Vixemi

HIS IMPOSSIBLE WOMAN

The day was windy and rather cold, especially up in The Eyrie. You wrapped the fur coat tighter around your body as you walked across the courtyard. The servants were nodding their heads at you and immediately looking away. The same servants you had been growing up around. Yet, the way they behaved around you these days differed greatly.

You entered one of the towers and walked downstairs when one of the knights approached you.

“My Lady,” he bowed his head as low as he never did even for your father.

“Yes, Ser Gwindon?” You asked and he looked up at you, his eyes filled with curiosity and respect.

“You have a guest, my Lady,” he announced and you froze a bit.

“A guest?” You inquired. “I don’t expect any guests.”

“I know.”

“Why did you allow them to–”

“We had no choice,” the knight interrupted you and blushed immediately. “It is a guest we are obliged to welcome.”

You scoffed at that and walked past the knight. You had a feeling who the guest probably was. You fixed your hair and the necklace with your house’s sigil; a beautiful silver falcon laid between your breasts. 

Ser Gwindon hurried to your side to open the doors for you. You walked inside quite confidently but when the doors closed behind you and you spotted the silhouette standing by the hearth and facing away from you, you frowned.

“Husband,” you greeted him, coldly.

Baelor smiled gently before turning around and looking at you. He took his sweet time as he focused on every detail; your headpiece, the blush put on your cheeks, your dark blue corset and a beautiful necklace between your squeezed breasts. Your fur coat, the wrinkles of your dress and the way they curved around your hips.

Then he looked up again to smile a bit wider at the frown upon your pretty face. 

“Wife,” he greeted you. “It’s been a while.”

“I didn’t expect you here,” you shrugged, allowing the fur coat to slip from your arms and slide down onto the floor. You stepped out of it and approached one of the armchairs to sit down on it in a nonchalant manner.

“You thought I would let you take my daughter away and run back home while I do nothing about it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at you.

“I thought you would send one of your guards. I didn’t expect you personally,” you rolled your eyes before focusing them on your hand. You wanted an excuse to avoid his gaze, so you adjusted the rings on your fingers.

Baelor sighed.

He looked around and eventually sat on the sofa, which was near the armchair you were occupying. He leaned closer towards you but you persistently avoided laying your eyes on him.

“I demand for you to come back home,” he said, trying to sound soft and gentle despite the nature of his request.

“I am home.”

Baelor closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. It would be a long conversation.

The room was quiet. It was so early in the morning that the sun was barely rising but you hadn’t slept for the whole night long, too busy giving birth to a beautiful Princess that was now resting in your arms. Charming little girl with your eyes and her father’s Dornish dark hair. Amongst them there were a few silver hairs which would probably turn into a silver streak like her older brother’s.

Baelor was sitting by your bed, looking over your shoulder at the little babe in your arms. He was smiling softly but he didn’t want to bother you with his talking. You were exhausted, after all.

You were the first one to talk.

“You must be glad it is a girl,” you mumbled out, your voice weak and raspy.

Baelor blinked a few times before looking at you.

“I am very pleased, yes,” he nodded, unsure of the meaning behind your words. He reached out to caress your hair. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

“This is not what I mean,” you rolled your eyes with a sigh. Your husband furrowed his brows. “If she was a boy, there could be a war coming.”

“War about the succession?” Baelor chuckled, nervously.

He wondered why you were ever thinking of that. Valarr was his heir and nothing would change that. He squinted his eyes at you. He had been sure you loved his boys like your own sons but now he began to worry.

“I know that Valarr is your heir. If we had a son, he would feel… overlooked,” you explained.

“He would be loved and cherished the same,” Baelor assured you.

“Does not matter now. Our babe is a girl,” you whispered to the little one as you leaned in to kiss the top of her soft head. “You and I, my little one,” you said to her quietly. “We will remain nothing but footnotes in your father’s history of reign.”

Baelor sighed and looked away. He didn’t want to argue with you in a moment like that.

Princess Daenerys was two years old when you overheard your husband’s conversation with his father after one of the Small Council meetings. They were discussing the prospects of Valarr’s future marriage. The boy was only eight years old but it was never too early with such matters.

For the past two years you had been waiting for this day to come. You braced yourself for the conversation with your Lord Husband as he entered your shared chambers and smiled at you. You were spread on the sofa and pretending to read a book.

“How was the meeting?” You asked, reaching out to him and he approached you, taking your hand in his and allowing you to caress his chest.

“Promising,” he answered. “How are you today, my love?”

“Good,” you nodded and put the book away. “I overheard a conversation between you and your father earlier,” you bit on your lower lip.

Baelor raised an eyebrow as he hummed to himself.

“What conversation, darling wife?” He asked, walking around the sofa to sit on the armrest and caress your hair. You looked up to meet his mismatched gaze with the most devoted look you could manage.

“You want to find a noble girl from Essos for your sweet son,” you said and Baelor nodded.

“Yes, we believe such an alliance would be a powerful move.”

“Nonsense,” you shook your head and your husband furrowed his brows at your sudden harshness. You softened immediately. “I mean, there are other ways of creating alliances and marriages do not guarantee anything. Besides, our cultures differ too much. This poor woman would be lost here and Valarr would be the most unhappy with her as well.”

“You cannot know that,” Baelor chuckled.

“Oh, but I do know,” you assured him.

“What would you suggest then?” He asked, calmly. He caressed your cheek now, soothingly moving his thumb along your jaw.

He had learnt already, very early in your marriage, that you loved to be asked for advice and opinion.

“Another reason why I don’t think a wife from Essos would be a good idea is that… people gossip, my Prince,” you whispered. “People whisper that the Targaryen dynasty no longer resembles itself. The Dornish blood is too strong.”

Baelor listened patiently, knowing very well that you would eventually get to the point. He only nodded to let you know he was listening and understanding the meaning of your words.

“I think there is a way to please everyone,” you suggested, carefully. You batted your eyelashes just in case. 

“I am listening, darling.”

“Daenerys should be Valarr’s queen,” you said and caught your breath while your heart pounded.

A short silence occurred. Baelor froze and retreated his hand from your cheek.

“You know why it is not a good idea,” he whispered. Your hopeful smile dropped. “In fact, I am shocked that you are the one to propose it.”

“Why so?”

“Because you are no Targaryen. Other Houses frown upon this tradition.”

“They are only half-siblings,” you pouted. “It is not that bad. And their children have a higher chance of looking like… real Targaryens. People will be pleased.”

“Valarr is the future King. His marriage is an opportunity to create a powerful alliance that we might need in the future,” Baelor shook his head and stood up to approach the window.

“But…” You reached after him but he was out of your grasp. You huffed and crossed your arms.

“Apart from the fact the Targaryen blood would become a bit more pure, I see no reason for this alliance. And the purity of this family’s blood is not my concern either. There are no dragons anymore, we don’t need to marry within our kin,” Baelor said, looking out of the window.

You were angry now. Not only did your little plan fail but he also seemed to be stubborn about his decision.

“Do you truly care so little for me?” You asked, quietly.

That sentence caused Baelor to turn around nearly immediately as he looked down at your figure, still spread out on that sofa.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, approaching you.

He should have been wiser and known that there had been a hidden agenda about you from the moment you had mentioned the conversation between him and his father.

“You claim you love me no less than Lady Jena yet you refuse me and our offspring the same rights…” You pointed out.

Baelor closed his eyes and took a deep breath again.

“Here we go again…”

“No! Do not dismiss me! The way I feel is valid and I deserve to be heard,” you stood up and he opened his eyes to look at you again. “If my daughter becomes the Queen of Westeros, it means I will be the Queen Mother one day, not just an unimportant Queen Dowager no one cares about–”

“How nice. You are already planning out my death,” Baelor smiled ironically.

“Only foolish Princes and Kings do not have a plan for what happens after their passing. Last time it happened, we had The Dance of the Dragons,” you snapped. “If Daenerys becomes Valarr’s Queen, she will be as important as him and I will be a grandmother of future Kings. Just like your first wife will be remembered as. This one alliance would not be for the realm but for your family. Matarys can marry a girl from Essos for all I care,” you shrugged your arms and took a sharp breath in.

Baelor stood there in silence for a while. Eventually, he nodded his head but it was not to agree with your proposal. It was a simple gesture to let you know he understood all your words.

“No,” was all he said. You opened your mouth again to protest but he raised his hand to shush you. “My answer is final and I do not wish to discuss this again. This one is too important for me to let you influence me like that.”

You went speechless at his words. 

“I understand,” you muttered out through gritted teeth before leaving the room in a hurry.

You didn’t talk to him for the rest of the day and he ignored it because it was not the first time you would do such a thing. He thought it would pass eventually as it always did.

Next day, when he left the Red Keep to deal with a business in the Crownlands, you packed Daenerys and yourself before leaving for The Vale.

Baelor was staring at the fire for a long moment of silence before finally looking at you again. You were looking up at the ornamented high ceiling.

“My darling, I miss you,” he tried a different approach. “I miss my wife and my daughter. The boys miss you, too. Matarys is crying every day.”

You moved uncomfortably. You were stubborn and spoiled but you were not cruel. You felt bad for the Princes, especially little Matarys. Lady Jena had died giving birth to him so you were the only mother he knew.

“I couldn’t take them with me. They are yours more than mine,” you explained. “I wanted to, though.”

“They don’t understand what is happening. And, to be honest, I do not either,” Baelor confessed. You finally laid your sharp Arryn eyes on him.

“I explained everything but you said you didn’t wish to discuss it further because I was unimportant.”

“I did not say the last part,” Baelor sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You said the choice was too important for me to have an influence on it,” you reminded him. “How was I supposed to feel? I thought being married to the heir to the throne would have some privileges but apparently all I’m good for is giving birth to equally unimportant Princesses or helping your mother to choose the colour of the clothes laid upon the royal tables.”

Baelor was the one to fidget with the rings on his fingers this time. It was not his intention to make you feel this way.

“How do you think it would work out? Forcing them to marry? Brother and sister?” Baelor asked.

You looked more intensely at him. So, he was willing to discuss it further after all? You tried very hard to hide your smirk.

“If it is decided now, they will grow up knowing what is waiting for them and they will get used to the idea. Daenerys is only two, Valarr is eight.”

“It is six years of difference. When do you propose they get married?” Baelor asked.

“There is a bigger gap between us than them,” you reminded him. “She would have to be ten and eight at least. He would be only four and twenty by that time. That is still very young for a man.”

Baelor sighed and winced slightly as he looked away. It seemed that you had everything thought out already. Probably already planned out your outfit for the occasion.

“For how long have you been thinking of this?” He inquired.

You were surprised by this question. Something about it sounded more like an accusation.

“Ever since I held her for the first time and saw the silver streak in her hair, which gave me an idea,” you admitted truthfully.

“And if I still don’t agree, I assume you are staying here with your parents?”

“Yes,” you nodded without hesitation. “I am not important at court and neither is my daughter. We can live here. Many married couples live separately.”

“Not many married couples are in the centre of attention like ours,” Baelor pointed out. “We have to keep up appearances for the sake of the whole dynasty.”

“Well, then…” You shrugged. “It is up to you now.”

Baelor pinched the bridge of his nose. When he had been told to marry a younger woman from The Vale all those years ago, he hadn’t expected she would have such a hold on him. He had expected a woman intimidated by him, his age, experience and position at court. But you were nothing like that. And that was one of the reasons why he had fallen for you.

“If I… If I promised to bring this matter to my father… Would you go back home?” He asked.

“You must think me a fool!” You stood up abruptly. “This conversation is a waste of time,” you huffed, approaching your fur coat that was laying on the floor. You grabbed it angrily to put it back on, so you could leave the room.

“What do you mean? I am trying to look for a solution here. Have you ever learnt about the meaning of the word compromise?” Baelor stood up as well as he approached you, already losing his temper a little.

“You are trying to lure me back home with false promises!” You turned around to face him.

You froze when you realised how close he was standing. You didn’t expect him to be right behind you.

“Home?” He asked with a smirk. “So, the Red Keep is your home after all?”

You cursed yourself in your head. You shouldn’t have said that.

“I just want to be important. I want my daughter to matter,” you said.

“I know. But you ran away like a brat instead of trying to solve it like adults would,” Baelor pointed out.

“I am not your property for you to silence me whenever you wish to, husband!” You exclaimed right into his face. “I felt disrespected so I left!”

“You are my wife!” Baelor finally snapped as he raised his voice, which caught you off-guard. “You are my wife and you have no right to escape like that! What if you were hurt?!”

He calmed himself down immediately after, feeling extremely stupid for raising his voice at you as his cheeks flushed.

“Forgive me, I–”

He didn’t finish because your hands were cupping his cheeks already as you brought his face down to kiss him hungrily. Baelor’s eyes widened before he closed them and kissed you back, his arms wrapping around you clumsily, causing your fur coat to fall onto the floor once more. He was glad for it because now he could pull you even closer to his chest.

“I am your wife,” you breathed out after breaking the kiss, looking deep into his mismatched eyes. “And you will show me respect as such.”

Baelor chuckled weakly. Seven Hells, he could not argue anymore.

And most importantly, he could not risk leaving The Vale without you and Daenerys. He wouldn’t survive another few weeks without your kisses, pouts, scoffs and eye rolls.

“I will announce to my father that our decision is final,” he sighed.

“We are heading back home on the morrow then,” you patted his cheek. “Let me inform my Lord Father,” you left his arms to once again reach for the fur coat and leave the room with a triumphant smile.

Little Valarr winced a little as he was standing in front of you and his father. Daenerys was on your lap and Matarys was by your side, clinging to you while your hand was caressing his ginger hair softly.

“M-marry her?” Valarr looked at the babe suspiciously.

“Once you two are adults, of course,” you assured him. “You love your sister, do you not, darling?”

“O-of course I do,” Valarr nodded eagerly. “Why can’t Matarys marry her?”

“Because you will be the King one day, son,” Baelor explained, leaning in to be on his son’s eye-level. “And we want Daenerys to be your Queen.”

“Would you want a complete stranger to come here for you to become her husband? Would you want to send little Daenerys away one day to a complete stranger for her to become his wife?” You tried a different approach. Valarr widened his eyes and shook his head. “You see? This way you both are safe from that fate.”

Valarr walked up to you carefully and he leaned in to kiss Daenerys’ forehead. The girl giggled.

“I will take care of you, sister,” Valarr promised her and you caressed his hair lovingly.

They had the same silver streak in their hair. You wondered if there was any chance for their children to have heads full of silver hair like their ancestors had. 

“It is nothing for you or her to worry about for a long time now. We just wished for you to know,” Baelor explained to his son and caressed his cheek. The boy nodded.

“Thank you, Father,” he said.

Daenerys yawned and you chuckled as you nodded at the maid. She approached you to take the babe from you and carry her to the nursery. Meanwhile, Valarr took Matarys by his hand and they went back to their maester for their classes.

You were left alone with your husband now. You stood up with a happy smile and you fixed your dress in the mirror.

“Are you happy?” Baelor asked.

“Yes, very much,” you nodded and bit your lower lip before turning around to face him again.

“Oh no…” He whined.

“What is it?”

“That mischievous look in your eye. You’re up to no good again,” Baelor pointed out.

“Excuse me? The mischievous look? Husband, what is it that you are suggesting?” You chuckled and walked up to him to sit on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and you cupped his cheeks with a smirk. “Are you implying I have another wicked idea?”

“Yes, that is what I am implying, my impossible woman,” he shook his head with a chuckle.

You had no idea how long it had taken him to convince his father to let Valarr marry Daenerys. If you had an idea as demanding in your head now, he had to brace himself mentally.

“I do not possess any ideas at the moment,” you assured him sweetly. “But I do have something to tell you,” your eyes sparkled.

“Yes, what is it?” He inquired, raising his eyebrows at you.

“I am expecting,” you giggled and pressed your lips to his to give him a peck. He froze at first and didn’t even kiss you back.

“You… You are certain?”

“Yes, the maester confirmed it,” you nodded and moved your hands to the back of his head now as you caressed the short hair there with your fingers. “Do you know what it means?”

“That Matarys’ wife is in the making?” Baelor laughed.

“Do not be daft!” You scolded him teasingly as you laughed. “No, not at all.”

“What then? Is the war of succession still possible?” Baelor taunted.

“Hm, I don’t think so, no…” You hummed to yourself.

“What then?”

“It must have happened in The Vale,” you smiled at the mention of the night you had spent in your husband’s arms after he had come to the Eyrie for you.

You had been there for a few weeks and not pregnant during that time. On the road back home there were no occasions to lay together and if you became pregnant after returning to the Red Keep, it would be too early to tell.

It had to happen then.

And judging by what night it had been, it was no surprise.

Baelor smirked when he realised that as well. He squeezed your body tighter and leaned in to kiss both of your cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Oh, I know,” you assured him and rubbed your nose with his. “And I love you, too.”

He sighed and pecked your lips to make up for the fact he had been too shocked to kiss you back the last time.

“I know.”

You tried to follow the newscaster's voice but he was talking so quickly and you were quite distracted. Could anyone blame you? Cliff was looking ravishing. Maybe it was the result of heat radiating through the metal of the cadillac but damn, you felt hot. Even though the windows were rolled down and fresh air streamed inside, it could not be described as anything other than scorching.

You could see a faint layer of sweat on his skin as well. He was wearing his infamous yellow hawaiian shirt, his chest exposed just enough to make your mouth water but not enough to be considered indecent in public. A drop of sweat had collected at his brow, threatening to roll off his temple, slowly, teasingly.

You tried to look out the opened window, to take in the view, concentrate on anything else but Cliff’s hands pulled you back into heat like a vortex. He was driving with one hand on the wheel, his other arm propped on the window sill. His veins popped out deliciously. Just like they do when he fingers you into oblivion. You just wanted to lick up and down his arms and -

“You good, sweetheart?” Shit. Cliff had noticed your staring and uneasy energy, his lips curled up into a slight smirk. “I’m fine, just…a little hot.” You shuffled restlessly in your seat, eventually sticking your arm outside the window in the hopes of catching a cooling breeze.

He chuckled, knowing exactly what type of heat you were experiencing. It wasn’t the first time you had spaced out looking at him while he was driving. Usually that meant you would jump at him the moment you both arrived home and closed the door to his trailer. But this time something felt…different. More desparate.

“How long until we arrive home?” you ask, clenching your thighs together, secretly hoping he notices. “About 20 minutes. If we’re lucky. The way this line moves we might be stuck for a while.” He replies while looking at the long line of cars in front of you. You pause internally and contemplate on what to do. You need him. So bad. Right. Now. What if-

Your breath hitches and you turn your body towards him, staring at him seductively. His head turns to you, displaying a raised brow. The drop of sweat has now finally started its descent down his handsome face. His expression is a mix of confusion and daring you to go on.

“You want me to suck your cock?”

Silence. For a short moment you regret asking but the thought quickly fades as he chuckles, turning his head away from you. Was he blushing? He turned towards you again, this time studying your face. After breathing in and out deeply, he says:

”Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”

Grinning from ear to ear he shifts his hips forward, making himself more comfortable for the upcoming event. You smile and bite your lip enticingly. Your gaze shifts from his beautiful eyes down to his chest. Your hand slowly makes its way underneath his hawaiian shirt, across his pecs, playing a little with his silver blond hair.

His ribcage moves up and down slighlty more intensely than usual. Satisfied your fingers head down his biceps. Ellbow. Forearm. Eventually reaching the steady hand he has on the wheel. He loosens his grip slightly upon your touch and you gently tug on his fingers. He gets the hint and replaces his steering arm with the other, letting you take his hand. You lead it to your mouth slowly but surely.

You take his index finger in your mouth, keeping eye contact with the rugged man sitting next to you. He can’t help but smile at you, excitement for whats to come coursing through his veins.

The air is thick. Humid. Tension high. By now you are sucking on two fingers like an ice lollipop. Holding onto his muscular forearm, you feel every callous in your mouth. A sign of Cliff’s dedication to his craft. Stunt work requires blood sweat and tears, a real commitment physically and mentally. The thought stirs something deep inside you and you decide to spend some extra love on each callous with your tounge.

Cliff keeps his eyes on the road, looking as cool as ever, as your tounge licks down the protruding veins on his forearm.

“I know you think I’m smoking hot, but you said you wanted to suck my dick, not my fingers.”

Your lips part from his skin and you let out a mischievous smile. Your panty is completely soaked already from all the work you have been doing on his muscular upper body.

“Patience. I am just getting started” you said, biting your lip while caressing his thighs. Both your hands move over his jeans, deliberately avoiding the area he wanted touched the most. His already hard thighs were even more tense than usual.

“Sweetheart, I'm too old to get teased like that.” He bucks his hips upwards exhaling slowly, a bit of impatience escaping his chill facade. You try to hide a succesful smile and move your hands towards his belt. One trained motion and the buckle was open.

It was hard to say who was more excited: you or him.

His cock springs free once you pull it out of his boxers. Veiny, girthy, perfect. A little drop of white had already collected at his reddened tip from the teasingly long wait.

Keeping your eyes locked onto his, you dive down and with one lick of your tongue the white drop disappears in your mounth. You can hear the squeaking sound of leather as Cliff tightens his grip on the wheel.

You take him into your mouth, bobbing up and down, taking him deeper inch by inch. With every bob you can feel his body relax and melt into the seat of the car. If he didn't have to keep his eyes on the road he would have closed them to revel in the sensation.

Spit drips down his shaft, making wet sounds with the guiding motions of your hands. The sounds were competing with the newscaster on the radio.

One hand still on the wheel, Cliff's other hand reaches down to support your head. He looks down endearingly at you. A look you don't see, too busy sucking his cock like it was your last day on earth.

You change your rhythm now and then, alternating between slow and fast. Sucking, licking, kissing. Using your lips to their fullest capabilities.

Honestly, you have no idea how long you've been down there, neither does Cliff. All you can think about is making him feel good and enjoying every bit of the process.

You have to moan when you take him as deep as you possibly can. The vibrations making your eyes turn to the back of your head.

“Shit.” Cliff says.

“I won't last much longer, sweetheart”.

You just hum in response, his shaft never leaving your mouth. You start twisting your hands, rotating them into opposite directions.

Cliff grunts, his body tensing up. His hips thrust upwards, making you moan in return. You continue your rhythm despite his slowly collapsing facade. He starts pushing your head down, firmly but not forcefully. And you anticipate what is coming next.

With an strained grunt and a tight grip on your hair, he spills into your mouth. You still your movements, looking at his face, with his mouth slightly open.

Once his raggard breathing has calmed down and you swallowed all of him, you find your lips locked onto his. Who initiated the kiss is hard to determine.

His tounge makes a distinct swipe in your mouth, with the mission to taste himself and make sure that everything has been swallowed.

Parting your lips, you lean back and pull your knees to your chest. A triumphant smile on your face.

“And? You cooled down a little?” Cliff asks visibly more relaxed than before. His hair slightly tousled. You loved this. The effect you have on him.

You shake your head. “Not even a little bit.”

He has to laugh at that and switches the radio to another channel. Music fills the car and you look out the window, daydreaming about the things he will do to cool you down once you arrive home.

Your wedding day took place on a bleak day with the sky blotted with grey and cold drizzle spraying through the air. It was two weeks after your father died from a heart attack. You were sad when you heard, but you had barely known the man. He was the boss of one of the biggest gangs in the city, and as his only daughter, you had been kept well away from the criminal lifestyle he led. Expensive boarding schools, lavish holidays abroad during Christmas and summer, a fat allowance every month and free reign with his black credit card that you never had to pay off. Growing up, you’d had everything you’d ever wanted – except for the love and attention of a father.

It was sad, but not as much of a bitter shock when you found out about your father’s final wish.

“I won’t do it!” You had yelled, stamping your heels against the marble floor of your foyer. “Mom, I swear to God. You can’t make me marry some man I don’t even know, just because Dad wanted me to! For fucksakes, I’m meant to be going to the Bahamas with the girls next week! The Bahamas, Mom! Not a wedding! Not my own fucking wedding!”

“You have to.” Your mother had said simply. “It’s been arranged. It has been for a long time. You may not have known it, but your father and the Rogers family have been planning this union for years. To bring the two biggest families in the city together as one. It’s what your father would have wanted. And Steve Rogers has graciously agreed to marry you. It’s all set.”

“Fuck Steve Rogers!” You had whined. You knew him. You had seen him around the few summers you had actually spent in your hometown. He was older than you, a fair bit older. But he was handsome – every girl in the area was crazy about him. He was also silent, brooding, dangerous – the man in charge of the one gang bigger and deadlier than your father’s. “I don’t care what he’s agreed to. I’m not agreeing. You hear me, Mom? I don’t want this. It’s not happening. It won’t happen. I won’t let it!”

Your wedding day was bleak, with only Steve’s family and yours in attendance. And you had to admit, he looked good. Really good. He was so tall, towering above everyone. Shoulders broad and fit snugly into a black tux. Blonde hair tussled slightly, eyes blue and sombre. You wondered if it was his idea to go ahead with this whole wedding union thing. It seemed unlike him.

You didn’t know Steve Rogers personally but you had heard a lot about him. Apart from having huge stakes in just about every illegal business in the underworld of your city – from narcotics to money laundering and God only knew what else – Steve was also known to be ruthless. Dangerous. There were rumours that he’d had a man killed just for looking at him wrong.

Steve also didn’t seem like the type to settle down. You had seen him at a club once a few years back – when you and your friends had got in with fake IDs – and he had left with two different girls on his arm. There were rumours about him, about his bachelor lifestyle, how he used girl after girl and then discarded them without a second glance. Somehow, it didn’t make sense for a man like that to be settling down.

But he seemed so assured as he said his vows, exuding power and charm with every word he spoke; even the small crowd seemed enamoured by him. Which was crazy to you, because all of them must know that this whole thing was a farce, right? But when it was all said and done, and Steve leaned down and kissed you, pressed his lips softly against yours and held your jaw gently as he did, you could feel your heart flutter just a tiny bit.

Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

***

“Oh shit. Shit. Fuck. No.” You swore, switching the oven, spiteful black smoke billowing upwards as you gingerly took the burnt lasagne out and set it to one side, irritation bubbling up inside of you. Well, this was great. Just great. The one time you decide to do something nice and housewife-like… Pinching your nose in disgust, you dumped the desecrated dish into the bin and wiped your hands on your cherry print apron.

Steve would be home soon – from whatever illegal business that had taken up his time today – and unless you acted fast, there would be no food on the table waiting for him. Not that he’d say a word, you thought bitterly. But you’d sooner burn along with the lasagne than give him another reason to hate you. Quickly, you strode to the front door, swinging it open. The guard on duty raised an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You said haughtily, knowing he could undoubtedly smell the burning food inside, “Look, I need your help. Can you send one of the guys out to that little Italian place downtown? Have him pick up enough food for about four people?” There was only you and Steve in the house, but after two months of being married to him, you knew he could eat like a horse. “Maybe some lasagne, and those little dough balls? You know the ones, right? With the butter and garlic? Get those. And a nice bottle of wine too.”

The guard nodded immediately, gesturing to one of the other guys – Steve sure did have a lot of guys stationed outside their house – “Anything else, Mrs. Rogers?”

“No. That’s it. Thanks.” You said, retreating back into the house and closing the door behind you, making a mental note to remember the guard’s name for next time. That was one perk of being the wife of Steve Rogers – having about a dozen of his subordinates and men working for him at your beck and call. They’d get the food and wine and anything else you asked for, knowing Steve would do something drastic like have them killed if they disobeyed.

You wondered whether they knew that Steve hated you.

And it was true. As depressing as it sounded. You didn’t even know why you were bothering to ensure there was food for him when he got home. Because he had let you know from the moment that he married you that he hated you. Either that or he was extremely apathetic towards you. Whatever. There was barely any difference between the two.

You remembered your wedding night, when Steve had brought you home to this big mansion. You had grown up with money but it was nothing compared to how lavish Steve’s home was. He had pools, tennis courts, an indoor cinema, he practically lived in a palace. And he had stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face as you had ooh-edand aah-ed over the luxurious mansion.

“Your room’s on the second floor, third door.” Steve had said curtly. “All your suitcases have been unpacked. The maids are in their quarters downstairs if you need anything else.” And then he had left. Without another word. Just turned on his heel and walked out the door, probably to attend to some type of sordid business – on his wedding night no less.

And two months later, it was still more of the same. Steve barely looked at you, barely spoke a word to you unless he really had to. You hadn’t even seen the inside of his bedroom, and he had never stepped foot inside yours. Your bedroom which was all pink and girly, fluffy white rug and vanity table and everything. You wondered if he’d ordered it to be decorated exactly to your taste, thinking it was what you’d like – which it was – but no. Steve barely knew you, he hadn’t even tried to get to know you.

The only time Steve did act like a normal, nice and loving husband was in public. In the eyes of other people, he was perfect, doting, amazing. Often, you’d go to events with him, club appearances or charity galas thrown by his business partners – fronts for more money laundering, undoubtedly, not that Steve ever shared any inside knowledge about his business with you.

And you’d be on his arm at those galas, dressed in some expensive dress you’d bought with his money, letting him parade you around with his large hand on the small of your back. And you had to give Steve props for his acting skills, because he’d look at you with sparkling blue eyes that actually looked like they were in love – how did he even do that? – and he’d introduce you as his wife, he’d kiss you, whisper softly to you, tuck your hair behind your ear. And everyone would smile and congratulate you both on being such a beautiful couple.

And then you’d come home, and he’d go to his room and you’d go to yours. No words spoken. No more touches. No more smiles. Not even a look.

So, you couldn’t understand why even now, two months into this bullshit sham of a marriage, you were still trying to appease him. Dressed in a cute yellow sundress – bought with Steve’s credit card, which had replaced your father’s card once you’d become Mrs. Steve Rogers – and a white cherry print apron. Because who knows, maybe Steve would look at you today and realise that hey, my wife’s kind of hot. Maybe I should treat her more like a wife.

Or even just more like a person, you thought to yourself bitterly.

The doorbell rang. It was one of Steve’s guys, a bag of Italian food in his hand. He handed it to you quickly, barely making eye contact with you before scurrying away. That was another thing. Ever since you’d married Steve, no other man ever looked your way. Which sucked, because you had liked the attention. And it wasn’t like you were getting any from your husband.

You had just finished setting the table when his Highness came home. Steve was imposing as he walked in through the door, acting like he owned the place – which he did. He had on a white dress shirt, collar button undone and sleeves rolled up, and specks of suspicious red dotting the otherwise pristine white fabric. He had his suit jacket scrunched up in his hand, and his blonde hair looked tousled, like he’d run his hand through it many times throughout the day.

He looked like he’d come straight home after torturing some poor somebody, but you had to admit he still looked hot. He always looked hot.

“No, Buck. I don’t need that shit on my plate right now.” Steve was on the phone with his right-hand man, “I trust you to handle it, I have other shit to deal with today, okay?” There was a bit more back and forth, but it was more of the same for you. Just a bunch of testosterone-boosted egos talking about criminal activity – you found it boring. You only looked up once Steve had hung up.

“Hey.” You said slowly, “You must be hungry. Dinner’s ready.” And you inwardly cringed at how awkward you sounded, even after two months of being married to the man.

Steve gave you a short glance, throwing his jacket on the couch and wiping the sweat on his forehead. “I have company coming over tonight.” He said, surveying the food, the kitchen, the fridge, the floor, and then gracing you with eye contact that lasted about two seconds before it was back on the food again, “You need to be inside your room around 9pm. Get all you need from downstairs before then. Don’t come down here after that, got it?”

He didn’t even wait for you to answer, instead grabbing his plate of food which you had so painstakingly prepared for him, and heading down towards his office. Where he would undoubtedly do some more illegal shit before whoever the fuck was coming over tonight came over, and then he’d do more illegal shit with them too.

“Un-fucking-believable.” You huffed underneath your breath, ripping the cherry-print apron off and throwing it to the side. What the fuck was his problem? Was he allergic to being nice? Cordial, even? You followed him into the hall, “You can’t just banish me to my room whenever you feel like, you know. I’m your wife, Steve. Not your fucking daughter.”

“Watch how you speak to me.” Steve’s eyes flashed your way warningly, his tone authoritative yet somehow still nonchalant. As if he was speaking to one of his subordinates, rather than his own wife. “And I’m serious. Grab your shit and go to your room before 9pm.”

“Why? What the fuck are you doing, huh? Hosting an orgy? Why can’t I be downstairs in my own house at 9-fucking-pm?” You asked, really letting it go with the expletives. God. He made you so angry – marching into the house, not even thanking you for the food – it was takeout, but he didn’t know that – and then ordering you to go to your room like you were five fucking years old.

“I don’t have time for this shit.” Steve muttered, and as if on cue, his phone began buzzing in his pocket. It was probably some disgruntled drug lord on the other end, since those were the type of people you knew he liaisoned with on a regular basis. “Do as you’re told. Or else.” And with that, he disappeared inside his office, locking the door behind him.

Fuck him. You thought, stewing and swearing as you stomped your way up the stairs. Out of sheer irritation and spite, you whipped your phone out and quickly bought two Van Cleef bracelets, rapidly typing out Steve’s card information before you could change your mind. The notification from his bank would probably piss him off, but it wouldn’t really make a dent on his bank balance. No. This wasn’t enough. You wanted to push him even further.

It seemed like the only time Steve spoke more than two words to you was when he was reprimanding you or angry at you. Well. You could give him something to get angry over. You could give him plenty to get angry over. No more playing at caring little housewife. It was time to get creative.

***

You could hear them downstairs. The men Steve had over. It sounded like there was three or four of them, plus your husband. Drinking beer and talking in low voices. Probably going over some illegal deal – not that you cared. You took a deep breath and looked down at your outfit for the night – a lacy baby pink chemise with a plunging neckline – sinfully short too, with the hemline barely brushing against your upper thighs. You knew if you bent down, it would leave nothing to the imagination. And panties? Who needed them?

Slowly, you made your way down the stairs, each step feeling more illegal than the last. You had never really disobeyed Steve so blatantly before. A part of you, despite everything, was still scared of the big bad mob boss he was. But a larger part of you was irritated by his apathy, how he acted like you didn’t even exist. At this point, you’d do anything to get somekind of reaction out of him – which is why you were in your current predicament.

The cold air hit you hard when you entered the living room. The serious chatter between the men seemed to cease almost immediately as you slowly made your way across the room, not sparing any of them a glance – not even Steve. You made sure to wink your hips with every step, knowing that every single eye in that room was currently on you – even Steve (you hoped).

You made your way into the kitchen, exhaling the breath you’d been holding in. You hadn’t thought too far ahead with your plan, but decided to grab a pint of Ben & Jerry’s while you were down here. You could hear a low chuckle from the living room.

“I think that little bunny escaped from your bedroom, Steve.” You heard an unfamiliar voice speak, “Who is she, one of your girls? Are the rest of them as hot as she is?” You wrinkled your nose. Clearly, these guys were from out of town. No local man would have dared to make any comments about you, least of all to Steve’s face.

You reappeared in the living room with the Ben & Jerry’s in your hand, lid unscrewed and spoon digging into the ice cream. “I’m his wife.” You said casually, making a big show of placing the spoon in your mouth, lapping at the ice cream and making direct contact with Steve as you did so. And to say Steve looked livid was an understatement. He had long ago mastered the art of keeping a poker face, but his fists were clenched tight and knuckles white, a tell-tale vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Nice to meet you guys.” You said sweetly, licking the ice cream off the spoon, standing there innocently and knowing full well that even in the dim light, your chemise was probably see-through. It was cold too, making your nipples poke against the fabric. And all Steve’s guests could do was ogle at you; you saw a guy lick his lips and another one literally reached down to adjust himself. God, where had Steve found these weirdos?

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Steve said smoothly, standing up and clearing his throat. He sounded cool, collected, except his hands were still balled into fists at his sides. Slowly, like a panther stalking its prey, he made his way over to you. “It seems like my wife has had a severe lapse in judgement. She isn’t allowed to be down here, but…” He paused, and you stuck your chin up and gave him the biggest glare you could muster up.

“But unfortunately for her, she’s disobeyed me.” Steve finished, reaching out and grabbing your wrist roughly. The calmness in his demeanour was making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but you’d sooner die than give away that you were maybe kind of scared. You tried to twist out of his death grip but to no avail. And he was literally crushing your wrist with how hard he was holding it.

“Let go of me!” You hissed fiercely at him, knowing full well that you were basically putting on a free show for everyone else in the room, and they were hanging on to every word you spoke. Steve didn’t even spare you a glance.

“So, you gentlemen will have to excuse me while I go see to my wife. As you can see, she’s a loose cannon and needs disciplining. Bucky, take some more beer out for these guys. They’ll sit and wait while I finish with her, won’t you?” Steve asked them, except you knew it wasn’t really a question.

The men all nodded, with the leader raising his hands up in the air, “No problem, Steve. I know how annoying broads can get. My own girl’s a real pain in the ass, too. She –”

The man’s voice drowned out in the background when Steve turned to finally rest his eyes on you. The look on his face was unreadable, his mouth a thin line and blue eyes dark. His grip on your wrist kept you rooted on the spot, and your heart was thudding out of your chest. It was only when he suddenly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, that the alarm bells started ringing in your head.

“Let go of me, you fucking jerk!” You swore, wiggling around, your small fists landing on his muscular back. The tub of ice cream and the spoon clanked noisily onto the floor as you hit him. And your fists probably felt like feeble flies to him, because he gave you zero reaction. His iron grip on you tight as ever, Steve made his way towards the stairs. And despite being upside down, being carried like a sack of potatoes, you could feel every single man’s eye on you. Staring at you in this compromising, embarrassing position as you thrashed against Steve’s grip. “Fucking let me go, you dick! LET ME GO!”

“She’s a feisty one.” You could hear one of the men say as Steve carried you up the stairs, and you knew deep down that yelling and demanding to be let down was not going to get you anywhere. But how dare he disrespect you like that? Talking about you to those random men as if you weren’t standing right fucking there, telling them you needed to be disciplined? Picking you up like you were a fucking sack over his back?! How dare he?! You punched him in the back again.

“PUT ME DOWN, STEVE. I AM SERIOUS. PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN.”

And he did. Unceremoniously, you were dumped down on a soft, firm surface. A bed. Disoriented, you sat up and looked around. Dark, mahogany furniture, black sheets – where in the ever-living fuck were you? Was this Steve’s room? Probably. Fuck if you knew, it’s not like you had ever seen the inside of it before now.

“How dare you treat me like a common fucking whore in front of those men!” You spat out; every single word laced with venom. “How dare you, Steve! All I did was go down there to get something to fucking eat! Fuck you!” You tried to get up, planning to storm out of his room and run into yours and lock the door and just get the fuck away from him.

Easily, Steve overpowered you, roughly pushing you back down onto the bed when you tried to make a run for it. And again, you tried to get up, because fuck if you’d let this man get the best of you. You attempted to shove him aside, except he was built like a brick wall and didn’t budge an inch. That was when he grabbed your jaw roughly, jerking your face forward to meet his gaze.

“Keep fucking talking, you dumb bitch, I dare you.” He hissed, his thumb and forefinger pressing so hard into your skin, enough to bruise. “Keep acting like a childish fucking little girl and see what fucking happens to you.” He accentuated the threat by shoving you roughly up against the wall, your back hitting the hard surface with a slam, with his much larger frame pressing against your body, his arms on either side of you, effectively pinning and trapping you in the process.

You wriggled in his grip, trying to find a way out of his death grip. “Stop fucking acting like you care.” You huffed, already out of breath from trying to pry his muscular arms off you. “You had your little power trip, making yourself look like some alpha male down there, making all those men think you’re gonna beat me into submission like it’s the fucking forties or something.” You shoved hard against him again – to absolutely no avail. “So just fuck off now, because we both know you don’t give a fuck what I do or how I act. So just let me go!”

“Just shut the FUCK up.” Steve seethed, and your retort was drowned out when his hand slapped up against your mouth, palm pressing against your lips hard and rendering you mute. Biting and pushing against him proved completely useless, and with eyes filled with pure hatred, you stared up at him in quiet defiance while he spoke. “Just shut your fucking mouth. I don’t fucking want to hear your voice. You disrespectful little brat.”

This was the most Steve had spoken to you. Ever. Blonde hair falling down onto his forehead after the tussle with you, his eyes dilated and a deep navy blue. There was anger etched across his features – from the furrow between his brows to the clench of his jaw. But when he next spoke, it was eerily calm – a contrast from how rough both his words and actions had been since he’d tossed you against the wall.

“Your fucking audacity,” Steve began quietly, face inches away from yours, “To parade around downstairs in this fucking hooker get-up, acting like you’re a free piece of ass. I don’t know if you’re asking for it, or just plain fucking stupid.”

“Fuck you.” Your reply came out muffled, and Steve pretended like he didn’t even hear you.

“Not to mention that fucking mouth of yours.” He continued. “And to think I was going easy on you all this time. Excusing your behaviour ‘cause you’re young and stupid.” He shook you, hard. “Not anymore. You’re a fucking spoiled little rich brat, and clearly your daddy didn’t fucking think it was important to teach you some manners and respect.”

And before you knew what was happening, Steve had manhandled you all the way back to his bed. You scratched and clawed to try and escape his grasp, but in two seconds flat he was sitting on the side of his bed with you over his knee, your thrashing legs pinned underneath his strong thigh. Red hot embarrassment coursed through your veins – how dare he put you over his knee like this! In a position so demeaning?

“Let go of me, Steve! I swear to fucking Go–”

You were cut short when you felt his hand on your ass. His rough, calloused palm stroked the silky material of the chemise that barely concealed your bare skin, and involuntarily you sucked in your breath sharply. What the fuck was he doing?

“It’s clear you’ve never been put in your place even once in your goddamned sheltered life.” Steve spat out, his venomous words a direct contrast from the whisper-soft touch of his hand on your ass. “Fucking spoilt little rich girl, thinking you can do whatever you want and act however you want. Running your smart-ass mouth whenever you feel like it. Clearly your fucking daddy let you get away with your bullshit. Well. Maybe I can fucking teach you what he couldn’t.”

He suddenly grabbed the flesh of your ass, squeezing it lewdly, roughly. And you couldn’t help but gasp – both at his touch and at the jolt you felt between your legs. What the fuck. No. Fuck no. This wasn’t happening. He continued to fondle your ass, touching you as if you were a piece of meat on display. “What do you say, princess?” Steve asked mockingly, “How about I be your daddy, and teach you a lesson he never could?”

“You’re fucking sick.” You moaned, determinedly ignoring the way your pussy clenched at his words. With all your might, you tried once more to wiggle out of his grasp. Your motions ceased immediately when his palm cracked down on your ass. Hard. And you cried out in both pain and shock.

“You try and move one more time, and I’ll use my fucking belt.” Steve warned, the threat making your mouth run dry. You immediately fell limp against him, breathing hard from fighting this losing battle. Fuck him. Fuck him for taking you over his knee and spanking you like you were a child. You hung your head, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears of anger and embarrassment at bay.

“That’s more fucking like it.” Steve said, once more going back to squeezing your stinging ass, as if to rub salt on the wound. You bit your lip at the pain, and debated calling for help. And it seemed like he could read your mind: “And by all fucking means, yell and scream all you want. The door’s wide open, princess. They can all hear you. But if you think anyone’s coming to save you, you’re dumber than I thought.”

“You… You can’t do this.” You said, voice breaking but still having a bit of fight left in you.

Steve lifted the flimsy material of the chemise, exposing your ass to his cold stare. “That’s where you’re wrong, princess. I cando this. I’m the only fucking one who can do this. And you’re gonna take it. Because you deserve it. You deserve to be punished for flaunting your fucking body as if it’s not already been claimed.”

SMACK

The first hit sounded like the crack of a whip, and stung just as bad. You couldn’t help but cry out in pain, knowing you were giving him the very reaction he wanted from you. And how you wished you were stronger, calmer, cooler, more collected. You wished you hadn’t given him the satisfaction of hearing your cries of pain. But it hurt like a bitch. So then why could you feel the wetness pooling between your legs?

And it was like Steve was unleashing hell on your ass, with smack after smack raining down angrily onto your sensitive skin. It was like all his hatred rested in the palm of his hand, which cracked down against your ass with full force, making you scream every time it did.

“Dumb fucking slut.” He said through clenched teeth, the spanks never ceasing as he continued to talk. “And to think I felt sorry for you. For being forced into this. To think I left you alone. Didn’t say shit when you were in my house, using my credit card, acting like a spoilt little bitch. Complaining about everything under the fucking sun. Well guess what, princess? No more Mr. Fucking Nice Guy from now on.”

Nice?! This whole time, he thought he was being nice?

SMACK

“Please! It fucking hurts!” You whined, hating how desperate you sounded. But the searing pain radiating from your backside was making you light-headed.

“Good. It should fucking hurt. You should’ve been spanked a long fucking time ago.” Steve repositioned you on his lap, pressing his hand down on your spine so that your back arched even more, the smacks getting even more ruthless. “Disrespecting me. Going against my fucking orders. Wearing this goddamn trashy lingerie, acting like your body belongs to you. Running that fucking mouth of yours. I swear to fucking God, I hear you cuss one more time, I’ll spank you in front of all my men. Maybe that’ll shut you up.”

You felt at conflict with your body. It was humiliating, what he was doing to you and how he was speaking to you. But the daunting and demeaning words seemed to tap into the darkest recesses of your mind, and straight down to your core. It seemed like every ruthless smack to your ass made you cry in pain but it also made your pussy jolt with… With what? Desire? Want?

For him?

“Not so sassy now, are you?” Steve mocked; the spanking still relentless. You let out a sob that you had been trying hard to hold in. “Now you know what fucking happens to spoiled little brats who think they can disrespect their daddy.”

“Stop. Please, just fucki– Just stop, okay? Please!”

Steve paused, hand stopping to rest on your ass while his other one grabbed your hair and pulled your head back. “I’ll tell you what, princess. I’ll stop. But you have to apologise first. And thank me for punishing you.”

“N-No!” You cried out instinctively, despite the searing pain you were feeling.

Steve smirked, administering a series of hard smacks in quick succession, and you howled in pain, knowing your ass must be a dark and angry shade of red by now. “That’s fine. I can do this all night.”

“Please. Please, it hurts.” Swallowing your pride, you resorted to begging. You’d sooner beg than do what he was asking you to.

“You know what to do, princess.” Steve’s palm collided with your poor ass cheeks again and again,

Fuck him.

“I’M SORRY, OKAY?! I’M SORRY. PLEASE STOP!” You broke, the tears of shame and pain running freely down your cheeks. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, you thought to yourself. But the stinging pain you felt seemed to overpower any of the other conflicting emotions in your head.

“Anything else?” Steve implored, his hand hovering at the ready. You knew the threat of him continuing the spanking lay heavy in the air. Squeezing your eyes shut, you took a few deep breaths.

“Th-Thank you for punishing me.”

His chuckle sounded almost sinister, and he began to stroke your ass slowly. You hissed at the pain you felt from even this feather-light contact. He really had fucked your ass up.

“Address me properly, princess.”

No. No, no, no. Not that. He was sick. You hadn’t realised the extent of his depravity.

“Do it. Or else I’ll make sure you can’t sit straight for a week.” He tapped your ass lightly in warning, and you shuddered.

“Thank you, d-daddy.” You said it through gritted teeth, the fire radiating from your cheeks almost rivalling the redness of your ass. “Thank you for punishing me. I-I deserved it. Please. Please just let me go now.”

Somewhere in the middle of speaking, you had begun to cry again. It was so overwhelming – the physical pain, the embarrassment, that throbbing between your legs… Slowly, Steve lifted you, sitting you up on his knee. Wincing and crying softly when your bare ass chafed against the denim of his jeans, you subconsciously leaned into his touch when he began to stroke your hair softly.

“See, princess? See how easy it is for me to break you? To reduce you to a crying mess?” He stroked his finger against your cheek, gathering the salty tears that were drying against the soft skin. His touch was feather-soft, intimate. And you felt so humiliated, so defeated, so conflicted – and now it confused you why he was being so gentle. “Who knew all it took was a good, old-fashioned spanking to put you back in your place. I should’ve done this to begin with.”

You sniffled. No other man had ever reduced you to feeling like a humiliated, kicked puppy. “I was just… I just… Please, can I just go now?” It was like you couldn’t gather yourself, couldn’t tame your thoughts which seemed to be running every which way. All you knew was that his rough hands, his authority, his demeaning words, had awoken some sort of response in you that made your body seem to shut down completely. You were a quivering mass of nerves, ready to explode at his simplest touch.

Steve’s hand slowly slid down to your quivering thighs, and his touch there made you inhale sharply. “Why the hurry, princess? Don’t you wanna see how wet you are?”

Fuck. How did he know?

You clamped your legs together tightly, repeatedly shaking your head, “No. N-No, ‘m not wet. I’m not!”

Too easily, he overpowered you. Prying your legs open, his large hand cupped your bare pussy as if he owned it and had done it a million times before. You audibly gasped, the sudden direct contact making you almost convulse forward into his chest. You grabbed a fistful of his white shirt, scrunching your eyes shut and wishing to God that maybe Steve hadn’t noticed how much his simple touch had affected you.

“Of course you’re fucking soaking.” Steve murmured, easing a thick finger into your pussy. And you cried into his chest, hating that after beating the living shit out of your ass, this man had casually just began fingering you – and it felt so fucking good. You prayed he wouldn’t notice when you began to slowly hump against his finger, wanting to create more friction. He chuckled, “You’re a naughty fucking slut, aren’t you? All riled up and on edge, wet from a spanking. Now you want your daddy to take care of you, don’t you?”

You were too ashamed to reply, your face still buried in his chest, your tears staining his shirt and your lips bitten raw from trying to suppress your moans. Steve added another finger and increased his pace, his thumb finding your clit and causing you to cry out. He smirked, “Who knew how easy it was to get you to shut your mouth. You got nothing to say anymore, baby? Where’s my little wife who loves to run her mouth, huh? Where’s she gone?”

“Please,” You mewled softly, arching your back from the mounting pleasure, his fingers curving upwards and brushing against all the right spots. His thumb expertly massaged your clit, as if he knew your body, knew exactly how it worked. As if this wasn’t the first time he was touching you down there. “Please, I just…”

Immediately, Steve pulled his fingers out of you, your pussy making a squelching sound – as if it was trying to keep his fingers inside you. The heightened pleasure you were feeling instantly died down, and you cried out in indignation, “Wh-What! No! Please!” You gripped his forearm, “Please!”

“You don’t deserve shit after that stunt you pulled downstairs.” Steve said simply. His eyes trailed towards the open door of his room, and then back at you. He sighed, his fingers, soaking with your juices, now absentmindedly playing with the lacy hem of your chemise which now sat bunched up around your waist. “You ruined my meeting, sweetheart. And now, you’ve distracted me.”

You swallowed harshly when he took your hand, placing it on top of his clothed dick. God, he was so hard. Painfully hard.

“But that’s okay, isn’t it sweetheart? I’m sure my guests will enjoy the sound of you screaming while I fuck you.”

What sounded like a strangled gasp escaped from your throat. He was going to fuck you? Now? With all those men waiting downstairs, undoubtedly able to hear everything? God, Steve was more fucki dup than you realised. But newfound thrill shot up and down your body at the thought of being fucked by him, filled by him, satisfied – finally – by him.

He was rough as he laid you down on the black sheets of his bed. And you shuddered in fear and anticipation. Because a man ruthless enough to dumb you down to a sobbing, desperate mess was a man who should be feared. And you hated that you feared him. But what you hated even more was how much he was turning you on. His quiet power, his authority and nonchalance when it came to how he treated you. No other man had ever controlled you how Steve had managed to. No other man had had as little regard towards your feelings as he did.

“You should see yourself right now.” Steve said as he straddled your hips, undoing his belt and fly and pulling his cock out. And it was so big, hard, so angry-looking. How could he possibly fit that inside of you? He seemed unperturbed, grabbing your silk chemise and ripping it clean in half, the sound echoing around the room, and his blue eyes feasted unabashedly at your naked body below him.

“Completely dumbed out, aren’t you?” He tweaked your stiff nipple, rolling it lewdly between his thumb and forefinger. You shivered when you felt the tip of his dick nudging against your slit, stroking upwards and downwards. Involuntarily, you thrust your hips upwards. God, what had he reduced you to? Steve just chuckled in amusement, “Don’t worry, princess. I have that effect on sluts like you. Who seem to be all talk until their daddy sets them straight. Now, beg for my dick.”

“Please fuck me.” You whispered, because all you could focus on was his dick between your legs at that current moment in time, teasingly stroking your opening, sliding against the wetness but never pushing inside. And you needed him inside. You felt like you had never needed anything more. You never thought this would be you, and you never thought it would be him who made you feel this way, but here you both were.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that. Else I’ll take you downstairs and have you sit on my dick in front of all those men. Keep it warm while I finish up my meeting.”

You shuddered at the thought, but at the same time you felt your pussy clench. Fuck.

“Please, daddy!” You mewled, the final remnants of your pride leaving your body – the promise of pleasure and satiation proving too irresistible to fight against anymore. “Please. I need you to fuck me. More than anything. Please, okay? Just please. I need my daddy to fuck me. I nee– OH FUCK!”

He impaled you in a single thrust, and you screamed when he bottomed out, his hands clutching your hips to keep you in place. He was so big, way too big. And the burn felt so good, so sinfully good. You never thought your first time with your husband would be after a fight and a brutal punishment, with an audience downstairs. But in that moment, the bliss was almost overwhelming, combining with the pain that came with the sheer size of him to create this almost addicting concoction of pleasure that had you writhing underneath him, already overwhelmed – and he hadn’t even begun to move yet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes.” You cried, clutching onto his bicep for dear life as he began to move. And his pace was rapid from the start, slamming in and out of you like a man possessed. Like it wasn’t his wife he was fucking, but a common whore. One of his hands snaked up to grab your throat, squeezing tightly.

“Fuck. Who knew a slut like you could feel so fucking good and tight around my dick.” He squeezed your throat just enough to make it difficult for you to breath, “Tell me, princess. How many men have you fucked before me?”

And you told him, all the while he fucked you hard as if his life depended on it, fucked you so hard it felt like your bottom half would shatter. Kept hitting your G-spot and making you cry out and moan between answering him. And he smirked, strands of blonde hair falling down onto his forehead.

“Were their cocks as big as mine?”

“N-No, no they weren’t, oh fuck! Don’t stop!”

“Damn right, princess. I’ll ruin you for anybody else. Not that there’ll be anybody else. Because I own you. You aren’t a free piece of ass. Remember that. And you sure as hell won’t act like you are after tonight, you got that?” He continued to fuck the living daylights out of you, hoisting one of your legs above his shoulder, the angle making him go even deeper. And all the while you moaned and panted and cried out with reckless abandon, not giving a fuck who could hear you.

“To think I didn’t fuck you before, didn’t claim you sooner,” Steve buried his head in the crook of your neck, biting and licking kissing at the sensitive skin there. You could feel him draw blood, and at the same time his hips seemed to move off their own accord, like a jackhammer drilling into you with no care for your wellbeing. “Could’ve had this tight fucking pussy since day one. Could’ve had you tamed and trained from the get go, if I knew how fucking submissive my cock made you.”

“Mmm, please, don’t stop! Daddy, don’t stop!” It seemed like any traces of coherence had been stripped from your mind. All you could think about was his dick, so big and angry as it pounded inside you. All you could see was his face, looming above you, so determined, so cocky. Pale skin smattered with fading white battle scars; stormy blue eyes framed with startlingly long black lashes. A strong, bumped nose that nudged against your own, his bitten pink lips hovering so close to yours.

“Tell me you’re a spoiled little girl. Tell me you need daddy to set you straight. That it’s what you’ve needed this whole time.” Steve whispered smoothly in your ear, his hands grabbing at your tits and squeezing them harshly.

“I’m…I’m a spoiled little girl!” You cried with abandon, “I need my daddy, I need my daddy to set me straight. Need you to punish me, please! Ugh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, just like that!”

“Damn right.” Steve fucked into you harder – if that was even possible – his intense gaze boring into you. “Fuck, if only you could see yourself now. Going from prancing around town acting like a spoilt rich slut, all reckless and wild with your friends. You think I didn’t see you back then? With that fucking body of yours? And now you’re in your rightful fucking place. Underneath me. Fuck, princess, I’m never letting you go. I own you.”

You didn’t even realise it was happening but you were orgasming hard. Maybe it was his words, paired with his gigantic fucking cock ramming into you repeatedly. But you came hard, pulsating around his dick, your walls squeezing him in in a way that had him groaning and you screaming his name over and over. Screaming daddy over and over like a broken doll, fucked out beyond belief and with only strength enough to grip at his biceps and hold on tight.

“Stupid fucking baby.” Steve mocked you, his hips never stopping for even a second as he rode you through your bliss, “Can’t even fucking hold it in, can you? What the fuck do you have to say for yourself, huh? How you’ve gone from cussing me out, thinking you’re hot shit… To a helpless little girl underneath me, cumming around my fucking dick like a dumb whore, when I’ve barely even started fucking you?”

Your pussy was fucked raw and sensitive, and still he didn’t let up. And you were left to the mercy of Steve’s fiery gaze, looking down at you as if he expected you to answer his insults. When he knew you were so far past the point of coherence – breathing hard and legs like jelly, pussy beginning to throb with pain when his thrusts continued to grow more merciless, his dick prodding inside you like a steel rod.

“Please.” Dainty hands reached up against his chest, “Please, it’s too…too much!” You begged; eyes spaced out yet still managing to look up at him pleadingly. You could feel the searing pain down there from the thorough fucking you were currently on the receiving end of. And Steve just smirked, as if he found it laughable that you had the audacity to ask him to slow down.

Instead, he pulled out, gliding the tip of his dick up and against your clit, giving your engorged and sensitive bundle of nerves several nudges with his hardness. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a short, breathy gasp as newfound thrill rippled through your body like a tidal wave. Fuck. He had you again. Grabbing both your arms and pinning them above your head and out of the way, Steve resumed his assault on your pussy, thrusting his cock back into your cunt with full force, and you screamed at the impact.

“Dumb fucking slut, asking your daddy to slow down. As if you weren’t made to take my dick however I want to give it to you.” He jutted against you hard, and now you were acutely aware of the headboard of the bed banging against the wall – another sound to give the men downstairs an earful of something other than your screams.

“Always fucking running your mouth, asking for shit.” Steve smirked suddenly, grinding inside you in a way that had you gripping his shirt and mewling in pleasure. “Maybe I should knock you up. Get you pregnant. Maybe that’ll make you learn to shut the fuck up and know your place.”

“Y-Yes, fuck, fuck yes, do it!” You had no idea where those words were coming from or why you were agreeing so wholeheartedly with his fucked-up desires. All you knew was that the pleasure inside of you was mounting up higher and higher, higher than it had ever been before. He could have made you agree to commit murder at that point, you were that far gone.

“No more fucking acting out. No more going out with your fucking friends. It’s all me from now on, princess. Yeah, I’ll fuck my baby into you, keep you in check from here on out. Make sure you never fucking speak unless you’re spoken to, make sure you never fucking disrespect your daddy again. The father of your fucking babies, you got that?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You moaned, his dirty talk turning you on more than anything else. Tapping into the darkest recesses of your mind, as if you were programmed to accept whatever he had to say – no matter how degrading it was. “Yes, please daddy! Please fuck your baby into me. I swear I won’t act out again! I swear, I sw– OH FUCK, FUCK, OH MY GOD!”

“Not God, sweetheart. Just me.” Steve said cockily, and in a different situation you would have rolled your eyes – but you were severely incapable of doing that right now. Not that you would have dared to anyways. The pleasure was building up inside you, blindingly intense, almost unbearable. It felt like you knew nothing better than his cock inside you at that moment, and that nothing would ever beat this – the feeling of complete fullness, stuffed with his dick, pinned underneath him, completely at his mercy.

It was when he kissed you that you came. And your entire body spasmed, your screams of unadulterated pleasure swallowed by his mouth which claimed yours completely. This was the first time he had kissed you since your wedding day – and you couldn’t wrap your head around how intense it felt. His tongue swiping against yours, his lips so soft yet so firm, so knowing of exactly what he wanted. You could feel the smirk in his kiss as you squirted around his dick, making a mess of his sheets, wads of his shirt clamped tightly in your fists as you began to cry.

He fucked you like a whore but you he kissed you as if you were an angel.

“Go ahead and cry, little girl.” Steve said against your lips, “It only turns me on more.” His cock twitched, and you sucked in your breath when you felt his hot seed spurt straight inside you, filling you up. This was the first time you’d let a man cum inside you – although you were positive Steve would have done it with or without your approval. And it felt like it would never end, Steve kept on cumming inside you, filling you to the brim. Filling you till it was leaking out of your pussy in what looked like the lewdest imagery ever.

He stilled for a moment, looking down at you – surveying your trembling body, your lips which seemed to have forgotten how to speak, your tear-filled and mascara-stained face, the rise and fall of your breasts as you breathed in and out, looking back up at him with wide, weary eyes. You didn’t know what to think, you didn’t know how to think. His dick was still lodged inside of you, snug like a lock and key, and you felt empty and gaping when he pulled out.

Tucking his dick back into his pants, doing up his fly, putting on his belt, straightening his hair – Steve was methodical, and he never stopped looking at you. The air was heavy with sex and other emotions that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. You could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours and how good it felt, how it had made you cry.

“Stay here.” Steve said, once he’d got to his feet and made his way to the door. And you still lay sprawled on his bed, unable to move, and you wondered if he liked you like that. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And then he left, closing the door behind him. And he looked back only once, an almost unreadable look on his face as he gazed at you in his bed, his rumpled sheets a mess underneath you, his cum dripping out of you. And then he left you in his bedroom, dumbed out and fucked out. A moment later you could hear the muffled sound of laughter coming from downstairs. The crack of a beer can. The jeer of men. Steve’s voice loudest of all.

“All she needed was a good old-fashioned spank and fuck. She won’t be causing any more trouble – if she knows what’s good for her.”

The end.

He shakes his head with careful subtlty—like any sudden movement will scare you into actually committing to this plan. 

Disbelief clouds his features, heavy and foreboding like the sky before a summer squall— 

The nerve. The gumption. The audacity so potent on such an unassuming young woman. 

You want to lose your virginity to a stranger and you’re, what, warning him first? 

It’s like you want him to disrupt your plans. 

He watches you roll your eyes, all pursed lips and impudence. 

“Oh, seriously?” you sass. “Calm down. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Eddie practically chokes on his scoff, and the strangled sound ripples over your body, drawing out the look he knows well. Annoyance—it forces you to sit up straight. 

You squirm in your seat for a moment, like a million tiny ants are marching up your spine, dancing over the tension in your shoulders. And he knows…the argument is imminent, but not before he speaks his piece—

“Not that big of a deal? Sweetheart, stubbing your toe is not that big of a deal. Forgetting to check the mail is not that big of a deal,” his voice raises as he gestures wildly, feeling like a Bible Belt preacher wailing about temptation of the flesh. “Losing your virginity? To a stranger? That’s a pretty big-fuckin’-deal!”

Again, you roll your eyes—blatantly disregarding the way his head cocks and his own eyes narrow in warning. He hates when you do that. When you brush him off so easily, like he’s dust on your pristine shoulder—

A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you avert your gaze, suddenly finding the speckled laminate far more interesting. 

Like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar noise, Eddie’s head cocks back the other way, trying to figure out what exactly he said that has you laughing. Usually he loves the sound, but he doesn’t like the tone of this one. There’s something deeply derisive buried beneath the nonchalant surface. 

“I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the joke there, sweets. Care to clue me in?” he rasps, goading you.

A jeering smirk pulls at your lips, like you’re finding his simmering temper and deepening voice increasingly amusing. 

After another soft huff—a sound that could almost be mistaken for a scoff—you level him with a penetrating look, your smirk slowly splitting into an incredulous grin. 

“Sorry,” you start, but a chuckle bubbles up your throat, catching on the clearly insincere apology. “Sorry, I just find this whole thing very funny.”

Eddie sucks his teeth as he watches you shrug dismissively—no longer backing down, no longer avoiding his darkening gaze. He lets your words sit in the air, hoping their stuffy bitterness will suffocate you into surrender, but instead, they seem to brandish your skin like armor. 

And just like that, out comes your most dangerous weapon: your self-satisfaction. 

From all his years with you, he knows, when your complacency reaches an all-time high, there’s almost no way to change your mind. You’ve already doubled down once, and you’re about to batten down the hatches. Because more than anything, he knows you hate being wrong and hate it even more when you’re told you’re wrong. 

And through festering nerves and itchy discomfort, Eddie realizes he just shot your idea down and danced on its grave. 

Of course, he wouldn’t have had such a strong reaction if it weren’t such a sensitive topic. But you don’t know that. All you’ve heard so far is you’re wrong, and I know more than you. 

It’s moments like these where Eddie curses his motormouth—his almost comical inability to shut up, or, god forbid, consider what he means before he opens his trap. And until he finally learns his lesson, he figures he’s doomed to live with his foot in his mouth for all eternity.

With you shifting in your seat, and time ticking against him, he knows this bomb is going to need an extra delicate defusal. But he’s not certain he can remain level-headed about this subject matter. 

Not when it’s you. 

Not when damned images of a faceless man caressing you plays in technicolor through his mind. Because sometime ago, somewhere along the night drives and the lazy days, his wires got crossed. And now those wires are sparking, threatening to burn him through and through.

Maybe you’re not the bomb, after all. 

“Oh, you find it funny, do you?” he questions, nodding his head. 

“Well, yeah. You’re sitting here trying to tell me that, what, losing your virginity is supposed to be special?” you mockingly ask, your features alight with mirth. It’s like you’re a bloodhound catching a scent—the scent of sweet, sweet hypocrisy. 

Eddie opens his mouth to answer your rhetorical question, because…yes. 

For you? 

Yes, it should be special—

“You know what? I want you to go look in a mirror and say what you just said to me, and see if you don’t laugh too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he argues, jerking his head back. Your words might as well have physically manifested themselves into a slap because that’s how they feel, acidic and seeping into his skin with a sting.

“Please! You remember telling me about your first time? You came to school the next day bragging to me and the Hellfire guys about hooking up with some older chick in the bathroom at the Hideout! Remember that? You wore it like a badge of honor!”

He had taken you in as a freshman, just like he did every lost soul. Battling off the stifling monotony of high school together, it was no surprise you developed a crush on him. He was—is—so sweet. So funny. So unlike anyone you had ever met. 

He would play the fool just to make you laugh, but he’d defend your honor in an instant. Your very own protection against the venomous cheerleaders and mouth-breathing jocks.

When he would get himself going about something or other, marching along the tops of the lunch tables, it was like staring straight into the sun. You bloomed under his gleaming rays, flowering and reaching toward his warmth with every wild grin, every silly headshake, every teasing joke.

He was addicting, and you would come bounding into lunch every day itching for a fix. 

Then you were a sophomore and Eddie was a senior—for the first time. 

One day, he came in with a new story to tell, and no amount of sunshine could restore your wilting leaves, your shriveling flowers. No amount of water could satisfy the buds that never got to grow and now never would—

Every prideful sentence—every dirty detail boasting the changed man he had become—acted like a rain of pesticide on your delicate ecosystem.

It was a level of desecration you couldn’t undo if you wanted to. 

And you weren’t sure you were even strong enough to try.

Because it became clear that day, he wasn’t yours. He wouldn’t be yours. 

You couldn’t see him the same after that. The chemicals contaminated the image, degrading and defacing the likeness. 

He wasn’t the man you used to dream about every night. 

He didn’t look like he once had—so soft, so sweet. A man able to rot your teeth right out of your skull if you allowed him the honor.

A man so saccharine and delicate, like candy floss. 

But maybe it was the image of him that was delicate—not truly him. 

After all, your tears melted the wisps pretty easily. 

All that was left was piles of sugar—too wet for consumption, and not in the right form—and a crash unrivaled by any confectionery you’d ever had. 

White, hot anger seeps from every pore in Eddie’s skin, replaced by the shocking chill of a memory he’s tried very hard to forget.

He feels like throwing up—

This. This, right here, is why he’s vehemently opposing your plan. This feeling constricting his chest, like not enough fresh air in the world could inflate his lungs—

He thought the experience was cool at first. He thought he was being totally “metal.” 

But he was just being used. 

The woman never asked his name, and when he tried to talk to her, she crudely told him to focus less on talking and more on fucking. It was a mortifying experience. He almost wasn’t able to finish from the sheer embarrassment of it all, but eighteen year old hormones were a thing to behold.

And despite what he would have everyone around him believe, he still cared way too much about what people thought of him. So he strutted into lunch the next day, hopping up on his soapbox to spread the good word of his monumental conquest. High from the excitement of the boys, he embellished most of the story. 

And now, here you are, sitting in front of him, smug as can be, thinking you’re proving your point with his own hypocrisy. 

But he’s not a hypocrite. 

He’s just a liar. 

He has lied to you about a lot of things and, funnily enough, all those things seem to be crawling out of their grassy graves, hungry to take a chunk out of him. 

Because as much as you may think you’ve cornered him with a “gotcha” moment, your reminder of his past transgressions only makes him all the more passionate about how you should spend your first time. 

He can’t let you feel how he felt. 

Not you. 

You deserve better than empty touches and unfeeling words. 

“You wore it like a badge of honor!”

Your voice echoing in his mind has a sentiment never meant to be revealed tumbling past his lips with frightening ease—

“Yeah, and I lied!” 

Slowly, your self-satisfied smile falls off your face. Confusion overtakes your confidence. 

Capitalizing on your stunned silence, Eddie continues—

“That first time was fucking awful! I felt like shit. I only acted like it was good because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do…. Because I was stupid and young.” He utters the words with disdain, mortification and frustration mixing low in his gut until he feels more flammable than ever.

“It wasn’t good,” he repeats, a frown etched tightly into his features. “It just made me feel…empty.”

Your silence weighs heavy on his shoulders; selfishly, he steals a glance at you, at the crease in your brows and the way you seem to be reflecting. He can almost see you reliving that day in your head, searching for any twitch of an eye, any too-quick-to-fall smiles. 

But he’s a good liar. Always has been. Even when it comes to you.

The idle hum of electricity coursing into the yellow bulb above him acts as the soundtrack to your response.

“Well, I don’t plan on doing it in the Hideout bathroom, so I think we’re good there,” you shrug.

Eddie purses his lips; he knows it’s deliberate. What you’re doing, it’s purposeful, and you’re doing it to piss him off. Because you’re pissed off. 

Your eyes narrow at his, challenging him in the silence of the trailer.

A huff of air escapes through flared nostrils—he’s refraining.

But you’re killing him. 

Sometimes you can be so difficult, but he wouldn’t stick around if he wasn’t addicted to the agony of trying to figure you out.

That’s half the fun of every conversation he’s had with you. 

You push his buttons more than any woman he’s ever met, but you’ve twisted him up so bad, the only time he feels normal is when you’re looking at him. Doesn’t matter if it’s with anger or fondness or humor. 

You’re a paradox he can’t sort out because you’ve made him like this—wires crossed and incendiary feelings—but you also have a way of fixing him. Though, it’s usually just to mangle him all over again.

And he’d like to be your only victim. He’d like to burn in only your pyre, if given the chance. 

If given the chance.

If given the chance, he’d like to put a stop to this. And with the quasi-warning you’ve granted him, he feels this is as good a time as any to poke as many holes in your plan as he can—

“What’s the rush? Why now?”

He can see in your eyes, you’re taken aback by his question as your challenging gaze turns suspicious. “What do you mean, ‘Why now?’ Because I want to, that’s why.” 

Your argument is slipping; petulance curls off you in plumes as thick as smoke. And the scent is sweet to him.

Eddie settles back in his chair, sliding his hips down—looking the epitome of leisure and apathy, he hopes. Though, unable to fully transform while walking the repressive tightrope, his left hand fiddles with the rings on his right—a nervous tick he hopes you’re too annoyed to notice. 

“Well, yeah, but why not yesterday? Why not a month from now?” He shrugs, feeling flinty resentment sharpen his edges as he continues the onslaught of questions, now bordering on antagonistic. “Why not prom night a few years ago? Isn’t that where all the girls go to lose it? You went, you had a date. You could’ve.”

Your eye twitches.

“Because I didn’t want to, jackass. I’m ready now. I want to now…”

Instead of responding, Eddie just raises his brows, feeling unimpressed. Your words sit in the air, floating in between you both as they grow stale. 

The soft whistle of the A/C unit and the ticking of the old clock on the wall make him feel like he’s trapped in this liminal space where conversations never truly end because nobody’s point ever actually gets made. Like he’s just meant to sit here, staring at you, both waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing comes. Because that’s not how the game is played. 

Unfettered, Eddie continues to look at you, as though you’re something to be watched—consumed. A separate entity he can’t touch, but he can play the part of an onlooker, waiting for disaster to hit. 

You squirm and shuffle in your seat. He observes. Waits. Gives you the space to tell on yourself because he knows you’re not strong enough to resist it.

Your eyes sporadically flit from his to random places in the trailer as you avoid his patient gaze. 

After a few seconds, it appears the opened cereal box and empty beer cans across the room become a bore to you. 

Slowly, your far-out gaze drops down the kitchen counter, landing on the floor, sliding to the side, and back up the table until it rests on his joined hands, fingers threaded, rings bulky and glinting in the dull glow of the humming bulb. 

He sees the exact moment you buckle under his unyielding attention—the moment you give up. Your shoulders deflate the smallest amount, free of tension and low from submission. Your chest collapses under the expression of a deep, silent sigh. 

 “I’m tired of being a virgin,” you mutter, shame darkening every syllable. “I just want it over with, I don’t care anymore.”

Eddie purses his lips again, nodding, because he understands the feeling. He remembers the pressure. “And you don’t wanna wait to lose it to someone you love?” 

You don’t respond. Don’t look at him. All you do is laugh. Just a quiet, humorless chuckle. A few notes of melody that tell him you’ve got a well of emotions, thoughts, and opinions on the subject that you’ll have to spare him for time’s sake. 

But Eddie’s not in the business of letting you off easy. As much as you can be difficult sometimes, he can be far worse. 

He can talk, and talk, and talk for hours. Stall forever if he needs to.

Suddenly, he sits up, hunching his shoulders forward, determined. “I think you should wait…. For someone you love,” he implores.

You roll your eyes again, as though he’s spinning you an opulent fantasy and swearing it’s true.

He crosses his arms, mirroring your own movement—

“Thank you for your input, I’ll take it into consideration.” You shoot him an insincere smile before looking up at the ceiling of the trailer, as if thinking, only to return your gaze to him seconds later. “Okay. I’ve considered it. And I’m choosing to ignore it.” 

Eddie bristles, sucking in a quick breath to bolster his impending rebuttal, but you don’t even let him—

“I don’t know if you've noticed, Eddie, but there’s a distinct lack of guys lining down the block, waiting to woo me. And that’s fine, it’s whatever,” you shrug, shaking your head like you couldn’t be less bothered. “I can’t make someone love me. But this, I can control…” 

You snort, mordacious words spewing from your perfect lips. “One thing I know about men is they may not be quick to love, but they’re certainly easy to seduce.” 

Eddie shifts angrily in his seat. Not quick to love? 

As if that could be true. Who in their right mind—

Part of him wants to yell at any guy who’s ever rejected you, but the other part—the dark, untamable ego—wants to jump up in celebration, in smug satisfaction that he’s not having to duel for your devotion. 

But he doesn’t do either because love is awful. 

It’s like staring into a mirror and all his worst flaws are staring back. 

Right now, his selfishness is glaring at him, and yet, he can’t seem to care. That’s the worst part. 

He should be good. He should be better for you. Should want to be better for you. It’s what you deserve. But you’ve done something irreversible to him. 

And love is fickle. 

Because, unfortunately, he can relate to you on one thing—the woes of not being able to make someone love you. 

The pain of wanting it and not getting it. 

If he could…. 

If he could get it… 

If he could make someone love him—if it were possible—he wouldn’t be stuck here listening to you plot how you’re going to lose your virginity to some guy. Instead, he’d be half-way to the bedroom by now, your hand in his, and a million sweet kisses waiting for you. 

But love is fickle. 

“Okay, fine. Yeah, guys are easy, but you can’t lose it to a stranger. That’s probably the worst way to go about it,” he complains, regarding you with almost-pleading eyes.

You pause for a moment, your eyes narrow at the earnest display of caution on his face. But then you must remember this is the face of a liar, because—

“I mean…people hook up with people all the time. Some even after they’ve just met at a bar,” you pointedly argue, pinning Eddie to the spot with a time-hardened gaze. 

His lip curls as he regrets ever opening his mouth that day in ‘84.

If he had known it would give you the perfect shield, allowing every argument he lobs at you to bounce off and hit him square in the chest, he would have never said a word. In fact, he has half a mind to create time travel just to go back and kick eighteen year old Eddie’s ass—

“And besides, I’m not doing it with a stranger. I was thinking of asking Jimmy Royston,” you shrug, focusing on the chipped nail polish you can’t seem to stop picking at. “I sat next to him in Chemistry, like, all of junior year.” 

For the first time in what feels like forever—well, at least since you told him your plans for later—Eddie laughs. A boisterous, belly laugh that echoes around the trailer, the sound bouncing off the smoke-stained wallpaper and hitting every surface in sight. 

Too busy wiping tears from his eyes, Eddie misses the way your face sours, your lips curling into a dangerous sneer.

He starts a few sentences that immediately devolve into gibberish and giggles when he pictures you and Jimmy Royston so much as speaking. God, his stomach hurts— He always did sat you were the funnier one out of you and him. 

A terse ahem draws his attention back, and he tries to stop his body from shaking with heaving laughter.

“Oh, sorry. Phew! I needed that, I needed that.” He wipes some escaped tears off his cheeks. “Ohh, thank you, sweetheart, that was very funny. Thank you,” he says with a breathless grin, smoothing his shirt and rubbing his sore abdomen. 

Staring at him with a heavy brow, your expression remains still—

When your facade doesn’t crack—when you don’t smirk and revel in how hard you made him break, like you usually do—Eddie’s smile drops off his face, replaced by unabashed incredulity. 

You’re serious. You truly mean to tell him…Jimmy Royston is your man of choice? The guy who vomited all over himself in ninth grade when he had to dissect a frog in biology is the one you want to lose your virginity to? Jimmy ‘Puke-y’ Royston?  

What’s more, your choice is based on a year of being lab partners? Really? Eddie has known you since freshman year—known of you since elementary school—and you’re choosing an acquaintance over him? 

Not even an acquaintance—an obligatory desk-mate. How romantic. Touching, really—

He can’t help but imagine how that conversation would go. “Hey, Jimmy, remember me from Chem? Stoichiometry, am I right? That shit sucked. Anyway, do you wanna fuck me?”

All of a sudden, he starts considering whether he could win in a fight against the short, slim guy. 

Who knows? It may come to that if he fucks this up and fails to convince you never to leave his trailer—especially not for Jimmy Royston. 

“Sorry, you wanna have your first time with your eleventh grade chem partner? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Eddie wails, a crazed, bemused look in his eyes as he leans forward over the table that separates you two. 

You groan loudly, rolling your eyes so hard your head lolls back. “Oh, what now? You don’t want it to be a stranger, I said it’s not gonna be. Now you don’t want it to be someone I know? Seriously, Eddie, you’re grasping at straws here.”

“Someone you know? Jimmy is someone you know?” he scoffs, his brows lift so high they disappear into the messy curls of his bangs. 

When you don’t say anything else, only pursing your lips and avoiding his fiery gaze, he nods fervently, his frizzy locks swaying softly with the movement. 

“Yeah, well, of course. You guys go way back,” he mocks. “You know what, while you’re at it, why don’t you call up Chris Trilcek? You were paired up for that final presentation in world history freshman year. Bet he’d be a hoot-and-a-half in the sack, and I’m sure he’s free!” 

“Oh, do you think I should?” you ask, staring off to the side of his frazzled face like you’re actually considering his teasing suggestion. “I mean it’d be nice to have options in case Jimmy isn’t up for it…”

Before Eddie has a chance to figure out if you’re being deliberately obtuse again, you’re up, leaving him to stare at the empty space across the table as you rifle through the junk-drawer in his kitchen. 

Inside the deep drawer, stray batteries and an impressive rubber band ball roll about as you dig through a shocking amount of take-out menus. Once you find what you’re looking for, you make your way back to Eddie, plopping onto your chair, letting the item drop from your hands and onto the table with a loud thump. 

Quickly, you split the phone book open, flipping through the flimsy pages to get to the ‘R’ section. 

“What the f—” 

Eddie shakes his head wildly, slamming his hand down on the binding of the book before he drags it to him and away from you—away from your deft, searching fingers. 

“Hey!” 

You reach across the table to pull the White Pages back, but before you can get your hands on it, he shoves the book off the surface like an attention-seeking cat. It goes flying, falling to the floor of the trailer with a loud, hollow thud. 

“Hey! I need that, asshole!” you yell, vexation turning your tone shrill.

You stare into his eyes for a moment, annoyance cooking your insides like a stew as you’re met with utter indifference and what looks to be a hint of smugness. You’re going to kill him. 

Stuck in another stand-off, neither of you move until you make the mistake of glancing at the ground, noting the landing spot of the heavy book, splayed out—frail pages folding under the weight of itself in haphazard creases. Eddie follows your gaze and that’s all it took to give away your next move.

In a flash, you turn, bending down, and reaching to the floor. Eddie matches your hasty movements as you both tumble out of your seats, trying to beat the other to the book. The very tips of your fingers brush the laminated cover when he lurches forward, pushing the book out of your grasp once more. 

“Ugh!” you shriek as you scramble toward it, at an advantage because, though he got it away from you in that split-second, he still pushed it to your side of the room—further away from him. You feel a brush of wind against your bare skin as he swipes at your ankle, trying to catch the limb to drag you back to him, but you’re too quick. You get a hold of the book and stand up, rushing over to the yellow landline by the door.

“Fuck!” he shouts, clambering after you. The noises of you vigorously flipping through the pages and the click of the phone coming off the hook only seem to add to his panicked fervor. 

Eddie comes to an abrupt stop behind you, his body nudging you closer to the wall with his nearly-uncontrolled speed. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, his chest warms your back as he breathes heavy. 

Right as you’re about to start typing in the number you found for the Roystons, the phone lodged between your ear and shoulder disappears—yanked free, and slammed back onto the hook by a large, ringed hand. 

Another annoyed groan tears from your throat as you feel his body loom ever-closer behind you. Hunching your shoulders, you turn away from his right hand—the one that guards the phone—to protect your precious White Pages. But it doesn’t work— 

His left hand—the one you hadn’t noticed was resting on your hip—ambushes you from the other side. 

Quickly, Eddie firmly presses the pads of his spread fingers onto the thin page you were reading from, and balls his hand into a tight fist, effectively ripping the delicate paper from the book, trapping it beneath his iron grip. In a fit of rage, you whirl around, leveling him with a sharp glare.

He backs away from you, fist still closed around the paper, shielding it from your inevitable reach. Slamming the book onto the side table beneath the phone, you march toward him. 

“Eddie, what the fuck?” you yell, matching his retreating steps with your confident stride. When he runs out of space, you corner him against the far wall and the couch, zeroing in on his fist. 

Eddie lifts his hand high above his head, fully aware of how silly this game of life-or-death keep-away is. But he’ll be damned if you get that fucking phone number. 

As you reach for the crumpled paper, he uses his body to block you—leaning back when you lean forward, stretching and giving you more of his body to reach over. You grunt and mutter obscenities at him, balancing on your tip-toes, but nothing helps. You can’t reach it. He’s never been more overjoyed at his lanky stature than in this moment—

Giggles freely escape his grinning mouth while he watches laser-sharp focus and irritation mar your face as you shove him, trying to get him to break and finally give you the page. He’d never admit it to you because you’d probably junk-punch him—especially right now—but he’s loving the way you’re all over him. 

Your touch is everywhere as you reach and pry for the bane of his existence. Not to mention you smell amazing. He has to stop himself from curling into your roving hands, but he must remain sturdy. For both of your sakes. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think you’re tall enough to ride this ride,” he goads, utterly drunk on you.

You let out the loudest groan he’s ever heard from you, leading him to snicker some more. But he soon regrets his overconfident teasing when you give up on aiming directly for his hand and instead start pawing at his arm. 

A sharp chop to the inside of his elbow sends shockwaves of dull pain through his nervous system as you use your full body weight to pull down on his raised arm, now partially crumpled from your assault to his joint. 

In a moment of desperation—your body hanging from his flexing bicep, slowly but surely bringing it to your level—Eddie shoves the ball of paper into his mouth and releases the tension in his arm, dropping it to his side. The sudden slack causes you to nearly fall over, but before you do, he wraps his arms around your waist, catching you. 

Your irate features melt into a look of disgust as you squirm out of his arms. 

“Ew! Egh! That’s so gross, Eddie!” 

“Mmm, phone book,” he taunts through a mouthful of White Pages. 

“You know, that was your phone book, right? You just lost yourself a whole two pages of R’s,” you say, raising a brow. 

“Don’t care.” 

His petulance is muffled by the crumpled paper in his mouth, and he can’t help but cringe at the taste. Paper. It just tastes like paper. But old. 

Suddenly, he sidesteps your body and crosses the room, heading back to the kitchen to throw the page away. He can feel the thin material softening from his saliva and it’s making him want to scrub his mouth out. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you watching him as he spits the wet slop into the garbage, sees the way you carefully step toward the phone again. 

“Ugh, you’re a child.” 

He pauses from scrubbing a towel over his tongue—attempting to clean any remaining pieces of paper from his mouth. “And you’re a brat.” 

You huff at his declaration. “Am not!” 

“Are too!” he rebuts, dropping the towel and coming out from around the counter. 

“I’m just trying to tell you you’re gonna regret it! I’m on board with the ‘virginity is a concept’ train—hell, I’m the conductor! My point is, sure, it’s a concept, but it’s a concept with feelings attached to it. And feelings get all confusing and…feelings-y,” he rushes out, frustrated at how he can never find the right words when you’re around. “You might not believe it now, but if you go through with this, you’re gonna feel pretty shitty afterwards.” 

He ends his spiel by crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter, staring at you. He’s said his piece.

You watch him for a moment, then—

“Great. Thank you for the wisdom, Gandalf. But how ‘bout you go share that with someone who cares? I’ve got a ‘T’ name to call.” 

You turn around, pick up the phonebook once more, and flip through a few chunks of pages to get to the right section. 

Eddie lets out a loud, defeated sigh as he lets his arms drop to his sides. “You’re really not gonna give this up?” 

Scoffing, you shoot him a glare from across the room before looking back down at the list of names. “Exactly which part of ‘I’m gonna lose my virginity tonight’ did you not understand?”

He sucks his teeth as he watches your finger find Chris’s last name, your hand already reaching for the phone. 

Fuck it—

“Fine. If you really wanna lose it to someone, and you don’t care who, then lose it to me,” he shrugs, crossing his arms again. 

He glances away from your now-still figure, your shoulders so high, they’re nearly up to your ears. 

Forcing a level of indifference he’s never quite been capable of—especially not when it comes to you—he stares downward, as if the well-worn carpet beneath his feet could ever be more interesting than the woman whose second home is his subconscious.

You’re pretty sure you can hear the fibers unfurling beneath his shifting feet. Or maybe it’s your feet. Maybe it’s your heartbeat in your ears, not his. Everything is a little confusing and you can’t seem to look away from the wall. It feels like a safe place to rest your unseeing eyes. 

Your arm aches and you retract it from where you were reaching for the phone—you hadn’t made it, you were half-way there when he said it. 

Carefully, you turn your head to him, trying to figure out if this is some shitty joke he’s spouting just to piss you off or if he has well and truly lost it. But his face is devoid of any humor and he looks as sane as he ever did—which was never a lot, but no different to now. 

More than anything, he looks almost vulnerable as he avoids your shocked gaze. 

“What? Eddie—” you start, already exasperated because you’ve decided that, even though he appears to be completely serious, he must be joking, “if this is another way for you to try and–”

“It’s not.” He shrugs his shoulders again, finally meeting your eyes while shoving his hands into the back pockets of his ripped jeans. “You win. I capitulate to her majesty.” 

You raise a brow at the medieval lilt and his waving bow to you, but before you get to reprimand him for the joke, he continues— 

“If you’re gonna go have sex with someone you feel nothing for, then why not feel nothing for me?”

You almost want to laugh at his “foolproof” logic, but the familiar pain in your chest is accompanied by something else. Something almost warm. Like rays of sun fighting through cumulonimbus clouds.

Damp dirt, new leaves, and fertilizer.

He’s offering something you only ever dreamed of like it never crossed your mind. 

Like it would mean nothing.

An agreement. A one-time deal. No strings attached; an easy fix to your problem.

But what if you want strings? 

Does he want strings? 

Strings do get messy when left untied. All the criss-cross feelings and knotted touches. 

But it’s him—

“Eds—”

Like he’s been burned by your solemn tone, Eddie cuts you off in a hurry. “At least it’d be with someone you know. Like really know…. Someone who cares about you—about your experience.”

The fragility in his eyes makes you want to console him. To tell him you believe every word. That you’re sure he would be good to you. 

Because he looks like him—

The soft, sweet man you saw all those years ago. The one you prayed to at night like a deity, asking for a few more seconds of his hand on your lower back, or more moments of just you and him. More laughter, more affection, more time. More, more, more. 

All the little things that molded you into a reverent devotee in the first place. 

Asking for every small thing to bolster your faith.

And now, he’s finally offering something much larger. 

Reaching for you with a divine gift.

How could you possibly say no?

Criss-cross feelings, you remind yourself.

Strings to tie your heart down, could be useful—

Fuck it. 

Slowly, you set the phone book down and make your way over to his spot against the kitchen counter. Stopping right in front of him, you look up with hesitant curiosity. 

You’ve never really been this close to him. Not with this much on the table. 

Mindlessly—shamelessly—you glance at his lips before succumbing to the cloudy glint in his eyes, the darkness that falls like a veil over his once-lively irises. 

There’s something there, you find. 

Something else that swirls deep in the molten shade of brown. 

Something you want to know more about. 

Your hands hang uselessly below you, resting against your body as you nervously fiddle with your fingers. The pointed tip of your tongue glides along the soft skin of your lips, leaving your mouth parted—like a siren call to his. 

You couldn’t be any closer to him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you feel the soft puffs of air from his wanton mouth. But you won’t move anymore. 

You leave yourself for him. He can have you if he wants. 

A sacrifice.

Eddie’s eyes rove over your face, looking down at the way you’re almost reaching for him, but it’s as if you won’t allow the touch. Won’t allow the crossing of some imaginary barrier you’ve built. 

Steadily, he lifts his hands—crosses the line—trailing his fingers up your neck like a ghost of a touch, until he settles his gentle grip on either side of your head. Stealing a moment from Time itself—just a second, a blip, like he’s plucking a ripe berry to savor in the thousand milliseconds he’s stolen—he smooths his thumbs over your temples, granting himself the selfish gift of feeling you.

His eyes consume all, admiring the dainty flutter of your mascara-blackened lashes, the softness of your skin—he marvels at the feeling.

Simmering from the heat of your body, he tries to memorize all your prettiest features, seen through an advantage he’s never had before. To be this close. To never be again. 

He’s going to make it worth his while. He has to.

A lowly victim to your gravitational pull, he finds himself leaning toward you, like light toward a collapsing star. And there’s no escaping you, not when you so easily warp the fabric of his being with frightening ease.

Loud in his straining ears, he hears the slight hitch in your breath when he nearly brushes his lips with yours, but he loses himself before he can truly feel you. Instead, he plants a cowardly, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Simply not enough, but more than he could have ever dreamed of getting. Another bittersweet paradox.

“D’you want this?”

He’s so quiet, but he can feel the way you shudder against him. The way you feel him, his words mumbled devoutly into your skin.

“I wanna lose my virginity,” you whisper confidently, like it’s the only thing you're absolutely certain of.

Eddie tries to fight the way his face falls, but he can’t seem to manage it when your words serve as a reminder of how little this all matters to you. Or, at least, how little you care who you lose it to. 

But, ever-observant, you notice, and he catches the worry as soon as it draws your brows together. 

“T-To you…” you amend. “Can I?”

The frail uncertainty in your voice feeds the fire deep in Eddie’s gut, like bone-dry wood being thrown into the hearth on a years-long winter night. 

The flames, once dim and hopeless, time-weathered and starving, roar back to life. 

Subtly, he nods, relishing the way you relax. Bound to your request, he allows his palms to glide down your form, taking his time to explore the new terrain until he grabs ahold of your soft hands. 

Side stepping your body, he gently pulls you to his room. His backwards strides are confident—a sign of comfortability in the home he’d call yours, just the same as he’d call it his. After all, these walls have seen nearly every iteration of his care for you. From acquaintances to friends to—

Neither of you speak as he guides you around his frame—you, now in front of him, and him, leaning his weight against the bedroom door until it clicks shut. 

Wayne is on a fishing trip for the weekend with some buddies from the plant, but he’s not particularly known for remembering to pack everything, and Eddie is keen on protecting your modesty and ensuring your comfort. Like you deserve. Like he knows he can—better than anyone.

He drops one hand from yours only to lock the door. Once he’s certain there will be no interruptions, he walks you back toward the bed until you’re standing right in front of it. 

Dropping your other hand, he reaches up and gently smooths the hair near your temple again, addicted to the way your eyes flutter. His hands slide down your figure until he’s toying with the hem of your t-shirt—his t-shirt, the one you stole in tenth grade and never gave back. 

His selfishness befriends the possessive fiend he fights back daily, because you’re moving through the world marked by him. And in this moment, Eddie wonders if you really could have let another man touch you in the shirt that whispers his name against your soft skin.

Heat thrums just below your surface, boiling and bubbling, nearly spilling over when you feel him tugging at your shirt, silently asking for permission. His hands wait patiently.

You don’t respond. Don’t know how to speak. Nerves rattle against your ribcage. Or maybe it’s your heart testing its prison, looking for a way out as it pounds and pounds and pounds—

“Can I take this off?” 

His low mutter—almost a monosyllabic slur of sound—registers a second later in your hazy brain. You nod, forcing your lungs to expand, but nearly choke at the faint scent of his cologne. 

It’s familiar. Piercing, clean, and rich—

You remember the day he got it. When he dragged you to the mall, forcing you to smell every option. He bought the one you liked the most. Even when he wasn’t too sure about it. You remember warning him about the price tag, about how he should pick one he really likes if he’s going to splurge on it. But he wouldn’t hear it—

“Words.”

A confused hum creeps up your throat as you greedily bask in his scent, feeling the world move in slow motion around you. His unending touch carves canyon-like ripples into the tissue of your mind.

When you manage to focus on his eyes, there’s a level of fondness in them that has you grabbing onto his wrist for support.

“Wanna hear your words, sweetheart. Y’gotta tell me what you want.”

Understanding washes over you like cool hose water on a hot summer day. Quickly, you open your mouth to ask him—no, beg him—to undress you, but before a single word can crawl out from between your parted lips, you feel his warm fingers dancing along the delicate skin of your waist, leaving a wave of goosebumps in their wake. 

Your breath catches, and you shudder because he’s both hot and cold—

His attention warms you; his touch leaves you shivering from a chill that is so frigid it begins to manipulate your frayed nerves, tricking you into feeling the burn as if it were born from the bluest flame and not the calloused hands of your best friend—

“I— I, um…”

You shake your head as you try to remember what you were about to say before the words ran away from you and into his arms, stealing whatever desperate sentiment you meant to express. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to figure it out, to fill in the blanks—like a cipher missing its key. 

His thumbs are drawing little shapes into the soft skin beneath your shirt, aiding and abetting the thieving words. The unfamiliar affection makes your abdomen twitch and your core pulse with need.

Before you get the chance to draw up some semblance of sanity, Eddie leans into you, effectively shrinking your entire world to just him. He’s everything you feel, everything you smell, everything you see, everything you touch, everything you…want to taste.

You so desperately want to know what flavor his kisses are—

Bitter smoke from the habit he can never quite kick? Malt sweetness from the beer he loves to drink? Cool mint from the gum he always carries around?

Would you grow ravenous at the first hint of Marlboro Reds? Would you crumble under the eager pressure of his lager-soaked tongue? Would your mouth water at the lingering scent of menthol on his breath?

You’re trapped in his thrall the second he closes in on your space. His head tips to the side, running his lips along your warm cheeks, your jaw. You shiver at the soft brush of his mouth—an action you’re painfully aware is not meant to be shared among friends. No, this kind of touch is reserved for lovers only— 

“What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to touch you? Want me to hold you?” he murmurs, heavy gaze locked on the way your lips part, and you quietly pant. Your head bobs toward his mouth, body leaning into his arms, drawn to the heat of him. 

You hear the sharp intake of breath, feel his nose nuzzling your hair. Then, as if fighting for control, his hands flex, only to grab onto your hips and drag you tight against him, like he lost the battle. Or maybe he surrendered. The way he hangs over you, almost relieved at the closeness leads you to believe it’s the latter.

Emboldened by his body against yours—all growing hardness and twitching muscles—your hands paw at his abdomen, his waist, kneading and pulling him impossibly closer.

“What do you want, baby?” 

You bite back a whimper at the new endearment. 

Because that’s reserved for lovers too—

“I want…W-Wan’ you. I wanna be…be with you,” you mumble breathlessly, mindlessly.

In a huff of impatience, he pulls your top over your head. You hear the way he swallows back a groan and you wish he wouldn’t have. 

With expert dexterity, he removes your bra, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. You practically bloom under his attention—his wide, hungry eyes, his almost pained rasp of humming appreciation. 

His hands slide up the sides of your body, featherlight fingers following the length of your ribs, brushing inward as he traces the skin just below the curve of your breasts. 

Your wandering hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt before slipping under the material, flexing and groping at his toned abdomen. You pull at his narrow waist, a wordless plea for him to touch you more. 

But he seems uninterested in your needy silence and you remember his instructions—

“Eddie, please. Please, touch me. I need you…. Wanna feel you.”

“Whatever you want,” he agrees, nodding.

Electricity prickles and dances across your skin like invisible lightning as he finally slides his hands over your sensitive breasts. Gently kneading the weight, he smooths his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. You gasp at the sensation, the way it directly triggers the heat twisting and turning low in your core with a quickness you’re not accustomed to. 

Leaning down, Eddie attacks your jaw and neck with greedy, open-mouthed kisses. His nose nudges you zealously, like he’s devouring your delicate flesh and still aching for more, so you tilt your head away, eager to provide. 

You tug his shirt up his body, but quickly realize you’ll need him to break away from your neck to get the material over his head. You lightly push on his abdomen, and he begrudgingly stops his assault, understanding what you’re looking for.

With a level of speed you’ve never once seen him use, he peels his shirt off, balls it up, and blindly tosses it somewhere in the corner of the room. 

Unabashedly, you ogle his body in a way you’ve never allowed yourself before. Your heavy-lidded gaze is first drawn to the pick hanging just below his collarbones, sitting perfectly against his pale skin. Then, your eyes drop, admiring the tattoos that litter the expanse of his chest. 

You’ve only ever seen them a few times—mostly at the Hawkins pool on hot summer days, and once when you walked in on him changing. You remember how you couldn’t get the image out of your mind. The contrast, the searing visage of inky-black against milky-white, pressed into skin like a pretty decoration meant to be admired. 

And like a set path guided by nothing but desire, your eyes track down, down, down his body—all heat and hardness. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of the tuft of coarse hair trailing from his navel to whatever lies beyond the waistband of his jeans. 

Whatever lies—

But you already have an idea; you feel him pulsing against your stomach, you felt him twitch when you whimpered moments ago.

All heat and hardness.

Drawing you from your trance, Eddie’s deft fingers fiddle with the button on your jean shorts, making quick work of the fastenings and dragging the material down your legs. He drops to his knees, peering up at you with something in his eyes so…raw that it has you grabbing onto him, your balance escaping you. 

With your hands on his strong shoulders, you watch with rapt attention as he removes your shoes and socks, then he gently cups one ankle, lifting it and helping you out of the leg of your shorts before doing the same to the other. His touch is so soft—so gentle—you think you might cry.

Barely anything has happened yet and he’s taking such good care of you. You shudder to think how this would have gone had you called up Jimmy or Chris. 

Nobody could compare to Eddie. 

Feeling weightless, heavy, high, and stone-cold sober all at once, you meet his eyes. 

“You look…” he pauses, swallowing harshly, “you’re so beautiful.”

Your ears ring at the hidden sentiment between those three words. A million extra meanings you can’t catch, but you heard them like a whisper in the wind—real and slipping through your fingers the moment his hungry lips grace your skin once more.

Large hands squeeze the backs of your thighs, and you feel the tickling brush of his frizzy curls against your bare legs. 

Wet, searing kisses travel upward, his hands slide in tandem with the needy affection. He holds you with a type of reverence you couldn’t have foreseen—as if you could have ever foreseen this. He moves along your body like you’re allowing him, not like he’s the one doing you a favor. 

You sigh when you feel the heat of his breath over the place you need him most. He’s stopped at the apex of your thighs, panting like a desperate man, blocked by a flimsy slip of fabric that you’re certain he could shred to pieces with the way his eyes have darkened. 

“C-Can I?” His strained voice breaks through the music in the room, disrupting the melody of syncopating gasps and pants. 

It feels like the world is moving as you stay perfectly still, staring down at him, his arms wrapped around your legs, fingers greedily curling in the waistband of your panties. You find yourself thankful for his steady, obedient grip. 

Underneath his wanton gaze, you feel the weight of roles reversed. It’s like it’s his first time, the way he’s looking up at you like your permission will fix him. Your touch will mend something broken. 

With wide eyes and parted lips, you nod. “Y-Yes. Please, Eddie.”

A sound torn from deep within his chest rumbles out, reverberating around the room, bouncing off of every wall and hitting you like a spell. Low, where his breaths warm you, a fiery enchantment unfurls in volant tendrils like ink in water.

Suddenly, Eddie drags the thin material down from around your hips, another appreciative groan rips from his throat as he watches the gusset of your panties fall last, stuck to your wet folds. A delicate string of arousal clings to the fabric, unable to part from it. 

You watch his efforts slow, his lids grow heavy like he can’t control the need. Then, he presses his face between your thighs, the very faint graze of his tongue leaves you trembling. 

With one targeted swipe, Eddie’s tongue snaps the silky string, catching what he can with overwhelming zeal.

“Want more,” he mumbles into your heat. “Sweets…”

“Yes,” you interrupt, already drowning in desperation. “Need you—”

He growls and pulls your panties the rest of the way down your legs before his large hand lifts one of your thighs to sit on his shoulder, allowing him easier access to your soaked core. He hums brokenly—a lewd sound of appreciation. 

The second he drags the flat of his tongue through your dripping folds, your gasps devolve into messy moans, but the sound only seems to encourage him more. With foreign ferocity, he devours you. 

“Oh, god, Eddie,” you mewl, hips twitching against his face, hands threading through his fluffy hair for balance. 

Vibrations from his responding groan move through you, tearing you apart until you’re nothing but wanton shreds. Your knees almost buckle beneath you, but he presses into you. Harder. More persistent. The force sends you falling backward onto the bed, your hands hurry to break your soft descent.

Your hips hang off the edge of the mattress—one foot still planted on the ground, the other dangling over Eddie’s right shoulder. His hands grope and knead the fat of your thighs as his tongue eagerly laps up your arousal like a man starved. Your arms give out from under you, sending your back barreling down to the untucked sheets on his mattress. 

You’re panting and burning up; the heat of his breath meets the warmth of your folds, creating a smoldering furnace where his mouth dances over you. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and one you think no other man could ever replicate. 

Your hips react ardently to every twist and flick of his tongue, the talented muscle toying with you until you’re shaking and whining and bucking against his mouth for more. 

The moment you feel the tip of his tongue draw tight circles around your swollen clit, your head flies back in ecstasy. Your hands wander the space around you for something to grab, first, trailing over your breasts with a teasing squeeze before reaching for the sheets beside you. But it’s not enough. The material is so thin, you can’t get the grip you need. 

Like he can sense the desperate energy rolling off of you in tidal waves—like he knows the feeling—Eddie grabs your hands, momentarily sacrificing his fragile skin to your clawing, pressing, sinking, crushing—

Your thoughts are plucked from somewhere high in the ether and placed back into your head the moment you feel his dragging touch, then, softness. Peering down the winding, curving terrain of your body, you meet his dark eyes, see the way he’s moved your restless hands into his hair.

The whine falling past your lips is drowned out by his aching growl deep within your wet folds. He tightens his grip around your hands before letting go, encouraging you to hold onto him—to use him.

And you do.

You tug him closer, grinding your core against his mouth until you arch at the dull pressure of his tongue breaching your entrance, pressing into you powerfully, exploring untouched territory you wish could be marred by his ministrations. Like a token to memorialize this moment in time. Something that says you’re his—

Quickly, your hips start to lose their rhythm against his face, recklessly twitching and squirming with every break he takes from fucking you to flicking your clit with searing precision. 

“Eddie, Eddie, I’m gonna— Please, Eds, I—”

Not even bothering to pull away, he moans his pleas right into your pussy. “Give it to me, baby. Mmmph, give it to me, sweets. Taste so fuckin’ good—” 

The tone he’s using, the way he pauses after every other word to slurp and lap at your quivering folds, almost makes it feel like he’s not even talking to you. Or maybe not just you. But it’s like he’s speaking directly to your weeping cunt, pleading for more—more arousal to devour, more fluttering pulses to tickle his tongue.

Your brows contort in pleasure as tears prick at your waterline—almost there, almost there.

Suddenly, you miss the pressure of his mouth for a split-second while you hear a sucking sound, then your chest wracks with desperate sobs as you feel him slip a single finger inside you. 

“Oh, god! Oh, fuck!”

His other hand holds your hips down, blunt nails sinking deeper into the surface of your skin as electricity speeds along a high-strung coil—crackling and tight—just below his large palm. But the coil soon snaps when he starts to drag his long, thick finger against your velvety walls, thrusting in and out—gentle yet firm in his actions. 

“Eddie, Eddie, oh, fuck!” 

Unmade and raw, all you can do is babble incoherent whines and pleas as he teases you even past your orgasm, his tongue working your clit until it throbs to the beat of your racing heart.

When your legs start shaking from overstimulation, you finally gather enough strength to push on his head—appealing for mercy.

Like he’s not ready to part from you just yet, Eddie doesn’t yield to your push, though he does begrudgingly grant you reprieve. But he stays between your legs, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s not just breathing deeply to catch his breath. The way he inches infinitesimally closer, the way he won’t let your thighs close—it’s like he’s reveling in your heady scent—

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cum. Squeezin’ my finger so hard. God, this was just one, baby,” he boasts, utter glee defiling his already dirty words.

You whimper. One finger, and you felt so full.

In response, he garnishes your twitching pelvis with wet, sloppy kisses, like he’s searing a promise into your skin—

His hands do their best to hold your hips down, allowing him to take a tour of the tops of your thighs, the divot where your folds meet your legs, your mound—soaked and slobbered on by his overzealous mouth. 

Peering down your body, open-mouthed and desperate, you nearly mewl at the way his eyes are glazed over. He looks drunk on the taste of you. Completely and utterly wasted. What’s more, his face is covered in you. 

All the way up to his nose, his skin shimmers in the light, glistening with your juices. But he doesn’t seem ashamed of the indecent display. Instead, he seems proud. Proud to wear you on him—like a badge of honor.

“Eddie, please. I want more,” you whine, breathless from the come-down. 

“Pretty girl,” he purrs, nuzzling your thigh, “so desperate. Am I turning you to the dark side already?”

You shudder at his smug grin, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about his overly-inflated ego. Your mind is mush, and all you can think is his name prefaced by the dangerous word “my.”

“Please,” you mewl. 

His grin widens, and you note the hunger no longer hidden in the dark brown of his irises. Because he’s not aiming for decency anymore. Not in the way he’s eyeing you like you’re a meal and he’s famished, and not in the way his words are rife with untapped desire. 

“Alright, pretty.” He pats your thigh before backing away from you. “Up on the bed.”

It’s a soft order. A gentle command as he grabs your forearms and helps you scoot your hips all the way onto the mattress before letting go, allowing you to shuffle to the top of the bed. 

Once your head hits the pillow, he watches you settle into place, shoving the untucked sheets out from beneath you and off to the side. Without taking his eyes off of your movements, he works to remove his jeans, shoving them down his legs, along with his boxers. 

Now that your moans have ceased, the room is so quiet, he can hear your sharp intake of breath when his hard cock bobs free from its constraints. He bites his lip at the subtle shock shifting across your face. It’s flattering, but more than anything, he’s leaking at the thought of fitting inside you. 

“That’s— You’re—” 

Every one of your sentences seems to die on the first word, and he watches your thighs clench as your focus stays on his thick length. 

Heat warms Eddie’s cheeks as he tries to stop the smile from overtaking his face. He shouldn’t be like this—he should be calm, cool, and collected, but clearly exceeding your expectations has him feeling a myriad of things. Giddy, confident, smug…eager. 

Mindlessly, he wipes a hand down the lower half of his face, gathering your slick arousal on his palm, then collects the precum pouring from his ruddy tip, and spreads the combination of juices over the expanse of his thick cock. He grants himself a firm, teasing squeeze as he steps toward you, but quickly detours to the bedside table to rifle through the top drawer. 

“I’ll make sure it feels good, don’t worry. You’re gonna help me with that,” he says lowly, then stills his searching hands as he looks to you for a nod of agreement. When you give it to him, he smiles fondly. “Good girl.”

A quiet huff of amusement escapes him when he hears your strained whimper—the way you so obviously try to keep yourself quiet, but can’t help it. 

He’s starting to catch onto what you like. How you like to be spoken to. And your responses are addicting. The clench of your thighs, the pulse of your walls. The need that crawls up your throat like it’s fighting its way out of you.

He desperately wants to know what else his words can elicit. Or maybe even try something more than his words—

His body warms as he wonders what you’ll sound like when you’re wrapped around him. His mind conjures its best guess at the noises you’ll make when his thrusts knock the air out of you, like sweet rasping melodies meant to torture him. 

He wants to know just how shrill your cries will get when you’re nearly there, searching for just a little bit more. 

But most of all he wants to hear the sweet words that will slip past your loose lips, your mind too cockdrunk to stop the affection you’ll share. The secrets you’ll spill. God, he’s aching to hear you.

If he could, he’d lock you in his room and run experiments on you for a week straight—just to find out what makes you tick. He’d take you apart piece-by-pretty-piece, just to put you back together again. He’d hold you tight and play with you passionately, like you were his favorite toy. 

His.

Drawn from his thoughts by your shifting body, his attention diverts to the box of condoms he manages to find deep in his bedside drawer. He tears at the paperboard and pulls one out, showing you the foil packet before ripping it open—

“Safe sex,” he declares, sliding the oily-feeling latex out of the wrapper. 

His wry smile widens to a goofy grin when you giggle at his words, easing the tension. 

“Stupid,” you mutter, knocking your shin against the side of his thigh as he hovers near the head of the bed, putting the condom on. 

Once he’s done, he crumples the wrapper in his hand, glancing over at you before throwing it on the cluttered surface of the nightstand. “You sure you wanna do this?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Yes, Eddie. You already ate me out.”

That leaves him frowning—

“Sweetheart, just because we did that doesn’t mean you have to continue. We can be done. Nothing more needs to happen if you don’t want it to.”

You remain silent, only staring up at him with so much…something…in your gaze, it makes him want to fold in on himself like the discarded foil. And he thought the ease with which you crossed his wires was bad— 

“I know,” you mutter softly. “But I want to. With you. Will you…. Will you take care of me?”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and there’s a stinging feeling behind his eyes—one he knows all too well. 

You sound so small, so nervous. As if he could ever deny you something that was meant to be yours. His care. His devotion. 

“‘Course I will.” 

He nods one too many times, entranced by the way you seem so delicate under his watchful eyes. 

Delicate because you’re asking him to take care. In the way he’ll touch you. The way he’ll guide you. The way he’ll—

Slowly, he steps closer. You scoot to the side, making room for him to knee his way onto the bed. 

His hands brush your ankles, featherlight affection smoothing up your legs, stopping at your knees. With the utmost reverence, he gently parts them, settling between your thighs. 

“You look so pretty like this. I mean…you look— Well, you look…pretty all the time,” he nervously amends, eyes flitting over your face, but never any lower. 

He wants you to know he means you. You’re pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Not because you have a gorgeous body, but because you are gorgeous. 

You shift beneath him, avoiding his gaze and, instead, focusing on pulling him to you. Softly. Needily.

He follows your guidance, leaning over you until his hands land beside your head. And just like before, he’s memorizing the moment. Every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every quiet breath from your pleasure-bitten lips. 

Below, you glance to the side, find his wrists, and wrap your hands around each one, as if grounding yourself in his touch. Only then—when his pulse beats wildly against your fingers—do you meet his eyes.

Wandering palms—soft and unfamiliar in their affection—travel the length of his arms, pausing over black ink, then continuing up until they reach his biceps. He shivers as you hum, squeezing the corded muscles that lay twitching restlessly beneath heated flesh. 

“You’re pretty, too,” you murmur, sliding your palms back down and rubbing at his wrists. 

Eddie chuckles, then swallows. “No, I’m not.”

The subtle twitch of your brows, the split-second peek at the budding frown that says you disagree has him beating you to your rebuttal—

“Not like you.”

His heart leaps in his chest as your hands suddenly drag his face to yours, like you’re about to kiss him with overwhelming need. But you don’t complete the motion.

And neither does he.

Because he’s not sure he can come back from all of this if he kisses you. 

If you allow him to have you in that way—

He’s not sure he’s strong enough. Not enough to feel you like that, to close his eyes and claim your lips like they belong to him, and then go about his life like he never felt it. The beat of your heart against his, pounding in nerves and want. The truthful desire dancing from your mouth to his. 

He couldn’t go back to living a lie. To live like he doesn’t think about you every single day. Like he doesn’t wonder what you’re doing when you’re not with him. Like he doesn’t do the most mundane shit and spends the whole time thinking about how much better it would be to do it with you. 

So he doesn’t kiss you. He can’t. Not when you’re not his to keep. 

Instead, he leaves a delicate, chaste brush of an almost-kiss to the corner of your mouth. Again.

Another cop-out from a coward. 

You struggle to contain your disappointment, resigning yourself to the fantasy in your head. The imagined taste of his tongue tangling with yours. And with wanton hands, you reach for his hips, subtly pulling him closer. 

“Need you,” you mutter, hearing the hitch of his breath as you whisper the plea against his mouth. 

“Fuck— Okay.” 

You watch as he reaches for his length. Taking a strong grip, he guides the thick tip along your slick folds, gathering your wetness. 

The raw combination of moan and a sigh leaves your lips—an accidental slip portraying just how much you’re aching for him. 

“It’s gonna feel a little weird, like…pressure. Okay? But you gotta let me know if it hurts, sweets, you hear me?” 

Your fluttering eyes, panting mouth, and rolling hips aren’t enough of a response, apparently, because his voice grows firm. 

“Hey, pretty girl, you with me?” 

“Mhm,” you whine, nodding your head. 

“What did I tell you?” he asks, smoothing a thumb down your temple before tapping three times. 

“Um, you— you said, um, if it hurts, I'll tell you.” 

“Good girl.” 

His muttered praise leaves you mewling, inching your hips closer to him, looking for more—yearning for it. 

Your mind devolves into pure static as he presses his thick tip into you slowly. Through bleary eyes, you see his teeth sinking deep into his lower lip, like he’s fighting to maintain his composure. For a moment, you wonder what it must look like from his point of view—the way your folds open up to him, welcoming the intrusion, ready to wrap around him in a vice grip.

“Oh, god. Mmm.” 

Your features crumble at the sensation of dull pressure—exactly what he warned you about. It doesn’t hurt, it just leaves you wanting more, like you’ll find reprieve once he’s fully inside you. 

“How you doin’, baby? Need a break?” he rasps, kneading your thigh gently.

“Need more.”

“Fuck, y’want more? Wanna feel more o’ me?” 

You whimper and nod, your heart racing as his slurred words drag you down into the flaming pit of desire.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp when you feel him press deeper inside of you, his stiff length sliding past your walls. Your ribs contract and expand in raucous breaths the moment you see just how much of him is left. He’s just barely got the tip in—

As your gaze creeps up his body, you realize Eddie hasn’t looked down once, not to where you’re connected. You wonder if it’s self-preservation or if maybe it’s part of his care for you. The way he watches your face intently, like he’s monitoring every slight change in expression leads you to believe it’s the latter. Probably both, really.

But you’re thankful he’s looking, because he immediately notices when the pinch in your brows shifts from pleasure to a wince of discomfort. 

His hand is on your face in a second, smoothing the crease between your brows and petting your hair soothingly.

“Baby, you okay? Is it too much? You feelin’ pain?” 

You shake your head stubbornly, sucking in a deep breath, leaving your mouth open and panting as your gaze stays glued to the sight of him inside of you. You notice it’s not just the tip, he also gets impossibly thicker through the middle of his length, and you’re sure that’s what you’re feeling now—

“Hey, look at me.” His thumb catches your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his. “I can make you feel good, but I need you to help me out. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Something flashes in the molten color of his irises and he leans down, brushing his lips against your cheek. You practically preen as he grants you a sweet kiss, and part of you—the rotted, selfish part—wonders if feigning pain would allow you to finally taste him properly, all smoky mint and dancing tongues—

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he implores.

“‘S just a pinch, ‘s just— It’s fine,” you placate, rubbing your hands gingerly down his sides. 

“Alright, we’re gonna wait here, and you tell me when I can move, or if you wanna stop. But in the meantime, try to relax all your muscles. Sometimes we get all tense, even when we don’t mean to.”

You nod hesitantly, taking a few more deep breaths, making a conscious effort to drop your shoulders and let your muscles rest. After a full minute of breathing, resting, and leaning into his soft palm on your warm cheek, you nod again. 

“Okay, you…you can move now.” 

But he doesn’t. Not yet. As if trying to discern the truth, Eddie just studies you for a moment. Then he moves, inching further into you.

When your jaw goes slack at the feeling of fullness, you hear a rumble of sound, like a groan that’s been cut off too early, and you have half a mind to ask him if he needs a break. But before you get the chance, your words catch in your throat as he rests lower on you.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, his hot breath tickling your ear, leaving your cunt pulsing with need.

Then a hiss—the kind that sounds like it’s bordering on pain, but is only one degree away from pleasure—escapes his lips, and you realize just how tightly you were squeezing him.

Then, suddenly, he bottoms out, the firm, jolting movement forcing all air from your lungs. 

“Oh, good girl,” he huffs out, voice strained. “You’re doin’ so good for me, taking me so well. How’s it feel, sweets? Think you like it? Wan’ more?”

Struggling to turn pitiful mewls into actual words, you nod your head fervently, reaching down to press your palms against his hips. “Mmm, wan’ more. Please, Eddie.” 

For the first time, he glances down, and you hear him choke at the sight. Electricity prickles across your delicate skin, and the sting of your teeth sinking into your lip does nothing to disrupt your giddy hum as you try to push him away.

In the dark shade of his eyes, you can tell he recognizes your movement as a very desperate, unsuccessful attempt at getting him to pull out—to chamber a thrust. And he seems utterly amused—

“Oh, baby, did you want something? You wanna do the work? Help me out like a good girl?” 

Something deeply raw and needy peels from your throat in response, and you silently rejoice when he pulls back, aiding your efforts. Unfortunately, it’s only a couple inches because—to your burgeoning frustration—he’s following your guidance, and your arms don’t reach nearly as far as you need. 

But you’ll take anything right now; desperation is cooking your nerves and boiling your insides. 

So you sink your nails into his hips and pull him back to you with a sudden yank.

Your mouth drops open at his shallow thrust, unintelligible noises of debauched need tumble past your parted lips. 

Clawing at his soft skin, you struggle to set up another thrust. “Please, please— I need more.”

“More? But you’re doin’ so well all by yourself,” he condescends, eyes twinkling with hunger as he lets you push and pull him. “Look at you go, pretty girl. Makin’ yourself feel so good. What an independent little woman.”

His teasing shakes you to your core because it’s so him. It’s your best friend, just in a new scenario with unfettered access to your body and pleasure. God, you’ve allowed him too much power— 

“Eddie! Please! I’m— I need it. I need you…”

Amusement washes from his face and you pout as he pauses, as if admiring a view. Then he ducks down.

“Whatever the princess wishes,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing against the heated skin of your cheek, syrupy sweet affection dripping from every word. Gently, he pulls out, nearly all the way. 

The mewl that was halfway out of your mouth catches like a lock clicking into place. A loud, desperate cry comes out in its stead—a reckless, candid response to the deep gut-punching thrusts barreling into you. They’re not hard, not rough, but firm. Controlled. Resolute. 

Like he wants you to feel it. Feel him.

You chase your breath in his rutting hips, surrendering to the affection he’s searing into you with every pass of his stiff length against your pulsing walls.

Red streaks paint his milky-white skin, blooming beneath your hurried hands like a casualty of your desire. Curses, groans, and harsh gasps fall from his slackened jaw. Heat bubbles deep in your core, rivaling the warmth of the salacious words he whispers into your flesh. 

“Shit, you feel so good, sweets— Oh, god, wan’ you to be— Fuck!”

Tears flood your waterline as you stare at the ceiling, features permanently fixed in shattered pleasure. Your mind struggles to hold onto the hitch in his breath, the unfinished sentence you’re dying to hear. But the sensations are overwhelming. Every nerve in your body is sparking—all livewires itching to explode.

All you can say is his name, all you can feel is him, and yet, it’s still not enough—

“Eddie, n-need m-more, ple—aseee!”

“Ah, fuck, baby, I know. I got you—”

Eddie glides his tongue over the pad of his thumb before reaching between your legs and circling your swollen clit. 

And suddenly, it’s like lightning has struck the furnace deep in your core, shooting high voltage shocks up your body until you grow so hot you’re almost cold. A sensation of fullness takes over, like you’re mere seconds from bursting. 

Delirious with passion, your hand flies down to stop his movements—to stop what you know is coming.

“H-Hold on, I— Eddie, I need to— I wanna feel you! Please, please, let me—”

Your needy sobs have him slowing down until he stills inside of you, chest heaving and damp with sweat.

“What— You can feel me. Aren’t you feelin’ me, sweets?” He reaches his hand up to the space just below your navel, pressing in only slightly.

You whine from the pressure, and your cunt flutters around him in rhythmic pulses like it’s trying to entice him back into movement. 

And, God, you can feel him— 

He’s burrowed his way deep inside you, but it’s still not enough—

“No— Yes, I— Oh, god, I c-can feel you. I just—” Your words melt into a whimper as you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling of warm wetness slides down your cheek.

You’re vaguely aware of a dip in the bed on either side of your head, and as you blink away the blur, you realize Eddie has dropped to his elbows over you, caging you in. 

His lips trace the track of the tear in reverse, starting first beneath your jaw, then up the expanse of your face. But his mouth doesn’t open—it’s not a trail of kisses. Just a soothing glide of soft pink, collecting salt water. 

“What do you wanna feel?” he asks patiently, like he’s ready to bring your deepest desires to fruition. 

When you don’t respond, he brushes his lips against the thin skin of your eyelids in short, delicate kisses. 

“I’ll do anything for you, baby. Just tell me what you want—”

The raw truth of his statement rings in your ears along with a prayer in the shape of your name—reverent, impassioned, desperate. The tone has you questioning when the god became the devotee. 

Your eyes flutter open as you peer up at him. 

“Wanna feel you. All of you. I don’t want— I don’t want anything in between,” you whisper, your gaze flitting between his earnest attention and his glistening lips, wet with your tears.

Eddie’s mouth parts slightly, a look of quiet shock mixing with curious disbelief as he tilts his head, like he’s observing you for any lapse in conviction. But there’s none to be found. You’re certain you want this. So he gives a single nod, yielding to you.

Before he can even shift his weight, you’re already pushing at his hips again. He lets you move him until he slips out, then your eager hands reach for his hard cock, sheathed in thin latex. 

The calm Eddie found since ceasing his thrusts starts to dissipate as he watches your movements with rapt attention. 

Acutely aware of the expansion of his ribs on every breath in, the scent of sex and your perfume permeating his olfactory receptors has any semblance of control quickly leaving his body. 

The sensation is like a loss of inhibitions. Like he’s gorged himself on you and now he’s utterly wasted. And he knows from personal experience, he doesn’t make the best decisions when inebriated—

The reminder that he’s here for you—that he’s supposed to be the one guiding you—is hard to hold onto when you’re expertly drawing him back into you, teasing yourself with the thick, ruddy tip of his cock, painting your folds with dribbling precum. 

He shudders at your wrecked moan, your eyes smoked out with hunger and desire and nothing else as you leer at his flexing length.

“F-Fuck, sweetheart, are you sure about this?”

You only hum in response, deep in focus.

“Unh, unh, look at me.”

Eddie’s thumb catches just beneath your chin, drawing your attention to his hardened features. The moment your far-out gaze focuses on him, he struggles to ignore the way your pupils have almost eclipsed any trace of color in the iris. 

But then your attention falters, your eyes slowly glide down to his mouth, your lips parting like a call to him—

He adjusts his grip, his thumb and fingers digging into your cheeks.

“No, up here, pretty girl.”

Tipping your chin up, he manually fixes your gaze to his.

“Are you sure you want this?”

As if words are too difficult to drum up, you whimper imploringly. 

And all it takes is one warning tilt to his head and you’re righting yourself. Forcing the words to come— 

“Yes! God, please. I need you…”

Satisfied, Eddie nods, taking a moment to revel in just how gone you are for him. 

“Okay.”

Another pitiful whimper escapes your closed mouth as you push harder into his grip—wanting, asking.

Knowing exactly what you’re missing—a quick learner in the language of your desperation—a smirk curls at his lips. “Good girl—”

Then he sinks into you in one quick, deep thrust that carves a half-scream, half-gasp from your chest. 

His shoulders drop at the feeling of your wet heat, your greedy walls, hugging every square inch of his cock, gripping onto him like a lifeline.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Shit, y’gotta stop squeezin’ me like that. You’re not gonna give me enough time to pull out,” he mutters, dragging his hips back and slamming into you, starting a brutal pace. 

Tears flood your waterline once more as you cry out for him, your hands touching, groping, and grabbing every bit of muscle you can get ahold of. 

“P-Please, please, E-Eddie! Oh, god, oh—oh god! Feels s-so g-good!” 

Your knees drop open as your hands blindly reach for his hips, pulling him in for impossibly deeper strokes. 

“I’m— E-Eddie, I—”

“I know, baby. I know,” he chants, holding on desperately to the last shred of his sanity.

Ducking lower onto you, he shifts his weight to reach between your thighs and circle your clit. With an open-mouthed pant, he watches as your eyes roll back, your loud moans drowning out the vulgar sound of skin slapping. 

His gaze flits across your face, memorizing your pleasure-shocked features like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see this particular crease in your brows, this heavy-lidded trance. Panic fills his bloodstream as he realizes it might very well be the last time—

And if it’s the last time, maybe he’s allowed to be selfish. One time. Just this once—

“Fuck it,” he breathes out, dipping down until his mouth capture yours, swallowing every last moan.

Your palms fly to the sides of his head, dragging him further onto you until the range of motion in his hand severely shrinks under his own rutting hips. You lick into his mouth like you’re trying to taste yourself. Overwhelmed with desire, he begins to lav his tongue into you the same way he devoured your cunt earlier. 

Your responding mewls leave him trembling, and he worries over the tightening in his abdomen, the coiling heat deep in his gut. He starts to pull away, but he feels pressure at his hips. You’ve wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles, leaving him no way of escaping your hold. Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him—

“Baby, we can’t— I gotta— I need’ta pull out,” he slurs against your mouth. 

“Please don’t,” you whine, spit-slick lips haphazardly forming around the pitiful plea.

Eddie feels his chest crack open with raw, tortuous longing. Hips faltering to a grinding rhythm, he lets his shoulders sag under the pressure of wanting—the weight of possession. All it would take to claim you, all it would take… is just to let go. To make you his.

He’s not strong enough—

“Please don’t,” you repeat, gliding your hands down his damp skin until you still at his lower back. With a foggy mind driven by the most basic desire to claim—or rather, be claimed—you muster all your strength and press your palms hard into his spine, dragging him to you. 

Following a groan that sounds suspiciously like a surrendering cry, Eddie pulls his hips back just enough to shallowly thrust into you. They’re firm, breathtaking strokes that feel like he’s trying to permanently burrow beneath your flesh, and his mouth glides over yours in a messy, blind display of drunken need. It’s a thorough loss of all space and you revel in it.

“Fuck, sweets. I— I—”

“E-Eddie! Ed—die, I’m— I’m c-cl— Please, don’t— Don’t—”

Eddie’s thumb starts circling your clit with renewed vigor, sending spasms shooting down your legs so strong that your ankles unhook. Like two magnets repelling each other, they go flying to the bed, twitching and convulsing. 

Deep in your core, you feel a magmatic pressure that just builds, and builds, and builds, until something snaps—

Arching into him, you cry out as your body goes weightless, and your mind floats into the ether once more. 

His groans, his grunts, the smacking of skin on skin—every sound echoes as you move further away from your mind. Vaguely, you’re aware of his faltering thrusts, his hungry lips devouring. Your mouth might be moving in tandem with his, or maybe you’re babbling incoherently, it’s unclear—all your senses are fried.

All you’re certain of is the sinking of your body. Deeper than the mattress, deeper than the floor. Down, down, down—you’re dragged into the pit of sated desire while your soul soars high above you. 

“Ah, s-shit, baby— I—”

By the time you find your way out of the depths—crawling back to him—you register the tail end of shivers wracking his entire being. His arms haven’t loosened around you and his softening cock is still twitching and flexing inside of you, goaded by every pulsing constriction of your warm walls. 

Nosing into your cheek, Eddie pulls back for a second, just to get a look at you—to memorize. 

What he sees is exactly what he expected—

Something he could never forget.

Something he could never be normal about.

In your eyes, in soft pants, in the flutter of lashes over mascara smudged skin—he sees you.

Just you.

A glutton for punishment, he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you before dipping down for more. One more.

Like he’ll never live long enough to see you walk out of his room—his sweat staining your skin, his spend safe inside you—he kisses you, slow and rottingly sweet. Swallowing every sigh, stealing every breath—he prays to you with selfishness in his heart. 

“I felt something,” you mumble against his mouth, pressing your hands to his shoulders.

Ignoring the ache in his chest—the kind that blooms when space starts to grow between his body and yours, like a weed whose roots never truly die—he forces a laugh that crumbles to dust in his throat. 

“Well, yeah…. God, I hope so,” he huffs, all strained amusement and bitter jokes.

A small smile pulls at your lips. “No, I mean.… I mean— You said, um, earlier, you said…”

While you struggle to find the words, his touch seems to act as a hindrance to your search. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter as he smooths his thumb over your sweat-soaked hairline. 

“You said if I was gonna sleep with— If I was gonna f-feel nothing with a stranger, then I should…feel nothing with you.”

Realization dawns on him, almost at the same time he decides this conversation shouldn’t take place with him inside of you—

“Maybe we should—”

“No!” You stop his movements, pressing your fingers into his hips before he can slip away. “Please, don’t! Don’t— Don’t go.”

Eddie watches your features soften from panic into an amalgamation of nerves and reserved urgency. The mess of emotions darkening your once-twinkling eyes are enough to stop his movements, but he still wishes every square inch of him could liquify and seep through the floor of the trailer until he reaches the earth. Maybe then he could be free of your dominance over his heart—

“Okay. Okay.” He nods, placating. 

Shifting above you, his attention oscillates between your wide-eyed stare and the space on your neck he kissed like he owned it. Then, as if he suddenly forgot how to behave like a human, he sucks his teeth and fumbles to respond—

 “What, uh, what did you feel?”

Your nails sink into him with a pinch, but by the way you seem lost in your own head, he doesn’t think you’re aware. Then—

“W-What— Um, did you…feel…anything?”

He stares for a moment, considering your evasion of the question, but then he looks to your neck once more.

A million thoughts zoom through his mind like advertisements on big city buses. He can’t discern all of them, but one has YOU written in what he’s certain is your handwriting. Another says everything in posh, looping cursive. A third one is void of any advertisements, and unfortunately, that’s the one that stops for him—

“I don’t think it matters,” he mutters, avoiding your frown. “It’s— I’m not the one who lost their virginity.”

You cock your head to the side, the kind of movement he knows means you’re not letting him slip by. “Yes, it does.” 

Your tone bites at him, scrambling the illusion until he’s a clear picture of vulnerability, bare under your hardened gaze. 

“I just mean, it matters more how you felt. If you— If I made you comfortable. Doesn’t matter how I felt,” he tries, wondering how likely it is that he could be struck by lightning indoors, on a sunny day—

Because you’re looking at him like he’s eighteen again. Like he’s stupid and boyish and easily breakable. But there’s something else in your eyes—

Something that makes him feel almost mendable. 

“No, but it does matter how you felt. How you feel. It matters. I care how you feel. I wanna hear what you think,” you implore, holding onto his wrists beside your head. You press the pads of your fingers into his pulse and he worries you’ll feel it before he says it—

“But did you—”

“Yes, I felt good. Yes, you did a good job taking care of me. Yes, I felt safe. Now how did you feel?”

“I feel like— I don’t want you…to…” He closes his eyes, hanging his head. “I feel like I wish you were mine,” he says, letting a humorless chuckle float out of his mouth and electrocute the air with tension. “And I feel like calling up Jimmy and Chris just to curse them out for being the ones you thought of first.”

In the loll of his admission, something shifts in your features, and every molecule of air leaves his chest like you just rolled a grenade at his feet, unpinned and already three seconds deep into the fuse delay. 

As if you have nothing better to say, you pluck the lowest hanging fruit—

“Well, technically you suggested Chris,” you half shrug.

Charged silence fills the room like rushing water until he blinks at you.

“Okay.” He begins to back away, ignoring your grasping hands.

Your face falls. “No, I’m sorry! I— That was a joke! ‘M sorry, it was stupid—”

“Okay,” he repeats flatly, peeling your fingers from his bicep. He pulls out of you smoothly, pretending not to hear the low whine deep in your throat—

“Eddie, no! Don’t— I love you!” you utter quickly, as if the words will act as a balm upon his burning skin—the skin that broils under your touch. And for a moment, he almost accepts it. He’s so selfish with you—

But when your eyes grow wide, like you hadn’t meant to let something so damning slip past your lips, he realizes the truth—

He was right.

He doesn’t leave you to explain yourself—doesn’t wait for you to quantify the secret.

“It’s okay,” he answers your worried gaze. “I told you, sex has weird feelings attached to it. Things get said in the heat of the moment, it’s all good.” 

Hopefully, if he repeats the sentiment enough, he’ll start to believe it too.

But instead of appreciation, he sees indignation warp your face. 

“I’m sorry, where have you been? The heat of the moment was five minutes ago,” you huff, eyeing him like you can’t even begin to comprehend his level of delusion. “True, I didn’t mean to say it just then. But I felt it. I have felt it. For…” you laugh, a humorless sound that grates Eddie’s heart, “years.” 

And suddenly, he feels like he got his wish—

Every muscle in his body has turned to mush, every nerve is frayed, every wire is uncrossed—

“I’ve—” you pause, then scoff. “Like, Jesus Christ, Eddie! Do you know how long—” 

He melts into you, his lips on yours, his hands on your face, holding you right where he needs you most—

Swallowing your surprised moan, he takes your needy grip in stride—every bite of painted nails against pale burning flesh, every tug and drag, seeking a closeness he craves to sate.

“I don’t care,” he slurs against your mouth, too intoxicated to hear how much time he’s missed out on. Then he pulls back a fraction of an inch, instead deciding he wants to know every single detail—even the painful bits—

Even if just to hear you talk—

“Well, I do care,” he amends. “I just—”

You peer up at him through heavy lids and a teasing grin, and he feels too far from you.

“Not right now,” he drawls, unable to think past ‘I love you, too.’

A/N: Please say nice things about this, it took so fucking long lmao. 

Taglist: @defututus @ratsematary @american-idiot-jpg @glassbxttless @justalotoffanfiction 

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“Be careful,” You muttered,trying to gain you balance from the harsh pull.

“You didn’t have to-”

Your mother cuts Lee off with a harsh look, “She needs manners, what kind of woman sits on the counter?”

You barely roll your eyes, careful to make sure she doesn’t see you. “See you later ma’am, if you’re not workin’ late.”

“Where you goin’ this early?” She asks, pinning her hair up. “Don’t tell me you’re already going to see Arvin, you know I don’t like that boy very much.”

“No I ain’t going to see him,” You chided, giving her a glare. “I’m hangin’ out with Lenora today. She asked me to go with her to visit her momma’s grave. Unless you don’t like her either.”

“No, I think she’s a nice girl. Shame what happened to her mother, may she rest in peace.” She passes you a bag of sugar, “I need you to give this to Emma and I want you back at 7, not 7:05, not 7:17, 7 sharp.”

You take the bag of sugar, tucking it under your arm. “Bye Sheriff, have a nice day.” You leave walking out the door.

“You didn’t have to be rude to her,” Lee reprimands, getting up from the table.

“I wasn’t being rude to her,” She retorts. When she sees Lee grab his jacket from the coat hanger she yells, “what about breakfast?!”

“Not hungry!” He yells back, “don’t taste nearly as good compared to my Dove’s.” he mutters under his breath and heads to work.

Lee was starving halfway in his shift. He forgot to grab breakfast trying to follow you around to make sure you made it safe. He was ready to go to the diner and grab a quick snack when you came strolling in.

“Hope this ain’t a bad time Sheriff,” You ask, clutching the basket closer to your chest.

“No, no, is everything ok?”

“Lenora and I made a little bit too much food and it’d be such a shame to throw it away. Figured why not bring some to the best sheriff in town.” You settled the basket on his desk. Arvin came in moments later and settled right behind you. Lee looks at Arvin and then at you but says nothing.

That was the first time Lee had seen you with Arvin. One too many.

-

The next day when he went to the candy store, he saw you walk out hand in hand with Lenora, unwrapping the sweets you both bought. Arvin snuck out behind a tree, scaring you and clutching you close to his chest. Arvin pulls out the sucker from your mouth and places it into his own. A friend doesn’t do that.

-

On Wednesday, Lee followed you to the diner, with Lenora. He parked from afar as he watched you settle into a booth, excited to devour whatever the diner had. He watched you and Lenora gossip eagerly, eyes wide open with agape mouths.

Arvin then appears from the bathroom, walking over to you and sitting right next to you. He kisses your temple and his hand travels to your thigh. He watches as he slings your leg over his and slides you onto his lap. Lee was already getting out the car when he heard radio noise,

“We got a 10-20 Sheriff, over.”

-

On Thursday, he saw you walking to the graveyard with Lenora and Arvin. Arvin’s arm was slung around your shoulder as he bought you closer to him, kissing your cheek. You shoved him away, laughing and wiping your cheek. Arvin smirked looking you up and down and chased you.

You tried running but Arvin caught you and slung you over his shoulder. He bit your thigh sensually and Lee heard you yelp. Lee realized you were always with Lenora and he can’t help but think if you’re always with her, are you with Arvin too?

-

Lee was hoping that this time he would be able to spend time with you. He got off of work early and was going to use that to his advantage. But when he got home, you were nowhere in sight.

He walked over to your room, peeking in to see if you were in there. Nothing. All there was was a pile of discarded clothes, baby pink panties catching his attention. He looked out the door, when the coast was clear he went to pick them up.

The material felt soft against his hand until he felt a wet patch. He brought the material to his face and took a deep inhale. Your scent filled his nose, a muffled moan slipping through his lips.

He heard soft pants coming from the bathroom. He stuffed his panites in his pocket and followed the sound. With every second passing, your pants turned into small whimpers. The sounds you made, made Lee get harder with every second.

Lee’s perverted thoughts got the best of him as he took out your patnies and unzipped his pants. He pulled down his boxers, starting to stroke his hardening member. Your whimpers became louder and more frequent but were muffled by the walls.

He brought the baby pink material to his face as his hand started to go faster. Your moans spurred him on and made him feel weak in the knees. He could imagine you, touching yourself, desperately trying to get yourself off. Your fingers circling your clit while you stroked him, occasionally giving a kitten lick to the tip. You slip in 2 fingers into your tight hole, curving them to hit that spot that makes you keen.

He brings your panties to his cock, wrapping himself around it and coating his dick in your juices. He wraps his hand tight around him and does long, hard strokes. Jolts of pleasure creep up his legs and spine as he ruts in his hand. His eyes flutter shut and all he can concentrate on is you and rolls his hips around. He whimpers as he goes faster, the coil in his belly tightening. He lets himself get lost in the pleasure, imagining what you’re doing behind the door.

With a final roll of his hips he deeply groans as he cums. His seed coating your panties, the mixture of both of your essence is deeply engraved into his mind. He stuffs your panties in his back pocket and he pulls his pants up.

He can still hear your moans from the bathroom. They sound hurried and frustrated. Poor baby.

“Why is this so hard?!” You scream, turning off the water.

Lee runs to the living room, turning on the t.v, pretending he didn’t hear you during your most intimate moment.

15 minutes later you come sauntering out of your room, the smell of your shampoo fills the room and relaxes Lee. But when he sees you in a dress a bit too small for his liking it makes him tense up.

You freeze when you notice Lee sitting on the couch.“Hi sheriff, when did you get here?”

“Got here ‘bout 2 minutes ago,” Lee replies not looking away from the t.v. “Goin’ somewhere?”

“Yeah just with Lenora,” You nervously laughed, constantly fidgeting.

“You and Lenora hang out a lot, don’t ya?” Lee didn’t mind Lenora, sweet girl but after what happened with Teagardin he kept an eye on her. And if Lenora went somewhere, Arvin was right behind her.

“Yeah, we have lots of fun together,” You answered.

“Yeah? Especially since Arvins always with ya both,” Lee cocked his head to the side, clearly bothered. When you didn’t answer all of his suspicions were confirmed. When Lee wasn’t home, you were with Arvin, doing God knows what. “Be careful ‘round that boy, Dove. Don’t want you gettin’ hurt by someone like him.”

“He treats me well sheriff, I promise you he does.”

“Really? That’s what you think?” Lee got up from the couch, taking long strides toward you, the sound of the keys against his belt clinking with each step. “Tell that to the other girls he had his hand up their dress.”

“What?” You mumbled, blinking back tears, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I catch that boy foolin’ around too many times for my liking, I don’t want to catch you bein’ the next,” Lee warns. “Stay away from him, you hear me?”

“Yes, sheriff.”

“Good,” Lee shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulder. “Cover up, it ain’t safe for you to go out like that.”

Lee had to do one more thing before he got to go home. A deputy had told him some kids were making out at the park past curfew and to break it up. He hated doing these types of things, it was always uncomfortable.

He drove to the park in a delighted mood, he would be able to go back home, and see his beloved Dove. He put the car in and park and slammed his door shut, hoping to scare the kids off so he wouldn’t have to do anything. It didn't.

He walked closer and closer but froze when he heard a familiar voice, “Ar-Arvin wait, what if we get caught.” Lee hid behind a tree to be able to get a better look. Anger bubbled in his stomach when he saw Arvin’s hands a little too far up your thighs. You deliberately ignored what he told you, he didn’t even care it was all a lie, you disobeyed him.

“We won’t,” Arvin panted, “relax darlin’. I know one way to,” His hand disappeared under your dress.

Lee would have marched right then and there and beat Arvin to a pulp for touching what’s his. But Lee knew exactly what to do, to go to your mother. He quietly ran back to the cruiser and sped his way home.

This plan was meant to work out, your mother had come back from work on time, for once. Lee collects himself and walks to the door. When he opens it, he sees your mother on the couch filing her nails.

“Lee is y/n with you?”

“No, why?” He replies, placing his leather jacket on the coat hanger.

She sets the nail file down and gives Lee a puzzled look, “She ain’t with you?” Lee shakes his head no. “Unbelievable.”

“What’s the matter?” Lee asked.

“It’s 8:30, she was supposed to be here an hour ago!”

Perfect. “Oh,” Lee muttered under his breath but loud enough for her to hear.

“What?” She questioned, getting up from the couch. “I know that ‘oh’, Lee, what do you know?”

“I got a call about 2 kids doin’ some things at the park but I didn’t g-”

“Give me the keys to the cruiser!” She demanded, sticking her hand out.

“Listen, what if it’s not y/n-”

“It sure as hell is, the amount of times I’ve caught that boy trying to get in her pants-”

“Wait what?” He was truly taken aback at her statement, “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“I sent her away for this very reason the first time I came here. Figured he’d get over her.” She shrugs, walking over to Lee. “He wants her now more than ever. Part of me thinks-nevermind I’ll sound crazy.”

“No, go on,” Lee urges, placing his thumbs in his front pockets.

“Part of me thinks, I don’t know, I just think he’s trying to get her pregnant so they have to marry. So no one can’t tell them they can’t be together, no one wants a bastard child.”

Lee’s fists ball up, his knuckles turned white and his nails dig into his palm drawing blood. Arvin was not going to take his Dove away, he’ll be dead before he even gets the chance to finish trying. He knew Arvin had a thing for you, he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town did. One thing he did know was, no one was allowed to touch you. He lets out a tsk, “Get in, we’ll go get her.”

His car comes to a stop and your mother practically leaped out of the car. Despite her being in heels she bolted through the park, determined to get his dirty hands off of you. She found you exactly in the same position Lee had found you in the first place.

“Get your hands off of her now!” She pulls you up from the ground, placing you protectively behind her. “I told you to stay away from her!”

“Ma’am listen-”

“All you’re tryin’ to do is get her knocked up and take her away from me!”

“That’s not true!” Arvin protested, “I love her and I treat her well-”

“Alright, alright, Arvin you’re comin’ with me,” Lee commanded, grabbing him by the neck. “You and I need’a have a serious talk.” His grip becomes tighter and tighter, intentionally hurting him. “Deputy Tom will take you girls back to the house. I’ll be there soon.”

Lee was strangely calm during the whole drive. Quietly shushing Arvin everytime he tried to open his mouth. Arvin felt uneasy, he knew something was wrong and that Lee wasn’t doing this for your mother’s sake.

No one was at the station when Lee arrived, giving him the chance to do whatever he pleases. He harshly shoves Arvin into the chair in his office. “What the hell were you doin’ at the time of night with y/n boy? With your hand up her dress?”

“I was spendin’ time with my girl sheriff, don’t tell me that’s a crime,” Arvin scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Really? You call tryin’ to play mommy and daddy quality time?” Lee rasped, his hand on top of his gun on the holster. “I call that being a dirty bastard, son.”

“So what?” Arvin sinks into the chair, “Unless…” A smirk plasters his face and raises his head up high. “Unless you’re jealous?”

Lee lets out a laugh, “Now why would I be jealous?”

“Because,” Arvin spits, gripping the handles of the chair. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. No normal step father would look at their step daughter like that. You want her all to yourself, I know it. You ain’t gotta tell me. If anyone is the dirty bastard it’s you.”

With one hand Lee squishes Arvin’s cheeks, his lips puckered out as Lee’s fingerprint creates marks on his skin. The other takes his gun out of his holster and places it under his jaw. “You and I both know she’s mine, she belongs to me. She don’t want a man child like you, no, she wants a man. A man who’s willing to take care of her in any way she needs.”

“You’re wrong,” Arvin grunts out, thrashing around to escape Lee’s hold but he can’t. It's too strong.

“You know damn well I’m right,” Lee brings Arvin’s face closer to his. “This is what’s goin’ to happen, you’ll leave y/n alone. Forget she even exists, don’t talk to her, don’t touch her, pretend she’s dead.”

“And what if I don't?”

“Be a real shame if the whole town found out ‘bout Lenora and Reverend Teagardin,” Lee darkly chuckles at memory when Teagardin told him what happened. “You want everyone to know how Lenora got an abortion? Killed a creature of God because she decided to whore herself out?”

“Don’t you dar-”

“Then you know what to do,” Lee drops the gun but his grip on Arvin’s face stays. “Or I’ll make sure you never see daylight again.” Then he pushes his face away. “Go.”

Arvin rubs his cheeks and get up, throwing the chair across his office. He gives Lee a dirty look and mutters, “This ain’t over.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lee mutters back, taking the gun out of his pocket. Arvin freezes in fear and realizes Lee was not playing around. The sound of a car pulling up disrupts Lee and he puts the gun back in his pocket.

“You got lucky this time boy, can’t say the same for the next.”

Bonus:

Lee was waiting outside in his car outside of the bar his sister Sandy works at. Memories of him picking up prostitutes replay in his mind. He unwraps a taffy and stuff it in his mouth before opening the door. He throws the wrapper on the ground, stepping over the red cup right next to it.

All commotion stopped when Lee stepped in. He scanned around the room looking for the person that mattered the most right now.

“Sheriff Bodecker, what can I help you with?” Carl walks over to Lee, shaking his shoulders. “Need to take a load off?”

Lee immediately shakes his head no, “No I uh got it covered at home. I came here because I need a favor.”

Carl looks around the room and nods to the empty booth in the corner of the bar. They walk over and settle in. Sandy sees Lee was talking with Carl and drops the glasses she was cleaning to go over.

“Lee, what are you doin’ here?” Sandy asks, sitting right next to Carl.

“I have a situation I need to take care of and I need your help.”

“What will we get out of it,” Carl asks, leaning back onto the booth.

“Something that I think-” Lee says, pulling out an envelope out of his leather jacket and throwing it on the table. “That you’ll enjoy,” Carl grabs the envelope and opens it revealing cash.

“What do you need?”

Lee hung up the phone and grabbed the keys to his cruiser. How does she know Arvin? Was all he could think about the whole drive. He didn’t even realize he had already arrived, so he turned off the cruiser and stepped out of his car.

“Arvin put me down!” The girl over his shoulder playfully yelled followed by an array of melodic giggles. Lee couldn’t help but stare at the sight in front of him, it was playful and full of life. Arvin put the girl down once he noticed Lee was standing there.

“Hey sheriff, how are you?” Arvin asked, walking closer to Lee. The girl was right behind him almost as if he was hiding her.

‘Doin’ just fine boy, I’m here to pick up y/n, her mother said she would be here.” Lee was expecting a hormone raged teenage girl but instead was faced with an angel created by Aphrodite herself.

“That would be me,” You came behind Arvin and stuck your hand out for Lee to shake, “pleasure to meet you Sheriff Bodecker.”

Lee’s calloused hands encapture yours and shocks of electricity surge through him. You look at him with kind eyes and a genuine smile, things even your mother didn’t give him. As much as he wanted to let his eyes shamelessly wander your body he couldn’t, not with Arvin right in front of him.

“See you tomorrow Arvin,” You bid Arvin goodbye with a small wave and a toothy grin.

Arvin put his hands in his front pockets, giving you a sly smirk “See you tomorrow darlin’.” He turns to look at Lee and nods, “Have a nice evening Sheriff.” Lee acknowledges his goodbye by lifting his hat and guiding you back to the cruiser.

Him being the gentleman he is, he opens the door for you, mumbling a ‘watch your feet’ before going to the driver’s side. Awkward silence fills the air on the way back. Not even the radio helped fill the uncomfortable silence.

“So y/n…” Lee internally cringes at the tone of his voice. “How’s Knockemstiff treatin’ you?”

You shrug your shoulders, humming. “Well it ain’t bad so far. Tryin’ to get used to it again, been a real long time since I’ve been here.”

‘You’ve been here before?” Lee questions.

“I moved here when I was 13, stayed here for 2 years, then my momma sent me to the city to live with a relative.” You answer, clasping your hands in your lap. Lee hums at your response.

Lee turns his head to face you,“If anyone starts botherin’ you, you come to me and I’ll take care of it.” He mentions giving you a tight lipped smile.

“Thank you, sheriff.” You softly said.

Another silence falls upon the both of you. After a while you speak up, “Listen Sheriff Bodecker I ain’t trying to offend you but how old are you?”

“That came out of the blue,” Lee laughed, “mind me askin’ why?”

“Plain curiosity,” You answer, “don’t know much about you and it gives us a start.”

“Well if you must know, I'm 36.”

“36? Wow,” You gawked, turning your head quickly to meet Lee’s eyes. “You could be my daddy.”

During the first week of your stay, you didn’t see much of your mother. But you did see Lee more often than you thought you would. You guys were starting to get familiar with one another. At least enough to be able to carry a full conversation without there being any awkward silence.

It was Sunday morning, Lee had the day off and planned on staying home the entire day. Your mother on the other hand had to go to work and wasn’t coming home until late. For the third time this week.

You never left the bedroom in your pj’s, usually getting ready early in the morning to be able to go out by the time you finished your chores. But today was a completely different story. You walked out your room in your rose colored gown with roses covering the hem. The nightgown fit around your thigh perfectly, showing every curve and dip you had to offer.  You wore a black cardigan to give you some warmth.

Lee’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw you walk out in your nightwear. If he were a cartoon his jaw would’ve hit the floor. All those nights he would walk past your room, not letting his eyes wander in fear someone would catch him

“Mornin’ Sheriff,” you drawled, walking over to the kitchen. “How’d you sleep?”

“Just fine Dove,” Lee turns his head away from the t.v, “and you?”

“Just fine as well.” You pick up a peach from the fruit tray, taking a bite and letting the juices ooze from your lips. You let out a hum of satisfaction, rolling your eyes back. “God these taste like heaven.” Lee gulps and turns his head back to the t.v, avoiding your gaze.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?” You ask, setting the peach down and walking over to the living room.

“No,” he mumbles. “Your mom didn’t have time this mornin’”

“You hungry?” You turn around, walking back to the kitchen, grabbing the apron and putting it on.

“A little bit but you don’t have to cook Dove,” He replied, getting up from the couch to follow you. “We can go to the diner and ge-”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off. You open the fridge, bending over to grab some eggs. Your dress rides up revealing the bottom of your white cotton panties. You set the eggs on the counter and place your hand on your hips. “That food ain’t good for you, all full of grease, cloggin’ up your arteries.” You rant, theatrically moving your hands around.

You place your hands on his shoulder, guiding him to the dining table, “You just sit down,” you pull out a chair and let him settle in. “And let me take care of it.” As you headed back to the kitchen, Lee pushed the chair back enough to be able to fully see you in the kitchen.

Lee had thought about you, once. Or twice. Or just about everyday since you’ve gotten here. He would often drift off thinking about you, especially during work. He would often have to bring himself back to reality and tell himself to stop, you were his step daughter.

But right now, his daydreams were becoming reality.

He bit his lip to contain a groan as you bent over to grab a pan from the lower cupboards. You were trying to kill him, he was sure of it. The soft hums coming from you, the small swaying of your hips, all while cooking. He found his pants getting tighter with every second.

Relief washes over him for a split second as he adjusts himself under the table. He looks back at you and then at his hand. If he didn’t get relief soon, he was going to explode.

“Dove?” His voice falters, he emntally curses himself as he clears his throat.

“Yes sheriff?”

This time his voice didn’t falter and couldn't have been more clearer. “How long ‘til the foods ready?”

You look down at the food, moving it around with the spatula. “I’d say about 7 more minutes, sorry I’m takin’ long.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that Dove, take as long as you need.”

He fixes the tablecloth to make sure it was covering himself. Once he made sure the coast was clear, Lee quietly unzipped his pants. Then he lowered his pants along with his boxer down to his thigh, his cock springing up and hitting his stomach. The breeze from the window made him shudder.

He looks back at you one last time, making sure you aren’t turned around. Using his thumb he spreads the bead of precum and uses it as lube. The motion makes his breath hitch. He starts with slow firm strokes. His breaths get uneven with every stroke as he watches you in the kitchen.

He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach as his hand subconsciously goes faster. If he could, he would spend all his Sunday imagining you playing housewife for him. He watches you go on your tippy toes to grab the pitcher that was centimeters away from your fingertips. The groans and whimpers from your effort spur him on. The dress rides up and shows the curve of your ass.

He ruts into his hand as the heat becomes hotter and hotter. His release is coming faster than he imagined. You turn around with a pitcher of orange juice but Lee couldn’t stop his actions that you somehow didn’t notice. You place the pitcher in front of him, your tits coming right up to his face sent him over the edge. His eyes flutter shut and bites his lip hard when he cums.

Just as he was about to get up and clean the mess he made, you came sauntering over to the table with a hot plate of food. The smell of pancakes and eggs fill his nose as you place it in front of it, steam coming from the plate.

“I’m sorry if it tastes bad, I ain’t much of a cook but I sure did try.” You stand in front of him with your hands behind your back, watching him take a bite. You await for his approval as he downs the food with the fresh orange juice you made.

“Dove this is the best thing I’ve had in years,” He compliments, taking another bite of pancakes. “You ain’t gonna eat?”

“Not much of a breakfast person,” you admit. “Made this all for you, figured you needed it after workin’ so hard this week.”

He was sure he heard you wrong. The fantasy that was playing in his head as he jerked himself off mere feet from you actually happened. He pinched himself to make sure it wasn't a dream. All he's left thinking about is what other dreams can come true.

He will never live up to the name George left behind. He's a failure. Destroying the legacy that generations of Barnes men and women put into place. His empire is falling apart at the seams, and Bucky fears he doesn't have the strength to keep it together.

Deciding his mindset won't lead to any productivity today, he goes home. Seeing his men just makes him even angrier.

The drive home does nothing to dissipate his anger. When he gets there, he still can't shake off his frustration from today. Usually, his stress melts off the second he enters the home he shares with you, but the events of today are too heavy for him to drop.

You're in the kitchen when you hear him come home, and you're surprised when he doesn't call out to you straight away. You decide to give him some space. Maybe he's tired.

When he goes straight upstairs without looking for you downstairs first, you know something's off.

Patiently, you wait for him to return downstairs, not wanting to push him if he's seeking alone time. You know he's been feeling on edge recently with George's death anniversary fast approaching, and he needs to process his nuanced grief in his own way.

When you hear him go into the lounge, you walk in, refusing to leave him alone any longer. You walk in to see him sitting on the couch with a glass of whisky and his laptop on his lap.

"Hey, you," You greet him, expecting him to start complaining about his day and asking you to make it better.

He grunts.

That's it. That's all you get back.

"Shit, okay," You utter, not impressed by his blatant disrespect. "Dinner's gonna be ready in ten; I used the rest of the chicken to make enchiladas."

"Not hungry," He utters bluntly while typing on the keyboard.

Alright. You understand he can get into a bad mood sometimes and it's a tough time for him, but by now, he knows better than to take it out on you.

"You could at least look at me when I'm talking to you," You tell him sternly, patient no more.

"I'm busy, alright?" He spits harshly, taking you aback.

"Who the actual fuck do you think you're talking to, right now?" You ask him with a glare, appalled by his tone.

He slams his laptop shut and gets up to his feet. "Can you just leave me alone?" He seethes.

You see red. "Are you fucking kidding me?" You ask, storming over to him.

"Leave me alone, Y/N," He demands, using your real name for the first time in a long, long time. "I don't have time for your shit today, alright?"

"Don't be such a cunt," You yell, infuriated by the way he's talking to you.

Bucky takes a step closer to you, his eyes filled with fury. "Watch your fucking mouth, and get out of my sight, now," He yells back at you, stepping even closer as if he could ever intimidate you- as if you could ever believe he'd hit you.

It seems he's forgotten who you are to him. Who you are, full stop. So, you set out to remind him

You kick him in the balls.

He keels over with a groan immediately, falling to his knees at your feet. His cheeks flush pink as he falls onto his side, clutching his crotch with both hands like a pathetic piece of shit.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that, you fucking prick," You spit as you glare down at him. "I am your equal. You do not talk down to me or treat me like I am subordinate."

He blows out air through his gritted teeth, looking up at you. "Fa- fairy, I'm sorry."

"You may be the big bad Barnes out there, but in here, you are my husband. Remember that," You state frankly. "You do not intimidate me. I'm not a fucking punching bag."

"I am so sorry," Bucky says, as he slowly gets onto his knees. "Fairy, you know that it would never go that far. I would never lay a hand on you. No matter how angry I get."

"Maybe you've been thinking about your dad a lot recently, and you're trying to be more like him," You say coldly. "But it is not a man's place to disrespect his wife the way you just did."

"You're right," He says, looking up at you with wide eyes. "I fucked up. I shouldn't have-"

"I don't wanna hear it," You cut him off, taking a step back. "I'm going to Banita's. I'll be back when I want to be back."

"No, don't leave," Bucky begs you, shaking his head.

"Goodbye, James," You utter bluntly, before leaving the room.

don't mess with fairy >:-[

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You take no mind. Deep down, you know they could never understand just how deeply you and Bucky feel for each other. They don't realize how your relationship is stronger than they could fathom, built on the foundation of friendship and blossoming with each passing day. He isn't capable of betraying you.

But doubt has an ugly way of creeping in when it's not welcome.

"Who's she?" You ask Sam with a raised brow as you nod towards where Bucky's speaking warmly with a woman you don't recognize. She looks around fifteen years older than you and Bucky, and she's admittedly gorgeous.

Sam looks across the bar and seems surprised when he sees her. "Oh. That is, uh, an old friend of his. A very old friend; I haven't seen or heard about her since before he met you," He tells you.

"I see," You utter, trying not to let the irritation seep into your tone as they laugh together.

You're not a jealous wife - at least, you didn't think you'd be. Back when you were only friends, you would get horrifically jealous, but that was because you were so scared of losing him to someone else. Now, though, there's a ring on his finger signifying to the world that he's yours, and you're entirely secure in your marriage.

But something about her and the way she's looking at him irks you.

"Did they fuck?" You ask Sam, throwing casual out the window.

He lifts up his drink. "No," He tells you. "Not to my knowledge, anyway."

You turn to him and raise a brow.

"They didn't," He doubles down more firmly. "Agatha helped us out when we were in trouble a few years ago. Sure, they flirted, but you know him. He'd flirt with a brick wall. Nothing ever happened between them."

That brings you solace - until you recount the whole story to your nail woman.

"Oh, no. Oh, no, no," Josefina utters, shaking her head.

"What?" You ask with a frown.

"They haven't slept together," She says gravely, looking up at you as she files your nails. "Means they'll be still be curious as to what it would be like."

"Jamie doesn't waste his time thinking about what sex would be like with other women," You tell her curtly.

"All men think about is what sex will be like with every woman they encounter, whether they're happily married or not- it's only natural," She claims. "But when the women in question are thinking the same thing, that's the danger zone. Who is this woman, what's the history?"

"She's in the same line of work as him, to my knowledge," You tell her. "Helped Jamie almost a decade ago, and now she's resurfaced out of nowhere."

Josefina nods slowly before looking back down at your nails. "I'll file these into claws, just in case."

The first time Bucky lies to your face is on a late Thursday night.

"You shouldn't have waited up for me, fairy," He says as he wraps his arms around you.

"I didn't wanna eat without you," You tell him honestly as you take a bite from the bowl of pasta you're sharing.

"Missed you today," He mumbles against your forehead before opening his mouth to let you feed him.

"Missed you more," You say before turning to him. "How was your day?"

"Uh, it was fine," He replies with his eyes on the food. "Just been balancing the books with Alex and Sam. Took a little longer than I expected."

Your blood runs cold. Just an hour ago, Sam dropped by to see you. He didn't mention anything about being with Bucky tonight - in fact, he seemed surprised to hear Bucky wasn't home.

"Oh, Aggie? She's helping us get into Chicago," He tells you casually. "She's got good connections there, and you know how I've always wanted Chicago."

You can't help but be straight up with him - he may be able to lie to your face, but you can't hold back when there's something you want to know. "Who's that woman?" You ask him curtly. "She seems to be at the bar quite a bit."

Aggie. Your eye twitches at the nickname that leaves his mouth so easily. Does he think about fucking her? Was he with her tonight?

"What are you giving her in return?" You ask him curiously.

"She's a good friend; she hasn't asked for anything," Bucky explains before taking another bite. "I'm sure there'll be an opportunity for me to help her out in the future, though. Heck, by now, I must owe her a hundred favors."

"She seems nice," You say with as much sincerity as you can muster. "I'd like to properly meet her."

You almost regret telling him that.

The next day, you're checking the stock in one of the warehouses when he shows up with her. The idea of her sitting in his passenger seat, where you'd usually sit, makes your stomach churn.

Stop it. You trust him.

"Fairy, this is Agatha Harkness," He says with a smile. "Aggie, this is my beautiful wife, Y/N."

"I've heard so much about you," She tells you with a smile as she holds her hand out to you. "The fact that you tamed James must mean you're an incredible woman. I'm in awe of you."

Oh, it's James now?

You take in a deep breath and do well to shake her hand rather than claw her eyes out. Fucking James.

Somehow, you manage to force a smile. "Can't say I've heard anything about you, Agatha," You can't help but say.

She shoots him a smirk. "I don't blame him; there's not really much to say."

"You're being modest," Bucky says with a chuckle before looking over to you. "Aggie is very good at what she does. She could sell a machine gun to the Dalai Lama."

Your hand slips into his, subconsciously staking your claim.

"I met James when he was only seventeen," She tells you with a smile. "He's grown into such a handsome young man - but I'm not surprised. He's always been gorgeous."

Inwardly cringing as you try to mentally work out how old she must've been back then, you squeeze Bucky's hand. He gives you a cheeky wink, one that would usually elicit a giggle from you, but you can't help but feel ill.

The first time you imagine them fucking, you're disgusted with yourself.

"What's wrong, fairy?" Bucky asks you between heavy breaths while you scramble to sit on the edge of the bed.

You shake your head, trying desperately to get the image out of your head. Think about rainbows. Butterflies. Puppies.

"Baby, talk to me," He mumbles, gently rubbing your back. "Everything okay?"

It happened against your will - you didn't want to think about Bucky having sex with another woman. But as you were riding him, as his head fell back and the groans left his mouth, you couldn't help but wonder.

How could you?

Looking over at him, into his deep blue eyes, you feel absolutely awful. How could you ever think he could hurt you in that way?

"You okay, fairy?" He mumbles softly, gently stroking your arm. "Something I can do? Need me to fuck off?"

Looking over at him, meeting his shiny eyes, you can't help but be disgusted with yourself. After seven months of marriage and nine years of friendship, you know him better than you know himself. You know his character.

"I'm okay," You find the energy to say. "Just..."

"You're alright," He says, placing a soft kiss to your cheek. He doesn't need an explanation - you want to stop having sex, and that doesn't need a reason. More than anything, he's your safe space, and he'd never push you out of your comfort zone during such an intimate moment. The bedroom is where you're both most vulnerable, and Bucky understands that sometimes, it can feel too intense, and you need a break.

And you know all this. Which is why you're so angry at yourself for doubting his loyalty, for allowing yourself to picture such a horrid scene. He wouldn't. He couldn't betray you.

You're starting to see Bucky less and less during the days, and you can't help but spiral. As you lay next to him in bed, your mind wanders to dark places.

He's on his Kindle and you're staring up at the ceiling. His arm's around your shoulder, fingers gently stroking your skin.

Why hasn't he made a move on you yet? He's usually all over you when he hasn't seen you all day. Could it be he's already been satisfied tonight?

Stop. How could you think like that?

"Fairy?" He whispers suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts. "What you thinking about, baby?"

You turn on your side to look at him. "You," Is your truthful answer.

"Yeah?" He asks with a smirk, putting away his Kindle before turning to you and resting his hand on your waist. "What about me?"

"Wondering why we aren't fucking yet," You admit simply.

He raises his brows and shuffles in closer to you. "Well, to be honest, after the other night... I thought I should give you some space. I didn't wanna push you," He tells you.

"Oh, that?" You ask with a soft laugh. "No, that was just a random blip. I want you, Jamie. Want you really bad."

"Yeah?" He asks, taking your hands and pinning them above your head, slowly nestling between your legs. "Is that right, fairy?"

"Mhm," You hum, craning your neck up, desperate to get a kiss from him.

"All you had to do was ask, pretty girl," Bucky mumbles before kissing you deeply. It feels safe, and secure, and like nothing has changed between you.

One of his hands trails down your body and between your legs, before it slips under your panties. He continues kissing you while rubbing your clit, making you whimper into his mouth.

"I missed you," You whisper as your back arches.

"I missed you too, fairy," Bucky says lowly, his hard cock digging into your thigh. Before you can beg him to fuck you, though, you hear the worst sound in the world.

His phone rings.

"Ugh, turn it off," You whine, the jarring sound going straight through you. "Why isn't it on silent mode?"

Bucky lifts his head up, his lips parted. "Shit. I've been waiting to hear back on something important," He tells you, making your blood run cold.

"James, if you answer that call, I swear to God..." You trail off, glaring at him.

"I'm sorry, fairy. Give me five minutes," He says before getting off of you and grabbing his phone from the nightstand.

You stare up at the ceiling, seething. The only thing worse than him answering a call with his fingers in your panties would be if the person on the other side was-

"Aggie, hey," He answers, making your hand twitch.

Immediately, you get off the bed and storm into the en-suite, making sure to slam the door behind you. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Have you lost it? Are you not as beautiful to him as you used to be? Is he bored of you?

There was a time when Bucky would let the city burn just so he could look at you. When the sound of his phone ringing would melt into the background if his lips were on yours. When he'd do anything just for a chance to look at you a little longer. What he just did was a betrayal of every promise he's made you. Maybe you're being dramatic, but it's he who set the precedent. Telling you nothing would ever come above you, that he'd rather die than hurt you.

When you re-enter the bedroom, he's hanging up the phone. You stare coldly at him. "How could you do that?" You ask him.

His face softens. "I'm sorry, fairy, it was-"

"I don't give a fuck what it was about, you don't do that. Not to me," You cut him off.

"Can I explain myself?" He asks, the frustration in his tone only pissing you off further.

"Shut the fuck up, don't talk to me like that," You retort, pointing your finger at him. "You're a fucking asshole. Go."

"Go?" He repeats with raised brows.

"Yeah. Get the fuck out, because you're not sleeping in here with me tonight," You tell him curtly.

It looks as though he's about to say something else, maybe even argue with you, but instead, he takes in a deep breath and leaves the room.

The next morning, you wake up just as angry as you were when you fell asleep. It was a shitty night, tossing and turning and constantly waking up, your hands reaching out for a warmth that wasn't there.

After showering and getting dressed, you head downstairs. Your plan is to be out of the house all day so you don't have to speak to Bucky, but just as you get to the kitchen to make yourself a quick drink, you're taken aback by what you see.

The island in the middle of the kitchen is covered in gift-wrapped boxes, baskets of your favorite foods and self-care items, and bouquets of flowers. You roll your eyes. It won't be that easy to win your forgiveness. You begin to walk straight over to the sink, but a familiar smell stops you in your tracks, right by the corner of the island.

Looking down, you see a platter of pastries from your favorite local bakery. You suck in a sharp breath. Ignore it. Walk away. Leave.

But they look so fresh.

Fuck it. With a huff, you grab a beignet and take a bite, your eyes fluttering shut at the softness and sweetness. While you chew, a pair of hands rest on your hips.

"I love you. I'm so, so sorry," Bucky says lowly, resting his chin on your shoulder as his arms wrap tightly around you. "I was an asshole. Shouldn't have done that to you, and I never will again."

Sighing, you turn to face him. "You think some sweet treats and flowers are gonna make me happy?" You ask him with a raised brow.

"I also got you that bracelet you've been eyeing up," He points out, resting his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry. I know saying it isn't enough but I need you to know that I mean it. I love you."

"Yeah," Is all you give him back before you continue eating the beignet.

"Let me take you to brunch, fairy, wherever you want," He requests, rubbing your hips. "And then we can go to the bar and celebrate Vinnie's 21st with the guys. What do you say?"

Looking up into his eyes, you nod. "Alright," You whisper.

His hands slip down to your ass and he leans down and kisses you softly. "You, uh... think we have time for a quickie, first?" He asks carefully.

With a scoff, you push him away. "In your fucking dreams, Barnes," You say with a glare, before taking a few steps towards the door. "Let's see how I'm feeling after brunch."

Though you weren't in the mood for sex after brunch, you did let Bucky eat you out on the way to the bar. It almost made you forget why you were ever mad at him, but when you get to the bar and see Agatha among the others, you're in a mood again.

Sam sits next to you while you watch Bucky speaking to Vinnie, likely giving him a lecture about being a man and taking on more responsibilities. Agatha lingers around them, making your fingers twitch.

"All good?" Sam asks you as he refills your glass with whisky.

"Meh," You let out, sinking back in your seat.

"What's wrong, hmm?" He presses, nudging your shoulder with his.

"Nothing; I'm being dramatic," You tell him before turning to him and lowering your voice. "Swear to me that this conversation stays between us?"

"Like every conversation we have," He replies, frowning. "What's going on?"

You let out a deep sigh. "I'm jealous," You admit, as painful as it is.

"Jealous? Of who?" He pushes incredulously.

"Alright, maybe jealous is the wrong word, because there's nothing about her I'm jealous of," You backtrack, malice seeping into your voice. "That fucking Agatha. I don't like her. Don't trust her."

Sam raises his brows and sits back, realization on his face. "Oh," He says simply, letting a short silence sit between you before he speaks again. "Her and Bucky are close."

"Yeah, no shit," You spit.

"Do you really think he'd do that to you?" Sam questions you.

"No," You answer immediately. "But I don't doubt she'd try."

"And that's all it would ever be," He assures you. "And the second she oversteps, she's out of here. Bucky wouldn't disrespect you by keeping someone like that around."

You hum, nodding slowly. He's right. Of course he's right.

"Anyway," Sam continues. "How's everything else? Your friends all good?"

Confused by his sudden interest in your girlfriends, you narrow your eyes at him. "Uh, yeah," You reply. "Why?"

"No, just making sure," He claims. "Y'know, one of yours is one of us. Gotta make sure everyone's eating good."

"They're eating good," You assure him, before his words remind you of something that makes you grin. "Banita is definitely eating good. She's finally not feeling sick anymore, and she's got all these weird pregnancy cravings, and a huge appetite."

"Oh, Banita, yeah," He breathes out. "How far along is she, now?"

"Seven months," You tell him with a smile. "It's the baby shower in a few weeks, and I'm so excited. It's gonna be so cute!"

"Are we invited?" He asks, surprising you. "Y'know, just to keep an eye on you guys, make sure you're safe."

"Uh, it's kind of like a women-only thing, and it's only a small thing at Banita's house, so no need for security guards," You explain. "But I'll bring you some leftover cake."

Sam nods. "Thanks. Appreciate it."

You sit back in your chair again, and glance over at where Bucky was talking to Vinnie. He's now talking to Agatha, much to your dismay. They're laughing.

"Like, what could they be talking about that's that funny?" You wonder out loud, shaking your head.

Sam snorts at you.

"What?" You ask him with a glare.

"It's just funny," He comments. "I remember back when Bucky would say shit like that about the guys you'd talk to. God, it was so frustrating how jealous he'd get. And he'd take it out on us whenever you had a date with someone else, so thanks for that." With a small smile, Sam looks over at you. "That man went through hell every day that you weren't his. I'd be damned if he screwed it up now that he's got you. You're too important to him, boss."

You continue looking at Bucky as he speaks to Agatha. Sam is right. You should listen to Sam. Stop letting your twisted mind overthink and drive you crazy. Bucky has more than earned your trust.

So why is he not moving her hand off his arm?

The final straw breaks you a week later.

Bucky had a long meeting with a supplier. You wanted to join him, seeing as you're trying to get more involved with the business, but he said he didn't want you there - that it might get ugly. He told you only him and Sam were going in, and it was going to be a difficult, tense conversation.

Naturally, you're concerned for him - even more so when you get a call from Sam at 10pm. Oh God. This is it. He's gonna tell you Bucky's dead.

"Hello?" You ask with a whisper.

"Hey, you," Sam replies, and it sounds like he's been drinking. "Uh, I was thinking about... what you said the other day. About Banita-"

"Sam, where are you?" You cut him off. "Are you not with James right now?"

"Huh? Nah, I'm at the bar," He tells you. "Haven't seen Buck all day."

"All day?" You repeat, your heart thudding in your chest. "But... uh, isn't he meeting with Novikov tonight?"

"What? No, that meeting isn't until next month," Sam tells you, making your blood run cold.

"Oh," You utter, feeling sick to your stomach.

"Is Bucky not home? I thought-"

"No, he- he just rolled up to the house, actually," You claim, not wanting Sam to be suspicious. "I'm just being dumb; I forgot he had gone out on an errand and mixed up the date of the meeting. But he's back now, so, mystery over."

"Oh, good," Sam replies. "Anyway, I really need to talk to you about Bani-"

"I gotta go, Sam, I'll talk to you later," You say in a hushed, rushed voice, hanging up on him and sinking to the floor of your bedroom.

Before your mind gets a chance to overthink, you quickly call Bucky. Why would he lie to you about having to work tonight? Where has he been all day?

It rings three times before he picks up.

"Hey, fairy," He answers. "Everything alright?"

"Where are you?" You ask him, giving him a chance to come clean.

Maybe he didn't mean to lie to you - maybe he mixed the date of the meeting up himself, and right now, he's about to give you a perfectly good explanation about where he is and what he's doing.

"I told you, I've got a late meeting with Novikov," He says, making your heart drop.

"Oh. With- is Sam there, too?" You ask, your voice no louder than a whisper.

"Yeah, he is," He lies straight to you.

You lean back against the bed, your breaths shaky. "Okay," You utter.

"Are you sure you're okay, fairy?" Bucky asks you.

Clinging onto your t-shirt, you part your lips in a silent scream. Yell at him. Tell him you know he's lying. Demand him to tell you the truth.

And then you hear it. It's faint, but the silence between you allows you to make out exactly what it is: the sound of a woman laughing. And you'd put money on who that woman is.

"I'm fine. I'm going to sleep," You say, numb.

"Alright. I'll probably end up staying at the office until the early morning so I might not see you until tomorrow, baby," He tells you, making your guts churn.

"Okay," You squeak. "Good night."

"Good night, fairy. I love you," Bucky says, and it sounds exactly like he's always said it.

You hang up and throw your phone at the wall before bursting into thick, ugly sobs.

Bucky gets home earlier than he thought he would. It's just past 1am when he walks through the front door, and he's surprised to hear music from the living room. He thought you would be fast asleep in bed by now.

He takes off his shoes and makes his way to the living room, expecting to see you passed out on the couch with one of your shitty reality TV shows playing, but the sight he gets is much, much different.

As he walks in, he immediately kicks over an empty bottle of wine, which makes him stop in his tracks. He sees you sitting in the middle of the carpet, wearing your wedding dress, holding another half-empty bottle of wine, with your head hung down. Your wedding video is playing on the TV.

"What is going on?" He utters, walking over to you. "Baby? Are you okay?"

You look up at him, and it looks like you've been crying for hours.

Bucky sinks to his knees and places his hands on your shoulders. "Hey, hey, fairy, it's me," He whispers. "What's going on, hmm? How come you're in your dress?"

He can tell by the look on your face that you're far too drunk to give him a reasonable answer.

"Okay, come on, let's go to bed," Bucky says, taking the wine bottle from your hands and placing it on the coffee table. He then grabs the remote from the table and turns off the TV.

"I know what you did," You suddenly say, your words slurred.

Bucky frowns down at you. "What?" He asks, stroking your arm. "What do you mean, fairy?"

"I know you fucked Agatha," You cry out. "You're having an affair, aren't you?"

His face falls and his voice turns cold. "What the fuck are you talking about, Y/N?"

With a hiccup, you let out a whimper before your eyes slowly flutter shut, and you pass out.

The next morning, you wake up feeling like you've been hit by a truck.

You wince as you clamber out of bed, the bright light in the bathroom making you cringe while you brush your teeth. The only thing keeping you from hiding in bed is the smell of breakfast, which lures you downstairs and into the kitchen.

Bucky's at the stove, making pancakes.

"Good morning, Jay," You mumble, trying to remember the gap in your memories from last night. The last thing you remember is eating dinner with Bucky before he left for work.

"Morning," He replies, placing the last pancake onto the stack before turning off the gas and turning to face you.

You sit at the island while he slides over a glass of orange juice and some Advil. "Thank you," You whisper.

Bucky puts a couple of pancakes on your plate before serving himself. You're sipping on your juice when he finally speaks again. "So, how come you drank last night?" He asks you.

"Huh? Oh, I guess I figured I was home alone all night, so I had a couple of glasses," You suggest, trying to put the pieces together yourself.

"You said some fucked up shit," Bucky says as he cuts into his pancakes.

"I did? Oh, no, nothing too freaky, right?" You ask with a laugh.

He looks up to meet your eyes, no hint of humor in his. "You accused me of having an affair with Agatha," He tells you bluntly.

And just like that, it all comes rushing back. You remember exactly why you drank so much, and exactly why Bucky seems so upset.

"Oh," You utter dumbly, not knowing what else to say.

The silence that sits between you is cold and heavy. The kind you want desperately to fill with words, only you don't know which ones to use.

"Fairy... what the fuck?" Bucky utters, pain in his eyes. "Where did that come from?"

You bite your lip, wincing. "I just... you've been gone so much lately. Lying about where you are. And she wants you, I know she does. Sam told me the meeting with Novikov isn't until next month, and... it's not the first time you've lied to me about where you've been," You say, terrified.

He lets out a deep sigh as he processes your words. "It's... it's your birthday tomorrow," He says.

For a moment, you say nothing. And then the realization hits you harder than your hangover. Your birthday. He's been planning for it. With everyone going on with the businesses, you assumed you wouldn't be able to do anything special for the day - but how could you ever believe that Bucky would settle for less than special?

You slap your hands over your mouth and immediately burst into tears. Ugly sobs rattle through your chest, making your head hurt even more.

"Baby. Baby. Don't cry," He says as he walks around the counter.

"How- how could I ever think that of you?" You manage to choke out, your words almost unintelligible. "You're so perfect and I... I doubted you in the worst way. How could I do that to you?"

"Come here, my darling, it's alright," He assures you as he holds you tight, rocking you back and forth. He continues comforting you while your tears subdue, your breaths choppy as you sniffle.

He doesn't say anything, simply hugging you and stroking your hair, kissing your forehead, wiping away your tears. Once your sobs have ceased and your breathing is back to normal, he smiles down at you.

"Look at me. Marriage is scary, okay?" He begins. "We're both doing this for the first time. We're not gonna be perfect. All I can promise you is that I will never betray you-"

"You don't have to say that, Jamie," You cry. "You shouldn't need to say that."

"I want to say it," He assures you. "I want you to hear it. I may act stupid at times, or say the wrong thing-"

"You're never wrong, you're perfect," You cut in, clinging onto his shirt. "I'm evil."

"Evil?" He repeats with a scoff. "Baby, I know evil, okay? I've looked evil in the fucking eye. You are not that. You are my darling girl. My fairy. I- it's my fault for keeping secrets-"

"You were just trying to surprise me-"

"Still, I shouldn't have lied to your face," He says. "I felt sick whenever I did. Hated it. But... I just wanted to see your face when you saw it tomorrow."

Your face crumples again. "I ruined the surprise," You whine.

"You didn't ruin it; you still don't know what it is," Bucky points out. "I went too far with trying to keep it a secret. Ended up hurting you, which I never want to do."

"But I should've just trusted you," You say, shaking your head. "How could I think that of you?"

"I made it pretty easy for you to jump to that conclusion," He says, rubbing your shoulder. "I should've known you'd realize I was hiding something."

With a pout, you look up at him. "I'm sorry I ruined my surprise," You say.

He frowns down at you. "Hey, you don't know exactly what it is yet, do you?" He asks as his lips curl up. "You're still gonna be blown away, fairy. You deserve to be spoiled, especially on your birthday, and I'll make sure of it."

"You spoil me every day," You say with an eye roll.

"Because I love you every day," Bucky replies before placing a kiss on your shoulder. "Now, eat. My pancakes aren't as good when they're cold."

While he reaches out to grab his plate and takes a seat next to you, you turn to face him. "So, if you were planning my surprise this whole time... why did you have to speak to Agatha so late at night?" You wonder curiously. "She also seems to be awfully comfortable touching up on you."

With a bite of pancakes in his mouth, Bucky chews while smirking at you, a look of surprise on his face. When he swallows, he leans in. "Baby, are you jealous?" He asks, delight in his eyes.

Shooting him a glare, you put your fork down. "I don't get jealous, Barnes. I was irritated that she was touching my property," You correct him curtly.

"Your property?" He repeats with a laugh. "Fuck. You know it turns me on when you get all possessive, pretty girl."

"Well, stop, because I'm being serious," You say, poking his chest. "I don't want her grabbing your arm, hugging you, fucking giggling in your ear - calling you late at night. You're not her piece of meat. You're mine."

Bucky wraps his arm around you with a cheesy grin. "Keep talking like that, I'll need you to prove it right here and now," He grumbles against your lips.

You push him back with a scoff. "Get a fucking grip," You tell him sternly. "I need you to be serious. Why was she calling you so late? Why did I hear her laughing when you were at your fake Novikov meeting last night?"

He pulls back and drops the smirk, knowing you're not playing games. "Aggie-"

You throw him the coldest glare you can muster.

"Agatha," He corrects himself. "Was helping me plan your surprise."

"The fuck does an arms dealer have to do with birthdays?" You question him incredulously.

"She has a lot of good contacts-"

"What are you gonna do, shoot me?" You ask, to which he snorts.

"No, baby, she's just very well connected, even more so than me," He tells you. "And I know she can be a little... forward, but I swear to you, she never crossed the line. I'd have cut her off the second she tried anything."

Letting out a huff, you look away from him.

"I love you," Bucky says, squeezing you tightly in his grip. "I love you so, so much. And I can't wait to see your face tomorrow."

"Y'know what I want most for my birthday?" You turn and ask him, to which he nods eagerly.

"Anything," He replies instantly. "Name it and it's yours, my love."

"For her to be gone," You tell him bluntly. "Out of New York."

He laughs, but you're not joking. "Fairy, I know it isn't ideal, but I need to finish this deal with her," He explains. "Just one more week, and Chicago will be putty in my hands. And then I never have to see her again."

Maintaining your glare, you sigh. "Fine. Whatever," You huff.

"Now, what was it you were saying about me being yours?" Bucky asks, nestling his face in your neck. "What did you call me, again? Your property? Your piece of meat?"

Your hands rest on top of his which stroke your hips, and he pressed soft kisses to your neck, not stopping until you let out a moan, at which point you can feel his grin again your skin.

"Why don't you prove it, fairy?"

eek sorry to cockblock but this was getting reallllly long (also writing smut feels like a chore rn)

hope you enjoyed this installment! also someone requested a jealous!bucky which I'm SO EXCITED TO WRITE so stay tuned for that <3

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Bucky shakes his hand, smiling back at him. "Thank you so much, Stefan," He says warmly.

"Please, follow me!" Stefan requests as he points towards a fleet of cars. "Your private driver for the duration of your trip will be Matteo; I hope you find him acceptable."

He leads you to a black Rolls Royce, outside of which whom you assume can only be Matteo is standing. Bucky shares a few words with him before helping you get in the car, while your heart races.

"James," You whisper as the car door shuts behind him. "You really brought me to Switzerland for our honeymoon?"

He pulls you closer while the partition rolls up, with that arrogant smirk on his face you so love. "Am I not your best fuckin' friend?" He asks with a scoff. "Do I not know you better than anyone else?"

Absolutely enamored by his adoration and thoughtfulness, you cling to him. "You're the best husband I've ever had," You say dreamily, leaning up to kiss him.

"I love you, Jamie," You reply sweetly after resting your head on his chest.

He kisses you deeply, cupping your face in his hands and pulling you closer. His tongue strokes yours, sending shivers down your spine. "I love you, Mrs. Barnes," Bucky whispers against your lips.

The rest of the car ride is spent in a blissful peace, as you look out the window at the gorgeous views. Bucky presses kisses to your cheek and neck while you gape at the stunning landscape. Having only ever seen Switzerland in pictures, you feel like you're dreaming now that you're right in the middle of the real thing.

Matteo drives you to a private villa, and you're thankful that there's nobody waiting to greet you here. The luxury chalet awaits you, standing tall and magnificent. While Matteo takes your bags inside, you take in the view of the massive building, in awe.

"Do you like it?" Bucky asks you, placing a hand on the small of your back. "Or would you rather we stay somewhere else?"

Letting out a dry laugh, you gawk at him. "Are you kidding? This is incredible, Jamie!"

He grins widely while taking you inside. "I'm glad you think so, fairy," He says while walking into the house.

"I hope the villa is to your liking, Mrs. Barnes," Matteo calls out as he comes back down the wide staircase.

"And what about my liking?" Bucky asks him teasingly, raising a brow.

Reaching you, Matteo grins. "If Mrs. Barnes is happy, then so is Mr. Barnes," He tells him while patting his shoulder. "And this is the beauty of marriage!"

The two of you laugh with him before he takes his leave, leaving you and Bucky alone. In a private villa. On your honeymoon.

Bucky attacks you almost immediately, throwing you over his shoulder and bounding up the stairs. You squeal with joy as he races up to the master bedroom, undeniably excited about what's to transpire.

He gently lays you down on the bed, smiling coyly at you. Standing up straight, he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes it off, and his shirt is quick to follow.

"Why are you taking your clothes off?" You ask him innocently, tilting your head.

Bucky takes a few steps back. "Because," He begins teasingly. "We need to get dressed for dinner."

Your face falls. "Huh?"

"C'mon, fairy, I bought you the most beautiful dress to wear tonight," He says, opening the closet to reveal a lone dress hanging there. "You're making your first official debut as my wife; this is a special occasion."

Standing up from the bed, you take a few slow steps towards him. "But, Jamie..." You trail off shyly, running your finger down his bicep.

"Yeah, baby?" He asks with a frown, cupping your face. "What is it?"

"I..." Your voice lowers as you blink up at him, addicted to his body heat as his bare chest begs you to touch him. "I wanna..."

"Tell me what you want, fairy," Bucky coos, knowing exactly what he's doing.

"I wanna have sex," You mumble, gently pulling on his arm. "Now."

A wide grin grows on his lips as he folds his big arms across his chest. "You have to be patient-"

"No," You whine, bouncing on your heels. "Now, Jamie!"

"Baby," He utters lowly, cupping your cheeks in his hand. "We're having a nice dinner first."

"Jamie-"

"Fairy," His voice is cold and stern, and pulls you right out of you bratty attitude. "We are going to dinner," He repeats firmly as his eyes darken. "If you want daddy to fuck you tonight, you're gonna be my good little wife and listen to what I say, the first time I say it. Got it?"

Your breath hitches in your throat and you want him more than ever before. "Jamie..."

He raises a brow, and it's enough to shake you to your core.

"Yes, daddy," You say quickly. "I understand."

A small smile blooms on his face and his eyes soften. "That's my good girl. Now, go ahead and get ready. Our reservation's for 5."

With that, he slaps your ass before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving you with parted lips and a racing heartbeat.

There are many times in life that you've felt overwhelmed by beauty, most of them in places where Bucky has taken you, but none hold a candle to where he has brought you this time.

Matteo drove you to a castle, which was extravagant enough before a butler lead you through the halls and into a large room, the ceiling of which is made entirely of glass. In this dome-like chamber, you have a perfect view of the night sky, snowflakes falling as the stars glisten. You and Bucky sit at a table in the middle of the room while a small orchestra plays soft music to the side.

"Jamie," You breathe out as your heart flutters. "You have truly outdone yourself."

He smiles warmly, holding his hand out to you as he glances upwards. "It's pretty, isn't it?" He comments lowly, before looking back down at you. "And being here with such a beautiful woman only makes it better."

"How smooth, Mr. Barnes," You say with a smirk.

Lifting up your hand, he places a soft kiss to the back of it before shooting you a wink. "Hungry?" He asks you.

"Starving," You admit. And, right on cue, a door opens and in walk a line of waiters. They place plates of food onto the table and one of them tops up your wine.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. I am Chef Hans, and I present to you the very best of Swiss food," The butler announces with a warm smile. "I do hope it exceeds your expectations."

"It looks lovely," You say with wide eyes. "Thank you so much!"

"Thank you, Hans," Bucky says, giving him a nod before the chef leaves along with the others.

"This is all incredible, James," You say, shaking your head. "It's too much."

"Too much? For my fairy?" He asks with a scoff. "Baby, you're my wife. There is absolutely no limit to what I'd do for you."

After indulging in the food and wine, you find yourself on Bucky's lap, your fingers entwined with his soft hair.

"You are so wonderful," You whisper into his ear. "My wonderful, wonderful husband."

"Always yours," He promises with a firm grip on your thigh. "And you'll always be mine."

"Prove it," You coax him slyly, trailing a finger down his chest. "Show me I'm yours."

His grip tightens and his eyes darken at your request. Thirty minutes later, you're back at the villa.

"It's our first night together, Jamie," You say nervously while the two of you make your way up the wide staircase.

"We've spent the night together plenty of times," Bucky reminds you with a smirk as you drag him into the bedroom.

With warmed cheeks, you turn to him and drape your arms over his shoulders. "But we've never had sex," You point out coyly.

Wincing, Bucky grabs your hips and pulls you closer. "I am painfully, painfully aware of that," He utters, resting his forehead against yours. "You've made me wait so long."

"You could've had me the night we met," You admit to him. "But you didn't try hard enough."

His eyes narrow as he walks forward, pushing you closer to the bed. "You're lying," He mumbles.

"Nuh-uh," You say through a grin. "I would've done anything for you, from that first moment."

"Anything, hmm?" He repeats with a quirked brow. "That's nice to hear, baby. Say it again."

"I'd do anything for you," You reiterate, bringing up your knee and gently brushing it against his boner. "Anything, daddy."

He swallows thickly and cups your face in his hands, tilting your head up. "That's my good girl," Bucky says lowly, stroking your cheeks. "Take off your dress."

You slip out of his grip and push him onto the bed, letting him sit back and watch you strip down. His eyes are glued to your body, observing the way you push the thin straps off your shoulders before letting the dress fall to the ground, leaving you in your lace bra and underwear.

Looking you up and down, Bucky clenches his jaw, a raw delight filling his eyes. "I'm so fucking glad you're finally mine," He mumbles, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer. "There's nowhere else you belong besides right here with me. Say it."

"There's nowhere else I belong, Bucky," You pledge, blinking up at him. "I'm entirely yours, forever and always."

He kisses you deeply, unable to hold back any longer. Years of tension and secret feelings have built up to this, to now. To Switzerland, the night after you stood before your loved ones and promised to love each other for the rest of your lives. Though Bucky expected tonight to be timid and slow, he realizes when you suck on his tongue that it will be anything but. Timid and slow be damned; you need to be fucked by him, now, and hard.

"Please don't make me wait any longer," You whine, digging your nails into his shoulders.

Bucky looks down at you with a whisper of a smirk. Having forgotten the meaning of patience, he needs nothing more than to take you. And so, he does.

After roughly tossing you onto the bed, he gets on top of you, grabbing your knees and spreading them apart. He slots himself between them, and somewhere within the desperate kisses, you both remove your underwear. You gasp when you feel his hard cock press against your thigh, and wetness pools between your legs.

"I wanna - fuck," He groans as his cock brushes against your pussy, a pained look on his face. "I wanted to take my time with you, fairy-"

"Just fuck me," You cut him off curtly, wrapping your hands around his neck and giving him a stern look. "Now."

"Shit," He whispers, quickly fumbling to bring his dick to your entrance. Your heart skips a beat as you feel him begin to push into you, every inch of your skin on fire. It's been a long time since you've had sex, and the fact that it's with Bucky is only intensifying your excitement. "Think you can take all of me, baby?" He asks you as he slowly inches into you, his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flutter shut.

"Yes, daddy," You reply breathlessly, arching your back against the mattress as he stretches you out.

Once he finally bottoms out, Bucky lets out a groan, falling forward to rest his forehead against yours. "Is this a dream?" He asks you in a daze. "Am I about to wake up?"

Smiling, you cup his cheeks in your hand. "Fuck me like you are," You dare him. "This might be your only chance, James."

He shudders before gathering himself with a look of determination. Fuck, you're right. This might be a dream. Driven by his fear that this could end any second, Bucky begins to fuck you, plowing into you hard and fast. Your stomach flips with every thrust, and you can barely let out a moan, let alone a coherent word.

"Oh, fuck," He growls, bringing his hand up to your mouth. "You feel better than I've ever imagined. Taking my cock so well, being such a good girl for me."

A string of squeals leaves your mouth and you tighten your grip on his neck, blinded by pleasure. Bucky slips his fingers into your open mouth, fucking your face with his digits. When you gag, he feels your cunt flutter around him, making him smirk.

"You like sucking, don't you?" He asks you teasingly. "Makes you feel good?"

You nod as best you can, moaning as your drool spills out and down your chin. Swirling your tongue around his fingers, you suck them hard, before accidentally biting down on them when he hits your g-spot.

"Fuck," He grumbles, clenching his jaw as eyes darken. "Do that again."

Gently, you graze your teeth against his fingers, scared to go too hard. He notices that you're holding back, and instead resorts to fucking you harder and faster to get what he wants. Instinctively, you bite him again, making him groan through his grin.

"You're so fucking sexy," Bucky moans as his cock, coated in your wetness, slams in and out of you. It feels better than sex ever has before, and you know it's because of how perfectly you belong together. Getting what you've been wanting after being patient for so long only makes the reward sweeter.

Bucky lets out groans with each thrust, unable to stop himself from speeding up. Neither of you have any patience left, and it shows in the desperate noises that leave your mouths. You're both stuck in a daze of pleasure, nearing your ends. You feel like you're on fire, every part of you reveling in delight. He's Bucky and he's your best friend and he's your husband, and nobody could ever change that.

"I'm close," You whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

"Fuck, you gonna cum for me, fairy?" He asks you lowly, resting his forehead against yours as he pounds into you.

"I usually last longer, I swear," You claim, making him snort.

"Just give it to me, baby," Bucky mumbles, furrowing his brows. "Oh, shit, I'm cumming."

Yearning for release, you both let go and allow your climax to take over. He lets out a loud grunt and you gasp, throwing your head back as the shockwaves course through you. Your mind is foggy as you come down from your high, and you barely even feel Bucky cleaning you up. Slipping in and out of full consciousness, you take a few minutes to catch your breath and relax.

When you feel him lying next to you, holding you in his arms, you open your eyes and look over to him. He has a smile on his face, his hair is messy and his cheeks are tinged pink. Saying nothing, Bucky leans forward to kiss you sweetly, gently rubbing your side. Today has felt like a neverending dream, but you hope with everything you have that it isn't.

"How are you feeling, fairy?" He asks you lowly, stroking your cheek.

"Amazing," You reply truthfully. "I can't... I can't believe we actually did it. We're married."

"I always knew it would happen someday," He admits with a smirk. "And it finally did. And it was perfect."

"Wasn't it?" You swoon as the memory of the wedding fills your head. "All your nephews and nieces are adorable. They were so helpful, too."

"Our nephews and nieces," He corrects you with a wink.

Letting out a content sigh, you grin. "Our family," You say, before your eyes widen. "Oh, shit. I should probably let my mom know."

Chuckling, Bucky turns to lay on his back before pulling you closer to his side. "I'm sure she's heard it through the grapevine by now," He hypothesizes.

Shrugging it off, you cast your mind away from your absent mother and back onto the love of your life. "I'm your wife now," You remind him. "What does that even mean for us?"

"It means you're still my best friend, and still the only woman I need in my life," He replies, before lowering his voice. "The only thing that'll change is that I'll be fucking you a lot more."

You grin, tracing shapes on his chest. Husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. Though being married is a big jump from being friends, it feels natural.

"Is there anything you're worried about?" Bucky asks you while stroking your hair. "Now that you're my wife, you're gonna be a lot more involved in my work. I won't keep anything from you, won't sugarcoat it. You'll hear it all."

"I'm not worried," You promise. "As long as I have you, nothing could ever scare me."

"That's my girl," He mumbles, turning to kiss your head. "You're gonna have a lot of power, fairy. My guys will be your guys, too. They'll do whatever you say, no questions asked. New York is yours, now. You'll never want anything, or be without. You were untouchable before, but now you're indestructible."

Lifting your head up, you raise a brow. "You should've told me all this before. I'd have married you years ago," You tease him.

He smiles warmly, cupping your face in his hand. "Before, you were all mine. Just my fairy, belonging to no one else. But now, you're gonna be their Queen, too," He utters, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"What if I say no?" You question him curiously.

Bucky contemplates it for a few moments, his blue eyes hooked to yours as though searching for the answer. "Then we leave," He decides. "You're my wife now, fairy. You come before the mob. If you want out, we're both out."

"And if I want in?" You ask, your heart fluttering with excitement.

Smirking, he pulls you closer, lowering his voice. "Then you and I reign," He whispers.

Taking one of his hands in yours, you smile down at him, feeling more ready and willing than ever. "I look forward to reigning with you, Jamie," You tell him, kissing his palm. "I love you more than anything."

Your words make him grin, and he pulls you back down onto the bed before getting on top of you, making you squeal. With all the adoration in the world in his eyes, Bucky gives your lips a soft peck. "I love you, fairy," He says, filling you with warmth and peace with his promise. "Always, and forever."

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Did he just hang up?

You frown at his lack of concern, but peg it on him not believing you. Bastard. He'll learn to take you seriously when it's he who has to clean up the blood. Entering your apartment, you drop your bag and hold up the pepper spray. "Whoever you are, show yourself!" You call out, flicking on the light and looking around. "I've been taught how to kill a man with nothing but my bare hands!"

"If you wanted to use your hands on me, baby, you should've just asked." The smooth voice makes you scream in shock, your eyes and mouth wide as you see Bucky sitting in your armchair.

"What the fuck?" You yell, kicking the door shut behind you. "Don't scare me like that, you prick!"

"I'm sorry, fairy, it's just too easy," He laughs, standing up and striding over to you before pulling you in for a tight hug. When he pulls away, he cups your cheek, scanning your face and frowning when he smells the vodka on you. "Why you home so late, huh? Haven't I told you to call me when you come home late? Especially when you've been drinking."

"It's fine; Mr. Stark walked me home from the bar," You tell him casually while taking off your coat.

"Tony?" Bucky repeats with narrow eyes. "Why the fuck were you at a bar with him?"

You grin. There's that protective instinct, back in full swing. "It was a work thing; Margo's last day, so we went for drinks," You explain. "Sorry I didn't tell you. I figured you'd be busy, seeing as it's a Friday night, and all."

"I don't care what day it is; you stay out past 9, you call me," He states firmly, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. "How many times do I have to explain that to you?"

"Alright, alright, jeez," You whine, pulling his hand off of you and walking over to the kitchen area. "You hungry? I'm hungry. Hummus. I have hummus and pitta. Yum."

While you grab items from your fridge, including the tub of hummus and a carton of orange juice, Bucky takes a seat at the table. He watches you with a smirk as you flit around the kitchen, grabbing everything that looks good and putting it on the table in front of him. After toasting some pitta bread, you cut it into bite sized pieces and place it down too, before sitting next to him.

He wraps his hand around the leg of your chair and pulls you closer, parting his lips when you bring up a piece of pitta bread with a healthy dollop of hummus to his mouth.

"Here comes the airplane," You tease, your eyes filling with delight as he eats it. He bites on the tip of your finger, making you yelp and pull your hand back. "Bad boy! You have lost your pitta privileges."

Bucky pouts but says nothing, sitting back and letting you indulge in your feast. After a few moments, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black, velvet box. "Fairy," He mumbles, patting your thigh. "Got something for you."

"What is it?" You ask with a mouthful of chocolate, raising your brows.

Instead of telling you, he shows you, flicking open the box to reveal the most beautiful ring. With a smile, he meets your eyes. "Marry me."

Your heart skips a beat but a split second later, you snort. "Get the fuck outta here, Jamie. What's that for?"

"You're gonna wear it over the weekend," He informs you. "I need you to pretend to be my wife until Sunday. Two days, that's it."

"What the fuck for?" You ask, utterly baffled. "You got a coupon for a honeymoon package, or something?"

"My uncle's coming to town," He says with a sigh.

"Uncle Jack?" You ask with wide eyes. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Don't look so excited," He grumbles with an eye roll. "He's expecting to come home and be introduced to my family. I need you to do this for me."

After the death of Bucky's father, Jack took over the business. Then, once Bucky turned 18, Jack left the country, claiming Bucky was capable of running the business himself. You haven't seen Jack in a few years, but every time he visits, Bucky almost goes insane with stress. He feels pressured to impress his uncle; as though he has something to prove.

"The numbers don't meant a thing to him; he won't care how successful the business is," Bucky explains. "All he'll be criticizing me for is my lack of a family. And that's where you come in."

"Your wife?" You sputter with wide eyes. "You want me to pretend to be your wife?"

"Please," He implores, taking your hand in his. "With this ring, I thee wed - for the next 48 hours."

Your eyes narrow into a glare as you pull your hand back before he gets a chance to slip the ring on your finger. "What if I took you seriously before, Buck? What if I got my hopes high, thinking you were proposing for real?"

"Then I'd marry you for real," He says simply, shrugging nonchalantly. "Now, come on. Put the ring on, and then it's bed time. We have an early start tomorrow."

Rolling your eyes, you childishly stick your hand out. "At least get down on one knee." You know that whatever Bucky wants, he gets, and besides; it's only for the weekend. You'll survive being his fake wife for 48 hours.

Knowing he's got you on side, Bucky laughs before kneeling on the ground. He holds up the ring, an adorable look in his wide eyes. "Fairy, baby, you're the only woman I'd be happy to wake up to every day for the rest of my life. You make the best alfredo, and you're nice enough to feed me when my hands are roughed up. I don't know what I did to deserve a guardian angel, but God gave you to me anyway. Will you make me the happiest, luckiest son of a bitch alive and marry me for the weekend?"

"Oh, Jamie," You coo, smiling widely. "You're a fucking rat bastard, and you give me migraines, and you're the reason my social life is so abysmal. Of course I'll marry you for the weekend!"

He slips the ring on your finger with a grin before standing up and lifting you off the chair in a tight hug. You wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you to your bedroom, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the best, my little fairy."

"Yeah, yeah," You mumble, resting your head on his shoulder. "You owe me one."

"And then he asked me while we were in Venice; proposed on a gondola under the moonlight," You say with a dreamy smile. "We got married in Sicily a year later."

"Well, I'll be damned," Jack replies with a wide grin. "I was beginning to lose hope for you, James. Thought you'd never settle down."

Bucky pulls you closer onto his lap, looking up at you. "When you find a woman as incredible as Y/N, you want her to yourself."

"Took you long enough," Jack mutters. "How long have you two known each other, now?"

"It's coming up to ten years," You tell him warmly.

"Ten?" Bucky repeats with a mumble, frowning at you. "Guess we're gonna have to celebrate, baby, hmm?"

"Ah, young love," Jack sighs, sitting back in the armchair. "You're a lucky man, James."

"I know," He whispers, gently tilting your face towards him. "Give me a kiss, fairy."

Though you're surprised at his request, you can't help but give in. It won't be the first time you've kissed Bucky, but the fact that you're pretending to be a married couple adds a little pressure to this one. Admittedly, it's fun to kiss him, though you know it'll only hurt when you realise it's all for show. The kiss is soft and short, but still utterly magical.

"So, when can I expect some grandkids?"

You almost choke at Jack's query, immediately pulling away from Bucky. "Grandkids?"

"Don't scare her, Jack; we only just tied the knot," Bucky says calmly, patting your knee. "Let us experience marital bliss for a little while before we start having babies."

Having babies. Having babies? Babies?

You stare at Bucky. Oh, shit. This was a bad idea. Hiding your feelings from him is hard enough, but now he's planting the image of making a family with you in your head? It's like he wants to break your heart.

Jack shrugs with a smug smirk, "That's exactly what your father said to my parents. A year later, your ma had you. Life doesn't always go to plan, Buck."

No, it does not.

"Anyone need another drink?" You ask, standing up. "I know I do."

The sound of live music fills the bar, the smell of drinks and food in the air. Bucky's friends and family are celebrating Jack's return with a party, while you do your best to keep up appearances. Somehow, you got through the first day without a hitch, and you only have to pretend to be Bucky's wife until the end of tonight.

"As long as nobody notices the ring," Bucky mumbles into your ear. "They won't even realize the difference."

He hasn't told anyone else what you're up to, which you've told him is a bad idea. Bucky's sure that you'll be able to convince Jack you're married while everyone else remains clueless, but you aren't so confident.

You raise a brow, swaying in his arms as his chest presses against your back. "So, you think we act like a married couple anyway?"

He smirks while taking a sip of whiskey before resting the glass on your shoulder. "Well, we flirt, we dance, we love each other," He lists off smugly, placing his free hand on your waist. "The only thing that's missing is sex."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" You grumble bitterly.

"Very much so, fairy," Bucky teases before turning you around and pulling you closer.

"Jamie?" You begin, to which he nods. "Do you remember any of Tuesday night?"

Immediately, he chuckles. "Fuck's sake. Sam won't stop ripping into me for that; keeps making psychic jokes. Bastard."

"Do you remember when you came to see me?" You ask, feeling your heart thud.

A smirk grows on his lips. "I remember kissing you."

"That's it?" You prod, your cheeks heating up at the memory. "You don't remember when I took you home?"

He looks up, frowning. "Uh, I don't remember anything past the kiss. Why? Was I horrible to you?"

You put on a smile and you can't tell whether you're relieved that he's forgotten your admission, or disappointed. "You're never horrible to me, Jamie," You mumble, placing your hands on his shoulders as the two of you sway gently to the music.

His eyes narrow. "Are you sure? Now that I think about it, you seemed upset the next morning. You can tell me if I was a prick - did I hurt you?"

"Of course you didn't!" You exclaim, lightly hitting his arm for effect. "Don't be stupid."

"I must've done something. Isn't that why you brought it up?" He questions, a look of concern growing on his face. "Did I say something mean?"

"Like what?" You ask curiously. "What do you think you could've said that was mean?"

"Uh, I don't know," Bucky says with a shrug. "Did I try to kiss you again?"

"Actually, you didn't," You tell him with a hint of surprise.

"That doesn't sound like me," He mutters, glancing down at your lips. "Give me one now, to make up for it."

"We're only friends, though," You say, trying to sound nonchalant. "Aren't we?"

A look of mischief blooms in his eyes. "Not tonight."

"Right," You utter. "Tonight, I'm Mrs. Barnes."

"Doesn't that sound good?" He whispers, holding you closer.

You can't help but wince and stop dancing. "I can't do this anymore."

Confused, he takes your hand in his. "What are you talking about, fairy?"

With a racing heart and clammy palms, you take a deep breath and step back. "I- I think I need some space."

"Space?" He repeats, baffled. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry," You whisper, shaking your head. "Just tell Uncle Jack I'm not feeling well. I'm going home."

You make it a few feet before you feel him grabbing your arm and pulling you back, a stern look on his face. "What's going on?" He asks you. "Talk to me, fairy."

Looking around the bar, you cringe when you spot a few people staring at you and Bucky. "Not here, Jamie."

"Bucky," Jack's voice suddenly booms as he appears at your side. "We have a problem."

Immediately, Bucky's face pales. "Fuck."

"What is it?" You ask, your concern overriding your heartbreak.

Cupping your cheeks, Bucky pulls you closer. "Nothing you need to worry about, fairy. Go home, and I'll be there soon. We'll continue talking about this later."

"Are you sure?" You press. "If something's wrong-"

"I told you, there's nothing you need to worry about," He promises. "I'll be at your place in a couple of hours, I swear."

Half-heartedly, you nod. "Okay."

"Good girl," Bucky mumbles, kissing your forehead. "I love you."

"I love you, too," You whisper, hundreds of worries swarming your mind.

When Bucky finally arrives at your apartment, it's almost midnight and he looks a lot less stressed out.

"Just something Uncle Jack needed me to sort out," He mumbles as he joins you on the floor in front of the couch. "Nothing major."

"That's good," You mutter, nodding, playing with the ring he gave you.

After a few moments of silence, he gently nudges your arm. "I've upset my fairy, haven't I?"

Sighing, you look down. "Maybe."

"Help me make it better," Bucky implores. "Come on, fairy. We've known each other too long for you to hold back on me. Give it to me straight."

Looking up at him, you furrow your brows. "What if I told you that you said you were in love with me while you were high on Tuesday night?"

The question takes him aback, and he says nothing.

"That you admitted that you want me as more than just your friend. More than a best friend," You hypothesize. "That you needed more than just friendship from me?

Raising a brow, he lets out a dry laugh. "I'd say, damn. The secret's out."

"Don't fuckin joke around with this shit, James," You say sternly, with no hint of humor in your tone or facial expression.

"I'm not fucking around," He claims. "Did I really tell you that?"

You shake your head. "No," You tell him truthfully. "...I did, though."

He swallows thickly, but he doesn't seem as shocked as you were expecting him to be. Instead, he looks down at the ring and strokes one of the small gems. "This was ma's stone," He reveals.

"What?" You ask, instantly recognising it as one of the gems on his mother's engagement ring now that he's pointed it out.

"I added it to your ring," He goes on to say. "Wanted... wanted a little bit of her love in it."

"Why would you do that for a pretend marriage?" You ask him incredulously.

"Because I don't want it to be pretend," Bucky admits before taking your hand in his. "Let's get married."

Your heart skips a beat. "Jamie-"

"Let's get married."

"Stop-"

"I'm not kidding around," He claims. "This is for real. I love you more than anything."

Utterly baffled, you shake your head. Your heart is racing, your fingers twitching. "Why has it taken this long for you to say it?"

Bucky shrugs, "At the start, you weren't ready for anything serious, and I didn't want to just casually date you. So, I stayed back. Fairy, it's so obvious that we are in love. We have been for so long."

Although you had yourself convinced that he didn't want you in that way because if he did, he would've acted on his feelings by now, you trust him too much to invalidate his words. "I know," You whisper, your eyes filling with tears.

"So, what the fuck are we doing?" He asks you wildly.

"I don't know!" You exclaim.

He grabs your face and pulls you closer. "Let's get married."

Snorting, you pull back. "I'm not just gonna fuckin'... marry you, Bucky Barnes."

"Why not?" He asks you between laughs.

"Because that would be insane!" You tell him, hitting his shoulder.

"Why would it be insane-"

"We need to talk about what we want from each other," You say, shaking your head. "We can't just go from being friends to being husband and wife."

"Sure, we can," Bucky says casually. "What would even change between us if we were to get married?"

"We'd live together," You point out.

"I'm with you almost 24/7, anyway," He states.

"We'd have to share everything," You add. "Bills, responsibilities."

"When have you ever had to worry about money, huh?" He questions you with a frown.

"It's more than just finances, Buck," You say with a disbelieving laugh. "It's... marriage, it's everything."

"I'll give you everything," He vows adamantly, wrapping his arm around you.

Clinging to his shirt, you frown up at him. "We... we don't even know if we're sexually compatible."

He narrows his eyes. "Do you really have any doubts, fairy?"

"Well, what if we aren't?" You challenge him.

"I know what you're into," He claims arrogantly. "And I can more than provide you with it."

You laugh heartily at his claim, raising a brow. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"I've seen your PornHub search history," He admits casually.

"Buck-"

"And I know exactly who you're subscribed to on OnlyFans," He adds with a wink. "You have good taste, baby."

"You're- that's a breach of my privacy!" You complain, pushing his shoulder.

He grabs your hand, his face dropping as he wraps his free hand around the back of your neck. "I know you like being taken care of, fairy," He mumbles lowly, making you shiver as he trails his fingers up your thigh. "I know you're aching to give up control. You need someone you can obey; someone who can fuck your brains out and reduce you to nothing but a dumb little fuckdoll."

The breath is stolen from your lungs. You feel as though your mind has gone blank, and all that matters is Bucky and his honey-like voice.

"All you have to do is say the word," He tells you, squeezing your thigh. "I can make your fantasies come true, fairy. You know I will."

"Jamie," You whimper, slowly moving your face closer to his.

"I'm right here, fairy," He whispers, stroking your neck. "I always have been, and I always will be. Do you trust me?"

"You know I do," You reply quickly, letting him pull you into his lap.

"Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

Without another word, he plants his lips on yours in a sweet kiss. At first, it's gentle and slow, until his hands find your ass and his tongue pushes past your lips. Just as the butterflies erupt in your stomach, though, there's a harsh knock at the door.

"Ignore it, fairy," Bucky mumbles against your lips, too lost in the kiss to notice the fact that someone's at your door in the middle of the night. "Just be a good girl for me."

His words get rid of your concern as you return to the kiss, running your hand through his hair as your tongues dance and glide across one another. Mere seconds pass before there's another knock, though - this time it's a lot louder and aggressive.

"Police, open up!" A gruff voice comes from the other side, making your heart skip a beat.

Bucky's grip tightens on your hip as his face drops. "Oh, fuck."

"Jamie?" You whisper, terrified. "What the fuck is going on?"

Looking at you, he cups your face and utters lowly, "We need to get the fuck out of here, fairy. Now."

side blog for updates: @kinanabinksupdates

part two >

"Ooh, yes please!" You exclaim, craning your neck back to look up at him. "Are we allowed to get drunk, or are we still flying home tomorrow?"

"We can stay another day," He says, moving his hands down from your hair to your shoulders which he gently rubs. "I'll talk to Stark for you."

"No, I'll call him," You say sternly. "I don't need you being rude to him."

"Rude?" Bucky repeats with a scoff as the floatie hits the edge of the pool. "I'm not rude. I'm firm."

"You're overly macho, and it irritates him," You tell him while he gets out of the pool and stands on the edge. Lifting up your arms, you wait for him to pick you up and place you on the ground before the two of you walk over to the sun loungers.

"I'm the perfect amount of macho," Bucky claims as you both sit down. "He needs to know he can't mess you around. That you have me looking out for you."

"Trust me, James, he knows," You grumble.

Looking down at the table between you, Bucky pouts and reaches out his hand. "C'mere, fairy. You're too far away."

You get up and walk over to his lounger, where he pulls you onto his lap. Your legs are on either side of his as you sit on his lower stomach. He picks up a black, felt-tip pen from the table before biting off the lid and pulling your body down, until you're lying down next to him.

"What're you doing?" You mumble, trying to look down at your collarbone on which he's writing. "Jamie, that's permanent marker!"

"Relax, fairy," He whispers soothingly as he concentrates. "It'll come off."

You huff, but let him continue. It doesn't take him long to finish his masterpiece, but you can't look down far enough to even see what it says. "What did you write?" You ask him, trying to see it but failing terribly.

With a smirk, he takes his phone out and snaps a picture before showing it to you. There, on your collarbone, are his initials; J.B.B, with a tiny heart at the end. He points at his tattoo of your name and winks. "Now, we match."

The smile on your face is wide and unkillable, as you feel your stomach flip. "Cute."

"You're cute," He says while lightly flicking your nose, before patting your thigh. "Alright; you should go get ready. Xaviére's gonna be here any minute to take you out."

"Oh, shit!" You exclaim, jumping to your feet. "She's gonna kill me if I make her late to our nail appointment. I'll see you later?"

"Meet me at the bar," Bucky tells you, standing up. "Our reservation is for 8."

"I'll be there," You promise, leaning up to kiss his cheek as you buzz with excitement. "What color nails do you want me to get?"

Tilting his head, he contemplates it while wrapping his arms around you. "Blue. Get that swirly, pretty shit."

Laughing softly, you nod. "Sounds good. I'll see you later, bubba."

"Stay with Xavi, and don't talk to strangers," He tells you firmly, before kissing your forehead. "You know where my wallet is?"

You nod while walking backwards. "Yeah- in your black jacket, right?"

"Should be on the bed," He informs you. "I'll see you tonight. Have fun, baby."

"I will!" You promise, your body alight with anticipation for your plan.

Bucky's sitting alone at a table, looking through the wine menu as he awaits your arrival. Somewhere between the Malbec and Barolo, he hears familiar opening notes being played by the live band behind him on the stage. He narrows his eyes. Surely not? What a wild coincidence it must be that they're playing-

"Our song," You call, suddenly appearing before him with a grin. "What a wild coincidence."

While the band plays a rendition of Rosana's Si Tu No Estás Aqui, Bucky laughs in disbelief. "How much did you bribe them?"

You shrug, waving your hand flippantly. "Just flashed them my tits; nothing major."

He shakes his head, smiling as he watches one of the waiters come over to take your jacket. Slowly, you pull it off, revealing your low-cut dress and your freshly-inked collarbone. Bucky's heart skips a beat when he sees the letters J.B.B and a tiny love heart tattooed onto your skin in his handwriting, and he wonders whether he's dreaming.

"What?" he whispers, utterly shocked.

You laugh melodically before handing the waiter your jacket and sitting down, raising a brow at him. "Do you like it?"

"Mhm," You confirm. "Xaviére took me to her tattoo guy. The second I saw what you drew on me, I knew I wanted the real thing."

Still astonished, he scoffs. "Baby," He breathes out, holding his hands out to you. "Get the fuck over here. Now." Happily, you walk over to him and let him pull you onto his lap as he stares at the tattoo. "This- you just got this?"

With his arm around your waist, he pulls you closer, feeling his heart race. "Fuck. It looks- it's fucking perfect. You're perfect. I wasn't expecting you to actually get a tattoo for me."

"Not many people can say that they have a best friend who will fly them out to Argentina the second they complain about feeling overwhelmed," You say with a small smile.

"Fairy..." He whispers, tightening grip on you. He didn't need to say it to you, but he's been feeling overwhelmed, too. Almost a year has passed since his mother's death, and being alone with you is the only thing that brings him any solace anymore.

"Perfect," He repeats with a grin, in a slight daze. Trailing his hand up your thigh, he finds your hand and looks down at your nails. "They look pretty."

"I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate you, and a materialistic gift wouldn't be enough," You explain, clinging onto him. "I wanted to prove how much you mean to me, and how much I want you in my life, forever."

The combination of your sweet words, the tattoo, and the song proves to be too much for him. It's a rare sight to see Bucky Barnes cry, even for you, but you know exactly what he needs as the tears spill out. You wrap your arms around him and pull him close to your chest, swaying him gently as you press a soft kiss to his head.

Sniffling, he hugs you tightly and mumbles against your chest, "I love you, fairy. So fucking much."

"I love you, Jamie," You whisper back. "Always, and no matter what."

"No matter what," He repeats. After a few moments, he lifts his head back up and looks up at you with glossy eyes. "Does it still hurt? Is it sore?"

Smiling, you shake your head and wipe his wet cheeks. "Not at all, bubba."

"Are you sure?" He asks. "Was the guy legit? Was his equipment clean? Did he touch-"

"It was all very professional, Buck," You assure him, placing your hands on his shoulders. "Don't you worry. Xaviére goes there all the time."

Nodding, he relaxes. "Alright. Good. God, I can't believe you did that to me."

You laugh heartily at that, squeezing his shoulder. "I told you I wanted one in Hawaii, when you showed me yours," You remind him. "I just never knew how I wanted it to look. If I wanted to get your first name, or Bucky, or both. And then you drew on me today, and it was perfect."

"You like them?" You ask brightly.

"You know I love everything about you," He mumbles, bringing your hand up to his lips and softly kissing the back of it. "You're absolutely gorgeous tonight, baby."

"Thank you, bubba," You reply shyly as your cheeks heat up. "You look very handsome."

"Yeah?" He asks with a smirk. "Good enough to eat?"

"Absolutely," You answer, before reaching forward and gently biting his cheek, leaving behind teeth marks as he sucks in air.

"That was sexy," Bucky comments lowly. "What else do you wanna bite?"

Snorting, you tilt your head. "Your dick," You quip sarcastically, expecting him to be disgusted - and utterly surprised when, instead, his eyes darken. Taken aback, you gasp. "Bucky, no!"

Biting his lip, he sits back. "Why not?"

"You like getting your dick bitten?" You ask him incredulously.

"If it was you," He says slyly. "Then, yeah."

Baffled, you blink at him slowly. "You... would want me... to bite your dick?"

Sighing, he pats your thigh. "I can't believe you'd give me a boner in front of all these nice people, fairy."

You jump off his lap immediately, glaring at him. "Gross. Uncalled for. Maniac," You list off.

He laughs heartily, not even bothering to try and hide his boner. "I'm sorry, baby, but you were the one dirty talking me."

"Dirty talki- no, James, I'm not doing this with you right now," You say sternly, before giving him a smile and stretching your hand out to him. "Come on. It's our song. Let's dance."

With a wink, he stands up and pulls you in closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Si tu no estás aqui," He sings along lowly. "Me quema el aire."

si tu no estas aqui, me quema el aire:

if you're not here, the air burns me

side blog for update notifications: @kinanabinksupdates

Bucky's flown you and your friends out to Hawaii for your birthday, and you're having the time of your life. You're drinking, dancing, and looking pretty, and things couldn't get much better.

"That guy so wants you," Marnie whispers into your ear at some point in the night, nodding towards a man who has his eyes firmly set on you. He's cute, and you'd be lying if her words didn't excite you.

"You think so?" You ask her as your cheeks heat up.

"I know so!" She exclaims. "Tell him it's your birthday- that'll make him wanna treat you."

Throwing caution to the wind, you do as she says, slowly making your way over to where he's standing and nursing a beer.

"Hey, little lady," He greets you with a smile.

"Hi," You reply coyly.

"What's your name?" He asks while leaning in closer. When you tell him, his eyes light up. "That is a beautiful name. Though I'm not surprised; was the calla lily not named after its beauty, too?"

You blink, taken aback. "Uh... yes?"

Smirking, he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. "Tell me, calla lily: what brings you to this corner of the world tonight?"

"It's my birthday," You tell him. "My friend flew us all out to celebrate."

"Happy birthday, lily. What a sweet friend you have," He says softly. "My name's Luke. I'm here on business."

"A business trip to Hawaii?" You ask, bewildered. "Is your boss hiring, by any chance?"

Luke chuckles, taking a step closer to you. "Honestly, I'm all done with the business end of things," He tells you as he looks you up and down. "I'm looking for a little pleasure, tonight."

"Oh, yeah?" You whisper, feeling your stomach flip. "Well, how about you start by giving the birthday girl a dance? I love this song."

A few minutes later, you're dancing with your back to Luke's front, and your ass on his crotch. Banita and Marnie are visibly holding back their excited cheers as they do their best to dance casually beside you, shooting you wide eyes and grins when you look over at them.

Luke's hands grip your hips as he grinds on you, mumbling sweet nothings in your ear while you giggle, moving one of his hands further up your body until he's cupping your breast.

"Cagey?"

The familiar voice pulls you out of your bliss and you look to the right to see Bucky with a look of surprise on his face. Luke stops dancing and takes his hands off you before pulling Bucky into a hug.

"No fucking way!" He exclaims between hearty laughs. "Barney? The fuck are you doing here?"

Bucks hugs him back, grinning widely. "The fuck are you doing with my girl, huh?"

"Your girl?" Luke pulls back with wide eyes. "I had no idea, man."

"I know you didn't," Bucky says, walking over to you and wrapping his arm around your waist. "Small world, ain't it?"

"What is going on?" You ask, baffled. "You two know each other?"

"Cagey and I go way back, fairy," Bucky informs you. "We lived in the same neighbourhood growing up."

"Back in the day, your Bucky was a little scaredy-cat," Luke tells you with a smirk. "I had to toughen him up."

"Oh, sure," Bucky says with a playful eye roll, before looking down at you and lowering his voice. "Luke was a puny little kid. I had to take him under my wing; look after him."

"It's been too long, man," Luke says, shaking his head. "We gotta catch up properly, back in New York!"

"Absolutely," Bucky agrees. "You have my number, man."

"So..." You trail off, before stepping away from Bucky and towards Luke. "Where were we?"

He holds his hands up in surrender and moves back. "Oh, no; I'm not getting involved with Bucky's girl."

"We're just friends," You tell him, glancing back at Bucky. "Tell him he can dance with me, Jamie."

Tilting his head and narrowing his eyes, Bucky pulls you back into his arms. "Cagey's not dancing with you, fairy," He informs you. "Besides; I need to show you something."

"You two kids have fun, alright? It was nice dancing with you, calla lily," Luke says, walking backwards. "Remember to get in touch, Barney!"

"I will!" Bucky promises before taking your hand and leading you over to a quiet, dark area of the beach, where the sound of the music is muted against the waves crashing.

The two of you sit down on the cool sand, and he keeps his arm around your waist before softly kissing your cheek.

"How's your night been, fairy?" He whispers.

"It's been really good," You tell him with a grin, before looking down at the piece of paper hanging out of his breast pocket. "But I take it yours was better."

Glancing down at it, he chuckles. "Yeah; Alani's a cutie, ain't she? Gave me her number - and her spare hotel room key."

"Very nice work, James," You say, patting his chest before frowning. "Now, are we sure I can't hook up with Luke?"

"Absolutely not-"

"But he's so hot!" You whine, grabbing his shoulders and shaking them. "And he calls me calla lily!"

"He's practically my brother, baby," Bucky tells you regretfully. "I'm sorry. Anyone at this beach but him."

You let out a huff, rolling your eyes. "Whatever. What was it you wanted to show me, you cockblock?"

His eyes light up at the reminder and he sits up, unbuttoning his shirt. You patiently watch with anticipation as he reveals to you his chest - and his new ink.

Gasping, you move back, eyes wide. "Jamie! What?"

"You like it?" He asks you with a grin.

Reaching forward, you stroke your fingers over it as if to check whether or not it's real. Letting out a shaky breath, you meet his eyes. "You got a tattoo of my name?"

"Yep," He confirms proudly. "How's it look?"

Your name is written in cursive on his left collarbone, with tiny flowers dotted around it.

"I love it," You whisper in astonishment. "I can't believe you did that. Why?"

"Because I love you," He tells you. "Because you're my best friend, and I wanted to show it with something as permanent as my love. Happy birthday, baby."

"That's... you're incredible," You utter, cupping his face. "I love you, Jamie. So much."

"Aw, fairy," He coos, pulling you in for a hug. "Don't cry, or I'll have to cry too, and nobody wants to see that."

Blinking away the tears, you nod. "I won't. I'm fine. I just... am I really that..."

"Special to me?" He finishes with a raised brow. "Yes, fairy. You are more special and important to me than anything in this world. I want you in my life, forever. You're my constant. The only constant I want, and need."

You pout up at him. "Well, aren't you cute?"

Leaning closer, he kisses the tip of your nose. "Not as cute as you, baby," He mumbles.

With a huff, you sit up. "I want a tattoo of your name, now."

"Yeah?" He asks, eyes lighting up. "Get my initials on your ass."

"Pfft, shut up," You snort, pushing his shoulder. "I want it somewhere classy."

"On your tits?" Bucky suggests.

"Somewhere cute," You clarify, before your eyes flicker back down to his pocket where the piece of paper with Alani's number is poking out. Narrowing your eyes, you feel a new ownership over him. Without skipping a beat, you pull the paper out and rip it up into pieces.

"Oh," Bucky says simply, blinking at you. "Okay, then."

Reaching back into the pocket again, you take out the hotel room key before tossing it into the ocean.

"Damn, fairy!" He exclaims between laughs.

"You aren't seeing her tonight," You tell him bluntly.

"I'm not?" Bucky asks with a smirk. "Why not?"

"Because," You begin, tapping the tattoo. "That means you're mine. Especially on my birthday."

"Right," He mutters, smiling widely. "All yours."

"All mine," You repeat, resting your head against his chest while softly tracing the tattoo.

He pulls you in closer, stroking your hair. "Whatever you want, fairy," He promises with a soft kiss to the top of your head. "My forever fairy."

"I love you, Jamie," You whisper. "You're my constant, too."

"I love you, fairy," Bucky replies, squeezing you in his arms. "Happy birthday."

buy me a kofi <3

You change the subject, knowing Bucky won't budge on his stance, and the three of you engage in lighter conversation for a while longer before you decide to head home.

"Alright, I need to go to bed," You say while stretching.

"Clint's gonna drive you back," Bucky says, patting your back. "Let me know when you get home."

"I will," You promise, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Can you take me to breakfast tomorrow? I have that interview with Stark and I'll really need to see you before."

"Of course, fairy," He promises you. "I'll pick you up at 7."

"Great," You chirp with a smile, hugging him. With that, you stand up and walk over towards the door, patting Sam's shoulder when you pass him. "Good night, fellas."

You get as far as the foyer when you stop in your tracks and realize you left your purse on the couch.

"Is everything okay, miss?" Clint asks you with a look of concern.

"I just need to get my purse," You tell him. "Go ahead and start the car; I'll be out in a sec."

You start to walk back to the lounge, the muffled voices of Bucky and Sam slowly becoming clearer the closer you get to the door.

"Know what I mean?" Bucky asks Sam, sounding irritated. "Fairy's clingy as fuck, and she isn't even my fuckin' girlfriend."

The breath is stolen from your lungs as you stumble back, feeling your stomach drop. What the fuck? A wave of shame washes over you, and you're utterly embarrassed.

Bucky thinks you're too clingy?

You recall every single time you touched him or sat too close to him over the course of the evening and cringe, hating yourself for being so needy for his physical attention. Of course he's annoyed by you; you're fucking obsessed with him. Shit. You then think over every time you've every been clingy since you met him, and cringe even harder.

Oh, God, you're such an embarrassment. He's probably disgusted by you. How many times has he rolled your eyes at you without you even noticing? Why do you have to be so desperate?

Immediately rushing out of the house, you feel as though your view of Bucky has been a lie this whole time. Ever since you met him, you've never felt so small, but now you feel like all you've ever done is annoy him.

"Are you alright, miss?" Clint asks you as you get into the back of his car, glancing down at your purse-less hands with a suspicious frown.

"Fine," You manage to reply as tears fill your eyes. "Just take me home, please."

You're shovelling cereal down your gullet when your doorbell rings the next morning, making you tense up with nerves.

Shit. That's him.

Begrudgingly, you make your way over to the door, trying your best to seem unbothered as you swing it open. When you see him standing there with his signature smile, you feel everything but comforted.

"Buck," You let out lowly. "Hey."

He holds up your purse. "Good morning, my forgetful little fairy," He greets you warmly, leaning against the doorframe. "Ready to go?"

Inwardly cringing, you take the purse from him. "Uh, actually, I already ate breakfast," You tell him, rubbing the back of your neck. "I kinda just wanna prepare for the interview."

"Oh. Okay," He replies, confused as to why you haven't invited him in yet. "Want some help? I'm a pretty harsh employer; if you can impress me, you can impress Stark."

You muster up a small smile. "That's alright, Buck; I already know what he's gonna ask me. Just gotta work on my answers and confidence."

Raising a brow, he smirks. "Well, I can pull that confidence right out of you, baby," He says arrogantly.

As much as you want to believe that he actually wants to spend time with you, after his comments to Sam last night, you can't find it in you to trust him.

"I'd rather just... prepare alone," You tell him, as difficult as it is. "Thank you, though."

He can tell you're being reserved, but he doesn't want to push you too far - especially not when you have a stressful event ahead of you. Doing as you wish, he nods and takes a step back. "Whatever you need, fairy," He says with a smile. "Call me straight after though, okay? I'll treat you to lunch for all your hard work."

He wants you to call him straight after the interview? After calling you the clingy one?

"Uh, yeah," You mumble with a nod. "See you later."

You do your best to get Bucky out of your head as you prepare for the interview, focusing on your qualifications and experience as you put all your energy into impressing Mr. Stark.

And, thankfully, it works.

He offers you a job on the spot. As soon as you leave the building, your instinct is to to call Bucky - but when you see his name on your contacts list, all you can hear are his cutthroat words to Sam.

Fairy's clingy as fuck, and she isn't even my fuckin' girlfriend.

Instead, you scroll up and opt to call Banita.

"Hey, girl!" She answers the phone brightly. "How was it? Was he mean? Was he scary?"

"Very mean, and a lot scarier in person - but I got the job!" You tell her excitedly, though there's a tinge of dull mediocrity as every part of you wishes it was Bucky you were telling instead of her.

"Yay! Oh, I knew it!" She squeals. "We have to celebrate - get your nails done and buy yourself a new outfit; we're going to Fire and Wood tonight!"

Snorting, you make your way to your car. "There's no way we're getting a reservation at Fire and Wood - remember Ian's birthday? We had to book three months in advance."

"You're forgetting I have a woman on the inside, now," Banita tells you smugly. "Krissi can even get us one of those private dining rooms."

"Your head game is that good?" You question her incredulously.

"That good," She confirms. "Tell you what, I'll even happily invite Barnes; that's how much of a good mood I'm in."

You look down at the mention of his name, feeling ill. "Uh, yeah. Invite everyone."

"All you have to worry about is showing up and looking pretty," She tells you. "I'll handle the rest!"

"Great," You reply half-heartedly. "Let me know what time to get there."

"Text you later," Banita sings. "Tonight's gonna be so much fun!"

So far, you've missed eight of his calls, and the only thing stopping him from burning down the city to track you down was Banita's invite to tonight's dinner.

You're sitting at the private bar in your private dining room at Fire and Wood, nervously sipping on your martini while your friends mingle. You want to be happy and you want to celebrate your new job at the best-performing law firm in New York, but you just can't find it in you. You're too hurt to process anything besides the pain. Bucky hasn't yet shown up, and you don't know what would be worse: if he arrives and you have to act as though nothing's wrong, or if he doesn't come at all.

Suddenly, you hear some cheers which make you turn around. You see that Bucky's just walked in, accompanied by his men who are carrying presents, bottles of champagne, and Sam's even holding a huge cake. The sight of Bucky with the widest, proudest smile on his face you've ever seen is enough to both break and mend your heart, before breaking it again when you remember his words.

"Of course," Banita mutters bitterly from next to you. "Of course, Barnes had to buy out the whole of Tiffany's for you. Why would I expect anything less?" Nudging your shoulder, she lets a small smile slip through. "Go on. Go, hug your best friend. Maybe he ain't so bad, after all."

Her words only make you want to cry even more, but before you can, Bucky's standing in front of you. Without a word, he pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your neck as his arms wrap tightly around you.

"My smart girl," He says, his voice muffled against your skin. "I'm so fuckin' proud of you, you know that?"

You hug him back just as tight, thankful for his shirt that soaks up your escaped tears.

"You always make me so proud," Bucky continues, stroking your back. "I knew you'd do well; you always do."

When he pulls away, you find it impossible to stop the tears from flowing. He soon realizes that these aren't just happy tears as concern floods his features.

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asks you softly, cupping your face. "What happened?"

Shaking your head, you look down. "Nothing."

Determined to get to the bottom of why you've been acting so off with him all day, he takes your hand and pulls you away from everyone else and out to the empty hallway.

"Talk to me, fairy," He begs, gently wiping away your tears. "Did Stark say something? Did he do anything-"

"He didn't do anything," You cut him off, frustrated as you sniffle. "You did."

Taken aback, Bucky feels his heart race. He's the reason you're so hurt?

"What did I do, baby?" He asks, utterly terrified at the idea of having done something that hurt you. "What- did I say something?"

"Yes, you did," You say stubbornly, unable to meet his eyes.

"When?" He questions, placing his hands on your hips. "What did I say, fairy? You know I love you more than anything-"

"You told Sam that I'm clingy," You let out, glaring up at him. "So, if I'm too clingy for you, then just leave, and I'll never bother you again."

His face pales at your words. "Oh, fairy-"

"No, James, I don't want your stupid explanations," You tell him sternly, hating the tears for never stopping as you roughly wipe them away. "I heard you, loud and clear. You're obviously sick of me, so I- I won't annoy you any more."

Just as you burst into heavy sobs, he pulls you back into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. "Oh, my God, fairy, stop," He begs you, shaking his head. "You completely misunderstood me."

"How could I misunderstand that?" You ask, pulling away from him. "You either find me clingy, or you don't!"

"I do find you clingy," He admits, making your stomach lurch as he takes your hand in his. "And I love it. I love you for it."

Narrowing your eyes, you scoff. "Nice try, you prick-"

"I'm being completely honest," He promises. "Sam was complaining about Diya; saying she's closed off and not very physical with him. She never initiates anything, and is never the one to make plans."

"What does that have to do-"

"And I was bragging about you," Bucky tells you, tightly holding your arms. "Bragging like the arrogant asshole I am about how I've got a best friend like you who's clingy as fuck, making me feel all... loved and shit, and you're not even my girlfriend."

Your mouth is shut, your eyes wide.

"And I was telling him how you give me so much," He goes on to tell you. "Trying to make him see that, as his girlfriend, Diya should be making him feel even better than that."

Raising your brows, you take in a breath. "Oh."

"I'm so sorry I made you think that I could ever be complaining about you," Bucky says with a pained look. "On your big day, too. You must've been so fuckin' stressed out already, let alone upset because of me-"

"Wasn't upset," You mumble nonchalantly. "Didn't even care that much."

"Oh, sure," He drags out playfully, cupping your cheek and pouting. "My pretty little fairy. Can't believe you thought I could ever get sick of you."

Sighing, you shrug. "Just sounded like you were."

"I know, and I'm sorry," He apologizes again, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. "I love you, so much. I love your clinginess - in fact, you're not clingy enough."

You roll your eyes and say, "Oh, shut it."

"I mean it!" Bucky claims. "My girl, with her brand new job; you're gonna forget all about me now that you're a big shot lawyer."

"Not your girl for much longer, I guess," You tease, pushing his shoulder.

"Always my girl," He corrects you sternly, hugging you to his chest and kissing the top of your head. "Always my fairy."

You let out a hum against his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso.

"And I am so proud of my fairy," He utters, swaying you gently. "You've come so far from the college girl I met at a stupid party one night."

"The best night of your damn life," You state curtly.

"Absolutely," Bucky says between chuckles, tilting your chin up. "Ready to go celebrate what an incredible woman you are?"

With a coy smile, you shrug.

"Come on," He orders you, gently taking your hand and leading you back into the room. "Let's go eat some good food and drink some good champagne, my clingy little fairy."

Rolling your eyes, you shove his arm away, failing to hold back your smile. "Prick."

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"Ha-ha," Sam teases you with a smirk. "Your personal bodyguard is too busy to come to your defense. What now?"

"Shut up, Wilson; I could get him to break your legs like that," You warn him with narrow eyes. "Besides, it isn't as if he's actually interested in that woman."

"No?" Sam asks with a raised brow. "If that's true, why don't you go on ahead and steal his attention back?"

Him and Torres share a chuckle, infuriating you even though you're very secure in your friendship with Bucky. You know that nobody comes above you in his eyes, but it pisses you off when assholes like Sam decide to question that fact.

One of your options is to find someone to flirt with yourself - that would definitely get Bucky's attention. But it would also most likely end in a bloodbath, and you don't want to get banned from yet another bar.

Another option is to just head right over to them and stake your claim - but that's gonna take a lot more liquid courage. With that in mind, you take the shot you poured for Peter before grabbing a wedge of lime to suck on.

"Giving up already?" Torres asks, leaning across the table.

"Pipe down, pretty boy," You grumble bitterly.

"Damn, that woman has her paws all over Buck," Sam comments lowly as he looks past you at where Bucky is sitting.

Unable to stop yourself, you turn around, your jaw clenching when you see her palm slowly gliding up his thigh. It's clear that Bucky is drunk out of his mind as he babbles on about something, while she feels him up.

"Fuck this," You utter lowly, getting up to your feet.

"Ooh, shit, fairy's angry," Sam sings under his breath, holding back his laughs.

Ignoring him, you storm over to the bar, ready to take back what's yours. Bucky immediately perks up when he sees you, smiling up at you. "Hi, fairy," He mumbles, happily welcoming you onto his lap.

The woman doesn't seem too happy to see you, though, as she retracts her hand from his body and gives you a questioning look. Instead of breaking her fingers like you so want to, you focus on Bucky. "I wanna go home, Jamie," You say softly, gently stroking the back of his neck.

He shivers at your touch, staring at you as though you're the most fascinating thing he's ever seen in his life.

"Excuse you," The woman cuts in curtly. "My name's Angelina. Bucky and I were in the middle of a conversation."

Rolling your eyes, you turn to glare at her. "And your conversation's over now, so why don't you fuck off?"

"Woah," Bucky utters under his breath with wide eyes, pressing his face to your shoulder to mask his drunken laughs.

"What's your problem?" Angelina spits, narrowing her eyes at you.

"You're playing with my toy," You answer her curtly.

That makes her scoff. "Your toy?"

"Exactly," You quip before looking down at Bucky. "Take me home, Jamie."

"You're really fucking rude, you know that?" She spits, standing up from her seat in an effort to intimidate you. "He was sitting here with me, not you."

"And I called dibs on him long before you ever set your eyes on him," You retort childishly.

"Dibs? He's not a fucking object!" She exclaims, stepping closer to you.

"Yes, he is, and he's my object!" You shoot back, getting up to your feet. "So keep your grubby hands off of him."

"You're messed up," Angelina utters bitterly.

"Says the one groping a man who's clearly drunk out of his mind," You spit with rage.

"Oh, please," She scoffs. "He's a grown man."

"With whiskey for blood," You add through gritted teeth, before turning back to Bucky and cupping his cheeks. "Come on, Jamie; I'm taking you home."

"Yes, please," He mumbles, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling himself up to his feet. "Take me to your place."

"Of course, bubba," You reply softly, placing your arm around him to help him stand.

Angelina folds her arms across her chest, raising a brow. "Now who's taking advantage of the drunk guy?"

Rolling your eyes, you glare at her. "Unlike you, I wanna take him home so he can sleep, not so I can sexually assault him."

Her lips part with shock as she steps back with no words to defend herself with, watching with irritation as you walk Bucky to the exit.

"You can sex me if you want," He mumbles, resting his head on your shoulder. "You can sex me whenever you want, fairy."

With a snort, you shake your head. "Shut it, Jamie. C'mon; Phil's waiting to drive us home. And James?"

"Yeah?" He asks, looking down at you with wide eyes.

Giving him a stern look, you cup his face. "You're mine."

"Mhm," He hums, getting lost in your eyes. Have they always been that shiny?

"Did you know that?" You ask, tilting your head.

"I know, fairy," He promises.

Stopping in your tracks, you turn to face him. "Say it."

Licking his lips, he leans forward and says, "You're- I'm yours, fairy. All yours."

With a smile of content, you link your fingers with his. "That's fucking right," You praise him. "Now, come on, Jamie. Let's go home."

Meanwhile, across the bar, Peter narrows his eyes as he watches you and Bucky walk out. "Why and how are those two not together yet?" He asks incredulously.

With a sigh, Sam shakes his head. "'Cuz they're dumb as fuck."

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Immediately, you take out your phone and call Bucky. It rings once, twice, thrice, four times. On the eighth, you realize he isn't gonna pick up. "Fucking prick," You hiss under your breath, speeding up your steps as you attempt to make it out of the small side streets and onto a main road. The car continues to follow you, making you panic. Scrolling through your contacts, you decide to call someone who you aren't sure will pick up, but you try anyway.

"Y/N?" Sam answers almost right away.

"Thank God," You whisper, glancing back at the car. "I need your help."

"What's wrong?" He asks, concern in his voice. "Where are you?"

"I just left campus and I think someone's following me," You say in a hushed, rushed tone. "Are you able to-"

"I'm on my way," Sam cuts you off curtly. "How far from your campus are you? Can you go back?"

"I don't wanna get any closer to their car," You admit, almost jogging at this point.

"That's alright, just keep walking," He says, and you can hear the sound of a car door slamming shut on his side. "Are there any people nearby? Any stores, bars?"

"Nope, nothing," You say with a hint of panic in your voice. "Nothing but closed shutters and empty offices. What do I do?"

"Just relax for me," Sam soothes you while racing through the streets. "I've got you, okay? I'm two minutes away."

"Please hurry," You whisper when you hear the wheels pass over a bump in the road. "I think they're speeding up."

Sam continues to talk you down from your panic while you half-run down the street, until he finally pulls up next to you in his maroon BMW. You could almost cry when you see his familiar car, and immediately rush to get in.

"You okay?" He asks you with a frown.

Nodding, you put your seatbelt on. "Fine, now. Thank you so much for coming," You breathe out, looking ahead at the car that was following you which has come to a complete halt. Sam opens his door and steps out, making your eyes widen. "What are you doing?" You ask him, terrified.

"Stay here," He orders simply before closing the door and locking you in the car.

You watch on in fear as he strides over to the Jeep, your heart racing. Oh, God. He's gonna get shot. They're gonna pull out a gun and shoot him.

He speaks to the driver for a few moments, and you can tell he doesn't look happy. Sam leans closer to the window before muttering something with a dark look. Finally, he slams his hand against the door before turning and storming back over to the car.

"What did they say?" You ask once he's back in.

While he turns on the engine, Sam shakes his head. "Lost tourist. Nothing for you to worry about," He utters bluntly. You know he's lying, but you also know better than to pry any further.

Twenty minutes later, you're sitting in Sam's apartment and eating cookies. It's the first time you've been here, and it's admittedly a nice place. Before tonight, you and Sam had hardly exchanged three sentences, and so you're baffled that he came to your aid. You were pretty sure he hated you with how little attention he paid you.

"Thank you again for picking me up," You say, snuggling into the blanket he gave you. "I know we're not exactly the best of friends, and you probably, rightly so, don't fully trust me just yet, but you still showed up for me tonight. That means a lot. Really."

He gives you a nod. "No problem. A friend of Bucky's is... someone I gotta look out for," He explains with a shrug, before frowning. "Did you call him?"

"Not to make you feel like second best, but he didn't pick up, which is why I called you," You admit, looking down. "I'm surprised he hasn't called back yet. Do you think he's in trouble?"

Knowing exactly where he is, Sam awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, he had a meeting," He tells you, feeling a rush of guilt. Of course, his words couldn't be further from the truth - Bucky's with a woman, and they're definitely not discussing business.

"At 11pm?" You wonder with a frown.

"You know what our work is like," He says casually. "Not exactly 9-5."

"Right," You utter, nodding. "Must be some meeting. He never ignores my calls, even when he's talking to someone important."

Saying nothing, Sam busies himself with sending a Bucky a strongly worded text and demanding he come over as soon as he can. You continue eating your cookies, letting your mind wonder as you contemplate what Bucky could possibly be doing. Sure, you've been friends for less than a year, but he's made it clear that he cares about your safety and well-being over most other things. When you think about it some more, you put the pieces together. Sam's odd reaction, the bullshit excuse about being in a meeting - you know Bucky's with a woman, and you could confidently bet your life savings on who she is.

Another twenty minutes pass before Bucky finally arrives, practically breaking the door down in the process. Before he can look for you, Sam grabs him and pulls him to the side with pure fury on his features.

"What are you doing, Wilson?" Bucky huffs, stressed out and irritated.

"You swore you wouldn't be reckless," Sam grumbles. "When we bring someone into this life, we look the fuck after them."

"What happened?" Bucky asks, his heart racing as he assumes the worst. "Is she okay?"

With a huff, Sam lets go of him. "She's fine," He states. "Ogilvy's men were following her."

"They've seen her around you and wanted to make sure she was trustworthy, on your behalf," Sam says bitterly. "Apparently, they do so with all your associates."

"What? Why?" Bucky spits, frowning.

"I never asked him to do that," Bucky mutters, fists clenched at his side at the thought of someone watching you. Stalking you.

"I know that," Sam points out with a scoff. "I told them to back off and that if they ever go near her again, I'll break their legs myself."

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Bucky nods. "Thank you, Sam," He says, entirely grateful that he could be there for you when Bucky wasn't.

"Yeah," Sam replies shortly, stepping back with a nod towards the living room. "Go ahead, man. Get your girl."

You're curled up on the couch when Bucky walks in. Sitting up, you wait for him to speak.

"Are you okay?" He asks you as he walks further into the room, a mixture of concern and nervousness on his face. It's not a look you're used to seeing, but you're also not used to him upsetting you.

"Yep," Is your short answer.

Bucky takes in a breath, deciding to think carefully before he continues. "I'm sorry," He lands on saying. "I- I fucked up. I shouldn't have ignored your call."

"I know you were with her," You reveal bluntly, unable to pretend you're okay with it.

Rubbing his face, Bucky sits on the other couch. "She came over unexpectedly," He claims.

"I don't care," You say with a frown, disliking the way he's acting as though he had no choice but to host her in his home, as though it's normal for him to have guests over. "I needed you tonight."

"I know, and-"

"I don't ask for much," You remind him. "In fact, there's nothing else I ask for, besides your protection."

He closes his eyes and sighs, looking down. "Fairy-"

"You knew what bringing me into your life would mean for me," You say, realizing how hurt you are the more you speak. "And I did too, I admit, but we had a deal. I'd put up with the danger and the risk, if you prioritized my safety. If you prioritized me."

He says nothing.

"I didn't feel like a priority tonight," You tell him, feeling your nose begin to tingle as your eyes sting. "And for what? That fuckin' sadist who wants to take over your empire? I'd understand if it was important, but you left me in possible danger just to fuck her?"

His jaw clenches and his face pales. "Fairy-"

"Can you just leave me alone?" You cut him off again, something neither of you are used to. "I need to think."

Once again, he looks nervous. "About what?" He asks, wondering if it's possible you're about to leave his life.

"About this friendship," You elaborate with a shrug. "Maybe I'm being naive, expecting someone like you to put me first when I'm not even your..."

He raises a brow when you stop mid-sentence. "Not even my what?" He prods.

Irritated and with an achy heart, you look away from him. "Whatever, James. I don't wanna talk to you right now," You mumble.

Bucky stands up and walks over to you, making you shrink back. Looking down at you, he furrows his brows together. "I fucked up tonight. I know that. I told you you'd always be safe with me, and I broke that promise. It's my fault you were being followed, and I wasn't there to look after you. To let you know that you were alright. That nobody can ever, ever hurt you," He says with a firm voice. "And I am so sorry. I slipped up, and... you could've been hurt."

"Just go," You whisper, refusing to look up at him.

To your surprise, he does as you say. With a kiss to your forehead, Bucky leaves the room, granting you the space you asked for.

His words play on repeat in your head and trigger the lock on the little box of anxiety you've been doing your best to keep tightly closed, and you can't hold it in any longer. Warm tears stream down your face and you clutch onto the pillow in your lap. By the time Sam walks back into the room, you're sobbing.

"C'mere," He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you. "I've got you. I'm here."

"I thought they were gonna kill me," You finally admit, unable to keep up the act that you're doing absolutely fine. You're not fearless like the other people Bucky surrounds himself with. You're not unbreakable, and you're not ready to die. It's been almost a year since you met Bucky, and you're still not used to the cut-throat lifestyle, no matter how much you act like you are.

Sam strokes your hair, gently rocking you back and forth. This isn't his forte; he's usually the one doing Bucky's dirty work, not comforting the women he hurts.

"I was terrified," You go on to say, tightly holding onto him. "I- I just wasn't ready. Wasn't prepared to feel like that, and it's been a long day-"

"You don't have to explain yourself. It was a scary situation," Sam validates you, rubbing your back. "And you did really fucking well to keep calm and keep moving. Anyone else would've frozen up, or confronted them. You did the smart thing. The right thing."

Letting out a shaky breath, you nod.

"But you know what to do next time?" He asks with a quirked brow.

"Protect myself?" You suggest with a frown. "Can you teach me?"

He leans in closer and glares. "You don't stay on campus past 9pm, you little dumbass. Understand me?"

Laughing, you nod. "Yes, Sir."

"I mean it. Who the fuck studies until almost midnight?" He asks incredulously.

"I have a test on Friday!" You explain.

"I don't give a fuck; you study until 6, then you go home and have a nice warm meal," Sam orders you, before his face drops. "Have you even eaten?"

You bite your lip and wince, preparing for his rage. "I... had some candy-"

"You're just asking for me to beat your ass, aren't you? Candy?" He scoffs, before standing up. "Lucky for you, I have leftovers from dinner."

"Wait!" You call out, standing up. "Will you, though?"

He narrows his eyes. "Will I what?"

"You know, teach me what to do in those situations," You elaborate timidly. "I already know judo, so I'm not a total beginner."

"You already know what to do," Sam says bluntly. "You call me."

"Well, what if you're busy?" You ask him. "I'm in this shit now, Sam, and there's no going back. You and I both know I need to know my way around a gun."

He glares at you for a few moments before relaxing his face and sighing. "Sit your ass down, eat some food, and get some sleep," He orders, somehow knowing that you were already planning on staying the night because there's no way you're spending tonight alone. "And then, maybe, I'll think about it."

With a grin, you wrap your arms around him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You exclaim giddily.

He huffs, trying his best not to smile. "Whatever, dumbass. You owe me one."

Once he disappears to the kitchen, you stretch your arms out and decide to wash up. When you leave the living room, though, you see Bucky sitting at the bottom of the stairs, dejection in his eyes.

With a sigh, you sit next to him, nudging his arm. "Hi," You say almost inaudibly.

He rests his head on your shoulder. "I'm sorry," He whispers.

Your eyes fill with tears immediately once again. "It's not your fault," You whisper back.

"It is," He argues. "That could've been anyone following you tonight. Could've been fucking Fisk."

"Well, it wasn't," You point out.

"It could have been," He reiterates. "You were right. I knew what bringing you into this life would mean. I knew that having you by my side came with a duty. A responsibility."

"I'm not a kid-"

"But you are my responsibility," He says stubbornly. "I can't put you at risk and then let you down when you need me most. Tonight might've been a fluke, but what about tomorrow? What if it is Fisk tomorrow?"

You place your hand in his, stroking the back with your thumb.

"You're my fairy. Mine," He utters, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you closer. "You mean so much more to me than anyone and anything else. Even Ma loves you, and she hates everyone. You're too special for me to be making stupid fuckin' mistakes, over what? A quick fuck?"

"Was it at least worth it?" You wonder.

"Absolutely not," He confirms. "Nobody ever is. Not since I met you."

Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach, you shake your head, refusing to take his words seriously. You made a deal the day you met him to be just friends, and you're determined to stick to it.

"I'm sorry, fairy," Bucky says for the seemingly hundredth time. "I love you. Never again."

You look up into his eyes and you know he's telling the truth. "You're never gonna fuck anyone, ever again?"

His eyes widen and a fear fills them. "I didn't say that-"

"I'm kidding, idiot," You snort, nudging his shoulder harder.

"I'm never ignoring you again," He clarifies with a smile. "You're my number one priority. Always."

"Forever?"

"And ever after."

"Sounds like a fairytale," You say with a soft laugh.

"Well, you are a fairy," He points out matter-of-factly. "And I do look like Prince Charming."

"Dinner's ready, idiots," Sam calls out, poking his head out of the kitchen door.

"And there's the grumpy old troll," Bucky mutters with a snort.

"Hey - you wanna eat, or not?" Sam asks him with a threatening glare.

You stand up to your feet and smile widely, turning back to Bucky. "Hey, Jamie, Sam said he's gonna teach me how to use a gun," You say excitedly.

Raising a brow, Bucky gets up to his feet. "Is he, now?" He asks, shooting an unreadable look towards Sam who simply shrugs.

"Someone's gotta do it," He says before leaving again.

With a grin, you take Bucky's hand. "Come on, Prince Charming. I'm hungry," You say, pulling him with you into the kitchen.

He follows behind you, giving your kiss a cheek as you enter the room, and doing his best to ignore the look on Sam's face while doing so. Bucky doesn't care about how soft he is around you, and he doesn't care if his men know it. You may be his weakness, but you don't make him weak. He'll proudly treat you with affection and gentleness, and anyone who dares question or mock him for it doesn't get the chance to do so again.

So, he pulls you onto his lap, and he lets you feed him, and he doesn't care. Because you're his fairy. His number one priority.

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