#Deep ocean steve | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashmouth-richie · 10 months ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — eddie x fem reader (7.1k)

summary: 2011– your roommate drags you to a frat party and ditches the second she sees the guy she’s been fucking. left by yourself, you meet someone by accident, someone who isn’t in the fraternity

warnings: smut, underage drinking, p in v, unprotected sex, grinding, dancing, eddie is trying to be cocky but he’s just awkward and silly

notes: i had a blast deep diving back into my hs and college days to reminisce with this. i hope if you were growing up during this time you can giggle along with me. love youuu oooh! also i hid some easter eggs in here (they’re not hidden at all)

The basement was steamy, and not in a ‘oh it’s a little warm in here but more like, every single person is drunk off their ass and the walls are sweating’kind of way.

College was everything you’d hoped it to be and more.

Your roommate, Kenzie was the type of girl who had an ‘open closet’ policy letting you wear her clothes almost more than your own. You weren’t too keen on sharing a dorm room with a girl you’ve never met before, but thankfully—you had gotten lucky.

You had heard the horror stories from your older sister about her terrible roommate freshman year and you worried for most of the summer that you’d strike the same type of fortune. It wasn’t until you got a friend request on Facebook and a cheery little message :

[Kenzie Walmen 2:07 PM: heyyyy roomie (;]

that you knew you had nothing to worry about.

She was from the west coast in sunny California, that bright western sky seeped deep into her personality. Kenz was sun kissed and bright haired, pretty ocean dipped eyes to give her the All-American type of aesthetic that most girls wished for. And maybe it was her laid back disposition, or her thrill for living it up and every hour of the day— that landed you here tonight at Delta Kappa Sigma.

It wasn’t your scene.

You weren’t shy or new to getting drunk, you had even been so brave to take the occasional hit from a homemade bong in your neighbors dorm a few times, but the frat parties were known for their out of control Project X style of getting shitfaced.

And something about guys with too much testosterone and too much Adidas cologne made your skin crawl and not in a good way.

“Prints always look weird on me,” you grumble into the mirror eyeing your curves in a leopard lace tank top and black skirt, “is it too much?”

Kenzie adjusts her off-the-shoulder top, adding a bit of shimmer powder to her exposed shoulder, “absolutely not, if anything it’s not enough.” Neon feathers decorate her bouncy curled hair as she eyes you in the mirror, “add that silver chunky necklace, and you’ll look bomb.”

She was right, the necklace really pulled the entire look together, and if it were Halloween weekend you could even pass as a Spice Girl or maybe Snookie.

“Sooo, is Steve gonna be there tonight?” You ask elongating the vowels in the aforementioned name, followed by some kissy faces and porn worthy moans.

Kenzie rolls her eyes, a dusting of pink warming her cheeks, “yeah… about that. He said he has a “surprise” for me when I get there, so if I disappear, I’m just with him, okay?”

“Wait wait wait—” you protest, holding a death grip clutch on a bottle of UV blue. “We aren’t even at the party yet and you’re already planning on ditching me?”

—

And that’s what got you here, a little more than drunk, holding a piss warm Green apple flavored Four Loko to your mouth, leaning against the corner basement wall in hopes to maybe disappear, wishing you were anywhere but in this cesspool of basement.

The “DJ” (a frat guy wearing neon glasses with bars across them, scrolling through an ipod and a playlist more than likely named ‘Get Crunk’) was playing Kid Cudi, again. Everyone was screaming along to the chorus like he personally wrote it for them and their experience at college. A headache was brewing behind your eyes as the beat thumped loudly into your chest and radiated to your temples.

Kenzie left almost immediately upon arriving. Swooped up and tossed over the broad shoulder of Steve the minute he answered the door. You laughed and shook your head, imagining how she was probably face down in navy cum stained sheets by now.

The hours she spent on her hair and makeup went to waste, only being seen by the dead catalog eyes of Playboy’s finest from their pinned positions on the walls of Steve’s shared bedroom.

Another sip from the overly carbonated beverage has you shuddering, the fiery ripple of fruit flavored [vomit] alcohol scouring through you like lava, causing your face to screw into a disgusted look.

How can people drink this shit?

Your bladder screams at you to break the seal, demanding to find relief, immediately. The black lights were zero help in disguising if there were any doors that might lead into a bathroom. Pushing from the wall and taking the last hot sip from your drink, you navigate your way to the stairs.

A table holding lone solo cups in formation from a forgotten beer pong game is now the proud owner of your empty can.

Weaving through the jungle of fist pumping douchelords and tipsy sorority girls making out for risqué facebook pics labeled [*~Freshman Y3ar!~*] you finally emerge from the sweaty pits of fraternity hell and climb the beer stained steps to the main floor.

The monotonous beat from the music thumped a little less loudly up here, as if the noise was absorbed by the maroon colored carpeting and the oak cabinets in the foyer.

The house was dated, decorated with a clash of orangey dark wood mixed with emeralds, dark reds and gold. As if this house was based out of Tuscany instead of midwest nowhere— complete with the rubbery fake fruit and vines that stood solely to collect dust.

You had never been here before and didn’t know where in the hell to start looking to find the bathroom, and like Alice, you figured you might as well try every door knob in this type of Wonderland.

The first door you peeked into looked like it was a formal dining room, but instead sat a television on the great oval table blasting obnoxiously loud as a pornstar moaned ripples of “pleasure” through her pink pout. Above her was an extremely tanned guy rocking a set of hard abs, thrusting in a slow rhythm that didn’t match her orgasm.

A snicker slips from your lips and you gently pull the door closed with a small click, loud whoops and whistling from what you could only assume were a couple of frat guys erupt behind the door.

Watching porn together.

You’ll have to add that to your growing list of things you didn’t know about the brotherhood behind a fraternity.

The second door looked more hopeful as it was adjacent to the kitchen area. Upon nearly peeing down your leg, you were shocked stupid when you yanked the door open to find a closet housed with cleaning supplies.

What the fuck?

How could a frat house not have a bathroom?

Your bladder squeezed in on itself and you were certain you couldn’t hold it any longer. Just short of giving up on this quest of relief and going back to your dorm, a gaggle of girls run down the steps leading to the top floor, where you could only assume the bedrooms were.

“…why are frat bathrooms always so fucking dirty?!”

Bingo.

Hustling up the never ending carpeted stairs, your bladder was on the brink of exploding as you shoved past a wooden door with a paper sign that read, “no jerking off in the shower!! pipes are clogged!”

Your sandals clapped along the sea foam tiles floors as you slipped into one of the many metal stall doors. With a swift hike of your skirt up to your middle and pull of your panties, you were finally able to pee.

A choir of angels sang the HallelujahHallelejuah chorus as you went and you sighed in relief that you had made it.

“..yeah yeah, okay asshole,” a loud voice sounded from just outside the bathroom door frame, “you still owe me from last time,” the voice now echoed as it hit against the tiles and cement block walls, “no, payment is cold hard cash buddy, I don’t care if you have to dip into your trust fund.”

A pair of black docs stomp into the tiled bathroom, nearing the stall you were in. There's no way he’ll come to this stall.

“Tell daddy that you need more money for polos or Jordan’s— I really don’t give a fuck, but you need to pay the fuck up.”

But as fate would have it…and in your hurry to get to the toilet before pissing all over yourself… and forgetting to lock the door in your haste… the stall door swings wide open— revealing a very bottomless you, to a pair of very wide dark, deer-in-the-headlight eyes.

A beat that feels like an eternity passes, his hand is choked against his belt in a yank to unthread it, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Your hands fly to cover yourself the best you can, panties still at your ankles, skirt still around your midsection.

It’s all yells and screams with this random guy stumbling over himself dropping his phone on the ground and spewing, “Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” and you yelling for him to shut the fucking door already.

His apologies don’t stop as he pulls the door closed, and from the other side of it as you pull up your underwear and adjust your skirt.

“I swear! I didn’t think anyone was in there! I promise!”

Your face burns in embarrassment as you contemplate melting into the floor and becoming one with the poorly aimed piss stains and the dirty grout. As good as that sounds you still have to leave, you still have to pass the guy who just saw your bare vag and you still have to navigate your way out of here.

His phone lays face down on the floor, and you pray it isn’t broken for his sake. You pick it up, flipping it over to see that it scathed by with just a fine crack from one corner to another. His screen saver is a picture of a group of guys in a skatepark in the dark, smoke billowing thickly to cover their faces as they stand on the boards, the one with dark longer hair is shirtless, and painted with tattoos.

“Shit,” you breathe quietly, “your phone is cracked.”

You can see the shadows of his feet pacing back and forth but when you speak they stop, “oh..,” he mumbles, clearing his throat a bit, “umm, yeah, no biggie it was broke like that already.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah— hey, if you wanna slide that under the door I can um, let you ..ahem.. finish up in there.”

Shit. Duh he needed his phone, and you were just holding it hostage in here as your shame hung thickly in the air. God this might really couldn’t get any fucking worse.

A deep breath in through your nose, you fake a mask of confidence and open the stall door.

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he barged in on you, but now in the fluorescent dust covered light you dared to look a little longer at him.

Long locks of honeyed brown locks fell onto the tops of his shoulders, covered with a green plaid flannel that hung open showing his neck and a flick of dark lines from a tattoo hidden under a black band tank top. His eyes were just as brown, round and flocked with a grove of thick lashes. Clearly he was the shirtless one in his background picture.

He smiled sheepishly, pulling his jaw taunt as he averted his gaze to the toe of his boots, noticing your hand stretched out before him to give him back his phone, he glanced at your face, skimming his hand over your palm.

“Thanks— uh…” he started, shifting his weight to lean back against the many rows of sinks, “sorry again, I promise I don’t normally walk in on ladies using the facilities.”

His eyes met yours and you instantly felt a heat run to your throat, his lips were impossibly plump as he drew them into a tight smirk.

Fuck are those dimples? Of course they were. God he’s so pretty.

You smile, “normal people lock the stall, but I was in a hurry… well I was lost!” you exclaim in a huff, fully hands on hips annoyed, “why the fuck would the bathroom be on the top floor?”

You asked him incredulously like he should know. But on second thought…

“uhh… I dunno,” he shrugs, sliding his phone into the front pocket of his light wash colored jeans, not even looking at the broken screen as he leaned back again, “I’m not exactly an architect.”

“But you live here?” you question, turning on the sink to wet your hands, “haven’t they ever thought of putting even a half bath on the main floor?”

He rumbles out a laugh that makes your cheeks tingle, your buzz still in full force, “nah, you got it all wrong, I’m not a member of the ‘fraternity brotherhood of Alpha Mega Steroid’”, he jokes with air quotes, smiling wide when your lips tick up at the ends. “But I am a frequent guest, of sorts…”

This guy seemed to be one of those people who can make a nun blush, witty and dripping with a sexual charm that radiated from him like a ray of fucking sunshine. And fuck that grin of his. You’re in trouble.

“Ahh, okay,” you banter back easily, shaking your hands to dry them since there were no paper towels in sight, “which one is your boyfriend? Let’s see I know.. Kyle? I think is his name, reddish hair, kinda feminine hands, or are you fucking Steve because I gotta say, I think my roommate might be giving you a run for your money right now.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, a quirk in his brow as he asks, “Blonde girl? Kinda naive, head over heels for that mop of perfectly styled hair? Shit, what’s her name…Kelly? Kitten? She’s your roommate?”

Of course he would know her, Kenzie knows everyone, and seems to leave a kind of impression on people that you envied. As bright as she shined, you were the shadow behind her.

“Yeah,” you say, not hiding your annoyance, remembering how you got into this predicament in the first place.

Eddie looks just as pissed as you’re feeling, “Oh, Stevie boy and I will be having words later on his lack of tact. They’re the reason why I was out wondering the halls like a fuckin’ ghost in a haunted mansion.”

He takes note that you’re in the same boat he’s in but in your case, it’s a little worse, being a girl alone in a frat house never ends well.

“I’m Eddie, uhh…designated dealer,” he says in almost a whisper, “for the deep pocketed asshoels full of daddy’s money.”

You connect a few dots, realization hitting hard in your frontal lobe from conversations you’ve kind of listened to from Kenzie about Steve.

“Ahh, okay… now that you mention it, Kenz has talked about you before. You’re Steve’s old friend, Munson? I thought she meant like a forty year old or something.”

He laughs, loud and belly rolling like, “nah, minus a twenty from that. Steve and I are just close friends ‘s all… and no, not boyfriends.”

You laugh then, all bubbly and light hearted that has his own skipping beats. Saying your name, he repeats it, a little grin on his face that he tries to hide, “mm that’s cute.”

“Cute?” you question, an eyebrow raised as you fold your arms in on themselves, poking a hip out.

“Yeah… cute,” he says standing fully and peering down at you, “your name is very fitting for you.”

You roll your eyes playfully at his flirty words. Even though your stomach is somersaulting at the way his eyes seem to drip from heaven when he looks at you, your cheeks heating beneath his gaze.

“Is this the part where we exchange our hometowns and majors, because I’d rather get run over than do that right now.”

Eddie chuckles, “oh yeah, well I’m actually here on an athletic scholarship.”

“Really?” you question, eyebrows cocked in disbelief.

“Yes!” Eddie jokes back, trying to bite back a smile, “if you must know it’s for Tennis, but please don't bother me for an autograph. I'm just trying to be a normal guy tonight.”

“Noted.” You giggle, admiring the way this banter is coming so easily, maybe it was the liquid courage taking over or the fact that he was actually fun to talk to— either way, this night is starting to take a turn for the better.

“So, what does a Tennis star/designated rich boy drug dealer usually do at these kinds of things besides bursting in on girls using the bathroom?”

He smiles, dipping his chin and looking at you through those impossibly thick lashes. Pushing off the sink he asks, “Sell a little here and there, sometimes dip into my own stash…what do you usually do at these things?”

“Well,” you tease, twisting on the ball of your foot and heading towards the door out to the hallway, “I’m not usually at these things.”

“Ohh my god,” Eddie preens in his best valley girl/ Kourtney Kardashian impression, “you’ve never been to frat party!?”

You smile, at his stupid joke, “Noo, I haven’t actually. Kenzie drug me out for a little pick me up after we bombed our History midterm, to��y’know— live it up— YOLO, all that.”

“Okay okay, letting off some steam after the stress of class, I get it...school was never a cake walk for me either.”

“Yeah! But then your friend snatched her up, and since I don’t know anyone here… I was doing a very impressive wall flower guise, until my bladder interrupted that… and then a guy barged in on me in the bathroom.”

Eddie stalks towards you, his eyes roving over your body, “Well… now you know me, soo Miss Lady Wallflower,” he cracks, “shall we descend to the basement and keep this party going?”

His infectious smile stretches wide, practically ear to ear and you find yourself grinning just as wide, trying to twist your lips to at least hide your enthusiasm a little bit but goddamn— something about the way those dimples compliment the fucking christmas twinkle in his eyes.. ugh.

He was trouble. The kind you had always craved but never dabbled in. But when in Rome…

“Lead the way.”

—

Eddie had made a pit stop in the large kitchen before returning to the basement.

“Now sweetheart,” he purred, fishing around the shelves, of a pantry, moving cans of food and bags of chips, “I didn’t plan on drinking more tonight, but I’m not gonna let you drink by your— aha!”

Eddie stands upright, brandishing a large box of saltine crackers. Your eyebrows furrow in response and he bows low, puts his hand inside the box, “I present to you, Stevie’s not so secret hiding spot,” pulling out his hand, his fingers are wrapped around a bottle of Burnett’s Vodka.

Your eyes widen with devilish glee as you smirk, “how did you know it’d be there?”

Eddie unscrews the cap and puts it to his lips for a long six second pull.

You weren’t watching the way his throat bobbed and gulped when he swallowed each burning swig. Nope, not at all. You definitely weren’t memorizing each valley of cords and muscles as a single drop fell to his sharp chin and jaw. Never, not you!

And you weren’t holding your breath right along with him only breathing when those fucking glorious thick lips popped clean from the mouth of that bottle… his lips shiny from the bitter alcohol like a gloss you desperately need to lick clean. Yeah… no. that was not you…

So it’s only fitting when he speaks hoarsely and clears his throat that you are snapped back to the moment, your core keeping its own pulse.

“He’s been keeping vodka in the same box in a food pantry since we were in high school, guy is the most unoriginal bastard I know,” he shrugs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and you can’t help but almost pout in the wasted opportunity.

His eyes meet yours and they look just as hungry as you were feeling. He smirks crookedly and you practically flatline from the depth those molasses colored eyes hold. He moved first, inching towards you like a wolf stalking its prey, your pretty chapstick smile daring him to come closer.

But the fuse between you is snuffed out cold as a crying girl erupts from the basement steps, her gaggle of friends helping calm her down as they leave the house.

Eddie shakes his head and clears his throat as if he was just as bothered by you as you were of him. Turning towards the fridge he asks, “I’m sure they’ve got some Sunny D you can chase this with if that’s cool?”

—

The basement proved to be in the same situation you had left it in: hot, sweaty, sticky.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes hotly behind you, loud enough to hear him above the music, “it’s like a furnace down here, no wonder that girl was crying.”

You lead him to the corner you were tucked in before, your drink still sitting on the beer pong table. By the way he is standing you can tell that this really isn’t his scene either, but after a while of passing the vodka and orange juice back and forth between you, he seems to loosen up a bit. His shoulders relax as his back leans against the wall next to you.

Eddie’s words slurring together as his stories became more and more animated, and you giggle along, never taking your eyes off of him. Completely enamored.

Your stomach burned with a flurry of butterflies when a few of his clients came up to him to buy, each more nervous than the next. Eyeing you suspiciously, questioning if you were some sort of a narc.

Eddie stepped ahead of you, his shoulders squared and chest out to casually announce that you were cool and were with him.

You didn’t know that he was waiting for you to object to it, to shove away from him and call him a pig for even assuming that you’d ever be seen with the likes of him besides in the dark, but you never did.

Hours pass and the music just gets worse. Wiz Khalifa starts singing about colors and Eddie looks at the crowd of people grinding and rolls his eyes.

The alcohol has you feeling tingly, a buzzing of flirtation sparks your blood and you are closer to Eddie than ever, the smell of his musky cologne and laundry detergent invade you.

Like any drunk girl, you start getting antsy, a little more touchy, and a lot more feely. Standing around isn’t cutting it anymore and you want to move, toss your hair back to some cheesy song, want to feel those hands you’ve been staring at all night run along your body as your hips move against him.

Running your forefinger along the inside seam of Eddie’s flannel shirt, you look up at him through your lashes.

“I’m assuming you’re not one to dance to a club remix?”

Eddie watches your finger stroke up and down, your knuckles barely grazing his abdomen, but the small touch sending electricity to his spine.

He leans into you, following your lead and pinching the hem of your skirt between his large fingers “you’d assume correct, the music I listen to is a little more head bangy than this.”

“So,” you say coyly, pulling him towards you just a fraction more, “what you’re really saying is that you can’t dance.”

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back, his throat sticky with sweat and the hair by his ears wet and curling into ringlets, “oh I can dance my ass off honey, taught Channing Tatum everything he knows.”

His hands find your hips, and you almost lose the little bit of confidence you have gained when the warmth of them seeps through your shirt, his blunt nails skimming your skin in small strokes.

“Do these little white lies masked as dorky ass pickup lines work for you?” Your hands are on his chest now, the black light illuminating each letter of his Deftones shirt to sparkle like snow beneath your fingers.

“I don’t know,” he whispers into your ear, pulling you tight against him so your chest is pressed into his, “you tell me.”

The music changes and a throwback song

comes on, one you haven’t heard in years.

“Guess you’ll have to show me those moves, because in typical drunk girl fashion… this is my song!”

You grab Eddie’s hand and stomp to the middle of the floor, pulling him along with you until you’re shoulder to shoulder with other drunk and sweaty college kids.

“Get low?” Eddie asks from behind you, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of your ear as his hands land heavy on your hips, “seriously?”

Leaning your head back so your lips could reach him you talk loud enough just so he can hear you, “stop talking and fucking dance with me already.”

“Goddamn…” he groans when you finally push your body fully back into him.

It’s sloppy and horribly uncoordinated the way your drunken hips move beneath his hands. You’re both swaying along with the music, trying like hell to match the rhythm of everyone else around you. But in the tiny square footage you have in this cluster fuck of a space, Eddie has all the right moves.

His palms are pressing you tighter into him, making sure you can feel just how hard he is, how hard you are making him.

Courage and a few prom night dances under your belt have you dropping low and coming up slow, your skirt fanning out the tiniest bit as your knees are bent to the ground.

And Eddie is practically thanking God himself when you run the fattest part of your ass up his body, on the bunched denim by his shins, skimming the barely there fabric of your skirt against the hole in his knee, and finally up where he desperately needs your body the most.

When you come back up he moves your hair from the side of your neck, his lips puckering around your earlobe as he nibbles lightly, “spin around so I can see you.”

He groans again when you shake your head and laugh at his dismay, as much as he is turned on and bothered you are too, but the power of keeping him like this, teasing him with your body— turned you on even more.

You snake your hands upwards seductively, landing daintily at the nape of his neck, twirling the wet tendrils of curls round and round pulling gently. Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hands roaming freely from your hips to your ribcage running them along the length of your sides, bruisingly hard.

One minute you’re facing away from him, eyes closed in pleasure as he roves over your body, his lips pressed to your neck, and in the next he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face— eyes locked on eachother, the heat and the alcohol and the endorphins are too much to handle.

Your once labored breathing snuffs out to nothing when he leans in with licked lips his eyes fixated on your mouth. Standing. Staring. Staring and standing. You’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game.

“Fucking kiss me alrea—”

His mouth with its plush pillow lips slam into you. He tastes like tart orange juice and a bite of alcohol. Like the way a summer day would taste if it were bottled up. He licks into your mouth and you whine for more of him, clutching onto his neck and pulling him further into you.

When you break for air it’s loud, smacking lips and lapping tongues, tilting your heads to line up perfectly. When you twist yours again, Eddie holds onto your neck angling it just so with a glint of trouble in those whiskey eyes as he dives into the supple skin at the column of your throat.

Sucking, swirling— his tongue is hot against you and you’re clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the pilling fabric like he was the only thing keeping you Earthbound.

You wiggle in his arms, squealing and whining out but he’s holding you tightly against him, moaning words into your neck that you can’t hear above the music. Then he’s on your mouth again, working you into a fit. His big veiny hands move along your back, grabbing your ass softly, then work up to wrap in your hair or lightly scratch at the inch of skin between your skirt and your tank top.

Doing your own little damage to him, his shirt is shoved up over his chest, your fingernails trailing down his tattooed skin. A rise of goosebumps following in their tracks, and he stops kissing you to suck in a breath, your smile on his lips as you laugh and he whispers a breathy ‘fuuuuck’.

Your fingers trail down to his waist band, tickling his skin as you suggest an idea with your eyes, one that you’re certain he would understand.

“C’mon,” he mouths, gesturing his chin to the exit as he slowly begins to pull you from the dance floor, up the stairs and into the kitchen area.

Eddie knew what he wanted. Knew it the second you walked out of that stall with that sweet fucking smile on your lips, shy and coy when he called your name cute, like you weren’t at all used to the type of attention he was giving.

And maybe you didn’t want this with him. Maybe you were a: ‘fuck-me-in-the-dark-so-I-won’t-be-embarrassed-by-being-seen-with-you’ type of girl, but you did dance with him, you laughed at his stupid jokes, stuck by him almost all night, but still he needed to be sure.

He thought maybe in the brighter light you’d change your mind about what you wanted, what you needed from him, but you surprise him when you cling to his side, going up the steps, and backing into a wall pulling him with you by his shirt needily when you reach the top.

“D’ you uh..wanna get outta here?” he slurs, almost sleepily, his bangs fucked up beyond belief, his hair drenched and sticky with sweat and humidity, lips swollen red.

“My dorm isn’t far,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes running your finger along the waist of his jeans, “across campus.”

Eddie chuckles, “fuck…” he sweeps a thumb over your pouted lips, groaning as he bites his own. “I’d crawl to fuckin’ Alaska for these, honey.”

Your cheeks burn sweetly from his inebriated compliments. And even though you’re tipsy and so is he, you feel an odd sort of comfort with him—one you haven’t experienced before.

“Let’s go then,” you whisper into his ear, “I want you inside me.”

That did it for him.

Eddie was all but running with you across the campus green, but not before taking off his long sleeved shirt and placing it over your shoulders murmuring how it was freezing and you’d probably get sick.

Your combined laughter ricocheted off concrete forums and neatly trimmed grass. Passing by the fancy Chemistry Lab building, the Art Museum, the Med School and finally to your painted black brick dorm building: “Wheeler Hall”

“Here’s home,” you sing out, placing your key into the door and pulling on the steel handle.

The Wheeler Dorms were the newest addition to the college town. Named after a family that was killed in an accident back in the 80’s or something… you didn’t really remember what happened.

The side door you had come in through was closest to your room, 011, on the first floor, again, the universe being kind to you.

“Never been here before,” Eddie said looking around with wide eyes, “any of the dorms actually.”

You smiled upon unlocking your room and entering, hanging up your keys on the command strip hooks by the door. Whatever confidence he had back at the party is now deflated a bit once he realizes just how different the two of you are. What the hell was he doing here? You’re in college, he’s only here because he deals.

“Uhh..?” he questions, eyeing the lofted bed, “you know I was joking about being an athlete, right?”

You giggle and toss your purse onto the futon, “relax, that’s Kenzie’s bed, mine is the shorter one.”

“Oh thank fuck,” he practically sings letting out an over exaggerated sigh as he plops down on your futon, eyeing the leopard throw blanket, “I may look like a suave Casanova but I’m about as agile as Mr. Bean.”

Laughter fills the room and you click on a lamp throwing the room into a cozy ambience as you slip off your sandals and sit on your bed, leaning forward, “you’re way hotter than him.”

Eddie blushes a bubble gum pink sheen, using his still damp and unruly hair to cover his face, “keep being sweet on me see where it gets you.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat, or a promise?”

“Oh baby, I don’t make threats, not to a girl that’s like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah you,” he deadpans, standing up and waltzing towards your bed, crowding you in, “funny, sexy, and by some greater power— digs me… at least I hope.”

“I’m not the type of girl to bring a guy back to my place, Eddie,” you nearly whisper, putting a finger into his dangling necklace and pulling him forward, “you’d be the first.”

Eddie places his hands next you on the bed, “like your first? Or just here in college first, I’m cool with either I just— are you sure you want this? I can leave if y—”

Cutting him off you kiss him, but not like the heavy kisses earlier when you two were making out like you were each other's oxygen masks, this one is sweet, like melted sugar on Eddie’s tongue.

“You talk too much,” you say with a warm smile, wrapping a finger around his curled ends of hair, “no more of that, just kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist and shifts you up further into the bed, laying your head on a pillow his body pressed into yours. He takes his time with you, kissing your lips then your jaw, working his way down your neck to where the bruises he’s already sucked into your skin were painted.

Your moans and little breathy sighs have him hard against his zipper, his hips bucking into the tiny fabric of your panties that’s covering up that sweet pussy he got a glimpse of earlier.

His shirt is somewhere on the floor, you had pried it off of him between locked lips and groans of having to move your lips from his that earned you a throaty laugh from him and the sexiest eyes that drove into you with an intense ferocity.

He lowers further down your body, kissing every inch, moving your tank top out of the way to eye your orange bra, his mouth between your cleavage, moaning about how orange is now his favorite color.

Eddie’s everywhere all at once, a hand traveling up and down your thigh, from the crux of your knee to the waistband of your skirt, the other hand is popping your tits out from that new found favorite colored bra of his —smiling wickedly at your peaked nipples.

You moan lustful bliss as his tongue circles each one, giving equal attention to both, “you like that?” he asks.

“Feels so good,” you whine, “more, please.”

Eddie smirks with your nipple between his teeth, “don’t have to ask me twice.”

You weren’t a virgin, but holy shit you felt as if you had never had sex before, well never sex like this. Eddie teased you with his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers pumped inside of you, each curling inward towards a place nobody has reached before.

He groaned with his bottom lip tucked between his sharp bite rubbing his achy cock through his jeans when you pushed your skirt down laying there in a matching orange lacey thong, bedazzled on the hips.

“Would it be corny if I say you look like a Goddess?” he asks sheepishly, pinching the stretching fabric around your hips, “because… wow.”

You bite your finger as if you were really thinking hard on this, hiding a smile, “you’re too much, Munson.”

“Too much?” he scoffs, pulling down your panties and settling himself between your legs, “you haven’t even seen my dick yet.”

You sit up, tits out and naked from the waist down, “well by all means, show me.”

“Greedy girl,” Eddie smirks, “did you bring me here just to get me naked? I’m appalled!”

You move to your knees, sitting upright a bit so your face is level with his. You kiss him softly, moving to his neck and sucking just right to pull those deep moans from him that make your knees shake.

Feather light touches skate along the expanse of his chest, working down down down until you’re undoing his belt, thumbing open the button on his jeans and yanking down his zipper.

When your hand slides between him and his boxer briefs, Eddie hisses, watching you pump him slow and tight. The feel of your smooth palm against his velvety shaft makes him almost cum right there and then, it’s been awhile since the last time.

But you’re not hesitating or questioning yourself and he isn’t either. It’s almost fluid like a rocking wave the way Eddie lays you down, a team effort to swiftly shove down his jeans so you can finally feel eachother where the desperation is needed most.

Legs hiked over his hips, he lines himself up with your gummy slicked entrance. It’s a deep and achy stretch for you, a vice grip for him. The lazy gasping moans you both emit are drawn out, yours practically breathless.

“Holy fuck,” you breath into his mouth as he peppers you with kisses. He drags his hips out at a measured pace, pushing in just as unhurriedly, enjoying the way your body adjusts, cuffing him like a glove.

Eddie breaks away from your lips to watch your bodies join together, moaning your name as he presses his forehead on yours collecting your mouth with his.

“Shit…This okay?” he asks earnestly, nipping at your ear.

You nod in gasping silence, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he speeds up. Your hands are skimming down his bareback, pressing him further into you with every thrust, begging him for more.

He snakes a hand between you, rubbing circles in your puffy clit as he thrusts harder, trying to get you there before he loses all control. “Want you to feel good sweetheart, fuck— keep making those pretty little noises, you’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.”

And he does. You cum hard around him, your walls fluttering and pulsing so fast you practically black out from the mixed pleasure of his fingers rubbing your clit and his cock stuffed in deep.

His name falls from your lips in tiny little whines and he bucks into you a hard and final time before he groans, holding onto your headboard for support as he’s bottoming out, stringing rope after rope of hot spend inside of you.

“Baby,” he whispers, “God—” he stops cold, realizing what he just did and what he didn’t do. “Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck! I didn’t pull out, I'm sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!

You laugh wickedly, your body shaking beneath him at his worried panicked face.

He’s a babbling, out-of-breath mess, “’s not funny! I just got caught up in the moment and you felt so fucking good and I’m still a little dru—”

“Eddie, it’s fine,” you say, holding his cheeks with both hands squishing them together so his lips pucker like a fish, “I’m on the pill.”

His face is still squished together when he speaks, “oh, well… okay.”

“You’re fine,” you coo, coaxing him down from the ledge of regret and self hatred, “I—” you lean up and kiss him square on the mouth, licking into it and sliding your tongue against his, “I liked it.”

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs and before he can open his mouth to speak you’re pulling him onto you kissing him deep and needy.

The two of you end the night that way, him holding you, your hands in his hair, kissing so much your lips are chapped— never getting enough. Legs entangled together like a weaved basket. You fall asleep before he does, your little huffed breathing making his skin damp as you curl further into his chest.

Wonder if Verizon is open tomorrow? He thinks when he remembers that his phone is definitely broke from it landing on the bathroom floor—but he’d never tell you that.

He also wouldn’t tell you how he was supposed to go back to Steve’s tonight because they were leaving to see another old friend in California for the weekend— or how they needed to be at the airport by 2 AM for a 4 AM flight. — or that Eddie was Steve’s ride because he lost his license in July.

Nope.

He wouldn’t tell you any of it. None of that seemed to matter when you were sleeping so cute on his chest like that.

When late morning comes you’re at it again, this time you’re riding him on the futon, slow like a twangy country song his hands rocking your hips. When you both finish you drag him to the showers, pumping some expensive shampoo into his hair and giggling when you tell him to be quiet so you won’t get caught.

Steve called Eddie’s phone all night, and all morning, sending duplicate texts of rage, wondering where the fuck he had gone.

Eddie silences the last call from Steve as you’re getting dressed, wearing a black pair of yoga pants and a zip up hoodie. He smiles when you offer to comb his hair, grabbing your wrist to pull you onto his lap kissing behind your ear.

His voice is low, soothingly sweet and minty from your toothpaste as he asks, “can I take you to breakfast?”

#Spotify #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you smut #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you fanfic #eddie fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you

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sluttylittlewaistenthusiast · 1 year ago

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╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list . m.list two

@gutsby

⭒ Wedded Bliss

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

@samthemarvelfan

⭒ Bad Romance

In Brooklyn, everyone knows the unwritten rule: you don’t cross James Barnes. When you return after nearly half a decade, things are anything but the same. After the murder of your Uncle, you begin to learn that no one is who they say they are, and that you may have accidentally given your heart to a mobster; The White Wolf of Brooklyn. More dangerous than that, he’s given you his.

@anonymityisfunwriter

⭒ Two Sides of the Same Coin

⭒ You're Losing Me

Your fairytale ending is crumbling before your eyes. You don't know how to love someone who can't tell you're dying. You fear you're fading away, begging him to do someone, say something, choose something. You fear he won't be able to resuscitate you this time. This time, he's losing you.

⭒ Alone Together

It was always been you and Bucky, alone together, you'd say. But suddenly, you're just alone.

⭒ Uptown Girl and the Brooklyn Boy

Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.

@pellucid-constellations

⭒ For the Love of the Game

Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it.

@barnesafterglow

⭒ Friday (I'm In Love)

every day you love bucky. every friday he pretends to love you too

@sinner-as-saint

⭒ Tempestuous

With his kingdom flourishing in peace, and no threats from enemies; recently crowned King - James Buchanan Barnes sets out at sea. With his finest ship, the best crew ever recruited, and a deep desire to see whether the edge of the world truly exists; the King sets sail. Hoping to find the marvels of the ocean, to find beauty and magic even; however he ends up finding a fiery soul – one he cannot get enough of. But then again, no love story is ever perfect, is it?

⭒ Ruin

You work at a café owned by your family, close to your uni. And most of your days are pretty laid back and calm, but that is until you catch the eye of the mob boss. Your cute skirts and soft sweaters make him weak. Your innocence captivates him. And he wants you, badly. He wants you in his bed, wants his hand under those cute little skirts… he wants to ruin you.

⭒ A Sweeter Place

Years after a messy break-up, and now seeking stability, infamous mob boss James Buchanan Barnes finds himself reunited with an old flame of his. Instant guilt and regret wash over him when he finds out that his reckless ways back then, changed an innocent girl’s life forever.

⭒ You're No Saint

Steve and Bucky have been friends since they were young boys. They are inseparable, so naturally when you married Steve you were aware that Bucky came along with him. Every event, every vacation, even as the best man at your wedding - Bucky was always there, alongside you and Steve. He was one of your best friends as well, so you’ve never thought of him in a sexual way, ever. That is until one certain night, when you see something you’re not supposed to and you like it a little too much. You deny your desire towards Bucky, but Steve knows you better than anyone. He knows what you want and need, and he’s determined to fulfil your fantasy; because what his wife wants, she gets.

⭒ Run For Your Life

He was away from the city for a while, chasing after some bastards who betrayed him. But the traitors were no longer breathing now and Bucky Barnes was finally able to come home to the city he ruled. Mostly, he was excited to come back and see his girl again. However when he got to the strip club where you worked as a waitress, he didn’t find you there. They told him you didn’t work there anymore. No one knew where you went, or why you left. Nobody even knew your real name. Now it was up to him to search the whole wide world to find a nameless girl – one he was obsessively, mindlessly in love with.

⭒ All Yours

One of your students confess their feelings for you and things get interesting...

@mellowsaturns

⭒ In Losing Grip, on Sinking Ships

when the avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of hydra was destroyed. one unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but bucky knows it. he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

⭒ All to Myself

after bucky finds out why you've been acting up ever since his company's party, he teaches you a lesson and remind you that you're the only one for him

@renxzs

⭒ Redemancy

Maybe it was a bit naive to think moving in with your best friend and long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, was going to be some smooth road that led to an admittance of mutual feelings for one another and a happily-ever-after ending, wrapped up nicely in a bow. Naive indeed; especially when you have to consider the fact that Bucky is the biggest womanizer you know.

@cryptidcasanova

⭒ My Devotion

The one where Bucky doesn’t take your breakup well.

⭒ Loverboy

It's the Bridgerton carriage scene, but make it mob!Bucky.

@subwaysurf45

⭒ She's Not Mad

Bucky Barnes was a known people pleaser, it was second nature to him. After meeting you and getting close you both try to navigate his eternal stressed state, working together you try your best to tone down his obsessive ways.

@adrinktostopyourthirst

⭒ Sniper

Reluctantly, you get thrown into an assignment with Bucky and Yelena, but Bucky doesn't trust you as far as he can throw you. When he's proven to be correct, it turns out you're still a hell of a good team.

⭒ Three Hundred

Bucky always makes sure his best friend is okay, because that is what you need. He's caring, but very passive and nonchalant, because you need it. Not him. He doesn't need that. He doesn't need you. Does he?

⭒ Variant

The chaos of the multiverse is quite literally holding up a mirror to Bucky. Turns out, it's very easy to get under someone's skin when you have a universal connection to them.

⭒ Underground

The Underground is the last way for you to survive whatever is left of the world after the Blip. Natasha introduces you to the Winter Soldier whose wing you're under until you find your way around. He's a stoic Underground fighter and you're... useless.

⭒ One Shot

Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

⭒ Satisfied

Drunk sex with Bucky.

@thenhewaswrongaboutme

⭒ Your Hands Have Made Some Good Mistakes

Bucky has to spend six months locked up with a stranger.

⭒ Time Out

Need me a boy who is so needy and whiny when he cums inside for who knows how many times, and yet he still begs as soon as he's done "please, please again? I'll be good, I-I swear, I just need it so bad, just one more baby I promise–"

@bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

⭒ After All This Time

impending danger puts you and your ex, Bucky, in close quarters.

⭒ Why Are You At The Wake?

Bucky sits by your hospital bed, anxious for you to finally open your eyes. He’s got to set the record straight, and apologize for what he said before you got hurt.

⭒ The Rain Is Always Gonna Come If You're Standing With Me

A hurtful article in a low-budget gossip magazine throws your relationship with Bucky for a loop.

⭒ I Can Go Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home

Bucky doesn't talk to you anymore, and he's less than enthusiastic when he runs into you out of the blue. But when he calls from a strange phone number, the puzzle pieces fall together.

@noceurous

⭒ Get You Back

You hated that you loved Bucky Barnes, and he loved that you could not hate him.

@violentdelightsandviolentends

⭒ Honey Girl

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

@notafunkiller

⭒ You Were Just Mine Yesterday

It's been a while since your break up with Bucky happened, but you're still not over him. You try to move on, go out, and have fun with your friend, Steve, but you end up in the same bar you two went to often. It also just happens that Bucky is there too, with Natasha by his side. It doesn't take long for you two to end up getting into old habits.

⭒ Out Of Style

A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.

@queers-gambit

⭒ Curiousity Killed The Cat

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

@cherryblossom-heart

⭒ I Loved You Once

Loving Bucky Barnes was never easy but breaking your heart seemed to come naturally to him. A love story about your heartbreak,his betrayal and a chance at redemption.

@rookthorne

⭒ Purity

Softness was a trait you unwittingly carried - the wings of a dove taking you higher and higher, elevating you in the eyes of the devil. And that devil did not want to wait any longer. It was time to collect.

⭒ His Girls

Cars were all the same to you — classics, imports, you name it, they were all the same. Well, they were, until you were nonetheless forced to visit your local mechanic and saw the man that would pique your interest in not only every single make and model of classic car, but his charming smile; the air of righteous arrogance that flowed from his tattoos, and that damned cheeky glint in his bright eyes.

⭒ Hollywood Boulevard

All it took was one night, one song - hell, one note - and you were gone for him, hook, line, and sinker. Turbulent times lay ahead, but in the afterglow of ecstasy, forced to feel emotions in such intensity for someone you’d never expect, you couldn't help but follow him anyway - he was irresistible, after all.

@boxofbonesfic

⭒ You're Gonna Give Me Six

@gogolucky13

⭒ Mean It

You and Bucky get trapped overnight in the safe house after a mission. Everything should be okay, except he's your ex and thanks to his carelessness, the situation gets a little more complicated.

@intrepidacious

⭒ Almost Believing

You and Bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. That doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

@buckybarnesdiaries

⭒ Please

Bucky needed to be spoiled.

@buckys-darling

⭒ Face The Sun

To ensure the prosperity of their two kingdoms, a determined Princess and reluctant King are to be wed. She is willing to commit, but he can’t seem to let his lover go.

⭒ Will You Love Me Tomorrow?

You and Bucky are friends who fuck and nothing more. That’s what you’ll keep telling yourself, at least.

⭒ Electric

Flirtation has a different meaning with Bucky, and his patience doesn't last long when it comes to you.

@straywords

⭒ Kiss It Better

You’re not entirely sure your boss with the staring problem even likes you, but you’re determined to do your job either way.

@little-miss-dilf-lover

⭒ Fifteen Minutes

@bucksfucks

⭒ The Feeling's Mutual

the amount of times you and bucky have seen each other masturbating is alarmingly high. might as well do it together.

@ellemj

⭒ Bigger Than He Was

Bucky pretends to be your new man when you run into your ex in public. However, the little act of pretending sparks something inside of him that he didn't know was there.

⭒ Strawberries

Bucky, the man with a long list of girls on his roster, gets exposed to a sex pollen in the field. Will he fuck the first girl he calls or the girl he's wanted for the last two months?

⭒ Breathe

Bucky hates the way you take unnecessary risks in the field, the way you're so mesmerizing and yet so hard to work with, and he especially hates the way you get on your knees for him during a dangerous mission. Finding out how pretty you look on your knees is the last thing he needs.

⭒ Flustered | part 2

Bucky seems to thoroughly appreciate all women...except for you. When he finds out one of your weaknesses, he can't help but use it against you, which only makes you hate him more.

⭒ Inevitable

While on a mission with Sam, John Walker, and Bucky, you're the only person exposed to a sex pollen. Bucky sure as hell isn't going to let anyone else take care of you.

⭒ Blurred Lines

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

⭒ Does It Hurt?

Bucky never would've gone out of his way to help you if he knew that HYDRA was still watching his every move, if he knew that it would shift their focus to you. When you're targeted and taken, it's his fault and he'll do anything to save you. Anything.

@viixenvi

⭒ Red

You work at a strip club and Bucky is a regular. Tonight he specifically asks for you in a private room. You never thought he'd love the color red on you so much.

@ro-is-struggling

⭒ Self Care

Bucky always seemed interested in your skin care routine, so when one day he arrives tired and drained from a mission, you take the opportunity to show him the importance and benefits of self-care.

@kinanabinks

⭒ Silent Girl

After a traumatizing event, you aren’t the friendliest or most talkative of people. Bucky understands, and in turn becomes the one person you soften your hard exterior for.

⭒ Special Girl

Being friends with benefits definitely has its perks, especially when the friend in question is as hot as Bucky Barnes - but when you're feeling insecure about the arrangement, Bucky makes it clear to you that you're more than just a friend.

@angrythingstarlight

⭒ Roommate Bucky

@wkemeup

⭒ Cold, Cold Water

While on a stakeout in the heart of Russia, Bucky learns that touch can bring something more than pain and he will willingly give himself over to the ice if it means keeping you alive.

⭒ Drunk On You

Bucky has always been nervous around you. When he’s tasked with caring for you after a night of heavy drinking and suddenly you’re kissing him, Bucky doesn’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly want him sober, right?

⭒ Honey and Chamomile

Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart.

⭒ Suburbia

Posing as husband and wife, you and Bucky infiltrate a quaint suburban neighborhood in search of a Hydra hacker. Perhaps if you weren’t so in love with him and he hadn’t broken your heart, the act of pretending wouldn’t hurt so much.

⭒ Eclipse

When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.

⭒ Back to Bourbon Street

When you’re badly injured on a mission, Bucky works desperately to keep you alive. Only, it might not be enough.

@espinosaurusrexex

⭒ Bad Boys Don't Buy Flowers

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

@navybrat817

⭒ Reconnect

Bucky Barnes is your best friend. You're also in love with him. After his recent breakup, the two of you get a chance to reconnect during a weeklong vacation together. Is it long enough to get your happy ending?

@dyspneagrime (wattpad & ao3)

⭒ No Privacy

You're stuck on a mission that never seems to end, in a completely destroyed studio apartment, with absolutely no privacy. And no privacy means- you haven't cum the whole time. Thing is, neither has the ancient, half-cyborg, psychopathic, hobo-lookin' asshole that you've been partnered up with.

⭒ Little Wing

The year is 1973. All Dove Rogers wanted was a relaxing summer. Just one last hoorah before being thrust into the adult life. Yet everything shifts when her new houseguest and long standing enemy- Bucky Barnes, arrives. In the thick of sun-kissed relaxation, the two of them are forced to face the awakening and burning desire growing between them.

⭒ Possessed

Margaret Everlee is a meek little thing. Living her life as a struggling artist in New York, trying to find her place in the world. That is until the formidable CEO with a dark past, James Barnes sets his sights on her. His infatuation is instantaneous, becoming a man obsessed with making her his own little doll.

@stardustdreams-andcaffeine

⭒ The Thin Line

Of one thing you were certain—Bucky Barnes hated you, and you hated him. How could you not, considering the super soldier had made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell after you had been assigned to protect him? But there was someone after Bucky from his past, and now he was forced to work alongside you to stop them. And in the process, you would find out just how thin that line was between love and hate.

@buckybabesonly

⭒ Wanna Be Yours

You are afraid to believe that someone like Bucky might actually love you back.

@lovelybucky1

⭒ Flirting and Football

@kurogxrix

⭒ Drunkenly In Love

you and Bucky ‘accidentally’ get married after a drunken game of truth or dare with the avengers.

@stxrvel

⭒ Hate Is A Strong Word

you hated Bucky and you were convinced that he hated you back. until one time he was talking to you and it started to sound... lovely? what was happening?

@kikixreverie

⭒ Its Called: Freefall

Things get heated between you and your closest friend Bucky, when you're made to play a married couple on an important mission. Neither of you can help yourselves when you end up stuck in a hotel room together, with sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

@brunchable

⭒ I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend

Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

@thyme-in-a-bubble

⭒ Just For Tonight

before you could even consider the possible consequences, a desperate request then fell from your lips, “well, what if I’m not asking you to be with me? What if it’s just for tonight? What if I’m only asking you to be with me for one night? Would you give me that?” you blinked up at him, scarcely breathing at all, “would you be mine just till the sun comes up?”

@aquaticmercy

⭒ Sleeper

When Bucky falls in love with the antihero he’s sleeping with, he offers her a place in the Thunderbolts.

⭒ My Own Soul's Warning

You, an immortal being, falls in love with the very mortal Bucky Barnes. You would do anything for him, even if it meant you had to strike a deal with Death herself.

⭒ Breaking Point

You and Bucky had always hated each other. When Bucky gets injured during a mission, you start wondering if the hatred was just masking something else.

@skaye44

⭒ Coffee Companion

You and your friend Bucky enjoy going for coffee dates as friends. Bucky sees the names and numbers of two flirty baristas on your cups. He's jealous and wants to be the one you date, so he takes matters into his own hands.

@ultralightpoe

⭒ Juno

@elixirfromthestars

⭒ Sink Your Teeth In Me

You and Bucky are supposed to attend Sam's party on Halloween. However, when you show up to his place looking like temptation itself—he gets other ideas on how to spend the night with you.

⭒ By The Warmth Of The Oven

You are baking cookies for the Avengers holiday party when a certain super solider comes into the kitchen tipsy for the first time...

@vunblr

⭒ The Memory Remains

An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

⭒ Roots and Branches (part 1)

Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

⭒ Heartwood (part 2)

After Sam’s party, Bucky begins to navigate uncharted territory as he works to balance his growing feelings and lingering insecurities in his blooming relationship.

@elvenrin

⭒ Cold Libraries Create Warmer Hearts

a reserved librarian and a history-loving student keep crossing paths in the cold library, where shared smiles and hidden glances will make them understand that burning hearts don't do well in a place that easily ignites.

#marvel #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #“ass or tits?” bro A METAL ARM #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #tfatws #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #“i can change him” bitch why #hes a perfect menace to society and i love that #sebastian stan #mob!bucky #mob!au #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky x reader

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aries-007 · 1 year ago

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Earth is space Australia: Extremophiles

I love this idea. I can't help but wonder how aliens would react to Extremophile species (a species that thrives in extreme environments).

Like, perhaps earth is already considered an "extreme" planet. And humans are already considered by the rest of the galaxy to be an extremophilic species ("Humans can survive nearly anything. It's quite intriguing/fascinating." - a viewpoint shared by many humanologists) and at some point some human crew members are approached by the rest of the crew...

"Is there anything you humans can't survive? You seem to be quite a hardy species," Quarm states. Xe is simply a curious individual.

"What, us? We're actually kinda weak when it really comes to it. I mean, sure we can adapt to most environments, but there's some places that even we can't handle for very long. Like the vacuum of space. Or in volcanoes." Answers human Josefine.

"Or the ocean vents!" Another of the human crew, Steven, adds.

"Yeah, those too!"

Quarm chuckles just a bit, "ah, but that isn't an expectation of any species. Such extreme heat and pressures are simply inhospitable to any individual."

"I mean, pretty much, yeah..." the human's response is concerning to Quarm.

"Human Josefine... why are you saying it like that..?" Quarm isn't sure they want the answer.

"I mean... extremophilic species are a thing that exist."

"Extrem- Are.... Are humans... not? Extremophiles???"

"Uhhh No??"

Quarm wasn't ready for his next question to be answered, but that's a given for any question about the Humans' Homeworld.

"Then... What is?"

"I mean, tardigrades can survive in a vacuum... I’m not really the person to answer this. Steve?"

Human Steve smiled broadly as he began his rant about iron-shelled Snails that live in Volcanoes, varying deep-ocean species (that all seem alien in and of themselves), and several others.

Quarm is now incredibly fearful for these "Docuseries" human Steve is wanting to share...

#humans are weird #earth is a deathworld #earth is space australia #humans are space orcs #extremophile #extremophiles

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angrythingstarlight · 1 year ago

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I hope Bee gets all the hearts and pink cupcakes in the world this coming Valentine’s Day🥺

She will!

Bucky has something sweet planned for her and her mama.

In the meantime, Bucky is seconds from having an aneurysm because the shifty little bastard strikes again.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

AN: Written on my phone, will edit later.

"No." Bucky takes a sip of bourbon, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. A smirk lingers on his lips.

You've been, not so subtly, attempting to pry a hint out of him for the past hour. Nothing you've done so far has broken his resolve to keep his Valentine's Day plans a secret. No matter how tempting the offer.

"Please." You move to your knees, lips brushing his ear as you whisper. "Please Bucky."

His chest slowly rises and falls. You don't play fair. His heartbeat spikes when you bite his earlobe, his eyes closing. "No Malyshka."

No. You haven't heard that word come out of his mouth in forever. "What do you mean no?"

Even as the question leaves your lips, your eyes go wide. He really does have you spoiled. Bucky laughs under his breath as if he knows what's going through your mind. You push his shoulder, sitting back on your haunches.

"You'll get it when I'm ready to give it to you." Bucky raises the glass to his mouth. He doesn't have the decency to conceal how much he's enjoying teasing you. He wonders how desperate you'll get. This should be fun.

Just as you're about go to plan C, Bee runs in the living room, skidding to a stop in front of the couch. She beams up at the two of you. "Hi Papa, Hi Mommy. I was lookin' for you all over."

This is the first room she's checked.

"Hey Bee. You ready for Valentine's day?" You ask, reaching out to fix her sleeve.

"Oh I real 'cited. Frankie gave me a lot of kisses," she replies, holding up four fingers. "You get lots of kisses mommy?"

Bucky feels his stomach drop, his bourbon goes down wrong, burning a path straight down his windpipe and he coughs harshly. "What?"

He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, dropping the glass on the end table with a sharp clack that nearly shatters it. Bucky clears his throat. "Kisses?"

Bee grins, reaching into her pocket. "Yeah, he gave me some for baletine's cause he's my boyfrien'."

His gaze narrows. Jaw tightens. He knew it. He knew he was right about that little bastard. He knows a long con when he sees one. If he makes a call right now, Frankie will be enrolling in a new school by the end of the week. Preferably an ocean away from his baby.

"No," you hiss, grabbing his chin and turning his face to you. You can read him just as easily as he can read you. "No Bucky." Without breaking eye contact, you continue speaking. "What kind of kisses Bumblebee?"

"Yummy ones Mommy."

Bucky makes a pained noise in his throat. You will yourself not to giggle—it's really hard not to but you don't think Bucky could handle that on top of everything else. He's stiff as a board under your hands, so tense he might snap.

"Oh that's nice. Do you have any more?"

His brows knit, confusion warring with the panic in his deep blue gaze.

"You can has dis one," she offers, holding up a Hershey kiss wrapped in pink foil.

"Thank you, sweet Bee." You pluck it off her palm and let go of Bucky. Slowly unwrapping it, you plop the chocolate in your mouth. He deflates, avoiding your gaze as he loosens his tie with a chagrined expression. He can concede that he may have slightly overreacted.

"Frankie gots you some kisses Papa." She doesn't notice the disgusted sneer sliding across his face. "You waits right here. I gonna get them." She sprints out the room, the soft patter of her steps fading down the hallway.

"Not. A. Word."

Head tilting back, you cackle. Loudly. Boisterously. Your entire body shaking from the force of it. Bucky stares pensively in your direction, polishing off the rest of his drink while he waits for your laughter to abate.

"Oh I'm telling Steve and Sam all about this. Don't give me that look, I'm not afraid of you Barnes," you wheeze out, wiping the stray tear from your cheek.

You crawl over his lap, legs draped over the arm of the couch, your head on his shoulder. He grabs your thigh, pulling you closer. "But if you tell me what you're getting me for Valentine's Day, I might be convinced to keep my mouth shut."

Bucky weighs his options, Steve and Sam will never let him live this down or he can reveal his plans. He makes a swift decision. He doesn't have to think about it. His large, warm hand slides up your throat, and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. He smiles softly before pressing an even softer kiss on your forehead.

"No."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x black!reader #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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p5buecks · 3 months ago

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Can you write about Paige as a mom!!

slow mornings

paige x reader

p as a mom and wife

no cw

i miss writing but have no ideas :( pls send requests!

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `

“I’ll go.” Your wifes soft, sleepy voice cuts through your babys sobs. “Are you sure?” You double check, beginning to sit up in bed. “Positive.” Paige reinforces before kissing your head and gently guiding you to lay back down. You hadn’t even opened your eyes yet, it felt like you had only fallen asleep ten minutes ago so you were grateful to be able to sink back under the covers.

Your daughter was approaching three months old and even though everyone said it would get easier, it felt like it wasn’t. You were barely getting two hours of sleep at one time and if your baby wasn’t crying, then your mind was playing tricks on you and you would imagine she was. You were under no illusion that motherhood would be easy but you were physically and mentally drained.

It doesn’t take long for the cries to stop and you know your daughter is safe in her mama’s arms so you allow yourself to relax, mumbling that you just need five more minutes sleep.

For once, you aren’t woken up by cries but instead by the winter sun streaming through the bedroom windows. You sit up in a panic wondering what time it was. Eight AM. Your five more minutes had turned into three more hours. You hurried out of bed slipping your feet into your slippers, if Paige was going to make it to training on time then she would’ve had to leave thirty minutes ago.

“Paige!” You called out as you hurried down the stairs. “I’m so sorry, I overslept! I know you have training and you’re late now, but I can take over.” You’re slightly breathless as you reach the bottom of the stairs but the smell of vanilla wafting from the kitchen and soft stream of Frank Ocean seemed to immediately calm you.

“What’s going on?” You asked confused finding Paige stood at the stove. Your daughter was in her bouncer, cooing at the mobile dangling above her, a few feet from Paige. Away from the dangers of the hot stove but close enough that she could be seen. “Making breakfast.” The blonde replied to you before attempting - and failing - flipping the pancake in the pan she held. “What about training?” You asked, taking further steps into the kitchen, smiling down at your content daughter before wrapping your arms around your wife. “Have you not seen the weather?” Paige asks, “We’re on tornado watch so no training.” She tells you.

Looking outside, the sky is a deep gray. Trees sway violently and twigs and leaves blow past your window in random flashes. You weren’t particularly excited about the storm happening outside but knowing you got to spend the entire day with your girls made you grin from ear to ear.

Paige plated the perfect stack of pancakes for you and her to share. Drizzled with maple syrup and a neat swirl of whipped cream. A bowl of mixed berries accompanied your sweet breakfast, “This looks amazing babe!” You complimented, taking the seat across from your wife. Just as you were taking your first bite, your daughter began to cry, her infantile sobs immediately pulling on your heartstrings. You put down your fork, ready to pick her up and console her in your arms.

“I’ve got it - eat your breakfast.” Paige insisted before lifting the baby out of her bouncer. She held her close, hand gently rubbing her back as she whispered words of comfort into her ear. It didn’t take long for your daughter to settle in her moms arms. Her loud cries turned into soft giggles as Paige twirled around with her, pressing sweet kisses to her forehead.

The music that had welcomed you into the kitchen, still played. Softly and gently emitting from the speakers, Paige swayed in sync with the melody of Steve Lacy and you watched as your entire world was stood in front of you. You had an amazing wife and a beautiful daughter. You pinched the skin on your arm between your thumb and forefinger, just to make sure you wasn’t dreaming. Nope. This was real life. Your real life.

super short fic but so cute! obsessed with p as a mom and wife, i just know she’d be the best

#p5buecks #paige bueckers x reader #wlw #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers imagine #fanfiction #lesbian #one shot

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blueiscoool · 2 years ago

Text

Gigantic Skull of Prehistoric Sea Monster Found on England’s ‘Jurassic Coast’

The remarkably well-preserved skull of a gigantic pliosaur, a prehistoric sea monster, has been discovered on a beach in the county of Dorset in southern England, and it could reveal secrets about these awe-inspiring creatures.

Pliosaurs dominated the oceans at a time when dinosaurs roamed the land. The unearthed fossil is about 150 million years old, almost 3 million years younger than any other pliosaur find. Researchers are analyzing the specimen to determine whether it could even be a species new to science.

Originally spotted in spring 2022, the fossil, along with its complicated excavation and ongoing scientific investigation, are now detailed in the upcoming BBC documentary “Attenborough and the Jurassic Sea Monster,” presented by legendary naturalist Sir David Attenborough, that will air February 14 on PBS.

Such was the enormous size of the carnivorous marine reptile that the skull, excavated from a cliff along Dorset’s “Jurassic Coast,” is almost 2 meters (6.6 feet) long. In its fossilized form, the specimen weighs over half a metric ton. Pliosaurs species could grow to 15 meters (50 feet) in length, according to Encyclopaedia Britannica.

The fossil was buried deep in the cliff, about 11 meters (36 feet) above the ground and 15 meters (49 feet) down the cliff, local paleontologist Steve Etches, who helped uncover it, said in a video call.

Extracting it proved a perilous task, one fraught with danger as a crew raced against the clock during a window of good weather before summer storms closed in and the cliff eroded, possibly taking the rare and significant fossil with it.

Etches first learned of the fossil’s existence when his friend Philip Jacobs called him after coming across the pliosaur’s snout on the beach. Right from the start, they were “quite excited, because its jaws closed together which indicates (the fossil) is complete,” Etches said.

After using drones to map the cliff and identify the rest of the pliosaur’s precise position, Etches and his team embarked on a three-week operation, chiseling into the cliff while suspended in midair.

“It’s a miracle we got it out,” he said, “because we had one last day to get this thing out, which we did at 9:30 p.m.”

Etches took on the task of painstakingly restoring the skull. There was a time he found “very disillusioning” as the mud, and bone, had cracked, but “over the following days and weeks, it was a case of …, like a jigsaw, putting it all back. It took a long time but every bit of bone we got back in.”

It’s a “freak of nature” that this fossil remains in such good condition, Etches added. “It died in the right environment, there was a lot of sedimentation … so when it died and went down to the seafloor, it got buried quite quickly.”

Fearsome top predator of the seas

The nearly intact fossil illuminates the characteristics that made the pliosaur a truly fearsome predator, hunting prey such as the dolphinlike ichthyosaur. The apex predator with huge razor-sharp teeth used a variety of senses, including sensory pits still visible on its skull that may have allowed it to detect changes in water pressure, according to the documentary.

The pliosaur had a bite twice as powerful as a saltwater crocodile, which has the world’s most powerful jaws today, according to Emily Rayfield, a professor of paleobiology at the University of Bristol in the United Kingdom who appeared in the documentary. The prehistoric marine predator would have been able to cut into a car, she said.

Andre Rowe, a postdoctoral research associate of paleobiology at the University of Bristol, added that “the animal would have been so massive that I think it would have been able to prey effectively on anything that was unfortunate enough to be in its space.”

By Issy Ronald.

#Gigantic Skull of Prehistoric Sea Monster Found on England’s ‘Jurassic Coast’#Dorset England #pliosaur #jurassic #fossil #prehistoric #dinosaur #paleobiology #palaeontologists #archaeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #Sir David Attenborough #nature #naturalist

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

Note

hi bug! can I please request the dialogue prompt “Hold up, she said what?” with steve and shy!reader? maybe she is robin’s friend and robin tells steve something reader said (maybe that she thinks steve is cute or nice or something of the sort), and it leads to a cute conversation between the two?

ty for requesting angel!! — steve finds out the cute girl at the record store likes him and decides to bring her ice cream as a proclamation of love (shy!fem!reader, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, 2.3k)

blurbcember ⋆⁺₊⋆ ❄ ⁺₊⋆ ❄

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve interjects suddenly, a metal scoop in his hand and a wild look in his eye. “She said what?”

Robin fumbles with the metal tub of Peppermint-Chip ice cream she’s refilling. It clangs when she drops it into place with haphazard care. The shop goes unusually silent without her rambling to fill the dead air. Holly, Jolly Christmas crackles quietly from the broken speakers overhead.

The girl blinks at him with a wide ocean gaze. Her rogue-tinted mouth falls softly agape. She knows she’s said the wrong thing, but she can’t remember what.

“...Huh?”

“What’d you just say?”

Her doe eyes flit to the left for a moment. It takes her a second or more to recall the words she’d only just said. She does this thing sometimes where she rambles on and on about nothing, and Steve was the first person in the whole world to let her. So it’s way too easy for her to tell him a billion things at once and forget about all of them a second later.

“That the music store just got new cassettes in?” Robin answers, her gritty voice a few octaves higher than usual.

Steve nods slow and with a crooked grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. He rests his elbow on the glass case above the ice cream and eggs her on. “After that?”

“…That you and the pretty new girl that works there have the same taste in music?”

“Before that.”

“That she said she wanted to show you the new tapes,” she says, wincing with the realization that she had, in fact, said the wrong thing. A secret she swore not to tell has just spilled from her lips without her even knowing it.

“And?” Steve lilts with a wider, rosier smile.

“Because she likes you…” Robin confesses (or rather, re-confesses) with her teeth gritted.

Even though Steve had heard her perfectly the first time, hearing it the second makes his heart skip a beat. The pulsing organ lurches into his throat. He almost forgets how to breathe.

“She likes me?” he repeats, mostly whispering, with an incredulous gape of shock. His bushy brows raise until his forehead wrinkles. His eyes go wide until the honey of them starts to glimmer.

Despite her best friend’s lovesick disposition, Robin’s freckled face hardens. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” she rumbles like a storm cloud, knocking her shoulder against his when she walks by him.

“Why?” Steve retorts like a child, following behind her just the same.

He nearly bumps into her when she stops short at the deep freezer. She returns the cloth mits she carried the ice cream in with after spending her whole break organizing the case by color. Steve could never even be bothered to put the damn things back where they belonged in the first place.

“Because I swore to her I wouldn’t,” Robin agonizes, then whips around to face him again. Her features are twisted like a hurt puppy as she pleads. “Don’t tell her I said anything either, okay? She’ll hate me.”

Steve wasn’t planning on it. Not because he thought it might make you hate her, though. He’s not entirely sure you’re capable of that.

He’s only known you for a few months — ever since the leaves started changing color and people traded their ice cream cones for cool music at the new record store. He spent half that time admiring you across the landing, but you’ve never been anything but gentle with him. You were soft, with a soul of sunshine.

He didn’t know it was possible to be made of sunlight until he met you.

“Well, did you tell her I liked her back?” he presses, hoping Robin might’ve done some of the hard work for him.

Her face screws up like she’s tasted something sour. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised you I wouldn’t.”

Steve shoots her a deadpanned look.

Robin caves.

“It’s not like I meant to tell you she liked you just now, okay? It just came out!” she explains, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Maybe next time I stick my foot in my mouth around the new girl, I’ll tell her that you’re obsessed with her, and the two of you can finally start dating instead of making sex eyes at each other all the time.”

He wouldn’t put that past her. Robin the Mastermind, Robin the Blabbermouth, Robin the Matchmaker. But his fluttering heart is pumping with too much adrenaline now. He feels like he could move mountains with the knowledge of your affections — knowing that all his own big, fuzzy, suffocating feelings have been reciprocated all this time.

If he doesn’t talk to you now, he’s scared he’ll never work up this kind of courage again.

“No. Screw that,” he concludes with a shake of his head. He’s in King Steve mode now — feeling half as suave as he used to back when the whole town was falling at his feet — chest puffed and ego reeling. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Robin watches, dumbfounded, as he dumps a scoop of their best-selling ice cream into a paper bowl. Another tub she’ll have to refill. Steve ducks under the counter door and heads for the exit. “Wait— what am I supposed to do?” the girl shouts across the empty store.

Now out in the bustling Starcourt mall and taking short strides towards the music store, Steve spins on his heel to face her. He shrugs and readjusts the sailor’s cap on his head. “Wait for me to get back.”

—————

You’ve been banished to the back of the store.

Not exactly. But that’s what it feels like.

You got a bit too overwhelmed working the front counter, and since Eddie’s crazy soft on you, he let you put up all the Christmas decorations he’d been putting off instead. It’s a win-win situation, really.

You’re stringing up sparkling tinsel over the rows of records when a deep blue sailor’s uniform catches your eye. Looking over your shoulder, you find Steve in all his glorysauntering towards you. He’s wearing shorts even though it’s basically winter now in Indiana. He’s beaming at you like sunshine anyway.

Beneath the amber glow of the dimly lit store, he looks borderline angelic. Almost unfairly ethereal.

“What’s that?” you wonder with a smile you don’t even know is there, nodding to the Scoops Ahoy brandedcup in his hand.

You can almost smell the syrup-cinnamon concoction of the ice cream he holds in his palm. Or maybe that’s just Steve, and the sugary sweetness is radiating from his pores after working in a confectionary shop during the holidays.

He looks at you even sweeter.

“New flavor,” he answers vaguely, smirking as he leans against the metal shelves. He stumbles slightly when it rocks beneath his weight. “Oops. Sorry. It’s, uh— It’s pancake chunks with maple syrup swirl. I call it Wake and Bake.”

A giggle tumbles from your lips when he hands it to you. “Eddie’s gonna love that,” you murmur.

“Well, it’s actually called Breakfast in Bed, but— I don’t know— I thought my idea was better.”

“Way better,” you concur with a nod and a pretty smile.

Steve watches with attentive honey eyes as you spoon a bite into your mouth. He feels a bit like it’ll be his fault if you hate it. His irrational need to impress you always makes him feel hopelessly inadequate.

“Woah,” you hum without your mouth still a little full. The cream melts softly on your tongue, tasting of a sweet and early morning. “This is really good.”

His brows raise, and his eyes widen. “Yeah?” he wonders. Your words wash over him like a compliment for a reason he can’t name. It feels good to make you feel good.

“Mhmm. I might have to come by after work and buy the rest of it, actually,” you joke with a curt shrug. It’s a feeble confession — your way of telling him that you want to see him more because you could never say the real thing out loud.

Your heart sinks when Steve shakes his head. Then swells when he smiles.

“No way,” he scoffs, lips curling into a lopsided grin. “I’m not gonna let you pay for it— that’s crazy.”

“You can’t keep giving me free ice cream, Steve—”

“What my manager doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he lilts lowly and with a cool shrug that makes you melt. He goes very distinctly soft when he looks at you, all scruffy-faced and sweet-eyed.

It’s suffocatingly beautiful. You crack under the pressure of it.

“Well, uh— Thanks for the— ice cream,” you stammer and motion the bowl back to him. Thanks for stopping by and keeping me company, but you’re too pretty and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it, you don’t say.

“You don’t want the rest?” he asks with pinched brows.

“I just… should probably get back to work, you know?”

“Eddie doesn’t let you take breaks?”

“No, he does,” you answer quickly, shifting your weight on your feet. It becomes virtually impossible to meet his gaze. “Just not with…”

Steve’s brows raise when you trail off. “Not with me?” he finishes with a laugh.

“Well, not with the… pretty-boy-ice-cream-slinger in the sailor’s uniform,” you correct, then quickly follow. “His words. Not mine.”

In all honesty, Steve couldn’t care less about what Eddie Munson has to say about him. If Hawkins’s local freak is the only thing standing between him and the pretty girl at the music store, he’s down to break a couple of dumb rules.

He takes a small step towards you. His pink smirk widens. You swear your heart stops when he looks at you with it. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” he teases with a twinkle in his squinted eye.

Suddenly, there’s a frog in your throat and you’re fourteen all over again. You’re flustered and drowning and totally unsure of yourself. “I didn’t say that,” you mutter, gaze flittering and smile wavering.

Steve goes to rest his elbow on the shelf again, then remembers its unsteadiness and decides against it. His arm rests awkwardly in the air for half a moment before he crosses both of them over his chest.

“Well, I mean, you didn’t not say it, so…”

You squint up at him, busying your clammy hands with the melting ice cream in your palm. You know what he’s fishing for. Your pride urges you to stay silent even though your heart sings the sweetest songs for him.

“You know you’re pretty, Steve,” you murmur matter of factly.

“But do you think I’m pretty?”

Your thundering heart lurches into your throat when Steve takes another small step closer. He smells like wintertime — like Christmas and nostalgia and boy. You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, so you nod, slow and sheepish.

“Good,” he hums with a beam he couldn’t hide if he tried. “‘Cause I think you’re pretty, too.”

Your chest gets all sparkly at his admission — the affirmation that all your girlish feelings are being reciprocated by a boy you never dreamed you could have. You don’t feel hardly deserving of the fondness dripping from his features, but you pray he never stops looking at you with it.

You grow warm with the irrational hope that he might kiss you. You think he might actually kiss you until your boss’s voice pierces the golden bubble of puppy love the both of you are basking in.

“How’s the decorating going?” Eddie announces himself, appearing suddenly between the two aisles.

Robin idles at his side. She’s in the feminine version of Steve’s sailor outfit — with silver chains around her neck and bandaids on her knees. Effortlessly endearing and totally unaware of it all.

You push Steve away from you without thinking, all but shoving the softening ice cream into his chest. Some of it smears white against the scarlet tie around his chest. “Sorry!” you exclaim in your moment of fleeting panic, then turn to Eddie with the same apologetic wince. “Sorry…” you repeat quieter.

“Robin?” Steve gapes at the sight of his best friend — apparently the second thing standing in his way, right beside the freak. “What the hell are you doing here— did you tattle on me? What are you, four?”

“I got lonely,” the brunette answers plainly. “And I knew you were around here somewhere, so I asked Eddie where you were—” She waves a pale hand your way, fingers painted with chipping maroon polish. “—And now I’m here.”

Eddie grins wide and tilts his wild head to his shoulder. “Yeah. Can’t believe you’re trying to taint my one good employee, Steven.”

“I’m not tainting anybody, Munson,” he bites back like a bickering brother, then screws up his face and turns to Robin. “Wait. If you’re here, who’s manning the counter?”

Her freckled face falls like a child caught in a fib. Her deep blue eyes widen when she blinks at him. In a mousier voice, she confesses, “Dustin came by… And I told him he could eat all the ice cream he wanted as long as he made sure no one stole anything.”

The four of you fall silent. The soft rock of Christmas Wrapping plays weakly from the radio at the front of the store. Eddie breaks first. ‘Cause he can’t ever be serious about anything.

The boyish sound of his laughter sends a giggle sputtering from your lips. The pretty noise makes Steve smile despite his baffled disbelief.

He turns to you with a dumbfounded grin. “You’re still stopping by after work, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer softly, nodding as your smiling face grows hot.

Eddie scoffs when Steve walks by him. “If you still have a job by then.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: blurbcember

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dracl-dragon · 3 months ago

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Mermay day 8: Sun

I really like how this one turned out :)

Anyway here have a young deep ocean steve trying to (playfully) catch a seagull while lying in the sun

Prompt from @/ommikko11 's list :)

(Tags under cut)

@itsgirlcraft

@itisindigos

@chaoticcyprus

@cavedweller1st

#digital art #my art #art #steve legends au #Deep ocean steve #Deep ocean steve (oc)#Original species #Mermay #Mermay 2025 #Seagull #I. Suck at drawing birds #But i think the seagull turned out pretty well :)

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jungkooklover777 · 3 months ago

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𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑜-𝑜-𝑜 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑆𝑜 𝐹𝑖𝑛𝑒! ; steve rogers | one-shot |

summary: you’re so attracted to steve and he knows it.

pairing: gf!fem!reader x bf!steve rogers.

trope: established relationship.

genre: fluff + romance.

warnings‼️: steve being a flirty & teasing bf + shirtless steve.

word count: 832.

random disclaimerrr: the things that captain does to me sigh. he’s so fine LAWRD those biceps bruhh i’m so weak he’s so delicious looking 🫦 hot take: the steve i know wouldn't leave behind his soulmate for a woman he kissed once. the “canon” ending is actually fake & heavily mischaracterizes him! hope this helps 🫶🏽 happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jungkooklover777

It’s dangerous how good he looks right now.

A white compression shirt and grey joggers, but it’s how he looks in it that does it for you.

His skin reminds you of a few drops of honey in milk. It seems so soft and smooth. His skin shines with sweat accumulated from working out.

His biceps, how large and firm. They distract you, make your mind go places your face burns at. The veins that protrude from the muscles provoke you to come trace them.

Your eyes trail down and are captivated by the perfect 8 pack of abs you’ve ever seen made achievable yet.

They flex through the shirt as he catches his breath, soft pants exiting his mouth.

You notice how pink his lips are, how soft they seem. Inviting for sure.

Steve runs a hand through the damp strands of his hair and you want it to be your hand so bad.

He chugs down some water from his thermos and his adam’s apple bobs up and down, up and down.

You gulp down instinctively, feeling your breathing flow unevenly.

He sighs heavily as he walks towards you and you know he’s done for the day.

You still ask. “Done for the day?”

“Yeah.” He deeply exhales once more, the tiredness seeping through.

You try not to think about the goosebumps that litter your skin from his voice.

His voice you think. So deep and husky.

Alright, you’ve gotta stop before he catches wind of your thoughts.

“You good over there?”

Shit.

“Hm? Oh, yeah! Yeah, I-I’m alright… why do you ask?”

He nods once, his plush lips form a slight smile. “You’re kinda quiet today.”

You don’t realize when you reach his room.

He shuts the door behind you, the soft click of the lock brings you back to reality as you sit down on his bed.

He’s still expecting you to say something and you’re about to, but your mind short circuits when he takes off his shirt.

“Oh.” Is all you could manage to get out.

He snickers at your lack of words. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He knows what that means. He knows why, too.

Steve’s just being a cheeky little shit because it’s an ego boost when you get like this. When you get so breathless and speechless because of him.

“Nothing.” Your mouth dries. “I just meant that I didn’t notice.”

His baby blues lock your eyes in an unbreakable trance. They peer at your nervousness in a way that is gentle yet coaxing.

“I did.”

Those two words send you over the edge and your heart flutters at his thoughtfulness.

You nimbly nod, eyes downcast and busy with analyzing the not so many details of his smooth, cold mahogany floor.

He leans down and and you flinch back the slightest bit, not expecting him to be so close.

“Talk to me.”

His eyes dart back and forth from your eyes and your mouth goes dry from the close and intimate contact.

“It’s nothing. I’m okay, I promise.”

He tilts his head to the side, angling his line of sight to take in all of your face. They trail a quick path, gently encouraging you to keep your eyes on him.

A ghost of a smirk rests on his lips. “I dunno... you look a bit flushed.”

You blink rapidly and move your chin away, not letting him gain satisfaction from your bashful reactions.

But you can’t hide yourself from him, not even when you try.

His index and middle finger guide your chin to his line of sight.

You blink up at him and those ocean blue eyes. You watch as they glide along your face and leave your ears burning.

“I’m gonna go shower.” He murmurs softly.

You reply faintly. “Okay.”

He nods back. “Okay.”

Steve cages you in with both arms on opposite sides of you, the action making the mattress sink into the frame.

You can hear your heart now, the beats steadily rising and you hope he can’t hear it.

His head is lined up just the slightest to make it seem as he’s leaning into you.

You’re moving on your own without thinking. It’s like he’s cast a spell on you and you can’t break through.

You close your eyes and your lips part on their own accord but when you don’t feel his lips in the next second, you open them slowly.

His nose is still a couple of inches away and he’s staring down at you with the biggest, dorkiest smile on his face.

“Why’d you stop?” He lightheartedly teases.

You lean back and try to save the little dignity you have left but Steve has another idea.

He catches your lips and kisses you like you deserve.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs in between breaths and you know he means it.

He rests his forehead on yours and you bump your nose into his.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

His grin is picturesque.

#mcu #marvel #marvel studios #the marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers one-shot #lana del rey #ldr #♡ hearts 4 everyone! ♡#s writes!#hello-o-o you are looking so fine!

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gatorbites-imagines · 3 months ago

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My favorite mermen are ones based on either eels, deep sea fish, or octopi.

Bucky as an Eel merman makes my brain brrr cause eels are seen as creepy and scary but honestly they can be super sweet. Yeah, they are dangerous, electric eels can generate up to 600 volts which is enough to kill a person on it own (but typically muscle spasms and paralysis cause the person to drown)

Especially when they become accustomed to humans, they are literally just DOGS. My favorite is Valerie Taylor and the spotted moray eel she befriended, like. It acts like a puppy around her 😭

Merman Bucky Barnes x male reader

Headcanons

Happy mermay everybody

I went with moray eel Bucky, cuz I think their pharyngeal jaw is cool. I think thats what its called,,,, ive been thinking about other avengers, and I feel like Tony would be some colorful fish. I like the mental image of seal Steve,,, its cute,,,

Imagine in this world, SHIELD is a company of some kind, that researches the ocean, environment, and helps preserve it. And then imagine, you being one of SHIELDs “agent”, aka, researchers.

You get your own comfortably sized home near the ocean, quite isolated from the rest of the world, but the nearest town is only 45 minutes away in your truck.

you have everything you need, and incredible internet, thanks to the tech you were given by your employers. Nicky Fury was a scary and intense guy, but he provided his people with the best gear out there.

The first good while, nothing special happens. You put on your wetsuit, oxygen, fins, a bag for all the interesting things you find, and everything else. And splash, you are in the cold waters every single day, looking at this and that.

You were too amazed by the marine-life and cool rocks to notice the large shape huddled amongst the rocks staring at you, he just blended really well with the shadows.

Bucky would of course be interested in you, since where you were sent to research hadnt been visited by many people, and especially not ones diving underwater.

Imagine the absolute terror you feel when you swim past his huddling place, and his hand reaches out and loosely grabs your ankle. Bucky would be amazed at the massive amounts of bubbles coming out around your mouth-piece as you scream

Merpeople weren't extremely rare, but most lived deeper in the sea or in warmer areas of the world, so seeing one here was a shock to you.

It was easy to see that he was a moray eel merman, from his tail, to his markings and claws, as well as the second set of jaws you could see in the back of his throat between his parted lips.

Merpeople weren't stupid, and a good chunk knew at least a little of the local language, so you two were able to have a stunted conversation after you tempt Bucky to swim to the surface.

Seeing Bucky out of the water, draped across the beach, made it obvious how very attractive he was. You did feel bad when you finally noticed his missing arm, and the many scars on his body.

You two end up growing closer, Bucky even allowing you to touch his long powerful tail. Its pretty gross, covered in mucus and squishy to the touch. You are lucky his mucus doesn't have toxin in it.

His human half is covered in the mucus too, but after realizing you don't like the feeling of it between your fingers, Bucky starts washing it off in the water before dragging himself ashore. It secretes out after a while, but all his effort is very cute.

All the time you two spend together helps Bucky learn a lot more English, and he's very quick to pick it up, meaning the conversations go from surface level to something deeper.

Its not on purpose that Bucky ends up becoming pretty possessive over you, he just does. And yeah, he's chasing off any other curious mer, or fish. This is his territory now, and only he is allowed to drape himself across your lap and receive scritches.

I could see Bucky being just as curious about your human body as you are his mer body. So, expect to wear a lot of shorts so he can pet your legs or wiggle your toes.

He will flop his long heavy tail over your lap in the meantime. Its both because you are curious as a scientist or whatever you are, but also because it feels nice to be touched. Your hands and body are just so nice and warm compared to his clammy body.

With SHIELDs help, you are able to make an arm for Bucky. And Bucky, well, he immediately takes it as a courting gift, because why else would you give it to him.

Plus, he's been able to smell your attraction to him whenever you guys go swimming, especially the times where you just wear swim trunks and paddle along beside him.

Kissing a mer is really clumsy and awkward the first multiple times, especially one with sharp teeth and more than one row of teeth like Bucky.

The first time you two try to slip tongue into it, Bucky almost bites your tongue right off with his second set of jaws. The merman feels horrible about it and ends up curling up inside a rock formation for a few days. He only comes out when you put on your gear and swim down to see him.

I could imagine Bucky, after you two become a thing, mourns how he isnt human. He will always be stuck in the sea, and he knows you love the ocean, but you are human, and there are times when you need to leave him behind.

Those times where you have to leave, be it to pick up supplies, report to SHIELD, or the time or two where you had to present a subject to a huge crowd, Bucky always lingers around, waiting for your return.

Maybe you two figure out a way for him to drag his way into your home, like, having dug out a path he can drag himself without being dried out, and placing a huge tub he can soak in. Maybe those in the floor beds.

That means he can at least watch tv when you are away, he's always waiting and yearning though. It's so strange to yearn for someone when he's been alone for so long, but love does that to a person, or mer.

You are just as excited to get back to him as well, meaning you are always hurrying out of whatever meetings you were called into.

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urhoneycombwitch · 4 months ago

Text

workin' 9 to 5

Steve Harrington x Reader x Eddie Munson established poly relationship

foreword: ya’ll asked for more Steddie x Reader and I’m holding up this wet cat of a fic by the scruff of its neck for your reading pleasure <3 not necessary to do any reading beforehand, but I consider this to be a companion fic to all the 'quickie' ones listed here!

cw: Established poly relationship between Steve/Reader/Eddie, Steve POV, Steve hates his job (briefly), big job/life changes, R referred to as ‘girl’ in passing, discussions of finances, open communication between partners (okay healthyyy), R has breasts, R+Eddie use sexual wiles™️ on one Steve H., no actual smut but 18+ MDNI as always

wc: 3.4k

____

In a fourth-floor office of the Indianapolis Business and Commerce building, Steve Harrington sits behind his desk wearing a deep frown.

The small desk holds its usual ephemera across the oak surface- pen cup, notepads, a mug of coffee long gone cold. At the top right edge, a black framed picture of you and Eddie- arms around the other, hair whipping in the ocean breeze, a shared laugh lighting up both your faces for the person behind the camera.

What’s new, however, is the scattered remains of today’s four-hour-long committee meeting. Sheafs of paper stacked book-height border a map of southern Indiana, its surface covered with multicolored scribbles and random outlines.

With a weary sigh, Steve rolls the sleeves of his starched white work shirt up the length of his arms, head at a tilt as his eyes roam the mapped territory.

It should not be this hard to plan where to put another damn business building that no one’s gonna care about in six years, tops.

Maybe Steve’s a bit of a cynic, but that's what working for your dad in the business world will get you.

There’s this dull, piercing throb behind Steve’s left temple, pulsing with each minute surge of the overhead fluorescents. He digs four fingers against the ache, trying to remember the steady rhythm of breaths- Steve feels woefully off-tempo, lacking the musician boyfriend who usually coaches him through the pain.

The analog clock hanging on the wall tells Steve it’s technically lunch time, and based on the absence of noise in the hall most Harrington Sr. employees have taken advantage of the hour to be somewhere else.

Steve thinks of you- an hour and some change south of here back at the Hawkins diner- tucked away apronless in some quiet corner, snapping carrot sticks with your molars while absorbed in a library paperback.

Steve thinks of Eddie- god knows if wandering misfits have a work/lunch schedule, but Steve’s using his imagination- in the back of the van, limber legs swinging over the sides while he devours a PB&J in typical messy Eddie fashion.

It smells stale in this crammed corner office, the ghosts of reheated leftovers and astringent lemon cleaner left to permeate. Steve knows from experience that the small window behind his chair is welded shut; no chance of fresh air.

The headache is blooming still. Steve lays his forearms on the desk, using them as cushion for his forehead. It’s darker in the shadow of his arms, a little easier to breathe- Steve thinks of the smells of the trailer.

Spicy homemade chorizo that Eddie bartered some weed for, oily and sizzling on the stove. Your Tuesday perfume, light and floral, wafting sweet with each pass of your body through the rooms. The worn couch, the dented coffeetable, the three-wide cushions imprinted with the people Steve loves most.

All of the memory is good enough to eat; Steve is thinking this might sustain him through the lunch hour and he can get away with simply downing some Tylenol before the next meeting- when the office phone on his desk rings out.

Steve lifts his head, wincing with the movement, and jabs the speaker button. “Jenny?”

“Hi, Mr. Harrington, sorry to bother you on lunch-”

“It’s okay,” Steve assures the receptionist- she’s still new to the job and too spooked to call him by his first name even though he's requested it many a time. “Wasn’t doin’ much- what’s up?”

“Um, there’s a- a Mr. Long, here to see you?”

Even staring at the ceiling doesn’t help his name recall this time. “A client?”

“Yes, he says he’s- oh.” There’s a pause, and Steve can hear the faint noise of someone else speaking in the background, words indistinguishable until Jenny speaks again. “His first name is Dick, if that rings a bell?”

Steve blinks.

“Yeah, send him up, please.”

As soon as the call disconnects, Steve drums his fingers on the desk and stares at the door directly across from his vantage point, waiting for the elevator to deposit Mr. Long on the fourth floor.

A minute later, there’s a showy knock, which is all the warning Steve gets before the door swings open to reveal a grinning Eddie.

“Heya, Big Business. Came to see how the sausage gets made.”

“You’d know more about sausage than me,” Steve retorts, crossing his arms, secretly thrilled to see Eddie at such unconventional hours but playing hard to get all the same. “Seriously? Dick Long?”

“Can’t deny it’s the truth,” Eddie says, grinning Cheshire-like and stepping fully into the carpeted office. His hair is pulled back in a loose bun, tendrils spooling out around the shoulders of his black leather jacket.

Steve watches as the familiar pair of combat boots tromps closer to the desk; Eddie snags an ink pen with the Harrington business logo from the cup and begins twirling it between lithe fingers.

Refusing to be mesmerized so easily, Steve tsks, admonishing- “C’mon, man, put it back. I bring you plenty of good drawing pens from this place- you can’t start taking my desk ones, too. Gonna bankrupt me.”

In that catlike, loose-limbed way of his, Eddie sidles up to the single other piece of furniture in the room- a metal chair filched from the second floor- and sits, arms braced on knees, hands hanging casual between the V of his legs, still fiddling with the pen. “I’d bankrupt Daddy, you mean. Where is your evil overlord, anyways?”

Steve can’t lie and say that hearing Eddie use the D-word out of context has zero effect on his psyche.

He clears his throat, finding stray crumbs to brush from his slacks to get out from under the kinetic stare of those doey brown eyes. “Business trip. I see him even less than I did when we shared a house, which is really the only upside of this gig.”

“Besides the sick amount of money?” Eddie’s grin has dimmed, humor still in his eyes but tinged with understanding, empathy.

It hurts to look at for too long. Steve’s eyes drop again.

“Yeah. ‘Sides that.”

“Well cheer up, boss. Brought you a present.” Eddie slaps his thighs before standing, then tosses the pen back to Steve and puffs out his chest, thumbs in belt loops looking very proud of himself. “You got a stack of ones lying around somewhere, yeah?”

“Eddie.” Steve returns the pen to its cup, headache almost forgotten with the sudden rush of adrenaline spiking through his veins. “I know you didn’t actually bring a stripper to my place of business, but at least tell me-”

“Oh, so that’s what we’re calling working girls now?”

Your voice is the sweetest thing Steve’s heard all day, the sight of you even better- it looks like you’re fresh off a shift, still in a pair of dark jeans and a long sleeve partially buttoned over your scoop neck tanktop. Over your left shoulder, the straps of a Grateful Dead printed tote bag, your ballet flats noiseless on the carpet as you shut the door behind yourself.

In the corner, Eddie snickers at your opening line; you give him an eye roll before setting the laden tote upright on the desk, smiling soft at Steve as you explain- “Sorry I was late to the party. The bathrooms here are insane- ladies’ room has a whole vat of mints by the door.”

“Didja steal some?” Eddie pipes up.

You pause halfway in your track around the desk to pull a crinkling handful of plastic-wrapped mints from the depths of your jeans pocket, sending one through the air to Eddie, who catches it in a dramatic two-handed fashion. “Atta girl.”

A few more steps and you’ve rounded the desk completely, bending to give the top of Steve’s head a kiss- he does you one better, scooching and swiveling his desk chair to make some room and open his arms to you.

You sit with a happy hum, arms twining automatically around Steve’s shoulders as his own cage you in, nudging your nose into the spot under his chin as you say dreamily- “Nabbed some soaps, too. The pretty pink scalloped ones. Thought we could keep ‘em under the sink for when guests visit.”

“You’re so smart,” Steve breathes into the crown of your hairline, taking in the weight and warmth of your body against his, squeezing any parts his hands can reach.

“Unbelievable.” Eddie scoffs, faux-bitter, shaking his head as he paces in front of the desk for show. “I see how it is. When I steal a mere inking tool from the premises I get hanged for it. And Princess here gets off scot-free?”

“It’s really unfair,” you agree, sighing prettily into the hollow of Steve’s neck. “Maybe you should punish me for it.”

Steve jiggles his leg, causing you to jolt unsteadily with a squeal, holding tighter to his shoulders- Eddie scoffs again, then moves towards the door, but only to get to the light switch. “I feel like I’m getting slowly but surely flash-banged by these goddamn overheads.”

With a click, the office is suffused in comforting shade- the combined light of the little window and dim yellow lamp on the wall shelf is plenty.

Steve’s not sure if Eddie picked up on the migraine warning signs or if Eddie really did just want to fuck with the lighting; either way, Eddie plays it cool, dragging the metal chair around the desk so he can sit closer.

Your flats get toed off, sock feet deposited safely in Eddie’s lap from the comfort of Steve’s, whose arm you reach over to pull the tote towards you. “Loverboy picked me up early so we could bring you some lunch.”

Steve’s heart twists with each tupperware you lay out on the desktop, a familiar spread of employee-discounted diner sandwiches plus the family-size bag of Lays he’d bought for the trailer last week.

Too grateful for words, Steve buries his face in the side of your neck, hugging tighter around your middle, blindly reaching a loafered foot out to hook behind Eddie’s ankle.

“Told you he was easy,” Eddie says, teasing but tender, stretching an arm down to hold the back of Steve’s calf, stroking over the muscle with his thumb. “Quickest way to Harrington’s heart is some grub and a hug.”

___

It’s a pleasant twenty minutes spent in the company of his lovers, talking and laughing over the meal, asking after each others’ days and catching up on gossip. After you’re all full, the paper dishes get thrown away and everything else repacked in the tote.

Regrettably, your warm form moves from Steve to instead perch on his desk. You’re sitting between both boys, now, ankles crossed and hands folded like you’re about to start a meeting. “So. We’ve got an order of business here, actually. Besides seeing your pretty face.”

“Oh?” Steve leans his elbow on the desk, draping one hand just above your knee. He looks sideways at Eddie to find his expression muted, like he already knows what’s coming.

“Um.” Your hands wrap around themselves, a nervous tic leftover from old traumas that has Steve reaching up to take them into his. “So… you know how, like, you and me both hate our jobs but it sucks ‘cuz it’s the only way to pay the bills?”

This can’t be good, Steve thinks, dread creeping into his stomach- but before it has time to sour, your face breaks into a tentative smile.

“So, my friend Eden- you remember, right? Hot goth, works at the library? She’s gonna get me a shelving job, no experience required. Pays a hell of a lot better than the diner and I start next week.”

“Holy shit.” Steve squeezes both your hands with a mixture of pride and love, genuine excitement evident in his voice as he says, “And I bet the hours will be great, too- oh, honey. This is amazing! Look at you go!”

“There’s one condition, though,” Eddie interjects, pawing at the front pocket of his jacket. “Can I smoke in here?”

“No,” Steve stresses, not in the mood to be toyed with. “What condition?”

Eddie produces a carton of cigarettes, ignoring the earlier order by tapping one into his waiting palm. “The deal is, you have to serve ol’ Pops your two weeks.”

Steve chuckles dryly at the idea. “Yeah, not gonna happen. I gotta bring home the corporate salary to make our rent, babe- I mean, even with the amazing new job-” he tilts his head in your direction, an encouraging squeeze again to your hands because he’s so happy for you, really, but someone has to be the adult here and rein in Eddie’s overly ambitious plans. “I can’t quit mine. For stability’s sake.”

Eddie shakes his head, loosing more curls in the process, ringed pointer finger lifting towards you. “Nah, man, just listen. Little math genius over here has it all figured.”

You inhale, tilting forward, flipping Steve’s hands to guide his palms up the length of your outer thighs.

Steve’s suddenly, painfully aware that he’s just about eye-level with your breasts, a fact made all the more clear with the tops of them now partially visible over the neck of your tank.

He swallows hard, fighting valiantly to maintain eye contact as you explain your plan further in an even keel.

“Eddie’s been hustling side jobs here and there, and it’s only gonna pick up in the summer. He’ll mow some extra lawns, I’ll work some longer shifts- we’re gonna make it work, Stevie. We really want you to quit.”

“You hate this job.” Eddie’s voice is low-toned, soothing, just like the path of his thumb on the inside of Steve’s knee, slung over Eddie’s own- and when did he manage to get so close?

Steve can’t recall. All he knows is the spiced smell of the boy’s cologne and the touches from you both and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

The previous fear is quickly spiraling into something else; he feels like a deer caught in love-beam headlights, flustered and sputtering out- “Okay, we- no. No. This is not even- up for discussion, guys, you’ve got to be serious-”

“We are serious.” You’ve now moved Steve’s palms to your waist, his chair wheeling minutely closer until your knees come to fit around either side of his ribs. “This job sucks. Let us take care of you for a month or so until you figure out what you wanna do.”

Steve’s breathing obviously hard as Eddie presses into his side, one of your legs now pinned between the crush of their bodies.

Eddie wastes no time in sliding his hand to flex over Steve’s abdomen, rings cool even through the layer of fabric, breath fanning over the column of Steve’s bared neck. “C’mon. Be good and say yes. Tell Daddy you’re gonna quit.”

“Oh my god.” Steve’s voice is a thin shadow of itself, half a whine, betraying the cool demeanor he’s desperate to stick to as both you and Eddie draw closer. “I’m- what about… health insurance…”

“The hell do you think we keep Nance around for?” Eddie points out, as if it's obvious- six months of nursing school constitutes “doctor” status, according to the Munson doctrine.

Steve is about to protest again when your hands move, cupping his face, keeping his gaze locked on yours as you whisper, urgent and earnest- “Think of it. You can be anything you want. Teacher, basketball star, astronaut. You can go back to school or burn the building to the ground, I don’t care- as long as you’re doing what you wanna do.”

Steve allows himself to imagine it, for a moment, from the comfort of your warm hands- something other than an office, waking up without the dread of fluorescents from 9 to 5.

He doesn’t feel creative enough yet to picture what’s on the other side, but there’s already some relief in knowing that he’ll be supported and loved through the change.

“Okay,” he says, after a few moments of silence. “Okay. Yeah. What the hell. I’ll quit.”

Eddie whoops with delight and you cover Steve’s face- the bridge of his nose, the tops of his cheeks, anywhere you can reach- in kisses, all three of you sharing the same elated grin.

“You realize this means all your anti-capitalist, working-for-the-Man jokes have a time limit now?” Your brow arches in Eddie’s direction; unphased, he gives you a wink, pulling back from the cocoon of entangled limbs to rise from his seat.

“Gotta get ‘em in while I can, I guess,” Eddie declares (as if teasing Steve is a ritual of great importance), then bends to smack a loud kiss on the top of Steve’s head before straightening again, offering a hand palm-up to you, conspiratorial- “Kid’s got a great head of hair. Too good for corporate, ‘f you ask me.”

This gets a giggle out of you, but Steve’s heart sinks when you take Eddie’s hand as help, slipping from desk to floor in a smooth motion. “Wait, you’re not- neither of you are staying?”

It’s still twenty minutes until the lunchtime hour ends, and Steve thought maybe- well, he’s not insane enough to think the three of you were about to have full blown sex in an office building-

-but the lights are low, he’s getting touched- a lot- and he’s always been a sucker for a bit of praise. Sue him.

Steve stands, too, pulling subtly at the inside of his slacks while you carefully smooth wrinkles from your shirt, Eddie muttering something nasty about fire marshalls as he repockets the lone cigarette.

Your hand lifts to rest at Steve’s bicep, a light squeeze in apology when you say- “Sorry, baby. Eddie promised Dustin a ride back from chess camp and we gotta beat traffic.”

In further consolation, Eddie gives him a firm and chaste shoulder pat, a salacious wiggle to his dark brows. “Can’t be makin’ too good of memories in this place. How else are we s’posed to motivate you to come back to us?”

Steve doesn’t duck in time to avoid Eddie’s spindly fingers winding their way into an awful hair ruffle- Eddie is adept at fucking up a good hairstyle with impressively limited movement, chuckling when Steve’s hands linger after giving out a playful shove.

You’re standing in the open frame of the door, silhouetted in the bright hallway lights with the tote bag straps over your shoulder once more. “What he said. Come home to us soon, okay?”

With a finger waggle and another sweet smile, Eddie follows you out, shutting the door in his wake after throwing one last wink Steve’s way.

Steve empties all the air from his lungs, head spinning but not from pain, this time. His thoughts are racing, energy rushing to greet the actions- he should quit next week, before his dad gets back and has time to get pissed or talk to Steve, at all.

That means Steve needs to take a trip to HR on the first floor, maybe poke around in the filing cabinets to sneak a copy of the resignation forms. He’ll have to time it right, maybe just before Sharon gets back from lunch-

Steve takes a step to round the desk but quickly remembers the pressing issue that’s nearly immobilizing; he’s practically panting from all the love you and Eddie heaped on him, and by the feel of it, his cheeks are tinged with a deep flush.

Feeling slightly useless, Steve grits his teeth, sinking slowly back into his chair, hands forming into fists on the desktop. His eyes catch on the framed photo of you and Eddie, which is a mistake- he jolts forward to flip the picture face-down, nearly knocking it off the desk in his haste.

This time, when Steve rests his head on the desk, it’s not from a burgeoning headache- it’s to try and get a handle on the overwhelming glee of freedom being close enough to taste.

#steddie #steddie x reader #steddie x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x steve harrington #x reader #mdni

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steddiehyperfixation · 4 months ago

Text

run away with me

@steddiebingo prompts: ocean + childhood friends (if like 16-19 counts as childhood, which i say it does !) | 2.6k words | T | mild cw for depression and alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism

Steve stares numbly out the office window, his view an ocean of concrete and the few sad, sparse trees that were planted in the median between this building’s parking lot and the neighboring one in a very weak attempt to give an illusion that anything natural or organic goes on here. As if there’s anything more than stiff, soulless buildings filled with stiff, soulless men in stiff, soulless suits who have dull conversations about money and more empathy for a credit card or an expensive car than for any human being.

Every second is hours long, everything is so important and nothing matters at all, and everyone’s always in a rush but they never seem to go anywhere. It used to make his skin crawl, the slow monotony behind the urgent droning. He used to feel like he couldn’t breathe here, trapped at a desk and a computer, squirming under the constant presence of his boss and father, every eternal second oozing by and settling over him as if it had physical weight. He felt stuck and still, like a fly caught in amber, movements leaden and pointless as he sinks and suffocates slowly in a syrupy prison. But after a year of working here, Steve no longer cares. He’s sunk in deep enough that it’s all dulled out and he’s become just as detached and hollow as the rest of them. He tells himself it’s only temporary anyways.

The phone rings at his desk, dragging his attention away from the window and pulling him out of his stupor.

“Richard Harrington’s office,” Steve answers mechanically. “This is his assistant, Steve. How may I help you?”

It's a client, a long-time one who's been around for business meetings and dinners since he was a kid, and she coos over how mature and professional he sounds now. He gets that a lot, old clients and business partners of his dad’s calling or coming into the office and lavishing him with compliments on his role and responsibility. It’s funny; they never thought so highly of him before, but they sure do now. And despite it all, Steve can’t help but preen under the praise, feeling all grown up and just like a child.

He lets this lady gush for a little while longer before he takes her message for Richard and hangs up the phone. That brief moment of emotion flickers out and the dullness returns. The day drags on.

“Thank god it’s Friday, huh?” Tommy Hagan leans against the counter in the break room when Steve goes to get a coffee refill. “I had to file so many reports today, I’m about ready to kill myself.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Steve mutters, punching the button to start the coffee machine.

“You’re still coming out with us tonight, right?” Tommy asks. “My cousin’s in town - you know, the one I told you about, the model. I think you two are really gonna get along.” He says it with this gross smirk, double meaning abundantly clear, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Dude, stop trying to pimp your cousin out to me, man. You talk her up so much I’m starting to think maybe you want her.”

“But you’ll be there, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Steve says. Of course he’ll be there. It’s routine. It’s all routine. They commiserate in the break room like a couple of wizened old world-weary businessmen on workdays and then party like teenagers on the weekend. Dulled out from the week, they buy back their missing emotion in the form of alcohol and drugs. A good buzz makes a decent substitute for a feeling, in a pinch. It’s just enough to survive on week after week.

“Good.” Tommy grins, clapping Steve on the shoulder on his way out.

Steve grabs his coffee and returns to his desk, to phone calls and faxes and data entry until the clock finally hits 5:00 and releases everyone into the illusion of freedom. He breathes an empty sigh of relief along with everyone else, shutting off the computer and shoving files back into folders, packing up to leave. “Tell your mother I’ll be working late tonight,” Richard tells him, and Steve nods. Nothing ever changes.

It's quite a shock to the normal routine of things, then, when he pulls up to his driveway to find an extra car parked out front. Which wouldn't be unusual on its own - his mom sometimes has friends over on Fridays - except for the fact that this car is a total piece of shit, which rules out any friend of his parents, and there's a wild-haired man leaning against it. It's the sight of that old once familiar face that's so jarring to him, has him hitting the brakes too hard and parking jerkily.

Steve gets out of his car and stares in disbelief. “Eddie Munson.”

“So it's true.” Eddie looks him over, eyes carefully cataloguing Steve's stuffy business suit and tie. “You've gone corporate.”

Steve swallows. His body seems to have forgotten how to breathe. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell am I doing here? Man, what the hell are you doing here?” Eddie counters, pushing himself off the side of his car and walking closer, one arm swept out to gesture at everything around them: the big house, the rich neighborhood, the expensive car, Steve and the very town itself. “You were gonna get away from all this. You were gonna follow Robin to college and live by the ocean and teach middle school. Now I find out you’re back here living with your parents and working for your dad?”

“Yeah, I tried- we tried,” Steve says, tensing at the judgement in Eddie’s tone. “We moved to the coast, made it work the best we could for a little while but it didn't last. Working minimum wage jobs just wasn't paying the rent and the money ran out and we both had to move back home. But this- this is just temporary.”

“Temporary,” Eddie repeats, like he doesn’t believe him. “You’ve been here a year.”

“Yeah.”

“Robin says you guys hardly talk anymore.”

Steve’s chest feels tight. “Yeah, um, we just sort of drifted apart.” He shrugs, doesn’t want to get into it. There’s not much more to say anyways - and that was the whole problem, really. Steve’s life had gotten so boring and mundane he didn’t have a whole lot to talk about anymore. His humor dried up, their conversations fell flat, and eventually Robin stopped reaching out. “It happens.”

(You would know, he almost adds. After all, he and Eddie had drifted apart too, a lot longer ago.)

“Right…” Eddie frowns. Steve doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him, searching his face like he’s trying to see behind his eyes. He looks away.

“Look, it’s nice to see you again, but I don’t have time to keep chatting right now. I have plans,” he says, short and dismissive. It’s a lie of course, or half of one; Steve has plenty of time before he’s supposed to meet up with Tommy, he just doesn’t want to stay in this conversation. “I’m grabbing a drink with a friend in a minute.”

“‘A friend’,” Eddie continues to question him, either not taking the hint or blatantly ignoring it, “but not Robin?”

Steve sighs. “A coworker,” he elaborates. “Tommy.”

“Hagan?” Eddie scoffs, predictably incredulous and unsupportive. He shakes his head. “Jesus, man, what the fuck happened to you? This isn’t you, Steve, none of this is. I know you, and this is all wrong. You can’t seriously be happy like this.”

“You don’t know me,” Steve snaps, defensive mostly because he knows Eddie’s right.

Because Eddie does know him, better than just about anyone except maybe Robin. They were close once, years ago, the better part of their late teens filled with nights spent laying together on the roof of Eddie’s trailer under the stars, trading secrets in hushed voices, all their fears and hopes and dreams, sometimes passing a joint back and forth but other times high on nothing more than simply the other’s presence so close beside them, the brush of their hands and the press of their shoulders. It was a deep and intimate friendship, one that teetered on the edge of becoming something more but never got the chance to, because Eddie was the one who ran away first. By the time Steve made it to the ocean, Eddie had already crossed it and they fell out of touch.

So Eddie knows him, and he’s right, but he has no right to make such a claim after leaving Steve high and dry for years. He has no right to come all the way here just to shit on Steve’s life, no matter how correctly, after so long of not being a part of it.

“You knew me as a teenager,” Steve continues harshly, bitterly. “You knew me as a stupid, hopeful, naive kid. I’ve grown up since then, Eddie. That’s what the fuck happened to me. I grew up.”

“No, you haven’t grown up,” Eddie sneers. “If anything, you’ve gone backwards. Look at you, it’s like you’re 16 all over again. All hail King Steve - popular pointless rich kid, partying with Tommy Hagan, desperate for approval from all the wrong people.”

Steve clenches his jaw. “I think you should leave.”

“It breaks my heart to see you like this, Stevie.”

“Then don’t see me. Just go. Run away again, it’s what you’re best at.”

Eddie doesn’t seem to have a comeback for that. He deflates, starts taking a few steps back. “Your Majesty,” he relents with a mocking bow that would’ve come across as derisive if he didn’t look so goddamn sad. He turns around and so does Steve, walking off in opposite directions.

Steve feels almost dizzy, ill. There are too many emotions swirling beneath the numbness he’d gotten so used to, emotions so long forgotten he can no longer recognize them, can no longer remember how to feel them properly, and so they gather like nausea in his stomach instead. He can smell his mother’s cooking when he enters the house, but declines her offer to make him up a plate. His appetite is gone, and besides, skipping dinner just means he’ll get drunker faster later, which sounds like a pretty good deal to him. He can’t wait to drink away all thoughts of Eddie and their conversation.

And that’s exactly what he does. He goes out and he gets drunk. Drunk enough to hook up with Tommy’s cousin; drunk enough to convince himself he’s not thinking of anybody else when he tangles his hands in her dark curly hair.

It does give him a start the next morning though, when he wakes up to wild curls splayed out on the pillow beside him. He sits up with a jolt, his mind slow and hungover and his eyes still blurry with sleep and for a second he thinks-- But then he blinks, his eyes adjust, and that's clearly a woman in his bed.

She stirs at his movement, lifting a hand to her forehead and groaning. Steve sympathizes.

“Hell of a hangover, huh?” he says.

“Yeah.” She glances over at him and smirks. “Totally worth it though,” she adds as she props herself up. “I had fun last night.”

“Yeah, me too.” He can't remember her name. Tabitha or Tanya or something like that.

“Well.” She stands, starts collecting her clothes off the floor and getting dressed. “I should get home.” She tosses her hair out of the jacket she's just shrugged on. “I’ll see you around, Steve.”

“Yeah, see you around,” he echoes, watching her leave.

Then she's gone, and Steve sags back against the headboard. His stomach is churning and not just from the hangover. Emotions again, ugly ones. He's just beginning to be able to recall what they are now. Guilt, shame. He should've remembered her name. He should've offered her a ride home. How long has it been since he's cared about these things?

He closes his eyes, an attempt to disconnect for a second, but these feelings won't go away. So he sighs, drags himself out of bed, and tries to go about his day like normal, tries to ignore the fact that he can fucking feel again.

He’s doing pretty well, same old routine, until night falls and the normalcy is broken by the sound of a rock bouncing off his bedroom window. Two more follow after he ignores the first one, so he grudgingly marches over and flings open his curtains to see what’s going on. He blinks at the sight before him, but his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him this time. Eddie Munson is outside throwing pebbles at his window. As if he hasn’t already done enough damage.

Steve huffs irritably, turning on his heel and storming downstairs to meet him. “Listen, if you’ve just come back to tell me more about how shit my life is, I don’t want to hear it-”

“Run away with me,” Eddie says instead, and Steve stops short.

“Are you crazy?”

“Yeah.” Eddie grins, that wild grin of his that gave him the reputation of insane and reckless when they were younger, but the gleam in his eye falls short of manic. Nervous, excited, desperate, hopeful, maybe; but not crazy. He takes a step closer and speaks like he means it. “You were right, running away is what I’m best at. But I don’t want to run from you, not again, so come with me this time.” His hands reach out as if to touch him, but then change course, gesturing widely. “We can head towards the sea, or wherever you want. What do you say?”

“I already tried that.” Steve shakes his head. “I told you, Robin and I already tried that and it didn’t work.”

“So you’re just never gonna try again? Come on,” Eddie urges, “Robin can come too. Call her up, apologize for being a neglectful fucking friend, and let’s all get the hell out of here. Together.”

“Together…” Steve repeats. The three of them, like it used to be.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s smile is so full of confidence, full of hope. “I really think we can make it this time.”

His brightness is contagious, seeping through the edges of Steve’s doubt. That, too, is like it used to be. A self-proclaimed cynic as a teenager, but Eddie had never once come across that way to Steve. To him, Eddie had only ever seemed an endless blaze of optimism. His hope was his defiance, his way of saying, This world sucks, but not to me; I refuse. Steve had forgotten just how inspiring that is.

He's divided now. Torn between Eddie's infectious energy, the hope and want that form an ache in his chest, and the part of his mind that's still clinging to its programming, the part that feels duty bound to remain responsible, practical. The good kid, the perfect worker, the devil on his shoulder masquerading as an angel. It has one more protest to make. “But I can’t just leave. My life is here, my job…”

“This life is killing you. You know that as well as I do.” Eddie does touch him now, taking Steve’s face in both hands. “The light’s all gone from your pretty eyes. Please let me see if I can help you bring it back.”

The warmth of Eddie’s hands on his face spreads through his entire body, and Steve’s choice is made. Maybe it’s crazy, maybe they’re just as doomed now as they were all those years ago, but Steve has been woken up from his numbness, made to remember emotion again, all the good and the bad, and he thinks maybe with Eddie he can start to relearn to feel a bit more of the good. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll pack a bag. I’ll call Robin.”

Eddie grins brighter than ever then and kisses him, and Steve knows he’s made the right decision.

#and they all live happily ever after yayyy #yes this was loosely inspired by the gilmore girls episode where jess yells at rory for dropping out of yale lmao #steddiebingo2025 #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #mine

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tteotlma · 5 months ago

Text

Sugar and Skin

5. Unspoken Proximity || Previous - Next

A grocery run leads Bucky straight into familiar territory except this time, outside of the café, outside of routine, she feels different. More real. More tangible in a way that unsettles him.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (8kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI; 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol, drinking, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions, introspection a/n: omg sorry guys... i didn't know what to write for this chapter and idk if u can tell LOLLLL i also kinda got lost a little bit writing and rewriting so.. if u can tell just pretend u cant ty. anywhoo enjoy 8k words of writing!!

“Thanks for coming so quick guys.” Steve sat you guys in his waiting area, allowing you and Sam to sit on the loveseat against the window display, while he sat on the armchair resting against the wall perpendicular to the sofa. The coffee table in the center was littered with papers, and folders.

“No problem, I’m just glad we’re able to finally talk.” You sat on the side closest to him, and he gave you a small smile.

“What’s all this?” Sam gestured to the mess scattered in front of you.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.” Steve’s tone suddenly changed, and his eyebrows drew together. A sudden wave of anxiety was building in your stomach, but before you could say anything he continued.

“Well you see, somehow things have sort of shifted,” The words come out of his mouth slowly, as if he’s trying to think of what to say as he’s saying it. “And well…” He rubs his palms on his jeans.

“Oh my god Steven, just spit it out!” You accidentally barked, the wave in your stomach finally crashing into an ocean of apprehension of all the things that could possibly come out of his mouth.

He jumped in his seat.

“It’s just becoming a lot more than I anticipated, I’m worrying it’s becoming too much.” The words fly out of his mouth.

“I’m…” You pause to look at him, his eyebrows are still knit together, ”Unbelievably underwhelmed.” You deflate in your seat. Sam lets out a laugh.

“What are you talking about?!” Steve panics moving closer to the edge of his seat to pick at the loose papers.

“What are you talking about?” You sit up watching him scramble.

“Betty—you know the one from that crafts store down on Narrow Blvd.—“

”Knotty by Nature.” Both you and Sam speak at the same time.

“Right, well she heard what was happening and decided to take it upon herself to invite all these groups she’s somehow affiliated with,” He grabs a paper off the table and begins to read it aloud. “Filthy hands club, Pounded Clay Association, Neon Noir, The Indigo Hour Society—“

”Jeez, who didn’t she invite?” Sam scoffed, whether he was being facetious or not was unknown.

“I’m more focused on what it is these clubs actually are.” You said, repeating the groups names he’s listed so far.

“It doesn’t matter, what matters is that her sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong has now turned something small into something drastically huge.” Steve put his head in his hands.

You watched him for a second before giving a small side eye to Sam, who quickly returned the look.

“Let me get this straight,” Sam started, “You’re upset because you’re going to be getting potential customers?”

A second passes, no sound is made save for the air conditioner softly whirring. Steve lifts his head.

“You think I’m an idiot?” He suddenly gets serious and you take in a deep breath to mask your laugh.

“I think what Sam means is that shouldn’t you be looking at this like it’s a good thing? Why are you freaking out?”

“Because I had planned for this to be a simple thing you know—a few close friends, a handful of walk-ins, some drinks, some music. But now, thanks to Betty it’s turning into a whole-ass networking event.”

“Isn’t that sort of to be expected?” Sam asked. Steve narrowed his eyes at the man beside you. Before Steve could say anything you spoke up.

“What he means is.. what’s the big deal?” You try to dig your friend out of the growing hole he’s finding himself in, but it turns out you dove headfirst beside him instead.

Steve huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back on his seat. “You two are so damn helpful, really.” He shot you both a look before rubbing a hand over his jaw. “The big deal is that Betty’s list of groups didn’t just bring in a few old people—it brought in everyone,” He lets out a panicked sob (definitely on the brink of a tantrum) “Now instead of a chill small thing—which I wanted—I’m now anticipating artists, painters, curators, and god knows who else all expecting some kind of official event.”

You and Sam exchanged another glance, but this time you held your tongue letting the grown man pout and whine.

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And thanks to the flyer she made, people are expecting food.” His gaze flicked to you pointedly.

You blinked. “You mean… more than just desserts?”

Steve nodded, exhaling sharply. “Yeah… and I know I already asked for your help the other day, and I hate to ask for more, but—“

“You should hate to ask for more,” Same cut in, crossing his arms.

Steve shot him a glare before looking back at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t trust you, and I know you love a challenge.” He gave you a weak smile.

You pressed your lips together, pretending to consider it, even though your excitement had already begun bubbling under the surface. It was true, you did love a challenge.

It had been ages since you got to flex your actual culinary skills—pastries were your specialty and of course your passion, but you couldn’t lie that savory was always a tempting mistress.

Steve saw the shift in your expression and immediately leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend like you’re not already swimming with ideas.”

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “I hate you.”

“You adore me.”

”Debatable.”

Sam scoffed. “Unbelievable. I hope you know she’s about to carry this entire thing.”

Steve lifted a hand, grinning. “And that’s why I asked.”

You started grabbing the strewn about papers. “I keep forgetting under all that ink and jewelry you’re just a baby at heart.” You joked, replaying his dramatic behavior in your head.

Steve rolled his eyes, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Yeah, yeah. laugh it up.”

You smirked, stacking the last of the papers into a neater pile. “I’m just saying—big, bad tattoo artist panicking over a party? You’d think you were planning a wedding.”

Sam let out a loud laugh, slapping his knee. “Damn, she’s got a point.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at both of you but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “I just want it to be right.” His voice was quieter now, more honest.

You softened slightly, patting his knee. “It will be.”

For a moment, the three of you just sat there, the weight of the conversation finally settling into something manageable. Sure the event was bigger than what Steve had planned but with the way things were coming together, it was starting to feel real.

You tapped your fingers on your chin. “Okay, if we’re doing this, we should do it right.”

Steve sat up again, nodding eagerly. “Agreed.”

Sam raised a brow. “What’s the plan, boss?”

You bit your lip, thinking. “Well, for one, we should probably have more than just pastries. If people are drinking, they’ll need actual food too—something yummy and more than just a bowl of chips and a cup of dip.

Steve’s eyes practically sparkled. “God, I knew asking you was a good idea.”

You grinned. “You owe me, Rogers.”

Sam whistled low. “Man, he’s getting off easy. If it were me, I’d be negotiating for free ink at this point.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t have any tattoos in mind yet, but maybe I should start thinking about it, huh?”

Steve smirked. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll take care of you.”

Sam gave you a pointed look. “See? That’s a good deal.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’d want the tattoo to mean something, though. I can’t just get inked from here for the first time for the sake of it.”

Steve smirked, “Oh come on, just a tiny one,” He suddenly grabbed your forearm, angling it straight up, and with his other hand he lightly grabbed your wrist. “Right here.” He taps delicately at the soft skin of your wrist, absentmindedly thumbing your pulse as he continues to talk.

Sam leaned in slightly, his tone casual—too casual. “What about a rolling pin? Or maybe a piping bag?” He smirked. “Right here.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed lightly over the side of your neck, just beneath your ear. His thumb dragged against your collarbone as he tugged gently at the neckline of your shirt, exposing a little more of your skin.

“Or a knife.” He teased.

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes. “I am not getting a knife tattooed onto my collarbone.”

Sam grinned, leaning in to “inspect” you. “Or,” he continued, “the side of your neck.” He joked, grazing his finger down the side of your neck.

Before you could retort, the bell above the door chimed.

The shift was immediate.

Bucky stepped inside, the shop’s soft lighting casting shadows over his sharp features. His eyes flicked toward you first. Then to Steve’s hand still wrapped around your wrist. Then to Sam, whose fingers had just grazed your collarbone.

His stare was unreadable. Blank, even.

You felt the heat creeping up your neck as Sam casually dropped his hand, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze had flickered back to you, his jaw set.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t acknowledge anyone.

Didn’t even pretend to.

Instead, he walked past the three of you without so much as a nod, his steps slow, deliberate, carrying him deeper into the shop without a glance back.

The silence he left in his wake stretched.

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering under his breath, “Dude’s got a weird fucking vibe.”

“Sam,” you warned, shifting slightly where you sat.

Sam just raised his brows, leaning back against the loveseat. “What? I’m just saying.”

You shot him a look.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t weird.”

Steve, patted your hand before letting go and flipping through the papers in front of him, barely bothering to look up. “That’s just Bucky.”

Sam let out a dry laugh. “Right. Just Bucky.” His fingers tapped idly against his knee. “Dude walks in, looks like he wants to murder someone, doesn’t say a word, then disappears into the back like he’s some broody action movie character.”

Steve smirked. “Jealous?”

Sam’s expression turned flat. “Of what?”

Steve shrugged, grinning now. “He’s got that whole ‘mysterious, quiet, probably dangerous’ thing going for him.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and I’ve got the whole ‘charming, personable, actually fun to be around’ thing going for me.”

You snorted. “Sure.”

Sam turned to you, feigning offense. “Wow. That was uncalled for.”

Steve chuckled, finally setting down the papers. “Look, Bucky’s just—” He waved a hand. “He keeps to himself. That’s how he’s always been.”

Sam scoffed again, shaking his head. Then, his gaze flicked toward you. “And you? What do you think?”

You hesitated, pressing your lips together.

You thought about the way Bucky’s stare had lingered for just a second too long. The flicker of something behind his eyes before he shut it down completely. The way his shoulders had tensed before he turned away. The other night still weighing heavily on your mind.

“…I think he’s just quiet,” you said finally, though you weren’t sure why it came out softer than you intended.

Sam’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his expression. Then, with a scoff, he leaned back against the loveseat again, shaking his head.

“Quiet,” he repeated, like he was testing the word.

Steve, oblivious to the shift in energy, reached for another paper from the pile in front of him. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

You didn’t respond. Instead letting out a deep breath, shifting where you sat.

“We should probably head back,” you said finally, smoothing out your pants. “Peter swears he can be left alone for long, but we know he worries.”

Steve frowned slightly but nodded “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Don’t worry, Steven. I’ll come to you soon with more ideas.”

Steve’s face brightened at that, his worry giving way to childlike excitement. “You mean it?”

You grinned. “Of course. You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

His responding “awe” was warm, genuine, and before you could react, he was grabbing you.

It wasn’t just a hug—it was a Steve Rogers hug. A full-force, rib-crushing, lift-you-off-the-ground kind of hug that had you letting out a startled yelp before melting into it.

“Steven—oh my god—”

He just squeezed you tighter. “You are the best.”

Your breath came out in a short laugh, face half-smushed against his shoulder. “Okay, okay, let’s not break my spine.”

Steve finally set you back down, but before he pulled away completely, he pressed a firm, affectionate kiss to your temple.

It was nothing.

And yet, as you stepped back laughing, hands smoothing over your hips where your shirt had ridden up, something in the air shifted. It wasn’t anything tangible, nothing obvious, but it was there—lingering, humming beneath the surface like the faintest static charge.

Like the temperature had dropped just slightly, like the warmth of the moment had dulled by a fraction, like something had changed without you quite knowing how or why.

You laugh died as you turned and saw him.

Bucky stood just beyond the threshold between the back of the shop and the main floor, his presence still and quiet, but impossibly heavy. He wasn’t just lingering, wasn’t just standing in the background like he usually did, half-invisible, watching the world move around him. No, this was different. This was something else.

His stare was unreadable, his expression impassive, but there was a weight behind his gaze. And for a fraction of a second, so brief you might’ve imagined it, you thought you saw something flicker there but then, just like that, it was gone.

Bucky blinked, his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly before his features smoothed into something neutral, carefully blank, as if he hadn’t just been looking at you at all. And without a word, without so much as an acknowledgment, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the back, leaving nothing behind except the distinct, unmistakable sensation that something had just happened.

Something you weren’t entirely sure how to name.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the lingering press of your own fingertips against your sides, the rise and fall of your breath, the faint, inexplicable feeling that whatever had just passed between you had been fleeting but significant.

Sam let out a slow, deliberate exhale beside you, arms crossing over his chest as he tilted his head, his gaze sliding from you and Steve, completely unaware that Bucky had returned for a moment.

“You two are so damn affectionate.”

——

Bucky wasn’t in a bad mood. Not really.

He was just… irritated. Restless. Something he couldn’t quite name but had been sitting on his chest since this morning, tightening like a vice, making everything feel just a little too sharp. The kind of feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how many times he rolled his shoulders, no matter how much he tried to push it aside.

And coming home to a mostly-empty fridge sure as hell didn’t help.

Bucky stood there, one hand braced against the fridge door, staring at the contents like they might magically change if he looked at them long enough.

They didn’t.

Eggs. Bagels. Three cans of beer.

His jaw ticked.

With a sharp exhale, he swung the door shut, perhaps with more force than necessary, before dragging a hand down his face. He was not in the mood to go grocery shopping. He wasn’t in the mood to do anything, really. But he also wasn’t in the mood to deal with the hunger clawing at his stomach, so he grabbed his jacket and keys before he could talk himself out of it.

The store was quiet. At least there was that.

The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, buzzing in that way that always made his temples ache. He moved through the aisles without much thought, grabbing things at random, barely registering what he was throwing into his basket.

Pickles. A loaf of bread. Canned fish.

Something about the selection in his basket felt wrong, unsatisfying in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was too easy, too thoughtless, just a collection of things he grabbed on autopilot because the idea of putting in actual effort—of standing in front of a stove and making something that required patience—felt exhausting. He hadn’t realized until just now how little he actually cared about what he was eating, as long as it was quick, as long as it was simple, as long as it was enough to shut his body up and get him through another night.

So he kept walking, moving without thinking, scanning shelves without really seeing them, mind drifting in that restless way it had been all day. An older couple stood near the dairy section, murmuring to each other as they checked expiration dates, and he adjusted his grip on the basket, his fingers curling tightly around the handle, jaw flexing as he exhaled sharply through his nose. The feeling hadn’t left him—the unease, the static hum beneath his ribs, something unsettled and stretched thin.

And then—

He saw her.

His body went still before his brain could catch up, every thought in his head grinding to a halt as his muscles locked up, as his pulse fumbled mid-beat and his breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale. It was an instinctive kind of reaction, one he wasn’t prepared for, one he couldn’t immediately shake.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about this moment before. He had. Not in any real, intentional way, but in that vague, distant way you think about things that seem inevitable. They lived in the same area, worked just down the block from each other—of course they were bound to run into each other somewhere, at some point, in some random, mundane setting.

He just hadn’t expected it to be now.

Not when his head already felt too full, his patience too worn down from a morning spent pacing between his fridge and his couch, knowing damn well he had nothing to eat but still refusing to do anything about it. Not when he already felt off balance, like something was pressing in at the edges of his mind, something he couldn’t quite name, something that had settled under his skin ever since he’d walked into the shop earlier and seen her under the weight of Steve’s hands, under the warmth of his laughter, under the kind of casual, easy familiarity that had no business making his stomach twist the way it did.

And certainly not when he was standing in the middle of a grocery store, clutching a basket full of things he didn’t even want, looking at her like he’d forgotten how to function.

She wasn’t behind the counter this time, wasn’t tucked into the space he had unconsciously confined her to, the setting where he had let himself believe she belonged. She wasn’t sliding receipts across a register, wasn’t greeting him with her usual knowing look as he grumbled out his order, wasn’t framed by the soft glow of café lights and the scent of coffee beans and sugar.

She was here.

In the same dim, soulless grocery store, under the same too-bright fluorescents, in the same aisle, in the same moment.

And Bucky had no fucking clue what to do with that.

His stomach tightened, something low and unfamiliar coiling behind his ribs, and he hated it—hated the way his feet stayed glued to the floor, hated the way his hands curled a little tighter around the basket, hated the way his chest went tight at the sight of her outside of where he was used to seeing her.

Because she looked different here.

Not in any way that actually mattered—she was the same, same soft curves, same warm expression, same quiet confidence in the way she carried herself, like the weight of the world had yet to leave a mark on her. But without the buffer of familiarity, without the safe, predictable rhythm of their usual routine, she felt different. More real. More tangible in a way that unsettled him, in a way that made something inside him pull taut.

And then—

She turned.

And her eyes met his.

His stomach lurched, fingers twitching where they gripped the basket handle, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

The world continued around them, carts rolling past, the faint murmur of an old pop song crackling through the overhead speakers, the butcher handing off a neatly wrapped package to another customer—but everything else seemed to pull back, like the static had narrowed to just this one moment, just this one stretch of space between them.

She hesitated, just for a beat, just long enough that he could see the flicker of consideration in her expression, the weighing of options, the silent question of how she was supposed to react to this just as much as he was.

And then—

She smiled.

Small. Almost hesitant. Like she wasn’t sure if she should, but was doing it anyway.

And Bucky—Bucky fucking Barnes—panicked.

Not outwardly. Not obviously. But something inside him jolted, something in his chest pulling tight, something hot and uneasy rushing beneath his skin before he could stop it.

Because the last time he’d seen her—really seen her—she had been staring at him in that same quiet way, that same careful, lingering gaze that had almost felt like it should have been followed by something else. A touch. A brush of fingertips. Something. She had stopped herself then, just before she left. He had, too. But for one stupid, fleeting second, Bucky had wished she’d followed through and touched him.

And now she was here, smiling at him, soft and tentative, like she was still figuring him out, still testing the edges of whatever this thing was between them. And Bucky? Bucky was still an idiot, still standing there, stiff and rooted to the spot, still gripping the handle of his basket like it might somehow sprout wings and fly away, taking him with it.

His grip tightened, his jaw flexing, something sharp settling behind his ribs. He felt—fuck, he didn’t even know what he felt. Off balance. Too aware. Like his body and brain were moving at two different speeds, tangled up in a static hum that had been following him since this morning.

Since he had walked into the shop and seen her under the touch of Sam and Steve, her laughter bright. Since he had seen Steve grabbing her, her shirt rumpled beneath his grip, with the man’s lips pressed to her temple. Since something in his gut had twisted in a way he didn’t like, a way he refused to name.

And now she was here, standing under the same too-bright grocery store lights, watching him with an unreadable expression. She quickly bid the butcher a quiet goodbye, slipping the neatly wrapped package into her basket before shifting it in her grip. Then, she turned and took a few light steps towards him.

Bucky had to force his legs to move, to meet her at the last step, though every muscle in his body locked up at the effort. His usual instinct was to turn the other way and pretend he didn’t see anything, but this time, he found himself wanting to stay. And yet, despite everything, he still couldn’t move.

Instead, he just stood there, too aware of the way his pulse jumped slightly at the sight of her approaching.

“Hi,” she said quietly, looking up at him, the soft curve of a smile still on her lips, and Bucky swore he felt some of the tension in his neck loosen just a little.

He blinked, his grip tightening on the basket, the plastic straining under the tension of his hold. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way she was looking at him made his thoughts slow, made his brain stall like an old engine caught on itself.

She looked… the same. Of course she did. But something about seeing her here, in this mundane, everyday place, without the scent of coffee curling in the air, without antiseptic clinging to the walls, without flour dusting the edges of her sleeves or the tips of her hair, made her feel different.

More real.

More… something.

“I didn’t know you shopped here,” she said after a second, glancing around as if taking in the store for the first time.

“I don’t shop much,” he admitted, and immediately hated how stupid he probably sounded.

She glanced down at his basket. Bucky could practically see her take it in, scanning the sad collection of groceries before her gaze flicked back up, something unreadable playing at the edges of her expression.

She gave him a weak, knowing smile.

“I can see that,” she murmured.

Bucky felt something twitch at the corner of his mouth before he shut it down, the faintest urge to smile pressing against his cheeks.

There was a beat of silence. A moment where they just… stood there, in the middle of the grocery store, and Bucky realized how little he actually knew about her outside of their usual routine. Outside of the coffee, the ink-stained counters, the pastries.

And she didn’t know him either.

It should’ve been as simple as that.

But then she shifted, the light rustle of fabric pulling him from the thought, and he hated how acutely he noticed it.

“I just stopped to grab some stuff for Steven’s event,” she said, adjusting the weight of the basket in her arms. “Or, I guess… the both of yours’ event.” She chuckled lightly as she corrected herself.

Bucky’s brow lifted slightly, but he quickly shook his head. “No, it’s totally all him,” he said, scoffing under his breath. “I just work for him.”

She stared at him but gave a small nod, lips pressing together as if committing the response to memory.

“But I thought that wasn’t until next month?” he asked.

“It is, but… after this morning, I had a few ideas I wanted to try out right away,” she admitted, fingers lightly twisting the plastic handle cover of her basket.

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, watching the way her fingers moved—twisting the plastic tube against the metal like she was already thinking ahead, her mind already somewhere else.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt heavier. Not exactly uncomfortable, but there.

She shifted on her feet. “Um, I’m about done here…” She glanced around, then back at him, eyes flicking over his face for a second before settling.

Bucky felt his grip on the basket tighten. “Yeah. Me too.”

Her gaze flickered to his basket again, hesitating for a second.

“Um—d-do…” She bit her lip, exhaling softly before trying again. “I can—”

Bucky just watched her, something stirring in his chest at the way she fidgeted slightly, the blush creeping up her cheeks, her lips rouge from biting them.

“I can make dinner,” she suddenly blurted out.

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together, but he stayed quiet, just watching.

“I—I’m not gonna be able to eat everything I’m making tonight,” she continued, stumbling over her words slightly. “If anything, I probably would’ve given you guys the leftovers anyway—” She was thinking out loud. She shook her head, trying to get back on track. “I-I mean… only if you’d like.”

She trailed off, shifting on her feet, and Bucky could see it—her grasping for a way to save herself from the awkwardness of the offer.

So he saved her instead.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah. Sure.”

Relief washed over her features so quickly, he almost chuckled. Instead, he just nodded, keeping his expression cool—at least, he hoped he looked cool. He honestly felt a little dumb, standing there trying not to look as thrown off as he actually was.

They made their way to the registers, and as he went to set his basket on the conveyor belt, she reached out.

“Um, you can leave that here,” she said, motioning toward his items.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

She nodded toward his basket. His brows furrowed slightly, about to protest, but she cut him off before he could. “There’ll be leftovers you can take home.” She reasoned, giving a small shrug.

Bucky sighed through his nose but didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped past her and let her unload the basket.

“If anything, I’m probably doing you a service,” she teased him lightly.

Bucky let out a scoff.

As she scrambled in her purse to find her wallet, Bucky reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and swiping his card before she could react.

Her eyes widened. “What? No, Bucky—”

“It’s fine,” he said simply, grabbing the receipt from the cashier. “Consider it a trade.”

She stared at him, lips parting like she wanted to argue further, but then she exhaled, shaking her head with a soft huff. As she reached for the bags, Bucky once again made sure to move before she did, and he grabbed the bags and made his way to the exit.

They stepped outside, the cool air against his skin as he walked her to her car. He helped her load the groceries into the trunk, shoving his hands into his pockets when they were done.

She hesitated for a second, then reached into her bag, flipping the receipt over and scribbling something onto the back.

“This is my address,” she said, handing him the receipt.

Bucky took it, fingers grazing the paper before slipping it into his pocket, the ink warm from her touch. His gaze flicked over the street name, barely processing it before she stepped back, giving him one last look. Then she climbed into her car.

He stood there for a moment, watching as her taillights disappeared down the street.

And then, with a sharp exhale, he turned, heading toward his own.

The drive wasn’t long enough.

It wasn’t long enough to sort through the static still buzzing in his head, wasn’t long enough to shove this thing—whatever this was—into a neat little box where he didn’t have to look too closely at it.

He hadn’t exactly realized what it meant when she offered to cook for him. Hadn’t let himself think about it, not fully. But it finally clicked when his car rumbled to life beneath him, when the city blurred past his window in the glow of passing streetlights.

It wasn’t just a meal. It was something else entirely—something Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as he switched lanes, grip tightening on the wheel. She was cooking for him. Not just for Steve, not just for the event, but for him. And for what? Because she was just nice? Because she had extra food and didn’t want it to go to waste? Or mayb—

No. That wasn’t it. Couldn’t be it.

He was making this into something it wasn’t. Overcomplicating it. This was about work. That’s all. Just food. Just an exchange. One that benefited her, too. He should think of it like an investment—something that helped his best friend’s event, something that made sure Steve’s business kept thriving. That was it. That’s all this was.

So why did his fingers tighten around the wheel? Why couldn’t he shake the way she had bit her lip, looking almost nervous, her voice trailing off before she had finally blurted out the offer? Why did it feel like there was something between the lines he hadn’t been ready to read?

His jaw flexed as he turned onto her street. The tension in his chest hadn’t eased, hadn’t faded, even as he pulled into a spot near the curb. He shifted the car into park, fingers drumming idly against the wheel before finally looking up.

She was already waiting.

Standing under the glow of the streetlamp, bags in hand, rocking slightly on her feet. She wasn’t looking around, wasn’t checking her phone she was just standing there, like she was waiting for him. Just him.

For a second, he stayed put. Gripping the wheel too tightly, trying to ignore the restless pull under his skin. Trying to remind himself this wasn’t a big deal. Just dinner. Just a thank-you. A friendly gesture.

But it felt like something else. Something heavier. Something he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, grabbing the receipt she had scribbled on, tucking it into his pocket before stepping out of the car. The cool night air hit him, but it didn’t do much to settle the tightness in his chest.

His gaze flicked across the street. Just a glance. Then another. Something about the sight made his stomach pull tight, but he pushed it aside and forced himself to move.

His boots were loud against the pavement, the sound muted by the quiet hum of the street. She must’ve heard him coming, because she turned, adjusting the weight of the bags in her arms.

“Everything okay?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Bucky blinked. Realized, belatedly, that he’d been staring across the street again. “Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Just—” His mouth pressed into a line. “Just thinking.”

She watched him for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. But she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for the door, and Bucky stepped forward, grabbing the handle first, pulling it open for her.

She gave him a small, amused look before stepping inside. Bucky followed, feeling the weight of something settle in his chestr.

Not yet.

Bucky followed her into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a quiet whump, sealing them inside a space that suddenly felt too small, too still. The silence settled heavily between them, thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides. The hum of the fluorescent light overhead and the faint whir of the elevator climbing floors should have been nothing more than background noise, but right now, it was deafening.

He could hear everything—his own breathing, hers, the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric as she shifted beside him. The steady flicker of the numbers above the door marked their slow ascent, each floor clicking by in excruciating increments. He clenched his jaw, adjusting his stance, feeling the weight of his own awareness pressing down on him. This was awkward. Too awkward.

She stood next to him, hands curled tightly around the straps of her bag, fingers flexing slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. He could feel her presence in a way that made his stomach clench, too aware of the way she smelled—warm vanilla with something deeper, richer, something that curled in his chest and made it impossible to ignore just how close they were.

It shouldn’t have been this unsettling. But there were no distractions here. No counters between them. No clinking coffee mugs, no scent of roasted beans, no bustling grocery aisles. Just them. And that realization sat heavy on his chest, a weight he wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

He cleared his throat, the sound sharp against the quiet, a weak attempt to break the tension. "You, uh…" He glanced at her bag, then flicked his gaze back to her. "You cook a lot?"

She turned to him, blinking as if she hadn’t expected him to speak. For a beat, she just looked at him, like she was weighing something, trying to decide what to say. Then she shrugged, shifting her grip on the bag. "Not as much as I’d like," she admitted, her voice softer now. "I mean, I bake all the time for work, obviously, but… cooking? That’s different."

The elevator doors slid open, breaking the moment before it could stretch too long. She stepped out first, leading the way down the hall with Bucky following at a measured pace. He could feel his own pulse in his throat, unsure why this felt so... significant.

Her apartment was small but warm, the scent of something citrusy lingering in the air, mixing with vanilla in a way that made his chest tighten. She set the bags on the counter and glanced at him over her shoulder, a question in her eyes before she exhaled, like she had decided not to ask it.

“You can sit if you want,” she murmured, pulling out a few ingredients, her fingers deft as she began unwrapping the steak.

Bucky hesitated for a beat before pulling out a chair, his hands resting on his thighs as he watched her work. She was comfortable here, in her own space, moving with an ease he found almost hypnotic. He realized then that he hadn’t actually seen her outside of the café before, hadn’t really let himself think about what she might be like beyond the soft glow of pastry cases and the scent of coffee beans. But here she was, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, and still, something about her made his chest ache.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, watching as she carefully sliced the bread, her focus trained on her task. “So, what are you making?”

“Steak crostini,” she answered, glancing up at him briefly before going back to her work. “With hollandaise.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, lips pressing together as he nodded. “Fancy.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Not really. Just something I like, that can feed lots.”

“You do this often?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the cutting board, at the careful way she seasoned the steak.

She shrugged. “I cook for myself, but mostly… I just like feeding people. It’s nice. Feels like a way to take care of someone.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. He didn’t have a response to that, didn’t know how to put into words the way those simple sentences made something in his ribs press uncomfortably against his lungs. He wasn’t used to people like her—people who did things just because they wanted to, because it made them happy.

And maybe that’s what made this feel different. Because she wasn’t asking for anything in return.

He cleared his throat again, fingers tapping against his thigh. “You uh… you grew up around here?”

She shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “No. Moved around a lot, actually. But this place? It’s the first one that’s felt like home.”

Bucky studied her, the way she said it like it was something she had fought for. And for some reason, that struck him harder than it should have.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah. I get that.”

She watched him for a moment, then turned back to the counter, her fingers deft as she reached for a bottle of wine from a small rack beside the counter, tilting it toward him in question. “You drink?”

Bucky blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

She smiled, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet before pouring a deep red into each. “Figured it’d pair well,” she murmured, handing one to him before picking up her own.

He took the glass, feeling the weight of it in his palm, and hesitated before taking a small sip. The warmth of the wine spread through his chest, and suddenly, the tension inside him felt a little less sharp.

She let out a soft sigh and turned back to the cutting board and then slid a small bundle of asparagus toward him. “Why don’t you prep these?” she asked, her tone light, teasing. “See if you remember how to hold a knife.”

Bucky let out a dry scoff, shaking his head as he reached for the bundle. “I think I can manage.”

She smirked. “I don’t know. You don’t seem like the vegetable-chopping type.”

Bucky snorted. “What type do I seem like?”

She shrugged, eyes twinkling as she leaned against the counter. “The kind who survives off black coffee and whatever takeout doesn’t require talking to anyone.”

His mouth quirked, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he focused on trimming the ends of the asparagus, his hands surprisingly steady. He hadn’t done this in years—not since before everything—but muscle memory kicked in, guiding his hands with careful precision.

She moved closer, leaning just past him to reach for a saucepan, the faintest brush of her arm against his shoulder making his breath hitch. She didn’t acknowledge it, but he felt it, the warmth of her body so close that for a moment, he forgot what he was doing. He forced himself to keep slicing, though his movements slowed, as if suddenly hyper-aware of every tiny motion.

A quiet hum left her lips as she stirred something on the stove, the rich scent of butter and herbs filling the air. She turned back to him, spoon in hand, and lifted it slightly. “Here, taste this,” she said, stepping closer.

Bucky blinked, glancing between the spoon and her, hesitating for just a second too long. “Uh—”

She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head as she nudged it toward him. “C’mon, it’s just sauce. Don’t look so suspicious.”

Still, there was something intimate about it, the way she had just tasted it herself, the way her fingers barely brushed his when he finally took the spoon from her grasp. He swallowed before bringing it to his lips, the warmth of the sauce settling on his tongue, rich and velvety with just the right hint of lemon.

He exhaled slowly, nodding. “Damn. That’s good.”

She grinned, pleased, before turning back to her station. “Good. Because I’m not taking criticism from a man who probably lives off instant ramen and black coffee.”

Bucky smirked, shaking his head. “I know good food when I taste it.”

She raised an eyebrow, turning back to stir the sauce. “Oh? And here I thought you only ate out of convenience.”

Bucky huffed, shifting his weight as he reached for another asparagus spear. “I didn’t say I don’t eat well.”

The words felt defensive in his mouth, so he covered them up by focusing on slicing. He wasn’t about to admit that he had a taste for things beyond quick meals and coffee. After all, he had been the one slipping extra pastries into the bag every morning, using Steve as an excuse. He had been the one peeling them open later, in the quiet of his own kitchen, savoring them more than he’d ever let on.

She moved around him again, this time slower, closer, like she wasn’t in a rush to put space between them. The warmth of her body lingered in the air between them, and Bucky could feel it, could feel her. The scent of her perfume mixed with the buttery aroma of the sauce, something delicate and grounding all at once.

“Can you hand me that?” she asked, pointing at the cutting board beside him.

Bucky grabbed it, but as he passed it to her, their fingers brushed again, a fleeting press of warmth that neither of them acknowledged aloud. His stomach twisted, unfamiliar and slow, something far too careful for what he was used to. He swallowed, exhaling softly as she took the board from his hands, her fingers lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

She turned back to her work, moving with the ease of someone comfortable in her space, but he caught the way she bit her lip, just for a moment, before letting out a quiet breath. Like she felt it too.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick, charged, but not tense. It was full of something else entirely, something that made Bucky want to keep talking just to keep her looking at him the way she had been all night, soft, curious, a little amused.

“You always cook alone?” he asked, watching as she plated the crostini, careful and precise.

She paused, just slightly, before offering a small shrug. “Most of the time. It’s nice, you know? Therapeutic.”

Bucky nodded slowly. He understood that. The solitude of a routine, the way something as simple as cooking could feel like control in a world that never quite slowed down.

“Don’t mind the company?” he asked, quieter this time.

She glanced at him, then down at the plate she was finishing. “No,” she admitted, almost hesitant. “I don’t.”

Something shifted in his chest, something that made his fingers twitch against the edge of the counter. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t know what to do with it.

She reached for two plates, carefully arranging the crostini before sliding one toward him. “Here,” she murmured. “Try it.”

Bucky hesitated, then picked up a piece, taking a bite. The crunch of the toasted bread, the richness of the steak, the smooth tang of the hollandaise...it was damn near perfect.

She watched him, her lip caught between her teeth. “Well?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re good at this.”

Her shoulders eased, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. “I know.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… natural. Easy.

She poured another splash of wine into his glass, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky let himself linger, let himself enjoy the moment. He wasn’t in a rush to leave. He wasn’t looking for an escape.

Instead, he just sat there, across from her in the quiet warmth of her kitchen, feeling something settle inside him that he still didn’t quite have a name for yet (or maybe he was acutely aware).

Eventually, the night had to end. The plates sat empty, only a few stray crumbs left behind, and their glasses carried the last traces of deep red wine. She stretched her arms above her head, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips, the movement so casual, so unguarded, that it caught him off guard. He swallowed, forcing himself to look away, to focus on the slow, inevitable rhythm of the night winding down.

She walked him to the door, her steps unhurried, as if she wasn’t quite ready to break the spell either. Bucky shrugged on his jacket, the warmth of her apartment still clinging to his skin, seeping into the fabric.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “It was good.”

She smirked, leaning against the doorframe, her arms folding loosely. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

Bucky let out a breath of a chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah. Just haven’t had something like that in a while.”

Something flickered across her expression, something soft and unreadable, but she didn’t push. Just nodded. “Well… goodnight, Bucky.” She said softly, leaning against the door frame.

He nodded back, lingering for half a second longer than he should have. “Goodnight.”

The door shut softly behind him, but the air in the hallway felt colder, emptier. He let out a slow breath, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck before stepping toward the stairwell.

Outside, the night air hit him, crisp and grounding, but as always the warmth from her still hadn’t fully faded from his skin. He let out a breath and—without thinking, without hesitating—he jaywalked straight across the street, his boots striking pavement in an easy, familiar path.

And when he reached the other side, when he stepped up to his own building and turned toward the door, something made him glance back.

His stomach twisted as his gaze flicked up.

Right at her window.

His lips pressed together, breath catching slightly as realization settled in his chest like a slow ache. That was why he had felt the pull earlier, why something in his gut had twisted when she’d given him her address. Because now, standing in his own place in front of his window, it clicked.

He could see her window from his.

And if he could see hers, then she could probably see his too.

a/n: again thank you so much for your patience again huhuhu~

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