moved to stand behind you.  He took your arms in his hands, running them down until your fingers intertwined with his over your stomach.  He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, just under the bloodied spot where Kurt’s gun had struck you so much earlier.  

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, gently rocking you from side to side.

“Hey, don’t apologize.  You aren’t the one who kidnapped me at gunpoint and threatened to break my bones by way of gun,” you shook your head at the ridiculous nature of your captors’ plans, but Eddie had a different reaction.

He buried his face in your shoulder, letting out a whine, “Jesus Christ.”

His hands started to shake against your skin.  His breath sped up as his arms tightened around you.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.  That never should’ve happened, they never should’ve gotten to you.”

“Hey,” you broke eye contact with your reflection in the mirror and turned around in Eddie’s hold, “There was nothing you could have done.  If you had been with me, they would have tried to hurt you.  Maybe they would’ve succeeded.  And we needed groceries, so-”

“Then I should’ve sent Steve with you.  Or Nancy, just someone-”

“I had Max.  She’s arguably scarier than Steve and- oh shit, Max,” you pushed away from Eddie, stumbling as you took a step back, “Max, is she okay!?  Did someone get her?”

Eddie kept your forearms in his hands, helping to keep you steady, “Deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths.  Max is alright.  As soon as she called me I had Steve go and get her, ironically enough.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you let out a tired breath as you collapsed against Eddie’s chest, “I guess we have them to thank for the grocery bags on the table?”

Eddie pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “That we do.”

“God, I’m gonna have to call them.  To say thank you.  And sorry, my God,” you rubbed at your eyes with one hand, “I can’t believe I put Max through that, holy shit.”

“Hey, hey, you didn’t put Max through anything.  You got her out of there.  That was the best thing you could do, you kept her safe.  Besides,” he moved back to look you in the eye, “Red’s a tough kid.  She’s dealt with worse than this.”

“I know,” your voice was half a groan, “I still feel bad, though.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie gently grabbed a hold of you, turning you around to face yourself in the mirror.  His hands slipped back into yours, and he brought them back to the expanse of your stomach, “You’ve had, what some would call, a long day, sweetheart.”

You leaned into him, letting out a soft whine when he pressed his lips to your shoulder.  You squeezed his hands, “Yeah, you could say that.”

Eddie squeezed back, “Let’s get you to bed, huh?”

“Fuck.  Yes, please.”

He picked you up again, pulling you into his arms and letting your head rest against his chest.  You felt a bit ridiculous having him carry you around your small home, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice.  Your legs were tired, too weak to carry you.  Fortunately, Eddie was more than strong enough.

He laid you on the bed gently, planting a kiss over your new bitemarks before he crawled into bed with you.  He started at your side, but within minutes, he was on top of you, his head resting between your breasts.  He took your hands in his, intertwining your fingers before kissing them gently.

The two of you lay in silence for a few moments.  You ran a hand through his still-damp hair, listening to the sound of your breathing and his.  For perhaps the first time today, you were both breathing evenly, completely calm.  

On top of you, Eddie was listening to the sound of your heartbeat, sure and steady beneath him.  He had spent so much of the day afraid that he would never hear that sound again.  He had been terrified that he was going to lose you- that the town that had taken so much from him would take you, too.

But it hadn’t.  It had tried, the jocks had tried, but he had stopped them.  You were safe now.  Safe, and protected, and Eddie seriously didn’t plan on letting you out of his sight for a few days.

“Hey,” you whispered, “How did you- how did you know where I was?  Max saw me get kidnapped, but she didn’t know where they took me after.”

His fingers brushed over your temple, “I could smell your blood.  Almost killed me when I noticed it.  The stronger it got… the more I wanted to end them.”

You leaned into his touch, placing your hand over his.

“I wouldn’t take back what I did,” he continued, “I don’t regret it.  I could never regret it.  But I’m- I’m afraid that all I am is a weapon.  That all I’ll ever be is a weapon.  The things Vecna made me do…” he faded off into silence, pulling away and rubbing his hands over his eyes.

You sat up with him, reaching out to trace his strong, scarred arms.  You could do nothing but watch as a war raged inside the man you loved.  Guilt slipped beneath your skin, thrumming beneath muscle and bone.  Eddie had protected you- he killed for you without remorse, and you were excited by that violence.  You wondered again what that said about you.

Leaning forward, you pressed your forehead to Eddie’s.  He relaxed against you, calmed by your touch.

“Hey, you know you’re more than that, right?”  You echoed his words from earlier, “You’re not a weapon, you’re not his puppet, you’re-”

“I’m your man,” he said, a small grin crossing his face, “Your protector.  Your slut.”

You giggled, shocked and pleased, and Eddie looked so proud to be the cause of the smile on your face.  When his laughter subsided, you crawled into his hold, straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands moved to your waist.  You sat there for a moment, taking in his lack of a heartbeat as he listened to the steady rhythm of yours.

“You know this goes both ways, right?” You whispered, running your fingers over the spot where his wings met his back, “You protect me, I protect you?  And we protect… whatever comes along.  I might not have the claws or the fangs, but I’ve been told I can be a bit of a bitch when I want to be, so there’s that.”

Eddie pulled you closer to him, pinning your chest to his and holding you there as he laid back on the mattress.  One of his hands brushed through your hair while the other traced intricate patterns over your back.  You shut your eyes and let yourself bury your face in the space between his neck and his shoulder.

“I know,” he tilted his face to press a kiss to your head, “I couldn’t have asked for a better bodyguard.”

You smiled against his throat, “Neither could I.”

You hummed contentedly as he pulled a blanket over your bodies.  The mindless motions of his calloused hands on your back pulled the tension from your muscles, making you relax.  Your eyelids grew heavy as you breathed him in- the faint scents of blood and cigarette smoke overtaken by the smell of your body wash.  You were so calm, unafraid, and bizarrely happy for a woman who had spent most of her day trying not to die at the hands of her kidnappers.  

Maybe having sex on the corpses of your enemies was just a natural mood booster.  Maybe it was the man you were having sex with.

“You make me feel safe,” you murmured, words slurred with sleep, “Always have.”

“Good,” his voice was quiet, but he sounded like he was wide awake.  You focused on the feeling of his hand running through your hair, of his skin, ice cold beneath your lips.

“Keep doing it?”

“I always will, sweetheart.  I won’t let anything hurt you.  I won’t lose you.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, and you smiled against his neck, “Good.  Protect me.”