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stevebabey · 4 months ago

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the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

How hard could it be?

[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.

You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"

Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.

"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.

"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."

Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.

"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"

Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.

"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."

He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.

"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."

Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.

"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"

He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.

"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."

You take in his words. "But you're not."

"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.

"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."

You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."

Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."

Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.

You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.

It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?

Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.

Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.

Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.

"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."

You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.

He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."

You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.

Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.

He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."

Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.

"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."

Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."

You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.

"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.

Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.

His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.

He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."

"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."

—

A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.

You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.

Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.

You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.

You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.

It would take an hour, tops.

A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.

"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.

Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here—"

You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.

"And just what are you trying to say?"

Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.

"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."

He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."

You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.

Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.

You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.

"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.

"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."

"Different?"

"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"

His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.

You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"

Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.

"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"

You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.

You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.

His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.

You could do that.

"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"

"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."

You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.

A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.

"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."

You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.

Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.

"Think this'll do?"

Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."

You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.

"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."

Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.

"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."

Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"

Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."

Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.

"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."

Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.

"And Brandon."

"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."

"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."

Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.

You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."

Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.

"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"

You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.

"Yeah," You say.

Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.

Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"

"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.

You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.

"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"

Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."

Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.

What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.

Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.

That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?

You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.

You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.

For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.

"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"

"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."

He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.

"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.

Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"

Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."

Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!

Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"

Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"

STEP TWO: THE ACT

Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.

Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.

You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.

"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.

He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.

You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.

"We got together the 20th—"

"—of June, last year." You finish for him.

Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."

You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"

"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."

That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.

"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.

"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."

"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."

Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.

"Thanks." He murmurs.

He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.

What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.

You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"

Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.

"They definitely did."

There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.

Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.

"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.

The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."

"Steve."

"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."

"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.

"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.

"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."

"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.

You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.

You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."

Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.

Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.

Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.

"Ready?"

Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.

He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.

A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.

As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.

Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.

Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.

Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.

Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.

Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”

He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.

“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”

You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.

“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”

The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.

Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.

“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”

You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”

This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.

The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.

“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.

Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.

“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”

It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.

Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.

“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”

“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?

You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.

Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.

“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.

“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”

Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.

He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.

“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.

“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.

Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”

The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.

“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”

For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.

However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.

“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.

Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.

A new voice interrupts.

“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”

You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.

He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.

The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.

“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.

Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.

Then he does the same to you.

It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.

God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.

“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.

You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.

“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”

Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.

He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.

Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”

He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.

You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.

And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.

Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.

“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”

“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”

Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.

You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.

“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”

Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.

“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.

He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.

“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.

You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.

“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.

You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.

The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.

You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.

“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.

“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.

He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”

He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.

You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.

Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.

It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.

“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.

From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.

You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.

“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”

“You think?”

You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.

If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?

"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."

Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.

"Touchy?" He provides.

You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.

The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.

And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.

You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.

How different would it really be?

Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.

Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?

The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.

Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.

Just more. More of this.

Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.

"Hm?"

"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”

Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."

Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.

"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”

The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.

Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.

“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?

He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.

“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.

How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”

“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"

It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.

"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."

Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.

“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.

He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”

“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”

Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.

Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”

You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.

“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.

You’ve met him thrice.

Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.

Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.

“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”

Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”

Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”

Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.

Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.

You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.

You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.

“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.

Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.

“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”

There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”

Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”

“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.

A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.

“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”

Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.

“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.

You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”

He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.

“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”

The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.

Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.

Does he really think all those things about you?

Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”

You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.

It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”

You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.

Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”

There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.

“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”

“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”

Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”

Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.

You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.

“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”

He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.

“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”

Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.

Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.

Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.

“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”

He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.

“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”

He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“It’s like- wait, no—”

Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.

“Is he paying you?”

You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.

“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.

You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.

And… oh.

He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.

For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.

And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.

Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.

He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.

“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”

The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.

“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”

Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.

You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.

Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.

You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.

Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.

Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.

As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.

“I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.

"What?"

"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.

"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."

You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.

"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."

Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?

"You sound mad."

Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.

"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"

“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”

Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.

"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"

“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”

That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?

Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.

His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.

"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"

He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"

He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.

A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.

"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.

"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."

"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."

He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.

"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.

"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”

There's desperation in his final plea.

A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.

A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"

"I didn't think I was your type!"

Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.

"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"

"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”

Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.

“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.

"And... now?"

Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.

"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"

It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.

"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"

Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.

"Would you... want that?"

"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.

Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.

But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.

And there it is; the true revelation.

"And I don't think I want to."

The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.

He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.

How the hell did you miss it?

"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"

What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.

"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.

Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.

But you want to try.

That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.

He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.

Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.

You're excited.

His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.

"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."

The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.

He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.

You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.

"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.

"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"

"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.

God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.

"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.

You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.

"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."

Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.

You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.

Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.

One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.

Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.

As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.

taggin some peeps below! @illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm

#if u think this has nick & jess energy from new girl you would be correct; i took insp from their first kiss hehe #heavy inspo tehe #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #best friends to lovers #fake dating #getting together #ruby writes steve #I HAD SO MUCH FUN I HOPE IT DOESNT FLOP #also yessss i did reuse a line from a different fic in this one no one point it out pleek

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wwinterwitch · 2 months ago

Text

friendly banter — bucky barnes

summary: sam asks for your help on a mission. you're reunited with him, Joaquín and Bucky. the last one really likes to banter. you think it's just a friendly exchange. it's actually a bit more than that

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader (+ platonic friendships with sam and joaquín)

word count: 5k

tags: friends to lovers, sharing feelings (awkward but cute), reader is a hacker and former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, fluff, undisclosed feelings (mutual), kissing

note: this was kind of a mess but i'm back after a long time on not writing any fics! i'm currently in my last months of studying to become a lawyer (yay) and writing fics has proven to be very therapeutic during this time. this may or may not suck but i enjoyed writing it so i hope you enjoy it

please reblog and/or comment if you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | part 2 (features the thunderbolts* now)

"Got eyes on it?"

You stop walking as soon as you hear that question, staring ahead in disbelief. "You mean...the huge panel in the middle of the room?" you ask with obvious sarcasm, trying to speak as quietly as possible through your comm as you make your way further inside the darkened room.

It’s a typical security room with tons of cameras pointing to every corner of the building. To your relief, the presence of your group is apparently still unnoticed as your eyes wander across the various screens in front of you, noticing no commotion or an unnecessarily large group of unfriendly-looking guys rushing to find you. The large panel control installed in the middle of the desk before you is the thing that immediately gets your attention as you walk closer, always keeping in mind the task at hand.

All you really have to do is hack into the system to disable the security protocols long enough for Sam and Joaquín to sneak into the top floors of the building to retrieve the data that they wanted from the bad guy's records in order to find out more about the gang they'll be (hopefully) putting behind bars soon.

This is not the first and definitely not the last time you'll be doing these kinds of favors for Sam. Your friendship goes way back, when you were still a nobody at S.H.I.E.L.D. that somehow managed to get on Captain America's good graces after that whole Washington fiasco. You're still unsure why Steve always thought so highly of you. Then again, he was the type of guy who never failed to see the potential in other people, even when they couldn't quite see it themselves.

Now, you get to help the new Captain America, who's also as dear to you as the previous one was...perhaps just a tiny bit more annoying, but one of your dearest friends regardless.

As you rush over to the panel, you have to jump over the unconscious body of a security guard that Bucky (another dear friend you met thanks to Steve) took care of before you walked inside, quickly taking a seat in front of the large keyboard to start doing your part of the job.

You hear the unmistakable chuckle from Joaquín as you quickly type in a series of codes and commands. "Jeez, I missed having you on our missions!"

"Awwh!" you mutter with genuine endearment. "I missed being part of these missions too, buddy!"

"And we're still going out for drinks after this, right?"

"Are you genuinely asking me that, Joaquín Torres?" you ask, sounding overly offended on purpose.

You hear him laugh again, but before he can say anything back, you hear Bucky interrupting the exchange. "How about we focus on not getting caught here and then you guys can discuss your night plans?"

"Uh-oh, old man got upset," you joke soon after, finishing to type in the last few codes to fully disable the security system. Surely they have some backup protocol that would soon trigger the alarm to alert these guys of an unwanted visitor, but by then all of you will be long gone. It really is a very simple mission.

"He's jealous you're not taking him out for drinks," Sam jokes back, and then you immediately hear Joaquín agreeing with him.

It's a normal occurrence for Sam to be making those kinds of jokes involving you and Bucky. He has been making those types of remarks for as long as you can remember, fully convinced the two of you "have something going on" as he has put it before. You really try not to think too much about it because, first off, Sam loves to say shit just for the sake of pissing you and Bucky off and, second...you really don't want to let those comments get to your head.

You don't want to let yourself wonder about the what if's of that. There was a time in your life when you did allow yourself to fantasize about the possibility of actually "having something going on" with him, but you learnt to shut off that part of your brain in order to avoid getting your hopes up regarding a situation that just wouldn't happen outside your imagination. Hearing Sam’s silly remarks would only bring you back to those days.

Bucky has been one of your best friends for years and he has never shown the slightest of hints that he might be interested in you in the way you would like (at least not that you're aware of), and there was absolutely no way that you would ever make the first move and risk embarrassing yourself in front of him or, even worse, losing the friendship you two have. You eventually just got comfortable in the abyss of eternal friendzone and learned to accept it. If there was ever going to happen something between the two of you, surely it would've happened by now.

Still, Sam seems to be holding onto that rope for dear life and refuses to let it go. You can't deny it’s a bit uncomfortable to hear those jokes though. They somehow make you feel like somehow you got caught and everyone knows you have a secret crush on Bucky, but you've learned to adapt over the years.

"First part's done.” Leaning back on the chair, you watch the percentage bar on the screen before you, completely ignoring Sam's little joke. "A few more seconds and you're up guys!"

"Hallway’s clear," you hear Bucky say, still guarding the room where you're currently in. "How much time do we have to get out of here?"

"Uh...I can't say for sure. Anywhere near five to thirty, maybe?"

"Minutes?"

"Seconds."

"Oh, great," he mutters ironically.

"Well, I'm sorry. We're hacking into a very sophisticated system that I don't entirely know how it works!" you snap back at him. "Besides, the whole point of this is to give Joaquín and Sam enough time to sneak inside without having to deal with a bunch of guards going straight for them. Bad guys will know we're down here and they'll come looking for us first."

"Isn't hacking your whole thing? How do you not know how it works?" he asks, and just by the tone of his voice you know he's trying to piss you off, because he knows that's exactly the type of comments that would make you upset. If that type of comment came from a stranger you would be strangling them right now, but it’s Bucky, and he seems to enjoy annoying the shit out of you.

"Big talk coming from someone who still asks for my help because he barely knows how to unlock his own phone."

The sound of his faint chuckle immediately makes you smile, perfectly picturing the way he's probably rolling his eyes just barely right now, trying to suppress a smirk as if you could possibly see him right now, knowing he hates when you point it out to him.

"You have to give me some credit, though. I know how to program emails on that thing now. Soon enough I'll be taking your job, so you better watch out."

You can't help but laugh at his reply, slightly shaking your head as you realize you’re getting distracted by him, trying to keep your focus on what you're supposed to be doing right now rather than indulge in a never ending back-and-forth with him. As soon as you type the last codes and the large SECURITY SYSTEM: DISABLED alert pops on the monitor, you quickly rise up from your seat. "You're up guys, hurry!"

"On it!" Sam replies as you rush outside the room.

Before he even says anything to you, Bucky is quickly guiding you down the hallway with the intent of getting out of there as soon as possible, turning to look at you with a confused expression when you stop walking and, instead, start yanking his arm to go in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?"

"The exit is that way," you point out as if it’s obvious.

He looks even more confused now, and slightly annoyed. "Don't think so. That's the way we entered, but there's another way of leaving this place a lot faster."

"No, we can't change the plan!"

He definitely looks annoyed now, trying not to snap at you. "I'm not changing the plan. Exiting that way has always been the plan. If we go that way, we'll-"

Before he can say anything else, the loud sound of an alarm blasts through the entire building, signaling that you've been discovered and you'll be having company very soon. As if that wasn't enough, the door of the room you were previously in opens violently, and the guard that was previously unconscious on the floor is frantically alerting more people through his radio.

“Oh, that’s great,” you point out, slightly panicking right now because you’re still inside the building. “You decided to wake up early, huh?”

Bucky immediately grabs the guy by his bulletproof vest to throw him against the wall, taking his barely regained consciousness to his advantage. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice about six other guys coming towards you, turning around the same corner you wanted to run towards as part of your escape plan. Sadly, that's when you realized maybe the direction Bucky was suggesting was better.

You’re unsure of what to do now. It's not like you haven't been taught how to take down a few bad guys, but your specialities have always involved computers rather than physical combat. Almost as if he could read your mind, Bucky turns towards you for a quick second. "Go! I'll catch up to you." Again, almost as if he knew that you'd try to ask if he was sure about it, he immediately shouts yet another "Go!" before you're finally deciding to do as he says, running down the hall in the direction he has intended to go before.

Hours later, second after second that passes by, you’re more and more convinced that you'll never hear the end of it. If only you could go back in time and just agree with Bucky's plan rather than trying to argue with him. It would have spared you a lifetime of him reminding you how he was right and you were wrong.

Turns out his exit plan was the one you should've followed all along, because it actually led to the engine room which immediately meant being in a much less crowded part of the building to escape without risking bumping into more people.

All of you had enough time to change into something more comfortable to go out for drinks. Initially it was something you and Joaquín had planned alone, but evidently the two of you didn’t hesitate to invite Sam and Bucky. Of course they accepted the invite, and of course Bucky has done his very best to keep reminding you of your little mistake.

"Listen, if you don't want shit like that to happen again, just let me know your plan beforehand."

"But I did let you know. The problem is that someone is not really a good listener."

"No. Letting me know- like, properly letting me know, would've been telling me before we got inside that building."

Bucky smirks as he leans back on his chair, and it's obvious to you he's really enjoying this banter. "Plan changed at the last minute. If you would've just followed my lead, we could've left that building a lot faster."

"Ah, so you do recognize that wasn't the original plan!" you exclaim with a triumphant grin, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You changed it all by yourself and didn't tell me."

"Changed at the last minute," he repeats, as if to correct you. "You wanted me to stand there and explain every detail to you?"

"Oh, as if explaining it would've taken you hours! You’re always so dramatic."

"Children," Sam commented, interrupting the banter with an unamused expression. "I had to trust the operation to literal children."

Bucky scoffs at that comment, watching as Sam lets out a chuckle, shaking his head after witnessing this whole interaction between the two of you.

"Kinda makes you appreciate having an actual professional around, huh?" Joaquín says right after, flashing a charming smile in Sam's direction.

"Oh, please!" you, Bucky and Sam reply in unison, earning an offended look from Joaquín.

Soon after, Bucky is speaking again. "You know what? I'll give you some credit. You managed to do your part of the job…decently."

It’s obvious he wants a reaction from you, but even if your banter is entertaining, you know you can't keep bickering the entire night. Once again, you can’t help but to feel embarrassed, as if everyone at that table knows your little secret regarding your feelings towards Bucky. As if some innocent banter between friends could ever give it away. Besides, the four of you are here to celebrate your mission was a success, and the fact that you haven't seen the trio in a long time makes it the perfect opportunity to catch up.

Pretending to fully ignore his last comment, you turn to look at Sam from across the table. "You. I haven't seen your lovely face in a while," you start, watching him physically get ready for whatever silly comment you might come up with. "Tell me what you've been up to...I've seen the photos of you shaking hands with the President," the reference to Everett Ross sounding anything but endearing.

Sam sighs, shrugging. "Yeah, well, I guess you can say it's part of the job," he simply replies before taking a quick sip of his beer. "I can't say I'm thrilled about it, but I figured it's best to compromise a bit and keep the man happy. As long as he stays in line, I'll cooperate."

"Of course you're not thrilled about it, Sam. That's the same guy that put your ass in a prison in the middle of nowhere like you were some kind of top security criminal!" you reply almost immediately, still in disbelief at the revelation of any sort of alliance between him and Ross. Sam's expression lets you know that even he is still conflicted about it, not really knowing what to say. After taking a brief pause, you try to say something else to lighten the mood, not wanting him to think like you’re judging him for it. "Hey, I understand having to keep up appearances. I get it. And please accept my deepest condolences for having to deal with that piece of shit."

Your last comment makes the three of them laugh, and Bucky takes the opportunity to change the subject. "And what have you been up to?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "It's been a while since any of us has seen you."

"Well, my life has been all over the place the last few months. As all of you know, I moved into a new apartment. I loved my roommate, but I felt it was time to just live by myself, you know?"

"So no plans of leaving New York to move to D.C., huh?" Joaquín asks with a smile.

You return the smile immediately. "As fun as it would be to live closer to all of you weirdos, no. I plan to stay in New York for now. I'm just really comfortable there with the new apartment, the promotion I got a few months ago, the fact that most of my family and friends are there..."

"But not all your friends," Sam quickly points out, pretending to sound incredibly offended by your last statement. "But since we’re talking about friends and just social life in general...are you still single?"

"Why are you always so interested in my love life?" you joke with a playful grin, taking a sip of your margarita to leave him wondering the answer just a few seconds more. "Yes, I'm still single. Queen's full of creeps," you added shortly after. "Are any of you seeing anybody?"

"Proudly and happily single," Joaquín replies, raising his drink up as if to cheer before taking a sip.

Sam gives him a very visible side-eye. "Yikes," is all he says regarding that, turning back to you. "I'm not interested in dating right now, to be honest. I’m quite a busy gentleman, you know?"

“And you say ‘yikes’ to me?” Joaquín says immediately after, looking dumbfounded.

You chime in before any of them could add anything else regarding that. “Bucky?” you ask, turning to look at him as you await his answer.

It was a bold move to directly ask him that question. On one hand, you know Bucky has always been a loner so you’re almost certain that he’s single. But there’s always that tiny percentage of probability that you’ll learn a truth you’re not sure how you’ll handle. He’s your best friend, of course you’ll be happy if he’s happy…but the idea of him revealing to you that he’s dating someone might actually make you physically sick.

You notice Bucky gets uncomfortable right away. “I’m single too.”

The pleasant feeling of relief lasts just a few seconds. The fact that Sam laughs at Bucky’s reply has your mind spinning, not understanding why he would laugh at that. Why the fuck is he laughing? Should you start panicking already?

"Actually, our buddy has been on a few dating apps, I believe."

Oh no.

Even when you try to remind yourself not to care about anything remotely romantic involving Bucky- or at least, not to care more than a platonic friend would, you can deny the news of him possibly dating someone or even just randomly talking to any person in those apps makes your stomach turn. It really wouldn't be dramatic to claim that you could quite literally throw up right now at the thought of him and someone else right now.

It's not common to hear any sort of updates regarding Bucky's love life because...well, there's never any developments. He's never shown interest in anyone, and as far as you know he's never had any sort of relationship with anyone like that– serious or casual. What if he's interested in exploring that part of his life now? What if he has found someone already and you're about to hear him talk all about them? It makes you genuinely sick, but you try your best to act as unbothered as you possibly can, forcing you to mask your disgust and heartbreak with pleasant surprise.

"Is that so?" is all you say.

He looks even more uncomfortable by the subject, choosing to look down at his almost finished beer. "It's not...I was just trying to put myself out there," he says awkwardly, shrugging. "Long story short, online dating is not for me. I hated it."

You could tell he doesn’t really like talking about this subject, so you try to quickly ease the tension with a bit of humor. Besides, you're probably better off without hearing anything regarding that topic anyway. "It's because you couldn't figure out how the whole swiping thing worked, isn't it?"

Bucky immediately seems to relax with your joke, chuckling a bit. "It took me a few days actually." He takes a quick pause before continuing. "I probably should've asked you for help."

If there was any hidden message behind his last statement, it completely goes over your head because you genuinely thought it was just part of your playful banter regarding his lack of skills when it comes to technology. You laugh, and in return Bucky offers you a smile because that's as much hinting as he dares to do out loud, especially if Sam and Joaquín are sitting right there. He's incredibly used to you never getting his subtle implications anyway.

In front of you, the other two guys are watching this exchange unfold, and it's hard to tell which one of them has a bigger urge to tell you to stop being so fucking oblivious already. As subtle as he can be, Joaquín pokes Sam's side with his elbow to give him a quick heads-up before speaking. "Considering everyone's almost finished, Sam and I are getting another round of drinks."

The two of them are standing up when they notice you're grabbing your purse and standing up as well. "Oh, I can go with you. I have to go to the restroom anyway."

The two of them want to yet again yell at you to please get a grip on the situation, but Sam just silently takes a seat as you and Joaquín go over to the bar, quickly telling him what you want to order before heading towards the restroom.

A few drinks later the four of you are finally leaving the bar. Sam and Joaquín left to their respective houses while you and Bucky shared an Uber back to his own place. He was kind enough to let you crash in his spare room for the night. It's not like this is the first time you've ever stayed at his apartment when you visit the boys, but you can't deny the idea is both thrilling and terrifying- not like anything would happen to make you feel like that...you two are just friends...but, still...your silly head likes to get silly ideas sometimes.

Deciding not to indulge in your little fantasies, you decide to start a conversation. "Update on the food?" you ask, turning to look at Bucky, who sits comfortably on the sofa of his living room.

"Like ten minutes away," he says, taking a quick look at the screen. "How come you haven't congratulated me for knowing how to order food with this thing?" he added with evident surprise, making you chuckle.

"Because you keep saying 'this thing' like it's some mysterious device completely unknown to mankind," you reply, and before you can stop yourself, you continue. "It's cute, I guess, so congratulations."

Bucky's grin grows wider. "Oh, so it's cute?"

You try really hard not to panic, feeling incredibly embarrassed. The fact that he seems to be enjoying what you just said makes it even worse, because you know he’ll use that to tease you now. He just finds any possible excuse to do it. "Cute as in lame."

He chuckles. "Right."

Not knowing what else to say, you clear your throat before walking towards him, taking a seat next to him as you try to come up with something else to change the subject immediately. "I'm starving," is all you say, mentally scolding you for such a poor effort.

As soon as you're sitting, you unsuccessfully try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he leans just a bit closer...perhaps if you weren't hyper vigilant whenever the two of you are too near you might've missed it. And then, he stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, right behind you.

For a second, you even thought of mocking him for such a move, but bringing more attention to it would only make you that much nervous, and you really don't want to embarrass yourself. And most importantly, you don't want your silly mind and your silly heart to get their hopes up. You're just friends, nothing else.

"Me too," he agrees, the playful grin on his face still not disappearing. "Might have to steal a few fries from you."

"Oh, I'd really like to see you try stealing my food," you reply in the same playful tone, leaning just a little closer to him without even noticing that you were actually doing that.

"I think I deserve some compensation after what happened today. You know, for all the unnecessary ass-kicking I had to do."

"Just when I thought you had moved on from that!" you reply, jokingly slapping his knee. "It wasn't my fault, it was yours for not telling me the plan on time!"

"You should've just trusted me," he insists. "But you always have to be right on everything..."

You know he's joking. There's something about bantering with you that seems to absolutely fascinate him. "Yeah, and you always want to piss me off."

Bucky chuckles again, and that's when you feel his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his arm fully around you. What the actual fuck is going on. "What, you think I like pissing you off?" he asks, tone slightly lower than before, which inevitably makes the butterflies in your stomach multiply. "Is that why you think I do it?"

You were quiet for a moment, your brain not entirely registering what's happening. "I mean...yeah."

He stops for a second, and you almost see a hint of hesitation on his face before he speaks, letting out a frustrated sigh. "For someone who claims to be so much more clever than anyone else, I would've expected you to figure it out sooner," he starts, shaking his head with a soft smile. "I've been actually flirting with you, doll."

The comment evidently takes you by surprise and all you can do is to stare back at him like a complete fool. His arm around your shoulders, the proximity, the fact he had the fucking audacity to call you that nickname...did you somehow fall asleep on his couch without noticing and this is the type of oddly-realistic dream your brain decided to come up with? Are you still standing there like a fool just fantasizing and this one just got way too immersive? And did he really just say that he's been flirting with you?

Noticing you weren't saying anything, he decides to continue, looking a little hesitant and disappointed with your silence. "You know, it'd be really nice if you say something..."

"Awful way to flirt," is all you could come up with, which immediately makes him burst out laughing.

"Maybe," he agrees. "But I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out. I mean…Sam and Joaquín did a long time ago."

"The three of you share the same brain cell, of course they figured it out a long time ago,” you reply, still in complete shock to be having this conversation with him. Were you really that blind? "You could’ve just asked me."

"You know I'm not direct like that," he replies, and the shy look on his face almost makes your heart melt. "Like I said, I was relying on your impressive intelligence to figure it out."

You let out a soft chuckle after his last comment, immediately giving him a warning look. "Don't." He looks back at you for a few seconds, almost wanting to challenge you after noticing the way you’re looking at him. Soon enough, he’s unable to hide his smirk anymore. "There it is," you point out, knowing he hates that.

Bucky lets out a soft grunt as a complaint, resting his head on your shoulder. Encouraged, you immediately move a hand up to his hair, affectionately playing with it. The two of you stay like that, simply enjoying being so close to each other. It feels incredibly right.

"So how do you feel?" he eventually asks, perhaps feeling braver to ask now that he doesn’t have to look into your eyes when he does.

You don’t reply right away, still feeling incredibly nervous despite knowing he does like you back. Eventually, you do build up the courage to say something. "I like you. Like, a lot."

Bucky moves back to look at you know. The look on his face gives you the impression that he wasn’t expecting you to be so honest with your answer, perhaps expecting another silly joke or sarcastic remark. And even though you thought about the possibility of choosing a more humorous approach, after keeping your feelings for him locked up and stored away for so long, you really needed to just say it.

Instead of saying something back, Bucky tightens his grip around your shoulders just enough, using his other hand to grab your chin right before kissing you. It certainly takes you by surprise, but you're quickly returning the kiss as you just completely melt in his arms, still trying to convince yourself that this is not some kind of hyper-realistic dream.

His hand swiftly moves to your cheek as the kiss continues, the gesture so incredibly delicate, a sharp contrast with the pure need he’s transmitting through the kiss. It’s desperate, passionate, intense…like he’s been waiting an entire lifetime to finally be able to experience this, grateful for the absolute privilege that it is to kiss you.

One of your hands moves up to the back of his neck and your touch seems to encourage him that much more because before you know it, he's taking the opportunity to gently bite your bottom lip, right before continuing to make out with you.

Much to yours and Bucky's disappointment, the sound of his apartment's doorbell echoes through the apartment, indicating the food you previously ordered has arrived.

He reluctantly pulls away with a soft grunt. "Food's here," he comments out loud, offering you a soft smile. He takes a brief moment to look at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek in an affectionate manner, dreading the idea of having to leave this couch. "I'll get it."

"I can help," you offer almost immediately.

Instead of replying right away, he leans in for a short kiss. "I'll get it," he insists, quickly making his way to the door after another buzz could be heard.

You sat in his living room in complete disbelief of what just happened, thankful that he's not here right now to see your goofy smile and blushed cheeks. He'd probably tease you to no end if he did see that.

Not knowing what else to do, you immediately reach for your phone, opening your messages. You knew exactly who would be the right people to share the news with.

'uhm so we just kissed??????' you texted, the first message in the group chat you just created with Sam and Joaquín.

Joaquín is the first one to reply. 'HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!'

'FUCKING FINALLY.' Sam texts shortly after.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

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arpicityandneed · 7 months ago

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You, Me, and the King

18+ f!reader. King bucky. Knight Steve. Queen reader. Dirty talk. polyship. light choking. creampie. Cuckolding. Voyeur!Steve.

If anyone noticed the visible bulge in the Steve's breeches they knew better than to say anything. The hefty sword he carried on his hip mixed with the deadly glare he gave everyone that passed by helped. They also knew better than to comment on the high pitched wails coming from the door Steve was guarding with his life. The new King and Queen were still on their honeymoon, locked away for days on end as they worked to fulfill their duty to the kingdom.

"J-James!"

He had you on your knees, your arms long since having given out as he thrusted into you. Every plap plap plap of his balls against your swollen clit echoed by the squelching of your pussy gobbling up his cock greedily. James pulled you up until his hand was around your throat, his hips never ceasing as he forced your back to arch. It made you squeal when he hit that special spot inside you. (Outside the door Steve had to clench his jaw and readjust his erection. He knew exactly what that sound meant, he heard it often enough now.)

You were usually quiet and shy, hiding at your King's side and whispering in his ear when you did have something to say. But every single time James got his cock in you, you couldn't help yourself. And your husband loved it.

"That's it my Queen. Let them, fuck, let him hear you sing for me." James let his scarred left arm wrap around you, his massive hand finding your clit easily as he fucked himself into your slick folds. You'd long since felt your own juices run down to your knees. You were sure James' balls were sticky as well.

"Please, James, I can't-" you sobbed as you came again, milking his thick shaft and making him curse.

"But you can, my love. Just a couple more. You have to if you're to give me an heir." He cooed at you, holding up your limp body as you tried to keep up with his endless stamina.

"Steve will lick you all better if you're sore later, promise." Your pussy tightened at the mention of your husband's head knight making James groan loud and filthy in your ear.

The man had grown up with your King, and you knew James trusted him more than he trusted anyone else. He'd even entrusted you to the blond. When your King was busy and you were aching, it was Steve who used his mouth and his fingers to make you feel all better. You'd even had him in your mouth when you felt bold. You wanted to practice, get better at pleasing your new husband. Steve always taught you so kindly knowing exactly what his King liked. You suspected they were more intimate than they let on and the thought made your pussy throb. But you'd never had Steves cock inside you. It was the one rule you had to follow. So when your husband mentions Steve you can't stop the embarrassed whimper that escapes you.

"I know, I know, you want his cock too." Your face burned at the truth of his words, and he laughed feeling your pussy get impossibly tight around him. "Just gotta let my cum all the way in your pretty tummy first. Gotta give me an hier."

"I'll be g-good, give you baby. Promise!" You knew Steve could hear every single word. Knew he'd be suckling on your clit later as he fucked James' cum back into you with his thick fingers when it leaked out. The very thought made you cum again, your fluttering walls dragging James along with you. He cursed, his grip tightening around your throat as his cock throbbed inside you.

"Take it my love, take every fucking drop-" He growled as he grabbed at the fat of your hip, using the leverage to fuck every spurt of cum deeper than the last.

When you both collapsed onto the bed, he cradled you to his chest kissing you slow and deep and drugging. You expected him to let you go to help you clean up a bit like he normally did. But he made no move to separate himself from you. You felt your cheeks heat once more when you realized why.

"James-" Your husband's icy blue eyes were locked onto where your bodies were joined, of the creamy mess he'd made of your pussy, but he seemed to know what you were asking if the smirk on his plump lips was anything to go by.

"Shh, just making sure it takes."

pt. 2

#bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #steve ☆#bucky ☆#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve x reader #mina writes ☆#marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagines #f!reader

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himbosandhardwear · 3 months ago

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Steve is rifling through Eddie's collection of magazines, while he's waiting on Eddie and Wayne to get done fixing the dryer(Wayne's fixing, Eddie's getting in the way it sounds like), when he realizes how insane the assortment is; Heavy Metal, Car and Driver, Rolling Stone, National Geographic, OMNI, MAD, even a copy of Good Housekeeping. It's all so Eddie though, to have so many varying interests. He's a little jealous, if he's being honest with himself.

"You have a lot of stuff," he comments when Eddie comes back, closing the copy of Rolling Stone.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, let me just..." He starts kicking a pile of clothes under the bed.

Steve huffs a laugh. "No, I meant you have a lot of interests." He waves the magazine. "Hobbies and stuff."

Eddie nods, continues to shove piles of stuff under the bed anyway. "I guess, yeah. I tend to jump from thing to thing though. Last night it was painting miniatures, tonight it could be writing a song. I don't really get a say in which one. Oh, nice, I've been looking for this," he says, holding up a random T-shirt.

He watches Eddie get distracted by the new discovery and leave the rest of the pile where it's at, smiling to himself as Eddie goes on a tangent about merch vendors at concerts being the real enemy of the people.

"How do you know what you like?" Steve inadvertently blurts out during a gap in Eddie's tale.

He turns toward Steve. "What do you mean?"

What does he mean? "I guess... It's just, I like cars and sports and girls. That's, like, kind of it. And since I started being friends with Henderson and Robin and you I've figured out that's, like, the most basic shit a guy could be into. Level One Dude Interests. So, I guess I just want to know how you find other things? And how will I know if I'm interested?"

"Hmm." He frowns softly. "I've never had to think about it before. I kinda just...fall into things. I like it or I don't."

"Okay, but what's it feel like?"

Eddie puts the shirt down, forgotten again in a moment, and sits. "What does it feel like when you think about cars and sports and girls?"

Steve really thinks about it. Nothing is as consuming as when he was younger, but he does remember a vague sense of excitement, a feeling of connection with the people he surrounded himself with, who shared his interests. But he hasn't felt that in a while. Maybe he wasn't as into those things as he thought, was only into the connection.

"You're having very deep thoughts over there," Eddie points out with a grin.

"Shut up." He grins back. "I think maybe I don't actually know what it feels like to like something because I like it, not just because everyone else likes it. You know what I mean?"

"Well, yes but no." He waves both hands to indicate his person and also the chaos of the room around them.

"See? This is why I'm asking you. If anyone can help me figure out what I like it's you."

Eddie slaps both hands together and rubs. "A project! Excellent idea!"

Wasn't his idea but sure.

"First we have to get you exposure to new things. Movies, TV, music, culture. Then we'll rate how you feel about each demographic. Your music taste is already improving so that's good. Movies, I'm thinking 12 Angry Men to start. Food? Authentic Mexican. We're gonna get you excited about shit!" He seems excited enough for the both of them, which is great. "Excitement is key! You want enthusiasm, yearning even. Your interests should consume your every waking thought. When I'm consuming a new hobby, I'm focused like a shark, I'm obsessed. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up thinking about it. Excited to get back to whatever it is. I wanna talk about it, share it with other people. Complete and total immersion. You wanna marry that interest. You know what I mean?"

Steve blinks at him, stunned into silence. Eddie's just described how Steve feels about him...

Oh.

#you decide if he blurts this out or sits on it until he can commune with robin #either way we know how it ends #Eddie helps him figure out if he likes topping or bottoming more #what a fun project!#steddie #ficlet #my writing

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steddiehyperfixation · 4 months ago

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silly little thing for my @steddiebingo prompt: nerds | 758 words | G/T |

"Hey, maybe he can help," Robin says, sweeping a hand towards Dustin who's just walked into Family Video for his regularly scheduled afterschool bug Steve and Robin time, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh come on." Steve shakes his head. "The kid doesn't want to hear about my trash heap of a love life."

"Oh, no, I absolutely want to hear about that." Dustin perks up at the opportunity to learn about Steve's trivial suffering.

"We're trying to figure out why Steve goes on a million dates but can't seem to find someone he actually likes," Robin fills Dustin in. "Tell him, Steve."

Steve groans, dragging his hands over his face before splaying them out sarcastically, as that's the only thing he can really do in protest right now. Dustin's looking at him expectantly, and Steve has no choice but to tell the kid all about Linda and Heidi and Brenda and Lucy and whoever else he's been out with recently, doing his best to answer any subsequent questions as PG as possible.

"Well of course you haven't found the one yet, you keep trying to date a bunch of normal, basic, girly girls. That's not your type," Dustin informs him once Steve's done talking.

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Oh, it isn't?"

"You can't really be that stupid, can you?"

"No, please, Henderson, enlighten me on what you think my type is."

"You're into nerds," he says like it's completely obvious.

Steve scoffs. "I am not into nerds. You know, just because I hang around you little weirdos all the time does not actually mean I want to hang around even more weirdos in all the other aspects of my life too."

"Seriously, Steve, think about it," Dustin argues. "Think of all the girls you've actually been really genuinely into in your life. They've all been nerds! Nancy-"

"- is not a nerd."

"She's a straight-A student and a journalism super geek. She's a nerd."

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs grudgingly. "Alright, fine, but-"

"And you were into Robin-"

Robin wrinkles her nose. "Ugh, don't remind me."

"-who you can't deny is definitely a nerd," Dustin continues.

"You know what, actually, he does have a point," Robin says.

Steve looks at her in betrayal. "Don't encourage him!"

"That girl you told me about that you liked in middle school who was super into Star Trek, and the other one who wanted to write a fantasy novel one day- oh and the elementary school crush who was always reading a new book every day..." Robin lists, ticking each one off on her fingers.

"I told you all that in confidence!"

"They were all nerds!"

"Exactly." Dustin grins, vindicated and insufferably smug. "Ergo, you, Steve Harrington, need to find yourself a nerd."

"I am not into nerds!" Steve protests hopelessly.

"What more proof do you need?" Dustin says. "You're into nerds."

"Totally into nerds," Robin concurs.

Steve huffs and throws up his hands. "Fine! I'll admit I'm into nerds if it will make you two shut up about it!"

Eddie happens to wander into the previously empty store at that exact moment, catching the tail end of the conversation as he approaches the counter. "What's all this about nerds?"

Steve freezes, glances Eddie over and stares at him strangely for a few long seconds. "Holy shit," he mutters.

His gaze cuts to Robin, whose eyes go wide when she meets his look. "Holy shit," she agrees.

"Oh my god."

"Dude."

"Dude!"

Eddie blinks at them. "Are you two having some sort of joint stroke or something?" He looks at Dustin as if the kid might have a better clue of what's going on. "Can you understand them?"

Dustin shrugs, equally mystified. "Don't look at me, man. They're weird."

The incomprehensible parroting conversation is still going on.

"Okay," Steve's saying, taking a deep breath in through his nose and exhaling determinedly.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay." Robin grins and shoves at his shoulder.

Steve finally turns back around and leans on the counter in front of Eddie with a classically charming smile. "So, Eddie, are you free on Saturday?"

Eddie smiles back despite his confusion. "Yeah-"

"Oh my god!" Dustin bursts out suddenly.

"Oh my god," Robin agrees with a knowing smirk.

Eddie glances at Dustin. "Oh no, not you too."

Steve exhales a long-suffering sigh and pushes himself off the counter, marching around to grab Eddie by the hand and drag him away from Dustin and Robin. "So. Saturday?"

"He's into nerds," Dustin whispers, wide-eyed.

Robin nods sagely. "He's into nerds."

#wrote this in my notes app while slightly intoxitcated. enjoy.#steddiebingo2025 #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #dustin henderson #stranger things #ficlet #mine #1k #greatest hits

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keithyp00 · 1 month ago

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•·.·´`·.·•• You're Lying (and other things Sam won't stop saying) ••·.·´`·.·•

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: language, mild suggestiveness, comedy, romance, light-angst, found family, slow burn payoff, excessive teasing, established relationship, Sam being annoying

Trope: Everyone thinks you're not really dating. You are. No one believes you.

Word Count: 2.0K

Author Note: Guys this is just like my last one, this is to help me mentally prep for an AP exam tomorrow morning so if this is bad I am so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

You and Bucky were dating.

Like- really dating.

In the 'he's seen you at your absolute worst and still kisses your cheek like he doesn't look at you any differently' kind of way. The 'you keep an extra toothbrush at his place and he makes your coffee how you like it without asking' kind of way. The 'he pulls you into his lap during team movie nights and smiles against your shoulder, murmuring words into your ear like it's not the most dangerous thing he could do' kind of way.

And no one believed you.

Especially not Sam.

"Oh, come one," he said, flatly, as he walked in on you and Bucky curled up on the couch. "This again?"

You blinked. "We're watching Pretty Woman, Sam."

"You're spooning."

"We're affectionate."

"You're not even kissing! He's probably just cold. You know he runs cold. Like a cyborg space lizard or something."

Bucky growled. "Cyborg space-?!"

"Right," Sam interrupted. "Sure. Keep telling people you're dating. I'll be over here living in reality."

You buried your face into Bucky's neck. "I hate him," you mumbled.

"You love him," Bucky corrected with a sigh. "You just want him to validate our relationship."

"I want him to believe in our relationship. There's a difference."

Sam, in the kitchen, called out: "I don't!"

Bucky flipped him off without looking.

~~~~~

The problem wasn't that you and Bucky didn't act like a couple.

The problem was that you didn't act like a normal couple.

You didn't post mushy selfies. You didn't wear matching shirts. You didn't coo pet names across conference tables. You just... existed. Comfortable. Quietly in sync. The kind of romance that felt more like a heartbeat than a firework.

Too subtle for people like Sam Wilson, apparently.

"You didn't even kiss when you got back from that mission," Sam pointed out, a few weeks later. "She was gone for five days, man."

Bucky, polishing a knife, didn't look up. "I kissed her afterward. In private."

"See, that's the problem! You hide it. Makes it look fake."

"I'm sorry," you snapped. "I didn't realize our love life was for public broadcast. Want us to livestream the next one?"

Sam looked delighted. "That's a strong reaction. I hit a nerve. This is faker than Tony's allergy to gluten."

Tony called from down the hall: "It's real, you bastard!"

~~~~~

At first, it was funny.

Then it got exhausting.

You weren't insecure about your relationship- Bucky made sure of that, every day, in a dozen quiet ways. He cooked for you. Kissed your temple. Held your hand under tables. Brushed his thumb along your jaw like it was the most precious part of you.

But still. No one believed it.

Not Nat, who called it "convenient physical proximity."

No Clint, who claimed he'd never seen you kiss with tongue (as id that were a valid benchmark).

Not even Steve, who offered a gentle "Are you sure he's not just emotionally dependent on you?"

It all came to a head one night at a bar.

You'd just finished a mission and everyone was letting off steam. Sam leaned against the bar counter beside you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"So," he started. "You and Barnes still 'dating'?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes."

"Hmm. Okay." He sipped his beer. "So if I leaned in and kissed you right now, he wouldn't deck me?"

You stared at him.

"Try it," Bucky said darkly from behind, voice like cracked gravel.

Sam smiled. "Still not proof."

Bucky grabbed your hand. "You want proof?"

"Bucky-" you warned.

"No, no. He wants a show. Let's give him one."

He yanked you flush against him, hand cupping your jaw, and kissed you.

Not a polite kiss.

Not a we're-dating-I-swear kiss.

A I-know-every-inch-of-your-mouth-and-I-love-you kiss.

Hot. Possessive. Unapologetic.

You melted into it, clutched his shirt, kissed him back with something that sounded like a whimper because Jesus.

When he pulled away, Sam blinked. "...Okay. Damn."

"Believe us now?" Bucky raised a brow.

Sam blinked again. "Not really."

You grabbed a pretzel stick and stabbed it into the foam of Sam's beer. "I hope you step on RedWing."

~~~~~

Even after that, the teasing didn't stop.

Because of course it didn't.

"You probably practiced that," Sam said a few days later.

"What?"

"That kiss. You planned it. Just to throw me off."

Bucky rubbed his temples. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met."

"You're just mad I cracked the code."

"There is no code!"

You yanked open the fridge, pulled out a tub of frosting, and started eating it with a spoon. "I actually cannot live like this."

Sam pointed at the spoon. "See? No real girlfriend would let her boyfriend see that."

"Bucky bought me this frosting."

Bucky looked like he was about to get up and beat the shit out of Sam if he didn't start walking away.

~~~~~

Eventually, you gave up.

Let them believe what they wanted.

You and Bucky still kissed behind closed doors, curled together on the couch, whispered sleepy confessions after long days.

Until-

One night, you got sick.

Really sick. The kind of body-aching, fever-drenched flu that turned you into a grumpy, sniffling, corpse with a bag full of used tissues beside your bed.

And Bucky took care of everything.

He brought you soup. Rubbed your back. Helped you shower when you were too weak to stand. Brushed your hair out of your face. Slept beside you even when you told him not to.

Sam stopped by to check on you and walked in on Bucky holding your hand while you slept, forehead pressed to your wrist like he was praying.

He backed out slowly.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't tease.

Didn't breathe.

The next morning, there was a small gift basket on your nightstand.

From Sam.

With a card.

"Okay. You win. He loves you. I won't say another word. P.S. Please don't tell anyone I'm capable of this level of sincerity. I have a rep to protect."

~~~~~

You- of course- showed Bucky the card.

He smirked. "About damn time."

You kissed him with a smile.

And this time, no one questioned it.

~~~~~

The peace lasted exactly five days.

Five beautiful, uninterrupted days.

No teasing, no smug side-eyes, no Sam accusing you of being part of an elaborate CIA cover operation. Just you, Bucky, some early morning kisses over coffee, and one blessed evening where you somehow convinced him to slow dance in the kitchen to 40s music.

And then Sam broke into your new apartment. One you thought would give you full time peace compared to the Avengers compound.

(he claimed he "used the spare key." You knew he just picked the lock.)

"Morning, lovebirds," he smiled brightly, leaning against the doorframe like this wasn't the worst intrusion since Ross kissed someone else while he and Rachel were on a break.

You stared at him over Bucky's shoulder, still wrapped in his hoodie with sleep-mussed hair and a mug of tea between your palms. "It's 7:13 a.m."

"I brought bagels."

"And chaos."

Sam strolled in. "And relationship advice."

Bucky looked up from the couch, dead-eyed. "Why?"

"Because now that I know you two are the real deal, I gotta make sure you stay real."

You rubbed your temples. "We're not a gas leak, Sam."

"No, but you're both stubborn and weirdly avoidant and emotionally repressed, and frankly, I'm impressed it took me this long to be needed."

Bucky mumbled, "I'd rather be waterboarded."

Sam ignored him and slapped a notebook onto the table. "Step one: scheduled communication check-ins."

"Oh my god-"

~~~~~

You tried ignoring him.

Didn't work.

Because Sam became relentless. He started showing up with couple's quizzes.

Brought you a deck of 'relationship conversation starters.'

Installed an app on Bucky's phone called 'LoveTracker.'

("It's like Find My iPhone, but romantic," he said. Bucky installed it in twelve seconds.)

And worst of all- he documented everything.

"Bucky," he'd say mid-mission, "when was the last time you complimented her non-physically?"

You stared at him. "Non-physically?"

"Yeah. Like her intelligence. Or her moral compass. Or how she hasn't murdered me yet."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I call her my girl every morning."

"That's possessive endearment, not a compliment."

"I tell her she's smarter than Tony."

~~~~~

Somewhere around Week 3 of Sam's Unsolicited Couples Therapy, something unexpected happened.

He stopped being annoying.

(Okay, no. He was definitely still annoying.)

But... he also started being kind of helpful.

Like the night you and Bucky got into your first real fight.

It wasn't explosive. Just sharp. Quiet. Full of jagged silences.

You'd been on back-to-back missions, and Bucky had started pulling away. Fewer cuddles. More brooding. Less talking. You tried to be patient- God, you tried- but when he snapped at you for asking what was wrong, it all unraveled.

"I'm trying to help," you said, voice trembling.

"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

The room froze.

You didn't cry.

You never cried in front of him.

But that night, you shut your bedroom door behind you and curled up alone.

Bucky didn't come in.

Not until morning.

But Sam came over first.

~~~~~

He found you on the balcony, hoodie pulled over your knees, cold tea forgotten beside you.

He didn't say anything at first.

Just sat down next to you, offered a granola bar.

Then, quietly: "You know, when Sarah gets mad at me, I do this thing where I pretend I'm not scared I'll lose her. But I am. I always am."

You looked over. "You think Bucky's scared?"

Sam tilted his head. "That man loved you like it's gonna be taken away from him. Like he's holding something he thinks he shouldn't have. So yeah. He's scared."

You didn't cry.

But you breathed.

And it helped.

~~~~~

Bucky apologized that afternoon.

He stood in the doorway, fists clenched, breathing hard like it took everything in him to walk in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For being a coward. For making you feel like you weren't wanted when you're the only thing I ever want."

You looked at him.

He stepped closer. "I never learned how to let myself be... this happy. It scared the hell out of me. But not as much as losing you."

You opened your arms, and he came apart in them.

That night, Bucky fell asleep with his hand on your heart.

And you whispered, "You're safe with me."

~~~~~

The next morning, Sam dropped off muffins.

"I told you you'd fight eventually," he said smugly.

You grabbed the muffins and shut the door in his face with a smile.

~~~~~

Over time, you adapted.

You didn't expect Sam to be a normal friend, he didn't know how to do that. But you did start to appreciate him as a part of your life. Your weird, overinvolved, chaotic platonic marriage therapist.

He became your sounding board.

Your crisis texter.

Your sarcastic but loyal brother figure who threatened anyone who looked at you funny and called Bucky 'lover boy' just to watch him twitch.

One night, you all sat around a campfire during a retreat mission. Quiet stars. Crickets. Steve snoring faintly in the background.

Sam looked over at you both.

"You know," he said, voice softer than usual, "you're actually really good together."

Bucky looked at him. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. But I mean it. You make him more human," he said to you. Then, to Bucky: "And you make her feel protected without caging her."

You blinked.

Bucky squeezed your hand.

Sam threw a marshmallow at you both. "Don't get soft on me. I'll revoke my own compliment."

~~~~~

Months later...

You stood at the edge of a field after a joint mission, hair tousled, laughing with Bucky as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Sam walked past, muttering into comms.

"She's in love, he's in denial, and I'm still unpaid for all their therapy."

You smiled to yourself.

You were real.

You were loved.

And you had the most chaotic friend group in the world.

Which honestly... was kind of perfect.

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sashaforthewin · 1 month ago

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“Steve, your babysitter is here! Behave, don't make a mess, and we'll be back home around bedtime.”

Steve watched his parents greet an old man on the front porch, then leave. The old man had very little hair on top, but he had a friendly smile. As soon as his parents' car was gone, the man tapped on the window of his truck in the driveway and an older boy popped up.

“Steve, I'm Wayne and this is my nephew Eddie. I didn't have anyone to watch him and I didn't want to leave him alone, so I figured I'd bring him along and you two can play together.”

“Okay!” Steve said, excitedly. He grabbed Eddie by the hand as soon as he had climbed out of the truck.

“Uncle Wayne, I don't want to play with a baby!” Eddie complained.

“He's only about a year younger than you.”

“Which makes him a little kid,” Eddie pouted.

Steve was undeterred as he pulled on Eddie's hand to get him into the house and up to his room.

“My dad said I can't play house, so do you want to play G. I. Joe?”

“Sure,” Eddie shrugged.

“Okay, I'll be the mommy and you can be another mommy,” Steve told him.

“Wouldn't I be the dad?”

“No, dads are always mean but I don't want you to be mean.”

Eddie thought about that and decided Steve was right, dads are always mean. Even in TV shows they're usually mean to the mom.

“Yeah, alright, but we can still be married.”

“Obviously,” Steve stated, like it would've been truly dumb to think they wouldn't be married in this game.

Steve handed Eddie a G. I. Joe swaddled in a dish towel and they proceeded to carry them around like babies and pretend to feed them and change their diapers.

After a couple hours, the boys were called downstairs to have dinner. Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve knocked over his drink and then proceeded to cry. Wayne gave Eddie a warning look, though, so he didn't call Steve a baby out loud, he just thought it as loudly as possible. Then he felt bad for not liking Steve when he gave Eddie all the chicken nuggets he didn't want to finish and insisted they hold hands under the table. Despite thinking Steve was just a dumb little kid, he didn't hesitate running back upstairs to play after dinner. They were in the middle of a fairly good game, after all.

“Steve! Your parents are on the way home, you start cleaning up and getting ready for bed. Eddie, help clean up and then get your things!” Wayne called up the stairs.

“You should come back every time Wayne babysits, you're fun!” Steve said. He jumped towards Eddie and wrapped him in a big hug and leaned in to kiss him.

Eddie tried to wiggle out of the hold and away from the kiss, but Steve was decently strong, so he got hugged and a pair of puckered lips briefly pressed to his cheek. He made sure to wipe his cheek dramatically so Steve knew kisses were gross. Didn’t this kid know about cooties?

Then Eddie went and hid in the truck when Wayne told him to, and a few moments later, he heard Steve's parents pull up. They asked Steve if he had fun and Steve had proudly declared that he had played G.I. Joe all night and that he wanted Wayne to babysit every time.

#steddie #steddie fic #my fic #before steve was taught to repress

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helaintoloki · 4 months ago

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Hello and good evening,

I saw you opened requests so I'm dropping by!

What about an infinity stone mishap that has multiple Bucky variants be at the compound at the same time. (Let's just have Winter Soldier be not entirely murderous for the sake of Tony's heart) and literally no one can seem to keep some apart except Steve and reader, who goes off on a rant about all the teeny tiny, to her very obvious details that differ between the Bucky's and accidentally in doing so admits she has a huge crush on him/them??

I hope that made sense omg

And as always, only if it speaks to you and you're up for it! ♡♡

a/n: hi hon, ty for sending this in! i’ll admit this was a bit challenging to tackle but still fun! hope you don’t mind that i changed a few details in the process <3

warnings: light angst, lots of pining, fluff

summary: a multiversal mishap leaves the compound teeming with Bucky variants, and Steve entrusts you with helping him figure out which one is the real deal

“I think I had a nightmare like this once,” Sam shudders as the two of you survey the plethora of Bucky’s taking up space in the compound. A multiversal mishap had led to an overflow of variants into the compound, and now your team found themselves working vigorously to determine which Bucky was your own and which ones needed to be sent back to their proper dimension.

Getting rid of the Winter Soldiers had been the easiest, the red stars on their arms giving away their identities and also giving Tony a heart attack in the process. You could tell apart the Bucky’s with hair that was too long or too short, the one’s that had brown or green eyes instead of blue, and the ones that went by Jane instead of James. The real work, however, came when there was only a handful of variants left that looked identical to your own Bucky.

“We can’t take any chances,” Steve says after having approached you and Sam. “All of these men are going to insist they’re our version of Bucky, and we can’t risk sending back the wrong one. I’m really going to need your help on this, y/n.”

“Why me?” You retort with furrowed brows, nervously peeking your head out of the office to observe the variants that sit restless in the common room.

“Out of everyone here, you and I know Bucky best,” the blond states truthfully. “I think if we work together we have a better shot at cleaning up this whole mess. The sooner the better.”

“You got that right,” Sam scoffs, prompting you to roll your eyes in response.

You couldn’t exactly deny the truth in Steve’s words. Other than Captain America himself, Bucky considered you to be one of his closest friends. Your kindhearted nature made it easy for him to gravitate towards you when first joining the team, and after saving each other’s asses on multiple occasions, he knew you were someone he could entrust with his life. You tore down his walls with ease, you brought out the best in him, and he’d forever be indebted to you for your friendship.

You decide with Steve that the best course of action is to spend one-on-one time with each Bucky you cross paths with to detect any abnormalities in their behavior. The Captain makes it abundantly clear that you cannot let them cloud your judgement with pleasantries, and it’s pertinent you trust your gut with each decision you make. The pressure is on, and you feel the nerves settling in your gut as you approach the Bucky that has made himself at home in the communal kitchen.

“Hey, stranger,” you call gently, a pleasant smile on your face as you seat yourself at the island counter. You note with interest how the man visibly relaxes at your presence and sets aside the pot of tea he’d just finished brewing. His eyes are bright like your Bucky’s, full of adoration and relief when he sets them upon your face.

“Y/n,” he breathes out gently before coming to meet you at the counter, “you have no idea how glad I am to see you, doll.”

“Rough day?” You prompt understandingly.

“Where do I even begin? Being around so many versions of myself is more unsettling than I ever could have imagined.”

“Well, Steve and I are doing our best to fix that,” you assure him. You watch as the man turns back to his pot of tea and begins to pour you both a cup. There’s nothing unusual about this considering your Bucky also enjoys drinking tea; it helps him keep calm and relaxed before retiring for the night.

“How many are left?” He asks before handing you your mug.

“Around ten. Steve and I are making our rounds to figure out which Bucky is ours.”

“Am I your Bucky?” The man prompts with a raised brow while taking a careful drink from his cup.

“You tell me,” you reply with a faint smile, ignoring the way your heart begins to flutter when he refers to himself as ‘your Bucky.’

“I know you have a scar on your stomach from being stabbed by another Widow in the Red Room, and the reason I know that is because I accidentally walked in on you changing in the shower room once,” Bucky admits with a sheepish laugh, prompting your face to heat with embarrassment.

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan while hiding your face in your hands. It’s not exactly comforting to know that Bucky has accidentally seen you naked in at least two different universes, but it also doesn’t make it easier to determine if this man is an imposter.

“I know you like your tea with a tablespoon of honey,” he continues before gesturing to your cup. You hum thoughtfully and set the mug down before meeting his gaze.

“I do, and I know you only like chamomile tea,” you reply, prompting Bucky to stiffen in front of you as you look down at the mug in front of you. “But this is green tea.”

Sighing, the doppelgänger sets his cup down with a defeated frown before meeting your gaze with pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go back.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done. We can’t risk the effects that come with having two Bucky’s in one place.”

“Then can I ask you a favor?” The man says solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Before you send me back, can I… is it okay if I hug you?” He asks, catching you by surprise. Noting the confusion on your face, Bucky gives you a dejected smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before explaining, “We don’t talk anymore in my universe. I was an idiot, and you rightfully cut me out of your life. This is the first time in years you’ve looked at me with love and not utter disgust, and I just want to enjoy it a little longer before I have to leave.”

Your heart aches for this poor Bucky who very clearly misses you, or at least his version of you, so you can’t find it in yourself to deny his request. You wordlessly rise from your seat and allow him to wrap his arms around your frame. His hold is tight, his nose brushing against your neck as he savors the feel of your touch, and you feel terrible for the fact that there isn’t anything you can do to help him.

“I’m not sure what happened between the two of you,” you utter quietly while rubbing comforting circles into his back, “but if she’s anything like me, I know she probably misses you but is too stubborn to admit it. Don’t give up on her.”

You release him with a smile and find his eyes shining with tears as he lets your words settle. You bid him a final goodbye before escorting him to Tony and Bruce so that he can be properly transferred back to his own time. That’s only one Bucky down with several more to go, and you know now that you really have your work cut out for you. This is going to be much more difficult than you anticipated.

You stumble upon the next Bucky quietly ruminating in your room, and it takes him a moment to detect your presence as you lean against the doorway and simply observe his mannerisms. You can already tell this isn’t your Bucky by the way he anxiously taps his fingers against his knees; your Bucky’s tell is the anxious bouncing of his leg. This Bucky also wears his hair pulled back into a ponytail, whereas your Bucky prefers to tie his hair back into in a half-up style.

His eyes widen in shock when he finally notices you standing there, and you’re taken aback by the way he nearly flings himself at you. His strong arms wrap around your midsection and lift you off the ground, holding you impossibly tight against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“жена,” he whispers in a trembling voice while combing a hand through your hair.

“I don’t speak Russian…” you voice with an uncomfortable laugh, struggling to take a breath due to how tightly you’re pressed against him. “Buck, you’re kind of suffocating me here.”

The man finally releases you after your admission, but his hands immediately find their way to your cheeks as he cups your face and rests his forehead against your own. You’re startled by the closeness, but there’s no denying the rapid beating of your heart when you stare into his troubled eyes. You’ve had daydreams like this before, but it’s jarring to experience it in person.

“When I arrived here and came across your room I thought it was too good to be true,” he utters shakily, “but you’re here. You’re alive.”

“Bucky, I-“

“You’ve come back to me, жена.”

“жена?” You repeat unsurely. His panicked features melt into a fond smile at the sound of your botched Russian, and he carefully pushes back your hair before gifting you a nod of confirmation.

“Wife.”

Your eyes widen at his proclamation, your heart dropping to your chest while you process the weight of his words and struggle with the turmoil inside of you. You thought dealing with the Bucky from the kitchen was difficult, but this is way out of your playing field.

“Oh god,” you breathe out before carefully removing his hands from your face. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is all really confusing, but I’m not…” you start to say, grappling with your guilt at having to crush the man’s hopes of being reunited with his version of you, “I’m not your wife.”

The man’s features become sullen at your confession, brows furrowing in disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean? You aren’t y/n?”

“I am, but I’m just not the same y/n you know. This is a different dimension, and you were sent here by accident.”

“So you’re not… she’s not really alive, then,” he murmurs dejectedly, eyes casting towards the floor in despair.

“No, and I’m so sorry I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you console, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of your touch, something he’d been lacking since your death. You aren’t his wife, but in spite of that, he is grateful to be able to speak to you and see your face once more. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“Hydra wanted revenge for my desertion and for aiding Captain America in their destruction,” Bucky utters lowly, eyes hardening at the memory. “An eye for an eye. She paid the price for my mistakes, and I’ve spent every waking moment avenging her death.”

A chill runs through your spine as you hear the recounting of your counterpart’s death, but you do your best to remain composed while in the presence of this alternate version Bucky. Your heart aches for the man, and you once again find yourself completely useless at trying to help him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you express solemnly. Despite this, Bucky looks to you with a tender smile before carefully taking your hand in his own.

“Don’t be. I know you’re not her, but seeing you again, hearing your voice- It’s the most precious gift I could ask for. Thank you for giving me some semblance of peace.”

You’re a wreck when this Bucky is returned to his own timeline, and after multiple instances of running into Bucky’s who believe you’re their y/n Steve assures you that he’ll take over moving forward. It seems that each Bucky you speak to cares so fondly for you, they adore you even, and yet in this universe you’ve been designated as a close friend and nothing more. It’s killing you to see all the ‘what if’s,’ because deep inside you know that you’ll never be with your Bucky the way you want to.

You’re not sure when your crush on the super soldier had first developed, but you know that you’ve harbored these romantic feelings for him for quite a while now. You’ve never told anyone, though you can guess Steve was smart enough to figure it out on his own, and you have no urge to act on such feelings in fear of how complicated things will become if he doesn’t reciprocate your emotions.

Your rumination leaves you in deep thought as you sit out on the balcony and enjoy some quiet after all the chaos you’ve endured. You hear the sliding door open and shut behind you, but you make no attempt to see who it is until they seat themselves beside you. You peek at Bucky from the corner of your eyes before returning your gaze to the New York skyline, simply enjoying his presence without making an effort to speak.

“You doing okay?” He asks, effectively breaking the silence between you.

“I didn’t think being around multiple versions of you would be so exhausting,” you confess with a humorless laugh, but it prompts his lips to quirk up slightly into a smile.

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” he teases with a careful nudge to your side. While you’d normally laugh at his jokes, Bucky doesn’t even get a smile out of you. You feel him shift closer to you and hope he can’t detect the way your heart picks up a beat in response. He nudges you again softer this time and asks, “Talk to me. What’s eating you?”

“Every Bucky variant I met today looked at me like I moved heaven and earth together, like I was their reason for getting up in the morning, and I guess it just reminded me of the fact that my own Bucky doesn’t really look at me that way.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and let your chin fall on top of them with a melancholic sigh. A part of you feels embarrassed to be voicing your disappointment aloud, but you figure there’s no harm in telling a variant since you’ll never have to see them again after today.

“Do you want him to look at you that way?”

“Of course I do,” you avow incredulously like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I love him so much that Steve trusted my judgement enough to have me help him sniff out the doppelgängers. I know how he likes his tea, how he does his hair, what his favorite movie is- the list could go on forever. But of course, I live in the one universe where Bucky and I don’t end up together.”

You feel his hand come to rest on the small of your back and shudder at the feel of his cool metal hand seeping through your sweater. You can’t help but to lean against him so that your head is rested on his shoulder, and you’re able to find some comfort in his presence. You hear him let out a thoughtful hum beside you.

“You want to know something?” Bucky pronounces. He feels your head nod against him and smiles. “I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

The confession has you lifting your head to peer up at him questioningly. “You do?”

“Of course I do. We were on a mission, and you picked up Steve’s shield to stop a bullet from hitting me straight on before using it to knock out three bad guys in a row. You looked so strong, so beautiful. My heart was yours from then on.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you confess quietly, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he asserts with a fond smile. “Any Bucky would be lucky to have you, and I’m sorry yours has been too chicken to make a move.”

“I guess it’s not totally his fault,” you relent with a meager shrug. “I’m chicken, too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bucky suggests, tone light and inviting. “I know I’m not the most obvious about it, but I love you too.”

You open your mouth to answer only to be interrupted by the sound of the sliding door again. You turn to see Steve standing there, surprise on his features when he sees you two sitting on the balcony together.

“Y/n, I’ve been looking for you,” he says suddenly. “I wanted to talk to you about the variants-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt him with a passive wave of your hand before gesturing towards Bucky with your head. “I found another one for you. This Bucky just told me he loves me which means he’s definitely not ours.”

“Actually,” Steve says with an amused grin, “I was just coming to tell you we sent the last of them back to their own dimensions.”

“What?” You gape in shock, heart immediately dropping to your stomach as you slowly shift your gaze towards the Bucky sitting next to you. He flashes you a bashful smile and a small wave that fills you with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the blond says with a knowing smile before making his exit, leaving you alone once more with the man you’d just poured your entire heart out to.

“I thought you knew,” Bucky offers apologetically. You take a nervous swallow before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“So you’re saying that you do love me?” You ask hesitantly, almost afraid that this is all some sort of joke.

“I may not be as romantic or straightforward as the other Bucky’s you met, but I love you just as much as they do if not more,” he professes earnestly, gently resting a hand on your cheek to pull you closer. “I think we make a great team, but we’d make an even better couple.”

“I think so too,” you utter with a giddy smile, waiting with bated breath as Bucky slowly begins to lean in. The anticipation is killing you, but you’re finally rewarded for your patience when his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Your lashes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, reveling in the moment you’ve dreamed of since discovering your feelings for Bucky.

No matter the timeline and no matter the universe, Bucky is destined to fall in love with his y/n. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

#mel writes #request #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #marvel #mcu #mcu x reader #mcu imagine

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hungharrington · 4 months ago

Note

thinking about getting fingered by Steve in the backseat of his car and being crowded against the door and sitting at an awkward angle but not moving because the thought of his fingers losing that spot is a million times worse than the sore neck… just UGHHH 😩

a hungharrington fic? in 2025? i'm just as surprised as you <3 1.3k, fem!reader, what the prompt says hehe MDNI this entire blog is 18+

The numbers on the dashboard blink in the night, reflecting the late night hour.

From the outside, Steve's car looks unassuming, parked in between the trees out by Skull Rock.

You're given away only by the faint fogging of the windows, though you have little doubt of how steamy they'll be soon enough. With the hot heat of Steve's mouth against the skin of your neck and the surety of his fingers, curling closer between your thighs, it's not an if, it's a when.

"God, I missed you s'much," He murmurs heavily. His words get smothered beneath his own fervent kisses, your skin tingling beneath the attention. He can't bring himself to break away from you for more than a moment.

Steve had headed out of Hawkins for the better part of a week, dragged by his parents who wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd returned just tonight, maroon car glinting the last of the evening sun up at your window.

You'd slipped down and taken the passenger seat always reserved for you.

And then, somewhere between there and now, Steve had cajoled you into the backseat, his hazel eyes bright with an adoring lust as he nipped at your neck.

"Missed you too," You gasp breathily.

Tilting back, your head gently hits the glass of the car window behind you. Your hair wipes some of the fog off and Steve nibbles a soft lovebite under your ear, soothing it with his tongue. His hands paw hungrily at your waist and you grapple to find purchase on his shoulders.

"Not as much as me, baby," Steve pants.

He finally pulls himself back from his affectionate attack on your neck, eyes darker, face flushed. His hand on your waist slides forward, following the line of your hips forward, down, til he's cupping your cunt. You think you get a little lightheaded from the way your blood rushes south, gloriously hot at the touch.

He kisses you, his groan seeping into your mouth. It fills your head, heavy and sticky with lewd thoughts.

"Thought of you every," He rubs you through the denim softly. "Damn," Another rub, more pressure this time. "Day."

You keen, hips canting forward, searching for more of that delicious friction. Steve gives you what you want; he always does. You reward him, your hands on his shoulders shifting. You twine your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, just how he likes it.

The inside of the car feels much, much warmer now. The windows can't be seen through anymore and it seems to cast the red light of the dashboard clock much further. Steve's heavy breath fanning across your face is the loudest thing in the car.

You should've worn a skirt, you think— right as Steve asks, "Can I?" his hand now up, thumbing at the button of your jeans.

His check-in douses the ember within you with gasoline, burning hotter, brighter, in an instant. You know what he's asking for, know exactly how well Steve knows how to use his fingers. The thought of them buried in you, crooked just right, suddenly has you aching for it.

Nodding, you murmur out your yes' as you shuffle about, working to kick off your shoes quickly. Steve pulls back to not be in the way, jumping back in time to help you peel the denim off from your legs.

You manage to get your fingertips beneath the elastic of your panties before you're interrupted.

"Keep them on," Steve says, knocking your hand aside. He surges back in, his fervour undulled, and his large hands find your hips, tugging forward.

You end up slightly perched in his lap, slightly pressed into the back corner against the window and the seat. It's an awkward position but when the warmth of Steve's fingers pet your cunt again, cotton stickier now, you can forgive it. You sling your arms around his neck to get closer.

"That's it," Steve murmurs lowly. He ducks his head to reignite every lovebite left on your neck as his fingers get bolder, pressing firmer. Your breath gets thinner, chest heaving more and more.

"God, my girl," He breathes, fingers spreading the wetness up and over your clit tantalizingly. You mewl at his too-soft motions, needing more.

"Steve," You urge.

He doesn't make you wait. Pinching the edge, he pulls your panties to the side and then dips his fingers into the well of slick wet waiting eagerly for him.

You make matching groans; Steve moaning at heat of your inviting cunt, wrapped around him, and you sighing at the way his long digit sinks into you, slow and so sweet.

"Steve," You say his name again, this time a honey, lusty thing.

Steve breaks his kiss to moan against your neck, feeding on the obvious salacious eagerness in you. His finger draws back and then he sinks it back in, beginning slowly to fuck it in and out.

"Missed you," He whispers. A second finger prods at your entrance and eases in gently, sending a streak of something white hot down your spine. Your arms around his neck tighten.

"Missed this," He continues, still a whisper. He's picking up the pace now, having found a lazy rhythm, fingers sliding in and out of your cunt so perfectly that it makes your clit twitch, envious and missing out.

You whine into the crook of his neck. "Me too."

Then, just as you think the angle of your back might be just a tad too uncomfortable, Steve curls his fingers.

A gaspy noise escapes your throat. Desire pulses wildly and you can feel the way you flutter around his fingers. Steve's other hand on your waist tightens, gripping you tightly.

"Fuuuck," He groans. "I missed that too."

Then he does it again, fingers crooked to hit that perfect spot that makes you feel like you might cry if he rubbed it too much. Your noises sound much louder now, jagged and pitching up.

"You're such a tease, honey," Steve accuses, his motions not slowing. "Keeping me from this. Keeping all your cute noises to yourself."

And, as if he'll know what it'll do, he stretches his hand, veins bulging in his forearm, and plants his thumb on your clit. You jolt against the new stimulation, another cute gaspy noise, and Steve moans against your neck.

His hand keeps moving, fingers still plunging into your sopping cunt, thumb rubbing tight, small circles on your clit. You cling to him, hips rolling to meet his strokes, the heat in you building, suddenly desperately fast. Your breathing comes out heavy and if it's not a moan, it's his name that slips from between your lips.

"Feelin' good? M' making my girl feel good?" He says raspily. "You deserve it, being left alone. So mean of me."

Something fiery swells within you and you inhale sharply, squeaking out Steve's name in warning. His hand, which must be cramping much like your poor back, still rocks into you, unfaltering.

"C'mon, let me have it. Please," He pleads. "Let me see you cum f'me, honey."

The sincere thread in his voice, the genuine plead, is what unravels your last ties. You tremble, lusty and quivering sounds that you bury away in his neck, as you ride his fingers through a dazzlingly hot high. It drags on, nerves glittering with a fresh coat of pleasure that have you whining Steve's name pitifully.

When your breath starts to settle, Steve eases his fingers out, already beginning to pepper little kisses along the side of your head.

"That was big, huh?" He says. It's mostly care in his voice but there, in the back, is a smidgen of smugness.

"Shhhh," You shush him, still gathering yourself, eyes closed. You body gives a volatile twitch when Steve politely moves your panties back to their original position. "I'm deciding if that was worth fucking up my back a little bit for."

Steve makes a wounded noise, realising that he'd had you crowded up in an uncomfortable position the whole time. He's a worrier. That's enough to make you lift your head off his shoulder, eyes lidded low.

"Mmm, decided." You hum, the pleased smile of post-bliss on your face. Steve softens at the sight of it, at your easy happiness. "Worth it."

#written in one go! so let me know if there's anything errors pleek <3 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve x reader #jay writes #steve harrington smut #steve smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve x reader smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #anon #she'ssssss maybe potentially quite possibly baaaaaack !#[does jazz hands]#whew ok now i need to go take a cold shower cos writing that got me BOVERED #edit: can someone tell me if the pic looks more sexy or more serial killer. its a fine line with parked cars and red lighting lmao

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usedtobecooler · 5 months ago

Text

the sinclairs' new neighbour arrives out of the blue on a random friday night in may and subsequently becomes the object of eddie munson's desires.

tw: explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni. virgin!eddie, oral male receiving, eddie's pov. pathetic amounts of pining. no use of y/n.

you've been around after every hellfire meeting for a month now, waiting with legs crossed and swinging from a fold-out table as you sit patiently for them to wrap it up, and fuck if you're not the most distracting thing eddie munson has ever laid eyes on.

you join in on the end-of-game conversations every week, a genuine little interest in the lilt of your voice as you ask questions and join in with the banter, which usually consisted of ribbing mike wheeler for being a little shit.

and, eddie's not dumb, okay? he knows you're only here because you're picking up the sinclair siblings every week, taking a bit of the load off steve harrington, who's been designated chauffeur for a year now, much to his own dismay.

but, sometimes, he thinks you maybe like being here and spending late friday evenings in their presence. and it's a nice little delusion for eddie to live in until he's home and safely tucked under his sheets, thinking of your cute laugh and your flirty smile when he slides a hand under his sleep shorts.

he's only a man. a pervert of a man, absolutely. but he'll feed into his delusions and feed into his daydreams, because it's not hurting anybody but himself in the confines of his room.

things are shadowy and hazy this particular friday, and eddie sure as shit is not on his game. he's stuttering and fumbling over his words, which wheeler is using to his advantage like the dickhead he is, mocking eddie with every fuck up with that stupid fucking face he makes.

eddie calls it a day earlier than usual because his head just isn't in the game damnit, and henderson claps him on the back on his way out, giving him this sincere smile which eddie kind of hates because dustin usually takes every opportunity to add himself into their shithead-ery.

oh god, he was worse than he thought. he needs to hang his hat up and give his job over to zombie boy byers immediately.

eddie doesn't get out of his head quick enough to realise that harrington arrived and left with all of the kids in tow, the sinclairs included.

so when you arrive at the door a half hour later, a confused look on your face, eddie's face fucking falls.

"damn, did harrington want his old job back that badly he kidnapped my kids?" you laugh quietly, all sincerity and jokes as you look around the empty room, eyes landing on eddie with a sparkle.

"it's my fault, i let everybody go early and i-" eddie groans, putting his hands on his hips then dropping them to his sides, "i didn't think. sorry, sweetheart."

sweetheart. why'd he fucking say that? someone needs to get the shotgun and put him down like old yeller.

eddie makes himself busy by packing away all his stuff, pointedly not looking in your direction because he's an idiot piece of shit, and who knows what other mess will come out of his mouth if he keeps letting himself look at you.

"you seem stressed, eddie," you observe quietly, a statement. you cross your arms behind your back, fingertips linking together, "is there anything i can do to help?"

eddie lets out this little self-deprecating laugh, a mirthless smile on his features, "unless you stop showing up here, no, there's nothing you can do."

a hurt look flashes across your face momentarily before it disappears again, masked over with a confused furrow of your brows, "oh. i'm sorry, have i done something wrong?"

eddie's fucking this up. he's a fucking idiot, who apparently can't talk to any girl who isn't ronnie or little erica sinclair.

"just, y'know, consuming my brain so much that i can't focus on anything else lately, so." eddie admits, deflated as he slumps into his chair and rolls his neck until he's looking up at the ceiling. his throat clicks audibly, dry and scratchy.

"oh." you say again, a relieved sigh escaping you as you kick a leg out to bash his shin lightly with the toe of your boot, "why didn't you say something? that's- that's okay. lucas kind of figured, he told me your moon eyes were annoying him."

eddie's kicking them all out. hellfire will be no more. he's sick of these damn kids.

he covers his face with his hands, rubbing against his two day stubble with calloused fingertips. a useless groan escaping him, "sorry, i wasn't trying to be obvious. girls don't. hmm."

eddie stops himself with a grunt, trying to narrowly escape the word vomit that threatens to spill out. he's nervously jiggling his leg, the chains on his jeans clattering together obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet room.

he feels your presence enter his orbit, the soft press of your hand on his knee stopping the motion of his jerky leg.

"don't be so nervous," you scold playfully, voice light like you're trying to hide a smile, "i'm not anybody to be nervous around. i like that you noticed me, that i'm somebody you're interested in."

eddie's hands fall away from his face at that, and he blinks blearily, head lolling until he catches sight of you crouched down in front of him, staring up with these gorgeous eyes that eddie just wants to get lost in.

"really?" he asks dumbly, brain short-circuiting at the sight of you knelt down like this in front of him, his stupid mind wandering into filthy territory.

"really." you nod, smiling up at him with this thousand-watt thing that he's sure could power the whole of hawkins, "i'm interested, too. in case i wasn't being obvious enough by hanging around here willingly every week."

you weren't obvious at all. not at all. or maybe you were and eddie's just a fucking moron.

"can i help relieve some of that stress now?" you ask, head tilted to the side in question, "i'm only down here anyway."

eddie's brain melts out of his ears, he's pretty sure. his tombstone is sure to say here lies eddie munson, killed by the insinuation of a blowjob.

"oh, you don't have to- you really don't have to, ha, your hands are on me, fuck-"

the conversation kind of fades out after that, and you're all action dropping from your deep squat to thud your knees against the floor softly.

and you're so pretty on your knees for him, eyelashes fluttering across the apples of your cheeks that are flushed and warm. eddie practically melts into his chair as you paw at his jeans, fluid motions and featherlight touches like you've done this before, and god he doesn't want to think about that right now, that you've done this for other guys before him. not when you're laid out below him and nudging in between his spread legs with pursed lips, spitting over the flushed head of his dick to dampen it further.

"you should- you should know i've never done this bef- fuck, fuck," eddie stutters over his words, fingers clawing into the arms of the chair when you begin mouthing hot and wet over the leaking slit that continues weeping pathetically with every lave of your tongue.

he tried, okay? he tried to tell you, but he's a weak man and - and you're fucking looking at him with these pretty, knowing eyes like you had a clue from the beginning, and fuck was it really that obvious?

he clenches his eyes shut, trying to will away the images of a neon sign over his head that scream eddie munson, adult virgin.

you start off slow and savouring, lapping at him with these kitten licks and mouthing down the bulging vein on the underside. eddie thinks he's delirious, because he's surely imagining the way you're inhaling the musky scent of him, moaning prettily as you do.

"mm, fuck," eddie groans quietly, hips shakily punching up when you finally sink down over the head of his cock properly with your lips wrapped tightly around your teeth, the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him in a way that makes him feel fucking insane.

he didn't know it would feel like this. his brain is gonna explode, scanners style.

your hand reaches blindly for his, guiding his fingers to slide into your hair, and his eyes fly open to meet yours, a pretty haze covering your orbs as you nod slightly to give him the go-ahead to curl his fingers.

"ha, you're gonna fucking kill me," eddie murmurs, but he's gently pulling ever so slightly from the root at the base of your skull, because he may be a virgin but he's not fucking clueless, right? he's read enough skin mags to know how to pull hair properly.

you whimper high pitched and your eyes finally flutter closed, letting eddie move you up and down with his firm hand as you alternate between sucking and drooling all over his length.

he's aware that he's looking at you like he's in love, okay? he can't help it. you're literally sucking the soul out of him, moaning around his girth and running your tongue over him like he's the best thing you've ever tasted. like he said before, he's weak.

"you- you're so good at this, oh my god," eddie's eyes roll back into his head when your free hand runs from where it's gripping the meat of his thigh to slide between his obscenely wide legs and cup his balls, rolling and squeezing them between your fingers.

the room is filled with the whining, high-pitched noises that eddie's really trying his best to hold in at risk of sounding like an absolutely pitiful virgin, and the wet noises of your mouth working over his cock, the slick slide of your fist jerking off what you can't quite reach.

eddie's stomach clenches, and holy fuck this is over too quick, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed because, because-

"i'm coming, you're making me come, holy fuck-" eddie's words die with a groan that sounds breathy and pathetic even in his own ears, his fingers burying so tight in your hair and pulling as he arches in on himself and jerks his hips in aborted little thrusts. he feels the plush of your lips brush against the wild, untamed curls at the base of his cock and he lets out a weak grunt, feels his length throb and spurt out another weak dribble of come at the sensation.

he's so delirious when he finally comes to that he's all but dragging you up from where your knees have to be aching on the floor, dragging you into his lap, and fuck sake his soft cock is still out and covered in spit and come and-

your mouth is on his in a hot press of lips and teeth and tongue, eddie's so out of his element here but the taste of his own spend on your tongue is as addictive as it is mildly disgusting.

"you got a mattress in the back of that van of yours?" you mumble between kisses, smiling into it.

"mhm, yup, a-ha," eddie nods wildly as he chases your mouth with his own, "i think i need some more stress relief. i hear burying your face between a pretty things legs helps."

eddie definitely does feel like he's dying when your thighs wrap around his ears and lock him in face-first.

and what a way to go that is.

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #x reader #mine #my fanfic #he possesses me mind body and soul #virgin!eddie makes a comeback in a new way #virgin!eddie munson

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loverslodge · 9 months ago

Text

very discreet

summery: you and bucky have a relationship nobody is aware of. they keep trying to set him up with other women while bucky is trying to avoid them.

pairing: Grumpy!Bucky x Quiet!Reader

warning: SMUT, fluff, bad writing???, swearing

A/N: clearly i have a thing for grumpy bucky but i also have a thing was hidden relationships. you can read the asks for this fic at the lodge's BNB and also here is the steve's story in this universe

“Oh come on Bucky, how long will you stay single? Don't you think it's time you start looking for a partner?” Natasha pointed her knife at Bucky while they were polishing their weapons.

“I don't need anyone, Nat.” Bucky sighs and keeps on cleaning his guns.

“Bullshit!” Natasha stabs the wooden table beside Bucky. “We're all wrung out after missions and we all need a release. You know better than to stay holed up in a room with veins full of adrenaline. If not a girlfriend, get some beneficial partner.” Natasha shrugged.

“You might be doing that, Nat but I really don't need someone. I am happy where I am.” Bucky picks up his guns and arranges them back in their place. He wipes his workstation clean and walks out.

The mission today wasn't that bad but Bucky felt tired. The entire team has been on his case for over two months. How can he convince them that he doesnt need anyone? He's fine where he is. In fact, he is happier than ever and he would never trade this with anything else.

He walks in his room and wearily grabs his towel and sweatpants to take a shower. He turns on the water and stands under it till he hears his bathroom door being opened. He turns on the hot water to the right temperature and shuffles to make space. He hears some rustling and the shower curtain is pulled slightly open. You, very slowly step in and stand under the water source.

“I missed you, doll.” Bucky wraps his arms around you. You nod with a slight blush.

You pull out the loofah and pour the body wash on it. Bucky takes it from your hand and starts helping you clean up. Once you are covered in soap, you turn to Bucky and return the favor. Washing away the grime, dirt and tiredness of the day, you both towel each other dry.

“Bucky,” You point at one of his t-shirts from the wardrobe and look down thinking he might reject what you're asking.

“You don't need to ask me, doll. What's mine is yours.” He pulls a t-shirt on you and kisses your cheek. You nod and blush even more. You shuffle onto the bed and snuggle to your side of the bed, waiting patiently for Bucky to come.

“Tell me about your day, doll. Was it very draining?” he slips into the bed and brings you closer. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his chest and nod a yes.

He sighs in content and pulls the comforter up. Your legs are parted and one of them is resting on Bucky’s hips. He kisses your forehead and his metal arm slowly drags to your inner thighs. You weren't wearing any underwear, giving complete access to Bucky, as he plunged his metal middle finger into your core. You gasp and your hold around Bucky tightens. He pulls out his finger and rubs your clit, making you moan in his chest. His hold on your waist tightens as he pushes two fingers in you again and uses his thumb to caress your nub. Your moans and gasps fill the quiet room as you reach the edge. You twist a little and put your hand on your mouth as you come all over Bucky’s sweatpants. You sigh and push Bucky a little, signaling him to grab new sweatpants. He complies and snuggles back into the bed against you.

……………………

The kitchen was lively today. Nobody was on a mission so the atmosphere was very relaxed. But not everyone was relaxing.

“Bucky, come on, go on this date. She's really nice and totally your type.” Sam pushed the topic further.

“How do you know my type, bird brain?” Bucky walked behind the kitchen counter.

You were standing there, making lunch for everyone while Bucky helped. Bucky would discreetly hold your waist or find a way to keep close to you in the kitchen. You were a blushing mess but Bucky didn't mind. As he saw nobody was looking, he kissed your cheek and went to the fridge to pretend as if nothing had happened. You just stood there with eyes wide.

“Let me help out.” Bucky very subtly held your waist and moved you away from the stove and started stirring the soup pot. He knew he had shocked you enough and you needed to calm down.

“She's all goth. You grunt, she stares. It's like a match made in heaven, Tinman. Go out with her. Nat arranged the date for you.” Sam continued and Nat nodded.

You looked up and saw Bucky roll his eyes and shake his head. His hand went to his chest and caressed his shirt before going back to the stove.

“I'm not going anywhere. I've told you before, I do not want to go on dates. I am happy where I am.”

“Too late, Barnes. She'll be waiting for you at the cafe this evening. I've already arranged the date and promised her. You can't back out now.” Nat warned Bucky.

“What the fuck, Nat! I told you I'm not interested. Cancel it. Im not going and thats final.” Bucky slams the stirring spoon on the counter and stomps out of the kitchen but not before subtly nudging you to follow.

“Talk some sense into him. He listens to you. Tell him it is a good idea to meet new people,” Sam pleads to you.

You just shake your head and grab some soup in two bowls. One for you and one for Bucky. The rest of the team gather slowly to grab the soup.

You stop in front of your door and knock. A furrowed eyed Bucky opens the door and side steps to let you in.

You hold out the soup bowl towards Bucky who has turned his back to you. “Bucky?”

Your quiet whisper of his name was enough to melt his brains off. He stands up and takes the soup bowl from your hand, putting it to the side. He hugs you and nuzzles his head in your neck, breathing in deeply. Your hand instinctively wraps around his waist and you start rubbing his back to calm him down.

“They just won't let it go. I'm sorry, doll. I wish I could give a better reason to them.” Bucky mumbles into your neck, sending waves of goosebumps all over your body.

“It's okay. Go.” You try to make him go because you know what it's like to be stood up and you know for the fact that Bucky will stand the girl up.

“I'm not gonna listen to you this time, doll. This is ridiculous. I am not leaving and that is final. Maybe I'll send one of those apology flowers you talk about to her through Happy.” he tightens his hold on you. You sigh. You knew it was pointless from getting him to change his mind.

You just wanted him to go and tell the girl that he is committed elsewhere but he is so stubborn that he won't even listen to what you have to say so you try to pull away to at least have him finish his soup.

“No. stop pulling away.” He sits back on bed with you in his lap, not even letting you go. You giggle and try to make space between the two of you so you can at least grab the soup bowl.

“Bucky, soup.” You manage to release your hand point at the bowls.

“Fine. but only because you are hungry and you made this with so much love.” His stomach grumbles and he makes a face, making you giggle even more.

His frown melts into a smile and he grabs your face, peppering kisses all over it, making you giggle and laugh. “This is why I'm not going anywhere. You are perfect, doll. I love you.”

……………………

“You piece of shit! Did you seriously stand her up? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Nat blasted at him and threw a punch at him.

Bucky ducked and svewerd to the side to keep you safe. You were standing very close to Bucky to hide the fact that he was holding your waist. But just as Nat threw a punch at him, he pulled away and moved away from you.

“Are you crazy? You could have hurt her.” Bucky pointed at you while dodging Nat’s punches. “And I sent flowers to say sorry. I told you I am not interested. When I say no, accept it.”

Bucky blocks Nat’s punches with his metal arm and pushes her away. Before she could do more damage, Steve walks in and stands between Bucky and Nat.

“Enough, both of you. This is not a dueling ground. Walk it off, Romanov. And you, Bucky, let's talk.” Steve nods at you and guides Bucky out of the gym leaving you sigh in relief.

That night, everyone had dinner on their own. You weren't very keen on cooking so you, Bucky and Steve got pizza together. They had put on Harry Potter since you loved talking about it.

Bucky couldn't keep his eyes off of you as you mouthed the dialogues with the characters. He smiled. Steve nudged Bucky and shook his head with a smile.

Steve loved seeing his best friend so happy. Steve loved you like a sister too. Your quiet and shy nature had calmed Steve in many situations and he was grateful. You had taken Steve’s side during the fallout and helped Bucky without a complaint. Surprisingly Bucky wanted to keep you by his side. Steve saw Bucky open up to you and you accepted him naturally. One day Steve found Bucky cuddled up with you and he knew this was his brother’s happy ending.

“I'm off to bed. Doll, take care,” Steve kissed your forehead. “Buck, please stop fighting with people. And think about what I said, both of you. I know where you come from but think about it before it causes more such issues.”

Steve closed the door behind him as he walked out and went off to bed. You turned off the movie and got up to throw the boxes away. Bucky took the boxes from you and walked out of the room to throw them off while you cleaned up the room and got ready to sleep.

Bucky walked in, took off his shirt and crawled in the bed beside you. “What are you thinking, doll?” He saw your solemn expression.

“Maybe Steve is right.” You whisper quietly, fumbling with the edge of the blanket.

Bucky holds your hand and pulls you close to lie on his chest. “Are you worried? I will do what you want to do, doll.”

“You have been doing what we want, Bucky, but after today, I didn't think it would get this serious.”

“Are you talking about my little tiff with Nat? It worked out at the end. You know that.” Bucky kissed your forehead.

“That and the fact that you got set up on a date. I-i know that you won't ever go but, it-it scared me. I-” Your voice started to waver.

You cried on Bucky’s chest. He lifted your face up and wiped away the tears, kissing your forehead.

“Doll, I get it. That's what made me more angry. They were talking about it to you as well. Trying to involve you in their little plans. I hated that you had to listen to all of that.”

“So? What do you think?” You lift your face and rest your chin on his chest, looking at him.

“Don't tell Steve I said this, it'll get to his head, but he is right.”

You rise up to give him a peck but Bucky pulls you for a deeper kiss. You moan and straddle his waist. He lifts your (his) t-shirt up and throws it on the floor, without letting his lips leave yours. You grind against his clothed erection.

“Didn't wear any panties, doll? My perfect girl.”

He flips you and removes his sweatpants. He aligns himself against your folds and slowly pushes himself in. your back arches on the bed and a loud moan escapes your throat. He flips the pair of you again and gets you on top of him, pushing his cock deeper into you. You slowly start to grind against him, making him moan and hiss. His hands are kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples as he starts pushing himself into you. You start bouncing over him to match his rutting speed.

“Fuck, doll. You're being so good right now.”

You whimper as you get closer to the edge. “Bucky, im gonna-”

“Cum, doll. Ive got us.”

His speed increases and soon you both cum and he fills you up while you're gushing down on him. You pant as your body falls on him. He caresses your back as you both catch your breaths.

He slowly gets up, taking you with him, to the bathroom to clean up. The cleaning up in the shower turns into another session and later you both fall on the bed, naked and exhausted. You pull yourself a little further from Bucky and pull out a dainty gold band from the bedside table.

You hand the ring over to Bucky who chuckles and slips it on your finger. You sigh with content and snuggle into the blanket with Bucky’s chest against your back, all tucked in.

……………….

The New Year’s party by Tony Stark is always iconic and it was just as this year too. You and Bucky came to the party together. Bucky was immediately called over by Tony to meet some people while you made your way to the corner of the room. Steve saw you and stood beside you with beer in his hand.

You look at Steve with beer and giggle.

Steve looks at you and rolls his eyes. “I know. But I enjoy the feeling of the bottle in my hand. Makes me feel normal, y’know.”

You nod and pat his back. He relaxes. You point at his hand and he shakes his head. “Not today.” Steve instantly changes the topic. “Bucky told me about your plan today. I'm here for support, you know that, right?” You nod your head vigorously, making Steve laugh out loud.

Hearing Steve laugh, Bucky turns his head in the direction to see a smile on your face while Steve laughs. He relaxes a little and goes back to the conversation. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not get to you the entire night. Someone either dragged him away or you were occupied with conversation with the teammates, but mostly it was the first reason.

It was time for dinner and you started digging around the buffet table to find your favorites. Bucky subtly joined you and handed him the plate.

“I'm nervous, doll.” He whispers in your ears. You look up to him and his stale blue eyes are staring deep into yours. You look around to see if someone isn't looking and pull him in a very secluded corner. You peck his lips and hug him tightly. He releases the breath he didn't know he was holding and wraps his free arm around you.

“Thank you, doll, I needed it.”

You take the plate from him and walk back to the buffet table and gather more food before moving back to the corner of the room. Bucky looks at you as you go with a bounce in your step. He could tell you were happy with the decision and he smiled.

……………….

People were counting down and Bucky was dragged to the other side of the room. You stood in your corner and tried to find Bucky in the crowd. You could have pushed through but he was too surrounded. You shift from one foot to another. The heels were killing you and Bucky had promised that you'd leave immediately after the countdown was done.

Bucky dodged and stumbled against the crowd to reach you. He heard many women in the crowd saying they had a chance with him and he did not want to give it to them.

Bucky came across one woman who tried to grab his shirt.

Natasha pointed at some woman behind Bucky who would like a kiss but Bucky distracted her

Almost there

Happy New Year!

Your back was to the crowd. A hand slipped around your waist and pulled you around to face your blue-eyed man. “Happy New Year, doll.”

He kissed you deeply. He was pouring out all the adrenaline that had flown into him while reaching you. Your hand cupped his face and pulled him closer. His metal arm held the back of your head to angle it better while his flesh arm held you tightly against his body.

You heard the entire room gasp and then pin drop silence. You needed to breathe so you tapped his shoulder twice. He pulled his lips away from yours and rested his forehead against yours.

“I guess it's time, doll.”

He moves to your side and pulls you closer to him. But before he could get a word out, Sam jumped in.

“You and her? When did that happen?”

“Well, if you would be quiet, I would tell you.” Bucky pulls you to the couch and sits down, taking you on his lap. You try to slide down beside him but his hold won’t budge. “Well, this is a family matter and I assume the rest of you got the message.”

“Right, well, thank you all for joining the party but I guess it ends here today.” Tony starts shooing people away.

Steve comes and sits beside Bucky and you. He slaps Bucky on the back supportively and you smile a little before burying your face in Bucky’s neck out of embarrassment.

“Everyone is gone. Out with it, Tinman.” Sam jumps onto the adjacent sofa with Nat and the rest of the team in tow.

“We're married.” Bucky pulls out his hand from around your waist and grabs your left hand to show off the matching wedding bands.

“What the fuck!!!” Natasha jumps out of the seat and comes close to check the rings.

“Since when?” Tony asked.

“Three years now, right doll?” You nod.

“Three years! Right under our noses?”

“When did you get married? Where? How? What?”

Everyone was very confused with the revelation.

“We met during the fallout and well, i started to fall in love with her. She felt the same and we got married in a city hall in New York.” Bucky explained in short terms. You were still in his lap and nodded to everything he said, supporting his statement.

“But, why were we not invited? We were with you the whole time! How did we not know about this?” Sam almost screamed his head off.

“You werent there all the time. Remember the day Steve sent you all to stakeout? He helped me and the doll get to the city hall and we got married. Captain America as our witness.” Bucky chuckled at the last statement, earning a small whack from you on his chest. Steve just rolled his eyes.

“You knew!” Natasha pointed at Steve who shrugged. “It wasn't my story to tell and I just wanted to see my best friend happy. He was happy with her so I stopped them.”

The discussion went on for almost an hour. Your little stifled yawn caught Bucky’s attention and he got up with you in his arms.

“Alright kids, my wife and I are tired and I have plans for our third anniversary tomorrow.”

“Bye.” You wave at them and slump back in his arms.

“Wait! At Least tell us your anniversary date.”

“It's January 1st. It was dead winter and my wife showed me that I can be happy during the cold too.”

He lets the elevator door shut on everyone’s faces. Seeing a sleepy you in his arms was all he could ask for this New Year.

................................

this fic is open for requests

#bucky barnes x reader #fanfiction #fluff #marvel fandom #smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns x y/n #grumpy!bucky #shy!reader #quiet!reader #fanfic #bucky barnes #loverslodge

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witchywithwhiskey · 7 months ago

Text

this time of year

pairing: friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've kept your feelings for your friend, steve rogers, quiet for years—but when you're at the holiday market with your whole group of friends, some things come to light, and you don't think you can keep pretending you don't desperately want him anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, light angst, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), piv sex, protection, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, multiple orgasms, kissing, making out, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (sunshine), aftercare, happily ever after—this is probably the most vanilla sex i've written in a while but it's still porn with feelings.

word count: 11.9k

a/n: my first entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, and it's technically still december 1 where i live (just barely)!!! i used the prompt "Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?" and had an idea i really liked and just ran with it! i promise most of my december fics won't be 10k+ words—mainly because i don't think i'd survive it 😅 but i hope y'all enjoy this soft and sweet and smutty start to december!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Teasing tingles of chill danced across your skin as the crisp December wind brushed against your cheeks, making you huddle deeper into the warmth of your winter coat. You pushed your hands deeper into your pockets, but it didn’t do much. You’d forgotten your mittens, and your fingers felt nearly frozen.

It didn’t help that you and your friends had been meandering through one of the city’s holiday market for more than a few hours, the cold of the evening sinking deep into your bones. Unfortunately, there were only so many cups of hot chocolate one person could consume before they made themselves sick, and you’d reached that limit.

Still, you were having fun—too much fun to complain about the cold or to try to beg off early. That was why you smiled as you watched your best friend, Yelena Belova, duck into one of the market stalls, her green eyes going wide as they raked over the vendor’s display of knives.

You trailed a little slowly behind the rest of your friends—Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—beneath the pop-up tent, distracted by the chill in your fingers as you rubbed them against your body through the material of your coat, trying to get them warm.

The wintry wind cut through the market again and, despite the trembling of your body, you smiled as you breathed in the scent of it. Beneath the pine smell from the evergreen trees being sold at the big tent near the entrance and the swirling richness of buttery baked goods, there was a fresh scent that made you turn your face upward.

Gray clouds were rolling in overhead, blotting out the deep navy of the evening sky, and you knew, deep in your bones, that it was going to snow. A smile curled the edges of your lips and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in that fresh scent of oncoming snow.

You loved this time of year because you loved the snow.

Everything about it conjured up memories of sitting by a crackling fire, wrapped in a cozy blanket, watching the beautiful flakes fall from the sky and dust everything in a perfect wintry cloak. You could spend hours sitting by a window, watching the snow come down, and you were suddenly looking forward to doing just that once you got home that evening.

When you finally opened your eyes and turned away from the sky, you found Steve lingering in the entrance of the tent where your friends were browsing, an intensity in his gaze as he looked at you. He didn’t look away when you caught him staring, simply held your gaze, letting you see the heat swirling in the depths of his bright blue eyes.

That heat had begun appearing in Steve’s eyes more and more when he looked at you, and you knew it had started after a certain night at the bar your friends frequented a few weeks prior. But you’d been determinedly ignoring that look in Steve’s eyes ever since that night—just like you’d been ignoring what exactly had happened between the two of you.

As fast as the memory of that night sprang to mind, you shoved it aside, reminding yourself that there was no use in dredging it up. What you and Steve had done that night had the potential to ruin all of your relationships, and no matter how much you might’ve wanted reenact the night at the bar, your friend group was too important to you to risk it.

Even after years of knowing them, you still felt like your addition to the group was precarious because you’d joined so much later. Steve, Bucky, Nat and Yelena had all known each other since they were teenagers, and you’d only met them in your early twenties. You’d sat near Yelena at your first job after college, and it had been best friends at first sight—or, at first snarky comment, anyway.

She’d adopted you as her best friend and introduced you to the others since you were new to the city and didn’t know anyone. You’d liked Steve from the moment you met him, but you’d kept a tight lid on your crush since you were more concerned about fitting into the group as seamlessly as possible, and you figured following your feelings would unnecessarily rock the boat.

Still, despite your intention of taking your crush on Steve to your grave, you couldn’t ignore the way he’d grown into himself as you all had gotten older.

Gone was the boy-next-door blond hair and clean-shaven face of the man you’d first met. Steve’s hair had darkened and he’d recently let it grow long enough that it was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. He’d also grown out his beard, keeping it thick but neatly trimmed.

Steve had also, somewhere along the way, learned how to dress his tall form—and do it well.

That night at the holiday market, he’d worn light gray slacks, a dark charcoal sweater that you desperately wanted to rub your cheek against to see if it was as soft as it looked, and a black wool overcoat. It was an outfit that had you nearly drooling when you’d met up with your friends, unable to tear your eyes away from how Steve’s broad shoulders and trim waist filled out the clothes.

Despite the chill of the evening, Steve hadn’t seemed the least bit cold, and you’d caught yourself thinking more than once how warm it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms. Your fingers would never have gotten so miserably frozen if you’d snuck them beneath Steve’s coat or in his pockets…

With a start, you realized you’d been staring back at Steve for a long, lingering moment, and heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea—though, at that moment, you were struggling to figure out what exactly the wrong idea was—so you ducked your head and pretended like you were bundling deeper into your coat as you made to move past him into the tent.

“Are you alright, sunshine?” Steve asked as you passed him, his hand landing gently on your arm. Even through your coat, you could feel the warmth of his touch; it made you pause and glance up at him.

You realized your mistake immediately. You were too close to Steve—far too close. So close you could smell the rich, masculine scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. It made you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, to wrap yourself up in his warmth until your bones didn’t even remember what the cold felt like.

“I-I’m ok,” you said in a shaky voice, more rattled by Steve’s closeness than the December wind cutting through the city, and you dropped your gaze to the gold pendant around his neck.

It glinted in the soft light of the market stall, and you remembered it had been a gift from his Irish Catholic mother. You used the memory of Steve telling you about the pendant to ground yourself and your voice came out stronger.

“Just cold.”

“D’you want some more hot chocolate?” Steve asked, and there was a hopeful note in his tone, like he was offering to get it for you, but you were quick to shake your head.

“Any more and I think my body will be more hot chocolate than water,” you joked, trying to ignore the emotions swirling in your chest like snowflakes on a wintry gale.

When Steve chuckled, you couldn’t help but look back up at him, finding his blue eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you, affection clear in the lines of his face.

Slowly, his smile eased into something else—something heavier, an expression that was almost yearning. It made the fluttering flakes in your chest swirl more frenziedly while a warmth bloomed somewhere lower, throbbing more to life the longer Steve looked at you with those darkened blue eyes. His expression spoke of things you’d never dare give voice to.

For another long moment, you and Steve just stared at each other, standing too close just inside the canopy of the vendor at the holiday market. A tension you refused to acknowledge crackled in the air around you.

Of their own volition, your eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, his lower lip looking so soft and pink amid the dark brown of his beard. For what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, ever since that night at the bar, you imagined kissing him—how soft his mouth would be, how warm and inviting, and the feel of his rough beard rasping over your cheeks.

“Hey Steve, c’mere!”

Natasha’s call finally broke the spell that had fallen over you and Steve, and you jumped back, only in that moment realizing how close you’d been. Close enough that when you ducked your head and turned away from him, making your way over to Yelena and Bucky, that you missed Steve’s warmth almost immediately.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tension and whirling emotions in your chest, and slid between your friends, who were still looking at the knives on sale. Looping one arm through Yelena’s, you rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder, taking comfort in your friends’ warmth, even if it wasn’t as soothing as Steve’s had been.

“Both of you already have too many knives,” you said by way of a greeting. Your comment made both of them snort derisively, which made you smirk since it had been your intention to get a reaction out of them.

“There’s no such thing,” Yelena scoffed, tearing her eyes away from a double-edged dagger with an engraved handle to glance sideways at you. Her gaze met yours and then slid over your shoulder.

You followed it to where Natasha and Steve’s heads were ducked together. They were standing near a display of jewelry and you figured Nat was helping Steve pick out a Christmas present for someone, though you couldn’t think of who. You frowned.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

Bucky’s gruff question drew you out of your thoughts of trying to remember someone in Steve’s life who he might be buying jewelry for, and you looked at your friend. Without even seeing your reflection, you knew confusion was written plainly across your face.

“What?” you asked, a little sharper than you’d intended, but you didn’t appreciate the implication that you were making Steve miserable.

Bucky cut his eyes to you, then slid them to Yelena, giving your best friend a pointed look. You spun your head around to your other side in time to watch Yelena’s mouth flatten into a reproachful frown.

Suddenly, you got the distinct impression that your friends were having an argument about you, though you couldn’t even begin to wonder what it could be about, except that it had something to do with Steve.

It took a moment of silent arguing before Yelena and Bucky seemed to come to an agreement. Yelena looked at you, a gentle expression on her face that made your stomach drop with anxiety—which only worsened when she put her free hand on your arm that was still looped through hers.

However, before she could voice whatever bad news she clearly had to tell you, Bucky cut in.

“You know no one would be upset if you and Steve dated, right?” he asked bluntly, his eyes intense and searching when you turned to look at him. “We all know you like each other.”

If you’d been drinking hot chocolate at that moment, you would’ve spit it out all over Bucky and the display of pretty decorative knives.

Thankfully, you weren’t. But you still managed to sputter and open your mouth repeatedly while you searched for the words to address the preposterousness of Bucky’s statement.

“I do not—”

Whatever weak protest you were going to utter was cut short when Yelena blurted, “We know you kissed.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, the snowflakes that had been fluttering in your chest when you’d been standing with Steve sharpened into icy daggers of unease. You whirled on your best friend. “Pardon?”

“I saw you guys at the bar that night—I went back to get my scarf…” Yelena explained quickly, having the good grace to look apologetic, both for what she’d seen and for bringing it up. “I know you’ve liked Steve for ages, even if you haven’t said anything,” she rushed on, as if she thought if she spoke fast enough, it would make it easier to hear. “I was so excited it was finally happening that I blurted it out to Nat and she told Bucky—we were just so happy for you both.”

You floundered again, your mouth opening and closing as you processed your best friend’s words. It was almost too much to take in. Not only did everyone know what had happened between you and Steve that night at the bar, but it hadn’t changed anything. You’d told yourself for years that nothing could happen between you and Steve because it would throw off the whole balance of the group, but something had happened and it hadn’t done anything.

“I—”

Again, you were cut off, though it was seemingly Bucky’s turn, and your head swiveled back to him on your other side, feeling a bit like a broken bobblehead.

“He’s liked you too, for what it’s worth,” Bucky said. Your face must’ve conveyed disbelief because he went on. “He’s been talking about you since Yelena first introduced you to everyone, but he didn’t know how you felt,” he said, cutting his eyes to Yelena with the barest hint of a glare, “and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Hearing that Steve liked you was officially too much for you to bear. The dawning realization that you could’ve been with Steve without risking your friendships with Yelena, Bucky and Nat was like a yawning, desolate chasm waiting to swallow you whole. You’d lost so much time because you were so afraid of losing them all, and it hurt—it hurt enough that it took you a moment to realize Yelena was talking again.

“We thought someone had finally made a move, but then you guys were pretending like nothing happened,” she was saying, and you turned back to her, your mind so overwhelmed that you no longer felt cold, only numb. “None of us wanted to bring it up because, y’know, I wasn’t supposed to have seen it.” She shot you an apologetic grimace before plowing on, her expression turning gentle again. “You know we’d never stop being your friends, even if something happened with you and Steve, right?”

Your heart was racing, the fear of change quickly eclipsing the fear of losing any more time with Steve. You’d been friends with Yelena, Bucky, Nat and Steve for so long that you couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if the two of you started dating—let alone what might happen if you broke up. Shaking your head, you refused to acknowledge Yelena’s assurance. Even if they’d still be friends with you, nothing would be the same.

“Nothing happened,” you said vehemently, even as you choked on the words, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. But you couldn’t seem to stop. “We were drunk, it meant nothing.”

But then Bucky—blunt, too-perceptive Bucky—broke into your thoughts and pulled you up short with another simple question.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone not unkind.

You opened your mouth to snap a quick answer, but the ‘yes’ died in your throat. Because of course something had happened, and of course it meant everything.

For the first time in weeks, you gave yourself permission to remember that night.

You’d tried to forget it—forget the softness of Steve’s lips on yours, forget the heat of his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, forget the pleasant scrape of his beard against your skin and the gentle way he’d held your face as he deepened the kiss.

Your first kiss with Steve Rogers had been glorious and messy and too short and too perfect—and it had meant everything to you.

But then you remembered what had happened after, the way you’d pulled away, even though you’d been the one to initiate the kiss in the first place, and panicked as soon as your mind had caught up with what you’d done.

The rest of the memory was a blur, the anxiety of the moment softening the edges, but you distinctly remembered extricating yourself from Steve—which had felt a little like cutting off a limb—before telling him it was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again.

Back at the market, you buried your face in your hands, and almost sobbed at the memory. “I’ve already ruined things,” you mumbled miserably into your frozen fingers, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

Bucky made a humming noise, as if he was considering your words. “Whatever happened between you two, it hasn’t changed Steve’s feelings for you,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently until you looked at him. He stared at you for a long moment, making sure you heard him. “So my question stands: When are you going to put him—and yourself—out of this misery?”

Your friends let you sit with that question for a silent moment, then Yelena selected one of the knives, claiming it was an early Christmas present for herself and made her way over to the checkout.

Steve was also apparently buying something, accepting a small wrapped package from the cashier that he slipped into his pocket. You were too overwhelmed by your thoughts to be curious about it anymore though.

You stood with Bucky near the entrance to the tent, waiting for your friends to finish their transactions while your mind swirled. You were grateful to your friend for leaving you alone with your thoughts, though you knew it was only because Bucky was confident he’d made his point.

And he had. Oh how he had.

Your mind and heart were a mess. You’d spent so many years telling yourself that you could never let anyone catch on about your feelings for Steve, because if they did, it would lead to the end of the friend group. But they’d all known for weeks, and nothing had changed.

Well, nothing except apparently Bucky and Yelena had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if Natasha had been in on the ploy as well, distracting Steve purposefully so Yelena and Bucky could ambush you.

Still, you couldn’t fully silence the tiny voice of fear deep in your heart that insisted that if you and Steve got together, and things ended badly, you’d lose all your friends.

The rest of the group had known each other for so long and it had been more than a little daunting to figure out where you fit. Adding a romantic relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster—and if it ended so badly that everyone was forced to choose sides, you couldn’t imagine them choosing yours when they’d known Steve so much longer.

But as you watched Yelena finish paying for the knife, her words about always being your friend came back to you. She was your best friend—and you were hers. As if proving the point, she caught your eye and smiled impishly as she caught up with you, linking her arm through yours and tugging you back out into the market.

In that moment, something settled in you. Without fully realizing it, you’d always been a little insecure in your group of friends, always worried they would kick you out at the smallest infraction. But Yelena had said it plainly—they’d always be your friends, and you owed it to them to believe her, to trust her, because that was what friendship was.

That was what you had to do to have any kind of meaningful relationship.

As your group of friends wandered further down the row of stalls at the holiday market, you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept straying to Steve. Each time, you found him either looking at you already, or glancing your way within seconds, like he could feel your gaze.

When you looked at him, really looked at him, you noticed a little bit of hurt in his eyes. There was only a hint of it, like he was trying to hide it from you and everyone elese, but you could see it.

You wondered, briefly, how you’d missed it, but a part of you knew you’d been seeing it since that night at the bar. You’d just been ignoring it along with everything else swirling in his gaze.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

You’d known you were making yourself miserable—of course you had. But the realization that you were making Steve miserable, even as he made a valiant effort to hide it, was what finally made your decision for you about what to do with everything Bucky and Yelena had told you.

No matter how scared you were that things might end badly, and you’d end up getting your heart broken and lose all your friends, you had to trust them when they said they’d always be there for you. You had to trust that Steve knew what he wanted—and that what he wanted was you.

The group came to another stop when Bucky spotted a specialty chocolate vendor and he ducked inside. Nat and Yelena followed him in—the latter giving you a meaningful look as you trailed behind before cutting her eyes to Steve. The message was clear and you nodded, giving her a playful shove that made your best friend cackle as she followed Bucky and Nat.

You stepped toward Steve where he hovered just outside the tent, and he shot you a knowing smile when he caught your eye.

“Still feeling like you’ve had enough chocolate?” he asked in a friendly tone, referencing your earlier joke. His beard twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile and it warmed your heart that he not only remembered the joke, but still found it funny.

The side of your mouth curved up in a lopsided grin, and you inched a tiny bit closer, just barely stepping into Steve’s personal space as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had my fill,” you said, keeping your tone light. You took on a considering expression, tipping your head to the side and tapping a finger to your chin as if you were thinking. “For tonight, at least.”

Both of you laughed, but the December wind cut through the holiday market just then, and it reminded you of how cold your fingers were, especially out in the open. You quickly shoved your hand deep into the pocket of your coat, and Steve didn’t miss the movement, drifting even closer to you.

“Do you have any gloves, sunshine?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that had warm tingles of delight dancing down your spine, all the way to your toes.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Steve had moved close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking up at him, and you could feel the heat radiating off his larger body.

His blue eyes were sparkling in the warm, golden light of the market, and you could see the swirl of emotion in their depths that was only there when he looked at you. But there was a crease of concern between his brows, too, and you knew he was seconds away from offering to find you some gloves—or something else that would be chivalrous and perfectly friendly.

You realized, very suddenly, that if anything was going to happen between you and Steve, anything like what had happened at the bar, you needed to make the first move. Bucky had said Steve had been worried about making you uncomfortable before that night, and you were certain it had only worsened after the kiss you’d shared.

So, before he could say anything, you blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?”

Steve’s brows lifted in surprise, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from trying to take the words back as soon as they’d slipped out of your mouth. And you were glad you did, because as the moment stretched on, and Steve realized you were serious, his brows lowered and his blue eyes darkened with interest.

“Ya sure about that, sunshine?” he asked, his voice low enough that you knew it was meant for only you. He ducked his head slightly, so he was nearly at your eye level, and held your gaze. “I wouldn’t want you doing anything you might regret.”

The words stung a little, but you knew you deserved them, especially after you’d told Steve that kissing him had been a mistake. So you held his gaze and stepped even closer to him, until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, letting Steve see the honesty in your open expression. “I know what I’m doing and I—this is what I want.” You were proud of yourself for only stumbling once, and held your breath as you waited for Steve’s response.

The corners of Steve’s mouth flickered in an eager grin, but he wiped the expression away, like he was worried that if he appeared too excited, he’d scare you away. You felt a pang of regret, and it doubled your determination to show Steve that you weren’t going to panic and run away again.

Pulling your hands from your pockets, you brushed your fingertips against Steve’s stomach in a silent reminder of your question.

“Can I?” you asked, your voice breathless with anticipation.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his eyes molten with heat as he stared down at you. “Go ‘head, sunshine.”

You were cold enough that you didn’t waste any more time, slipping your fingers beneath the hem of Steve’s soft sweater and pressing your frigid fingertips to the warm, smooth skin you found.

“Fuck, your fingers are freezing,” Steve rumbled, the muscles of his abs contracting beneath your touch like they were trying flee. But before you could apologize and pull away, Steve’s hands flattened over yours outside his sweater, pressing your palms against the hard-packed plane of his abs. “Good thing ya got me to keep you warm, sunshine,” he teased, his voice so full of charm that you melted into him.

“Yeah, good thing,” you echoed in a whisper, the edges of your mouth curling up into a pleased smile. You shimmied closer to Steve, watching the way his blue eyes sparkled with affection as he held your gaze captive.

He wrapped you up against him, holding you in the loose cage of his warms while your fingertips stroked idly against his smooth skin. You wanted to let them wander further beneath his sweater and explore the wonders of Steve’s bare chest, but you managed to keep the urge in check since you were in public—though it was a near thing.

“You know what I like to do most in the winter?” you asked Steve, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you. The sounds of the market all around you were a distant soundtrack.

“What?” he asked indulgently, squeezing you slightly in his arms.

“Curl up in bed and snuggle on a snowy day,” you said with a sly smile. And then, as if a thought had just occurred to you, you tilted your head to the side. “Hey, is your bed comfy? Do you have a lot of nice warm blankets and good pillows?”

A grin pulled across Steve’s face even though he was fighting it, trying to look like he was taking your questions under serious consideration.

“Y’know, I think it’s very comfy,” he said, giving you a knowing look. He’d obviously picked up on the not-so-subtle cue that you might want him to take you back to his place, and you appreciated that he was sticking to the bit. “But it sounds like you’re an expert, so I think you should come over and be the judge of that.”

An answering grin curved your mouth and you murmured, “I’d like that.”

Then, before you could let your fear get the best of you again, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, your lips brushing against Steve’s beard as you moved to whisper in his ear.

You shivered at the physical reminder of the coarse hair rasping deliciously against your cheeks when he’d kissed you and it took a moment to remember what you’d been about to say. When you did, you couldn’t hold in your smirk.

“Did I mention I do my best snuggling naked?”

“Sunshine.”

The nickname was uttered in a gruff, rumbling rasp, like the sound of a plow on snowy streets. It was so deep and delicious, your toes curled in delight and your mouth pulled into a full-blown grin.

You barely had time to pull away before Steve was wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and towing you in for a kiss.

Steve’s mouth was wonderfully soft and exquisitely warm and achingly familiar against yours. He wasted no time licking along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you happily gave him.

Your fingers curled around Steve’s sides beneath his sweater, digging greedily into the soft skin at his waist while you kissed him back feverishly, trying to close every gap between your bodies.

“Fuck, how does this feel so much better than I remember?” Steve growled against your lips, his hand on the back of your neck tilting your head just the way he wanted so he could lick even deeper into your mouth.

Your breathy, delirious laugh was swallowed by his all-consuming kiss, the sound turning into a helpless moan.

God, he was right, it did feel so much better than you remembered to have Steve’s mouth on yours, and you couldn’t fathom how you’d run away from him before because, in that moment, the last thing you wanted to do was stop. You wanted to kiss Steve for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know, but Steve, please, don’t stop,” you murmured when he finally let you up for air. You tried to catch your breath while he was busy pressing insatiable kisses to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach without straying too far from your lips.

Pulling your hands from beneath his sweater, your no longer freezing fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him closer while at the same time pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes again. Your bodies slotted together even more perfectly, and you moaned softly into his mouth as you tugged him in for another kiss.

Steve kissed you harder, holding you tight to his chest like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear on the wintry wind. In turn, you held him just as fiercely, your nails raking through the beard on the underside of his jaw and tugging lightly to bring him closer until he was rumbling a pleased sound deep in his chest.

“Get a room!”

The perfect bubble that had formed around and Steve abruptly popped, the sounds of the bustling holiday market rushing in along with the December chill and you pulled away, your first instinct to worry about what your friends would think. But then you caught the look on Steve’s face.

He was staring at you with such a blissed out expression, his blue eyes dark and hazy, a pleased smile on his kiss-swollen lips, that you couldn’t help but relax and melt back into him. You took your time to press a sweet kiss to his lips before turning to your friends.

Natasha, Yelena and Bucky all wore matching smug grins. Nat was even popping little chocolate candies into her mouth like she was enjoying the show.

“Oh no, please don’t stop on our account,” she called to you and Steve, gesturing with her hand for you both to continue. The whole group burst into raucous laughter.

Cracking up and shaking your head, you buried your face in Steve’s rumbling chest, feeling a little shy about being caught making out so heatedly by your friends. But you felt relief, too, that no one was upset—that all your friends were happy for you and Steve.

When you’d finally gotten ahold of yourself, you tipped your face up and caught Steve’s eye, giving him a sly smile that had his expression instantly darkening with a hunger that made you pulse with desire.

“So about that comfy bed of yours…” you murmured, just for him to hear. When he nodded once, quickly, to acknowledge he remembered it, you went on. “I’d love to see it if you’re ready to go?”

The implication of your question was clear and Steve clutched you tighter to his chest, capturing your lips for a brief, hot kiss that did more to warm you from the inside out than any of the hot chocolate you’d consumed that evening.

“Sunshine, I’ve been ready to take you home for years,” he rasped against your mouth, the honesty in his voice making you smile.

When Steve pulled away, he tugged you over to your group of friends and told them you were heading home—yes, together, he confirmed. All three of them murmured encouraging words in your ear as you hugged them goodbye, and you could tell by the pink tinging Steve’s cheeks that they were doing the same to him.

Once farewells were said, Steve snagged your hand and laced your fingers together. As you walked to the subway, he tucked your clasped hands into the pocket of his overcoat, and then your other into the crook of his elbow, where he covered it with his palm to keep you warm.

Steve held you tucked into his side the whole way back to his place while he made idle conversation, asking about the latest books you’d read and movies you’d watched. He only let go when it came time to pull out his keys and unlock his door.

There was a giddy, electric energy between the two of you as Steve helped you out of your coat and hung it up. Your gaze kept drifting back to him while you took off your boots and he hung up his overcoat. Once done, he stepped close, toeing out of his shoes next to where you’d dropped your boots.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Steve asked, his voice rough and a little uneven, like he was nervous. It made you smile, settling your own nerves to know he was right there with you.

You stepped further into Steve’s space, your fingers sneaking beneath the hem of his sweater and giggling when he sucked in a sharp breath. He’d made an excellent effort to keep your fingers warm on the way home, but the December cold had still snuck in.

It was a good thing Steve was there to warm you up again.

“I think I’d just like to see this comfy bed of yours,” you murmured, pushing up onto your tiptoes and kissing Steve.

The two of you lingered in the entryway of Steve’s apartment for long minutes, kissing and learning what made each other gasp and moan. His teeth nipped at your lower lip, sinking in hard enough to make you whimper before relenting and soothing the sting away with his tongue.

Meanwhile, you let your hands wander further beneath Steve’s sweater, finding a light trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his slacks. You raked your nails through it, and relished the pleased sound that rumbled in his chest.

Warm, wet desire was gathering between your thighs, and it wasn’t long before you squirmed impatiently against Steve, needing more.

By the time Steve broke the kiss and spun you around, his heavy hands dropping to your hips to guide you through his apartment, your panties were damp and you were aching for something only Steve could give you.

Both of you moved quickly as you let Steve lead you to his bedroom, pausing just inside the darkened room while he flicked on a light.

A soft, golden glow emanated from two lamps set on low wooden tables on either side of the massive bed. Curiously, your gaze roved over the room, taking in the earthy colors and tasteful design.

It seemed Steve hadn’t only gotten his wardrobe and appearance together—he’d also made his home a place that was warm and welcoming and entirely him.

The king-size bed was swathed in a thick, forest green comforter with dark charcoal sheets, a veritable pile of pillows at the head that looked far too enticing. The rest of the room was furnished with a dark wooden bookcase and dresser that matched the bed frame and side tables. There were even some vintage photographs of Brooklyn decorating the wall, along with some framed pictures on dresser.

Wandering over, you picked up one of the photographs. It was from the first autumn after you’d met Yelena and the others. The group had rented a car and gone to a farm upstate to go apple picking and enjoy all the other autumnal delights the state had to offer.

In the photo, you were tucked into Steve’s side on a bale of hay, ready for the hayride the group had decided to go on, with Yelena on your other side. There was a blanket draped over your laps, and Steve’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders. The three of you were beaming at the camera.

“Do you remember that trip?” Steve asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder while he peered at the photograph.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. Then you winced as you remembered something about the trip. “Wasn’t this the time I fell asleep on your shoulder on the way home and drooled all over your jacket?”

Steve laughed huskily in your ear.

“It is,” he confirmed, brushing a kiss to your cheek before murmuring. “I didn’t wash it for a month.”

It was your turn to laugh, though the sound was more of a surprised exhalation as you twisted your upper body so you could see his face better.

“What?”

Steve grimaced, wrinkling his nose and scuffing a hand against the back of his neck sheepishly, like he regretted admitting that to you.

“It was more because it smelled like you than because of the, y’know, drool,” he explained, his tone a tiny bit defensive. But then he looked at you, finding your face still frozen in surprise and his expression softened. “I’ve liked you since I met you, sunshine.”

It wasn’t anything Bucky hadn’t already told you, but it still felt like an entirely new revelation coming straight from Steve, and all you could think to say was, “Oh.”

You turned back to the photo, still held in your hand, and all you could think about was the fact that you had the same one tacked up on the corkboard over your desk. You wondered if Steve liked it for the same reason you did—because it made the two of you look like a happy couple, even with Yelena sitting next to you.

“I liked you too,” you confessed in a small voice.

Steve was quiet for a moment, his hold on you loosening slightly as you stepped forward to put the photograph back on his dresser. But when that was done, he towed you back in until your back was pressed to his chest.

“Liked?” he asked, enunciating the ‘d’ at the end of the word.

Your mouth flickered in a smile and you turned around in his arms. Your hands smoothed over his broad shoulders while you leaned into him, your soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his body.

“I liked you then, and I like you now, Steve,” you said, holding your breath as you stared up at him. Even knowing he felt the same way about you, it was still scary to lay your heart bare for the first time, and you waited eagerly for his response.

An exhale gusted from Steve and you couldn’t help but note the relief in his expression, even as he grinned wide.

“That’s good to hear, sunshine, because I like you, too.”

“Good,” you said with a grin, dragging Steve down for a too-brief kiss. “Now, will you take me to bed already?”

Steve’s laughter was muffled as he kissed you again, guiding you around and walking you backward until the backs of your legs hit the bed. He didn’t break the kiss as he lowered you to the soft mattress and helped you slide up the bed until your shoulders settled into the pile of pillows at the head.

Your arms wrapped around Steve and you pulled him down on top of you while he braced himself so he didn’t crush you. One of his legs slid between your thighs and he lowered himself down on top of you until his bulge pressed into your stomach. Your belly swooped with excitement and your pulse thrummed with desire.

Hiking one of your legs up around his waist, you writhed beneath Steve, grinding your hot core against his thigh through your jeans.

You couldn’t seem to stop touching him, your hands sketching the exact measure of his body, and he seemed to be doing the same. Steve’s hands couldn’t stay still, sliding up and down your sides before finally pushing beneath your sweater.

His warm, calloused fingers stroked covetously over your skin, and you felt extra sensitive wherever he touched you, his every caress sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body.

“Steve,” you whined, wrenching your mouth from his to drag in a much-needed breath. Even still, you craved more and your body rocked up into his, grinding against his thigh while his bulge pressed insistently into your belly.

“You feel so good, sunshine,” he rasped as he kissed a trail along your jaw and down to your neck. The scratch of his beard against your skin had you shuddering beneath his big body. “Can I…?” he asked, his fingertips teasing along the edge of your bra beneath your sweater.

“Yes—please,” you gasped. Your own fingers curled into the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater between his shoulder blades and you tugged on it, trying to pull it over his head.

Steve chuckled into your neck before he sat up and yanked his sweater off for you, baring the broad expanse of his chest. You caught glimpses of soft brown hair dusted across his pecs and endless swaths of golden skin before he was helping you out of your sweater.

You grumbled disgruntledly when your view of Steve was cut off as he tugged your sweater over your head, then as he leaned close to unclasp your bra and toss it somewhere in the room. You only dragged your eyes away from Steve’s perfect chest when he made a low, almost anguished sound.

He looked a little dazed, his eyes staring down at your bare breasts. Your chest was heaving slightly, making them bounce gently, and Steve looked almost hypnotized by the sight.

Snorting to yourself, you curled your fingers around his firm biceps and tugged him back down on top of you, whimpering when your nipples brushed against the hair on his chest. They pebbled as pleasure spiked through your body, settling heavily between your thighs and making even more wetness soak into your panties.

The movement had broken Steve from his trance and he began kissing from your neck down your chest. The rasp of his beard over your clavicle sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making you keen and tremble beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he rumbled gruffly into your skin. He buried his face in the valley between your breasts, groping your supple flesh in his big hands while pressing teasing kisses and gentle bites to your skin. “You’re so perfect, sunshine.”

You whined a needy sound, reacting to his touch as much as his awe-filled words, and threaded your fingers through Steve’s soft hair. You held him tightly to your chest, wordlessly pleading for more, and he enthusiastically indulged the request.

Steve wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked deeply, drawing so much of you into his hot mouth, it felt like he was doing his damndest to devour you. You were already so sensitive for him that it felt like there was a direct line connecting your sensitive peak to your clit, and you cried out in pleasure, your spine arching up off the bed and pushing your chest further in Steve’s face.

He grinned, doing a poor job of hiding his self-satisfied expression in your soft tits, but you didn’t begrudge him the smugness—not when he nibbled at your hardened nipple so good, it made your hips buck up from the bed. A whine slipped from your lips when you realized you no longer had his thigh to grind against, your legs kicking restlessly at the sheets.

After giving the same torturous treatment to your other nipple, wringing even more whimpering whines and desperate keening sounds from your mouth, Steve began kissing his way further down your body. He nipped playfully at your belly before lifting his head to catch your eye.

It took you a moment to blink them into focus enough to see him clearly.

“I’ve been dreaming about your taste for years, sunshine,” he rumbled, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and tugging just enough that you knew he was asking if he could take them off. “Please, can I…?”

You were already nodding, your fingers fumbling over the button of your jeans. Steve seemed just as eager as you, gently pushing your hand aside and taking over as he thumbed it through the hole in the denim and pulled your zipper down. Then he was peeling your jeans down over you hips and thighs, taking your panties off at the same time.

In only a few seconds, you were stripped bare for the first time in front of Steve Rogers, and if it wasn’t for the shuddered exhale that gusted past his lips and the sizable bulge twitching in the front of his slacks, it might’ve occurred to you to feel a little insecure.

But before those thoughts could even begin to creep in, Steve was dragging his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs with a reverent look on his face, giving an appreciative rumble deep in his chest as he raked his eyes up the naked length of your body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sunshine,” he rasped, pressing his face between your thighs and taking a deep breath.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to wonder at how you smelled because Steve was licking his tongue into the seam of your pussy, groaning like he’d eaten something delicious.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled before diving in deeper, burying his face against your cunt and eating you out like he was a dying man and you were his last meal.

In no time at all, he had you crying out, your hips bucking up off the bed as pleasure swirled through your body. It was all you could do to try to stop yourself from humping against his handsome face.

Steve’s thick biceps banded around your thighs and he held you spread open while he feasted on you, his eyes staring up past your quivering belly and heaving chest to watch your reactions. He sucked and nibbled and flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit, paying attention to what had you writhing and moaning your pleasure beneath him.

He licked into your pussy, fucking you with his tongue until you were squirming and panting on the bed, your thighs tensing and trembling with your building release.

Needing something to hold on to, you threaded your fingers into Steve’s hair, holding his head against your greedy pussy and rocking your hips into him. You moaned loudly, unabashedly, grinding against his mouth and beard as you neared the edge.

“Oh god, Steve, ‘m so close, please—please, don’t stop, ‘m gonna come,” you babbled, your spine arching up off the bed as you threw your head back into the pile of soft pillows. “Fuck, please, please, please!”

It was clear that Steve was a quick study when it came to your body, and he put what he’d learned to good use, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue over it, steadily driving your pleasure higher until, finally, it crested. And then he pushed you right over the edge.

Your fingers fisted in Steve’s hair and you humped shamelessly against his face as you came with a cry of his name—“Steve!” Your body tightened, and then loosened as wave after wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, making you shiver intensely while Steve’s mouth worked you through your release.

When the pleasure began to ebb, you melted back into the soft blankets on Steve’s bed, a dazed smile curving your mouth. Steve eased you down with gentle sweeps of his tongue and soft kisses to your inner thighs, murmuring sweet words to you about how good you tasted on his tongue.

It wasn’t until you whimpered from overstimulation that Steve stopped. He pressed one last kiss to the top of your mound before pushing himself up. His happy grin when he saw the sated, content expression on your face made your heart skip a beat in your chest. He was just so damn handsome.

“Good?” Steve asked, though you knew from the self-satisfied look in his eye that he already knew the answer to his question.

Still, you nodded. “So good,” you purred, stretching and reaching for him. Your fingers curled into coarse hair on the underside of his jaw and you tugged him up your body for a kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, and his beard was so drenched in your juices, it made your own cheeks damp. A groan worked its way up your throat at the filthiness of the kiss, and you pulled Steve closer, letting him muffle the sound as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

Even though Steve had just made you come harder than anyone else in your entire life, renewed desire was beginning to bloom in your core, the heat of your arousal already building again. Distractedly, you recognized that you’d never felt the way you did for anyone but Steve—insatiable, unwilling to let the night end just yet.

When Steve’s hard bulge knocked against your hip, a devious smirk curled your lips and you wasted no time trailing your fingers down his bare, golden chest to grope his cock through his slacks. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and an excited thrill raced down your spine at the thought of taking him in your mouth.

Steve groaned against your lips, his big body shuddering when you squeezed and stroked him through the thick material of his pants. So you did it again, rubbing him with your palm until you felt his hard length jump against your fingers, like his body was just as eager for your touch as the rest of him.

“We don’t have to do more,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless. “I-I mean, you don’t have to return the favor or anything. I’m good to just go to sleep if that’s what you want.”

Steve’s words were honorable, but you didn’t want to sleep.

You pushed at his larger body until he flipped onto his back. Following after him, you kissed down his chest, taking a moment to nuzzle in the soft hair scattered across his pecs before you lifted your head and caught his eye, letting him see the desire in yours.

“I bet I’ve dreamed about sucking your cock just as much as you dreamed about eating my pussy,” you whispered huskily, holding his gaze determinedly while you shifted down his body until your face was level with his bulge. You mouthed at his hard length through his slacks. “Please, Steve, can I…?”

“Yeah—yes—fuck, sunshine, you can do whatever you want,” he rasped, helping you undo his button and fly, his fingers trembling. Then he lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down.

You felt like you were unwrapping the most perfect Christmas present as you tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his thick, toned thighs. You even let out a little gasp of delight when Steve’s cock bounced free, marveling at the sheer masculine beauty of it.

Impatiently, you pulled his clothes the rest of the way off, pausing only to kiss his thighs, enjoying the softness of his leg hair against your lips and cheeks, before returning to his cock.

Taking him in hand, you circled your fingers around the thick shaft and gave him a loose pump, watching how he bucked his hips into your fist from just that little bit of touching. Steve’s hands were fisted in the blankets on the bed, like he was holding himself back from touching you, and you decided you want to make the man—your man—lose himself in pleasure, just like he’d done to you.

You ducked down and licked the tip of Steve’s cock, humming in delight as the salty, musky taste of his precum burst on your tongue. The vibrations made Steve groan and you hid a self-satisfied smirk against his cock, before refocusing on your task.

You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down Steve’s shaft, staring up his hard, firm body while he watched you worship his cock. His cheeks were tinged pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting his brow and his eyes were so dark, his pupils blown so wide, they looked like the navy blue night sky on a winter evening.

When you ducked down further, taking his balls into your mouth and suckling greedily, Steve’s gaze widened and his cock twitched in your hand.

“Sunshine,” he rasped, the nickname sounding like a plea for mercy as he groaned loudly. “Ya keep sucking my balls and I’m gonna come way too soon.”

With a smirk, you gave his sensitive sac one last little suckle before letting it fall from your lips, then you licked up the length of his cock.

“Can’t have that,” you quipped, shooting him a smug grin. You pressed a kiss to the tip and wrapped your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth and sucking hard enough to make his hips buck up off the bed.

Another anguished sound wrenched free from Steve’s lips.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he settled back down, one of his hands coming to rest on the crown of your head—not pushing you down or pulling you away, just holding you like he couldn’t help but touch you.

For a moment, you focused on Steve’s cock, pulling back before taking him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl around the head and trace the veins decorating his shaft while your fist stroked him. But when you flicked your gaze up to Steve, you found him watching you with adoration in his eyes.

“You’re amazing, sunshine,” he rumbled when he noticed he had your attention, one side of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. “You’re gorgeous—and you look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.”

The corners of your mouth flickered in a pleased smile as his praise washed over you, and you closed your eyes, soaking it in. When you opened them again, you redoubled your efforts on Steve, bobbing up and down on his length at a steady pace while you pumped him in your fist.

You lost yourself in the pleasure of sucking Steve’s cock, and before long, you could feel yourself growing wet all over again. Your inner walls clenched pathetically around nothing while your mouth was filled with his big dick, but you didn’t want to stop.

However, before you could make Steve come down your throat, his hands gently gripped your head and he pulled you up off his cock. With his considerable strength, Steve hauled you back up the bed and rolled you over onto your back beneath him, bracing himself on one hand while the other slide between your thighs. He bit off a curse when he felt how wet you were.

“Christ, sunshine, ya got this wet from sucking my cock?” he asked, a note of teasing in his tone that had heat coursing through your body. Before you could respond, though, his mouth found yours for a kiss.

You were certain he must’ve been able to taste himself on your tongue, but he didn’t seem to care. He was too determined to devour your lips and swallow your moan while he speared you open with two fingers, capturing your cry of pleasure.

“Oh god, Steve,” you mumbled against his mouth, your hips rocking into his hand and fucking his fingers. “Please, I need you—I need you to fuck me.” Your hand was fisted in Steve’s soft hair and you clung to him, your entire being straining to get closer while still taking all the pleasure his fingers offered.

“Thank fuck—I need you so goddamned bad, sunshine,” he groaned, easing his fingers from your dripping hole and rolling onto his back so he could reach for something.

A moment later, you heard the sound of a wooden drawer snap closed and he rolled back on top of you, the square foil packet of a condom held in his fingers.

“Ya wanna do the honors?” he asked, his grin so charming and so like the Steve you’d known for so many years that it took your breath away.

But there was a comfort and an ease to the moment because you were there with Steve—your Steve—and you laughed at his silly offer. You were shaking your head even as you took the packet and tore it open, tossing the foil aside and making quick work of rolling the condom onto his cock.

When you were done, you gave the base of his shaft an affectionate squeeze and Steve chuckled, capturing your lips in a kiss while he shifted on top of you, pressing his knees between your legs and spreading your thighs to make room for his big, broad body.

You opened happily for him, kissing him back while your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs. Together, you lined your bodies up until Steve’s cock lay heavily against your mound, kissing lazily all the while.

After a moment, Steve broke the kiss, pushing himself up with one hand while the other fisted his hard length and held himself away from the place where you ached for him to fill. He stared deep into your eyes and gave you a serious look, a little bit of anxiety swirling in his gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes roving over your face like he was searching for any hidden remnant of hesitance on your part—any sign that you might run, you realized. “Because I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long, that if you tell me tomorrow this was a mistake…” Steve paused, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, “it’ll break my fucking heart, sunshine.”

Steve’s voice cracked a little on the pet name and it made your heart split open in your chest. You didn’t know if you’d ever forgive yourself for hurting Steve the way you did, for saying those things you didn’t mean and trying to push him away when all you’d wanted was to pull him closer.

You decided then and there to make it up to him—and that began with being honest with him. Always.

So you threaded your fingers into Steve’s beard until you were cupping his face and you stared him directly in the eye as you answered his question.

“I’m sure, Steve,” you said firmly, certainty resonating in your tone. “I was scared before—I’ve wanted you for so long that the thought of finally having you was terrifying.” You gave him a tremulous, apologetic smile, and his expression softened. “But I’m sure about this,” you said again, your voice stronger. “I’m sure about you, and I’m sure about us.”

When you finished your confession, Steve’s eyes closed and he exhaled a long, relieved breath. You pulled him down for a kiss, and it was a gentle thing—tentative as you both savored the vulnerability you shared, physically and emotionally, thanking one another for the trust that took.

It was only when the kiss ended and Steve pressed his forehead to yours that he pushed inside you for the first time, his thick cock sinking deep into your pussy with one determined, inexorable thrust.

Your arms and legs were wrapped around him already and you clung to Steve as you cried out, tears of emotion pricking at the backs of your eyes even as pleasure radiated through your body.

“You ok?” Steve asked softly and the question—so gentle and genuine—had a tear spilling onto your cheek. He brushed it away.

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” you admitted in a thick voice, tugging Steve’s mouth back to yours, kissing him deeply.

Together, you gave yourselves over to your instincts. Steve pulled his hips back until only half of him remained inside, and your heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him to plunge deep into you again. He slid home, and both of you moaned.

Steve rocked into you with slow, thorough thrusts, but when you moaned for more, he drew back more each time and thrust harder. It wasn’t long before he was fucking you in hard, deep strokes that hit all the most perfect spots inside you, his mouth kissing your cheeks and neck and anywhere he could reach while he held you pinned to his chest, his hips working his cock deep into your cunt.

With every hard thrust, you clung more tightly to Steve, holding him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair, thankful he’d grown it long enough that you could grip it tight in your fists. Your body writhed beneath his bigger form, using your legs draped around his thighs to meet his thrusts.

For what seemed like forever, you and Steve were nothing more than two writhing bodies trying to get closer, deeper, tighter together, like your hearts were straining to become one. And you were so consumed with pleasure that it wasn’t until you were right on the precipice of your release that you realized you were close.

“Steve,” you gasped, trying to tell him you were going to come, and just then he changed the angle of his hips, stealing the words from your lips.

He was driving his cock so deep into your cunt and grinding against your clit so exquistiely that you saw stars. Your body shook under a deluge of pleasure and the coil of tension twisted tighter in your core.

“Come for me, sunshine,” Steve rumbled, fucking you hard and deep and so perfectly you knew you were forever ruined for any other man. “Be a good girl and come on my cock before I fucking explode.”

His filthy words were your undoing.

You shattered apart, sharp, sparkling pleasure devastating your body and mind while you screamed Steve’s name as you came. Your whole body clenched tight, clamping down on Steve’s cock hard enough that he grunted into your neck, then you succumbed to the pleasure as it dragged you under its thrall, whimpers and moans spilling from your lips mindlessly.

Steve’s hands gripped your hips tightly, and he rutted into your clenching pussy with wild thrusts as he chased his own release. He found it only a moment after yours, groaning your name against your cheek while his hips stuttered and shunted forward, burying himself balls-deep in your fluttering pussy while he came, his cock throbbing deep in your cunt.

You held each other close as you came down from your releases. Your fingers stroked through Steve’s soft hair, the strands damp with sweat, and twirled around the gently curling ends. Meanwhile, his hands were petting up and down your sides, his face buried in the pillow beside your head while he rumbled muffled words of praise in your ear.

Eventually, Steve sat up, pulling his softening cock as gently from your body as he could manage, watching your face closely for any hint of pain. You were a little sore, but when he pulled free, your body mourned the loss of him more than anything else.

He quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper in his bathroom, then came back with a warm wet washcloth. He cleaned you up with gentle caresses, pressing a kiss to your hip and nipping playfully at your belly until you were giggling and pushing him away, your body too tired and sated and oversensitive for such treatment—but you were grinning all the same.

When he was done, you rose from the bed and went to the bathroom while he padded to his dresser. After you were done, you found Steve relaxing on his bed in only a pair of lounge pants, his chiseled chest deliciously bare and biceps bulging with his hands tucked behind his head.

You paused, raking your eyes over his gorgeous chest, only catching his gaze when he made a deep, rumbling sound of good-natured warning.

“You better put on some pajamas, sunshine,” Steve started, his blue eyes heated and a playful smile flickering at the edges of his mouth, almost hidden by his beard. “Unless you want me to fuck you again.”

The threat in his tone was flirtatious and you almost took him up on the offer. But you knew that if Steve fucked you again, you’d be sore the next day, and you didn’t want that. Huffing a petulant sigh, you moved to the pile of folded clothes Steve had left on the corner of the bed.

The heat in Steve’s eyes didn’t abate as he watched you pull one of his shirts over your head, tugging the hem down until it covered your ass and part of your thigh. You didn’t have any clean panties, so you crawled into bed like that, your eyes finding Steve and watching as the heat of desire softened into the warmth of affection.

The two of you slid beneath the blankets and you curled up at Steve’s side, your head on his chest. You fell asleep quickly and easily to the sound of his gentle breathing, and the steady drumming of his heart beating beneath your cheek.

The next morning, you woke to snow flurries drifting past the windows of Steve’s bedroom, the flakes having covered his neighborhood in a blanket of white while you slept. You pressed a happy smile against Steve’s sternum, the expression deepening when you felt his heart skip a beat at your closeness.

“So, is my bed comfy enough for you, sunshine?” he asked in the deep rasp of a man who’d just woken up. Using his arms looped around your waist, he pulled you on top of him, his mouth finding yours for a decadent good morning kiss before he let you answer.

“Hmm,” you hummed playfully in thought, smiling against his mouth while you pulled him closer with your fingers curled into the scruffy, coarse hair of his beard. “It could use a few more pillows—and maybe a nice throw blanket.”

“Consider it done,” he murmured, rolling you beneath his broad body and sliding his hips between your thighs. His morning wood brushed against your bare core and you moaned into his mouth. “Anything you want, you just tell me, sunshine,” he rumbled in between slow, drugging kisses, his hips rolling leisurely against you. “I want my girlfriend to feel comfortable here.”

“Girlfriend?” you gasped breathlessly, your heart beating harder with excitement while he pulled away to kiss down your neck. You could feel Steve’s grin against the side of your throat before he pressed a kiss against your thrumming pulse.

“You wanna be my girlfriend, don’t ya, sunshine?” he asked.

It was only because you’d known Steve for so long, and were so determined never to hurt him again, that you heard the tiny thread of anxiety in his tone. You squeezed him tightly in your arms and rushed to answer, eager to put his worry to rest.

“Yes!” you cried happily. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, Steve.” You twisted your fingers in his soft hair and tugged his mouth up from your neck. “Now kiss me, boyfriend,” you murmured and Steve, obligingly, crushed his mouth to yours in a blissful kiss.

You and Steve reveled in your new relationship, spending a long time in bed just kissing and exploring each other and making up for lost time before your growling stomachs finally made you get up.

After breakfast, Steve seemed to remember something and he padded to the entryway, coming back with the box he’d acquired at the holiday market the evening before. He handed it to you, saying there was no way he’d be able to wait until Christmas to give it to you.

You opened the present, finding a simple silver chain and a stunningly engraved sun pendant within. You were so overwhelmed with happiness that tears sprang to your eyes and you had to hastily wipe them away.

“A little bit of sunshine for my sunshine,” Steve murmured against your temple before pressing a kiss to your skin.

At your insistence, he helped you put the necklace on and you thanked him graciously—with words and kisses. Then you towed Steve back to bed, and the two of you gave in to the pleasure of your bodies until you collapsed, sated once again.

All day, you couldn’t stop smiling. You were doing one of your favorite things, snuggling on a snowy day, with one of your favorite people in the world—your boyfriend. And you were making plans for the future, talking about what you were going to get your other friends for Christmas and arguing about how to best decorate Steve’s apartment for the holiday.

The whole time, you couldn’t help but think about how Christmas would always be extra special for you from that year on. It was a wonderful holiday but, more importantly to you, it was when you and Steve Rogers finally admitted your feelings for one another and took the first step toward a forever together.

So, this time of year would always be your favorite time of year.

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