swamp fae

The puffed seam of your sex was exposed. And throbbing with need. You widened your legs with wicked intent, granting Halsin a generous view of what the handling of his turgid member had done to you, unable to resist snaking a slender hand down to stroke your neglected pearl.

He smelled of herb gardens rather than musk, not at all like the scent you had expected from the many bawdy stories, all of them claiming that human men possessed a distinct odor in their most private regions.

Not elves, it would seem.

In fact, there were no signs of advanced years below his waist. As you were given the opportunity to look, feel, and taste him up close, you found him divinely sculpted: from the weight of his balls to the immense, graceful curve of his cock. It pulsed in your grip, swelling further until it seemed impossibly hard and firm.

You admired the veins running along its dorsal side and the way his uncut foreskin rolled back to expose his substantial glans: the lovely mushroom-shaped head with a purplish tint and delicate indentation. Pearlescent, milky beads of precum gathered at the slit beneath your ministrations, glistening against his skin.

The act of devouring his seed.

Rather than spilling into a waiting womb, it would be subsumed and broken down, reduced to the nutrients and vitamins vital to the creation of life. It was a selfish act. A blasphemous one.

And the fact that the former Archdruid wanted you to do it—that he had willingly offered himself up for you to wine and dine upon—was unbearably titillating.

The wet suction of your mouth and the deep, shameless swallows echoed obscenely through the cavernous space. You grew bolder. Greedier. Saliva gathered faster than you knew what to do with, some of it slipping from the corners of your lips, displaced by the girth of Halsin’s cock as you fed him into your mouth with every bobbing movement.

Further and deeper you dared to take him, feeling his twitching head nudge insistently against the entrance to your throat. Then, suddenly, you slipped, and he plunged.

Your swallowing reflex seized, rippling along his shaft and massaging his crown.

Halsin groaned loudly, the sound breaking into a gasp. The hand tangled in your hair tightened painfully, urging you deeper before he caught himself.

It had been instinctive. A momentary loss of control.

You were unused to such stimulation. You gagged and were forced to retreat, coughing softly as you caught your breath. Halsin did not seem to mind. If anything, his dark, blown-out eyes and parted lips suggested that he had liked it far too much.

You were certain he had experienced every manner of lover: skillful artisans in the service of Sharess who could take a fat cock all the way without so much as a blink, and partners like you, innocent to the many ways of carnal expression and desire, still learning the ropes.

The thought did something unexpected to you.

There had been other souls who had taken pleasure from his cock, who had sought him out and greatly desired him, knowing he promised a night they would not soon forget. Rather than stirring jealousy, the thought thrilled you. You enjoyed watching the way others perceived your lover: the way Halsin moved confidently in a crowd, the way their eyes followed his stride, the way they yearned.

Because you knew that all of this was yours.

It filled you with pride. It made Halsin even more desirable and unbearably attractive.

Your appetite sharpened. You moved faster, curling your tongue along the underside of his length to collect his salty taste before hollowing your cheeks once more and sucking down hard.

Halsin growled.

His strong hand tightened in your hair again, guiding the movements of your head and neck. Faster.

You mewled around a mouth far too full to answer him.

"Good lass."

────────

He was supposed to be off on Sundays- practically unreachable. It was a clause in his final contract that he signed almost 11 months ago. He had Sundays off with no disruptions. No calls, no emails, no meetings- and absolutely no work. So, when his phone rang through the quiet confines of his loft-style apartment, he groaned out in frustration.

Leave me the fuck alone, Paul…

He thought, slumping further into his couch as he slung his forearm over his eyes. He had nothing on his agenda besides a well-needed nap and some light D&D manual reading. He didn’t even plan on leaving his apartment. Just that.

So, when his phone stopping ringing, Eddie let out a sigh of relief- trying to doze off again before it started ringing again. Not even a five minute pause between the last call.

Whatever he wants, he can leave a goddamn message like everyone else.

He would get to it on Monday. Maybe. If he was lucky.

But no.

On the third attempted call, Eddie jumps off the couch with a groan- stomping over to his wall phone before picking it up.

“Munson.” He murmurs gruffly as he leans against the wall impatiently.

“Eds! Jesus Christ, kid! Pick up your damn phone when I call.”

“What do you want, Paul?” Eddie drones, already wanting to be off the phone as fast as he picked it up.

“Look, kid, I know you said no Sundays but-“

“Nuh-uh.” Eddie cuts him off “No. You know the rules. The only thing I asked for when we renewed my contract was that I get to be unreachable on Sundays. This-“ Eddie gestures to the phone in his hand even though he knew his manager couldn’t see him. It was all for emphasis, really.

“This is not unreachable.” He finishes “It can wait until Monday.”

“Look, kiddo, I know what you said but I don’t think this can wait.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll have to wait. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

“Do not hang up on me, Munson! I know you’ve only got a month left of this but at least respect me enough to hear me out when I speak to you.”

“Fine,” Eddie sighs, rubbing his temple in exasperation “What do you want?”

“I’ve got a gig for you. Trust me, kid, you’re gonna love it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Y’know, Paul, I feel like I’ve heard you say that before.” He points out.

“Nah, kid. I mean it. I’ve got something you’re gonna love. Meet me in my office in an hour.”

“What!?” Eddie exclaims “Hold on! Wait-“

But before Eddie could argue, his manager had already hung up- leaving the other end dead as he stood there in disbelief.

That fucking bastard.

────────

To say that the porn industry had made him jaded would be an understatement.

After three grueling years, a lot of fucking, faking it, and getting off enough women to start a Jim Jones-style cult- Eddie had had enough. He was retiring. For good.

The announcement to the porn industry had been a shock to everyone. Eddie “The Freak” Munson; the sex-industry’s “Prince of Porn” (Or “The Prince of Pussy” as some called him, for some odd reason) was leaving behind his legacy as the ladies’ favorite male pornstar. No one has seen anything like it. It was practically unfathomable that someone of his caliber- someone who jackhammered his way into the hearts of millions- was walking away.

To almost every man in America, Eddie “The Freak” Munson was living their dream. Eddie, however, was bored, tired, and lonely. It was fun while it lasted but he was ready to move on. You could only fuck so many blondes with huge tits and daddy kinks until it got completely played out and repetitive. It also didn’t help that, outside of filming, he wasn’t even interested in sex.

True be told, sex had become the last thing on his mind. Not that he couldn’t fuck anyone he wanted. Hell, he was sure there would be a line halfway to Europe if he did. He just didn’t see the point. It was like eating the same meal everyday for the rest of your life. You get tired of it pretty damn quick. What was the point of sex without the emotional connection? The passion? The lust? It was just a waste of time and energy.

Eddie rolled into his manager’s office an hour and a half later, taking his sweet time as he parked his van at the studio. He walks past the receptionists, sending a wink their way as he walked through to Paul’s private office suite. There have been many occasions when he overheard the girls at the front-desk fawning over him after he had just wrapped up a scene with some “up and coming” star that was completely underwhelming.

Sometimes he even thought about taking home one of the receptionists and dicking them down just to see if he felt something. That he wasn’t completely numb to getting someone else’s rocks off. But Paul would surely have his ass if he found out. Sometimes Eddie wondered why he even cared.

“Where the hell have you been?” Paul exclaims, turning towards Eddie once he walks through the door “I was just in the middle of calling you.”

Paul puts the phone down as he watches Eddie plop down into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk.

“Yeah, well, I’m here now. What are your other two wishes.” Eddie deadpans.

“You’re lucky that production pushed back today’s shoot by another hour otherwise you would’ve missed out on what the hell I even called you in for.” Paul chastises, earning an eye-roll from his client.

“Which is?” Eddie points out “You had me race across town in traffic and you haven’t even told me that the hell for. Let’s get on with it. What’s this gig you’re so obsessed about?”

“I found a girl for you.” Paul announces excitedly as if he were a matchmaker and not a manager for sex workers.

“….Okay.” Eddie replies slowly “That’s it?”

“Would you lighten up?” Paul replies incredulously “I’m getting there, okay? Just give me a minute to, you know, set the scene.”

“Paul, I don’t pay you 10% for you to ‘set the scene’ and waste my time. Let’s pick a lane here, and stick to it.” Eddie states, not mincing words. One thing he learned fast during his first year in the industry was that mincing words was what got you used up and stomped on.

“Alright. So, I found this girl. Her manager came to me. Her company is putting together a flick. Oral Fixation 5 or some shit like that. Anyway, they’re looking for a male costar for her. They want someone good. It’s the girl’s first time with a partner. She mainly does solo work. She’s a bit skittish but cute. Different than the type of girls you usually work with.”

“So, you want me to fuck an amateur?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, no. Not an amateur. She’s been on film before.”

“Has she fucked anyone on film before?” Eddie challenges, eyeing his manager judgmentally. Leave it to Paul to call him in on his day off to ask him to fuck some newbie that probably has no idea what she’s doing.

“See, that’s the thing, you wouldn’t be fucking her.” Paul explains.

“Then what would I be doing? Feeding her bon-bons?” Eddie asks.

“Like I said, it’s an oral flick. No fucking. Very simple stuff. She basically does most of the work herself. She’ll start off solo, get herself nice and ready, you come in and eat her out, make her come, she’ll suck you off, let you come on her face and voila! Done! You’ll be out of here by noon tomorrow. So, whaddya say?”

“….What does she look like?” Eddie asks, leaning forward in his seat. He would be lying if he said his interest wasn’t piqued. No actual fucking? Just some light oral work, a blowjob, and then done? Didn’t seem that bad.

“That’s why I wanted you to come in!” Paul explains “She’s here. In Studio B shooting some stuff for Hot & Horny. You can head over, give her a good look, see what she can do, and then we can book it if she makes the cut. Maybe if she’s up to your standards, we can use her for your big flick. But you have to decide today before someone else snags her. She’s cute, kid. A real looker. I don’t see her staying small for very long.”

“Really?” Eddie asks, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Really.” Paul assures him “What’re you thinkin’?”

“Alright.” Eddie sighs, standing up from his chair “Let me see her.”

────────

When he walks into Studio B, Eddie is expecting to find another cookie-cutter run of the mill porn girl. Big fake silicone tits, lip injections, and an overly-enthusiastic fake orgasm. Bonus points for bleach blonde hair. What he didn’t expect to find was you- the complete antithesis of all of the other girls he’s used to. You were a breath of fresh air.

You stood off to the side of your set- a cute little bedroom set up complete with frilly pink floral sheets, heart shaped pillows, and cute little teddy bears. Boy band posters were taped onto the fake set walls to mimic the feel of a girl’s bedroom. College student, girl-next-door. Young, hot, and sexy- and, boy, Eddie was into it. He was so fucking into it.

Production staff began setting up the scene, placing several different adult toys onto the rose-printed lacy duvet. A smorgasbord of pleasure instruments. Eddie was no stranger to solo girls scenes. He’s gotten off to many of them. But this one was different. He was sucked in- intrigued.

You were standing in a silky robe, covering up whatever production has asked you to wear. All Eddie could get a glimpse of was the thigh high white stockings with lace trim that adorned your long, sexy legs. No heels. Interesting.

You were talking to a set manager, batting your long mascara-ed eyelashes as your pink, kissable lips spread into a sweet smile. The set guy said something that got you to laugh, your head tilting back as you let out an adorable sexy laugh- your hair draping down like a luscious waterfall.

Fuck, you were hot. So, so hot.

“Told you she was a looker.” Paul chimes in as he sidles up beside Eddie- too distracted to notice that he was even in the vicinity “What are your thoughts so far?”

Eddie didn’t want to reveal his hand just yet. He didn’t want to seem too eager.

“Let me sit in for this one. I wanna see what she does.” He replies slowly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Before he knows it, the director calls you over- motioning for you to enter your set and get yourself situated on the cutesy pink bed.

Alright, Eddie thought, Show-time.

Before the cameras begin to roll, you gingerly untie the silk sash of your rope- taking it off to reveal your lingerie ensemble before handing it off to a set manager. Eddie’s mouth immediately went dry.

There you were in all of your glory, decorated head-to-toe in a baby pink lacy lingerie set that Eddie wanted to unwrap- desperately. You wore a bra that was practically see-through, your perfect tits hardly covered by the lace that adorned them. Through the fabric, he could spot your perky nipples- his mouth beginning to water at the thought of rolling his tongue around them- his hands full of your gorgeous breasts.

You wore a pair of lacy matching panties. Your beautiful cunt barely hidden beneath the fabric. Covered up just enough to leave him wanting more. Teasing him. You were a vision. You sat primly on the bed, your legs tucked to the side- like a proper lady- as you waited for your cue to start. Eddie began to move closer- not wanting to miss this.

He sidled up to the small herd of production members, standing firmly as a few of them greeted him with a nod. They were probably wondering what the hell he was doing there. He normally didn’t sit in to watch scenes. He was more known to shoot his own shit, get dressed, and leave as soon as possible. Yet, here he was, metaphorically sitting on the edge of his seat as he waited for you to start.

As if by the grace of god, the set director calls action- signaling to you that the camera was rolling. There wasn’t even a hint of intimidation as you started off slow and tantalizing. You place your fingers over your lips, blowing your signature kiss to the camera. Those lips. Those pouty, pink lips. Eddie hadn’t seen anything yet and he was already hooked- those soft kissable lips drawing him in. Soft lips that he wanted wrapped around his cock.

Continuing on with your tease, you trail up your body with your cute little hands, reaching up to your chest- gently massaging your tits through your lacy pink bra. The movement was slow and sensual, your hands kneading your perfect breasts- pushing them together seductively as you began to look straight into the lens of the camera.

Okay, Eddie thought, this was definitely not your first time doing this sort of thing.

He could tell, immediately- his eyes taking in the way that you were confident and deliberate with your touches. The way that your hands trailed up and down your body- grabbing, kneading, and tracing your irresistible curves. You were comfortable. In your element. Eddie could tell right away that, when it came to getting yourself off, you were definitely no amateur. He had barely even seen anything yet and he knew- and all he wanted was to see it in real time.

You reach up to hook your thumbs into your bra straps, sliding them off your shoulders as you bit your lip- batting those pretty eyelashes at the camera lens. Reaching behind you, you began to unclasp your bra- sliding it off agonizingly slow. Eddie’s breath hitches as his eyes lock onto your bare tits- nipples hard and perky as you playfully toss the discarded bra onto the floor beside the set bed.

Eddie couldn’t help but smirk, loving the way that you teased the camera- staring it down as if it were the viewers at home. The sad, unfortunate losers that weren’t anywhere near as lucky as he was to see it in person- to even be offered the opportunity to get on his knees to please you.

You kneel onto the bed, giving the camera a good view of your lower half- your lace panties and stockings still on. Those fucking stockings. Eddie could feel the blood circulating to his dick, causing him to grow hard against the zipper of his jeans. You had barely even done anything but play with your tits and he was already starting to leak precum.

These days, it took a lot for Eddie to physically react to things. Being overly-exposed to sex in this industry tends to do that to you. So, the sheer notion that he was getting hard and horny for you when all he had seen so far were your breasts was pretty damn close to miraculous. You were barely even into your scene and he was sure that he’d have to use one of the private dressing rooms to rub one out afterwards.

You ran your hands down your stomach, staring down the camera as you caressed lower and lower down your body until you reached the waistband of your panties, biting your lip as you plunged your right hand into the fabric. Eddie had to stop himself from groaning at the sight. He had seen plenty of women touch themselves- he was a pornstar, for fuck sake- but the way that you did it was hypnotizing. His eyes become glued to your clothed core as he focuses on the way that your fingers moved and teased yourself behind the thin fabric.

So fucking hot. So goddamn sexy.

He wanted to see more- needed to see more.

Your nimble little fingers teased your clit, working behind the thin fabric of your panties as you threw your head back in pleasure- your hair cascading down as your free hand reached up to one of your breasts. You pinched the nipple between your fingers, letting out a light little moan that had Eddie’s dick stirring beneath his boxers.

Fuck, that’s hot. Eddie thought. Keep going, baby. Show me how you do it.

As if you could read his mind from across the room, your eyes open- flickering over to him as you inch your hand further down into your panties. You insert a digit inside of your pussy, causing yourself to gasp as the sensation.

Shit.

Eddie watches your knuckles work their way inside of your cunt as he strains himself to get even just a glimpse past what’s behind those pretty lace panties. He could bet that they were fucking sopping wet by the way that your muscles didn’t tense or stutter when you inserted another finger. You probably slid it in with complete ease. Like it was nothing- and that was so incredibly hot.

It went on like this for a while. Eddie staring at your lower half as you toyed with yourself from behind the panties. Just when he thought he was on the brink of getting blue balls, you slowly slipped your fingers out of your panties- the production lights on the studio set picking up the way that your digital glistened with your arousal. It was a fucking sight. Such a sight that Eddie didn’t even think about you upping the ante- taking your drenched fingers and sliding them into your mouth, wrapping your lips around them as you sucked them clean.

Holy..fuck.

Suddenly, the director called cut- the sound of his orders causing Eddie to snap his head over in horror.

Cut? No. No, no, no, no, no! You were just getting started! What the fuck?!

“Alright, babe, second act. Lose the panties and get into position. Legs spread, okay?” The director calls out, causing Eddie to sigh in relief. You weren’t wrapping yet.

Thank god!

You nod at the director, hopping off the bed as you begin to take your panties off, sliding them down your legs. Where Eddie was standing off-set, he had the perfect view as you bent over further and further to push your underwear off. You were bend over so low that he had a full fucking view of your glistening wet pussy, and he was right- you were sopping. It took all of the fucking strength and self-control he had to not stomp onto that set, pull down his jeans to free his raging hard cock and jam it into your fucking cunt. God, he’s never wanted to fuck someone so badly in his life. He wanted to tell production to fuck your solo scene so that he could start fucking you.

You straighten up, now standing as you kicked off the panties- leaving you completely nude aside from the white thigh-high stockings. You climb back onto the bed, perched near the edge as you opened your legs- sitting spread eagle in front of the camera. Eddie was fully convinced that he was about to pass out.

That perfect little pussy. It was wet, pink, and tight. The prettiest he’s ever seen and he’s seen a lot during his career. Yours was the first to make him go weak in the knees, wanting to sink down in front of you at the edge of the bed as he spread you open and devoured you- acting as if you would be his last meal.

Production came rushing in to fix your hair, smoothing away any imperfections before running off set- gearing up for your cue. You waited patiently like a good, good girl. Hands to yourself as you awaited permission to continue and, if it were up to Eddie, he would reward you. For being so good. So patient.

The director begins rolling, cuing you in to start and Eddie was hooked and ready to see what you would do next- spread out in front of him. Your eyes catch the camera, your hands roaming down to your core as you begin to play with your clit- now uncovered. No barriers in-between. Thank god.

Your middle finger does all of the work, slowly circling your sensitive little button as you throw your head back again, letting the sensation take over you. Letting your hands freely pleasure yourself as if no one were watching- as if it really were you in your bedroom alone. That, Eddie decided, was what made it so hot. You weren't putting on a performance for anyone. There was no theatrics, no drama- no over the top acting. It was you. Just as you were. Enjoying every little bit of it- and, goddamn, was it sexy.

You let out soft little moans and gasps that went straight to Eddie’s dick, twitching in his pants at the way that you sounded. You sounded sweet- melodic. Music to his ears as your breathing picked up. He stared as you moved your fingers from your clit and down through your folds, wet and glistening as you spread your arousal all over your sex. You were drenched. In all of his life, Eddie never even thought about wanting to be an appendage, but holy shit was he jealous of your fingers.

You use one of your hands to spread yourself open for the camera, causing Eddie’s eyes to almost roll into the back of his head. He was seeing so much of you and he hadn’t even met you yet. But he couldn’t help but watch. He couldn’t look away.

You sink the middle finger of your other hand into your pussy, pushing it in until you reach your knuckle- so fucking deep with that little finger of yours. Eddie couldn’t help but want to take over, wanting to use his much bigger digits to fill you up just how you deserved.

Eddie watched as you slip another finger in, framing your soaked core with your pointer and pinky finger. The way that you touched yourself was hypnotic, putting him in a trance as you ramped yourself up closer and closer to your orgasm. Your moans grew louder, breathing heavier and more needy. Because there was something you needed- Him. Or maybe that’s delusional of him to think. But he knew that he needed you. He was hungry for you and he wanted a taste.

You begin fingering yourself, expertly delving your fingers into your pussy as you fucked yourself with your digits just the way that you liked. Eddie studies this, watching the way that you liked it- wanting to replicate it. No, he wanted to do it better. So fucking good that you couldn't even fathom the idea of anyone touching you but him. He was so drunk on your pussy and he hadn't even so much as touched it yet. He was fucked.

"Alright, angel." The director calls out, catching Eddie's attention for a moment "How about we get some footage of you with one of the toys? Get a really good build-up, climax, we'll do a closeup of the aftermath, and then we're done. Sound good?"

Toys? Eddie forgot about the toys. He was so fucked. He probably shouldn't watch this, knowing that he could very well finish in his pants- but he didn't care. He was rooted to the spot. Too addicted to move. He was drunk on you and your sexy body and your perfect pussy. He needed this. He needed to see you come undone. He needed something to think about tonight as he jacked himself off so hard that he would probably chafe. He'd have to use lube. His own spit wouldn't cut it. There's no way that he could rub himself raw when he knew that he was going to be lucky enough to be in your mouth the next day. Sucked off by those pouty pink lips.

His own thoughts and the view of you naked on that bed, toying with yourself, was becoming overstimulating. It was like an outer-body experience to watch. Even though he didn't feel like he was in his own body, he knew that there was nothing he wanted more than to be inside of yours.

His eyes are glued to the scene as you daintily reach for the toy of your choice. A purple Jack Rabbit style vibrator. You click it on, watching as the toy came to life in your hands. Eddie couldn't help but think about how much bigger he was than that stupid toy. How he would be able to reach places inside of you that the vibrator couldn't even come close to reaching. Places that you probably didn't even know existed. You deserved to be fucked like a queen. Not by some inadequate toy. Even still, he watched as you pressed the tip of the toy to your clit- causing you to gasp loudly in reaction.

Fuck, Eddie thought as he watched you slide the tip of the toy past your clit and through your folds- marveling at the way that your body shivered in reaction. The way that your body responded to pleasure was oh so delicious. Eddie was eating it up like he was starving.

He watches as the toy collects a thick coating of your arousal, making it so wet that Eddie had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.

Fuck, you were so wet.

You slide the toy back up towards your clit, pressing the tip against it harshly as your eyes fluttered shut- causing you to buck your hips.

So fucking sensitive.

You swirl the toy against your clit as you breath catches, followed by a soft moan that escaped those pretty lips.

Fuck, baby, let me hear you.

As if you could hear his thoughts, you let out a needy whine. You needed more. It wasn't enough. Not even close.

Before he could process it, you had begun to insert the toy into your pussy- falling back onto the mattress underneath you as you started to thrust it inside. Flicking your wrist with a motion that had you whimpering desperately. The vibration inside of your cunt causing your walls to contract around the vibrator- making it a tight squeeze to continue thrusting.

Eddie's eyes were wide as he watched. The sounds of your moans, the faint buzzing of the vibrator, and the wet squelching sound of your pussy completely overtaking him. Fuck, this was hot. The most erotic thing he's ever fucking seen.

You continue fucking yourself with it, picking up the pace as you sit yourself up enough to watch you fuck yourself with it.

Shit, yes! Bet you like to watch yourself get fucked, don't you?

You mouth falls open as you watch how slickly coated the toy was as you pushed it in and out of your pussy. Eddie was jealous that it wasn't his dick covered in your arousal, making it so easy for him to slide in and out of your cunt at an ungodly pace. He wanted it so fucking bad that his knees were weak.

Without warning, you finally find that spot. That perfect spot deep within you that had you going crazy. Toes curling, gasping for air, moaning out like crazy as you squeezed your eyes shut. You were close.

Fuck, baby! Just like that! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You pushed that pathetic little toy as deep as it could go, your mouth falling into a perfect little 'O' as you got closer and closer and closer.

Show me how you like it, baby. That's right. So fucking good!

Soon you couldn't control yourself, bucking your hips as you thrusted it in and out of hole as your moans became more loud and desperate.

Fuck, sweetheart, doing so good. You're almost there. Need to watch you cum.

You began to reach your peak, practically sobbing as you kept working for it.

C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Let me see it.

And as if on cue with his dirty thoughts, you cry out in pleasure. Finally peaking as your thighs began to shake, whimpering as you came all over that stupid toy- your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave.

Fuck, yes! That's it! Fuck, you are so fucking hot! Jesus fucking Christ!

You rode out your orgasm, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. It was so fucking hot. Eddie didn't know how he had gone this long in his career without fucking you. Without knowing you existed. A perfect little sex kitten that he wanted to play with. Hell, you alone were giving him second thoughts about retiring. Not before he could fuck you in every possible way imaginable. Fuck, he was so fucking into you that he could surely invent new ways to fuck you that had never even been thought of before. He'd have to create a whole new updated version of the Kama Sutra with you as his sole muse.

"That's a wrap! You did great!"

The director praises you as you slowly begin to sit up on the bed, hair wild with a blissed-out look on your face. Eddie had never seen someone look so beautiful post-orgasm.

A member of the production crew came over to you and handed you your silk robe. You stand up with shaky legs as they helped you put it on- making yourself modest after that fucking smoke-show that you had just given everybody. Eddie didn't know how no one else was crashing down like he was. He was leaking so much precum that he would probably need new pants. But it was worth it because you were...wow.

"See? I told you." Eddie whips his head over to catch his manager standing there next to him. Had he been there the whole time? Had Eddie been talking out loud? "What do you think, kid?"

Eddie's mouth was dry. He felt dehydrated from just watching. He felt like he needed to down a gallon of water after watching you get yourself off like a fucking professional. With an intensity that he's never fucking seen before.

"Is she still available?" Eddie croaks, his heart hammering in his chest. What if another guy had swooped in and booked the gig right under his nose while he was too busy ogling at you?

"I could give her manager a call and see if it's still open. I know they reached out to a few guys. That Chris Infamous guy being one of them. The jacked up one with the muscles. You know who I'm talking about."

Chris Infamous? Over his dead fucking body!

“Paul, go call her manager right now and tell them I’m in. Like, now.”

────────

The whole way home, he had been antsy. He had waited an hour after your shoot in his manager’s office as he called up your manager in an attempt to get in touch with them. There was no luck. Paul had missed them every single time- and Eddie made him leave a voicemail every…single…time. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his hands.

Eddie tried to busy himself with his previous plans that he had before leaving his loft earlier that day but he just couldn’t focus. The words in his Dungeons and Dragons player manual just blended together and his mind would wander off, causing him to read the same sentence over and over again.

He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. Your soft, supple body wrapped up in that pink lingerie. Those goddamn white stockings that you had kept on the entire shoot. The way your pussy glistened with your arousal underneath the production lights. Eddie was addicted- transfixed. He needed to do this scene with you.

He throws down his player’s manual, tossing his head back onto the couch. He stares up at the ceiling as he lets out a frustrated grunt. Waiting back for a response was torture. He just needed a yes or a no- hopefully a yes. God, he was hoping for a yes. But if the gig was taken, he wished he would know sooner rather than later in order to kill the anticipation.

He reaches onto the coffee table for his pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and placing it between his lips before lighting it. He took a couple of drags, the taste of nicotine barely doing anything to calm his nerves. He was so pent up. He had been ever since your scene. He was hot and bothered.

His mind drifts back to thoughts of you. Your perfect tits that would fit perfectly in his hands. Your perky nipples that he wanted to roll his tongue against, tasting them. But he mostly thought about your sex. What you would taste like. He imagined that you would be sweet- candy-coated beneath his tongue as he ate you up. Liquified sugar in the best way.

Eddie could feel his cock twitch beneath his pants as he fantasized- wanting to bury his head between your soft thighs as he worked his tongue against you so ferociously like it would be the last thing he’d ever do. He’d never wanted someone as bad as he wanted you- wishing that he could toy with your sensitive little button with the tip of his tongue. Teasing you until you begged for more.

Eddie began to unbutton his pants, feeling the ache in his cock that was dying to be satiated. He needed a release. His head was so full of you that he needed to do something to quell the heat that he felt in his groin. He needed to cum.

He pulls down his zipper, feeling a sense of relief as the pressure of the metal enclosure against his hard cock was finally removed. It was like releasing a long, pent-up sigh. He was painfully hard. Practically throbbing underneath his boxers as he slides his hand down past the fabric, gripping himself as he attempts to pull his dick out. He winces at the sensitivity he felt on his cock head.

When he pulls his dick free from his jeans, he looks down to find that his tip was nearly red, angry at the lack of attention that it was receiving. It had been a long time since Eddie had touched himself. He normally didn’t have to with the kind of work that he did. But this was different, he needed this. He needed relief.

He wraps his hand around his length, slowly moving it up and down the way that he liked but his member felt nearly hot to the touch. He was so worked up that it had made him ultra-sensitive to every little thing. Every stroke, every little flick of his wrist. He could feel everything with ten times more intensity than normal. And, god, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to jack himself off to completion on his living room couch. No, he wanted to sink his desperately hard cock into the velvety soft walls of your incredible cunt.

A pearl of precum leaks out of his tip, slowly dripping down until he collects it with his finger-swiping it up to use as lubricant and he began to buck his hips into his hand. It shouldn’t be his hand. It should be you. He didn’t want to settle for anything that wasn’t you. But he’d have to until he hopefully got the real thing.

“Ah! F-fuck!” He gasps as he picks up a faster pace, wanting to reach his peak as quickly as possible. He was desperate for it. He was needy and fucked out by the images of you that kept playing out in his head.

You on the bed with your legs spread wide open for him, ready to take whatever it was that he was willing to give you like the good girl you would be. Like the good girl he just knew that you were. He stroked himself fast and hard as he thought about how he’d want you to take his cock. He wanted your legs slung over his shoulders as he pounded into you hard enough to have you sobbing. He wanted to wrap his hand around your throat and jerk you back onto his cock as he fucked you from behind. He wanted to fuck you like a whore. Like you were made for it.

“Fuck, baby…” Eddie whimpers, more precum oozing from his tip as he imagined that it was your hand instead of his. Stroking him with those soft little hands of yours as you stared him down with those gorgeous eyes. Marveling at just how crazy you could drive him- at just how badly he wanted you.

“Shit….just like that, sweetheart. Fuck.”

Eddie could feel himself getting close, his breathing picking up faster and faster until they became needy grunts- trying to chase his high.

“Shit, shit, holy fuck…”

He kept stroking and he wouldn’t stop until he got there. Not when all he could think about was just how hot you looked when you orgasm. When all he wanted was to fuck you so good that you had to beg him to stop. How he wanted to make you cum on his cock over and over again until you couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to take you apart just to put you back together again.

Just when he was ramping up to his finish, a few seconds away from blowing his load into his hand, the phone rings- snatching him right out of his fantasies.

Fuck. No!

He growls in frustration, jumping off the couch as he stumbles towards the phone- barely stuffing his angry cock back into the confines of his jeans. A denim-clad prison.

“What?” He huffs as he picks up the phone, his breathing still heavy and ragged from touching himself.

“Eddie, listen, I got in touch with her management.”

“Fuck!” He sighs in relief, resting his back against the wall. “What’d they say?”

“They were pretty psyched that you wanted in, kid. Turns out you were first choice for them. Which is great because they were an inch away from giving the gig to Chris. Good thing I called when I did. Anyway, you got the gig. They’re excited. The girl’s excited.”

You were excited? Wait…You knew who he was?

“Wait, she knows who I am?” Eddie stammers, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Oh yeah.” Paul laughs “Apparently she’s a huge fan.”

“Fuuuck. No shit?” He asks, trying to fight the grin on his face. He felt on-top-of the-world fucking incredible.

“Have you ever known me to pull your leg, kid? She asked for you specifically. By name. Lucky you, playboy!”

Yeah, Eddie thought. No fucking kidding!

“She asked…for me?” He still couldn’t believe it. You were out-of-this-world gorgeous and you wanted him to be your first on-screen partner? Eddie hadn’t experienced an ego-boost this big since…well, ever.

“Yeah, kid. First on her list. She was worried we wouldn’t accept what her management was offering but I told her we’d make it work.”

Fuck, he would do it for free.

Wait…

“You spoke to her?” Eddie asks, jaw practically hitting the floor.

“Oh yeah,” Paul replied “She personally returned my calls. Wanted to thank us for accepting.”

“No fucking way.” Eddie swoons. It just kept getting better.

“She also wanted me to tell you that she hoped you were impressed at the shoot today. She said she was a little nervous when she saw you but hopefully you didn’t notice.”

You...naughty…little…minx. You had known that he was there the entire time? Fuck….

“Anyway, call time for tomorrow is eight a.m.” Paul adds “And Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fucking be late.”

────────

The next morning, Eddie had woken up early.

Not because he had something to do or somewhere to be. No vastly important errands that he needed to run. Eddie had woken up early because his body couldn’t stand to stay dormant and asleep any longer. Because, for once in a long time, his reality was better than sleep. He had something to look forward to- you.

He had never felt this way before, never took his work too seriously- honestly, what was there to take seriously? He just showed up, fucked, picked up his check, and went home. He never put much thought into things. He just did them. But today was different. Today, he seemed to be putting too much thought into everything.

He agonized over whether or not to drink coffee, worried that the caffeine might make him come off hyper or on edge when he finally had the opportunity to speak to you. He debated foregoing breakfast, giving himself an excuse to invite you out to post-work brunch if things really took off between you two. This was the start of all of his worries. The closer it got to his call time, he got more and more in his own head.

He was suddenly hyper-aware of everything about himself. Anything that you could nit-pick when you finally met. Did you like tattooed guys? What if you didn’t? Would you think his tattoos were stupid? Did you prefer guys with short hair as opposed to long hair? What if he wasn’t your type at all in the slightest and none of this even really mattered? It only got worse by the minute.

Then he reminded himself that you knew him. You’ve seen his work. You were a fan. There was obviously something you must have liked if you chose him out of any other guy in the industry. You were so pretty that you could have requested anyone you wanted- and you chose him. Eddie desperately wanted to know why.

He prepped and primped himself in the bathroom like a teenage girl. He took extra care in the shower, scrubbing every inch of himself vigorously with the soap that smelled extra good.

He washed and conditioned his hair. Hell, he actually brushed it and applied product instead of just running his fingers through it and calling it good. He fucking styled it- putting it into a low bun with a hair tie that he found in his medicine cabinet. He knew just how much wearing his hair up drove women crazy- and he hoped that you weren’t any exception.

He paid extra attention to his downstairs area, making sure that he was perfectly trimmed and proper for you. The last thing he wanted was for you to get on your knees for him and be met with an unkempt jungle. He wanted things to be neat and tidy. He also hoped that landscaping the bush would make his dick appear prettier- something that you’d want to put in your mouth.

An hour before his call time, he was shaking like a leaf. He felt like he was in high school again, nervous and skittish around the female population of Hawkins High. Which was ironic considering what he does for a living these days. Over the years following graduation and leaving that hellhole, Eddie had begun to gain a sense of self-confidence. His demeanor changed.

He became sure of himself, finally believing that he was worth women’s attention. That he was far more attractive than he initially gave himself credit for- and the critical feedback on his work as a porn actor definitely proved that. If twenty year-old Eddie could see just how many women would flip their shit over him, he’d have probably dropped dead in disbelief. But none of those women mattered. None of the porn girls that he had previously filmed with mattered. Even the girls from Hawkins didn’t matter anymore. You mattered.

The whole drive to the studio was anxiety-inducing. Multiple people tried to cut him off on the freeway- gotta love L.A. traffic. Some douchebag in a fucking Corvette flipped him off because he forgot to use his blinker, which seemed to worsen Eddie’s mood as he just kept overthinking himself. How was he supposed to talk to you, let alone shoot a scene, when he couldn’t even drive straight?

When he finally pulled up to the studio and parked his van, Eddie was officially a wreck. He had no idea what to do with himself. You were probably already inside trying to pretty yourself up for your scene together. Eddie couldn’t help but wonder what you would wear- hell, why did he even care if you wore anything at all?

He wondered if you were just as nervous as he was. Granted, you had an excuse. This would be your first scene with a partner, meanwhile, this wasn’t anywhere close to Eddie’s first rodeo. Yet, he felt like a virgin on prom night.

He enters the studio, trying to act normal as the front desk girls greet him. Even the choruses of “Hi Eddie…” in their seductive voices weren’t enough to get him out of his own head. He just gave a small wave and a slight tinge of a smile on his lips. Normally he would’ve leaned up against the receptionist desk and flirted- given them just a scrap of his attention. But not today. Not when he felt like he was going to be sick.

He drifted all the way back to Paul’s office, casually knocking on the door a couple of times before letting himself in. His manager looks up from his desk, suddenly adopting a confused look on his face once he laid eyes on Eddie.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Paul asks, tilting his head in confusion.

The comment takes Eddie aback, immediately causing his stomach to drop. Was he missing something? He was supposed to be here…right? Then he felt the dread seep in.

Fuck. The shoot’s cancelled. No way. There is no…fucking…way.

“I…uh…I’m confused.” Eddie replies slowly, shaking his head as he tries to keep it together. This could not be happening.

“Aren’t we shooting today? I came before call time. Did they fucking cancel?” He panics, running his ring-clad fingers through his hair in agony. Fuck!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” Paul says “Nobody cancelled. Shoot’s still on.”

“But…I thought…you said you were surprised that I’m here.” Eddie tries to reason.

“Yeah,” Paul nods, looking at Eddie as if he were nuts “I’m surprised that you’re here before call time. I’ve managed you for the past three years and I can barely remember a time when you’ve ever shown up on time. Let alone early.”

“Oh.” Eddie replies, dumbfounded.

Well, at least the shoot is still on.

“Are you wearing cologne?” Paul asks, looking Eddie up and down as he stood awkwardly in front of his desk.

“Oh.” Eddie breathes “Yeah.”

That has Paul even more confused. Eddie always smelled nice but it was always just his natural scent- laundry detergent, a woodsy musk from the deodorant he wore, and a hint of cigarette smoke. Eddie never deliberately put on cologne unless he was trying to impress someone- and Paul knew this.

“Alright, well…” Paul starts, not knowing what to say to make things less awkward than it already was “Your leading lady is here. Dressing room A.”

“She’s here already?” Eddie gapes, taken by surprise. He thought he had more time to prepare. For what? He didn’t know.

“Yeah, kid. Unlike you, the leading lady happens to know a thing or two about punctuality. Speaking of which, why don’t you go see how she’s doing? Bet she’s sweating like a sinner in church. First time on-camera partner and all that.”

“Do you think she’s nervous?” Eddie asks, out of concern but mostly to gauge if you could be nervous because of him.

“No idea, kid, but it would be nice for you to have a conversation with each other. You know, before you stick your dick in her mouth.” Paul suggests.

To which, he had a great point. Eddie probably should go and say hi. Hopefully he can pull himself together enough to be charming and personable for you. Or, if anything, at least make you feel a bit more comfortable with him before he went down on you in front of a whole camera crew. This could either go very well for him or become a complete disaster.

────────

Eddie stood outside of your dressing room door, his body so tense that he felt like stone. On the other side of this door was you- the girl of his wet dreams that he somehow, begrudgingly, didn’t know existed until yesterday. To say that he was nervous would be an understatement. Eddie’s stomach felt like it was tied in knots and the last thing he wanted was for you to see that he was nervous. No, he had to play it cool- confident and sure of himself. He could do this. Even if it was all a facade.

He begins to knock, so nervous that he could practically break into a sweat over it. He was definitely glad that he decided to wear cologne today but then Eddie began to worry that maybe the cologne would make it seem like he was trying too hard. He was worried that you could sense it and that it would turn you off. Turning you off was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.

He could hear shuffling from behind the door, the sound growing closer before the handle turned and the door swung open- revealing you. All dolled up with completed hair and makeup. Wearing that short little silk robe. As soon as you saw him, your face broke into a smile.

Okay, Eddie thought, that’s a good sign.

“Hey,” he smiles, trying to be smooth but it was so fucking hard when you looked at him with those eyes “I’m Eddie. I’m…uh…I’m your scene partner for today.”

Not that he had to introduce himself. You knew exactly who he was. You had gotten off to his scenes more times than you could count.

“Right, of course!” You exclaim, extending out your hand in greeting as you introduced yourself to him. Eddie raised his eyebrows when he noticed that you hadn’t given him your porn name. No, you had given him your real name.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you….properly.” Eddie jokes, causing you to laugh. God, he loved the way your lips curled into a smile- how your eyes lit up. You were so damn pretty.

“Me too.” you nod, looking at him for a beat too long to be accidental. With a cheeky little glint in your eyes as you casually looked him up and down.

Oh, Eddie thought, so we’re flirting now?

“You mind if I come in? Or are you going to make me hang out in the hallway?” Eddie teases “Which I wouldn’t mind. As long as you keep looking at me like that.”

Your heart flutters in your chest “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.” You bite your lip nervously- and, boy, does Eddie notice.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” He smirks “So, you gonna let me in or?”

“Right!” You shake your head “Come in.”

You step aside, letting him walk through the door before closing it for privacy. Not that you expected anything to happen. Not off-camera, at least.

Eddie walks over and sinks down onto the small loveseat that was against the wall in the dressing room. He sits seductively, legs spread apart as he leans back on the sofa like he owned it. Honestly, he was so charming that he could tell you that he did, indeed, own it and you’d believe him. You, on the other hand, sank down into the hair and makeup chair across from him.

“So, I…uh….I should probably say thank you for accepting. My management probably already told you but it’s my first time doing a scene with someone else. I normally do solo work.”

“So I’ve seen.” Eddie replies, a cocky smirk on his lips. He wanted you to know that he had seen you in action. Not that he needed to tell you. No, he just wanted to remind you of the fact.

“So, my manager might have told me that you had requested me specifically…..by name.”

As soon as the words left his lips, your face began to heat up in embarrassment. “He told you that?”

“Mhm.” Eddie hums, his eyes devouring you.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie smiles slyly “I was pretty flattered, actually. Not gonna lie, it kinda gave me a big head.”

And, to tell you the truth, I wanna show you my big head, Eddie wanted to say.

But he didn’t want to come off crude and overtly sexual during your first meeting.

“Really?” You mumble bashfully, trying to look anywhere but at Eddie but it was so hard when he was so fucking hot.

“Yeah.” He confirms “Especially coming from a girl like you. So, tell me, sweetheart….why me?”

The sound of his deep, sexy voice calling you sweetheart was enough to make you light-headed. Lord have mercy….

“Well,” you sigh “My management really started to float the idea of me doing stuff with a co-star. They thought it might push my career a bit more and give me more opportunities. To be honest, I wanted to do it but I didn’t want to do it with just anyone. So, I told them that I would only agree to do it as long as I could pitch at least one guy that I thought I could feel…comfortable with.”

You thought you could feel comfortable with him. You had chosen him because there was something about him that you felt was different than all of the other porn guys. You were far too shy to admit it but Eddie was your favorite male pornstar. You didn’t know what it was about him but he just felt safe. Like you wouldn’t be completely in your head if you were to work with him.

You had seen so much of his stuff that you had witnessed exactly how he treated other girls-putting their pleasure first so much so that he made sure to at least get them off twice before he finished, himself. It wasn’t just that but how soft he seemed with them. Like every one of them and how they felt was important. For your first time, you didn’t want to feel like a piece of meat. You wanted to feel cared for. You were certain that Eddie Munson would be the perfect guy to pop your first-time cherry with. He didn’t want to settle for anything else.

“I make you feel comfortable?” He asks, looking at you in a way that had you on the brink of melting into your seat. However, truth be told, it was Eddie who was trying not to lose his shit. You felt comfortable with him. You had chosen him because there was something different about him than the others. You felt something.

“That’s, uh, really flattering.” Eddie clears his throat, trying to stifle the very turned-on moan that he felt coming. "Can I maybe ask why you feel comfortable with me? Y'know, so I can lean into it while we're shooting the scene?"

And so I can use it as spank bank material tonight…

“Well, I don't really know what it is exactly.” You begin, wringing your hands nervously in your lap “I guess it’s the vibe you give off. I’ve seen your stuff and I just….there’s something about how you treat the other girls that makes me feel like I’d be safe. Cared for, I guess.”

“Okay, yeah." He nods.

Keep it together, Eddie. Jesus Christ...

“I want to make sure you feel cared for. It's important to me. Especially it being your first time. I'm really flattered."

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, of course. How could I not be?' Eddie admits “You're, like, super gorgeous....and you picked me, for some reason."

He says it as if he's not one of the most sought after guys in the industry. Like he was nobody. Like he couldn't have a harem of girls hanging all over him if he wanted to.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m looking forward to it. Making you feel cared for...and safe."

"Thanks, Eddie." You reply bashfully "That means a lot to me."

"Um....so....since we're being truthful and shit...can I admit something?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Yeah." You agree "Absolutely. Safe space and all." You smile and, god, it makes Eddie's dick so hard.

"I...uh...I've kinda got a little crush on you." He blurts out before he can back out of saying it.

"Oh." You breathe, your eyes widening in surprise "You have a crush...on me?"

Eddie fucking Munson just admitted that he had a crush on you.

"...Yeah." He winces "I've kinda been down bad for you since yesterday."

"Really?" You repeat "Me?"

"Why do you keep saying it like it's hard to believe or something?" Eddie laughs.

"I mean....because it is. You're...you know..."

"I'm what?" He pushes, wanting to hear you say it.

"You're Eddie 'The Munch' Munson, for god's sake."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Eddie laughs "That’s a new one."

"I mean...it's not not factual." You argue "When you...you know...eat pussy like that....you could have basically any girl that you want."

"Hm." Eddie hums, as if he were doubting it.

"Oh please," You tease "Don't act all modest. You know you're gifted."

"Oh, I am, am I?" He flirts, a cheeky smirk spreading across his lips.

"As if you don't know." You scoff, trying to avoid his gaze. But how could you when he was so hot?

"Well, sweetheart, that's really flattering coming from you." He compliments "At least I know that I have a pretty good chance of pleasing you later."

The comment went straight to your core, causing you to shift in the hair and makeup chair as you clamp your thighs together. You tried to be inconspicuous about the fact that him and his words had such a strong effect on you, but Eddie's eyes shift to your long, sexy legs as you crossed them in your seat. His lips curl into another smirk. He was loving this.

"Don't look at me like that." You practically whisper, your face heating up bashfully.

"Like what?" Eddie teases, that fucking shit-eating-grin still plastered on his face.

"I don't know. Like-"

"Like I wanna eat you?" Eddie interjects, raising an eyebrow at you seductively.

Cocky asshole....

"What if I do wanna eat you, sweetheart?" He asks, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on his knees, staring you down.

"I-"

"'Cause I do. As a matter of fact, since this is a safe space and all, I'm going to tell you that I wanna eat you so fucking bad. Real bad."

You were so fucking wet. Holy fucking shit.

"And if I'm being real honest, baby, I wanna eat you so good that I make you cry. But I get the feeling that you just might like that."

"Eddie..."

"But only if you want me to." He adds "I don't wanna misinterpret anything."

He couldn't misinterpret anything if he fucking tried. How you felt about him was so fucking obvious.

"Anyway," He says, quickly standing from his seat on the sofa. “I should probably go freshen up for you. Y'know, seeing as I'm about to get really lucky in the next..." He checks his watch "Thirty minutes."

He looks up from his watch, his big brown eyes falling upon you- drinking you in.

"See you out there, Princess."

────────

You were so fucking nervous. You stood off-set, watching as production set up lighting- making sure there was the right amount of brightness on the scene stage. The set was a small brick-walled room with an expensive looking black leather sofa in the middle. White shag rug underneath it and some vibrantly green foliage plants in the background.

It was reminiscent of those “casting couch” scenes that porn companies liked to shoot- but this one was classy. Not cheap and sleazy. Like it was the middle of someone’s living room- a glimpse into a private passionate moment between a couple and not just two strangers fucking. Eddie Munson was going to eat you out on that couch. The thought of it made you somehow even wetter than you already were.

Just as you were allowing yourself to get lost in the fantasy, you feel a large hand on your waist- causing you to look over to find Eddie standing next to you. Staring at you with softness in his eyes.

“Doing okay?” He asks, searching your face for any indication that you weren’t, indeed, doing okay.

“I’m okay.” You breathe shakily “Just a little nervous.”

“Don’t be.” Eddie whispers, leaning into you so intimately that only you could hear “There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just me. You’re safe with me, okay?”

And somehow those five little words felt like they’ve lifted so much weight off of your shoulders. He was right. It was just him. You could trust him.

“Okay.” You whisper, looking into his warm, brown eyes. Everything was going to be okay.

“How about this…” he starts, beginning to think “If things become too much or you need to stop, I want you to tap my arm twice. I’ll get them to cut and we’ll take a break.”

“Won’t they get mad?” You ask, your voice tiny and uncertain.

“It doesn’t matter.” He states “What matters is that you’re comfortable. This is about you, sweetheart. Without you, there’s no scene. You have the upper-hand. You are in control here. Nothing happens here that you don’t want to happen. Understand?”

“Yeah.” You nod “Okay.”

“You trust me?”

“I trust you, Eddie.”

“Good.” He nods “Because there’s nothing to worry about. If things start to get overwhelming with everyone watching just close your eyes and just focus on feeling, okay? That’s my job. To make you feel good.”

You didn’t think it was possible to be even wetter than you had been before but Eddie being sweet on you had practically opened up a floodgate inside of you. If it weren’t for the scene, you’d throw yourself at him right there.

“Well, hopefully I’m able to return the favor.” You say “I’ve never done that before…on camera.”

You were alluding to giving him a blowjob. It’s not like you haven’t given blowjobs to ex-boyfriends and casual hookups before. But this was different. You would be sucking off Eddie Munson- a man that’s probably received far too many blowjobs to count. He’s probably experienced some mind-blowing shit and there’s no way that you’d ever be able to compare to what other porn girls have been able to do to him with their mouths. You were embarrassed to even try.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, trust me. I’m not picky.” He laughs “Blowjobs are like pizza. Even when it’s not the best pizza, it’s still good because it’s pizza. Not that I expect you to be bad or anything.”

“…I don’t know if that’s supposed to be encouraging or not.” You reply, starting to retreat back into your own head.

“Sweetheart, what I’m trying to say is that it’s going to be fine. Don’t think too much about it.”

“But how could I not think about it when-“

You were cut off by Eddie grabbing for your hand, squeezing it affectionately as he looked into your eyes.

“I thought said you trusted me.” He points out, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I do.” You reply hastily “I just-“

“Like I said, focus on feeling. When we get to that part, I just want you to focus on what feels right. Things will be fine. Honestly, there’s also nothing sexier than a girl that’s into it, y’know?” Eddie explains “You don’t have to be the best at something. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you enjoy doing it and I want you to enjoy yourself. ‘Kay?”

“Okay.” You nod, letting his words sink in.

“Also, sweetheart, with lips like those, I’m sure you suck cock like a champ but I guess I’ll just have to wait to find out.”

Your heart skips a beat at his dirty confession and you almost think about smacking his arm before one of the production managers approaches you.

“You’re on in five.” They say “Start stripping down and we’ll get you on set.”

You felt your blood run cold.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers, voice low as he strokes your back with one of his large hands “If it gets to be too much just look at me, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here the entire time.”

You take a deep breath before nodding. Eddie gives your hand another squeeze before letting you walk to take your place on set. He had successfully gotten you out of your head even just a little bit. Now Eddie just had to get himself out of his own head about cumming too soon.

────────

Eddie stands back near the camera as the director calls action. He had been watching you like a hawk, eyes peeled for any sort of sense that you were beginning to panic. He stared as you dropped your robe, handing it off before gingerly taking a seat onto the black leather sofa.

“Alright, start off slow like you normally do. Take as much time as you need. Start off with slowly taking the panties off. We’ll do some light touching, maybe some fingering. Get yourself nice and ready then Eddie’s gonna come in and take care of you.”

Hearing those words immediately felt soothing to you.

You look over towards the camera and lock eyes with Eddie. He was right there like he told you he would be. He winks at you, setting off a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You began to follow directions, waiting for the director to give you the okay before you started. Then you began to do what felt right. Just like you were doing a solo masturbation scene. You began to touch and caress your body, getting yourself worked up as you got into the scene.

You began with your breasts, reaching your hands up as you began to knead them through the red lacy bra that you had chosen for this scene- something that made you feel sexy and confident. In your head you began to repeat it like a mantra.

You were sexy and confident.

You are sexy.

You are confident.

You could do this.

You push your tits together, thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the lace bra and you gasped at the feeling. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to be in the moment and just feel. Just like Eddie had told you.

Eddie, on the other side of the set, was watching. His eyes were hyper-fixated on every little thing. The way your soft hands roamed your supple body and you tossed your head back in pleasure as you teased yourself. He was too far away but he was sure that you were letting out the tiniest little moans as you touched and squeezed and felt your sexy body with gentle hands.

Eddie had been halfway hard all morning but now his cock was starting to respond to every little thing you did. Every pinch, every grasp, every flick of your fingers against your tits. He could’ve sworn that it was starting to get hot in there and your bra wasn’t even off yet.

“Okay, honey, start to naturally drift down more. Get to the panties and take them off. We want it nice and slow, alright? Tease the camera.”

Tease the camera? Eddie definitely won’t be lasting long enough for the planned cum shot if you kept going on like that. But he didn’t dare say it out loud. He didn’t want to immediately gain a reputation for finishing fast even when he had so much pornographic proof out there that he wasn’t a fast shooter. You were the first girl in the industry that made him worry that he was going to finish in his pants as soon as he got a taste of you.

Nevertheless, your hands began to drag down, lower and lower until they reached the waistband of your panties. Red lace just like the bra. You didn’t even have to feel yourself to know that you were ready to go. You knew as soon as you had locked your eyes on Eddie from where he stood off-set that you were going to be drenched. But your right hand still delved into your panties, swiping at your folds as you felt just how wet you were.

Eddie watched, heart pounding as he stared at your hand down your little red panties-playing with your sopping wet core until you slowly removed your fingers. Drawing them out to reveal a thin coating of your arousal. Eddie’s breath hitched as your eyes bore into him. You were staring at him. Your gaze was locked in on him. All of this was for him.

You bring your slick fingers to your mouth, maintaining eye contact as you popped them into your mouth, sucking them nice and clean.

Fuck, you dirty girl….

Eddie’s dick begins to strain against his jeans at the action. God, was he ready to find out what you tasted like. He couldn’t take the teasing and direct eye-contact for much longer. He was so fucking ready for you.

Meeting the expectations of the director, you slip your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, seductively shimmying your hips as you pulled them down tantalizingly slow- agonizingly slow. Eddie watches with greedy eyes.

You laid back onto the sofa, panties wrapped around your thighs as you begin to lift your legs up, pulling the wet lacy fabric the rest of the way down your legs that were lifted slightly into the air- giving the camera a nice view of your pussy. Thighs pressed together in a way that had Eddie staring hungrily. He wanted so badly to sink down to his knees and hold those legs up like that as he ate you. The sight was mesmerizing.

After the lacy panties were off, you flung them across the set- right in Eddie's direction and he swore he saw a cute little smirk on your face when you did it. God, you were so naughty- and he was going to teach you a lesson.

"Okay, honey, now lay back on the couch. Spread your legs. Great! Perfect! Can we get some finger action in there?"

Eddie realizes just how well you follow directions as your body melts into the back of the couch, bringing your legs up onto it as you open them for the camera- spreading them open for everyone to see and, god, it was a fucking sight that was so fucking unholy. Yet, Eddie couldn't look away. Not when you were bare and spread out in front of him for his eyes to feast upon. That gorgeous body, those lace-clad tits, that glistening wet pussy. You were going to fucking kill him.

Just when he thought it couldn't get any hotter, you looked off near the camera- eyes trained on his as you used your fingers to spread yourself open for him. He could have passed out right there.

Fuck, he was really gonna give it to you.

He was going to devour every fucking inch of that tight little pussy until you were screaming. Fuck the cameras, fuck the scene, fuck everyone who was watching. They didn't matter. All that mattered was what he wanted to fucking do to you.

Your fingers began to tease your hole as you glided them up and down your slit. You were so fucking wet that it was making Eddie weak in the knees. Your sopping wet pussy was none other than a holy altar in which he wanted to bow down and worship. Eddie wasn't religious but you were a fucking goddess that he would devote his entire fucking life praying to if you let him.

You began to play with yourself, using your fingers to rub your needy little clit in slow circles. You threw your head back against the back of the sofa as you close your eyes. Focusing on feeling. Making yourself feel good. Getting yourself nice and wet for Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie fucking Munson with his huge fucking cock and his soft-looking lips and those big brown eyes. How he made you feel. So cared for, so safe. Your fingers begin to work your clit a bit rougher. You had seen him on screen so many times fucking so many girls and now it was finally going to be you. His head between your thighs. His tongue in your folds. Sucking on your clit. It was getting you so fucking worked up.

You insert two fingers into your pussy as you begin to fuck them into yourself. You let your mind take over, moans tumbling from your lips as you try to fuck yourself with your fingers as deep as you can- wanting to hit that spot within yourself that had you curling your toes.

You shove them as deep as you go, trying to reach it but you just couldn’t. It felt like something was missing. But you kept trying. It felt good, of course it did, but you couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Like you were struggling. Now you were beginning to wonder if closing your eyes and thinking about Eddie was what did you in.

You had no issues in the past with using your fingers on yourself to get the relief you needed but now they just felt inadequate. As if they suddenly weren’t enough. It was so odd. Was Eddie jinxing you? Were you maybe more nervous than you originally thought? Were you-

“Alright, honey, how are we doing?” The director asks, bellowing out to you from behind the camera. “You look good, babe. Gorgeous. We’re going to add Eddie in. Are you ready?”

You look over at Eddie as he begins to strip off his shirt, his brown curls still tied back in a low bun. As he removes his t-shirt, you can’t help but stare- zoning in on his sexy, toned body. He was so fucking hot. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more turned on by him, he looks up at you- making sure that you were okay. That you were comfortable.

You both lock eyes, staring at each other with so much sexual tension that the whole room could probably feel it. You wanted Eddie Munson so bad- his body, his mouth, this hands touching all over you. You wanted him so bad that your body felt hot to the touch. He had been your industry crush for so long and now you were going to have his mouth on you- tasting you.

You give the director the okay, still spread out on the couch. As Eddie prepares to join you on-set, he can’t help the way that his eyes wander over your beautiful body. Your perky tits, your long legs, your pretty face, your sexy curves- but, most of all, your glistening wet sex. You were practically dripping with arousal as he shamelessly stared at you- the most gorgeous angel he’s ever laid eyes on. He hadn’t even gotten his mouth on you yet and he knew that he was in for trouble.

“Alright, you’re on.” The director nods towards him, giving Eddie his cue. It was the moment that he had been thinking about for hours.

His hardened cock was surely very noticeable beneath his black jeans. He could’ve sworn that there was so much blood rushing to his dick that he would pass out from the sheer lack of it being anywhere else in his body- and it was only getting worse with the way that you were looking at him. As if he were the most delectable man on the planet. Which, you would have to admit, was pretty accurate.

Your eyes stay glued to him and the pure fucking sex god that he is as he crosses onto the set, introducing himself to the scene. You loved the way that the black denim of his jeans hugged his waist. You loved the silver chain that dangled against his right hip as he strode over to you. You loved the soft tufts of dark hair that made up the happy trail leading down into the waistband of his pants. Eddie Munson was a fucking dream. He was a king- and you wanted to be his queen.

“Hey, you.” He whispers, eyes on you as he sinks down onto his knees in front of you “Doing okay? Not nervous?”

He was checking on you. Fuck, there was no way this man could be any hotter.

“I’m okay.” You whisper back “Just a little overwhelmed.”

The way that Eddie looked at you with those chocolate brown eyes made you want to melt.

“Yeah?” He asks, voice still low enough for only you to hear- sharing this intimate moment with you only.

“Just a little.” You answer. You were trying not to focus on your nerves but you could feel the space that they occupied in your body.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and relax. I’m here to take care of you.” He says, his eyes warm “Remember what I said? If it gets to be too much just focus on me. Just forget that anyone’s even here. Okay?”

“Okay.” You whisper back, staring at him as you nod.

“Good.” He says “Now, how can I help you get comfortable? What do you need? Hm?”

God, he was making you so wet…

“….I….I, uh, can you use-“ You immediately felt embarrassed, your face flushes as you try to look away from him.

“Hey, hey, hey…” He tsks “Eyes on me. Look at me, angel.” He reaches for you, taking your chin in-between his thumb and forefinger- guiding you to look at him. “Tell me what you want. It’s just you and me here. It’s just us. Okay?”

“Okay.” You bite your lip, nodding along.

“Say it.” He demands, maintaining eye contact “I want to hear you say it. Need to know that you’re with me. That it’s just me and you in this room right now. Nobody else. Just us, okay? Tell me.”

“I….It’s just us.” You breathe, your body feeling as if it were on fire from the intimacy “You and me. No one else.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Just you and me. Now, tell me, what….do you….need?”

What did you need?

“You, Eddie. I need you.” You gasp lightly, causing his lips to form into a smirk.

“What do you need me to do?” He asks “Gotta use your words or I won’t be able to understand.”

“I want….I need you to kiss me. Please?”

Eddie lets of a short, low growl from the back of his throat as his hands fly to your waist, grasping tightly as he jerked you towards him- wanting you closer.

“C’mere, baby.” He rasps, straightening his body to become level with yours before he uses one of his large hands to grab the back of your neck- pulling you into a rough, hungry kiss that was so intense that it could have knocked the air out of you.

And Eddie fucking Munson was an amazing kisser.

The way that his lips slotted and molded against yours. The way that his mouth moved against yours as he nipped and licked and sucked at your bottom lip. The way that he slid his tongue into your mouth as if you belonged to him- causing you to want him to make you his.

You moaned into his mouth as his tongue fought for dominance against yours, taking your breath away with how desperate he was to kiss you harder and more passionately than he already was- if that were even possible.

How hands were all over. Grabbing your waist, his fingertips trailing up and down your back in delicate touches. The way that his thumb slipped underneath the clasp of your bra. He pulled his thumb back to stretch out the band then released it to let it snap back against your soft skin- earning him a surprised gasp.

He removes his lips from yours, beginning to pepper light kisses along your jawline before trailing his lips down your neck. You tilt your head back, giving him more access as he kisses down the column of your throat and then back up- working his way over until he began nibbling on your ear. You thought you were dreaming when he whispered in your ear.

“Can I take your tits out?”

You probably seemed needy and desperate as you fervently nodded your approval. You worried that you probably looked pathetic but, to Eddie, there was nothing hotter than seeing how worked up you were getting.

“P-please.” You mutter, voice coming out breathy and shaky.

“Mmm…good girl. Wanna look at those pretty tits when I fuck you with my fingers.”

You let out a startled squeak at his filthy works, causing him to grin.

“Fuck, sweetheart, does that turn you on? Listening to me tell you that I wanna put my fingers in you? Hm? That I wanna stuff you full?”

“Fuck, Eddie…” You moan.

“God, sweetheart, you’re already moaning my name and I haven’t even touched you yet. So needy for me. I fucking love it.”

He reaches both hands around to your bra clasp, expertly popping it open and removing it as if it were the easiest thing on earth. To him, it probably was. He’s probably taken off so many girl’s bras that he could do it with his eyes closed.

He pulled the bra off, taking it in his large hand before flinging it somewhere on the set. Not that it mattered. As hot as it was, it was getting in the way of what he really wanted. Your tits in his mouth.

“Mmm fuck, baby.” He groans, staring lovingly at your gorgeous chest- your hardened nipples. “You are so goddamn pretty, angel. So beautiful. Can I put my mouth on them?”

“Please.” You moan, arching your back in order to bring your tits closer to his face. Eddie chuckles at your eagerness.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He laughs “You want me to put them in my mouth? Yeah? These sweet fucking titties….”

He keeps one hand on your waist while the other snakes up to your chest, grabbing a handful of your boob as he squeezes it in his hand.

“So fucking soft, honey. So warm…..so perfect.” He teases, voice low and seductive. “Perfect little tits. Want me to put them in my face? Suck on your perky little nipples? Fuck, they’re so hard for me.”

You don’t know what came over you but you instinctively grasp at Eddie’s hand that was left grabbing your waist as you draw it up and onto your other breast, wanting him to have two handfuls of you.

“Look at you, sweet girl. You want both my hands paying attention to your tits? So bossy.” He tsks “Could’ve just asked. But that’s okay. I’m gonna give you what you want. But you’re gonna have to do something for me too.”

You look at him with curiosity in your eyes. You had no idea what he was going to ask you. Truth be told, it made you a little nervous.

“Since both my hands are full, sweetness, I’m gonna need you to use yours to play with your pussy for me. Think you can do that for me? Hm?”

Fuck

You stare at him as he surveys your body, now fully nude in front of him. God, you were a beautiful sight.

“Okay.” You squeak out, nodding your head.

“Atta girl.” He whispers “That’s my good girl. Now start rubbing your clit.”

────────

To Be Continued…

A/N: Hope you enjoyed part one. Sorry that I cut it short, I didn’t want to make the fic too long and I also wanted to get it out before I left for vacation next week. I feel like I’ve already held this back from you all long enough. Please excuse any spelling errors. I’ll go back and edit later

Taglist:

@kozume-ko

@itmekelpy

@keyrie

@lovelytoomusic

@eirammarie0

@mayawainfleet

@paradoxicalconundrum

@fapqueen

@lmaobitch111

@mdurdanpitt

@stylesxmunson

@akarolneves029

@mmmunson

@lnnn1n

@daddyhetfield

@bubblegumbxtch97

@boltonbritreads

@ches-86

@aprincess-orjustme

@darth-aragorn

@wtfaidhblog

@ssculker

@tlclick73

@yourfavidk

@twirls827

@foggysandwichqueen

@leelei1980

@chickpeadumpsterfire

@micheledawn1975

@bluemoonshinegirl

@emxxblog

@brrrainst3w

@lelyii

@nojamsonmytoast

@i-love-candles-15

@mstorm37

@petrified-ox

@arcticmazecrystal

@imgoingcrazyyyyyyyy

@sespe08

@breezythesimp

@kayjon47858

@xocherishxo

@ludachrissy

@eddiemunsonlover886

@mrsjellymunson

@am0iur

@eddiemunsonkiss3r

@bad-wolf1991

@sespe08

@autumn-rain-embers

@dreamerjj

@bing72

@julxsxx

@kellsck

@eddie-steve1986

@cutecur7ygirl

@kjaxm

@cosmicjamieee

@thetradqueer

@munsonzgf

@fantasyreader130

@angxlg0dz

@alex-peirce

@alicemarie730

The way Joel fucks you can never be labeled as anything other than exquisite. His breath is hot against the sensitive skin of your neck, his mouth closing over the pulse point just below your ear so as to taste the salt of your sweat. The coarse scratch of his chest hair drags across your breasts as he leans in close, the low rumble of his groan vibrating through your ribcage. The muscles in his back shift and flex under the featherlight touch of your fingertips. A large hand pins your wrist above your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

Despite being lost in the throes of pleasure, you can tell how dangerously close Joel is to coming. His thrusts are no longer the steady, rolling grind that he started with, but desperate and choppy. The thick head of his cock grazes against your cervix with every sloppy snap of his hips. The veins along his shaft throb against your stretched rim, his balls slapping against your ass with each stuttered movement. “Joel…” you warn.

He shakes his head fast, jaw tight and teeth clenched as he fights his impending orgasm. “I know, baby. I know. M’pullin’ out, I promise.” 

That had always been the deal between the two of you – he could fuck you bare like he wanted, but he had to pull out – and until tonight, Joel had always been overly cautious. He’d pull out earlier than he needed to, stroking himself those last few seconds before spilling across the backs of your thighs.

Tonight though, Joel seemed to be struggling to hold up his end of the bargain. He rises onto his knees and hooks one of your legs over his broad shoulders. The new angle lets him sink into you further, grinding against that spongy spot inside you with merciless precision. Your body clenches around him, squeezing his cock in a way that makes him break with a choked sound. “Fuck, baby. M’gonna come–”

He rips out of you at the very last second, cock throbbing in the cool summer air. His hand wraps around the thick, slick shaft as he jerks himself with fast, desperate strokes. With an exasperated groan, the first hot rope of come shoots out of him, landing exactly where he wants it - splattered perfectly over your swollen clit. Before you can even react, a second spurt follows dripping down your folds in a sticky, pearly streak. 

The sight of his release painting your pussy flips a switch in him instantly. That primal urge in him that is usually kept locked down roars to the surface. Joel’s chest heaves, his entire body going rigid as every civilized thought gets wiped clean and is replaced with the need to be inside you. “Fuck. Fuck, baby–” He drives into you in one brutal, instinctive thrust, thrusting every thick inch of his cock back into the heat of your cunt. The stretch is sudden and overwhelming despite him pulling out only moments earlier.

“Joel–” you manage to breathlessly exclaim as he turns his head and groans against your ankle. His orgasm hits him harder now that he’s buried where he knows he shouldn’t be, the guilt and wrongness only seeming to intensify everything as he continues to spill inside you.

His whole body shakes with the force of it, completely lost in the rush of filling you when he promised he wouldn’t. “Oh fuck–” he chokes out, gasping and moaning as he grinds himself impossibly deeper, pushing his spend as far inside you as he can. 

Your leg slips from his shoulder and Joel’s body collapses forward with a groan, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He trembles above you, arms braced on either side of your head, too weak to hold himself up fully as he attempts to catch his breath. Even after the last powerful aftershocks ripple through him, Joel stays buried to the hilt, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary roll, unable to stop chasing the euphoric feeling. His cock twitches inside your come-filled pussy, his body refusing to accept that it’s over.

The room falls silent, the gravity of what just happened settling over you until it’s almost suffocating. Joel finally slumps over you, his forehead nudging into your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around your middle like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His breath is shaky as he burrows his face into your neck and you sense the tension and unease radiating off of him.  “...baby. I–I fucked up,” he admits, voice wrecked from both exhaustion and nerves. 

You can feel the warmth of his release slowly leaking out around his softening cock and you try to lift your head to see, but Joel is heavy over top of you. You tap the side of his ass, urging him to get up and thankfully he understands the gesture. He eases himself out of you, his cock slipping out of you with a wet noise, and falls back onto the mattress, covering his face with his forearm. “Jesus…” you breathe, having propped yourself up on your elbows to look down at the mess he made. The sheen of your slick is smeared glossy across your inner thighs. Joel’s come is everywhere – seeping out of your hole in thick, pearly white streaks and dripping onto the bedsheets beneath you. 

Joel sits up, leaning back on one hand as he takes in the sight of your spread thighs, watching as his come slowly trickles from your entrance. The guilt of breaking his promise to you starts to eat at him; but, alongside the shame is a dark, hungry satisfaction that he can’t push away. The conflicting feelings weave together into some fucked up shame spiral and he lets out a heavy sigh, flopping back onto the mattress. 

He hears you say his name, but the sound barely registers. He’s too lost in his own head, trapped somewhere between regret and disgust. You call out again, this time a little louder, and he rolls onto his side to face you. Without a word, he leans in, one hand cradling your cheek as he kisses you. It’s not rushed or desperate, but rather sweet, as if his lips were trying to say everything he was having difficulty putting into words. There’s an apology in the way that his thumb gently strokes the side of your face. There’s hunger in the way his tongue slides against yours. And, there’s relief in the quiet sigh he breathes into the kiss, like touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded. “M’sorry, baby…” he murmurs against your lips. 

His eyes flick back down to the mess between your thighs, brows furrowing together. “Fuck…look at what I did to you,” he whispers. “As soon as I can feel my damn legs, “we’re gonna get in the car, okay? I’ll drive you to the pharmacy and we’ll see about gettin’ you the mornin’ after pill.” Joel shakes his head, disappointed in himself, but even more so at his cock which twitches with interest. “I promised. I fuckin’ promised and I just…” his voice cracks, “the second I came, I lost it. Buried myself right back in like some goddamn animal.” There’s a short pause, Joel swallowing down a dangerous thought, “Jesus Christ, baby…what the hell did I do?”

You grab Joel’s face with both hands before he can spiral any further, pulling him into a kiss that shuts him up and steals whatever apology was about to tumble out. His lips quiver against yours, unsure if he should even be allowed this kind of forgiveness. It isn’t until the tip of your tongue slides slowly over the seam of his lips that he melts. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and the tension in his jaw finally eases. His hand comes to rest on your waist and he kisses you back, trying to convey his gratitude for not pushing him away.

When you break apart, you rest your forehead against him and brush your thumbs over his stubbled cheekbones. “Should make you go by yourself,” you mumble against his lips, no malice in your voice. “Explain to the pharmacist what you did.”

Joel looks at you with wide, pleading eyes, knowing he deserves every bit of shame and reproach that would come from confessing it aloud. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his face starting to heat up. “Baby…” he breathes out, voice barely above a whisper. 

You smile softly, eyes locked on his, “She’s going to take one look at this guilty face and just know that you couldn’t keep your cock where it belonged.” Joel makes a ragged sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “She’ll make you say it too,” you add, dragging your thumb over his bottom lip. “What you did. Out loud.”

Joel’s eyes flutter shut, cheeks burning hotter under your gaze, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. You’re not exactly sure what prompts you, but you find yourself sliding your fingers into Joel’s hair, gently tugging his head back up so you can see his face. “Tell me what you’d say to her,” you whisper. “Tell me like you’re standing at the counter.”

Joel shakes his head weakly, attempting to resist your request, but his pupils are blown wide, lust swallowing his irises. His cock twitches with interest, blood rushing to where he’s already growing half-hard between his thighs. 

You let your gaze drop, catching the sudden movement in your peripheral vision. Joel lets out a small, miserable whine and tries to bury his face in your neck again, but you keep your grip firm in his hair. “Joel,” you say, slightly amused but with a strangely cruel undertone to it. “Are you getting hard while apologizing?”

Your question lingers in the air, and the real shock of it hits you, because Joel is not the type to be brought down to his metaphorical knees. He is always the one in control – bigger, stronger, unmistakably male – and seeing him like this almost feels surreal. You can’t help but think that it looks good on him for a change. 

Joel’s breath stutters, his cock betraying him as it twitches under your gaze. His blush deepens until he’s red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He feels exposed, ridiculous and so fucking turned on that it’s making his head spin. “Baby, I–I’m trying not to.”

You tilt your head and let out a disbelieving laugh, glancing down at his cock steadily thickening between you. “Doesn’t look like it. Looks like you’re getting big and hard just from thinking about having to talk to the pharmacist later.”

A shiver zips up Joel’s spine and he barely restrains the groan that wants to escape. He fucking loves it when you call him big. Not just because of the way it strokes his ego – though he loves when you admire his dick – but because the way you say it makes him feel powerful. Hearing you use that word against him, teasing him while he’s exposed like this, makes his stomach tighten. The contradiction of being called ‘big’ while feeling so small and humiliated fucks with his head in the best way. Because no matter how big he is – how easily he could pin you down and take control – here he is, rock hard and almost submissive for you. His cock throbs, heavy and flushed dark, curving up towards his stomach as the tip glistens with a fresh bead of precome.

“Answer me,” you say, voice low and commanding as you give his hair another firm tug until his eyes are trained on you.

“...fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, unable to keep himself in check as you stare down at him. “Yes…okay? Yes, I’m gettin’ hard. I hate it and I can’t fuckin’ help it.”

Joel looks completely mortified, but his hips twitch upward anyway, like his body is begging for attention. His big, guilty brown eyes stay locked on yours, glassy and desperate. A long moment stretches between you while you watch him squirm, shame and arousal practically eating him alive. You lean in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “That’s because you liked it,” you whisper. “You liked filling me up when you weren’t supposed to. You liked fucking up.”

His whole body tenses, his cock jerking with another helpless twitch. “Fuck…baby,” he whispers. “So fucking much.”

You let the silence sit for another beat, just to watch him sit with his admission. His hand flexes at his side like he’s dying to reach out and touch you – to grab your hips, pull you closer, bury his face between your thighs, and eat you out until you’re shaking and pushing him away.  Anything to distract from the embarrassment of telling someone else how much he enjoyed coming inside you. 

When you’re satisfied that you had made him wait long enough, you loosen your grip on his hair and slide your hand down to cup his jaw. “Joel,” you say softly. He responds with a hum, leaning into your touch. “Say it.”

Joel blinks, his breath shallow. “Say what?”

You lean in until your lips are barely an inch from his, “What you’re going to tell the pharmacist.”

Joel’s eyes flutter shut for a second, his lips parting slightly as he half-expects you to lean in and kiss him. When you don’t, he lets out a huff. After a moment, he relents,  “Sorry ma’am,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Can I bother you for Plan B? I…I accidentally…” His sentence tapers off, embarrassment and arousal tying his tongue while you look at him expectantly. “She–she told me to pull out, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You tsk at him, a low, disappointed sound that makes his shoulder tense. You trail your fingers from where it cups his cheek, down the side of his neck, over the rapid thud of his heartbeat in his chest, until you reach his navel. You trace his happy trail with the pad of your pointer finger, purposefully keeping away from his more than interested cock. “Keep going,” you state, more demand than request. “You weren’t finished."

Joel looks at you wrecked, completely at your mercy as you continue teasing him with featherlight touches. “Baby…I–”

You cut him off mid-sentence, wrapping your fingers firmly around the thick base of his cock. He goes stock still, his eyes flying wide open as he lets out a sharp gasp, “Fuck–”. You hold him there, tight and possessive, feeling his cock throb hot and heavy in your palm, but refusing to stroke him. 

“Keep going,” you say calmly, your thumb brushing lightly over the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft. “Don’t stop just because I have your cock in my hand.”

Joel licks his lips, eyes glued to yours, his thighs trembling as he fights the overwhelming urge to thrust up into your fist. “She told me to pull out,” he starts, your grip tightening. “…but I saw how pretty she looked on my cock and I–” He groans softly, enraptured by the way you’re looking at him. “I couldn’t help myself, baby.  I–I just needed to feel you feel you full of me.”

You lean in close, nose brushing against the shell of his ear, and whisper, “Pathetic.”

A broken groan tears out of Joel’s chest, shame flooding his face. He jerks his hips involuntarily, eagerly chasing the heat of your palm. His body shakes – the big, strong man who’s always in control, trembling from a single whispered insult.

“Go on,” you purr in his ear. “Repeat what you’d say to the pharmacist. Word for word.”

Joel’s eyes squeeze shut, his voice is wrecked, cracking with every humiliating word. “...Sorry, ma’am. Can I get a Plan B? I accidentally came inside my girl. She told me to pull out but I…I couldn’t help but fill her up anyway.” His hips twitch helplessly, precome drooling from the tip and leaking over your fist.

“And why not,” you ask softly, adjusting your grip, your thumb swiping over the flushed, sensitive head.

Joel keens, his back arching off the bed. “Because–” he starts, swallowing down a shaky breath,  “because she was squeezin’ me so good that I lost control.”

“I told you to pull out,” you remind him, thumb continuing to move. 

He nods quickly, shame tightening in his throat. “I know, baby. I know. I did at first but…” Joel lets out a strangled whine, only furthering his embarrassment, “...fuck.”

“But what, Joel?” you ask, lips still brushing his ear in a tease. “Finish your sentence.” Your hand slides up his length in one smooth stroke, then back down to the base. He’s so fucking big in your grip, your fingers barely meeting around his shaft due to the sheer size of him. His cock is a complete mess, glistening and still slick with his earlier load. 

Joel’s hands fist the sheets, needing to hold onto something, the fabric pulling away from the edge of the mattress as he fights for control. “I didn’t listen,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Stuffed myself right back inside.”

You pull back just enough to see his face, his pupils blown with lust, his lips parted as he pants, desperate for more – desperate for something. “Good boy,” you praise. Joel’s entire body seizes up, his cock surging with want, as he attempts to push himself deeper into your grasp. You keep stroking him, the pace excruciating, letting your thumb swirl over the messy come-slick head on every upstroke. “Now tell her why you’re there,” you murmur.

Joel lets out a broken whine, hips jerking helplessly. His voice cracks as he forces the words out, shame and arousal twisting together so tightly he can barely speak.  “ ‘Cause she needs the morning after pill,” he breathes out. “And it’s all my fault.” Joel shoves his hips up, spearing his cock into your grip as he starts fucking your fist in short, needy strokes. “All my fucking fault.” 

The big, dominant Joel Miller is officially gone. In place is this desperate, leaking, shame-drenched version of him who can’t stop confessing how badly he fucked up – how badly he needed to come inside you – and how much he loved it.

“Greedy boy. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” 

He doesn’t answer you. You let him use your hand to get off, watching his face go slack with pleasure before urging his hips down and slowing your hand. Your fingers tighten around him, just enough to control the pace, forcing his thrusts to become shallow and frustratingly restricted. Every time he tries to move, you ease off, keeping him right on the agonizing edge without letting him tip over.

“That’s it,” you croon softly, “Tell her exactly why you need it.”

Joel’s hands fist the sheets tighter, knuckles white as he bunches the fabric at his sides. “‘Cause–fuck…’cause I came inside you, baby,” he groans. “Pussy looked so good covered in my come that I just had to get back inside.”

You feel him swell impossibly bigger in your hand, the thick shaft pulsing in time with his heartbeat, as he teeters dangerously close to the edge. His balls draw up tight, the first warning of his impending orgasm.

Joel’s breath catches, his eyes starting to roll back, inches away from satisfaction. You let go, your hand pulling away completely, leaving his cock twitching and bobbing angrily in the air. He lets out a broken sound as his orgasm crests and then crashes without release. His cock kicks hard, pulsing uselessly, a thick bead of precome dribbling pathetically from the tip and sliding down his shaft. His hips buck in the air, every muscle straining as everything fades into a cruel, aching denial. He collapses towards you, his body practically shaking  as he presses his forehead to your shoulder. “Fuck…baby…please…” he begs. 

You let him ache, his chest heaving with quick, uneven breaths, his denied cock twitching and leaking against his stomach. Every heavy throb is visible as he attempts to gather himself. He tries to tamp down his arousal, but underneath is something deeper  – raw, aching need. 

You press a hand gently to his chest, urging him to lie flat and Joel obeys instantly, falling back onto the mattress fully and without protest. You swing a leg over him, straddling his hips, your slick folds parting around him. His head falls back with a guttural groan as you start to rock against him, the fat head of his cock dragging hot and slippery over your swollen clit making you both moan. You feel him shudder underneath you, a low groan vibrating through his chest as he curses silently, “...fuck, baby. Just like that.”

Joel’s hands fly to your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s barely holding himself together. His breathing is ragged, eyes half-lidded and desperate as he watches you use him. You tease him like that for a few more torturous seconds without giving him what he really needs, a needy whine slipping out before he can stop it. 

Without hesitation, you take his cock in hand, lining him up with your entrance and sinking down all the way to the hilt. The stretch is perfect, your walls squeezing tight around him, greedy for more. A broken moan escapes both of you at the same time as Joel springs up, sitting up beneath you in a rush, one arm wrapping around your back as he pulls you into a messy, desperate kiss. Joel licks into your mouth like he’s starving for you. One hand slides up your back, while the other stays wrapped around your middle as he guides you harder onto his cock. 

“Fuck, baby…” he pants between kisses, “you feel so goddamn good.” Joel’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin as he lets you take complete control, utterly lost in the feeling of being buried inside you again. 

“Keep going,” you say, pulling off of him until only the tip of him remains inside you, then slamming back down until he’s fully sheathed again. “Tell the pharmacist what you did.”

Joel’s brain is barely coherent. “Fuck–I–” His hands dig into your skin, almost like he’s afraid you’ll leave him ruined and desperate again. “M’sorry, ma’am,” he begins, his words somewhat slurred as you continue to mercilessly ride him, the wet heat of your cunt enveloping him over and over again. “Need a plan B for my–fuck– girl.” His voice cracks as you grind your clit against his pelvis, the coarse hair on his groin prickling into your skin. “I’m sorry,” he groans, starting to babble, the confession spilling out in desperate, shattered pieces. “So fucking sorry. Felt so good. Fuck, baby…you feel so good. Needed to fill you up.”

Joel is embarrassingly close already, his hips stuttering up to meet your rhythm. “Fuck, baby. Hop off–fuck, I’m gonna–” he gasps, starting to panic. His hands scramble frantically at your hips, trying to lift you off him to avoid further incident. 

But you don’t let him. You slam down onto him one last time, taking him as deep as you can, rolling your hips in tight circles that eke him closer to the finish line. Your walls clench around him like a vice and Joel’s eyes widen in shock. “No–baby, wait–I can’t–fuck!”

His panicked warning dissolves into a guttural groan as his cock pulses violently inside you, his eyes rolling back into his head, vision going white, as thick, hot ropes of come flood you for the second time that afternoon. His entire body trembles beneath you, his fingers bruising your skin where he grips you as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to Earth.

The wet warmth of his spend spills from your cunt and drips down his shaft, coating him in his own mess. Joel’s face is slack, experiencing what one can only assume to be pure bliss – like nothing in the world exists except the tight, slick heat of your cunt milking him dry. 

You ride the high right alongside him, your bodies in a perfect, filthy sync until your own orgasm crashes into you without warning. Your thighs lock tight around his hips as white-hot pleasure rips up your spine. You cry out, your head lolling back, his name slipping from your lips as every muscle shakes with wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure. 

Joel starts to slowly soften inside of you but doesn’t dare look down at the mess. “Still gotta go to the pharmacy, baby.”

The fluorescent lights of the pharmacy feel way too bright as Joel stands at the counter, posture rigid like he’s waiting on his own execution. The pharmacist, a no-nonsense type of woman in her fifties, offers him a polite smile. “How can I help you today?”

Joel’s face immediately burns red, his blush crawling all the way up to his ears. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing over at you like maybe you’ll save him from utter embarrassment, but you don’t. He clears his throat, an attempt at keeping himself from stuttering which immediately backfires as soon as he opens his mouth to speak. “Uh–I–I–uh…I need the, uh…the Plan B pill.”

The pharmacist doesn’t even blink, she just nods calmly and types something into the computer, “One moment, sir. I’ll grab that for you.”

Joel lets out an apprehensive breath, muttering under his breath while his fingers tap nervously on the counter. He prays the ground will just swallow him whole. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles to himself.

The pharmacist returns with the small blue box and sets it on the counter, scanning the barcode. “Alright, if that’s it for today, that’ll be–”

“It’s my fault,” Joel blurts out, far too loud, before realizing his blunder. “I–I messed up.”

You watch the pharmacist’s eyebrows slowly lift. In truth, your hand reaches for him like you’re going to stop him, but the words tumble out of him quicker than expected. “She told me to pull out but I just lost my head.”

You bite down hard on your lip to keep from laughing, your face heating with a mix of second-hand embarrassment and delight. The pharmacist blinks, completely unfazed. “Oh. Well…it happens. That’ll be $54.11.”

Joel looks like he’s two seconds away from melting into the floor. His neck and ears are bright red, jaw clenched so tight you’re afraid he’s going to pop a vein in his forehead. He fumbles for his wallet, dropping his debit card with a loud clatter, cursing quietly under his breath. You place a steady hand on his bicep and he manages to swipe the card with shaking fingers, refusing to look at you.

When the transaction is complete, the pharmacist hands him the bag, telling him she hopes he has a good day. He can’t even respond with words. He raises his hand, nodding his head and gently takes you by the arm, leading you out of the pharmacy as quickly as he can. When he reaches the sidewalk, he turns towards you, the bulge evident in his jeans, his voice dropping into a hushed whisper only you can hear. “Baby…I swear I ain’t ever been that embarrassed in all my life.”

The minute the front door clicks shut behind you, Joel lets out a heavy exhale, dropping the keys to his truck on the entryway table. You barely make it two steps before he reaches for you, grabbing your hand and pulling you into him, your back flush against his broad chest. His face drops into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin like he needs the contact to steady himself. 

He turns you to face him and his eyes are soft, filled with adoration and love. The flush of humiliation hasn’t fully faded, his ears tinted pink as he cocks his head to the side and then leans in to kiss you. The kiss starts slow, as if he’s asking for permission, but the moment you kiss him back, it deepens – slow and hungry in the softest way. His hands slide down your back, palms warm and steady, pressing you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. “Baby…”, he whispers, his lips not leaving yours. “...you were real mean to me.”

You smile, humming in agreement, “Yeah, you gonna let me do it again?”

Joel swallows, eyes dropping to your mouth, his response somewhat shy, “Jesus…I–yeah,we’ll talk about it.”

His forehead rests against yours and he breathes you in for a long moment, then kisses you again. His arms tighten around you as the tension starts to bleed out of his shoulders. “Thank you,” he murmurs, the words barely more than a breath. “For helpin’ me take care of it. For not bein’ mad. For…hell, for everything.”

Pain.

It’s the first thing that hit you when your consciousness came back to you.

How much everything fucking hurt.

Your entire body felt as if it had gone through the nine Hells, all at once; you could barely find the strength in yourself to get to your feet, let alone push yourself off the ground.

Then it was the disarray when you couldn’t place what had happened for you to feel so awful.

It was as if you had woken up from a long sleep; distant voices in your head, blurry faces merging together when you closed your eyes, and an awful feeling of emptiness, as if you had forgotten something extremely important but you couldn’t put your finger on it, no matter how much you thought about it.

Nothing but endless darkness.

As much as you tried to remember your life, anything before this moment, you were met with a dark fog clouding your vision. Your family, your friends — if you even had any — had all vanished from your memory. You think you remember yourself, for the most part, but even that was a stretch; you couldn’t even remember your own bloody name.

You look around you, realising for the first time that you were in a prison cell. The course of events after waking up in this dark cell hadn’t helped; the sudden cold inhabiting you, followed by this man — this monster — barging in without as much as a warning before pushing you face first against the ground and ripping open your shirt, to then torture you as he carved your back with his knife, only to leave as suddenly as he had appeared. Barely a few words exchanged, aside from some mumbling about teaching “him” a lesson, whoever that was, and you were alone once again.

Alone, with nothing but this seething pain in your back from the butchery you had gone through, the hunger digging into your belly, and your blood leaking from your shivering form, pooling around you on the cold, hard floor.

You barely had the time to gather your thoughts when the same man came back barely minutes later to carry you out of your cell and into a larger room — keeping you restrained with some magic that visibly came from his staff — where more people waited.

By the looks of it, you had been right on one thing: this was indeed a dungeon, and you were located in the deepest part of them; this room contained only a round, rock platform, located above an endless, foggy pit.

In the state you were in, you couldn’t catch everything he said as he went on a monologue. Something about powers, freedom; whatever it was, they needed you to achieve it, that was the only thing that was clear from his speech. You couldn’t understand how any of them would follow a maniac like him, but in their eyes you noticed how they listened to his words with as much fear as awe.

Your form was shivering from the cold; you wanted to cover up your top which had been previously ripped off from your body, but it was all in vain: the restraints of his magic kept you in place, and right after his speech, you were sent flying over a designated spot floating above the ground, just like all the six other people that had surrounded you previously.

Your arms remained bound to your sides by whatever spell this monster had cast on you, leaving your chest exposed to the damp, cool air of this dungeon, and your fresh wound stinging evermore at your back.

You remember the panic tightening in your chest when you realised you couldn't escape. You remember the brief relief, hope even, at the sight of a group of adventurers approaching — one of the figures shouting at the man in the middle of the room — followed by explosions and screams. Then the fear settled in when you saw them execute one of the other unfortunate souls magically held floating around this room, one new truth forming in your mind.

They weren’t here to save you.

You would be next. They would kill you. You would die here.

The pressure in your chest grew tighter as you closed your eyes and mourned your life, one you didn’t even remember experiencing, one that — you hope — had been full of adventures, of acquaintances… of love.

This last one must’ve been true. You remember being loved — more so how it felt, even if the feeling seemed so far and long ago. You remember the butterflies in your belly, the fluster in your heart, the heat between your legs; you remember just enough to know that if you died today, at least, you would’ve died as someone who had been loved.

You didn’t expect your feet to touch the cold hard ground once more. You remember falling to your knees, your body exhausted by the abuse it had gone through in just the last few hours. You remember your dry throat when you noticed the butchered corpse in the middle of the room, barely recognizable anymore.

“Gods… what has he done to you?”

But you couldn’t seem to place the face of your saviour. The bloodied, silver curled elf who had rushed to kneel next to you after defeating your captor, who approached you and held your face so carefully.

How those crimson eyes of his had widened in horror when you flinched at his touch and backed away.

Him and his group had killed one of you who stood in this circle, who’s to say he wasn’t here to finish the job? Lure you in with a sweet touch only to snap your head off; you knew better than to let yourself fall for the first man to approach you.

“Darling, it’s over now.” He had said with his voice low, getting back on his feet to approach you as if you were an injured beast, “Just take my hand, we’re getting out of here.”

You didn’t know whether to feel insulted or reassured by his assertiveness, but you remained frozen in place, your eyes switching from the hand extended out to you and his severe look that you reciprocated with a frown to hide your terror.

“Look,” he sneered, “you can either take my hand, come with me out of this hellhole, or rot away in this godsforsaken—”

From behind him, someone from his group called out a name which stopped him mid-sentence just as his tone was rising.

“Astarion.”

A name that felt oddly familiar, despite the void in your memories. It danced beautifully as it echoed across the room and around your mind; there was something about it that just sounded right.

Astarion. A name worthy of being written in the stars, you find yourself thinking, the sound of it bringing you a familiar sense of peace, of security.

Astarion. Maybe if you repeated it enough in your head, something clearer would come up. Maybe, just maybe, then you would remember.

He took a deep breath and continued, which brought you back from your reverie, “I’m quite certain you went through the Hells and back, but for now, I’ll have to ask you to trust me, just as you’ve done in the past. Can you do that for me?”

He extended out his hand once more, this time a request rather than a command, his voice carrying out his concerns, “Can you trust me?”

“Why would I trust someone I’ve just met?” You wanted to ask, but something about the way he asked struck a chord, as if you did know him. As if you knew he spoke true when he said you used to trust him, and you finally accepted the hand he held out to you.

A hand that pulled you to your feet, and guided you out of this dreadful place.

You were given a cloak to cover your shivering form, and you walked along with them back to their camp. Back to this intriguing, yet charming man’s tent, where they all agreed you should rest for the night.

The first thing that hit you when you stepped in was the smell.

You didn’t know what it was exactly, you couldn’t recognize it, but it was intoxicating; it only made your stomach churn more. As the adrenaline of the previous hour settled down, you fell to your knees, grabbing onto your waist as the pain that had been muted came back screaming through your guts.

“Shit—” He rushed down to check on you, with one hand down your back, holding onto you, “Darling, talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?! I was tortured, starved off, almost sacrificed for all I know, and I can’t even remember who I fucking am!” Is what you wanted to say, but all you could manage out is a groan in the middle of your sobs.

When you lifted your head, your eyes fell onto the set of messily arranged bottles from where the strong smell came from, and a quick exchange of glances told him everything he needed to know.

“Of course, you’re hungry,” He sighed heavily, "Look, I’ll gladly offer you some from my own reserves — after I’ve taken a look at your wounds.”

You had almost forgotten about them.

You averted your eyes from his gaze, your mind now racing as you expected the worst. You had no way to see what had been done to your back, but the pain you had gone through was a good indicator of how bad it would look.

Met with your silence, he continued, “I need… to see what he’s done to you. Please.”

Your eyes went back and forth between him and the dark bottles briefly considering pouncing on them to get a taste as your mouth watered in anticipation, but you reluctantly turned your back to him as you sat with your legs pressed back into your stomach, barely helping mitigate the pain in your stomach.

As you let the cloak fall from your shoulders, you heard nothing but a shaky, deflated sigh behind you. Seconds of silence passed before you considered turning around, but a part of you was terrified of the look you would find on his face.

You finally found the strength to utter your first words.

“Is it… that bad?” Your voice was rough from neglect, as the last time you had used it had been to scream when you received this torture.

You heard him take a deep breath, shaking away the shock that had previously rendered him speechless, “You must’ve already known what he carved away in your back. Hells, I knew before even looking, but seeing it…” he pauses, his tone quieting, “seeing it is another story completely.”

“I… I don’t know,” you muster with a weak voice. It's true, you had no idea, he had carved your damn back, you had no way to see the extent of his torture.

He took a deep breath, shaking away the feelings that had sneaked their way into his voice, “It’s no matter, it’s over now; Cazador is dead. He won’t hurt—” he paused, as if processing the information himself, “Anyone, ever again.”

You turned around to face him this time, “Who’s Cazador?”

He huffed, “I’m glad it was that easy for you to forget about him, but when you’ve suffered under his hand for nearly two centuries, the memories tend to linger.”

You remained silent as you stared at him, just as shocked as you were confused by his words. When he noticed your stare, his face twisted in concern, “Oh shit, you’re serious.”

You nodded silently.

He continued, tentatively, “He was my master, he’s the one we killed back in the dungeons — the one who abducted you, who did this to you. Do you not remember any of this?”

You shook your head slightly, never leaving his gaze.

“Oh dear.” His voice dropped as his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened all at once, “Do you remember anything at all — the absolute, our adventure… Do you remember… me?”

His eyes went back and forth between yours, as if he was searching them for any sign of recognition, looking for you, whoever you were behind those confused, teary eyes. You gave him another shy shake of your head, followed by a single tear coming down your cheek, a tear you weren’t sure why it was shed; whether it was from the loss of yourself, or the mourning of something you didn’t even remember having.

“Gods…” He breathed out heavily as his sight left you, his mind visibly ruminating. “He can’t… He couldn’t have… He…”

His tone suddenly changed as he growled, “That monster.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head before looking back at you, “You were with us just yesterday. You were — are this group’s leader. If… If you have no memories of your mortal life then it means…” he looked away, frowning, “He rushed your transformation to replace me in the ritual.”

None of the words he had said made any sense to you, “Transformation?”

He turned back to you to be met with your visible confusion, and he explained further, “Normally, when you’re turned, you need to be drained of your blood and buried six feet underground, before you can crawl out of your tomb to be reborn. This process takes a day, usually, and when you awaken, you are still you, but immortal and bound to your master,” he spat out the last word like it left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

“Now you,” he continues, “you were turned within twelve hours, which would explain why your eyes are only half red, why your fangs haven’t come out yet, and…” his voice quieted down, “why you have no memories of your past. As if the rushed transformation had actually killed this part of you along with your humanity.”

You remained focused on the first thing he had said: your eyes had changed colour?

You hadn’t had the chance to look at yourself since your awakening and if not remembering your name wasn’t anxiety inducing enough, you realised you couldn’t even recall what you looked like.

All of a sudden, panic rushed its way into your heart; you needed to see yourself. You frantically looked around the tent to find anything that could send back your reflection and practically jumped on the pocket mirror when you spotted it nearby Astarion.

Only the mirror was broken. It must’ve been; it reflected nothing.

“If that wasn’t obvious by now, this should’ve clarified things a bit,” he said.

He lowered the mirror you still held in front of you, expecting your image to be reflected eventually, maybe at a different angle, maybe with more light. Maybe another one would, maybe you were just delirious from everything that had happened only today.

“You’re a vampire now. No matter the angle, you’ll never see your reflection come out of this mirror. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Vampire.

The word didn’t make sense; nothing made sense.

Yet, when you parted your lips to let your tongue run against your teeth; you found your canines the same size they were, that they should’ve been, but they were much sharper than what would be considered normal and you almost pierced your tongue from the gesture.

“Maybe…” he carried on, lost in thought, “there’s even a chance that the tadpole has been messing around with more of the changes your body is going through.”

“Tadpole?” You interjected, your head shaking of its own in disbelief. “What?”

He huffed in astonishment, “So you really do remember nothing.”

You sighed, “I— I don’t… As much as I try, I’m met with a void of memories. The only thing remotely familiar since I woke up has been… you.” His eyes had gone soft and bright with hope, but also melancholy. “I don’t know who you were to me, and I don’t know why, but some part of me knew I could trust you.”

He chuckled, a sad smile finding its way over his lips, “Even with your memories gone, it seems I can’t leave your mind, can I?”

You gave him a smile of your own, “Would you mind… reminding me of my life? Of us?”

“Gods, where to start, darling. Would you believe me if I told you our story began with me holding a knife to your throat?”

You found yourself smiling unconsciously, “With everything that's happened to me in the last few hours, I find that easy to believe.”

“And strangely enough it's probably the least odd part of our story.” He tilted his head, giving you a genuine smile before carrying on.

“It’s all tedious, really, but… There’s one memory I want to tell you about: The night of the tiefling party. Ugh, it was dreadful for the most part; the wine tasted like vinegar, the music was too loud, and there were too many of those bloody tieflings at our camp, to be quite sincere— “

“Not a people’s person I take it?”

“My dear, after years of being forced on and by people, the last thing you want is to be surrounded by more of them.” The sight of you parting your lips and raising your eyebrows told him you had also forgotten about this and he quickly caught onto it, changing the direction of the discussion back to the topic at hand. “But, there was one good thing that came out from this night: when we met in the woods. I had high hopes of you joining me there — although no doubts, of course — I was the most suitable option among our group after all.”

“Most suitable? Someone else wanted to spend the night with… me?”

“Darling, the whole world and their mother wanted a special moment with you. But only one of us got that honour. A chance to steal away with everyone’s new favourite leader.”

The faint sounds of the party fading: music echoing through the forest, people laughing, the cool air of a summer’s night breezing through, and good company throughout the night.

“I have been waiting for you. Waiting since the moment I first saw you. Waiting… to have you.”

You blinked, “You… were waiting for me in the woods, I’m— I’m remembering.”

“I did put a lot of effort into my entrance, I would be upset if you didn't remember it quite honestly.” You laughed softly. “Do you remember what happened afterwards?”

Your eyes roamed as you pushed the memory further, before you lifted your head to meet his gaze, “You… kissed me.”

“After you had the audacity to say I didn't have you yet while you had come to me of your own volition, yes, and then?”

You chuckled, but your smile quickly faded as your memory unlocked the next part of this puzzle. He looked at you with a knowing glint in his eyes; he was simply waiting for you to say it yourself.

“We made love.”

He sighed dramatically, “Love is such a big word for what happened back then, but…” his tongue clicked, accentuating the end of the word, “That was certainly the start of it. The start of a series of feelings that came and complicated everything. It’s what pushed me, soon after, to confess to you that it was all part of a silly plan I had to keep you in my favour. I was terrified, honestly, especially considering it was all because I initially manipulated you to fall for me…”

He paused, searching your expression before carrying on, and continued when he found nothing but soft eyes looking back. “But then — despite everything — there you were, holding me tight.”

He let go of a deep breath.

“For so long I had nothing — no one. And all of a sudden, there’s you, who held onto me, who cared so much more than anyone ever did. And I found myself not wanting to let go. I couldn't.”

He frowned, turning his gaze away, “And Cazador used that against me. As soon as he had word of my whereabouts in Baldur’s Gate and the crowd I was hanging out with, he jumped at the first chance to torture me once more. He probably thought I was unaffected by any physical pain he could impose on me by now, so he did the next worst thing: take it out on the one person I cared about in this wretched world.” He shook his head, “If we hadn’t gotten there in time—”

“But you did.” You interrupt. “You saved me and yourself in the process. This ritual wouldn’t have given you the freedom you think it carried.”

His eyes lit up, “You talk as if you knew what it entailed.”

You nodded, “It’s coming back to me, bit by bit. I remember what you told me about him. I remember the purpose of the ritual, and your plan to replace him and take his power instead.”

He sighed, “Gale thought brilliant to kill one of my brothers to stop Cazador from carrying on with the ritual. Bloody wizard didn’t realise it meant I couldn’t continue it myself then.

“Maybe he did.” His gaze flickered back to you in confusion before you continued, “You don’t need satanic powers to carry on, Astarion. You’re free now.”

He huffed, “And all it cost was my life in the sun.”

“Well,” you tilted your head, “It did cost me mine too. Once the tadpoles are gone, we’ll both be banished to the shadows once again. But we’ll be together, and that’s something at least.”

He rolled his eyes before landing them on you, “At least the transformation didn’t take away from your heartbleeding optimism, dear.”

You chuckled, “Thank the Gods for that— ugh!”

You clutched at your stomach, your body tilting forward in pain, and Astarion instantly knew the cause of your suffering; it’s something he recognized all too well.

“Hells, you must be starving. Gods know Cazador wouldn’t waste a single drop on a lowly spawn — no offence, dear.”

“None taken,” you forced a humourless laugh. “I shouldn’t have expected much considering I was to be cattle for a satanic ritual.”

He turned around and you kept a close eye on him as he handled the bottles beside him, pulling out a silver cup out of his bag of holding to pour you a portion.

“Here,” he sat back down, parting his legs open, extending one arm to you, “Come on love, sit back against me, would you?”

You stared unsure for a few seconds but obliged him. You scooted back until your back was fully resting against his chest, leaving no space lost between the two of you.

When he brought the cup forward you reached for it but he pulled back, clicking his tongue, “Oh no, my sweet, I will be the one to feed you tonight. This is your first time, we wouldn't want your primal instincts to take over now, would we?”

You turned around to stare at him for some time with incertitude and he simply tilted his head, with a sly smile, “Humour me, darling. You’ll be glad you did, hm?”

You pressed your lips together almost pouting, but acquiesced as you nestled yourself between his legs, your tense body laying against his chest once again.

He brought the cup to your mouth at long last, while his other hand held onto your chin. You gasped at his touch — while not unwelcome, it was a surprise — and you parted your lips to welcome your drink.

His hands were rough against your skin, yet there was a softness to it that made you melt under his touch. Made you want to push further into his hand to know how it would feel around your throat. It was almost enough to make you forget about the drink against your lips. Almost.

While the mere closeness of it had been invigorating, drinking it was ecstatic. It felt like your first meal in weeks, and it might as well have been with the pit that had replaced your stomach.

You took big gulps of the delectable nectar, barely pausing for air as you rushed to empty the cup’s content, eager to have your fill with this delicious substance.

“Slowly now darling,” he pulled the cup away from your lips and you gasped at the loss of your feeding source, “This is your first time feeding; I wouldn’t rush things.”

You frowned, but complied; even if you were starving, he had over two hundred years of experience with this form — you barely had a few hours. Your mind wasn’t all there yet either, and it's true that you couldn’t trust those new primal instincts to be civil enough to drink responsibly.

You held onto the one truth you knew, one that was clear ever since the start: you trust him.

You eased back into him, letting him hold you and guide you throughout your meal. The cup rested at a slightly down angle against your lips to allow you good mouthfuls of blood without overfeeding you all at once.

“There, good girl,” he purred. “You are doing so well for me, love. Small sips now, let your body recuperate from the shock.”

There was something about his voice that soothed you, brought you a peace of mind, a calm after this storm that had been your last few hours.

A shiver down your spine, that travelled all the way down between your legs.

You finished the content of the cup at a slower pace than you had started, soothed by his soft approach and the new blood filling your stomach, and he took this chance to explain more about your condition while pouring you another serving.

“Considering this is your first feeding, you’ll need a bit more to carry on until your next meal. Mind you, it’s normal if you don’t feel full; this is a curse, after all. The real challenge is to learn to live with your hunger.” He cleared his throat as he brought the cup back up to your lips, full again, “Alright now, open up, love.”

You hungrily parted your bloodied lips to welcome another serving.

“There, there, just like that.” A soft whimper left your throat between sips, and he caressed your cheek with his thumb, “Shhh, you're okay, you're doing just fine.” He leaned next to your head to whisper, “You’re perfect, my sweet.”

For a moment, you could swear you felt your heart beat anew.

You drank with his help until you finished one full bottle from his reserve, and with the pain in your stomach settling down, you allowed your body to relax against him. That’s when you felt something poking against your back, something you wanted to taste as much as the blood that had blessed your tongue just moments ago.

And he must’ve known, too.

“So, as you must’ve realised, your hunger was a side effect of the transformation. But what you’re feeling now, which I can very much smell on you, is a result of your feeding.”

If any of the blood you had ingested had made it in your veins by now, they must’ve all rushed to your cheeks at this very moment.

“Blood,” he continued, “Brings us back alive temporarily; it warms us, allows our hearts a few shy beating of their own, but it also reawakens other mortal pleasures. The first time it can be… a tad overwhelming.”

“It’s…” You hadn’t realised how quiet your heart had been until it started beating away once more in your chest; your cheeks felt warm, your breathing had accelerated, and your core was aching. You breathed out your reply, “It really is.”

As you turned your head aside, resting against his shoulder, and your eyes lingered over his lips, another primal urge awoke in you to devour him, in every way possible. You needed to taste him, his mouth, his blood, his come—

Until you were blessed with another sudden memory, and you turned away from his lips, gazing anywhere that wasn’t on him to stop yourself from acting irrationally.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry—”

He grabbed your chin and turned you back to him in one fluid movement. “You have nothing to be sorry for, darling, and I would be more than happy to entertain these carnal thoughts I saw in those eyes of yours. Unless you’d rather spend the night with someone else?” he teased.

You held your breath as he brought you closer to him, his hand lingering over your cheek. If you just closed the distance now, you could—

“No, Astarion, I won't force—”

“Stop that right now.” He cut you off without skipping a beat, stunning you once more. “You are not forcing yourself onto me or forcing me. This, right now, right here, is my decision.”

His other hand came up to cup your face, drawing you closer to him, your lips but a whisper apart.

“I want this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice lustful and heavy with need. “I want… you.”

Your eyes locked and the second after, his lips were pressed against yours and you let yourself get lost into this kiss. How his hands held on to your face, how his tongue tasted the blood on your lips, how he whimpered into your mouth at the contact of your own tongue; this memory of love you had remembered earlier, it had been a memory of this.

His kiss, his touch, his voice, him.

Your kiss was engulfing, springing your heart back to life in a sudden rush as you met every of his kisses with the same passion, and soon enough, you were laying back against his bedroll, with him over you and stealing your breath away; one — you didn’t realise yet — you didn't need anymore.

His hands rested next to your head and you allowed yourself to reach up to hold his face, trace the lines of his age over his cheeks and down his neck, and trailing along the opening of his shirt before he broke apart from your lips.

“I’ve been thinking about this for many nights now.”

“What would I be like as a vampire?” You asked semi-jokingly.

“No, silly — Although, the question did flit into my mind once or twice, but no. I was thinking of how I would have you, the next time I would bed you. I’ve touched myself at the thought of having you again, the sounds you would make, how your cunt would feel wrapped around my cock instead of my hand—”

He took your hand from where it was resting and guided it down between his legs, and a short gasp escaped you when you felt how hard he was.

“ —but tonight, after spending a lifetime looking for it, I finally know what I want.” His half-lidded eyes seemed darker than they had been, and you lost yourself in them, "And Gods help me if I can't have you—”

“I’m yours,” you answered back in a heartbeat, your voice but a whisper, “I’ve always been, and I’ll always be, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Your words broke the remaining chains of control Astarion had over himself, as he pulled your pants off from you and removed his own shirt while your hands fumbled with his trousers. A moment later, you both laid against one another, as bare as you were on your first days on this plane of existence, your lips back on each other.

“Mmh, I wonder…” Astarion let his kisses trail down from your mouth to your jaw, then your neck.

“Hm?”

“Now that you’re a vampire,” he left small kisses alongside your neck and down your shoulder, “your blood will taste different.”

“You’ll still drink from me?”

“Well of course, dear,” he lingered in the crook of your neck, before licking his way up to your ear where he whispered, “And I can’t wait to know how you taste after you’ve tasted me.”

You shivered against his breath, fully expecting him to bite you following those words, and when he didn’t you were almost disappointed. He, on the other hand, seemed extremely satisfied with himself.

“Eager already? And here I thought I was the most depraved between the two of us.” You sighed heavily as he came back up to face you, “Maybe I will be tasting you tonight, after all. Is this something that you want?”

You smiled softly, your hand finding his cheek again, “Yes.”

When your lips met this time, it was soft, pure, communicating words you hadn’t exchanged yet despite your longing for one another. It only made you want him more.

“Speaking of tasting you,” he said against your lips, “I wonder if something else has changed.”

You barely had time to process what he had said when he made his way down your chest, briefly sucking on one of your nipples.

“Mh,” he released it with a pop, “this one still tastes the same.”

He moved to your other breast to give it the same attention, teasing it with his teeth and earning him a moan from you before releasing it, “This one as well.”

He left a path of kisses as he trailed down your navel, until he was resting between your legs with a hungry look in his eyes, “Now, for the main course—”

You weren’t prepared for his fangs to dig in the inside of your thighs, making you scream in surprise as your hands grabbed onto the sheet of his bedroll. The pain quickly turned into pleasure as he nibbled and kissed the softness of your thigh, before making his way to your wet slit, which begged for attention.

The smell of you invaded his senses and you could feel his breath over your core as he breathed you in, his arms now wrapped under your thighs as he laid on his stomach and between your legs, “Darling, you smell divine.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips as his tongue pressed against your entrance and he slowly licked all the way up to your clit, “And you taste— Gods, you taste even better than before.” He smiled up to you, his mouth covered by a cocktail of your blood and juices. “I didn’t think it could be possible.”

You were past words by now, but even if you had come up with something, you don’t think you would’ve been able to utter anything with the way his tongue worked between your legs, devouring you of your essence.

“I would forsake blood for the rest of my days if it meant I could nourish myself only of your essence, my love,” he said between licks of you. “The Gods truly made you to ruin me; I could never move on from your taste, even if I wanted to.”

His hands surrounding your thighs and his nails digging in your flesh kept you in place as he continued to worship you, and no matter how much you wiggled, his hold on you held on, as if you were the first meal he was having in days and he wouldn’t let you go until he was sated.

Astarion recognized the signs of your unbecoming as your breathing started shaking and your legs tensed around his head, pushing him to tease you further.

“Are you gonna come for me now?” He smiled between your legs, “Come on, love. Come for me. Come on my tongue.”

The vibration of his humming as he continued to savour you only added to the feeling of his tongue, lapping at your entrance and sucking over your sensitive bud, and his nails digging deeper into your thighs added a delicious hint of pain. After weeks without any sex, you were sensitive to the slightest touch, and now there he was: tasting you, devouring you, wanting you; it was all too much.

“Ah… Astarion!”

Your head fell back against the rough floor of his tent as your back arched and stars clouded your vision. You knew how ironic it was to think so, but you had never felt more alive than you did at this very moment, with your devoted lover worshipping you like the goddess who had finally answered his prayers from all those years ago.

Your legs collapsed as he let go of them to move back up to face you, and he took this chance to hook your leg with his, pushing it upwards to create the perfect angle for him to place himself against your entrance.

Your half-lidded eyes met his, delirious with lust, and you wanted to express the feeling that had been weighing on you for too long now, but when his lips collided with yours and you tasted yourself, all those words got lost on his tongue exploring your mouth.

“I’ve waited so long to finally have you,” he said breathlessly against your lips. “I kept pushing back, thinking it was never the right time.”

He licked his lips, wiping off the string of saliva that connected your mouths. “When you disappeared… I thought I had lost my only chance. I’m done waiting around.”

He slowly pushed himself into you with a low groan as he felt your slickness wrap around him, and you threw your arms around his neck as you moaned into his ear.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. So tight and warm, all for me. I would stay here inside of you for a decade if I could. You feel exquisite, my love.”

He retracted himself slowly, and plunged back in with the same agonising pace, taking in the feeling of your inside. “I’ll enjoy taking my time with you; discovering what makes you tick, tease every one of your sensitive spots. But tonight — I just want this: feeling you wrapped around me and to know that I’m the reason for your unbecoming.”

His pace accelerated, each thrust of his hips brushing against your clit as your bodies almost fused as one, pushing you closer to another edge already.

A particularly well placed thrust had you dig your nails into his back and he hissed into your ear, “Darling,” he panted, “Remind me to trim your nails when we’re done.”

You quickly realised what he meant when a poignant smell, stronger than the bergamot, brandy, and rosemary you smelled on him previously, invaded your nostrils and your mouth watered in response. What you didn’t realise was how you ended up breathing down his neck, just against the popping vein conveniently displayed for you to bite down on. Just one bite away from ecstasy.

“Still hungry, little love?”

You were snapped out from your daze by his voice purring into your ear, pulling away from his neck and blinking as you gained back control of your thoughts.

“I’m— It’s just— Your blood smells really, really good.”

He chuckled, “I tend to have that effect on people. Would you like a taste?”

You forced yourself to look into his eyes, “I… Are you sure?”

He smiled, “There’s nothing I’d like more, my love.”

His gaze reflected sincerity and you gulped as you found your way back in the crook of his neck, your lips brushing against his sensitive skin. You licked the vein you had sensed earlier but didn’t push further. That’s when you felt the vibration of his chuckle, “Go on, darling. I can take it, I promise.”

With his permission, you pushed your small fangs right over the vein in his neck, relishing in the sudden flood of his crimson in your mouth.

Whatever you drank a few minutes ago was nothing compared to his blood. He was the source in a desert you had been roaming for days, one you couldn’t believe wasn't an illusion, and you drank, and drank, losing yourself in his neck, in his taste, the very essence that fueled him.

You couldn’t tell how much you had drank or how much time had passed when he growled and pinned your arms next to your head. His hips thrusting once, deeper into you and hitting your cervix is what makes you unlatch from his neck with a moan.

“I believe that’s enough, love. Now, let me taste you.”

His lips collided with yours hungrily as he increased his pace between your legs, and he groaned at the taste of himself on your lips, running his tongue across your small fangs.

“Fuck, I need you, I need to make you mine. I need—”

Something snapped within him, a side of him you couldn’t recall ever seeing — one that he could finally let go as he pushed your legs up, pinning them down across your chest and pounded deeper into you.

He growled into your ear as he desperately rutted into you, nearing the edge of his climax at the same time as yours, “I want you, I want you for the rest of our lives, please be mine, be mine, be mine!”

“I’m yours, I'm yours, I— I love you!”

You screamed as you came, his own orgasm following closely after yours, the wave of emotions clashing with the sparks of pleasure coursing throughout your body, and for a moment, you think you died and came back to life within the same minute. It was stronger than anything you remember feeling — even with your memories still scattered, you think you’d remember something as powerful.

It’s only when you came back to your senses and was met with Astarion’s soft, dumbfounded expression, that you realised what you had just said. Panic slowly made its way into your heart and you struggled to find the right words to correct yourself.

“I’m sorry— I—”

He didn’t allow you to finish that sentence, kissing you once more to steal away those thoughts of regret that faded instantly as he pulled back to speak.

“I love you too, darling.”

Your future was paved with incertitude; your memory wasn’t all there yet, but you remembered what was important for now, and if forgetting your past was the price to create new memories with him, it was a price you were willing to pay.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

A fool lies in this tent.

Look at you, nestled into my side, sleeping peacefully against my chest as if a vampire’s embrace is the safest place in all the realms. Utterly ridiculous. So trusting, so… pliant. All according to plan, really. I set the trap - a few choice words here, a few lingering touches there - and you walked right into it. Just like I knew you would.

Just like all the others do.

Well, not quite like all the others. You actually believe there's something redeemable in me, don't you? How deliciously naïve.

Do you even realise what you've fallen for? What I am? A monster, a liar, a parasite. Oh, my dear, the fool you are.

Though I suppose your particular brand of foolishness has its… uses. Your blind faith in my redemption is almost charming.

No. Not charming. It’s pathetic. Pathetically predictable. It can’t be charming. Because, if it is, I’m no better than the fool I mock.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and I resist the urge to recoil. This charade - this playing at romance, at desire - it shouldn’t affect me so. I’m above this. I’ve spent centuries perfecting the art of manipulation, of taking what I need. It was supposed to be easy: charm you, bed you, and secure my safety. A means to an end. But as I lay here, with your warmth pressed against me, my chest begins to tighten. Not in fear or hunger, but in something… complicated.

Anger begins to burn at the back of my throat. Good. Anger is familiar. It’s safer, easier to control.

This is your fault, you know. No, worse - it’s mine. My fault that I have been reduced to this - a creature desperate enough to sell the only scraps of autonomy I have left. You think this closeness is love, don’t you? But it’s not. It’s survival. It has always been survival.

But then again… 

You’re not like the others at all, are you? Those who took without asking, without care. Your touch is… gentle. Always so damnably gentle. You’ve never grabbed, never demanded, never treated me like a thing to be used. With you, it hasn’t all been… bad. No, that’s not right - it’s been tolerable. Almost pleasant at times, really. Your touch doesn’t make my skin crawl; your voice doesn’t grate on my nerves. I tell myself it’s because you’re useful. That’s all this is. 

That’s all it can ever be.

If I were to tell you the truth, what would you do? If I were to push you away, would you stay? If I were to let you in, would you hurt me? These questions gnaw at me, demanding answers I don't have. 

Answers I don't want.

Even now, as you sleep, your fingers rest light as feathers on my chest. It’s maddening. Infuriating. How dare you? How dare you make this difficult? This was supposed to be simple. You were supposed to be simple. 

I could kill you right now, you know. One quick movement, and all these feelings would disappear with you. Never again would you look at me like I'm something precious, something worth saving, like I’m–

“... Astarion,” you mumble drearily in your sleep.

Hells.

I should leave. I should push you away, remind you that I am not something to hold on to.

But I don’t move. 

Instead, I stay. Because the truth, the awful, unbearable truth, is that I don’t want to lose this. The selfish man I am.

A sigh escapes me. 

It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted. 

Gods, what an absolute mess you’ve made of my carefully laid plans. I find myself watching you sleep, counting your breaths, fighting the urge to brush that strand of hair from your face.

When did this happen? When did I start to care whether you lived or died beyond your usefulness to me?

I hate this. I hate that you’ve made me feel anything at all, but more than that, I hate myself for not hating it more. The way you defend me, the way you’ve never once looked at me with disgust or fear… it’s terrifying.

You’re terrifying.

Yet I can't bear to give it away.

Your fingers curl into my shirt in your sleep, and I find myself pulling you closer despite every screaming instinct to push you away. Protecting you, as if I have any right to do so. As if I deserve the way you lean into my touch, trust in my words, believe in my capacity for - dare I say it - goodness. As if I deserve any of this.

The moonlight filtering through the tent catches on your sleeping face, and something inside me breaks. Or perhaps it's finally mending. I'm not sure I know the difference anymore.

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, so soft I’m certain it won’t wake you. How poetic. How utterly absurd.

You, the fool, who dared to fall for me. 

And I, the greater fool for letting you.

Masterlist can be found here!

The quantum tunnel spits you out on Morag in 2014, and the first thing you notice is how quiet it is. Dead quiet. Just wind and ruins and the distant sound of waves.

"We've got forty-five minutes before the window closes," you say, checking th GPS device on your wrist. "The temple's half a klick north."

Steve adjusts his shield. "Stay sharp, we don't know what we're walking into."

Bucky's already scanning the perimeter, rifle raised. "Looks abandoned."

"It is," you confirm. "Quill still unconscious down there. We're early."

The temple is exactly where it should be—a massive structure carved into the cliff face, a fascinating alien architecture. The power stone it's placed in its pedestal, sealed in the orb, pulsing with barely contained energy.

"Okay," Steve says. "Nice and easy. We secure the stone, get back to the platform and—"

The explosion cuts him off.

You're thrown sideways, slamming into one of the temple pillars. Your ears are ringing. Through the smoke, you see them: Sakaraans, maybe a dozen of them, firing indiscriminately. They must have followed you when they saw the quantum tunnel.

"Get the stone!" Steve shouts, shield already deflecting blaster fire.

Bucky's at your side, hauling you up. "You good?"

"Yeah, go—"

Another explosion, closer this time. The temple shudders and you watch in horror as the pedestal cracks, the orb rolls free splitting open on the ston floor.

The power stone tumbles out, raw, uncontained, pulsing with enough enrgy to level a planet.

Everything slows down.

Bucky's moving toward it—he's a super soldier, he might survive the exposure—but you're closer. You're already running. You can hear him screaming your name, but you're faster. Your hands close around the stone, and the universe explodes… at least for you.

Purple lightning crawls up your arms, through your veins, behind your eyes. It's not pain, it's way too big to be pain. It's everything, all at once. Every star being born and dying, every moment that ever was or ever will be, all of it flooding through you at once.

You can hear Bucky screaming but you can't let go. If you let go, the energy discharge will kill everyone. Will crack the planet open.

So you hold on.

Four seconds. Five. Six.

You slam the stone back into what's left of the pedestal and the world snaps back into focus. You're on your knees, your hands are still glowing, purple veins crawling under your skin like lightning scars. Bucky's hands are on your face, he's saying your name over and over, frantic.

"I'm okay," you manage. Your voice sounds wrong, distant. "I'm okay, I'm—"

You pass out in his arms.

You wake up three days later in the med bay. Bruce is there immediately, shining a light in your eyes, checking your vitals. "Welcome back, how do you feel?"

"Like I touched an infinity stone."

"Well, you're not dead, so, that's a good start." He's trying for levity, but you can see the concern in his eyes. "The glowing has mostly faded, you've still got some residual marks, but they should disappear completely in another few days."

You look down at your hands. The purple veins are still there, faint now, like a spiderweb under your skin.

"Where's Bucky?"

"He's been here the whole time, I finally convinced him to go shower about an hour ago." Bruce hesitates. "He was… he didn't handle seeing you like that very well."

You're about to respond, when the door crashes open and Bucky's thre, hair still wet, looking like he's been through hell.

"You're awake." He's across the room in three strides, hands hovering over you like he's afraid to touch. "You're okay, you're—"

"I'm okay," you assure him. "Buck, I'm fine."

He sits on the edge of the bed, and you can see his hands shaking. "You stopped breathing twice. Did Bruce tell you that? Your heart stopped once, I had to watch them—"

"But I'm here now." You catch his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "I'm right here."

He lifts your joined hands to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. "Don't ever do that again."

"No more infinity stones, I promise."

He manages a weak smile before leaning down to kiss you properly. You don't notice the way his hand tightens on yours or the way his breathing picks up.

Twenty minutes later, he's vomiting in the bathroom.

Bruce runs every test he can think of. Bucky insists it's just stress, just the comedown from the mission, but you all know better.

It happens again the next day. You're sitting together in the common room, your head on his shoulder, and after thirty minutes he has to excuse himself. You find him in the hallway, pale and shaking, leaning against the wall.

"This is connected to the stone," you say.

"We don't know that."

"Bucky—"

"We don't know that," he repeats, more firmly. "Could be a hundred things, could be—"

He doesn't get to finish. His knees buckle and you barely catch him.

Bruce's diagnosis is clinical and devastating: you're still emitting radiation from the power stone. Not enough to hurt a normal person, but enough that Bucky's enhanced metabolism reads it as a threat. The serum is trying to fight it, which is tearing him apart from the inside.

"It should fade," Bruce says, but he won't meet your eyes. "In theory."

"How long?" Bucky demands.

"I don't know. The levels are decreasing, but slowly. It could take weeks, maybe months." He pauses. "Maybe longer."

"So what do we do?"

Bruce looks between you both. "You stay apart, minimize exposure until radiation dissipates to safe levels."

The silence is deafining.

"How much exposure is safe?" You ask quietly.

"Based on today's readings?" Bruce checks his tablet. "Five minutes. Maybe ten if he's had time to recover."

Five minutes. You only get five minutes.

After a few weeks, the lab tests proof that you're safe for fifteen minutes.

You measure everything now.

Bucky sets a timer on his phone every time he enters your room. When it goes off, he leaves without arguments or exceptions.

Fifteen minutes isn't enough time for anything meaningful. It's enough for "how was your day" and "I miss you" and one kiss before the alarm sounds and he has to go.

You start writing things down. All the things you want to tell him, but don't have time for. You leave notes in his room, he leaves notes in yours.

Thought about you today when I saw a cat stuck in a tree. It reminded me of that mission in Prague. -B Sam made a joke about your hair, I defended your honor. You're welcome. -You I'm counting down the minutes until tomorrow, always counting. -B

By week four, your time increases to forty five minutes, and it fels like a miracle.

You can have a meal together now… well, most of one. You learn to eat fast, to tlk while chewing, to fit entire conversations into the space between bites.

"Bruce says the decline is steady," Bucky tells you over breakfast. "If it keeps dropping at this rate, we might have a few hours in another month."

"That's good," you say, but you're both thinking the same thing: What if it stops? What if this is as good as it gets?

The timer goes off and Bucky's only eaten half his food.

"I'll finish it tomorrow," he says, kissing your forehead on his way out.

His plate sits on your table for the rest of the day. You can't bring yourself to throw it away.

By the sixth week, you got two hours, and it feels like the cruelest gift.

It's enough time to watch a movie—if you start it the second he walks in and he leaves before the credits roll.

It's enough time to have sex—once, and only if you're efficient about it, and only if you're both okay with him leaving immediately after. You try it once, the alarm goes off while you're still catching your breath. He kisses you and walks out, and you lie there alone in the tangled sheets and cry.

When the eighth week comes, you notice the increase is slowing down. Bruce shows you the charts, the curve is flattening. The rate of decrease is dropping.

"What does that mean?" Bucky asks.

"It means we might be approaching a plateau," Bruce says carefully. "A baseline level that won't decrease further."

"But it's still going down," you argue. "It went up forty seven minutes this week."

"Forty-seven minutes in seven days. Last week it was an hour and twelve minutes. The week before that, ninety minutes." Bruce looks tired. "I'm not saying it's definitely plateaued, but we need to prepare for the possibility."

That night, Bucky comes to your room. You lie together in your narrow bed, fully clothed, his flesh arm wrapped around you.

"We have thirty more minutes," you whisper. "We should talk about something."

"I don't want to talk."

"Then what do you want?"

"This." His voice is rough. "Just this, just you."

You fall asleep like that. Wake up four hours later to Bucky convulsing beside you, blood streaming from his nose and ears.

"You could've died!" You're shouting, pacing, because if you stop moving you'll fall apart. "You could've— do you have any idea what it was like, waking up and seeing you like that?"

Bucky's sitting on the edge of the med bay bed, still pale but recovering. "I fell asleep, it was an accident."

"An accident? You stayed for four hours, Bucky! Four freaking hours! Your timer went off and you turned it off instead of leaving—"

"I didn't—"

"FRIDAY showed me the logs!" Your voice cracks. "You dismissed the alarm six times, six."

The silence stretches between you.

"I wanted more time," he says finly.

"You could've died."

"I wanted more time with you." He looks up, and his eyes are red. "Is that so fucking terrible? That I wanted to fall asleep next to you? That I wanted one night where I didn't have to watch the clock?"

"Yes!" The word tears out of you. "Yes, it's terrible, because you're killing yourself for a few extra hours—"

"Don't you get it? It's not about hours!" He's on his feet now. "It's about us. Us being together… that's the only thing keeping me—"

The nose bleed starts.

You've been here too long. Twenty minutes arguing, and he's already over the limit.

"I'm leaving," you whisper.

"We're not done—"

"I said I'm leaving!" You're crying now, shoving at his chest before walking out.

You sink to the floor of the next room and finish the fight alone, screaming at an empty room.

Bruce calls you both into the lab. You know it before he speaks, he has a terrible poker face.

"The levels have been stbale for two weeks," he says. "No decrease, no increase. I think… I think this is it."

"It could still drop," Bucky argues. "Could just be longer plateau before—"

"It could." Bruce agrees. "But it's been twelve weeks. The radiation signature should've decreased more by now if it was going to." He pulls up a graph. "I think we're looking at a permanent baseline, aproximately three hours of safe exposure per day."

Three hours for the rest of your life. Three fucking hours.

"There has to be something else," you say, but your voice sounds distant. "Another treatment, a way to extract it, something—"

"I've consulted with everyone I can think of. Shuri, Helen Cho, Strange… There's no precedent for this. Infinity stone exposure on this scale…." Bruce shakes his head. "I'm really sorry."

You're aware of Bucky's hand finding yours, holding it tight.

"Three hours," he says. "We can work with three hours."

You don't answer.

That night, you sit in your room and do the math.

Three hours a day is 1,095 hours a year. Divided by 24, that's 45.625 days. You get 45 days a year with him… the rest, you spend alone.

If you live by 80—optimistic, given your line of work— and Bucky lives to be 150 because of the serum, you'll get 58 years together: 2,668 days total out of 21,170.

12.6% of your life together. The other 87.4% alone.

You're still staring at the numbers when Bucky walks in.

"Three hours a day is 1,095 hours a year," he says, and his voice is so carefully controlled it hurts to hear. "That's 45 days, we get 45 days a year together. Some couples do long distance and see each other less than that. We could— we could make this work, right?"

He's standing in the doorway, hasn't crossed the threshold yet. Even now, he's trying to preserve your time.

"Buck—"

"I wake up at 5, come here until 8. Then lunch, 12 to 1. Dinner, 6 to 8. That's three hours, we just split it up throughout theday. It's structured but it's— it's something." He's talking faster now, desperate. "We could meal prep on Sundays so we don't waste time cooking. We could— I don't know, we could read books at the same time so we have something to talk about during—"

"Bucky, stop."

"No." He takes one step into the room, just one. "No, I won't stop. I've done the math every possible way and this— this is what we have, so we make it enough, we make it—"

"It's not a life."

The words land like a physical blow. You watch him flinch.

"It's our life." His voice cracks. "It is what he have, and people leave with worse. People— people do long distance, people have—"

"People don't get poisoned by the person they love."

"Don't—" The word comes out sharp, ragged. "Don't make this about—"

"What if it gets worse?" You're on your feet now, and you can see the exact moment the timer his head starts counting. He's been here for two minutes. You have 178 minutes left today. "What if the plateau is temporary? What if three hours become two, and then one—"

"Then we'll deal with it."

"What if it kills you?"

"Then it kills me!"

The shout echoes in the small room. Bucky's chest is heaving, his flesh hand clenched into a fist, and you can already see it— the slight tremor starting in his fingers, the way his pupils are dilating wrong.

Five minutes. He's been here for five minutes.

"Get out," you whisper.

"No."

"Bucky, please—"

"No." He crosses the room in three strides, and you can see what it costs him. There's already a slight drag to his left leg—the serum's propioception breaking down. "You don't get to decide this alone… you grabbed that stone to save the mission, to save Steve, to save the entire goddamn universe. You think I'm gonna let that sacrifice be for nothing? You think I'm gonna just walk away after—"

He stops and sways.

Seven minutes.

"Sit down." You grab his arm— his flesh arm, careful now— and try to guide him to the bed. His skin is already too warm. "Damn it, James, sit down before you—"

"No," he's shaking his head and the movement seems to cost him. "Not yet. I can't—I'm not ready yet."

"You're already past your limit—"

"I know." His voice drops. "God, I know. I can feel it. It's like fire in my blood, did you know that? It burns. Everything burns when I'm near you."

Your breath hitches. "You never told me—"

"Because I don't care." He cups your face with both hands, and the metal one is whirring wrong, plates shifting and clicking out of sync. "I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if it burns— the only thing I need is you."

His knees buckle. You catch him, barely, and you're both sinking to the floor. His back hits the edge of the bed and you're kneeling between his legs, holding him up.

"I need one more time," he breathes out. "I need to kiss you one more time without the fucking timer, without counting the seconds in my head, without wondering if this is the one that finally—"

He doesn't finish. Can't finish.

"This is cruel," you whisper as your hands frame his face, and you can feel the fever radiating off his skin. "This is so cruel, letting you stay when you—"

"Then be cruel." His eyes lock on yours, and even unfocused with pain, they're still looking at you with so much love it hurts. "Be cruel, let me have this, let me—"

"It's killing you—"

"You think leaving me won't?" His metal had comes up—jerky and malfunctioning— and catches your wrist. The grip is weak. How could it be? His metal arm is never weak. "You think walking away and leaving without you won't kill me just as dead? At least this way I got to…"

His nose starts bleeding.

It's been ten fucking minutes.

"Please, stop." You sob, reaching for something to stop the blood, but he catches your hand.

"No, please, just—" He's pulling you closer, even though every instinct you have is screaming to push him away, to save him. "Just stay, please. I know we're out of time, I know this is it, I know tomorrow you're gonna leave and never come back, so just— god, please just let me have this."

"How did you—"

"I know you." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "I know that stubborn look in your face… you've already decided. You're planning on disappear and going somewhere I can't find you, because you think that way you'd be saving me. But baby, I'm not gonna survive without you, you understand that?"

He's crying now, and the tears are pink-tinged. There's blood on his tears. That's new.

"I can't lose you again," he chokes out. "I can't be the one left behind again. I can't wake up and find out the person I love the most is gone."

"Then you have to let me go." You're crying too, your forehead pressed against his. "You have to let me be the one that walks away, because I can live knowing you're out there, somewhere, safe and whole and alive. But I can't live watching this kill you. I can't, Bucky, I simply can't."

"One more time," he whispers against your mouth. "Let me have one more time where I'm not counting… where I can just pretend we have forever."

"We don't have forever…"

"I know. And I know I'm past it, I know I'm gonna pay for this, I don't care."

And he kisses you.

It's not gentle nor careful. It's desperate and drowning. His mouth is relentless against yours, like he's trying to memorize the taste, the feeling, the way you feel together. Your hands are on his hair, on his face, feeling the fever burning through him.

The kiss tastes like copper and salt. And somehow you feel it like the one last thing you'll ever have in your life.

His body is shaking violently now. You can feel every tremor, every muscle spasm. His metal arm is now hanging useless at his side, but his flesh hand is still cupped around the back of your neck, still holding you close as his strength fails.

You break the kiss against to breathe and he makes this desperate, broken sound that breaks your heart and chases your mouth. "Not yet, not yet, please—"

"Bucky, you're—"

"I know." He kisses you again, softer this time, gentler. "Just one more time."

Another kiss, this one starts to taste like blood. His hands are sliding down from your neck, he's losing motor control and his eyes are rolling back. You catch him as he slumps forward, his full weight collapsing into you.

"No, no, no…" You're holding him, lowering him down to the floor, cradling his head. "FRIDAY! Get Steve here! Get Bruce! Please someone—"

Bucky slurs something low, barely conscious. You look down at him with tears in your eyes. "Please, please, stay with me—"

But he's out.

You lay down, screaming until your throat hurts for what it feels like forever, even though it only has been two minutes.

You're still holding him when Steve and Sam crash through the door. Bruce arrives a bit later to the med bay. They try to pull him from your arms and you won't let go.

"How long?" Bruce asks quietly, already prepping an IV.

Your voice barely comes out and sounds distant. "Fifteen minutes, maybe more…"

Steve's face go white. "Jesus Christ."

"Get her out of here," Bruce orders and Sam pulls you away gently.

You watch from the doorway as they work in him. Watch as they load him onto a gurney and wheel him past you to medical.

His metal arm is hanging off the side of the gurney, completely loose. Blood is still trickling from his nose. But on his face, even unconscious, there's this ghost of a smile.

Like it was worth it.

You slide down the wall in the empty hallway and sob, praying in silence for him to be okay.

When Steve finds you an hour later, you're still there. Still staring at the same spot where they took him away.

"He's stable," Steve says quietly, sitting down beside you. "He's gonna be okay…"

You don't answer, looking down at your hands.

"Bruce says the exposure set him back weeks, maybe months. He will need time to recover before…" He trails off but you already know what he means.

Before you can see each other again.

"I'm leaving," you say. Your voice is flat, empty. "Tomorrow, somewhere he won't find me…"

"He'll look."

"I know." You finally look at Steve. "That is why I need you to stop him. You need to make him understand that this is— this is the only way I know how to save him."

Steve remains in silence for a long moment. Then: "He's not gonna forgive you for this."

You close your eyes, leaning your head on the wall. "…But at least he'll be alive."

The next morning, you're gone.

You leave a note on his bedside table in medical, anchored down by a small locket with your initials and a picture of you both inside. You took his dog tags in exchange. The paper is covered in your handwriting, and in some places the ink is smudged.

Bucky,

I'm writing this while you're still unconscious, and I'm trying not to look at you, because if I do, I won't be able to leave. So I'm staring at this paper instead, forcing my hand to move and trying to get all of it out before I lose my nerve.

By the time you read this, I'll be gone. And I need you to understand that this isn't me running away from you. This is me running forward the only future where you survive.

I love you. I love you so much it feels like it's burning me from the inside out. I love the way you still sleep on the left side of the bed just because I asked you once to do so because I felt more comfortable sleeping on the right. I love how you pretend you don't like when Sam calls you "Buckaroo" but I can see you trying not to smile. I love that you learned how to braid hair just so you could braid mine on the nights we actually had time together.

I love you for fighting so hard, for pushing your limits for wanting me badly enough to hurt yourself. But that's exactly why I can't stay.

Last night I watched you almost die in my arms just for some extra time with me. I felt your heartbeat falter under my hands, I saw the blood and I saw you smiling unconscious when they were taking you to the medbay. And that's how I know you're never going to stop. You'll never choose yourself over me. You'll push and push until there's nothing left, and I will have to watch you fade.

I can't do that, Buck. I can't let the person I love most in this world destroy himself for stolen moments and rationed hours. I can't live knowing that every kiss might be the one that finally kills you.

So I'm choosing for the both of us. I'm doing the thing you can't do.

I'm leaving. And I need you to let me go.

I know you're probably already planning how to find me. I know Steve is probably going to help you, and if they ever find me Sam is going to yell at me for breaking your heart, and you're going to pull every favor and every resource until you track me down.

Please don't. I'm begging you baby, please don't look for me.

I know it's not fair to ask, I know I don't have the right, but I'm asking anyway because I need you to live. I need you to have a full life without timers and blood and goodbye kisses that might be the last one.

You've spent so much time being a weapon, being used, being told you don't get to choose. So I'm giving you a choice now: you can spend the rest of your life chasing a ghost or you can let me be the one that got away. You can hold on the hurt or you can let it make you strong enough to move forward.

You probably already know which one I'm hoping you'll choose.

Be happy, James Buchanan Barnes. Be reckless and stupid and alive. Get a cat. Let Sam teach you how to use social media, let Steve drag you to those museums you always pretend to hate. Flirt with someone at a coffee shop, have a one night stand, fall in love again.

Live the life I can't give you.

I'm sorry I couldn't be strong enough to stay. I'm sorry for choosing this way. I'm sorry for every fight we won't have and every meal we don't share and every tomorrow we won't get.

But most of all I'm sorry that loving me turned into something that could kill you.

I'm serious, James, don't look for me. This is the only way I know how to save you.

Always yours, even from far away.

When Bucky wakes up, the first thing he see is the letter. The second thing he sees is that his dog tags are gone. The third thing he realizes is that you are gone too.

He reads the letter and the machine monitoring his heart rate starts screaming.

"No." He's already ripping off the IV from his arm, swaying his legs over the side of the bed. "No, no, no—"

Steve's hands land on his shoulders. "Buck, you need to calm down."

"Where is she?!"

The scream echoes through the medbay. Bucky shoves Steve back hard enough that he hits the wall.

"You need to lie back down," Bruce says, trying to use his calm voice. "Your system is still recovering, you can't—"

Bucky's on his feet now. The room spins but he doesn't care. He's moving toward the door and Steve's blocking it and Bucky can feel it rising in his chest—that cold, dark thing he's spent burying.

"Move."

"You're in no condition—"

"I said move!"

His metal fist goes through the wall next to Steve's head. Sam is there too now, both of them trying to corral him back towards the bed, but Bucky's fighting them… really fighting them. There's blood running down his arm from where he tore the IV out and he can feel his body failing, feel the weakness on his legs, but he doesn't care.

"She's gone!" He's shouting, or maybe sobbing, he can't tell anymore at this point. "She's gone, I have to find her, I have to—"

"Bucky, listen to me—" Steve tries.

"No!" Bucky slams his metal arm into a medical cart and sends it crashing across the room. "You don't understand, she thinks—the letter says—"

He can't get the words out, can't even breathe properly. His chest is too tight and the room is spinning. You're gone.

"We need to sedate him," Bruce intervenes.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Bucky spins toward him and Steve has to physically tackle him. They go down hard, Steve pinning him to the floor and Bucky's still fighting, thrashing, his metal arm whirring as he tries to throw Steve down.

"I'm sorry," Steve is saying and he means it, Bucky hears it in his voice. "I'm sorry, Bucky but you're gonna hurt yourself if we don't stop you."

"I don't care!" Bucky's voice cracks. "I don't care, let me go, let me find her—"

He feels the needle slide into his arm.

"No, please, I have to— she doesn't understand—I need to tell her." His vision is blurring, Steve's face above him, both of them looking wrecked. "Find her, please find her…"

The darkness takes him back.

When he wakes again, it's dark outside.

He's restrained now. Steve's asleep in the chair beside the bed, Sam is gone.

Bucky lies there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, his body aches and his head pounds. Underneath it all, there's this hollow space where you used to be.

The letter is folded on the bedside table. They must've picked it up after… after whatever happened. He doesn't remember all of it, just the rage and the panic, the desperate need to move, to chase you and fix everything.

But he's not panicking now, he's thinking.

What if all of it wasn't permanent? What if there was a cure? Bruce said there was no precedent for infinity stone exposure like this. No treatment, no solution. But Bruce doesn't know everything. Bruce couldn't save Tony.

Bucky's mind was starting to work, clicking through possibilities: Carol Danvers got her powers when she was exposed to the space stone. Wanda's powers were the result of an experiment trial with the mind stone. Peter Quill was exposed to the power stone, along with his team, according to what Steve told him.

There were options. Leads. Possibilities.

And if none of them worked, he would find new ones. He'll search every corner of the universe if he has to. He'll make deals with gods and monsters and anyone else who might have answers.

The restraints are loose enough that he could break them. They're meant to slow him down, not stop him. But he doesn't move. He just lies there, breathing steadily, his mind cataloguing resources and contacts and next steps.

He reaches back for the letter and reads it one more time.

I'm serious, James, don't look for me. This is the only way I know how to save you.

He folds it carefully and picks up the locket you left there, a picture of the both of you staring back at him. He closes his hand around it and presses it against his chest.

"I'm going to solve this out," he murmurs quietly, low enough to prevent Steve from waking up. "And then I'm going to find you, and we're going to have forever. I promise."

Eddie Munson is the type of guy to just bite. Okay this is a bit of feral Eddie but let's be so real I think he would totally bite just for no reason. You two could be laid up in bed together, his body crushing yours while you run your fingers through his big, unruly hair. He waits a few minutes for every inch he moves closer to your shoulder. Eventually when he gets there and he knows you're half asleep? He lays into your shoulder. Not that he breaks skin or bites harshly, but he knows how to apply pressure to his canines, even it if jolts you awake and smack the side of his head.

Eddie Munson is the type of guy to use his doe eyes to his own advantage. He knows his own eyes can get him out of trouble with you and sometimes uncle Wayne if he looks sorry enough. No, Eddie wont do something jurassic but if he where to piss you off one way and you dont forgive him just yet he's using his doe eye's and murmuring sweet apologies to you before kissing your pulse point on your neck. Who wouldn't fold for that?

Eddie Munson is the type of guy to be absolutely hilarious for no reason at all. This man is actually so uncanny without even meaning to. You two could be in the heat of the moment in the back of his van and he'll full on admit that not even five minutes before he met with you at his van he nearly face planted off the stage at the Hideout when he had saw you first. Or just his genuine quirks or quick jokes. Sometimes it just spills out and he doesn't stop it.

Eddie Munson is the type of guy to be one of the most sincere and caring person you have ever met. He knows when to tone it back with the jokes and sometimes nagging when he can tell something is off with his girl. He see's the bad days too and it hurts him a little to see you so fragile and vulnerable even when you try to put up walls. He knows when its time to cut the act and to stop talking and just hold you for a little while. He loves your rants, hates to see you cry but is glad to see that your not bottling it all up and is glad to know that he could be there for you.

Eddie Munson is the type of guy to make a spot just for you in his van. No, its not just the front passengers seat but his the pile of blankets and pillows he has stashed away in the back just for you in the back of his van. Like if Corroded Coffin finally takes off and he hits a big tour in his van? Its just you and him while the others ride sepetate. That pile of blankets and pillows is there for you too, especially if you have road trip anxiety (much like myself), need a nap or there is not a single hotel in sight for miles and both of you just wanna crash. He loves sharing and especially with you.

Eddie Munson is also the type of guy to introduce you to Corroded Coffin by the second date. Introducing you to all of his bandmates, who plays what, what kind of music they play, and so on. He couldn't help it. He needed you to see his world before you started to become more apart of it as well. (Especially since he had already kissed you stupid on the first date you two ever had.)

Alright its late and I think thats all for now....

On their own, they don't quite set up the alarms. Everybody has off days; everyone needs to take time for themselves—he'd know that better than anyone. But this is different.

When you are around the team, you move as if you're bracing for impact, shoulders hunched and eyes distant. You disappear into yourself like someone bracing for a storm they've survived time and time again, every instinct turned inward, conserving what little warmth you have left.

It happens every month, like clockwork. As if your brain were hardwired to self-destruct at the same time every month.

He tells himself it's not his place. What right does he have to barge into your life demanding answers? Because he could easily delude himself into thinking it's nothing. The others haven't noticed—but then again, none of them look the way he does.

He respects you, and he respects your privacy. If you want to talk, you will, and until then, he'll be right within reach. If you'd want help, you'd ask for it.

But you never do.

And he's never seen it this bad before.

He watches you slip out of common rooms, excuses clipped and practised. Watches you emerge from the bathroom with red-rimmed eyes and drenched sleeves, jaw tight and eyes ready to burst past the dam you’ve built up. He hears the way your voice wobbles when someone asks you how you’re doing. The way you excuse yourself with hardly a word as Walker makes an ill-timed joke, voice teetering on the edge of a full-on meltdown.

You are the furthest thing from okay.

And maybe, selfishly, part of him hates that you don’t come to him. Because he would be there in a heartbeat. Because he’s already there, standing on the fringes. Sniper eyes trained on your body language as if it were a mission imperative. He always makes himself available when he notices the pattern reemerge. Hell, half the nights he spends camped out on the common room couch in case you wander up like a ghost in search of soothing. The other half he spends with an ear to his bedroom door in case you emerge from your cavern.

He cares. Too much. Has for a while now.

So when you don't come out for supper, when the food has been packed away, and the lights turned off, and everyone has retired to their rooms, Bucky has decided he's had enough of waiting for you to come to him.

Bucky knocks at your door, soft and unobtrusive.

No answer.

He knocks again, a little firmer this time. "It's Bucky."

His hearing picks up the muffled sob that escapes your lips. Something ugly and violent twists hard in his chest.

He opens the door slowly, just enough to peek inside. The overhead lights are out; the only lighting is that of the city that never sleeps peeking through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the strung-up fairy lights he had helped you set up around the room. His eyes immediately land on the figure curled up underneath a mound of blankets. You’re shaking in an effort to stay silent; ugly sniffles and breaths of held sobs cut through the silence.

Any thought of waiting until you're ready dies right then and there.

“Hey,” he murmurs, not wanting to break the quiet of the room as he steps inside. “Hey, sweetheart.”

He can see the way you flinch at his words, hands coming up to furiously scrub the tears from your face.

“Sorry,” you can barely form the words over the sobs that beg to be released. “Sorry, just… could you maybe come back later? Right now’s not… not a good time.”

Bucky frowns. He shuts the door behind him to show you he’s not going anywhere. “Do you really want me to go?”

You sniffle, turning away from him and curling your legs up to your chest. “I want to be alone.”

“You’ve been alone all day.” Bucky leans against the door, arms crossed. He wants, no, needs to get to the bottom of this. Whatever has you feeling this way. He needs to bleed the life out of your suffering. To smother it and make sure it never haunts you again. Because you should never feel like this, never feel like you have to hide in the dark and cry yourself dry. "Ava made your favourite. Did you forget?"

He watches your shoulders tense, breath hitching violently. "Not hungry."

Guilt laces your tone, no doubt because you're aware she made it especially for you. Bucky frowns, hesitating in the cavernous space between your bed and the door. He feels as if he's walked into a minefield, one step away from destroying everything the two of you have built over the months you've come to know each other. But he won't walk away, not when you're muffling sobs into a blanket and refusing to eat.

"Wanna talk?" Bucky cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. He sounds just like Steve when they had been on the run. He couldn't even count the number of times he had heard some iteration of that phrase from him. He meant the best, Bucky knows it with all his heart, but sometimes he just wanted to throttle Steve.

"I said you should leave," you snap, defences raising before immediately crumbling down; your foundations are so weak you can’t build any emotion that doesn’t come crashing back down. “Sorry… I don’t… just go, please.”

He watches you curl into yourself. Equal parts mortified and disgusted with yourself. Your emotions rise like the tide, pulling back too far, leaving everything exposed and aching in its wake.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, pushing off of the door to come closer. “You’re obviously hurting right now. My ego can take it.”

"That's not-" you scoff, brows twisting up into the most, were it not for the tears in your eyes, adorably bewildered expression- "I'm not good company right now."

Bucky shrugs it off. "Who said I was looking for good company? Maybe I just wanted your company."

"I can't… I'm not going to… You shouldn't be here."

"Everyone has bad days," he isn't quite able to hide the affection in his voice when he says your name.

"It's not that… Well, it is but… You don’t understand, Bucky. I… I don’t even… I can’t explain why… I’m just-” your voice cracks- “I’m just broken, I guess.”

The words hang between you both, heavy like lead. He's never heard you this vulnerable. He wasn't expecting answers, not tonight. But what really gets to him is the finality in your voice. Your tone tries to leave no room for argument. As if you're stating fact rather than self-depreciation. And just looking at you in this moment tells him that you believe your poisoned-laced words without a shred of doubt.

Bucky’s throat tightens.

He ventures to sit on the bed beside you, careful not to get too close. “You’re not broken.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

The laugh that follows makes his stomach churn. It’s bitter like coffee that’s been brewed far too hot for far too long. Sharp like his best pair of knives. Filled with enough self-hatred to make a grown man weep. It's such a contrast to the laugh you usually share when someone tells a joke or when Walker does something stupid; the kind of laugh that Bucky's certain could light up the universe.

Bucky didn't think he would hear a laugh from you that he'd never want to hear again.

“You only think that because you only know the parts of me I let you see.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to know more.” Bucky hopes through the darkness you can’t see the way the tips of his ears flush. “If you’d let me, I’d love to get to know all of you.”

“You can’t–you can’t say that, Bucky. You don’t even know-”

“So tell me.”

You pause, blinking up at him, tears still shining on your waterline. “You’re going to run,” you challenge.

“What about me makes you think I’ll run, huh? There ain’t nothing you could do that would scare me. Do you know who I am? Who I was?”

“That’s different,” you dismiss him, fingers curling tight around the blanket; your last line of defence against his relentless pursuit.

“How?”

“Because. It’s… It can’t be explained. I… I can’t explain it; the doctors don’t care to explain it. There’s… there’s nothing anyone can do.”

The word doctors sends a chill through his body. He knew there was something wrong, but… if it was bad enough to have to reach out to doctors…

“What… what exactly is happening?” Bucky furrows his brows. Were you ill? Were you in pain? Why didn’t you tell anyone?

You bury your face in your hands, mumbling something that’s unintelligible against your skin. Bucky tries to be patient, but when forced to reckon with the fact that you could very well be suffering an affliction that could bring about your end faster than he could have ever predicted, he can only stay quiet for so long.

“Please, Sweetheart, talk to me.” He reaches up to take your hands from your face. Cradling them in his own, as if they were porcelain, he tries to meet your water-stained eyes. “I want to help you, but I can’t very well do that if ya keep everything to yourself.”

Tears begin to spill over your waterline, falling down your face in a sight that’s sure to haunt his nightmares to come. “I feel insane, Bucky. He tells me that it’s not a big deal, that—that I’m just being dramatic, but I… it feels like someone has… has ripped my heart like right out of my chest. And… and I was fine yesterday! That’s, I think, the worst part of it all. It’s—I fucking hate it! I can’t stop crying over the stupidest shit and—and I can’t think straight, and everything feels so… so pointless.”

A brick lodges in Bucky’s throat, rendering him speechless. He’s helpless, watching you fall apart right in front of his eyes. The first question on his lips is, Who? Who would dare make you feel as if your feelings weren’t real, as if your pain wasn’t real. But it gets trapped on his tongue, just like all the other pathetic excuses for comfort his brain brings forth.

You look away from him then, hands leaving his more cold and empty than he’s ever felt before. eyes find the textured blanket tangled on your lap. You trace the pattern with your finger. He almost brings his newly freed hands to wipe away the waterfall cascading down your face or to maybe bring your hands back into his. In the end, he just sits there, frozen and wondering how the hell he’s supposed to fix this.

“I just keep thinking,” you murmur, fingernail scratching one of the lines on your blanket, “that it wouldn’t matter if I just… wasn’t here anymore. That everyone would be better off if I just…”

You don’t need to finish the sentence.

Because he sees it.

The way he’d knock on your door after a too-long patch of radio silence. The way he’d call out the pet name he’d affectionately appointed you with. The way his heart would sink straight down to hell when he saw you lying on the ground. The way he’d clutch you to his body, every part of you so, so cold. He’d scream your name; he’d hold you to his chest and pray to a god he stopped believing in since the War. He’d cry and cry and cry, staining your clothes with his grief until someone tore him away from your lifeless body.

He wonders how many times that had come close to being a reality. How many times you had curled up in your bed thinking that was the only escape as he sat waiting for you. How many times you had to stitch yourself back together when there were people who loved you just steps away. How many times it had almost been the last.

“We wouldn’t,” he says, voice catching on the last syllable. Because even the thought of a world without your light was too much to bear. “Be better off, that is.”

A heavy silence settles over the two of you. Even the air feels thick and heavy; maybe that’s just because he’s having a hard time breathing around the ugly truth. To know that all of these months you have been drowning in your own mind with no help, to know that he did nothing to help pull you out of the depths of your despair, it cuts like a knife. He thought he was doing the right thing, thought his intrusion would be unwanted, and it would be better if he waited. He left you to suffer on your own.

And the worst part of it all is that he knows if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t have hesitated. The proof is there from lingering memories of sitting together on the couch or in the training room, and in some rare cases his own room. The way you sat with him in silence. You knew exactly what he needed without even having to ask. You didn’t turn the TV on, you didn’t try to coax answers out of him, you just sat there with him, doing nothing but being a steady presence by his side. All this time, he was so scared to be pushed away that he never even bothered to try.

You probably felt the same that first night you had found him staring at the black screen of the television, his mind a thousand yards away. But regardless of the possibility that he wouldn’t be accepting of your company, you sat down with him anyway, the sleeves of your sweatshirt hanging over your hands as you cupped your favourite mug and cradled it to your chest. Bucky had hardly known you then, and you him. But you were still there, unabashed in your conviction to not leave him alone despite having only just joined the team.

“I almost relapsed.” The words are so quiet, he almost could’ve sworn he made them up. But when he looks at your face, he sees the way your face pinches, disgust warring with your features.

Bucky swallows around the brick lodged in his throat. “Relapsed?”

You tuck your head further down, shrinking in on yourself as if that would make you invisible. Shame heats your face as you open and close your mouth, trying to bring the words out into the open. “I used to um… I used to… god this is… so hard to say out loud.”

Bucky gives you the time you need. He doesn’t try to fill in the blanks, to try and voice what you so desperately need to get out in the open himself. His hand finds its way back to yours, the one that’s begun to dig into the flesh of your thigh through your thin pyjama pants.

You take a breath. “I used to hurt myself. I try not to anymore, but… it’s hard.”

Bucky’s stomach swirls. He’s seen the scars, of course he has. But they all looked so faded. Like a distant memory. Something that was to be left in the past to stay. He wonders if you would have taken metal to your skin once more if he hadn’t barged into your downward spiral. Wonders if he was just a few minutes later, if he would’ve opened your door to see glinting metal and bloody wrists.

Bucky reaches for you then. He pulls you into his arms before you can even think to retreat. It’s only for half a second that you stiffen, poised to push him away, but you don’t. No, you collapse into him under the weight of everything you’ve shared and everything you haven’t. Your bones melt to putty as he holds you to his chest, his flesh hand rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. And then, you begin to cry. You sob so hard, it steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping for air as you fist the material of his faded Henley. He continues to comfort you the best he knows how, ignoring how his eyes are beginning to shine as well. His heart continues to crack open as you tremble in his arms, shaking apart like a flower being tossed around in a hurricane.

“I don’t… Why does it get this bad?” Bucky asks when your sobs have subsided. “How can I fix it?”

You shake your head against his chest, hands still clenched around his shirt as if terrified that he’d let you go. As if he ever wanted to let you go now that he knows just how close he came to losing you. “There’s nothing that can fix it, Bucky. I told you… I’m broken.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Even after I’ve soaked your shirt with snot and tears?”

Bucky huffs. “Even still.” He pauses. “I noticed that it only gets really bad at the same time every month. Why is that? Did something happen around that time, or… I don’t know-”

“You noticed?” You pull away from him then, your red-rimmed eyes wide as they stare up at his face.

“Hard not to-” Bucky backtracks when he sees your face crumble- “I’ve uh, I notice things that most people don’t—been trained to actually. I don’t think the others have noticed—not as much as me at least.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He watches you sniffle, your hands coming up to wipe away the remaining moisture clinging to your skin. And he wishes that he could prevent this from happening again. Wishes to banish the dark cloud from your mind before it even begins. Because you don’t deserve whatever’s making you feel so down.

“Would there be a way to prevent it from getting this bad?” Bucky asks. “No matter how much I wish you would, you don’t have to tell me what it is if you don’t want, but is there anything I can do?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you… It’s just…” You trail off, face heating under his scrutiny. “It’s… I don’t want you to think… Well, my doctor… he, he thinks I’m just… exaggerating.”

Resentment courses through Bucky for a man he doesn’t even know. How could anyone take such serious words, such serious circumstances lightly? Even if you were exaggerating, which you’re not, doesn’t he have a duty, as a doctor, to help? Because even if someone were exaggerating about their mental health, there’s clearly an underlying issue.

“That’s bullshit,” Bucky finds himself spitting out with a vitriol he didn’t know he was capable of.

“You—I haven’t even said what it is yet!” Your protest falls on deaf ears.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Bucky,” you sigh, burying your face in your hands. You mumble something into your palms, the words lost to his ears.

“What was that?”

“It’s because I’m on my period.” Your voice is laced with shame, face twisted as if you’re preparing for him to storm out, expecting him to belittle you or agree with your idiotic doctor.

Bucky won’t say he understands it. Because he doesn’t. Not by a long shot. A woman’s monthly was not something widely discussed when he was growing up. In fact, it was something to be hidden, something to be ashamed of as far as he knew. He had grown up with a mother and sisters, so he knows that they exist, but that’s about it.

“Your… period… causes this?” Bucky questions. Did all women have to go through this monthly? How would he not have noticed his mother or sisters falling into such a depression?

He immediately regrets how he formed the question, wishing he could shove the words back down his throat, but it’s too late. You’re already retreating into yourself, pulling your body further from his, eyes growing glassy. “I know. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t—it’s-”

“It’s not stupid.” Bucky reaches for your hands, attempting to anchor you to him so you don’t drift away. “I just… I didn’t know that it could cause… this.”

“It’s not really something that’s been studied… or well documented. My doctor says I’m just being dramatic, and I am. It’s not like… It’s not like I really have a reason to feel… like this. I just… whenever it happens it feels like the world is ending, like everything is pointless and-” You cut yourself off with a shake of your head.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “You didn’t ask for any of this shit-”

“Yes, I did. Don’t you remember me tellin’ you that I want to know what’s going on?”

“Well, yes, but… but it’s not like something you could fix. The same damn thing is going to happen next month and the month after that. I know the pattern, but I can never stop it. You might as well just give up whilst you’re ahead.”

Bucky doesn’t even attempt to hide how affronted he is by your suggestion. How could he ever leave you when he now knows the depths of your suffering? No matter how inexplicable, no matter how inevitable, he would stand by you to the end of the earth if it meant you didn’t have to fight this alone.

You notice him about to open his mouth to protest, so you quickly jump in before he can get a word in. “I can handle this. I’ve been doing this long enough to-”

“You shouldn’t deprive yourself of comfort.” His voice shakes just slightly, but it’s enough that even he knows you don’t miss it.

“I wanted to wait,” he admits quietly, his thumb rubbing up and down your hand. “Thought you’d come to me when you were ready–or even one of the others. But watching you tear apart at the seams every month and pretend you’re fine?” He exhales shakily. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

The way you look up at him steals the breath straight out of his lungs. It’s as if, instead of admitting that he had common human decency, he had admitted to hanging all the stars in the galaxy just for you. Unable to bear your gaze, he brings you into his arms.

You cling to him like he’s the only solid thing left on this earth. He holds onto you as if he had lost you. Simultaneously trying to forget that he almost had.

“I’ve wanted to take care of you for a long time,” he adds, almost too soft to hear. “Didn’t want to overstep. Didn’t think it was my place.”

The confession slips out before either of you are ready for it, but he doesn’t take it back. How could he when the words ring true?

You, so tired from carrying this weight for all these years, collapse under his words. You cry into his chest until your body gives out, until the thoughts quiet enough to breathe around them. Bucky stays with you through it all—through the apologies, the shaking, the whispered self-loathing. And though it pains him greatly to witness this, to hear of the awful things you have to say about yourself, he would go through this a hundred times just to make sure you never had to go through this ever again.

He only leaves your side once, and that’s to get food for your body that hasn’t eaten in far too long. And he praises you, even if the only thing you can get down is a piece of lightly buttered toast.

Later, when the tower is dark and still, he lies beside you without question. One arm wraps around your waist, firm and protective, his chin resting against your head.

You fall asleep like that, face pressed into his chest, tear tracks drying on your skin.

—

Morning comes softly.

It seeps in slowly, pale light edging around the curtains like it’s unsure whether it’s welcome. The tower is unusually still—no clatter from the kitchen, no voices echoing down the hall. Just the soft steady sound of your breathing against Bucky’s chest. 

He wakes before you do, as he always does. 

For a few seconds, instincts kick in. He assesses the room, notes exits, catalogues sounds. Then awareness settles, and he remembers where he is. Who he’s holding. 

His breath hitches in his chest as he looks down. You’re curled into him, one arm draped across his torso, fingers slack with sleep. Your face is relaxed in a way he doesn’t get to see often, tension finally eased out of the lines around your mouth. There are faint tear tracks still visible on your cheeks, just enough to remind him of how hard the night was. 

How hard you were on yourself. 

His chest tightens. 

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe deeper. He’s terrified that if he shifts, you’ll wake up and the fragile peace will shatter, that you’ll pull away, embarrassed, apologising for taking up space you were never a burden in. 

So he stays still and lets himself look. 

He traces the quiet details instead: the way your lashes rest against your skin, the slight hitch in your breath every few seconds, the warmth of you pressed against him like your body decided, without even asking permission, that he was safe. 

That thought nearly undoes him. 

You trusted him. Even when you couldn’t trust yourself. 

He wonders how many mornings you’ve woken up alone after enduring a night of your own personal hell. How many times you’ve cried yourself empty and then dragged yourself through the next day as if nothing had happened. The idea sits heavy in his chest, sharp and aching. 

His thumb lifts, almost without his permission, brushing gently beneath your eye where tears had dried. As if he could wipe them away like he wanted to the night before. The touch is feather light, reverent. You don’t flinch away from it. No, you lean into it, like some part of you recognises comfort even in your sleep. 

Bucky swallows hard. 

This is what no one ever told him. How the way wanting someone sneaks up on a person in quiet moments like this. Not loud or desperate, passion that ignites like a supernova only to collapse into a black hole of nothingness. No, this is steady; it’s soft, and deep, and so, so real.

You shift a few minutes later, blinking awake slowly. Confusion flickers across your face as you take in the room, the light, the fact that you’re wrapped around him like vines on a wall. 

He sees the instant your awareness hits. 

“Oh,” you murmur, voice rough with sleep.

He waits. Doesn’t rush you or loosen his hold. 

Your first instinct is shame—he can see it flicker across your expression like a reflex. You pull back just slightly, enough to fully look at him. 

“You really didn’t have to stay.” Bucky hates the tone your voice takes on when you believe yourself to be an imposition. As if taking care of you was that much of a burden. As if you didn’t deserve it. 

There’s no joking in his reply. Not after the night you just had. Not after watching you fall apart in his arms. Because after learning what you had almost done to yourself, well, he doesn’t want to hide anymore. And if his feelings are unrequited, he’ll make sure you have someone else to take care of you, so that you won’t be in the awkward position of dealing with him any more than necessary. All he wants is for you to know just how deeply you are loved. To know just how much you matter.  “I wanted to.”

You study him as if trying to find a hidden meaning behind those simple words. Your throat works around the words that follow: “Thank you… For staying. I know I was a fucking mess last night.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens, not with anger, but with something akin to grief. 

“You’re allowed to fall apart in front of people that want to care for you. You don’t always have to pretend like you’re alright. Not around me.”

Something in you softens at his words, tears caught in your waterline. “I thought I got really good at hiding it.”

“You are good at hiding it. I just pay too much attention to you.” 

“Why? Why me?” The question is raw, laced with the same amount of vulnerability you had shown him last night. 

Bucky takes a slow breath. He doesn’t want to rush this, doesn’t want to hoist upon you his feelings whilst you’re dealing with so much already. But he also doesn’t want to hide behind half-truths anymore. Doesn’t want to give you some empty excuse that leaves you regretting showing him you at your lowest.

“Because I care,” he says. “And I have for a long while.”

Your eyes widen slightly, searching his face. He doesn’t look away no matter how much this display of vulnerability makes him want to. 

“I didn’t–don’t want to complicate things,” he continues softly. “Don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything, or that I’m trying to make this all about me. Because it’s not, god fucking knows it’s not.”

You blink, tears threatening to fall once again, but these are not laced with the poison of pain. They’re filled with something softer, warmer. 

“But I’d rather sit through a hundred nights of you crying than let you spend one more night alone. Because you’re not alone, okay? I care about you so much more than you’ll ever know. I… I’d rather be with you than anywhere else. Because when I’m with you… I feel whole again. It’s probably not healthy, but you make me feel like a person again. And if I can grant you even the smallest bit of the comfort and kindness you’ve shown me… well, damn straight I’ll sit with you through hell.”

Silence settles between you, and for a second, Bucky worries he’s said too much, worries he’s given too much away all at once, worries that his ma was right, somethin’ about him and his big ol’ bleeding heart being too much for the world. But then you lean your head against his chest, sniffling as you bring your arms around him. 

“I don’t know what I’m ready for,” you confess, wounds still weeping, “but I really don’t want to hide from you anymore.”

A small, careful smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he returns your embrace. “That’s all I want. We can go as slow as you need. Figure this out together.”

“This won’t magically fix me,” you warn him, fingers tracing patterns on his back. 

“I never thought it would,” he assures you. “I’ll be here to hold you together.”

And as the morning light grows stronger around you, you realise something; it rings astonishingly true:

You made it through the night.

And this time, you didn’t have to do it alone.

Divider credit: @/dividers-are-us