#third rainbow steve

[incorrectstevesagaquotes]

(Rainbow Quest)

Rainbow Steve and Sabre: [sitting in jail together]

Rainbow Steve: So who should we call?

Sabre: I’d call Light Steve, but I feel safer in jail.

[shadow-genesis-yay]

It took me like 5 hours for this RQ Void edit I did but I finally finished it-

My boi 🙏

I love him

[penny00dreadful]

So does anyone remember that post that was like "Robin and Eddie meet when she does that thing that's like 'hello, please pretend you know me so I can get away from this person' then Steddie happens?" Because I do. I cannot for the life of me find it. If anyone knows the post I'm talking about please let me know so I can link it, this is very much not my idea, it's that persons idea but the brain worms got me so here we are. 🤷‍♀️

We found it! It's this post by @wynnyfryd Thank you Anon! Obviously I went in a different direction with it but this post was 100% my inspiration so thank you for helping me find it!

AO3 link for those asking! 🖤

Robin should be royally pissed off with herself right now. She would be if she wasn’t so damn scared.

That guy was still trailing behind her, no matter the twists and turns she’d taken down different streets trying to lose him and the only thing she’d gained from it was to get totally and completely lost. It could be something completely innocent, the guy might be coincidentally going in the same direction as her but she wasn’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if it meant keeping herself alive.

The distance between the two of them was slowly closing as she was followed through the dark and empty streets of the city, hoping, praying for some kind of shop or restaurant or something to make an appearance so she could hide inside but apparently Robin was able to find the one street in this city where everything was either closed for the night or boarded up.

Her heart was pounding in her ears and the beginnings of tears were starting to sting her eyes and all she could think of was how sick with worry Steve was going to be in the morning when he woke up to no missed calls, no missed texts and no Robin. She’d scoffed at him hours earlier when he’d offered to go to the ‘work thing’ with her but she'd told him she was a big girl and she could look after herself and not to be such a worrywart mom.

And now she had no idea where her phone had gone, if she'd left it behind or dropped it somewhere, no idea where she was and no idea of what she was going to do.

If she’d been a bit more present in her head she probably would have noticed the loud, braying, male laughter coming from just ahead of her and crossed the street to avoid them before it was obvious she was avoiding them. But as it was she could barely see straight through her tears and panicked tunnel vision while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the slowly encroaching guy behind her. She was practically already in the group’s space and one of them had definitely already seen her though he didn’t pay her any attention.

But even through her blurred vision and panic, she finally registered what exactly she was looking at. Four men standing around the entrance to what looked like the diviest of empty dive bars, chain smoking and being as loud as humanly possible, but that’s not what caught her eye.

Long hair, chains, leather, denim, tartan, rings, tattoos, subculture. If Robin had to choose a group of men to approach, any kind of subculture would be the best option. They knew what it was like to be other. There was no guarantee these guys were safe, but they were probably safer than a group of frat boys.

The next thing that caught her eye that nearly made her cry in relief as she got closer were the patches and pins.

A rainbow ‘A’ against a black and white striped background pinned on one guys collar, a yellow-white-purple-black patch on another's arm, a pink-yellow-blue patch over the third guys heart and a progress pride flag pinned to the largest guys pocket.

Her people.

Without a second's hesitation she made a bee-line for them, planting herself firmly next to yellow-white-purple-black patch person who had a mess of thick light brown curls that reminded her of Steve’s hair. They fell painfully silent at her arrival.

The four of them blinked down at her, with her tearfilled eyes and wild aura of panic around her they were probably, understandably freaked out.

“Hi guys!” She called out to them, probably a little too loud, hoping her voice carried back to the fucker following her, tensing as she could actually hear his footsteps approaching now.

The guy with the longest hair and the pink-yellow-blue patch standing directly in front of her glanced quickly over her shoulder before returning his gaze to her. His face split into a wide warm grin, tapping her shoulder lightly.

“Hey girlie. We thought you weren’t coming, we’ve been waiting.”

The footsteps behind her audibly slowed down. Robin laughed, a little maniacally, keeping her frantic gaze on him, not daring to turn around. “Yeah, I uh- g- got sidetracked.”

“Eddie, what-”

Pink-yellow-blue patch guy, Eddie she supposed, slapped ‘A’ patch guy lightly on the stomach with the back of his hand, shutting him up as her pursuer passed them by, giving the group a wide berth.

“Hey, no worries. You’re here now, right?”

Pride patch guy kept his eyes on the guy who’d been following her the whole time, only looking away when he eventually turned the corner, disappearing into the night.

Robin immediately felt her posture slacken now that he was finally gone, the full weight of everything coming down on her. Her tears began to spill over and her whole body shook as hysterical sobs started to pour out of her body.

“I’m sorry. I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I think I left my phone behind and I don’t know where I am. We only moved here a couple of weeks ago and I got lost trying to get away and- and-”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Yellow-white-purple-black patch person squeezed her shoulder lightly, keeping their distance. “You’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“We can call someone for you, if you want?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms tight like he was trying not to reach out to her, probably worried it would freak her out more. “Boyfriend or girlfriend-”

“Or romantic partner.” The person with their hand on her shoulder interjected lightly.

“Alright Baron from the Baronies.” Eddie snorted. “But fair point, Gareth. Romantic partner or friend or whatever?”

“Um,” Robin’s voice was still shaking. “I don’t… I’ve never been good at memorising numbers…”

“Me too, terrible at them.” Eddie smiled again, pulling his phone from his pocket. Robin’s fear and panic was almost entirely gone now even though she was still hiccuping and sniffling underneath their concerned gazes. They were all firmly keeping their distance, keeping any touches short and fleeting, not moving too suddenly, trying their best to make sure she knew they weren’t a threat and it was really helping her to start feeling safe again. “But we could try to find them online? Instagram or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah we could try that.” She wiped her eyes roughly against her sleeve as she shuffled over to Eddie’s side. “My best friend, Steve, he uh- he’s probably asleep and I don’t think you can call him if you don’t have him added…”

“You can send him a message.” Eddie replied easily, handing his phone over. “And if he doesn’t wake up, we’ll try something else.” 

“Don’t worry we’ll get you home.” ‘A’ patch guy smiled down at her while pride patch guy nodded along.

Robin sniffed again. “Thanks.” She was able to conjure up a small watery smile as she opened the app and found Steve’s profile, shooting off a quick message begging him not to freak out and explaining the situation as concisely as she could.

“Here.” She handed Eddie back his phone who glanced down at it for just a second before his eyes widened slightly as he scrolled through Steve’s profile.

“Oh shit. This is your friend?”

Robin nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“He’s… he’s really pretty.”

That managed to pull a startled laugh from her. “Oh god, don’t tell him that, you’ll give him a big head.”

“Let me see?” Gareth asked, whistling low when Eddie turned his phone around showing a photo of Steve and Robin at their last pride parade cheering with the crowd, Steve with the pink-purple-blue of the bi flag smeared across each cheek and Robin with the pinks, oranges and white of the lesbian flag draped around her shoulders. “He is really pretty.”

Eddie snatched the phone back, cradling it to his chest. “Fuck off, Gare. I saw him first.”

Robin smiled again. “Any response from him?”

“Hm?” Eddie asked distractedly, scrolling through Steve’s photos before pride flag guy punched him in the shoulder. “Ow! Wh- oh, sorry!” Eddie frantically scrolled back up before clicking into his messages again and shaking his head. “Nothing yet.” He held the phone out to show her.

“Okay.”

“What’s your address? If he doesn’t respond, we'll find a way to get you there.”

“Uh…” Robin was drawing a complete blank, only able to remember her parents home address hundreds of miles away.

“Or tell us something nearby.” Eddie added, not missing a beat, clearly picking up on Robin’s lack of an answer. “What’s on your street?”

“Um,” she closed her eyes, trying to picture it in her head, “there’s a couple of Chinese take outs, Asian food store, paint store… there’s… I think it’s a tattoo parlour? There’s designs painted on the window, a tower on either side. I think they’re from Lord of the Rings?”

“Inklings? Is that the place?”

Robin opened her eyes. Eddie was grinning at her conspiratorially. “That’s it. You know it?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I work there?”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Hope was starting to grow feathers inside Robin’s chest. She could go home, she didn’t have to stay out all night waiting for Steve to wake up and never let her out of his sight again, she could hug her best friend and drink coffee out of her favourite mug and curse at their finicky fridge and steal his hair products again. She could go home.

“Is it far?”

“Nah, only a few streets away. Ten minute walk, tops.”

“D’you- I mean… do you think you could-” Could she really ask them to walk her home after they’d already done so much for her? Would she be asking too much? Could she be putting herself in more danger?

“I can take you there if you want? Let you get back to your… Steve.” There was a slight blush dusting over Eddie’s cheeks. Maybe he did have an ulterior motive, but it wasn’t an ulterior motive involving her. If she wasn’t so wrung out and aching to crawl into her own bed she’d be thinking up teasing material to lambaste Steve with. But as it was, she was desperate to get home.

“Would that be okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie replied, bright and easy. “It would just be me and you though,” he held his hands up in surrender, “and you can totally say no, like if you're uncomfortable or whatever. Gareth is Grant and Jeff’s ride home and you’re still on the clock, right?” He turned to Gareth towards the end of his sentence.

“Yeah, but I get off shift in about an hour so could come in if you wanted, wait around in the back room until then if you wanna go as a group?” They answered. 

“I think… I think I just want to get home.”

“Okay, cool. No worries I’ll get you there safe and sound. Here,” Eddie pulled his phone out again, “I’m gonna message Steve to let him know we’re on the way in case he wakes up,” he showed her the short message only sending it off when she gave a nod, “and I’ll get you to navigate just so we don’t get lost.” 

He handed his phone to her with the maps app open, directing them towards Inklings tattoo parlour. He was playing it off like an easy joke, instead of another way to assure her she was safe. He was making sure she knew exactly where he was taking her at all times, he was making sure she had the ability to call the police or whatever if he turned on her, he was making sure she knew he didn’t need or want her address if she didn’t want to give it. 

This fucking guy.

He definitely wouldn’t be the worst choice Steve had ever made if it did go that way.

“I don’t know how to thank all of you, seriously. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t run into you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Grant smiled at her before hesitating. “Uh, I just realised we don’t have your name.”

“Oh!” She laughed at herself, feeling lighter. “I’m Robin.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Robin.” Grant held his hand out, shaking hers once she took it.

“Likewise.”

“And don’t worry about thanking us, just pay it forward, yeah?” Jeff said.

“Plus.” Gareth took on a nonchalant tone even though they had a smirk plastered over their face. “We’ll see you again at Steve and Eddie’s wedding.”

“Shut up!” Eddie scowled but didn’t hold onto it for long in the wake of Robin’s giggles.

She sighed once the giggles subsided, a weight lifted off her shoulders. “I look forward to it.” She raised her hand in salute as the three of them headed back inside, turning to Eddie as he held his elbow out.

“Shall we?”

Robin tried to suppress her smile but took Eddie’s arm anyway. They only made it down one street and around one corner, Robin clutching tight to Eddie’s phone before he finally asked.

"So."

"So."

"Best friend Steve." Eddie twirled his rings around his fingers. "Is he…"

“He’s single.” She answered lightly. “But you might be arriving into his life at the wrong time. He’s recently sworn off men.”

“Well we’ve all sworn off men once or twice. Men are terrible.”

“Agreed.”

“Is it because of a bad ex?”

Robin threw her head back with a groan remembering the giant breakdown that had finally finally ended it. “Tommy was the worst. He’s the reason we even moved out here, there’s nowhere to get away from an ex in a small town, you know? They’re everywhere. I’m not going to go into what happened, it’s not my business to say but it was bad.”

Eddie nodded, his eyes down on the ground, running through everything in his head.

Robin could see the tattoo parlour up ahead, the glorious sight of their apartment building just a few buildings away.

“Do you think… with time… he could open himself up to men again?”

Eddie had such a tentative hope in his eyes, it was adorable really. Looking over him, she thought about the type of people Steve would constantly thirst over, blip in the matrix Tommy Hagan notwithstanding.

Lithe bodies with full lips and giant eyes, hair he could run his fingers through and something unusual about them. Something odd.

He’d never explicitly gone for someone so heavily into a subculture before but he’d never turned them down either. And based on Eddie’s job at the tattoo parlour and the way he was dressed, he almost definitely had some ink on him. That alone would be enough to make Steve swoon.

“I think he might. Will you walk me up?” Robin asked, holding the door to the building open, offering Eddie the same kindness under the guise of doing a favour that he had offered her so many times tonight.

“Yeah, sure.”

They’d managed to make it up to the third floor, walking down her hallway before Eddie’s phone started to ping incessantly.

She turned the phone over in her hand, looking at the screen. “He’s awake.”

Robin, where are you?

Are you okay?

I’m on the way.

Please be okay.

Their apartment door was flung open just as they reached it. Steve was standing there panting and terrified, his hair a mess, his glasses askew, his jacket and shoes thrown haphazardly over his pyjamas.

“Robbie.”

Steve slammed into her, holding her tight before immediately letting go to inspect her face and running his hands over her body, checking to see if anything was wrong.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What do you need?”

“Steve.” Robin caught his fluttering hands in hers and squeezed, nearly crying out in relief just to have him with her again. “I’m okay. Eddie and his friends helped me.”

“Eddie-” Steve looked to the side, noticing her saviour for the first time. “You’re Eddie.”

“I’m Eddie.” Eddie gave him a short little wave and a dazzling smile that quickly dropped in shock as Steve pulled him into a crushing hug, his blush returning with full force.

“Thank you, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve-” Steve took a big breath in and loosened his arms from around Eddie’s shoulders. Robin saw his eyes slowly trail over his face before very briefly flicking down to the pink-yellow-blue patch then back up. “Come inside, the two of you. Can I get you anything? Tea? Decaf coffee? A glass of water? Like, literally anything to say thank you.” He asked, ushering the two of them into the apartment.

Steve caught Robin’s eye behind Eddie’s back and mouthed ‘oh my god he’s fucking gorgeous!’

Robin snorted and thought to herself ‘sworn off men, my ass.’

[steddieasitgoes]

Their dining room table has been taken over by thousands of tiny little beads and elastic in different colors. 

Steve sits opposite their sixteen-year-old daughter, a thin elastic band clutched in one hand and an assortment of approved beads laid out in front of him. He picks up a small purple crystal-like bead and tries to feed the elastic through the minuscule hole. 

“Christ, why isn’t this hole bigger,” he groans, squinting as he tries for the third time to thread the bead onto the elastic. 

“Aw, but I thought you liked tight holes, sweetheart,” Eddie teases, sauntering into the room. 

Their daughter pretends to retch before turning up the Taylor Swift song playing from her phone, hoping to drown them out. It doesn’t matter that they have a state-of-the-art stereo system in the other room that sounds a thousand times better than the shit speakers in her phone. She likes the convenience. 

Steve, on the other hand, glares playfully at Eddie. “Seriously, not in front of our daughter.” 

“Oh, please, don’t pretend she doesn’t know things.” 

“I mean, yeah, but she doesn’t need to know things about us.” 

“I really don’t,” their daughter agrees. 

Eddie laughs before collapsing onto the seat beside Steve. Assessing the beads in front of him, Eddie collects a few and gets to work. 

“Hey,” Steve whines, swatting Eddie’s hand away when he tries to steal one of his beads. “These are mine. You didn’t even get her approval.” 

Eddie scoffs. “I don’t need her approval. She trusts me, right bug?” 

Their daughter rolls her eyes, but nods. Eddie hoots victoriously before going back to his own bracelet. Steve shares a look of amusement with their daughter. One that says it’s better to let Eddie think he won than try to give him a set of rules to play by. 

Many things have changed about Eddie over the years, but one thing that has remained the same is his disdain for other people’s rules — even if the rules are coming from his daughter. 

When Steve tries to take a peek at what Eddie is working on a moment later, he gets a swift elbow to the ribs. “No peaking!” 

Shaking his head, Steve gets back to his own bracelets. It’s a lot easier threading the beads when he grabs his glasses from the bedroom and he manages to finish two daughter-approved bracelets in the time it takes Eddie to finish whatever he’s been working on. 

“Are you ready to see the best bracelet ever?” he asks, standing up with all the dramatics he had when he was thirty years younger. 

Steve and their daughter nod, setting aside their own bracelets to look at Eddie’s creation. 

A rainbow of beads, all different shapes and sizes surround a group of block letter beads that reads: Fuck Ticketmaster. 

Steve laughs while their daughter smirks, shaking her head. 

“It’s not a Taylor lyric, but I appreciate the sentiment.” 

“Our bank account definitely agrees.” 

“So will the Swifties, you’ll see!” Eddie says, reaching for another random set of beads to start another bracelet.  

The three of them spend the rest of the afternoon making friendship bracelets. Well, Steve and their daughter do. Eddie continues making “Fuck Ticketmaster” and various other obscure and random bracelets. The highlights of which include a red beaded monstrosity with the word “scarf” on it and one that just says "Olive Garden."

Unfortunately for Steve and their daughter, Eddie’s unhinged bracelets are the biggest hit at the concert. He ends up trading all his bracelets before they even get into the stadium. 

He doesn’t let them live it down, proclaiming himself the King of Friendship bracelets. 

[beenoeila]

A list of underrated fics I adore.

▪️this don’t feel anything like sinking by

@dontcallmebree

A little over six weeks and his knee heals only for his breathing to act up. It may have been a handful of decades—coming up on a century, even—but he never did forget how it felt to wheeze through the night.

Steve sees it coming when Dr. Youssef tells him his lungs are taking a turn.

The year 2032 brings about the Summer Olympics, the coldest winter of the decade, and an end to Project Rebirth.

🔹 Learning to want by @luna-rainbow

Bucky is still trying to piece together his memories, but at least he now had Steve with him.

When Steve asks him if he wanted to meet with his sister, Becca, his response was, "I don't know about wants...I'll start with the shoulds."

Steve and Bucky goes for lunch with Becca. Steve and Bucky dealing with memory loss. Steve and Bucky being mutually pining idiots.

▪️better to speak or die by emilywithoutY (@between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place)

Summers in C. are as endless and hazy as when they were kids. All James wants is to play his part well enough that his mother stops looking at him with that twist of regret in her smile.

The only thing to break the sun-soaked monotony is the arrival of the new summer intern. While the rest of the household—and half the village—fawn over Steve Roger’s movie star looks and understated charm, James finds him aloof and his polite interest near unbearable.

But as they collide in vulnerable moments, the sparks of frustration ignite something neither has the power to stop.

Do you think Jonathan understood what happened that day David first stepped into his father’s court?

🔹The weapon remembers by pushdragon

The Winter Soldier finds old fantasies of Steve in his memory, and takes them for reality.

He's got two days to sort out all his mixed-up history, before he puts himself back in cryo freeze. Harder still, he's got to convince Steve to let him do it.

▪️Preberseeschießen by Ginny_Potter (@hipsterdiva)

Bucky takes his time, ignoring his comrades’ cheering and Gaiswinkler and Mariandl’s teasing. From his position, Steve only has an oblique view of Bucky’s face, which is mostly in the dark anyway – the strong line of his jaw, a smudge of grease on his cheekbone, a sweaty lock of hair curling on his forehead, his mouth pouting in concentration. Steve itches to draw him, to take out his battered sketchbook and reproduce that instant of perfect imperfection. Steve itches to touch him, push back his unruly curls, wipe away the smudge on his cheekbone, cup his face in his hands and…

Bucky breathes out and shoots. The bullet hits water… and there it is, the zapping sound of paper tearing.

The light turns on and off three times. Third circle. Just a lick out of bullseye.

The Howlies explode in cheers.

Or, the Howling Commandos play a shooting game with the Austrian Resistance and Steve has lots of unresolved feelings about himself, his new body, and his changing relationship with Bucky. In other words, comrades are comrades, angst looms, and Steve feels.

🔹Till there were no more wolves in the West

by @dharmasharks

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, Steve,” Bucky says softly.

“But this thing sticking in my heart—the part of me that’s yours? It is the best part of me. Maybe the only good part.” His rueful smile wavers. He makes a pained expression.

“What if it’s the only good part?” he asks.

Two Brooklyn boys find themselves aboard an orphan train headed west in 1854. Across farmland, war, and the lawless frontier, a childhood promise helps them find each other again.

(A Western SteveBucky retelling.)

▪️Hiraeth by ixalit

Hiraeth

noun /ˈhɪraɨ̯θ/

[Welsh] A homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret. The feeling of longing for a home that never was.

🔹Undone by justanotherStonyfan

You’d think, given everything, that if one of them were going to regress, that if one of them were going to break down, it would be Bucky.

(Set mostly after Endgame - canon deaths remain but Steve doesn't leave)

▪️But You Can Hold Me (Only 'Cause It's a Cold Night in Brooklyn) by Voylitscope_speed (@voylitscope)

This should just be two friends getting off after the burlesque show. This should just be two pals both thinking about the girl. That would probably be okay, Bucky thinks.

But then he ruins it all when he says,

"Come here," and puts a hand out to tug on Steve's shoulder.

(Or: Sometimes, Bucky and Steve lend each other a hand, literally. Bucky tries not to be weird about it, but he's always been bad at controlling his thoughts about Steve.)

🔹Midlife Crisis by profoundalpacakitten

Steve isn’t expecting much of anything from life, he’s content to coast by, letting life flow past. Get up, get dressed, get to work, get home, get to sleep, rinse and repeat.

▪️ The Magic Touch by @broodybuck

The soldier is finally free but he has one big problem, he can't finish. Until he meets a man called Steve who apparently has the magic touch.

[atimeofyourlife]

As soon as the team was asked for volunteers, Steve was the first to sign up. He usually hated working events, but this was different. This was the first event when they'd get to be themself. He'd been to pride only once before, getting dragged along with Robin the year before, and it had ended up being a world of discovery.

Sure, he couldn't be decked out in rainbows and flags, having to wear their EMT uniform. But their boss had approved pins and bracelets as long as it didn't interfere with the duty. So his uniform had their pronoun of the day pins (They/He), their updated name badge showing his choice of names (Steve/Evie), pins and bracelets of the trans, non-binary, genderfluid, and bi pride flags. And Robin had braided bi pride ribbons into his hair before he tied it back when getting ready. It was going to be a good day.

He was kept busy, like the rest of the first aid team. And being one of the highest trained on duty, one of two AEMTs and in training to become a paramedic, he was tending to deal with the worst injuries and illnesses, and having to triage for if anyone needed to be transferred to the hospital. Robin stopped by a few times, to check in, and to give them snacks. It helped break up the day as he wouldn't get a long break.

They'd had to spend some of the day hurrying around the site whenever the radio buzzed for first-aid assistance at various points around the site. He was making his way back to the first-aid tent after one call, when their eye was caught by the band on the second stage. In particular, the long-haired guitarist. Steve couldn't help watching them as he walked by, until he stumbled and nearly fell into someone. They shook their head, and dragged their eyes away to make his way back to the tent. He was there to do his job, not make eyes at a pretty guitarist. They tried to put it out of their mind, but he couldn't help looking out for the guitarist as the day passed. Not letting it get in the way of their job, but whenever they had a second free.

Late in the afternoon, they were alerted to a group of people making their way to the tent. Two guys supporting a third, with another guy ahead of them to clear the way. Steve pulled fresh gloves on and hurried down to help. As he reached the group, he realized that the guy being supported was the pretty guitarist. They tried to not think about it, needing to remain professional.

"What seems to be the problem?" Steve asked, swapping places with one of the guys supporting the guitarist.

"He nearly passed out on us." One of them responded.

"Right. Come on, we'll get you all checked out." Steve replied, guiding them into the tent.

"You can check me out anytime, sweetheart." The guitarist replied, leaving Steve fighting back a blush.

"Eddie, shut up." The guy in front snapped, before glancing at Steve. "Sorry about him."

"But he's pretty." The guitarist- Eddie- whined.

"Okay, just set him down here." Steve helped Eddie onto the bed at one end of the tent, before turning to the other guys. "Only one of you can stay in here with him because of the space, so if the other two can just wait outside?"

The other three guys looked between them, silently deciding that the shorter, curly haired guy would be the one to stay behind.

"Gare-bear, where they going?" Eddie asked.

"They're waiting outside for you, asshole."

Steve coughed a little to hide the laugh that threatened to burst out, the conversation reminding them too much of dealing with a drunk Robin, or worse, the kids while they were crossfaded for the first time.

"Okay, can I just pop this on your finger for a reading?" Steve asked, waiting for Eddie to hold his hand out so he could fix the pulse ox monitor. They then grabbed a clipboard and a blank paperwork sheet. "And while we wait for that, just a few questions. Can we start with your name?"

"Eddie Munson." The other guy, Gare? replied.

"You can take my last name, angel." Eddie said, which Steve ignored.

"Thank you, and the date of birth?"

The other guy reeled it off, as Steve wrote it down.

"And Gare, was it?"

"Gareth."

"Gareth, sorry. Can you tell me what, exactly, happened? The other guy said he nearly passed out?"

"Yeah. Uh, we were performing earlier. We're in a band. He was fine then. But in the last thirty minutes or so, he's been complaining about not feeling so good, and then he nearly passed out."

"Okay." Steve wrote down all the information, then copied down the numbers from the pulse ox. "I just need to get the rest of your vitals, okay, Eddie?"

"Anything you want. He's so beautiful, isn't he Gare?"

"Anything you say, Eds."

Steve set to taking the vitals, making sure everything was normal, but kept asking questions to get to the bottom of it.

"Any medical conditions?"

"No."

"Do you know if he's taken anything in the last twenty four hours? Any prescription meds, or over the counter, or any other substance?"

"Shhh. Gare, you can't tell him."

"Dude, I'm not a cop. I just need to know if it could be what you've taken, or so if you need any medication it won't react to it."

"He smokes, and we were smoking weed last night. But he smokes weed most weeks and has never reacted like this." Gareth explained.

"Uh-huh." Steve continued to make notes, both the answers to the questions and Eddie's vitals. "Any alcohol?"

"A couple of beers."

"When was the last time he ate?" Steve asked, frowning when they noticed that Eddie's blood sugar was on the low side.

"Wait, I think that was-" Gareth broke off for a moment. "Eddie, you certifiable moron."

"Not eaten much today?" Steve guessed.

"Not eaten at all today. He doesn't eat breakfast, ever, and he felt sick before we went on so he didn't eat lunch. And after he still didn't want anything."

"That pretty much explains everything. Plus drinking on an empty stomach is a recipe for disaster. I'll grab some water and something small so you'll feel less like passing out." Steve crossed the tent to find a bottle of water and the emergency snacks they kept, usually for diabetics.

"Here. Drink some water, and eat these. I know they're not the most exciting snacks, but you should feel better after." Steve handed it over to Eddie, a mini bag of fruit gummies, and a small pack of crackers.

Steve kept a check on Eddie as he ate the snacks. He seemed to be doing better, which put Steve's mind at ease. And kept trying to flirt, which left them fighting to remain professional.

"How are you feeling now, Eddie?" Steve asked after a few minutes, hoping that it wouldn't be too much longer before they could have a moment to freak out, preferably with Robin.

"Better. But you could make me feel incredible, big boy." Eddie said, a clear flirty tone in his voice.

"Not while I'm on duty," Steve replied slightly absently as he made a note on Eddie's sheet. Then, realizing what they'd said, fought to figure out how to backtrack without offending Eddie. "I mean, it's good that you're feeling better. I would recommend you try to get a balanced meal soon, something with carbs, protein, fibre, fats. That will help keep you feeling better, and keep you from feeling like you're going to pass out again. And it might be best if you stay off the alcohol for today."

"Does that mean- ow." Eddie started to ask something, but cut off. Steve looked up from the clipboard, and it was obvious that Gareth had elbowed Eddie to get him to shut up.

"This is your copy of the paperwork, it just has your vitals, and what's happened. If you still feel unwell later, and you need to come back here, or you seek medical attention somewhere else, you can show this, so whoever you see has some background for what has happened today." Steve explained, handing the sheet over to Eddie.

"Thanks," Eddie replied, starting to stand up.

"You're welcome, enjoy the rest of your day." Steve turned to start sanitising and packing away the equipment used, so the space would be tidy for the next person to need it. He could hear a brief, whispered conversation behind him, but ignored it. Until they felt a tap on their shoulder, and turned back to Eddie.

"For you," Eddie said, thrusting a small piece of paper into Steve's hands before leaving the tent with Gareth.

Steve unfolded it, and read the note. 'What about when you're off duty?' followed by a phone number. He blushed a little as he shoved it into his pocket. God, they needed to talk to Robin.

Later, once he was home, he finally had the chance. Not that she was much help.

"You're telling me you nearly fell over yourself because you were staring at this guy, kept looking out for him because you hoped to see him after, he shows up to the tent and is flirting with you, and gave you his number. And you haven't called him?"

"That is missing the point entirely? He wasn't well when he came to the tent, and it kinda feels like I was taking advantage of him to end up with his number after that. I should have given him to one of the others. I shouldn't have let him give me his number." Steve protested, feeling unsure if they had handled everything in the best way.

"You are the only person I have ever met who thinks that getting the number of someone you find attractive is somehow a bad thing. This is why you're still single."

Basically giving Steve my gender here. In this he's genderfluid and uses various combinations of They/He/She pronouns, depending on the day I was at pride today (well, yesterday as it's now after midnight here), and this idea came to me on the way home. Also, idk how first aid services at events work in the US, so this is vaguely based off what I know from what I've seen in the UK.

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number Neighbors Pt.15

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

Natasha was right that you would be upset at her leaving. You always were. But this time you assured her you’d send her lots of messages and pictures even if she didn’t respond. 

And she admitted to you that she liked having something light to come back to. 

It was another typical night for Nat sleeping in a dingy hotel with three of her fellow Avengers who tended to snore. She wasn’t getting much consistent sleep which wasn’t unusual for her but she’d already had a bad evening. She and Steve had gotten into a pretty bad argument with Tony over some stupid government thing. He knew they wouldn’t want to do it but Nat could see that deep down he was scared so she understood him.

She just couldn’t go back to being anyone’s puppet again.

When she’d finally managed to dose off her mind was plagued with flashes of red and little girls and rows and rows of women standing in formation. A familiar face among them that she wasn’t ready to process just yet. 

Springing up in bed, she clutched the blanket at her chest, her breaths coming out in quiet but rapid succession. Guilt wracked her body and at times like this, she’d usually seek comfort in Clint or even ask Wanda to help her sleep but when the panic settled she felt the person she was seeking out the most was… You.

Although she didn’t know what you looked like, she pictured your rainbow pajama pants and your favorite duck socks. She imagined soft arms wrapping around her and urging her back to bed.

A sleepy soft voice talking to her about anything and everything until she dozed off. 

When she lay back down it was with the image of you next to her, and she fell asleep with you on her mind. 

It was the quickest she’d ever recovered from a nightmare and the best sleep she’d ever had while on a mission. 

The next day she finished her mission earlier than usual and if her fellow Avengers commented on it then it was simply because she wanted to get home faster and not because she’d dreamt of you all night and wanted to text you back immediately.

~~~~~~

You understood Nat still had work to do and thus would leave you for long periods again, but it still left ample time for your anxiety to creep in.

What if she did see you that night at the restaurant and this was her way of cutting you off because she thought you were ugly?

What if she was bored of your conversations and decided you weren’t worth it anymore?

At this point, you were waiting any day for the blocked notification to come up when you sent her pictures throughout your day.

So who could blame you if you were using dates with Leon as an excuse to get her off of your mind? 

Even if lately you didn’t feel anything with the guy you were with…

It was your third date of the week and honestly, you were a little bored. You’d been walking around New York listening to Leon talk for nearly an hour and the charm was starting to wear off. But anything was better than staying in your apartment all day refreshing your phone and overthinking everything you’ve ever sent.

When you rounded the corner arm in arm with Leon you were surprised to see a large crowd gathering a little further ahead. You didn’t know there was any kind of event happening today but to be fair you’d spent all of your time either with Leon or waiting for Nat to text back. Social media had been pushed to the back burner for a while, and if you were honest- your obsession with Black Widow had dwindled sufficiently in the last month. It was probably for the best, your mother was tired of constantly getting updates on where she was spotted in New York or what happened on their latest mission.

Now you had real people to focus on, like Nat, and Leon, and even one of your coworkers started asking you to hang out. 

Life was starting to feel a little less dull and you felt like you owed a lot of that to Nat.

Shaking your head you gripped Leon's arm a little tighter, there you go again thinking about Nat. It was impossible to get her out of your head when every little thing reminded you of her.

As Leon steers you in the direction of the gathering crowd you find yourself becoming anxious. Crowds haven’t been your specialty, especially not after-

A body bumps into yours as they push past you to run towards the crowd and suddenly you're thrown back to that moment four years ago when you were rushing out of that building.

You hear the sounds of people screaming which in reality is people cheering but your brain can’t tell the difference right now.

You look down at your hands and see your own blood staining them- the same way from that day.

The sound of alarms and hurried footsteps mix with the smell of sweat and dirt and suddenly you’re unable to catch your breath.

Another person bumps into you and you flinch, you're sure your eyes are wide with panic but you don’t know what to do. You hadn’t had an episode like this in a long time. You thought you’d finally gotten over it.

Slipping your arm from Leon’s you find you’re uncomfortable touching anyone and you can’t focus.

You try the different breathing and counting exercises your therapist taught you. 

It only helps a little.

Someone on a stage in some direction drops a microphone and the sound reminds you of the crumbling building next door. The ring of it is the ringing in your ear from the head trauma and loud explosions. You didn’t even realize your hands were covering your ears until you felt something pulling them away. You flinch at the contact, the voice is fuzzy and it’s hard to focus on the words.

“Hey” 

“Y/n?”

“Can- you he- me?”

“What's- Going-”

When the ringing stops and you hear someone laugh out an apology over a speaker system things get a little less cloudy.

Your eyes shoot from the ground into dark brown concerned eyes and you feel wetness slipping down your face.

Embarrassment floods your system and you find yourself unable to make eye contact

“Can we just get out of here please?”

Leon observes you for a second before nodding his head, slipping his hand into yours, and pulling you away. You don’t comment that you don’t feel like being touched. You don’t have the energy to. You just need to get far away from here.

“I know this really great ice cream place?”

You nod your head and let him lead you. You weren’t really hungry but you’d take any quiet place right about now.

Two blocks down you can still hear the crowd but it’s a lot quieter than before, Leon opens the door to a Mint and Salmon-colored Ice cream shop and you walk in. The sound of the bell drowns out the sound of the announcer before the door shuts to blissful silence.

~~

“Okay, everyone! Now what you’ve all been waiting for- The Avengers!!”

Nat fakes a smile as she walks out onto the stage. She was going to kill Tony for stealing her phone and putting a firewall on it to blackmail her into doing this event. It wasn’t like she hated doing these things but they’d only just gotten back from their mission and they only had the chance to shower and change before they came here. 

Tony truly was the asshole of all assholes. 

She had been scrolling through the pictures you’d sent when Tony snatched her phone from her hands, dangling it in front of her and telling her she couldn’t text her “new boy toy” until she smiled for the press and signed a few autographs.

Crowds were also notorious for crimes, and although Tony had security stationed everywhere that didn’t mean it still wasn’t easy to commit a crime in this environment- it was a hotspot for pickpockets and some adult fans could get a little too aggressive or handsy. Anyone could be dangerous- she would know, she’s been ‘part of the crowd’ plenty of times.

Still, the little hopeful faces of all the children in the crowd were part of the reason she hadn’t murdered Tony on the spot for making her do this. The kids looked up to her like she was the greatest thing in the world, the ones who saw her as a hero and didn’t know about her past.

She wonders how many of those kids will grow up to read about all the red in her ledger and despise her for it.

So she wasn’t having the best time. She’d much rather be coddled up in her room reading a book or training in the gym.

For a second she wonders what you’re up to today, if you’ve texted her any pictures since she checked. It’s a beautiful Saturday afternoon, perfect weather, the kind of day you’d want to spend outside. The kind of day she’d spend convincing you to go outside and laughing when you sent her a frowny face you’d made out of fallen leaves.

She would get more time to text you or listen about your more than odd work experiences if Tony wasn’t constantly bugging her about this government thing.

You seemed more occupied in the days she was gone. You sent her more pictures of things outside than of your coffee table and TV screen. She would take you anywhere you wanted if she ever met you. 

She’s glad to see you’re getting out more on your own though, and if it has something to do with this Leon guy…

Scanning the crowd she observes all the women she can see. Most are ogling Steve and Tony, some of them are looking at her with jealousy over how close to Steve she’s standing. She nudges him in the shoulder just to rile them up and she swears a few of them breathe fire. It makes her chuckle.

A few of the women look at her with awe, and she wonders if maybe one of those faces is you. You did say you were a fan of hers. 

Would you be at an event like this?

With that in mind, she begins analyzing every single woman in the crown. Searching for your favorite colors, your favorite shows on any shirts, any sign of you in every woman.

But for some distinct reason, she gets the feeling that you’re not there.

~~~~

“Why are you always taking pictures while we’re out?” snapping another cute picture of your ice cream you put your phone down and turn to Leon. You had been snapping plenty of pictures of random things to send to Nat while you’d been on your dates with Leon. You were honestly surprised he hadn’t asked earlier.

Maybe he thought it was a girl thing.

“I’m just sending pictures to my friend” The word feels weird in your mouth for the second time “We don’t hang out much so I send her updates of what I do all day” You frown as you see the 'seen' notification on your other messages but no bubbles pop up “honestly I think she’s getting tired of it…”

A hand on your shoulder makes you jolt and you try and relax when you realize it’s only Leon again. His hand rubs circles on your shoulder and you're surprised at how irritated you are at the action. The Y/n from a few weeks ago probably would have been giddy at all this physical affection but lately, it just doesn’t feel right. You don’t have the heart to tell Leon that though

“I don’t think anyone could grow tired of you, maybe she’s just busy?” Slipping his hand from your shoulder to your hand he begins tugging you out of the ice cream shop and into the busy sidewalk. Whatever event was going on earlier had died down and you’d finally recovered from your attack.

Leon begins lightly swinging your arms back and forth as you walk back in the direction of your apartment

“Does she live nearby? If she’s busy at work maybe we could surprise her?”

The idea of surprising Nat puts a smile on your face but you don’t even know where she lives, or if she’d even want to meet you. The smile slowly slips off of your face and your stomach turns with anxiety and disappointment

“No, she… you’re right she’s probably too busy”

When you get home you schedule another appointment with your therapist for the anxiety and PTSD… and for the excessive overthinking.

~~~

A few days later the doorbell rings and you internally cringe. Opening the door you're not even surprised when you see the third deliveryman this week. You accept the bouquet of roses with a half smile and then shut the door in his face. 

You’ve been declining dates with Leon ever since Nat came back from work and he seems to think you’re mad at him or something so he’s been sending you bouquets of roses every few days to ask you out.

You know it’s not fair to him when he doesn’t know why you’ve gone quiet all of a sudden but you can’t help the fact that you wished you were on dates with someone else.

Someone you’ve never even seen or met but desperately long for.

The first time Leon got you flowers in your relationship was cute and had you blushing for days. Although you were a bit embarrassed opening the door in your sweats and hoodie, the delivery kid didn’t seem to mind as he handed you a large bouquet and a cute little handwritten note. 

You were so excited about it that you texted Nat to gush right away.

     Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦:

He got me roses!!

The response was immediate as always.

Nat🔪:

But…Y/n,

Roses aren’t your favorite flower?

Nat didn’t mean to kill your excitement but she couldn’t help but feel a little upset that you were getting so excited over a bouquet of flowers that weren’t even your favorite.

A few irrational minutes later her thumb hovered over the ‘purchase order’ button on her phone. Finding some kind of satisfaction in knowing you better and one-upping his gesture. 

But she came to the unfortunate realization that she wasn’t supposed to know where you live. And it wasn’t like she could have you thinking he got you those flowers. So she canceled the order and settled for the hesitant excuses you made for him not knowing your favorites.

That in and of itself should have brought her at least some satisfaction but instead, she just found herself angry that you weren’t being treated as well as you should be. She knew she could do so much better. She could treat you so much better than him.

But she was a coward.

~~

You put the flowers on the counter, not bothering to find another vase you knew you didn’t have. Whatever initial excitement you’d had when you first met Leon had vanished and you think it was because of Nat.

She’d taken over every single aspect of your life and you didn’t really mind, because you liked Nat… A lot.

Shit.

Pt 16

-Sorry to whoever's favorite flowers are roses they were just the most generic flower I imagined a guy would pick~ Starry

---Taglist--

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[figthefruitfaeth]

108 "is that my shirt?" with the pairing of your choice please zoey <3

my dear beloved lou—i love this prompt so much, thank you <3 please know i listened to moon river by frank ocean for the entirety of its creation. I hope you like it

steddie | pre-slash/confession (kinda) | 868 words

Eddie takes a deep breath. 

Blue. That's what it feels like. Spring fresh cornflowers in his lungs, the edges of an inky indigo sky staining his fingertips. Blue is the breath he takes, the old ceramic bowl of cereal he's got clutched to his chest, the veins under his skin. 

It's the color of Steve's shirt.

Eddie shifts—presses his back fully against the window frame, the cold seeping through the thin cotton a welcome relief from the heat of the day. He keeps his head titled out towards the street, but his eyes are focused in.

Steve is on the opposite end of the window, head resting against the glass, his own bowl of cereal balanced carefully on both knees. Eddie watches the last of the day curling into his collarbone, the tips of his bangs. His chest moving in slow and easy breaths, eyes just slivers of hazel in the light. A sleepy cat, perfectly content.

Yet despite the quiet peace of the moment, Eddie feels it. Has felt it all day. Something sticking, unsettled in himself. Sleep in the corner of his eyes, the dry coarse grind of sand in his back molars. He's blamed it on the weed, paranoia lurking in the silence between the hum and ding of the microwaved nachos they'd made earlier—his mind trying to makeup for a body that had, for once, slowed down. 

But that didn't stop himself from feeling it, from knowing something is off—no, Eddie shakes his head—different.

Something is different about Steve.

Steve, very carefully, spoons a mouthful of mushy multi-grain into his mouth. Grimaces, then does it again. A drop of milk lands on his shirt, seeping into fabric quicker than it landed. A spot of midnight in a sea of navy.

His shirt is blue. Which, all things considered, isn't different at all. Though he tends to favor the warmer side of the wheel chart, Steve's wardrobe is a rainbow of colors. From steel blue jackets to violet sweaters, Eddie's seen him in it all.

Mouth closed, his tongue runs along his teeth, twists against the edges of the back. Can't quite reach the end. 

A dark blue t-shirt. A little big, not swallowed in fabric but less form fitting than most of his clothes. Old, maybe  second or even third hand if the edges of the sleeves are anything to go by. Or the image splashed on the chest, which is really only a memory of a design—speckled silver to grey in uneven patches. There's still one letter legible, a sharp 't' dead in the middle. 

It looks a bit like a band t-shirt, reminds Eddie of the shirts Wayne gave him when he first moved in, before they could go the Salvation Army together. Smoke and oil clinging to the threads, a reference to a song he'd only heard once on the radio, but stuck. Settled the buzz in his head, let his body move and mean something more than disappointment. Staring in the mirror, hair barely more than a buzzcut, navy stark against his pale skin—

”Is that my shirt?”

His voice is too loud, accidentally overshot by both the shock and last half hour of silence. Steve doesn't seem to be as affected, turning his head against the glass to face Eddie with a smooth nonchalance.

“Yeah,“ he says. Eddie looks at him, brows raised. Steve looks back, bloodshot eyes blinking slowly, seemingly feeling a one word explanation is all he needs.

Eddie searches for something, anything to say, ends up with a choked cough, and then, “Why?” Which—stupid, stupid, stupid.

Glacial blue, Steve looks down at his (his or his? theirs?) shirt, then back up at Eddie.

“Must've gotten it mixed up.”

Must've gotten it mixed up.

What.

Eddie blinks. Feels a bit like a dog as he shakes his head, mouth opening and then closing up tight in quick succession. There's no way Steve Harrington mixed up his clothes. The man spends 30 minutes a night picking out his outfit for the next day. He missed a group movie cause he couldn't find the right jacket. He almost had a conniption when Dustin tried to wash his colors with his whites. 

Steve always wears the gold and red striped socks when he needs a bit of luck and never just throws something on. Steve doesn't ‘mix up’ clothes, not unless he's dying, not unless it means something—

Oh.

“Oh,” he says out loud, dumbly.

Steve smiles like their afternoon—a hazy, sticky sweet honey in his hands.

“Yeah.”

And then Steve winks, and turns back to the window.

Eddie bites his lip, feels his mouth tearing away into a smile anyway. Turns back to the outside before he does something crazy, shovels in another spoonful of nearly disintegrated cereal, watches night settle in. Lights from other, distant homes click on, warm yellow windows bobbing along in the pitch black darkness. 

In the morning, when the sky lives up to its infamous hue, and the weed has left them their usual jittery, overthinking selves—Eddie will ask him other questions, will need more replies filled with complex, compound sentences.

Eddie takes a deep breath.

Navy.

And for now, that's enough.

writing prompts!

[giverobinagfbrigade]

What if Steve took up pottery after everything.

He’s spent 4 years destroying things, tearing things apart with his hands and once it’s all over he wants to turn those same hands to something positive. To turn them to making something instead of pulling it apart. He cycles through hobbies, sketching making his hand cramp and the constant re-drawing tearing holes in the paper, the permanence of paint on canvas to terrifying and embroidery causing an ache in his eyes with it’s miniature stitches. All until he reaches pottery, it never make his hands cramp or his eyes ache and he could work the clay and re make the pots over and over, shaping and reshaping until it was just right.

So it sticks. At first he used the wheel in the studio at the school but with gentle encouragement from the party and Joyce he buys a second hand potters wheel and a small kiln from a house clearance. He sets them up in a corner of the garage furtherest from the house and late at night or rather, early in the morning he sits and works the cool clay over with his hands, the hands responsible for so much destruction, until it’s pliable. He takes it and forms it into whatever shape he can feel it trying to be. Over the weeks he creates many items, pots, jugs, mugs, cups, plates, bowls, dishes, stands and occasionally, when the spin of the wheel isn’t what he needs he sculpts tiny creatures and people with his fingers.

The first of these creations are plain and rough to the touch, unable to be washed as they were left unglazed. When Steve realised that you can’t use an unglazed mug for actual mug things, he purchased glazed, at first just clear and 5 colours, black, white, red, yellow and blue, but slowly he expands his collection, amassing all manner of different colours and finishes.

After the first couple of months practice, when the cups are even and the lids fit their pots, Steve begins to make things to give to the people he holds dear.

The first gift he makes is for Robin. It’s a little bird on a ships wheel, painted onto a mug, it’s slightly wonky and the paint is a little wobbly but it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. She cries when it’s first handed to her and she treats it like the smallest breeze will break it. But she still drinks her coffee from it every morning and cleans it the moment she’s done, lest the drink stain the glaze.

The second is for Dustin. This is a little jar, with a tiny cats head sculpted onto the lid. Painted with little scribbles of equations and formula, planks constant painted slightly thicker than the rest. Dustin hugs Steve so hard it makes his bones creak when it’s handed to him and he holds it in his palms like it might disappear in smoke if he lets it go.

Third is for El, he throws her a plate and spends hours painstakingly glazing the sunset from hopper’s cabin onto it. It’s a little thicker than it probably should be but it might not shatter so sharply if it ever breaks that way. She hugs it to her chest like a teddy and kisses Steve’s cheek. She tells him she loves it, and he knows she isn’t lying.

Number four is given to Erica. Unlike the others this one wasn’t thrown it was sculpted by hand, smoothed and stretched until the clay formed a tiny horse. He paints it the colours of the rainbow and places the fires piece into a tiny box. Erica sniffles when she opens it but she still calls him dickweed when she thanks him. He knows she adores it when he sees her wearing it on a chain like a necklace three days later.

Five is for max. This one the result of hours of research. Steve first throws a mug, then with the help of Robin and 2 books on braille he adds tiny lumps of clay to write two phases on the mug accompanied by their English written counterparts. First is “Max’s mug touch at your own risk “ the second is “ handle “ followed by an arrow in the opposite direction of the handle. Even through her heavy glasses he can see her tear up, but before he can reach out to hug her she reads the handle sign and cracks up, laughing so hard the tears track down her face anyway when she realises the arrow is misleading. The thick black lines of the writing a stark enough contrast against the white mug that she can see there’s writing rather than just feel it.

It’s a little while between the faith and sixth pieces but it makes it even better when it’s finally handed over after the end of season game. The sixth piece is for Lucas. It’s a little person holding a ball aloft like the Statue of Liberty, standing atop a goblet style cup that Steve took an age to throw quite right. Lucas tackles him to the floor and says it’s the best trophy he’s ever won. He sheds a couple tears when he reads the inscription on the bottom plaque.

Number seven is gifted to will, technically it’s two pieces. Created after hearing him talk of the perils of painting and drinking after hellfire one night. Two cups, different in size and shape as well as design, both painted a beautiful gradient, one of purple to green and the other blue to gold, with the purple and green with “paint water”written in curling letters across it and the blue and gold with “drinking water” in the same letters. Will thanks him sincerely and hugs him for far longer than normal. A week later he hands Steve an envelope containing a painting of a knight that looks suspiciously like him wielding a familiar bat like club. Steve is the one crying this time.

The eighth piece is given to Johnathan. It’s another piece shaped without the help of the wheel. This time a pipe, glazed in shining oxides and bright colours, painted over in tiny white stars. Few words are exchanged when it’s handed to him but even when struck speechless Johnathan finds a way to communicate his gratitude, holding open his arms to Steve. When he gets his words back, Jon invites him to christen the pipe, Steve politely declines. He’s sure the pipe receives much use.

Nine is handed gingerly to Hopper, a near perfect plate with “best dad I’ve ever had” painted i swirling letters across it, coloured a beautiful red. Hop clears his throat, tells him it’s beautiful then hugs him with almost too much force, cracking a joint in Steve’s back which sends them both chuckling. It’s on display in the cabin the next morning.

The tenth is presented to Mike. A small box which seems to confuse the boy until he opens it to find a version of his character laying inside. He stares down at it for a few moments, mouth open like he’s not sure what to say. Then very tentatively he wraps his arms around Steve in the first hug he’s ever given him. He speaks, a little muffled my Steve’s shirt “ You really are amazing Steve. “ . Steve pats the kids hair and beams.

Piece eleven is given to Joyce. It’s the biggest piece he’s made yet. A large round thrown plant pot, made in lovely terracotta clay he found specifically for this. Made after Joyce confessed she’d been trying out gardening. She kisses him on both temples and both cheeks and tells him she wouldn’t mind a third son. Steve cries again this time.

The twelfth is given to Nancy. It’s another hand sculpted piece, this time a beautiful pen holder, painted a soft pink and decorated with gold filigree work. He wrapped it in pink tissue and places it gently in her hand, Nancy is so quiet Steve starts to panic but as he opens his mouth she drags him into a rib creaking hug. “Oh Steve it’s beautiful.” He just smiles and tells her this way she’ll always know where she put it when inspiration strikes. She squeezes him a little tighter.

The penultimate piece is given to Wayne Munson. With everything that’s happened, and the slowly growing relationship between Steve and his nephew, Wayne is almost his second adoptive father. Steve takes a little while deliberating on what to give Wayne, a mug for certain but he wasn’t sure what to decorate it with. But after being startled awake for the third night in a row the idea finally seemed to materialise. When Steve handed him the finished mug a week later he clapped him on the shoulder, placed the mug on the table and wrapped him in a hug. He called Steve son and this time they both shed some tears. The next time Steve entered the house the “ best uncle in law “ mug was proudly displayed with the rest

The final piece, well pieces, were given to Eddie. It was a slowly growing collection, crafted over the course of several months. The first of these was a simple cup, painted a marbled red and metallic black courtesy of Steve experimenting with oxides. The second a mug proudly displaying the words “fuck Mordor” in beautiful curling script across one side and a painted mountain the other, created just after he and Eddie began reading the series together, taking it in turns to read a character aloud. The third and final piece was far more sentimental a small replica of a human heart, created after much study of library references, painted to look like a sunrise. This he placed into a little box with a note reading “ to my sunshine, you’ll always carry my heart with you .“. Steve placed these three together in a bag, each wrapped in tissue. He took them with him on a quiet Tuesday night on a visit to Eddie. And with shaking hands he held the bag out towards him. Eddie took it, looking perplexed until he opened the first wrapper, revealing the mug. Eddie had watched all the others slowly be gifted pieces of Steve’s pottery, even his uncle, and wondered if and what he would receive. He held the mug reverently in cupped hands, “ Oh Stevie, it’s beautiful-“. Steve only smiled, biting his lip and gesturing back to the bag. Carefully Eddie removed the second gift, the cup. Holding it just as carefully as the first, stroking over the surface with his thumbs, before placing them both and the bag down onto the table and holding Steve’s face in his hands. “ There’s one more. “ Steve smiled at him “ I need to kiss you till you can’t see straight first.” Steve only laughed and leaned in, meeting Eddie halfway. It was a soft kiss, full of unspoken affection, and when the two separated he gestured back at the bag. Eddie smiled and shook his head before taking the last piece out of the bag. Slowly he began to unwrap the tissue, then he opened the box. He went dead still, exhaling a shaking breath “ Oh sunshine -“ he reached out to cup Steve’s cheek with one hand, cradling the tiny ceramic heart with the other, “ that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” Steve beamed “ It’s a human heart baby, it’s not exactly cute.” Eddie shook his head “Oh it’s plenty cute, you made it it’s gotta be.” He paused “ I love it. Nearly, nearly as much as I love you. “. “Yeah?” Steve bit his lower lip, smiling. “ Oh definitely honey, I love you so much.” And if that same heart had a permanent home in a picture frame above eddies bed next to the note it came with, then no one mentioned it.

//AN : Okay if you made it this far holy shit thank you, I apologise for the gifts being cheesey as fuck or kinda shitty but I tried. This was born after watching the great pottery throw down with my parents.

[neonghostlights]

Series Masterlist

Summary: You haven’t been the same since you woke up in the hospital with memory loss after the earthquake hit Hawkins. When strange things start happening and you feel like you’ve started losing your mind, a group of strangers offer to help. Even though you’ve never met them before, they seem to know you better than you think. 

Warnings: Probably incorrect car talk, brief mention of blood and nightmares, I really can’t think of anything else, if I missed anything let me know. 18 + only for my blog, minors DNI

Wordcount: 3.4k

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Part Four

Tuesday, September 16th, 1986

Today was your first day of your new job at Family Video.

You didn’t think you would actually turn in the application but it took just one more bad day at the daycare for you to find yourself stopping by on your way home and basically forcing the application into the hand of the girl behind the counter.

They ended up calling you that same day, maybe just an hour later, to offer you the job. After a very brief phone interview with your new manager, Steve, you were in. Even calling it an interview was generous, he basically just asked for your availability and gave you your start date. He seemed professional over the phone. Not exactly rude but he kept his words short and to the point.

By how quick he hired you, they must be really desperate for help.

You rushed through the house, trying your best not to be late on your first day. Steve seemed nice but from what you remembered, which wasn’t much, he was a real dick in high school. Hopefully he wasn’t the same now.

Honestly the only reason you slightly remembered who he was because of how popular he is in the town. Even your mom knew who he was since she goes to church and is in a book club with his mom.

You threw on your jacket and grabbed your bag and keys before practically running through the front door and jumping into your car.

You turn the key in the ignition once, twice, and then a third just to be met with a strange clicking sound. You pull the key out to examine it just in case there was some defect that magically appeared overnight. You stick the key back in for another unsuccessful try just to groan and throw your head back into the headrest.

Today was going to be a great first day.

After an awkward car ride with your mom, who was still pestering you about your personal medical decisions, you finally made it to Family Video. Your mom was furious to find out that you had left the daycare for a lower paying job. She had even tried to bribe you to just go back home, saying that she would pay any bills. You were already cutting into the inheritance left to you by your father to take care of any bills your paycheck wasn’t covering, so taking any money from her felt like a cop out.

You leapt from the car as soon as she put it in park and practically ran to the front door of the store, happy to escape her nagging voice.

The girl behind the counter, who you still had no clue what her name was, smiled at you brightly and waved. Steve on the other hand kept his features cool and his arms crossed. You were practically panting and sweating by the time you made it to the wooden counter.

“You’re late,” Steve said immediately in a dry tone.

“I know. I am so sorry but my car wouldn’t start so my mom had to pick me up and she is not the fastest driver in town. It won’t happen again,” you rushed out.

Steve nodded silently before leading you to the back room to put your things down. He wordlessly handed you a vest with your name tag as well as an employee handbook.

“Take the handbook home with you to look over. Your schedule is in there as well. I have things to do back here today so you’ll be up at the front with Robin for training. If you have any questions just ask her,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, questioning if this was the right decision. Your coworkers at the daycare weren’t always sunshine and rainbows but at least they would say hello to you or even crack a smile.

This guy just seemed like an asshole.

Steve nodded to the door that led back to the front, silently dismissing you. You scurried away and pulled on your vest and name tag.

After a few hours of stocking and learning how to use the cash register from Robin, your mood had lightened. The day was slow, which Robin said was normal for a Tuesday. Her relentless chattering about anything and everything made the time go by a little faster though.

You had both talked all morning and gotten to know each other a little bit. You were surprised to learn that you had actually gone to school and shared a few classes together.

“So,” Robin said as she leaned against the counter beside you while you waited for Steve to relieve you both for a break, “I heard you say you were having car issues this morning.”

You sighed, good mood ruined at the thought of your car giving up on you. “Yeah, it just wouldn’t start at all. I need to call a few mechanics around town and see if I can tow it to them.” You wrinkled your nose at the thought, already dreading the migraine inducing conversations that you would have.

A sly grin spread across Robin’s face before she twisted her head around as if she was confirming no one could hear what she was about to say. “I know someone actually that’s pretty good with cars. He wont charge you an arm and a leg either. Plus, I can almost guarantee that instead of towing it, he can come to you to work on it,” she said with a whisper.

You tilted your head as you thought. It would make things significantly easier for you for the mechanic to come to you instead. “Are you sure they’d be able to do that for me?” You asked.

“Oh yeah, he will definitely have no problem at all with doing it for you,” she said in a voice that you didn’t understand, almost like something was funny about what she had just said. You were probably just misunderstanding her tone. You were slowly starting to grasp Robin’s personality but sometimes you had a hard time keeping up.

She grabbed your handbook that Steve had given you and flipped to the first page to look at your schedule. “Looks like you're off tomorrow! Perfect. Should I tell him to come by anytime?”

“Yes. That would be perfect. Thank you so much,” you said as you grabbed a sticky note to scribble your address and phone number down on.

Robin smiled down at your cursive writing on the sticky note until Steve walked in to relieve you for break. At the sight of him, she quickly shoved the paper into her pocket and picked up a movie like she was reading the back of it.

“Robin, what was that?” He asked. His tone was more playful and kind with her than it was with you. You tried not to let that bother you.

“Nothing! Let's go eat,” she said quickly before turning to you and miming zipping her lips.

Weird.

You were up early the next day. Partly because you didn’t know what time the guy was coming to look at your car, and partly because you had another nightmare about the person bleeding out from their wounds and not being able to help them. The icing on the cake was that you had woken up with a killer headache too, which you were currently trying to medicate with a big steaming cup of coffee.

Not even your trick of listening to music was helping the pounding in your temples today. You just hoped when the mechanic showed up that you would be able to form a coherent sentence.

It was around 11 when you heard the rumbling of an engine and loud rock music blasting through a shaky speaker in the distance. You thought nothing of it until you heard it right outside your front door.

You peeked through the blinds of your living room window to see a van parked in your driveway. This must be the mechanic.

The music shut off abruptly as you stepped out the front door and onto the wooden porch. Your house wasn’t too far off of the main road. You had neighbors on both sides of you, but you couldn’t see them through the thick trees that lined your property. You loved privacy and isolation, yet you couldn’t help but think that maybe you should have had your mom come over while the guy was here.

The door to the van squeaked open and the vehicle jostled side to side as the driver climbed out.

Your heart dropped to your stomach as Eddie Munson stepped into view, a small metal toolbox clutched tightly between both of his hands.

This is really who Robin had sent to your home to work on your car? A man that was accused of murder?

You didn’t personally know Eddie, nor did you know the whole story around the murders. He didn’t look like a vicious murderer that you had seen news clips of , and he was found not guilty on all charges.

You were being paranoid for no reason.

But you lived alone. And now he knew where you lived.

He must have seen the conflicted look on your face because he stood still by his van and made no move to approach you. “Hi, Robin said you needed help with your car.”

You cleared your throat and shot a polite smile. “Yes. Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you.” You immediately regretted the words as soon as they came out of your mouth. You didn’t mean to sound so rude. He probably had to deal with rude people everyday, especially with how judgemental this town could be.

He shot you a smile that showed he wasn’t offended by your statement. “Yeah, well. No one expects the metal head to be a mechanic. What’s going on with it?”

You finally moved off of your porch to approach him with your car key in your trembling hand. “It wont start. It just clicks when I try. I honestly don’t know anything about cars so who knows what’s wrong with it,” you said as you pressed the key into his hand, noticing the thick rings on his fingers.

He hummed a tune as he walked to your car and tried to start it himself. He then popped the hood and looked underneath.

“Oh, yeah this is bad,” he called from under the hood.

“How bad?” You asked as you walked up beside him to look for yourself, even though you had no clue what you were looking at.

“I mean you need a few new belts, a battery, an oil change, and who knows what else when I actually start digging around in there.”

“Oh my god. Really?” You pressed a hand to your forehead. You really didn’t need this right now.

“I can fix it but if we have to order parts and stuff it might take me a few weeks give or take,” he shrugged like it was no big deal.

“A few weeks?!” You practically yelled. “I have to be able to get back and forth from work. I can’t not have a car for a few weeks.”

“Sorry,” he winced. “But, uh, I actually work at the mechanic shop in town part time. I can probably swing by here and take you back and forth if you want. It’d be no problem.” There was a hopeful note in his voice that you didn’t dwell on. Maybe he was just a super helpful guy.

“No. I can’t ask you to do that. You’re already working on my car for me. I can just get my mom to drive me. Thank you though,” you replied. You didn’t miss the sour face he made at the mention of your mom. “How much do you think it’s going to be? For the parts and labor?”

Eddie shrugged for a moment. “Eh, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Okay,” you sighed. You wished he was able to tell you pricing up front. By the sounds of it, you were really going to have to dip into your savings and inheritance.

Eddie didn’t say anything else as he started pulling at parts under the hood. You took the sign to leave him alone and do his work as you stepped back inside the house.

You watched through the window as Eddie worked non stop on your car. He had pulled off his rings, his hands now covered with oil and dirt. His hair was pulled back into a messy bun low on the back of his head. His metal toolbox laid open beside him, various tools and parts spread around your driveway.

You realized then that you really liked watching Eddie work on a car.

He hadn’t taken a break since you left him outside alone. You felt bad but unsure if he would want company or if he just preferred to be by himself.

You went to the kitchen to quickly put together a sandwich and some chips for him since it didn’t look like he had packed any lunch or snacks. Plus, you really didn’t want him passing out in your driveway from dehydration or something. That would be awkward.

You stuck your head out the front door and yelled his name. He popped his head out from under the hood in surprise, reaching over to turn down his radio when he saw your face.

“I made you a sandwich if that’s okay? I noticed you hadn’t eaten or anything and I thought you might like a break,” you asked shyly, unsure if you were overstepping.

A wide grin spread across his face at your announcement. “You made me a sandwich? I can’t turn that down. Mind if I come inside to wash my hands real quick?”

You shifted uncomfortably on your feet. Your mothers warnings repeated through your head like a blaring alarm. He must have seen you hesitate because he said, “I mean if not that’s okay. I think I’ve got a rag in here or something that I can use to clean up with.” He sauntered towards his van and opened the door.

“No! It’s okay. Of course you can come in,” you called. You held the front door open wider and waved your hand to motion him inside.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything,” he said, apprehensive.

“I’m not uncomfortable. You can come in,” you confirmed with a shy smile, doing your best to keep your voice confident.

His returning grin made your knees weak. For now, you were going to blame that on the head injury. Or maybe you had too much caffeine that day. Those both seemed like reasonable explanations to you.

Eddie eyed the photos and decorations nosily in your living room the second he walked in. A sly smile spread across his face when he noticed your figurine of a duck sitting proudly on your wooden shelf. This wasn’t a normal duck figurine though, he happened to have two ridiculous googly eyes glued onto his face.

“Cute duck. Where’d you get it?” He asked with a low chuckle. He reached out and poked it, causing the eyes to shake back and forth.

“I don’t remember. Bathrooms that way,” you said immediately, pushing him in the right direction.

That stupid duck made you happy every time you looked at it. If he was going to make fun of it, you might just kick him out.

You and Eddie were currently sitting at your kitchen table both eating sandwiches in an awkward silence. You kept catching Eddie taking sneaking glances at you between bites.

The only sound came from the loud ticking of the rooster shaped clock that hung on the yellow painted walls of your kitchen. You loved that clock, it was one of the only things you were able to save from the estate sale your mother held after your grandmother died.

The thing was ridiculous looking, yet you still adored it.

“What made you want to be a mechanic?” You asked to get some relief from the silence.

He took a swig of his lemonade before replying. “Me and my Uncle Wayne used to work on cars together growing up so I picked up a few things. It definitely wasn’t my first choice in jobs but the owner of the garage is a family friend and he was the only one who would hire me after everything…” He trailed off as he looked at you warily like you might run away now that he’s mentioned the elephant in the room. He cleared his throat before he continued, “What made you want to work at Family Video?”

He didn’t seem like he was making fun of you, instead he seemed genuinely curious. “Oh, I worked at a daycare but it wasn’t working out. So I needed a change.”

“Why wasn’t it working out?” He asked before he took another bite.

You rubbed your hands against your pants in an attempt to wipe the clamminess away. This wasn’t something you normally talked about with strangers but if Eddie was going to be spending more time around here then he should know in case you start acting weird. Besides, the more you talked to Eddie the more at ease he made you feel.

“I got hurt in the earthquake. They think I hit my head or something I don’t know.” You purposely leave out the claims of the most recent doctor you had seen, the one that suggested seeing a psychiatrist. You cringed at the memory. “But since then I have had some issues with my memory and headaches. Being around a bunch of screaming kids all day definitely didn’t help,” you sighed.

Eddie looked at you without pity but understanding, it made you feel warm.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how bad is your memory loss?” He asked, his fingers tapped against the table top rhythmically.

“Pretty bad. I don’t remember the whole week leading up to the earthquake. I don’t remember parts of highschool or parts of big holidays or events in the past few years,” you shrugged.

“That must be hard,” Eddie commented.

“It is,” you nodded.

“What did you want to do with your life before that happened?” He asked. Eddie didn’t seem like he was prying for information to gossip about like the ladies your mom was friends with, instead he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.

“I wanted to be a teacher. College doesn’t really work when your brain is broken though,” You said with a laugh as you tapped on your temple lightly. “You mentioned that being a mechanic wasn’t your first choice for a job. What was your first choice?”

Eddie let out a laugh as his cheeks turned pink, he seemed embarrassed by what he was getting ready to say. “Don’t laugh. It’s stupid but I wanted to be a rockstar,” he said with a groan as he covered his face with his hands.

Eddie spread his fingers apart so he could peer at you from behind his hands when you didn’t say anything. “Told you it was stupid,” he said, muffled by the placement of his hands.

You shook your head quickly. “No. It’s not stupid. I don’t see why you can’t do that.”

Eddie dropped his hands from his face. “It’s not realistic. Especially not after…everything,” he said with a hint of shame. He lowered his head.

You didn��t expect this conversation between the two of you to grow so deep so quickly.

“Why not at least give it a try? What’s keeping you in Hawkins anyways?” You asked seriously.

The expression on Eddie’s face broke for a brief moment as he stared at you. His eyes seemed to grow watery. You panicked internally. You really didn’t mean to make him cry.

He stood abruptly, making you jump. “Thank you for lunch but I gotta go. I’ll see what parts I can grab for your car. Can I stop back by on Sunday to work on it some more?”

You sat frozen in your seat as you nodded in agreement. He didn’t turn to look at you as he carried his empty plate to the sink and rinsed it off. You wanted to stop him and apologize, tell him that he didn’t need to worry about the plate, but you stopped yourself when you noticed him wipe underneath his eyes quickly with the back of his hand.

Eddie’s avoidance of you was clear, as he left your house without another word.

Taglist:

@sadbitchfangirl @gaysludge @daisydamed

@mandyjo8719 @josephquinncore @stevieharringtonswife @hazydespair @sheneedsrocknroll92 @mopeymopeymouse*

@portaltothevoid @sidthedollface2 @mjharrington @pbs-theundeadmaggot @luceneraium @aliceheart247 @kaitebugg03 @emxxblog @blue-eyed-lion @boo22sstuff @aysheashea @lfaewrites @madaboutjoe

@sweetmariihs2 @wendyfawcett @ohmeg

(Tag list is 18+ only)

[incorrectstevesagaquotes]

Rainbow Steve: You are supposed to bang your fist against mine.

Light Steve: Why?

Rainbow Steve: I'm told it is a widely accepted gesture for mutual success.

Sabre: I love it when you two impersonate normal people.

[neonponders]

Part 3 for the wonderful @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse!

~ Part 2 here ~

on ao3 here ~

🚬 🚬 🚬

Little Steve smoothed his blue shirt over himself as he stood on Mrs. Harrington’s compact mirror, tiny foot prints on the glass below him and one hand print on the glass in front of him.

“You okay, lil man?” big Steve asked as he set down a teacup saucer of meticulously chopped fruit on the coffee table. Then he furrowed a brow at Billy following the aerobics exercises on the television...in his full aviator outfit. “Is he okay?”

Billy answered himself, amongst enthusiastic grunts and howls, “Gotta stay fit t’stay sharp, Stevwie!”

“Can you take the jacket off, at least? I don’t want to have to figure out how to clean that.”

“No way! HEY.”

Steve pinched the back of his coat, but only enough to make him stop jazzercising. “Heat stroke is serious, B. Don’t cook the one marble you’ve got.”

Billy slid right out of his jacket, exposing a sweat line down the back of his new, red shirt. “Did you cook too much and get soft?”

“I don’t want to hear it from the guy living in my pocket. Be grateful for the extra cushion.”

Billy cackled and went back to exercising. Steve began to stand up to get him some water, but frowned at little Steve munching forlornly on a piece of pear. “Steve? What’s up?”

For such a little guy, those big brown eyes blinked up at him like a javelin to his heart. Steve wondered if this was what he was like when he got his way all too often in years past.

“I...I think I stink.”

His concerned face lifted up to meet Steve’s matching one, small hands twisting the fabric of his blue button-up.

How is he insecure? He’s been alive for like a minute - 

“You smell good to me!” Billy called.

Oh, Steve corrected and knelt down to set his head on the table. “Come here. Let me get a whiff of you.”

Little Steve stepped off the compact mirror to press his tummy against Steve’s lips, arms outstretched so his hands waited on Steve’s cheek. Giggles bubbled out of him as the larger Steve inhaled short bursts of air. “You know...you might be right. We can fix that - and speaking of funk.”

The squawk that came out of Billy was one for the books as Steve took the dishtowel off his shoulder and caught Billy on it by sweeping it behind his knees. “Foul pway!”

“It’s bath time,” Steve clipped, pausing long enough for little Steve to climb onto the towel as well. On his way to the kitchen, Steve opened the glass display case of his mother’s fine china, and took out the largest teacup. At the sink, he filled it up two-thirds of the way, and dripping in hot water from the electric kettle. “Reach in there, tell me if it’s too hot or too cold.”

“Why do we need baths?” Billy cried indignantly.

“Because it gives you something to do while I wash and blow-dry your clothes.”

“You’re makin’ us into swoup!”

“How about some bubbles?” Steve segued, swiping the tiniest smear of dish soap onto his finger and mixing it into the cup. He didn’t trust them on their own while he got proper soap from upstairs, so it would have to do. Either way, little Steve brightened at the rainbow suds and Billy gave one a derisive poke. “Come on, you two. You’ll feel better after your first bath.”

“Come on, Biwwy!” Steve heralded, accepting the hand to propel him up and over the edge. For a micro second, big Steve felt terrified that they couldn’t swim, but the cup was shallow enough for the little one to sit with his head above water. He kind of rolled like a floatation device as well.

Not to be outdone, Billy gripped the rim of the cup. When Steve offered to help him, he groaned, “I got this, pwetty boy.”

Steve pressed his lips into an annoyed line, but the little bastard managed it with a splash. One by one, sopping wet garments got flung out of the cup. Steve said dryly, “Thanks, guys. I’m carrying you upstairs, okay?”

Billy seemed to be gauging the correct level of enjoyment from little Steve, who sat blissfully against the curved wall of the cup, soaking.

Big Steve had his sights set on the special detergent he kept upstairs. Just because he could replace certain things didn’t mean they didn’t mean a lot to him. So he filled his bathroom sink with suds from the delicates detergent and agitated the water with the clothes for a few minutes until he rinsed them off.

By then, Billy and Steve needed to be moved to a towel, so he blowdried a washcloth to get it toasty, and helped them out to it. Steve kept the blast of air away from them while he dried the clothes, watching mutely as little Steve patted Billy down with a corner of the washcloth.

It was Billy who noticed and pointed, “What’s that!”

Steve turned off the hair dryer and answered, “Lotion. It makes your skin soft.”

Billy audibly scoffed, but then his brows furrowed contemplatively. “Do you use it?”

“Yep. Do you want some?”

“If Stevwie wants some,” he countered.

“Does it smwell nice?” said Steve asked.

Big Steve dodged, “It’ll make you smell like me,” because it was fragrance-free. His hair products and detergents had enough fragrance for his taste.

He already had a cotton swab ready, and pumped out a small drop on both ends. Setting it down, he advised, “Just get some on your hands and rub it into your skin. Don’t put it in your hair.”

Little Steve piped, “What about my haiwr?”

“I can take care of your hair,” Steve soothed. “One thing at a time.”

Billy was grimacing over his lotioned legs stretched out over the washcloth. “This is grwoss! Why do you do this?”

“Just give it a second. You’ll be fine. Do you want to work on your hair or me?”

“Me! You can’t be twusted with these perfwect waves.”

Steve exhaled a measured sigh and held an eyedropper of hair oil. Billy reached his hands up for the drop, and climbed onto the detergent cap to see himself in the mirror. Steve, meanwhile, used a fresh swab to dab water from little Steve’s hair.

“Steve?”

He paused. “Yeah?”

The little one hesitated, but it was a marvel how much expression he had for someone so small. He seemed afraid, but hopeful. “Is...is there a big Biwwy?”

“Big Billy?” Steve repeated dumbly. “Uh. Yeah, actually. There is.”

Brown eyes widened as small Billy rotated to ask, “Is he cool like me?”

Steve sassed, “Is he an adorable little punk? No. He’s usually a big pain in my ass.”

He felt small hands on his forefinger as little Steve held onto him. “Is big Biwwy like you?”

His voice softened as he petted a swab with hair oil over his head. “What do you mean?”

“You have a Biwwy. And Biwwy has a Steve. Does Biwwy have a Steve and Biwwy?”

“I...don’t think so,” he said warily, thinking of Max. “We would’ve gotten word by now if he knew about you.”

Those little features opened. “He doesn’t know!”

Steve’s own cramped a little. “You want him to know?”

That slightly disproportionate head went rosy with a blush. “My Biwwy needs a Steve. I can be Steve for big Biwwy too!”

However, small Billy piped in, “I’ll be the judge o’him! This big one just barwely made the cut!”

Steve’s eyes rolled. “Thanks, B. You’re a peach. I guess...I have a phone call to make.”

[memes-saved-me]

All Billy could think as he watched Steve pull out the plastic mistletoe from behind his back was, how did he get here? Five months ago he was lying practically dead on the floor of Starcourt Mall and now he was about to kiss the boy he loved on Christmas Eve. No fear of his father bursting through the door or someone somewhere somehow seeing because the third upstairs bedroom of the Harrington residence was the most like home he ever felt. Steve was home and there he was with his stupid little grin knowing he is about to get exactly what he wants, knows Billy will melt at his small acts of affection.

Except, he doesn't let him lean in for a kiss. No, instead he lifts him up to wrap his legs around Billy's waist and looks up at him in the rainbow of lights hanging from every wall. Illuminating the two of them, reflecting in Steve's big brown eyes and for a moment Billy thinks there is no way any of this is real. He's still trapped by that monster, trapped in his own dreams but the look in Steve's eyes, the softness of his expression is far too much for his self hating mind to muster.

"I love you," Steve smiles into the kiss. "Merry Christmas."

"Love you too, pretty boy."

[kyuziipon]

Shitpost page + close up of wills shirt and the reference of said shirt

ID: [ a page of digitally drawn messy sketches of characters from stranger things four. They are very low effort. The first is of Will, wearing a tshirt that on the front says ‘act faggy’ and the back says ‘enrich your life engage shamelessly with homosexuality’. Below him is a picture of Jonathan and argyle, both high, with rainbow smoke behind them and labeled ‘California girls we’re unforgettable’. Then there’s a drawing of Mike as a 2000s emo, and a drawing of Lucas labeled ‘Lucas I love you’, and a drawing of Steve and Robin with hearts around their heads, both thinking ‘boobies’. The second image is a closeup of the Will drawing, and the third is a reference of the text.] /End ID

[shadow-genesis-yay]

Alright, if any of you Steve Saga fans remember the episode; Visions of Disaster, you'd remember there was a echo-y voice, with a bunch of comments speculating who it was.

For those who speculate that it's Memory, here's my reasoning for it being correct:

TL:DR; With piecing lore together, Memory is the voice as all others with a voice aren't able to achieve it and/or are voiceless or dead.

First: to get rid of the obvious, no it wasn't a warning. It was a threat.

The voice said

-"No where safe" (Spoken through Rainbow)

-"No one can escape it"

-"You cant stop it" (Spoken through Rainbow)

-"You need to be destroyed"(Spoken through Rainbow)

+ more

These don't seem like warnings to me but i dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So, it wasn't a good guy. It was a villain. Like Memory.

Now whether it was Rainbow freaking out or as speculated, getting possessed, I don't know. But with how sometimes panicking works, sometimes people repeat what happend.

Second: No voices matched up, even if voice changers were used.

The voices all have distinct and unique indicators, even with voice changers. We knew Hypno was voiced by Sabre, Origin, Galaxy and the Overseer voiced by Tewtiy, etc.

(sure we have illusion who people disagree on the voices, but thats different)

-future/past/present known voices didn't match up with those we heard

It wasn't a future voice, as Void's didn't match up with the one Sabre heard. Void's is deep, slightly echo-y but not by a lot, and sometimes has inaudible tendencies. The one we heard was crystal clear, more pitched, and more echo-y. It also wasn't Origin (no surprise.) He didn't interfere, and was voiced by Tewtiy.

It wasn't a past voice, as the only characters who would of most likely been able to pull the visions, was dead/at an unknown location at the time.

And it wasn't a present one as, well, come on you knew Rainbow and Galaxy couldn't do that. Plus Rain was freaking out about it more.

Third: Process of elimination of voices (Sorry if I forgot any)

Characters mentioned + explanations:

-Time Steve

I love Time, but he wasn't the one talking. He's canonically mute/voiceless, and uses chat. The first one Sabre met actually who used chat. If he did most likely have a voice though and prefers keeping it hidden or such, it would be more similar to Elementals. Especially with the British accent. They're twins similar to Positive and Negative, how would they not have slight similarities.

-Void Steve himself

I won't put it past Void to pull something like this, but his canon voice doesn't match the one Sabre heard. Void has a voice, and would most likely have a minion (Memory) threaten others before he did. Void was the mastermind, with Memory just being the puppet he worked through plan wise before getting reveled when Memory was killed. Sure this would technecally make Void the one who said it, with Memory repeating it, but Void more worked behind the scenes in terms of coming up with a plan to stop Sabre from helping Galaxy and such.

-Elemental Steve (for some reason)

I'd like to believe this, but no. Elemental was dead before this happend, and lost his voice to Galaxy at the same time Rainbow's changed. So no, it wasn't him.

-Nightmare Steve

I don't even know, but no. It wasn't him for once LOL. Bro finally took a vacation or something. Most likely working on unmerging himself as we see in a future video.

-Rainbow Steve (somehow as well)

Someone saying it's through his memories, but no, it's not. Rainbow didn't even know about Void, and the voice was talking about him.

We've also seen other mute characters suddenly talk. Faceless' voice is raspy and can blend with whosevers voice he stole, if any. Sure we may not fully know his voice, but we know part of it. It's raspy. Kind of reminds me of Pseudo from the 2015 version of Transformers: Robots in Disguise. They'd be great friends lol.

While I probably missed some, I'm not gonna scroll through a bunch of comments LOL. Especially since they're mostly repeating the same characters or wanting new steves introduced.

Anyways, by process of elimination, and piecing the lore together, I can say, it's Memory. He's just mostly quiet, and prefers to speak when he feels its right. Not shy, I guess. Just doesn't believe it's worth talking unless it's to Void.

Thanks for reading this long ramble <3

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖Shortstop Wishes, Third Base Dreams

A Commander's Omega universe story

This was last year's Christmas fic for the C.O. 'verse. Takes place about a year before "Merry & Bright"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, a/b/o, mpreg, omega Bucky, alpha Steve, holiday fic, kid fic, domestic fluff, anal sex

Summary: Two years after Steve and Bucky move their family to New England for Bucky's graduate studies, the Barnes clan comes to visit for the Christmas holidays, and it's typical and wonderful.

Steve blinks his eyes open in the early morning. A quick glance over to the bedside clock shows that it’s seven A.M. Between the cracks of the still-drawn shades, a faint morning glow is bleeding in. He blinks sleepily, then yawns and stretches. It’s the stretch that makes him notice that he’s alone in the bed. Bucky’s body isn’t there when he splays out his limbs, and there’s no warm spot to indicate he’s just gotten up to use the bathroom. Steve hums and fingers the crust from his eyes.

In the kitchen, Steve finds him by the sink in just his pajama pants, fiddling with something on the countertop. Steve can’t see what it is, but he gets one look at the duct tape, string, and the as-of-yet still unposed G.I. Joe, and frowns heavily at his husband’s back. “Bucky, NO.”

Bucky cackles without turning around. “Bucky, YES.”

Steve walks closer, grabbing Bucky’s hips and pulling him back against him. He nips Bucky’s neck, right over his bond scar, and rumbles in his ear, “Listen to your Alpha.” Bucky groans. “No waterboarding Elfie.” Steve kisses over where he’d nipped. “That’s an order.”

Bucky grumbles but he does drop a half-tied and taped-up Elfie down onto the countertop. “No fair, using your Voice on stupid shit like that,” he complains, though it’s weak.

Steve has already stepped away to turn on the coffee machine. “Language,” he chides. “And not traumatizing our children with enhanced interrogation isn’t stupid.”

“Hmph.” Bucky walks over to the pantry and pulls out the container of sprinkles that’d been Steve’s idea instead. “Sarah would’ve laughed.”

“You’ve got her way too desensitized for a four-year-old,” Steve agrees, as he gets a coffee mug and sets it in place. A quick glance out the window shows a fresh dusting on the neighborhood street. “It snowed,” he says.

“Mm.” Bucky is dumping rainbow sprinkles out onto the countertop and arranging Elfie like he’s been making snow angels in them. “There,” he says when he’s got it done.

“Just in time,” Steve mumbles into the steam of his coffee, as doors upstairs can be heard opening, and then little footsteps down the stairs. In a short moment, Becca’s sleepy face comes around the corner into the kitchen. “Hey Cupcake,” Steve greets.

“M’orning,” she says, rubbing her eyes sleepily, that is until she spots Elfie. “Oh!” She hurries over to look at it and shrieks in delight. “Look Papa!”

Steve laughs and goes over to let her show him what she’s discovered, while Bucky just smiles and rolls his eyes, and goes to grab Becca and Sarah’s favorite cereals from the pantry. Steve is the one who gets super-into Christmas with the girls. Bucky gets into it, a little. He was raised Jewish but, well, it was more like Judaism-light, and his dad had always appreciated a nicely-decorated Christmas tree. The holidays that they celebrate at the Rogers-Barnes household aren’t exactly the religious sort. Both Bucky and Steve are kind of put-off from religiosity these days; a lingering side-effect from their years in Gilead. Santa and stockings and pretty lights and (non-waterboarded) elves are about the extent of their celebrations, which is fine.

It certainly suits the girls. Bucky preemptively pours the cereal as Sarah trails into the kitchen and takes everything in. Bucky doesn’t fail to notice how she spots the discarded GI Joe, then shoots him a knowing look. Bucky bites his lip and waits to see what she’ll do, but she just listens to Becca’s excitement and gets into the spirit of things without saying a word. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. He’s had a sneaking suspicion about Sarah’s belief this holiday season, but she hasn’t said anything yet and Bucky honestly doesn’t think he can break it to Steve.

By the counter, the girls and Steve are looking at Elfie and eating some of the sprinkles, and Bucky’s heart warms at the sight of how fucking wonderful his life has gotten. He’s got a gorgeous, kind husband who loves him and supports his ambitions, and who just wants to make their two adorable daughters smile and laugh and not adopt horrible Boston accents. Fuck, Bucky thinks. He is so fucking happy. His thoughts veer off then as he thinks of what else they might—probably definitely—have to be happy about. He glances down to his stomach and fights not to let his hand drift there. Steve and he haven’t been trying, per say, but with Bucky’s graduate studies coming to a close, birth control just hasn’t been the priority it once was. Bucky had forgotten to pick up his pill pack the week of midterms. That’d been two months ago, and once Bucky had noticed the symptoms and gotten his ass in gear to take a test, well… by then the holidays had been in full-swing and honestly? Bucky just wasn’t as horrified by a double pink line as he might once have been.

Steve’s the one who wants a baker’s dozen. Bucky hasn’t told him that he’s kind of coming around to the idea…

“Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes snap up, wide. “What?”

Steve is smiling, Sarah hoisted up on his hip and Becca pulling at his leg to get picked up too. “You gonna come with us to the mall today?” he asks.

Bucky huffs but nods, making the girls cheer and Becca start up a chant of ‘Santa, Santa!’ Steve’s been wanting to get the girls’ photo taken on the lap of the mall Santa, Bucky knows. He doesn’t understand though. Mall Santas are just gross. He huffs again and pushes the girls towards the breakfast bar. “Eat,” he tells them, shooting Steve an exasperated look.

“Don’t look at me like that. This is family time. It’ll be fun.” Bucky makes a noise that says he seriously doubts that, but he heads off to go get dressed anyway. Steve calls out, “Wear your ugly Christmas sweater!” Bucky gives him the finger over his shoulder without looking back.

Bucky does wind up putting his ugly sweater on, but only because he loves Steve and he really kind of wants to see Steve in his, too. So the two of them look like a couple of matching weirdos and Sarah and Becca are, in Bucky’s opinion, adorable in their Christmas dresses. Steve had told them they could get dressed up fancy for their picture with Santa. Becca’s got her patent leather “clacky” shoes on, and Sarah’s wearing her white sparkly cowgirl boots.

They take Bucky’s jeep because it has four-wheel drive and the streets are an icy mess after last night’s snow. The mall is just as awful as Bucky knew it would be. Parking alone is a nightmare, and once they get in through the doors, Bucky is gripping Steve’s hand tightly. “This is insane,” he mumbles.

Steve just laughs through his wince (Bucky’s gripping him with his metal hand) and teases, “Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“I left it in the car.”

He leans over and pecks a kiss to Bucky’s hair. “Don’t you want to get your picture taken with Santa?” he jokes.

“Baby, the only man whose lap I want to sit on is yours.” He says it mildly enough, but Steve still squawks like he’s shouted at the top of his lungs that Santa isn’t real.

“Bucky!”

Bucky cackles and steps out of reach of Steve’s swipe. “What? It’s true.” He glances up to where the girls are looking around at all of the mall displays with excitement. “They’re not even listening.”

There is a blush that’s rapidly making its way past the neckline of Steve’s ugly sweater, and it is glorious. “Still…”

They round the corner, and the mall’s central atrium comes into view.

“Santa!”

Bucky’s mouth may gape a little at the size of the line. “Fuck, no,” he says. “Steve, NO.”

“PapaPapaPapa!” Four little hands are tugging and tugging at Steve’s sleeve. “Come on!”

Steve shoots an apologetic look to Bucky that tells Bucky he really doesn’t mind. “How long do you think?” he asks. “Hour and a half?”

“Three,” Bucky says, deadpan. “Maybe more.”

Even Steve looks a little sick at that, but he quickly puts on a brave face. “We can do it.”

“Stevie…” Bucky looks at the line again. He can’t even see the beginning of it. It’s a mass of humanity the likes of which he hasn’t seen anything close to since they moved from New York. “I didn’t know there were this many people in Massachusetts,” he says.

“It is two days before Christmas,” Steve says.

“Yeah.”

“Here,” Steve says, and he’s reaching out to hand Bucky his wallet. “There’re like six gift cards in there. Go and find a few more presents for your family.”

Bucky’s heart leaps. He looks up from the wallet to Steve’s face. “Really?”

Steve smiles and Bucky falls in love with him all over again. Steve is sacrificing himself, for Bucky. His hero. “Yeah,” Steve says. “We all know you’re a grinch anyway. Santa won’t want to see you.”

“Yeah,” Becca chirps up. “Santa won’t like you, Daddy.”

Bucky snorts. He looks at Steve again and checks, “You sure?”

“Go on. I’ve got this.”

Bucky fishes out the gift cards, sees that they’re all for places like The Gap and Old Navy, and stuffs them in his back pocket. “Thanks babe, you’re the best!” He doesn’t even glance back as he heads off. Shopping for women’s clothing has never sounded so appealing.

—

Bucky winds up finding something for each of his sisters, something for his mother and even something that he thinks might be a suitable gift for Trudy’s husband. He juggles the bags as he makes his way towards the food court where Steve had texted they’d be. He’s thinking about what a full house it’s going to be once his family arrives, mentally trying to piece together what weird sleeping situation shuffle they’re going to do to make nine people fit into their three bedroom house, when Steve and the girls come into sight, and Bucky instantly knows something is wrong. Steve is sitting at one of the food court’s tables looking like his metaphorical puppy has died. Sarah and Becca are in the playplace nearby. Bucky winces at the sight of their bare hands and feet scampering around the foam and plastic enclosure. “You bring any Lysol?” he asks Steve as he comes into earshot, dumps his bags and takes a seat across from him.

Steve gives a half-hearted smile. He’s fiddling with a candy cane pencil and piece of red and green stationary. “Writing my letter to Santa,” he says.

Bucky grabs one of the girls’ abandoned nuggets from their lunches and pops it into his mouth. “You don’t have much of a list going there,” he comments. He points to the paper that’s got Becca’s messy scrawl on it. “Becs knows what she wants.” Steve’s lips twitch up, but it is so damn sad, and Bucky frowns at his husband. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

Steve shrugs. “Sarah told me she knows Santa Claus isn’t real.” His voice is so small as he says it, and Bucky’s heart sinks.

“Oh, babe…”

“I thought it was just the mall Santa at first, you know?”

Bucky snorts. “I mean did you see him? This one was pretty bad.”

“I reminded her how they’re just Santa’s helpers,” Steve says. “But she got this firm little look on her face, yanked on my hand and told me to ‘just stop it’.” He looks up at Bucky, looking heartbroken. “It was like she was angry, but sad too.”

“She probably was,” Bucky says helplessly.

“I made her promise not to tell Becca.”

“That’s good.”

Steve thunks his head down into his hands. “I can’t believe this Buck. She’s only four years old. Four!” He sounds horrified as he says it. “It’s too young. She’s just too young.”

“Jesus Steve, she’s lost her belief in Santa, not her virginity.” That’s definitely not the right thing to say, as when Steve picks his head back up it’s to shoot him the dirtiest glare he’s ever gotten. “Sorry, sorry,” Bucky immediately apologizes. “But you’re acting like this is the end of the world.” Bucky gestures over to where the girls are playing in the most likely MRSA-contaminated playplace. “She promised she wouldn’t tell Becs, so what’s the big deal?”

Steve sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted a few more years of magic for her. Four is too young.” He glares at Bucky again, as if daring him to disagree. When he doesn’t say a word Steve adds, “Some kid at school told her. Can you believe that?”

Honestly, Bucky kind of can, but he’s just struck by how murderous Steve looks while he’s saying it, as if he’d like to waterboard Sarah’s entire preschool class to find the culprit. It makes him laugh. At Steve’s incensed reaction Bucky just soothes, “Hey, hey. I know you’re disappointed, but she doesn’t seem upset now, does she?”

Steve shakes his head reluctantly. “No. Once I admitted she was right, she seemed relieved.”

“Well there you go,” Bucky says. “She’s fine. And you’ve still got Becca.” Becca’s older than Sarah, almost six now, but she’s developmentally delayed and even if she weren’t, both Bucky and his husband know her personality is more conducive to believing in the magic. “You’ll have her for years,” he says. Steve makes some grumpy sound, scribbling dejectedly on the Letter to Santa paper that was supposed to be Sarah’s. It makes Bucky sad, so he gets up and rounds the table to sit next to Steve. Gently, he takes the pencil from his fingers. “Mind if I write a letter to the fat man?” he asks. Steve gives him a wry look but he lets Bucky take the paper. He wraps his arm around him. “There you go,” Bucky says. “No more moping, now.”

“Sorry.”

“Mm.” Bucky nuzzles his face into Steve’s neck and enjoys the way that Steve’s scent lightens. “How old were you when you stopped believing?” he asks him.

“…Twelve.”

Bucky busts out laughing, unable to feel bad about his reaction even when Steve scowls and pinches him. “Aw,” he says when he’s calming down and only chuckling a little. “Babe, you’re so cute.”

“Ugh.”

Bucky kisses his cheek in apology. “Wanna know how long I believed?”

“You’re a Jewish grinch,” he says grumpily. “Never, I’m sure.”

“Oh I believed,” Bucky tells him. “Till I was like, five or six I think. Then Clair let it slip that Dad was Santa and that was that.”

Steve scowls. “Well at least you made it to five. Sarah’s four.” He nods to some stranger’s toddler who’s playing in the playplace as well. “He’s three. He probably just figured it out.”

Bucky snorts and hugs his husband. “You’re such a baby,” he teases.

“Hmph.”

Bucky kisses him, once, twice, until Steve kisses back. Bucky pulls back and looks him in the eye. “No hope for future generations, then?” he asks fondly.

“Definitely not. Babies probably come out of the womb not believing, now.”

Bucky is half-contemplating leaning in to whisper something witty in Steve’s ear about that, but his phone goes off and he’s interrupted. He takes the call and smiles as he greets, “Hey Mom, you guys still leaving today or you gonna push it to tomorrow with this weather?”

The next day is Christmas Eve. Steve spends the day doing Christmassy-things with the girls (and trying, in Bucky’s opinion, to be a very good sport about Sarah’s newly-revealed non-belief). They make cookies for Santa and wrap up the things Bucky had bought for his family at the mall. Steve does some sort of art project with them at the kitchen table that results in a lot of stray glitter and a few very ugly Christmas ornaments.

“Looks great, sweetie!” Bucky praises, as he struggles to successfully remove the turkey he’s made from the oven, without burning himself. It’s a near thing, and he scowls back at Steve once he’s straightened up. “Little help here?” he snaps. “I’ve got about twelve things cooking here!” Bucky’s entered full-bitch cooking mode and Steve takes note and is coming over to apologize and ask what he can do, but then the doorbell rings and the girls are abandoning their ugly ornaments to run screaming towards the front door.

“Grandma!!!”

Steve kisses Bucky on the shell of his ear and tells him he’s sorry for not helping and “don’t be grumpy.” He pulls Bucky’s oven mitts off and smacks him on the butt with them to get him walking in the direction of the front door. “Go say hello to your family,” he says. “I’ll take care of this and be there in a sec.”

It’s been snowing again all that day, so when Bucky gets the door open he’s immediately faced with a gust of cold, snowy air and his mother, short and warm and hugging him in that all-encompassing way that only mothers can really do. Winnie envelopes him, her puffy coat scratching his face and her perfume smelling like home. Before he can get a word out she says, “Five and a half hours in a car with your sister, James. Almost six. It’s not okay.”

Bucky laughs and pulls her into the house, not even knowing which sibling she’s talking about. Probably Becca.

For the next ten minutes, the front hall is a flurry of people, coats and gift boxes being shuffled around. Becca and Sarah are loud as they try to drag their grandmother and aunts to see their rooms, toys and latest school projects. Trudy and her husband manage to avoid the tour and settle into the living room, leaving Bucky and Steve a moment alone in the hall. Bucky allows himself to be pulled back against Steve’s chest, who whispers in his ear, “S’nice, isn’t it?”

“Hm?” Bucky asks lazily, letting his eyes close as he leans back. “What?”

“The smell of food, Christmas music on the radio, fire going, too many people.” Steve inhales deeply. “It’s nice.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow where Steve can’t see. “Yeah,” he says, leaning back against him. “It is.” He’s thinking about where Steve’s arms are wrapped around his middle. “You like having a full house, huh?” he asks, feeling warm.

“Yeah. It was always just me and my mom when I was growing up.” Steve squeezes him. “She was great, but I always wanted a bigger family.”

“Hmm.” Bucky wiggles, pleased, in his hold. “You want a baseball team’s-worth?”

“Mm, you know I do,” Steve rumbles, dipping down to kiss behind his ear. “It makes the alone time more special. Speaking of, you think I’ll be able to snag you tonight? Try for our third baseman?”

Bucky laughs. “We’ll see.” He pulls away when the sound of everyone coming back up from the basement gets nearer. He tells Steve to go set the table for dinner, not turning around to issue the order because he’s afraid of giving anything away on his face.

—

“Oh what a beautiful tree,” Winnie says as Steve leads them into the dining room. “Oh and such nice paper ornaments. Becca, Sarah, did you make those?”

“Yes!”

“Well that’s lovely.”

“We made cookies for Santa too! You can have one, if you want,” Becca offers.

Steve goes back and forth between the kitchen and dining room with the dishes that Bucky hands him, Winnie and the others seating themselves at the table. “After dinner you can show Grandma what Elfie got up to last night,” Steve says, placing the container of macaroni onto the table. He glances to Sarah as he says it, and sees how she doesn’t believe it’s real, as Becca squeals about the elf.

“Where’s your menorah set out?” Winnie asks.

Steve freezes. “Oh.” Crap. He looks apologetically at Winnie. “You know, it broke during the move. We haven’t gotten around to replacing it yet.”

Winnie frowns heavily. “Yet?” she says. “You’ve been here for two years.”

“Well…” Steve shrugs apologetically.

“Well Bucky’s traditions just aren’t as important in this household as yours are. But I suppose that’s typical in A-O couples,” Winnie says, and it’s quiet and quick but it’s the meanest thing she’s ever said to Steve and Steve is just left staring at her, flabbergasted. Before he can respond with anything, Bucky’s coming into the room with the turkey on its platter and everyone’s clapping over it, and the moment is over.

Bucky corners Becca in the dark upstairs hallway after dinner, just as she’s coming out of the bathroom. “Christ on a stick Bucky!” she says, lowering her voice to a hiss towards the end. “Warn a girl, fuck.”

Bucky’s lips twitch at her cursing and he wonders how long it’ll take before Steve is calling Becca out on her foul mouth as well. “Sorry,” he says. “Had to get you alone.”

“If you’re planning on asking me why mom is being so weird to Steve, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What?” Bucky frowns. “No. What? Weird to Steve?” He shakes his head and pushes that away. “No, it’s about the thing. The, you know: the thing…”

Suddenly, Becca is smirking. “Yeah. Sure thing, Mommy.” She winks.

Bucky hisses and he grabs her by the arm, yanking her closer to the bathroom door. “SHHH!” he hisses, glaring.

Becca rolls her eyes. “Calm down. Don’t be so hormonal.”

It’s times like these that make Bucky wish he wasn’t a full-grown man, that they were both still a couple of punk kids so he could smack her upside the head. “Did you get it or not?”

Becca goes into the guest bedroom where her suitcase is. She emerges, plastic pharmacy bag in hand. “I don’t get why you need one of these, if you already know you’re—ow!”

“Be quiet!”

“Nobody’s listening!”

Bucky yanks the plastic bag out of her hands and glances down to see the Clearblue box inside. “I told you,” he says, “this is just for show. I threw the other one away. M’not gonna keep a peed-on stick in my house for weeks. Gross.”

“Sure, whatever. Good luck in there,” she says, giving him a salute. “We’re all counting on you to save the human race, you know.”

Bucky just shoos her away, shuts himself up in the upstairs bathroom, and proceeds to take a pregnancy test that he already knows will turn up positive.

“So does that mean you’re moving back to New York next year?”

“What? But there are so many opportunities for Bucky here,” Winnie says. “Why would they move?”

Steve is sitting on the couch across from Trudy, her husband—Dennis, and Winnie. Clair is on the floor letting Becca and Sarah tell her how to correctly play with their Frozen dolls, and Steve has no idea where Bucky or Becca Sr. have disappeared to. It’s Dennis who’s asked him the question. “Um,” he hedges, trying hard to ignore the weird way that Winnie’s been staring at him off and on since dinner. “Well yeah. We’ve always thought we’d go back eventually. You guys live there.”

“Bucky’s school is here,” Winnie says pointedly.

“…Yeah, and he’ll be graduating soon. And I’m going to start back with Shield. They’re headquartered in Manhattan.”

“So you expect him to just drop everything and move back for your job?” Winnie says. “You haven’t worked in years and suddenly he’s got to go back to being your housewife?”

“What?” Steve frowns heavily. “I didn’t say anything about that. If Bucky wants to work, he can work.”

“‘If’?”

“Yeah, if. We haven’t discussed it in so much detail yet. We’ll do what’s right for our family.”

Winnie gets all tight-lipped and doesn’t say anything after that, and Steve feels very uncomfortable and confused. He wonders if this is what having a mother in law usually feels like. Winnifred Barnes has always been very accepting of his and Bucky’s relationship, so he’s not exactly sure why she’s acting so off. “…Does anybody want some eggnog? I think Bucky made some.”

“Oh he did that too, hm?” Winnie says, and Steve turns to look at her. “But he did all the cooking too, didn’t he?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Hm.”

She doesn’t say anything more and Steve is left to confusedly shuffle into the kitchen and get the eggnog out of the fridge. That’s when Bucky appears. “Hey,” Steve says, pecking him on the cheek. Bucky tries to make the kiss last longer but Steve pulls away. “Your mom’s being weird,” he tells him.

“Weird?”

“Yeah. I dunno. She seems mad or something.”

“Or something,” Becca says as she walks into the room and takes the pitcher from Steve. She proceeds to pour herself a glass. When she’s sipped it and is peering over the rim at them, she tells Bucky, “She read your book.”

“…Oh.”

“Fuck.”

Becca hums into her cup and turns for the living room. “Yeah. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

When Steve and Bucky are alone again they stare at each other, dreadful. “I thought you said she wasn’t going to read it?” Steve says, and it’s like he’s accusing Bucky. “You said you told her not to.”

“I said I’d prefer it if she didn’t,” Bucky corrects. “I told her it had awkward stuff in it she wouldn’t want to read.”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, awkward, sure. Stuff like rape and torture. Me owning you.” He hisses it, but it still sounds loud and Bucky winces as he shushes him.

“It was an exposé, Steve. It was supposed to, you know, expose stuff. The book made it clear that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why has your mom been staring at me like I’m a commander all evening?”

“She has not.”

“Yeah?” Steve picks up the pitcher of eggnog and gestures for Bucky to grab the tray of glasses. “Well come on and see.”

In the living room they all sit together and chat over the background noise of one holiday movie, then another, the girls playing with at least one of Bucky’s sisters at all times. Winnie is still distant but she tones it down with Bucky in the room, which unnerves Steve. Bucky cuddles against him reassuringly and refills his eggnog cup whenever he wants, not exactly oblivious to the looks his mother shoots him whenever he does.

“Okay! I think it’s about time for bed,” Steve says, standing up and looking at the girls, who are quick to whine in protest. “None of that,” he says. “Santa won’t come if you aren’t asleep.”

“Santa doesn’t care if you’re awake,” Sarah points out, a clear look aimed at Steve.

Steve gulps, not knowing what to say.

“That’s cause we’re grownups,” Bucky says. “Now go on and head upstairs. Auntie Becca is going to help you get ready for bed.”

“Is she sleeping in our room?” Becca asks.

“Yep.”

“Yay!” Becca hurries and grabs her aunt’s hand and pulls her from the room, toward the stairs. Sarah follows after a beat and Steve watches as Bucky follows close behind.

Steve goes to the edge of the room and peeks around the doorway. Becca’s feet are disappearing at the top of the stairs but Bucky has pulled Sarah aside at the bottom landing. “Hey Pumpkin, hang on a sec,” he’s saying quietly. Sarah turns in his arms and Steve bites his lip as he watches his husband give their daughter a talk about not believing in Santa anymore. “I know it’s sad, cause it doesn’t seem magical anymore, right?” he’s saying. Sarah nods her little head and Bucky gives her a hug. When he pulls back he says, “But see that’s not true. It gets more magical once you know, because then you get to be a part of it. You get to be one of Santa’s helpers.” He makes finger quotes around the words, which makes Sarah giggle. Steve smiles and leans his cheek against the doorframe as he continues to watch. Bucky’s petting Sarah’s face. “You want to be a helper, don’t you?”

“Like the mall Santas?”

“Yeah.”

“But Daddy, you always say they’re gross and perferts.”

Steve tries to keep his laughter silent as Bucky corrects, “It’s perverts, sweetie, and um, well you’ll definitely be a much better helper than them. Do you want to help make Elfie do something extra silly for Christmas morning?”

Sarah’s eyes get about as wide as saucers and she nods rapidly. “Yes, yes!”

Bucky laughs and gives her a hug. “Okay sweetie. Come on, let’s get you up to bed and we can brainstorm while Aunt Becca distracts Becs, okay?”

“Okay!”

Steve watches Bucky take their daughter upstairs with a smile. When he turns back around to face the family room, he’s taken aback by how close Winnie is standing to him. She’s got a frown set into her features. “That girl is four years old, Steven,” she says.

Steve frowns. “I’m aware, Winnifred.”

“How does she know Santa isn’t real?” Winnie says. “Did you tell her?”

“What?!” Steve scowls, he can’t help it. “Of course not! I’m the biggest Christmas nut there is. She figured it out on her own.”

Winnie ‘hmphs’ and crosses her arms, and Clair, who’s finished putting away all of the girls’ toys, tells her to chill. “You’re looking for a fight, mom.”

“I am not!”

Steve huffs and goes to refill his eggnog glass. For once, he’s finally seeing why people might want to get boozy over the holidays. “If you don’t tell me what you want to say right now, Winnie,” Steve warns, “Then I’m bringing it up when Bucky’s in the room.”

Winnie gets stiff and she looks over at Steve, taken aback. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Well I never.”

“Ugh,” Trudy huffs, and she’s throwing her hand up in the air as she reveals, “She’s been in a bad mood ever since she read Bucky’s book on the ride up here.”

“Trudy,” Winnie hisses, but when she looks back to Steve it’s with a tad bit less haughtiness. “Well it was a long drive.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Steve asks, though he can already guess. The book had made it clear Steve helped Bucky, but it hadn’t gone into detail about Steve’s specific role in the regime. A lot of room was left for speculation.

“He went through so much,” Winnie says, looking dejected. “I didn’t know it was… how bad it really was. Everyone treated him so horribly!”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “So you suddenly have a problem with me? Winnie, you’ve always been supportive of us. You know I love Bucky. You know I’d never do anything to hurt him.”

Winnie purses her lips and looks down. “I… well I’d never gotten that clear of a picture of it all from him, Steven,” she says. “That book just had so many…” she sighs. “So many awful details.”

“That’s why he told you not to read it, mom,” Trudy says, exasperated. “Did you think it was going to be all sunshine and rainbows?”

“No Trudy. I just think that Steven should have—”

“Look,” Steve says, and he’s stepped forward to place his hand on Winnie’s shoulder. She’s taken aback, but she doesn’t tense or pull away when Steve makes it clear he’s going to bring her in for a hug. They hug, and she’s tiny in his arms. Steve thinks that Bucky’s dad must’ve been a big guy, because he certainly doesn’t get his size from his mother. “I have never, and I will never, hurt him,” Steve says firmly. “He’s my whole world. Don’t ever think I won’t treat him right.”

When Winnie pulls back she sniffles and nods. “Oh Steven, I’m sorry. I was terse with you.”

“You were.”

She shakes her head. “I suppose I took it out on you. I’m sorry that’s just not like me.”

Trudy snorts but doesn’t say anything.

“S’fine,” Steve says. “If you need to ask me, or him, anything about it, you know we’ll talk to you.”

Winnie gives a wince, which Steve doesn’t know whether he should take personally or not, but before he can decide she’s shaking her head. “No no. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Steve’s lips part to say something but then Bucky’s coming back into the room. “Becca’s going to make sure they stay put for the rest of the night,” he announces cheerfully. “So we can get this party started!” Winnie smiles a little and goes off to plant herself on the couch next to Dennis, and Steve accepts the hug Bucky gives him. “Everything good down here?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I saw you give Sarah that little pep talk out there. For someone who’s such a scrooge, that was quite the Hallmark moment.”

Bucky blushes and scrubs his face into Steve’s shoulder. “Steeeve,”

“Naw babe.” Steve kisses him on top of his head and gives him a squeeze. “You are the sweetest, most perfect father on the planet, you know that?”

Bucky lifts his head and hums. His eyes are full of delight, despite the embarrassed pinch of his mouth. “Husband too?”

Steve smiles and kisses him, this time with a tad bit of tongue because he knows that’ll make Bucky squeak with his mother right there in the room. “Husband too,” he purrs into Bucky’s ear when he pulls back. He puts his hand on the small of Bucky’s back and guides him to sit on the couch.

They turn up the music a few notches and everyone gets another glass of eggnog, then Bucky puts Steve’s Santa hat on him and announces that “It’s present-wrapping time!”

“I’m like Steve,” Becca says from her spot on the floor. “I stayed the course. Till I was… what mom: fourteen?”

Bucky scoffs and Winnie has to finish swallowing her sip of eggnog before she can giggle and correct, “Not quite, dear. I think that last year you were just holding on for the sake of it.”

Becca shrugs and looks back to Steve. “Thirteen, then.”

Bucky claps Steve on the shoulder as he passes with yet another just-wrapped present. “See sweetie, you’re not the only weird one.”

Becca tries to pinch Bucky’s calf, but she’s drunk like everyone else and she just winds up tipping over with a giggle. “Oops!”

Everyone laughs, and then when Steve, Bucky and Clair each take another present to wrap up, Winnie says, “I remember when Clair first knew. She came home from school, crying. You remember that honey?”

Clair smiles softly. “Yeah.”

Winnie nods. “She was nine. I was glad to have gotten her that far, I suppose.”

Next to Bucky, Steve sighs, and when Bucky looks over he sees that Steve’s dipped his head, the ball on his Santa hat fallen forward dejectedly. Bucky leans over and bumps their shoulders together. “Hey. Don’t be sad,” he says. “She was really happy once I framed it from the Santa’s helper point of view.”

“Studies are actually showing that kids are believing less and less now,” Dennis says. He’s sitting on the couch with Winnie, more focused on the chex mix and drinks than the present wrapping that Bucky’s sisters are helping with. “I read an article about it. Kids are like, way more likely to stop believing by the first grade. Or something like that.” He shrugs. “What’re ya gonna do?”

“Well Bucky must’ve started that trend,” Trudy drawls. “He’s the worst of them all. I don’t know if he ever really believed in Santa.”

“I did!” Bucky says, faux-indignant.

“Buck, you stopped before I did.”

“Because of Clair’s big mouth!” Bucky huffs and grabs up another present—this one a fairy-garden kit for Becca. He starts wrapping it in some of the blue dreidel paper. “Besides,” he says, looking pointedly over at Steve in his dorky sweater and Santa hat, “Santa’s gotten a lot hotter looking than I remember from when we were kids.”

“Ew.”

Becca makes a fake gagging sound and throws a bow at Bucky’s head, missing by a mile.

“What?!” Bucky laughs. “I’m just saying…” he meets Steve’s eyes. “I might start believing again.”

It’s way past midnight by the time everyone has gone to bed, leaving just Bucky and Steve in the living room to clean up. Bucky sighs and stands with the garbage bag of stray ribbon and wrapping paper scraps. Steve hums and gets the bowl of eggnog dregs to pour down the kitchen sink, while Bucky throws the trash away. “You very drunk?” he asks his husband.

“Mm, a little.”

Bucky snorts, then goes back to the living room doorway. “Should we leave the lights on?” he wonders aloud as he’s looking at the tree. Steve comes up to stand at his back.

“Yeah. They’ll be up in a couple of hours anyways. It’ll still be dark. They’ll like it.”

Bucky groans and takes Steve’s hand, pulling him toward the stairs. “Couple hours. Jesus. I can’t wait till Becs figures it out,” he complains. “Then we might actually get a decent night’s sleep.” Steve shushes him and pulls him into their bedroom, telling him he doesn’t mean that. Bucky makes a ‘Psh’ noise and says, “Of course I mean it. I’m the grouchy Jew Grinch, remember?—Ah!”

Steve’s grabbed Bucky from behind, growling playfully and hugging him against his body. Bucky laughs and tries to pull away, but he can’t. Steve just holds him tightly and nips at his neck. “I thought you said you were going to believe again?” he says. “Something about a hot Santa?”

Bucky stills, remembering. “Hm, yeah.” He twists in Steve’s arms until they’re face to face, and he smiles at the picture Steve paints with the fluffy white trim of the Santa’s hat over his blond hair, its puffball dangling to the side. “Yeah,” Bucky says again, this time quietly. “You’re pretty hot. Could be Mr. December on a sexy calendar.”

Steve chuckles and looks at him with dark, turned-on eyes. “I think I’d need a little less clothing for that,” he says.

“Yeah.” Bucky steps back, out of Steve’s reach before Steve can reach him. He pulls his own sweater over his head and lets it land somewhere on the floor. Steve’s scent gets smokier as he watches him undress and he steps forward as if he’ll try and touch him. But Bucky shakes his head and moves away. “Naw. I want to see it, now.”

Steve huffs. “See what?”

“You, naked.” Bucky smirks and grabs up the remote that controls their bedroom’s gas fireplace. He turns it on. “And posed in front of the fire. Mr. December.”

Steve snorts but he does start undressing, willing to indulge Bucky. He gets out of his pants and pulls his sweater off, then removes his socks and underwear too. Bucky watches, eyes hungry, as Steve is bared to him. Once he’s standing there fully naked, Steve steps back to stand in front of their fireplace. “How do you want me?” he asks, smiling and cocksure. Between his legs, he’s hardening a little. Bucky smirks. He pushes the fabric bench from the foot of their bed over to Steve and tells him to sit. Steve does. Bucky gets the small, long gift box that he’s wrapped for Steve and shows it to him. Steve’s face sinks. “Aw babe, you didn’t say we were doing a Christmas Eve gift. I didn’t… I didn’t get—”

“Shh,” Bucky says, smiling at how easy it is to mess with his husband, how goddamn sweet Steve is. “I know that. I just had something special to give you, is all.”

Steve doesn’t look fully-satisfied. He’s kind of pouting as he watches Bucky place it on the end of the bench. Steve’s fingers twitch but he doesn’t reach for it. “I’m not allowed to open it right now?” he asks.

“In a minute.” Bucky goes and picks up the discarded Santa hat and comes to stand in front of Steve. He smiles down at him, feeling the low curl of arousal starting in his belly. “Hey Mister,” he says.

Steve cocks an eyebrow. “Hey.” Bucky brings the hat up and places it firmly on Steve’s head again, fixing the puffball back and to the side just so. “Buuuck,” Steve complains, but Bucky just shushes him by climbing up to straddle him on the bench, one leg and then the other, knees on either side of him and ass in his lap. Steve’s inhale and the surge in his scent let Bucky know he’s shut him up well and good.

He leans in and puts his lips by Steve’s ear. “Hey, Santa.”

“God, Bucky.” This time Steve’s protest sounds less like a complaint and more like a groan. “Really?”

“Yup,” Bucky says. He cups Steve’s jaw with one hand and kisses him, dirty and deep. When they part, he says, “I told you: the only man’s lap I wanted to sit in was yours.”

“You are such a pervert,” Steve says, but his hands are on Bucky’s hips, grabbing him there. "What am I supposed to do? Ask if you've been naughty or nice?"

Bucky smiles. “Come on Stevie, we both know the answer to that.” Steve rolls his eyes, and then they tick to the side where the gift box is sitting, and Bucky grins. “You want your present now?”

“I want you.”

Bucky hums and gives him another kiss. “Good answer,” he says against his lips. Then, “Do you remember what we were talking about, earlier? When my family got here?” Steve just blinks at him stupidly, clearly not remembering, so Bucky leans in and licks the shell of his ear and whispers, “You were pretty eager to know if you’d have the chance to get a hold of me tonight.” Bucky smirks at the way that Steve’s breath hitches near-imperceptibly, the way his fingers tighten where they’re holding him. He hums a pleased sound against Steve’s skin. “Mm, yeah. You remembering now?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah a little.”

“That baseball team you mentioned?” Bucky says, and he pulls back enough so that he can see the way that makes Steve’s eyes darken even further.

“…Yeah,” he’s saying, tone sly and scent strong. One of his hands slides down from Bucky’s hip and his fingers dip into the cleft of his ass, touching the slick there. “What?” Steve says. “You like that? Like thinking about making another baby?”

“Mmhm.”

“You’re all wet, honey.”

Bucky sighs and rubs forward against Steve, just once, because he can’t not when his husband goes and says stuff like that. “Yeah,” he says. “Think I want to give you your present.”

Steve chuckles. “It can wait.”

“No.” Bucky reaches out and grabs the box and hands it to Steve. “Open it,” he says.

Steve looks mildly surprised by Bucky’s insistence but he doesn’t protest. He takes it and pulls the ribbon, then lifts the lid off and sets it aside. When he looks down, it’s to see a piece of paper. It’s the Letter to Santa stationary from the mall, all folded up and with one word written across it in black sharpie: Shortstop. Steve looks confused. “What—” Bucky pulls the piece of paper out and reveals what’s sitting beneath. A pregnancy test with two pink stripes. Steve’s breath catches much more audibly this time. “Oh, Buck…”

“Third baseman really has to have a killer arm. Thought we should wait till we had at least five and then hold try-outs or something,” Bucky mutters. “So, shortstop.”

Bucky thinks his joke is kind of funny, so he’s expecting to get some sort of laugh from Steve. All he gets though, is a huge exhale of air in his face and then picked up and tackled to the floor. The next thing Bucky knows, he’s on his back on the carpet in front of the fireplace, being absolutely showered with kisses as Steve tells him, “Oh, baby. Baby. Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my gosh. That’s so. Fuck Bucky. Fuck.” Steve is just babbling, words and half sentences all kissed into his skin as he rubs down against him.

Bucky closes his eyes and lets him, running his flesh and metal hands up and down the planes of Steve’s back. “I take it you’re happy?” he says when he thinks he’s got at least a chance of being heard. Steve’s kissing slows, and then he pulls back and looks down at him. His eyes are huge and shiny, and basically look like the plastic ones on those creepy fuzzball toys Sarah loves. Bucky smiles up at his husband. “Happy?”

Steve huffs. “Yes. God, Bucky.” He buries his face in Bucky’s neck, rubbing and licking and scraping his teeth over his bond scar. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

Bucky pets his fingers through Steve’s hair, half-knocking the Santa hat off him. “I know,” he says. Suddenly, there are tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. He laughs breathily because that’s ridiculous. “I know,” he repeats. Steve pulls back up and looks down at him. “I took a test weeks ago,” Bucky says. “Cause I felt off.”

“You want this?” Steve asks. “I don’t want to pressure you if—”

“I want it,” Bucky interrupts. “I know we weren’t planning it but, yeah I do. I want to have this baby with you, Steve.”

Steve’s face crumples in emotion and desire all over again, and he surges down to kiss Bucky hotly. “God baby, can I have you? Let me have you.”

It’s ridiculous how much Bucky wants to groan just from that one statement from Steve. He can already tell from the way Steve is scenting, from the way his heavy, gentle body is pressing Bucky down against the rug, that this is going to be one of those nights where Steve gives and Bucky takes. Not just in a physical way, either. Spiritually, emotionally, whatever. Bucky can just tell that he’s in for it tonight. “Gonna make you feel so good baby,” Steve is saying, not pulling away as he starts trailing down his body, mouth and hands roaming. “Gonna fuck you. Gonna make you come.”

Bucky smiles at the ceiling, rolling his head against the soft material of the rug as Steve kisses his way down his body. “Mm,” he says. “That sounds nice.”

“Fuck Bucky. Can’t believe you’re actually pregnant. Fuck.”

Steve sounds devastated, and he only curses this much when he's really turned on, so it’s music to Bucky’s ears. His alpha is getting off on this, is aroused just by the knowledge that he’s knocked Bucky up. Bucky’s pregnant with Steve’s pup and it’s got Steve hot, hard and growling, sinking down Bucky’s body to give him pleasure and to show his dominance. Bucky shivers at the thought, squeezing his eyes closed as Steve’s big palms push his thighs apart roughly. His own cock is hard against his inner thigh, his hole leaking slick that he’s sure Steve can smell.

“Look at you,” Steve murmurs, and it’s like he’s not even saying it for Bucky to hear. He’s staring at Bucky’s stomach, stroking over it, staring at his cock and lower, down between his legs where he’s wet. “God, love your sweet body.” Before Bucky can formulate any response, Steve is sinking down, taking Bucky’s cock into the wet heat of his mouth and rubbing his fingers across his leaking hole. Bucky gasps and moans into the air.

“Oh, fuck Steve.” His eyes snap shut and he grabs at Steve’s head, clumsy hands finally knocking the hat all the way off. “Oh, baby. Yeah like that. Mm.” He pants as Steve sucks him, rocking his hips down against the fingers at his entrance. He wants them so bad but can’t think of how to say it. “Steeve,” he whines, fingers gripping Steve’s hair tighter.

Steve grunts and pulls away. He comes back up Bucky’s body but he keeps the hand between his legs, fingers poised over his entrance, petting and playing in the slick. “What?” he asks, slightly out of breath from sucking Bucky off. He gives him a soft, messy kiss, eyes dark in the light of the fire. “What do you need baby?” “In me,” Bucky says, impatient. “Fuck me, please.”

Steve growls and lays heavier atop him, covering him and staring down at him. Below, his finger presses in. He watches Bucky’s face as he penetrates him, lips curling at the sight. “Like that?” he breathes. He pumps his finger once, twice, making Bucky shudder. “S’it feel good, baby?”

“Oh, yeah.” Bucky nods, suddenly, desperately aroused and just needing Steve to take him. He rolls his hips down against Steve’s hand.

“Hm, yeah,” Steve says. “I can feel it baby. So swollen up.” He moves his finger somehow, adds another, and then they’re pressing hard on Bucky’s swollen slick glands and Bucky cries out, pain and relief and pleasure all hitting him at once.

“Oh! Oh fuuck.”

“Shh, shh. I know,” Steve says, soothing, even though there’s no way he could know.

Bucky peeks his eyes open at him. “‘You know’” he says wryly, breath still a little shuddery from that last touch. “Really? You know what that felt like?”

Steve shushes him and nips at his neck, and pumps his fingers in again, hard, curling them against Bucky’s prostate. Bucky groans like he’s been punched and Steve’s snicker is a deep, possessive thing against Bucky’s ear as he says, “Yeah, I do. You think I don’t know how you get when you’ve skipped your heats for months on end? When you finally stop the suppressants?” Bucky whimpers and Steve thrusts his fingers rhythmically, adds another. “You’re wound up so tight baby. I have to fight your body to let me in but once it does? God, once it does you’re dripping buckets. Just like now.” He gives Bucky a barrage of thrusts with the three fingers he’s got in him, the wet, squelching sounds of it loud and obscene. “Yeah. That. Right there.”

Bucky can’t take it. Steve’s stupid alpha talk is going straight to his dick and he’s just going to fall apart if he doesn’t give him more soon. “Stevie,” he says, searching. “Alpha, please. In me.”

Steve softens and exhales at the request. “Fuck, babe. Yes. Anything. You can have anything you want.”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s fingers leave his body, but Bucky doesn’t whine because he knows he won’t be denied. He just tilts his hips up further and waits as Steve shifts, then the feeling of Steve’s cock, heavy and hot and right, is between his cheeks, sliding through his slick and pressing into him. Bucky cries out into the space between them, coming from that first, slow slide of penetration.

It’s beautiful; slow like syrup and cresting longer and higher than Bucky is used to for a first orgasm. He shudders through it, eyes clenched shut, and clings onto Steve even once it’s over. He peeks his eyes open and sees right away that Steve’s not unaffected. “God Bucky,” he astounds, sounding almost reverent. “I love that. Love watching you come. So perfect for me.”

Bucky hums. “How many you gonna get out of me tonight?” he asks, breathless and hushed.

Steve laughs and comes down to kiss him. “Who knows?” he says, though the look in his eyes promises Bucky at least four. Bucky groans at the thought and yanks his head back in for more. They make out, mouths open and tongues wet between them as Steve starts a smooth, deep pace, rocking into Bucky over and over.

It’s slow but they don’t rush it. Something about the way Steve’s looking down at him and Bucky right back up, something about the night or the snow outside, something about the fire and the fact that it’s Christmas eve, or that Bucky’s pregnant and they’re going to have a whole baseball team of kids not believing in Santa Claus one day,

One or all of those things makes it right.

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