#time steve is a goober

[itzmshadow]

Time steve trying on Sabres hoodie- PLEASE I LOVE COTTAGE DUO and this is defintly how Sabre would react he would be easy to tired to even process what he even walked into-

And Sabre in the looser boy pj fit

[stevebabey]

you thought it would be all sweetness??? nooo u got to have a little miscommunication angst before anyone gets any hickies. but they will. in time >:) part one. part two. this is a part three :)

Steve blames it all on the clock.

That stupid cuckoo clock on the wall of the Munson trailer. It's an absolute horror of interior design that would make Steve’s mom shiver if she ever laid eyes on it. It’s probably why Eddie loves it — and the god-awful cuckoo! noise it makes when it goes off.

Because the moment Eddie utters that delightful question, asking for a hickie, the nerve of him, Steve loves it — and Steve is more than ready to oblige him — the stupid clock goes off.

It gives them both a fright, Steve more than Eddie. He gives a whole-body twitch that shifts them both, his head snapping to the wall, a breath forced out of his lungs at the sight of the mustard-coloured bird. Shit. Stupid fuckin’ clock, Steve thinks.

But it seems to break the trance over the room. The sweet tension of their shared closeness is sucked out of the room in an instant. Steve is suddenly aware of the time the popping out bird is announcing. It’s late. Far later than Steve intended to stay over, especially considering work tomorrow.

Without meaning to, the prickle under Steve’s skin rolls through his body. It steals away the comfort that he usually feels with Eddie, tenseness filling his body. Steve hates it — hates how he can’t stop himself from tensing up beneath Eddie.

Eddie notices. He's quick to to retract himself from Steve, pushing up and back, giving Steve his space. He sits beside Steve on the couch, still close. Not close enough to touch.

It helps. The rigidness of Steve's body relaxes just a bit but Steve doesn’t want that. He wants Eddie back on him. Wants his hands gripping Steve’s side. His breath fanning over Steve’s face, cheeks cherry red and pupils blown wide. Steve doesn’t say any of that and he sure is shit isn't brave enough to ask for it.

Instead, he croaks, “It’s late.”

Steve reluctantly pushes himself up from his slumped position, eyes already searching for his scattered shoes. He misses the way Eddie’s face falls, the way he tries to tug his hair in front of his face to hide the hurt. It takes another second to school his expression.

Steve hears a cough and then Eddie agrees with a murmur. “Yeah, sure.”

The words ache. No part of Steve is relieved to have Eddie agree with him. He’s not sure what he wanted; for Eddie to egg him to stay just a little while longer? To prove that their kisses hadn’t been a heat of the moment impulsivity? There's nothing to prove they weren't.

No, it was Steve who said he had to go. It is late. But then again maybe, Eddie wanted him to leave. But, no— Eddie just asked for a hickie, he wouldn’t—

“Don’t you have work early tomorrow?” Steve’s spiral cuts short at Eddie’s voice, tinged with… irritation?

O-kay. Now Steve’s not sure what to think. What had been the source of immense joy because Steve had asked for a kiss and Eddie said yes is suddenly… tilted.

The beginnings of embarrassment begin to cling to Steve like a thick fog. He’s done it again. Been overly eager. Asked for too much, too soon— fuck, that had been Eddie’s first kiss too.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, standing and shoving his foot into the one shoe he can find. He spies the other one under the table and wiggles it out with his toe. He can’t find in it to look at Eddie, not just yet. “Yeah, uh, I should get going.”

It’s all wrong. Steve shouldn’t be leaving — not on these terms. Not when he can’t look at Eddie for fear of what he’ll find. Regret? Steve’s not sure if he could face Eddie again, not if there’s even a trace of it on his face. It would feel like Halloween all over again, a bludgeon on Steve’s too-soft heart. It’ll crumble, he just knows it.

Steve wants to stay. He really wants to. He wants to ask for another kiss, ask for a dozen more kisses. Wants to give the hickie Eddie asked so nicely for and receive one back; matching love bites, like a gentler version of their matching twisted scars adorning their sides.

But he’s always asking for more. Steve always needs more. It’s greedy. It’s embarrassing how much he wants it, how he’s already gotten patient touches from Eddie but it’s not enough. Eddie had sounded a pinch annoyed — even aggravated at Steve.

It doesn't cross his mind that it might be for any other reason. Really, Steve thinks he’s doing Eddie a favour.

“Um,” Steve clears his throat, takes the wobble out of his words. Nods to himself and chances a glimpse at Eddie. The older is staring down at his lap, locks of hair trapped between twitchy fingers. They should talk about it. Steve’s not brave enough to risk his heart tonight.

“Well, g’night.” He says quietly, letting himself out the trailer door. He closes it behind him gently, shoes tapping against the stairs on the way down. It feels wrong, it feels wrong — but it would be selfish to turn back.

He repeats the sentiment over and over, raspy whispers beneath his breath as he climbs into his car. It would be selfish. The engine turns over and he hesitates for just a moment, hoping to catch a silhouette in the kitchen window. It’s empty. Of course, it’s empty.

Of course, Eddie is not chancing for a glance at him on his way out because Steve just asked for more and more and more, and he took Eddie’s first kiss and then— He whispers it to himself again. It would be selfish to turn back.

When he thinks about it on the drive home, Steve’s sure it all comes back to that stupid fucking clock.

-

Eddie stares in the mirror.

He’s not sure why he was so convinced there would be some radical change in him upon popping his make-out cherry but… well, here he was. Staring in the mirror like he had this morning. Except 10 hours earlier, he had been unkissed.

Tonight, the difference shows. His lips are rosier than usual, a swell to them given by hasty sweet kisses. It’s the only evidence of his spit-sharing moment of passion with Steve on the couch. The rosy colour is already beginning to fade.

Eddie sinks his teeth in. He doesn’t want the only physical proof that he even got to kiss Steve to be gone so soon. Even if that fact seems terribly bitter now.

“What the shit did you do, Munson?” He murmurs to himself in the tiny bathroom mirror.

It’s got toothpaste specks splayed across it. Eddie stares past them. Stares into his own face, reading every change in his features as emotions inside him churn. It’s heading for a distraught expression, the upturn of his brows and quiver in his lips giving him away. He always was a crier. Eddie really wishes he wasn’t.

“Idiot!” He pairs the word with a bang on the wall beside the mirror, frustration leaking out. The toothbrush on the sink shudders in its cup with a clink.

Eddie hates the welling in his eyes. He hates that he ruined the first fuckin’ good thing to happen to him in this town. Loathes that he drives away the first person who actually knows him and still wants to kiss him.

Well, wanted to kiss him.

Eddie’s pretty sure Steve scampering out of the trailer is more than a big enough sign. It’s a blazingly bright neon sign — light up words that say ‘This was a mistake!’

Except, it hadn’t felt at all like a mistake to Eddie. It had felt wonderful, better than anything he had thought, the soft curve of Steve’s lips, the grip on his hands on Eddie’s face, the heat in his face, the— Eddie growls, wiping his hand down his face to shake the thoughts. Too good to be true was what it was.

It’s because of what he said. Of what he asked for. It had to be that. But— but Steve had looked eager and almost excited and then the stupid clock had gone off, scaring the shit out of them both. Maybe it was then that Eddie’s words had sunk in and Steve realised what he’d gotten into— and who he’d gotten into it with.

“You had to ask for more, huh?” Eddie scolds himself angrily, wiping his cheeks harshly when a tear streaks free. Another follows, just as fast. Eddie wipes roughly at his face to clear them. Doesn’t care about the streaks of red he leaves on his cheeks. Another trembling reprimand comes out. “You just had to push it, huh? You fuckin’ idiot.”

Eddie can’t stand his reflection anymore. He tears his gaze away as he spins and heads straight for his room.

The button on his stereo is sticky and it takes a few forceful clicks to turn it on, but when he does, he cranks it. It’s loud enough he’ll surely wake some neighbours. Eddie can’t find it in him to care, not even when the neighbours dog starts off with its incessant barking. Anything to stop hearing himself cry.

-

“Something’s up with Eddie.” is the first thing Robin says when she comes in the front door.

Steve’s mid-yawn when she does, a result of a night of tossing and turning, and he somehow manages a strange choke at her words. In a haste to shut his mouth, he chomps on his fingers covering his mouth — then hisses, pulling it away from his face. He ignores Robin’s perplexed expression, shoving the hand deep in his pocket. His ears feel a tad hotter.

“What? Why? What makes you think that?” Steve asks the questions in rapid succession. Very chill, he chides himself. At this rate, Robin would have him all figured out 10 minutes into their shift.

And it’s not like— well, Robin’s advice is usually great. A bit cut-throat, sure. She doesn’t have a problem trodding on his feelings on her way to tell him the hard truth. Usually, it’s fine. Steve could probably do with a bit of ego-bruising.

Today, he’s… It’s different. That’s what Steve tells himself. This thing with Eddie, he wants to fix it himself. And with too much meddling from Robin’s advice, even if it was with the best intentions, might mix things up too much. It’s hard enough keeping his half-baked apology that’s been brewing since last night in proper order in his mind.

Thankfully, Robin doesn’t comment on his odd demeanor. She just bustles into the back room — there are a couple sounds of her dumping her stuff. When she comes back out the front, she’s fixing her Family Video vest. It looks perfectly straight to Steve.

He checks his own — it’s sitting askew, part of the collar flipped over. He hastily fixes it, running his hands down the front to smooth it a bit.

“Just,” Robin starts, talking as she sits in front of the computer, beginning to take a crack at the admin she managed. She likes doing things as she talks, Steve knows. Helps keep her from letting words run away from her.

Steve’s thankful for it now because she isn’t looking at him when she says, “I think he might have had a bad nightmare last night, or something of that sort. I don’t know. Maybe I’m way off — you know how I am with trying to read people, Steve. I’m not good at it! But when I saw him, he just seemed…”

Robin seems to take an extra moment to deliberate her word choice. Steve’s really glad she’s still facing the computer so she can’t see the myriad of emotions that show on his face.

“…Off.” is the word she decides on.

Which means bad. Steve feels like he’s swallowed a stone. It sinks deep into his stomach. It burns, sour and scorned, twisting up his gut. It means Eddie is bad — it means disappointment, means he regretted it. That Steve had been right; that he’d been too eager, too soon. Too much.

Right. Of course, this happens again. Really, Steve had brought it on himself by asking for so much. It had been one thing to ask for a hug — who actually has to do that? — and then to expect he might get Eddie to kiss him too? What a overstep. Christ, he's an idiot.

“That’s not…” He hears himself say, still lost in his thoughts. It's only when Robin turns on the stool, brows raised, that Steve realises he hasn’t finished his sentence. “Good. That’s not good. To hear.”

Steve turns and starts shuffling around the films on the returns cart, picking them up at random. He stares at a copy of ‘The Princess Bride’ in his hands, a new release, and forces out a causal question.

“What made you think that?” He asks, shoving the film into an empty slot, like he was arranging them. He’s relieved when Robin’s clicking on the keyboard resumes, along with a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can be trusted to read anyone’s emotions correctly at any given time, honestly. Remember that old lady? I thought she was being sweet that whole time and then you told me she was being rude! And I couldn’t even tell…”

Robin’s ramble is comforting and helpful to Steve in a way he didn’t know they could be. He presses the cart out, finally getting a move on with it, but delivers a quick nod to Robin when she’s looking to let her know he’s still tuned in. He listens to her get distracted by another topic and leaves Eddie’s name in the dust. It’s a silent relief.

It’s a task to multi-task, listening and devising a plan, but Steve has all shift to find the balance. It’s sometime between finishing re-stocking the action section and starting the romance that Steve decides he should apologise. He should go over today and apologise.

Eddie’s a big boy but Steve’s fairly certain now, if he regretted it, Eddie had probably felt obliged to kiss him back. Probably hadn’t minded the first kiss but- but— Something sticks in his brain; it was Eddie’s first kiss.

It makes Steve feel worse. It doesn’t matter, really, Steve should say sorry for all of it. God, he’s such an idiot.

By the time he’s clocked out, it’s all set in place. He’s got a dozen different apologies running in a loop in his head, reciting the words in time with his anxious tapping on the steering wheel. It’s not a long drive out to Forest Hills Trailer Park. The drive is well-known now. Steve tries hard not to wallow in what he might be losing today. What he lost because he’d been too greedy with want.

The sight of a brown van parked roadside yanks him from his thoughts. Eddie’s van. Steve’s stomach turns, nerves gnawing faster. He slows, trying to catch eye of the other boy as he rolls to a stop behind the van. The sun is beginning to dip closer to the horizon, the temperature going with it.

At the same time, they see each other; Eddie’s head popping around the raised hood to see who had stopped, right as Steve pops his door. Eddie retreats in an instant. Steve's chest grows a bit tighter.

Gravel crunches underfoot as Steve takes a few wary steps closer. It doesn’t take more than a couple before Eddie calls out. He doesn’t bother poking his head out again.

“Go away, Steve.”

Steve swallows thickly. Yeah, okay, he deserves that. He deserves probably worse than that. But more importantly than that, Eddie deserves to hear this. And Steve... needs to not lose Eddie.

“Can I… can we talk?” Steve asks, taking a couple steps closer. A car whizzes by on the road, hidden from Steve's view behind the van. He still keeps his distance, hovering. His hands clench nervously at his sides. Steve shoves them deep in his jean pockets, wiping the sweat off them as he goes.

“What part of ‘Go away’ isn’t clear enough for you?” Eddie snarks back. He still doesn't stick his head out, still won’t look at Steve. It stings.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve starts, another instinctive step forward taken. “I-I just, I shouldn’t have left like I did last night. I wanted to apologise.”

There’s a clattering from behind the hood like Eddie’s dropped a tool. He swears. Steve wants to take another step, wants to see Eddie — wants to read every emotion and apologise for causing any of the ugly ones.

“Well, apology accepted,” Eddie responds. There’s a bite in his words. His next words are grumblier, quieter. “And message fuckin’ received.”

What? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That—” Finally, Eddie steps away from the van, rounding the hood to march up to Steve. His arms cross over his chest, a wrinkle set between his brows that pull his face into a glare. Robin was right; he is off. This isn’t normal Eddie. Fuck, Steve had fucked up bad.

“That means message received, Steve.” Eddie seethes. He uncrosses his arms to gesture wildly. Steve misses the wobble in his bottom lip. “Message received loud and clear! I get it!”

And all Steve wants to ask is: get what? He doesn’t ask that. He should know what. That would be an idiotic question, would make Eddie more irritated. Lord knows, Steve has been enough of a fool in the last day. So, he doesn’t ask.

“Look, I just…” Steve starts, words a bit weak. They die in his throat as he tries to recall a single apology he had practiced all day and comes up empty. “I’m just- I just wanted—look, I’m sorry I took your first kiss!”

It’s not exactly what he means to say, but Steve certainly is sorry for it. Eddie’s expression wavers, some anger slipping away. Confusion takes its place.

“What?” Eddie says with a tone of bafflement. “What are you talking about?”

“And I’m sorry I kept… kept asking for more.” Steve continues on, pulling on the thread inside him, connected to the terrible stone he swallowed earlier. He tugs it. Hopes pulling it will unravel the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach.

Steve scrunches his eyes shut and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I know, okay? I know that I can be a lot.” He sighs and drops his hands.

“But I didn’t mean to… shit,” He wrenches his eyes open. Eddie’s a bit wide-eyed now, brown eyes watching him intently. Steve doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, can’t tell if it’s good or worse. He continues, soft words scraping out his throat.

“I didn’t mean to be like that with you.”

Eddie searches Steve’s face, eyes darting and wild. He licks his lips. His hands are in motion, fingers twisting rings, quick and fast. It’s a nervous action.

“What do you mean by ‘like that?’” Eddie asks, voice gentler. It's lost its snarl from before.

Steve blinks, a scrape of teeth worrying his bottom lip. He murmurs his admittance lowly, just one word, “Selfish.”

Eddie doesn’t try to hide his surprise; it ripples across his face in a wave. Confusion melts away into something closer to, Steve hopes desperately, relief. Steve can feel his own heart thudding hard inside his chest — can feel the beat it skips when Eddie steps closer.

“Steve?” Eddie says, sounding unlike himself. Steve’s never heard his voice that small. He nods, wordlessly. Eddie searches his face once more — wide brown eyes scanning and devouring. Steve can’t help but do the same.

He drinks in the details of Eddie’s face; the soft scruff along his top lip, the darkness of his lashes and the way they kiss in the corner that Steve adores. The pink of his lips. The familiar ache to kiss Eddie surges up within him, still as violent and strong as it had been the night before.

Steve should really stop looking at Eddie’s lips. He’s supposed to be apologising. He drags his eyes up and meets Eddie’s gaze full-on, prepared for whatever he might say. Except, he’s not expecting him at all to say;

“Can I... try this again?” It comes out a ragged breath, Eddie's scared eyes conveying the weight behind his words.

And this time Steve doesn't even need to ask what because he knows. Because Eddie's hands are reaching up and holding either side of Steve's face so gently. Steve can't recall a time he's ever been held so softly. His own hands come up slowly, draping around Eddie's wrists to hold them, to keep them there.

Eddie's thumb traces. It draws a sweet line of that familiar fire beneath Steve's skin along til it's settled on Steve's bottom lip, resting. The blood under Eddie's thumb thrums, gloriously warm, aching with want. Yes. Steve thinks. Yes, yes, yes.

"Yes, please." Steve breathes, so sincere the words comes out as a kiss against Eddie's thumb.

So, Eddie kisses him.

now with a part four !

tags below! sry if i tagged u and u didn't want it just tagging everyone who replied <3 @they-reap-what-we-sow @impeachy @anaibis @resident-gay-bitch @ediewentmissing @newtstabber @original-cypher @invisibleflame812 @hunterbow04 @leather-and-freckles @dracoswifeandlokispet @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @lfaewrites @sundead @call-me-big-eyes @the-redthread @goblinmanifesto @etaka @bishopextractions @ketterfuck @persephone13 @beckkthewreck @maya-custodios-dionach @autumnal-dawn @yourstrulyjoko @gleefully-macabre @princess-eddie @savory-babby

[findafight]

Robin chose Steve. Robin made the conscious and deliberate decision that she could and would trust Steve. She already liked him! She had fun working and bantering with him! They were already on their way to being weird little bffs and the torture just expedited the process. Steve chose Robin just the same! He thinks she's fun and cool and likes her so much! He chose to be honest and open with her too, putting himself out there.

Even though their interests on the surface level don't match why wouldn't they share them? Steve clearly caves when Robin wants to watch a movie he doesn't think he'll like, Robin can watch a March madness game or five.

Stop trying to take away their bond oh my god people can be close to more than one person!!! Their best friend doesn't have to be dismissive or mean or whatever in order for a romance to be special to them!

[cherrychilli]

18+

A/N: Feeling a wee bit fluffy. Reader's a teensy bit clingy.

Steve sending you flowers when he's out of town for a work conference. He's had them delivered to you after receiving your not entirely subtle messages about how much you miss him even though you're only spending a single weekend apart. The bouquet's bound prettily with silky ribbon and wrapped in layers of thick craft paper and delicate tissue paper. All of your favorites are arranged together beautifully; fresh, fragrant and full of color. When his phone begins to buzz as he enters his hotel room he knows it's you even before he's checked the notification. In the first string of messages, you're gushing about how much you loved the thoughtful surprise and in the second, you excitedly ramble about where you think the flowers might look best in your apartment - you're torn between your nightstand and your breakfast nook. Steve smiles fondly at the screen while sat on an unfamiliar bed, multitasking between unlacing his shoes with one hand and tapping out a response with the other about how he misses you too and that he's sorry he can't be there with you right now. His phone vibrates again when you forward a few selfies of yourself holding the bunch, face beaming with delight. He scrolls through them, smile getting wider at how happy you look until he nearly drops his phone at the last couple of pictures. You're posed on your bedsheets, sunlight filtering through your window, casting you in a wash of golden rays. You've shed your t-shirt, breasts exposed save for your nipples, carefully(teasingly) concealed with a leafy long stemmed dahlia held across your chest. You follow up the pictures with a winky message about how you're in the mood to be deflowered, uncaring if the message sounds a little corny or that you're no longer a virgin. When it came to Steve you knew is was pretty easy to work him up and quite the opposite to dampen his excitement, regardless of whether or not the logic held up. When he recovers you get a picture back of his hand cupping the thick bulge pushing up under his slacks and when your phone starts to chime a few moments later, his name popping up on the screen, you know you're in for a very interesting phone call.

[silverzoomies]

Angels

peter maximoff x reader

warnings: peter being a goober, he watches porn for like half a second, it's highkey a stranger things crossover, my dialogue is goofy as hell

word count: 5,240

a/n: had a lot of fun with this one !! a while back, my buddy @quickandsilvers (now deactivated, and i can't find their new acc) requested a fic where he works in a video store and makes a fool of himself. i think i strayed from their prompt a lot, but i hope they don't mind. sorry about the stranger things crossover !! it happened naturally while writing it, and i couldn't stop thinking about steve and peter interacting. lol

Like a responsible adult, Peter spent the span of an entire month “studying” for his GED final. His rapid fire attention span made focusing a tough feat, even past his years of high school age hyperactivity. Which was the very reason he had to study so friggin hard for his GED in the first place. Peter never graduated high school. And because he never graduated high school, he didn’t really know what real studying was. “Studying” for him mostly entailed speed reading, once or twice over. Before he called it quits and bolted away to do…Peter stuff.

He was honestly really proud of himself for sticking it out, though. Much to his mother’s most pleasant surprise. Peter carried a perfect attendance streak through all his classes. A wildly stark contrast to his self proclaimed, unmatched ditch streak back in high school. In hindsight, that wasn’t something worth boasting about.

But all his hard work and bonafide effort proved supremely disappointing…when he flunked the final anyway.

Peter’s chest ached, as though someone tore his heart out, stomped on it, then double tapped for good measure. In a fit of unbridled frustration, Peter raced across the entire planet to burn out his rage. His blood boiled hot in his veins. After circling the globe about a gajillion times, he finally skidded to a stop. Somewhere in Indiana.

His clothes were all tattered and covered in holes. Burned from supersonic force. The soles of his favorite shoes turned to ash, crying smoke like a bonfire. Painful blisters littered his feet. But in his defeated haze, he couldn’t find the energy to care. Barefoot and blistered, Peter walked to the nearest payphone, his head tipped back in shame.

He could only imagine how devastated his mom would be.

It broke Peter’s heart, knowing he’d have to call her and ruin her day. After she promised to take him and his sisters out for a celebratory dinner. All you can eat Chinese! - she said. Being on the receiving end of bad news was one thing. But delivering said news to one’s mother - after an entire lifetime spent letting her down? That sucked unimaginably more.

At the payphone - after tossing his desecrated shoes in the trash - Peter hesitantly brought the handset to his ear. Deep breath in. Now, breathe out. He leaned against the glass of the phone booth. Over the line, his mother’s voice lost all liveliness. And a moment later, Wanda took over instead, sounding majorly peeved off. She threw all kinds of accusations at him - Did you even try, Piet? I thought you were taking this seriously! You said you studied! You totally dashed mom’s hopes!

Peter rolled his finger through one of the holes in his Queen shirt. Mannnn. Friggin sucks. He got that one from the totally sick Hot Space Tour. He even took Wanda with him, and they had the most righteous time. With her so disappointed on the phone like this, it hurt to recall any fond memories. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried cracking a half-assed joke to lighten the mood.

“Soooooo…no Chinese tonight then?”

Yeah, nah. Sis didn’t take to that one too well. Peter hated arguing with her, but the two spat back and forth for about five minutes. Peter bumped his head against the glass as his stress ran up to mach ten. Gathering whatever patience he had left - a microscopic amount, at this point - he apologized, told his sister he loved her, and hung up. Once he stepped outside of the phone booth, he heaved a long groan.

Peter’s fingers twitched at his sides. Taking a quick glance upward, he noticed a nearby video store. A Family Video, nestled in a strip mall next to an arcade. Narrowing his eyes, Peter chewed his lip in contemplation.

And he made a supremely stupid move.

A millenia passed since Peter gave into his klepto compulsions. Maybe old habits die hard, as they say.

At the Hawkins PD, the chief lingered nearby in a rickety, metal chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The night seemed to drag for eons, as Peter paced barefoot in restless circles…within the confines of a lonesome jail cell. Since Hawkins was such a small town, hardly any of the feds were familiar with the X-Men. Mutants were a rare commodity. They sooner thought Peter was a hobo the chief picked up off the street.

Come next morning, Peter got an earful from Chuck. Thankfully, the generous prof forgave Peter for his colossal fuck-ups. He even paid Peter’s bail. And while the speedster felt even more sick with guilt because of it; he was grateful he wouldn’t have to spend another second in nowhere town Indiana.

Tormentous boredom aside; for some reason, the place gave Peter the creeps.

Falling victim to his own compulsions proved a major setback on all fronts. After Chuck chewed Peter out over the phone, he broke even more bad news. Apparently, the Family Video manager made a major stink about Peter’s thievery. Even called in a complaint to Xavier’s school. The guy went so far as to blame mutants for their “dishonesty.” A completely baseless generalization. All because of some dumb knucklehead’s reckless behavior.

Chuck convinced the asshole to let Peter off the hook. Only if the speedster made up for it by working a summer’s job at Family Video. A short-term punishment. At least until Autumn, when Peter got another shot at his GED. The professor basically grounded Peter from X-Men stuff. Awesome. Heck, technically, he grounded him from the mansion altogether. Cool beans. Thumbs up. Hunky dory.

Hell no. Peter was an adult. Not a teenager who needed to be disciplined after disobeying papa’s orders. He didn’t even really have a papa. In fact, papa disappeared off the face of the planet just a few years back.

Peter digressed. Whatever, right? Grown men messed up all the time. So what if he made a few minor missteps on the road to personal development?

And he would’ve argued these points, had something in Chuck’s honest voice not guilted him into silence.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to wear a stupid vest or anything.

The sweltering hot month of June.

Quicksilver should be out kicking ass, causing trouble, stealing hearts (playing video games, tampering with tech, being a total nerd).

Instead, he found himself leaning on the counter of a Family Video register in Indiana.

Peter had never worked an everyman’s retail job in his life. And holy smokes, was it slow. The days ran slower than a sloth in cement shoes. At any given moment, Peter swore he was nanoseconds away from dying of boredom. Literally. Call him melodramatic, but the monotony of day-to-day living sucked the speedy soul out of him. Only a few weeks passed since he “joined the Family Video team.” But all he ever did was idle behind the counter like a chud, gorging on snacks and watching MTV.

Whenever the news reported another X-Men victory, achieved without the help of the team’s one and only speedster; Peter felt the urge to run around the globe again. All he wanted was to shake off his temperament until his legs gave out. But alas. His feet stayed planted on freshly mopped linoleum, in the confines of VHS rental hell.

On the flip side, at least his new shoes were still intact.

Peter spent his days doing mind-numbing activities like reorganizing shelves, sorting movies by genre, and mopping floors. Playing with the label maker was kinda fun. Totally not even a little boring. Nope. Peter never daydreamed some psycho might rob the place, just so he’d have an excuse to be Quicksilver again.

Why would he? When he could play with that sweet label maker.

Yawn.

Thankfully, he wasn’t completely alone. Not that he minded much either way. Solitude and Peter went together like Han Solo and Chewy. But another guy worked the same shift as Peter. Some dude named Steve, with great hair and a metric fuckton of pins all over his vest. He swore up and down, his friend Robin insisted he cover himself head to toe in them. Because something something “chicks totally dig a guy with accessories.”

Peter never met Robin, since her hours were all jacked up. But judging by the Rainbow Brite, Care Bear, and Garbage Pail Kids pins all over Steve’s vest; Peter knew she had to be pulling her pal’s leg.

Which…alright. Cool. He could respect that.

Steve was a decent enough guy and super chill to talk to. He got along great with the group of hellions who always came in, looking for nerdy flicks like Clash of the Titans. Peter once spent a whole afternoon debating Star Wars logistics with them; arguing whether or not Ewoks had any justifiable place in Return of the Jedi. But, come on, those fuzzballs were kinda cool.

And Peter refused to admit he had a few Ewok figures in his collection back in Westchester.

Neither Steve, nor his munchkins seemed to have any qualms about mutants. The only thing he ever bitched about was Peter’s effortless ability to stay in tip-top shape.

“It’s so bullshit, man.” He blatantly complained, “You can pig out on Twinkies all day and still look like that. What does your metabolism run on? Jet fuel?”

Peter’s beady eyes darted swiftly back and forth, across the pages of Lord of the Rings. One of Steve’s little minions gave the speedster a used copy. Worn at the edges. Barely held together by the spine. Peter hadn’t read a real book by choice since middle school. As he skimmed through it at a remarkable pace, he spoke through a creamy bite of Twinkie.

“Flux Capacitor.”

Shame. Sucks for Steve. The dude was obviously good looking. But he somehow fumbled his attempts at flirting with cute chicks. Not to mention, his opportunities came so few and far in between, with Peter there to steal the show. And while some small-town ladies had a tendency to scrunch their noses and sneer at the presence of a mutant - others recognized him as a hero. One of the X-Men. On the rare chance a cutie walked in with her besties following along; they sometimes whispered amongst each other.

"Isn’t he with the X-Men?” “Oh my god, he is!” “Which one is he?” “I think he’s the fast one.” “How fast is he though?” “Oh, he’s, like, so mega fast. Like a speeding bullet on legs.” “Whoa. He’s kinda cute.” “What do you think his calves look like?” “I like his hair.” “What’s he doing here in Hawkins?” “Do you think he’s undercover?” “He looks so ripped.”

Chewing his gum and secretly listening in, Peter cheesed a grin from ear to ear like a doofus. And he soon fell into a shameless habit, letting awestruck girls cop a feel of real, superhero muscles and speedster calves. Hard as vibranium, vascular like Commodore 64 wiring.

What?? Give him a break! Back in Westchester, girls never gave him a second glance.

The endless quiet and steady pace of everyday living drove Peter up a freaking wall after a while. A month in, he felt himself going stir crazy. Peter continuously thought about zipping out for a quick run. One whole second tops. Just to make a break for a slushie at the gas station down the street. Steve even swore he wouldn’t rat Peter out if he bailed and came back. Cuz, like, seriously…who would notice?

But in the back of his mind somewhere, Peter heard Chuck’s voice. A guilty reminder to slow his roll. Stop and smell the roses. The speedster had his impulses, sure. But he wasn’t so weak willed. Peter knew, deep in his heart, he could do better. Hell, he was better. A true master of self control. No problem-o.

Except…he totally wasn’t.

Hand to god, Peter was, and would always be a colossal jackass.

He affirmed this brutally honest fact with himself the first time he met you.

That night, the store seemed like a barren ghost town. Not a customer in sight. Most of the town’s locals were out having fun at a traveling carnival. Steve even took the day off to chaperone his hobbit posse. He stopped by just to give Peter his pin-covered vest, and left his esteemed colleague to stew in his own boredom. Wasting away behind the counter, restless as ever; Peter dreamed of carnival funnel cake.

And why not sneak away for a quick sec? Just to grab himself something sweet. He liked to think he earned it.

Peter zipped to the carnival, paid for some funnel cake, tied Steve’s shoelaces together, and returned to the store in a flash. Leaning comfortably back on a metal stool; he stuffed his gullet with fried delights. Sweet, doughy goodness. Powdered sugar coated his fingers and dusted the corners of his mouth. Peter kept his legs hiked up, dirty sneakers crossed on the countertop. Whatevs. He’d wipe ‘em down before he closed up shop in two hours.

His lidded eyes gaped lazily at one of theTVs hanging from the ceiling. Peter shamelessly watched a wildly inappropriate porno. A filthy flick he snatched from the restricted section and popped in. Partly out of boredom. Mostly out of morbid curiosity. Angels of Passion. Peter sat through an hour of hilariously raunchy scenes - all featuring steamy, angel hanky panky. Talk about divine intervention. He snickered to himself as heat pooled in his cheeks.

A blonde bombshell gyrated her hips in some dude’s lap, rolling her bush, bouncing to the beat of a catchy, unidentifiable song. Her explicit moans echoed lewdly over that earworm of a tune. Jesus, she was really going for it. Looked like she, uh…liked it, actually. Blood in Peter’s cheeks rushed south at warp speed. He felt a familiar tightening in his groin. With funnel cake crammed between his powdery lips, he adjusted himself in his jeans. Smearing powdered sugar carelessly over his crotch.

And he nearly choked to death when a voice he didn’t recognize called his name.

“Wow. Quicksilver? Is that you? Whatcha watchin?”

Oh. Oh, it wasn’t just his name name. But his hero name. Peter whipped his head around, his dark eyes widening as he met yours. Brows raised. Gazing humorously at him as though he were a bozo. Just his luck. A random customer - a very cute customer - picked the most optimal time to walk in. And there he was, the X-Men’s famous speedster; covered in powdered sugar, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, Care Bear and Rainbow Brite pins all over his vest, a stiffy in his jeans, a nasty porno playing in the background.

What a huge lamebrain, you probably thought.

Peter blinked, and so did you. Time seemed to stretch in a long, awkward moment. Someone should honestly just shoot him and be done with it. From his perspective, an hour passed before he got his shit together. But from your perspective, he was there in a second. Leaning casually over the counter on his elbow, his other hand on his hip. The TV blared reruns of MTV music videos, with Madonna singin’ loud. The very same TV you caught him watching dirty movies on - just for the hell of it. Purely for entertainment’s sake, mind you.

And bizarrely enough, your expression held no judgment.

Furrowing his mercury brows, Peter wiped the last trace of powdered sugar from his lips. He cleared his throat and gave you a careless nod of his head. Stay cool. Stay collected. It wasn’t like his mom caught him with his pants down or something. He put on his best customer service smile. A grin so fake, his dimples vanished into hiding. Time to get the ball rolling before he lost whatever dignity he had left.

Peter hated Indiana. Like, really hated it.

He spoke fast, the words tumbling past his lips at the speed of light.

“That?Thatwasnothing.” Peter blurted out, his mouth running a hundred miles an hour. His fingers tapped anxiously on the countertop. Your curious gaze flicked down to them, before looking into his coke-brown eyes again. His face erupted in flames as he kept rambling, punctuating each sentence with an uneasy laugh, “I wasn’t watching anything. Just some lame religious documentary. Y’know. A real snore fest. I swear, I was this close to takin’ a nap.”

You laughed.

No lie, he wasn’t expecting you to laugh like that. The sound sliced through the tension in the air, catching him off guard. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His forced smile curled up involuntarily, revealing his dimples for real this time.

“Yeah? Huh. For some lame documentary, you looked pretty into it. I’m surprised you heard me at all.”

“Eh, you’re not wrong. Puts a whole new meaning to goin’ heels to Jesus, doesn’t it?”

You let out another laugh, and your voice cracked. Blush creeped over your face from the neck up. A surge of shyness overtook Peter. Running a hand up through his hair, he searched for any words to say. And then he remembered he had a job to do.

“Anyway. Sorry. Can I help you with something?” Peter smoothed out his (Steve’s) vest, brushing powdered sugar from it like pesky snow.

“No biggie, dude. Just wondering where your horror section is.”

Peter arched his brow, “Horror, huh?”

With a cheeky smirk, he disappeared, leaving a swift gust of wind in his wake. You gasped a small peep. Pressing your hands to the counter, you leaned forward as though you were looking for him. He took the opportunity to admire your ass from where he stood between the aisles. Politely, of course.

“They’re over here.” The speedster called from his spot, keeping himself nonchalantly propped against a stand of horror mags. Your gaze flitted down to the Walkman hanging at his hip. His easy going stance made you laugh yet again - man, you made him feel like the king of comedy. You made your way to the horror section. Peter kept his eyes on you while you glanced over the tapes, “You lookin’ for anything in particular, orrrrr…”

“Nope, just looking.”

“Just looking. Got it.” Peter clicked his tongue, nodding, “Cool. Well, if you need any recs…I mean, I’m kind of a movie aficionado, so…”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

Aw, you actually humored him.

“Pfffbbt. Yeah. My twin sis is, like, super into sitcoms and stuff. But I’m the movie guy of the family.”

“And what kinda movies do you like?”

Peter didn’t miss a beat, “Star Wars, definitely. But I like Bladerunner too. ET. Robocop. Alien. Oh! Rocky’s awesome too. Scarface. I can do a crazy good Tony Montana impression. Clint Eastwood movies are cool. Conan the Barbarian. Can’t get enough of Arnold. And I’m not sayin’ Flash Gordon’s my favorite, but-”

You gaped at Peter like you saw him get hit by a car or something. He stopped himself short, pausing as he named off movies on his fingers.

“What? Not a fan?”

“Not a fan of wh-”

“Flash Gordon?”

“Is that what you said? I didn’t understand a single word of that, dude!”

Oh. Guess he got a little too amped up. The apples of Peter’s cheeks turned pink. Scratching the back of his neck, he sheepishly laughed.

“Sorry, uh…lemme start over…I like Star Wars.”

“So do I! I love Star Wa-”

Peter raised his head, fixing you with a squinty eyed, analytical look - mostly playful. He quickly cut you off again.

“What about Ewoks?”

“They’re like little teddy bears! What’s not to love?”

Points for you, cute, mystery babe.

“Oh, bitchin’. Yeah, uh-”

And like a huge doofus, Peter leaned a little too hard against the magazine stand. It tumbled to the floor as he knocked it over unintentionally. Catching himself, he flashed his teeth in a humiliated smile.

“Uh…I totally meant for that to happen.” He clarified.

Even though you laughed yet again - and sounded so, unfairly cute too - Peter vanished to the restroom to smack himself in the face a few times. Returning only to clean up the fallen magazines. Another microsecond later, he appeared behind the counter. At the register again. His summer hellscape. Purgatory.

And for now, after making such an ass of himself, he’d leave you be. Let you come to him.

You eventually did.

“Just these.” You muttered bashfully, sliding a few tapes across the counter.

Peter glanced up to look at you every few beats. Tapping away at the keypad, his agile fingers danced across the keys with finesse. And despite the speed at which he normally worked, there was an unmistakable lag in his movements. Almost deliberate. He took special care as he typed your information and logged your rentals. It was as if he prolonged the interaction on purpose, drawing out everything at a leisurely pace.

Very unlike Quicksilver.

You eyed the pins all over his (Steve's) vest.

"Nice pins." You said.

"Thanks. Care Bears are the shit."

You held back another giggle, covering your mouth to conceal it.

“Say, uhm…forgive me if I’m being too nosy. But what are you doing all the way out here in Indiana, Quicksil-” You paused, tilting your head innocently to the side. Your eyes squinted into thin slits as you read his nametag, “Peeeter? Peter, yeah.”

Peter flashed a lazy, cat-like grin, snapping his fingers and throwing a finger gun your way.

“Bingo, you got it. But, yeah, everyone else calls me Quicksilver. Except for the oldies who have no clue who I am. It’s insane being recognized sometimes. Cuz I’m just a glorified track-and-field star who ended up a wage monkey, I guess. The job sucks ass, honestly.” He chuckled, leaning against the counter, resting his weight on an elbow, “As for what I’m doin’ here? It’s top secret X-Men business.”

“Ooooh! What, like…some kinda covert op-”

“Covert operation? Yeeeeeaaaaaahhh…nah, I’m totally messin’. Let’s just say I got into some trouble and this is my punishment.” Peter chuckled softly, glancing at the films you picked out. His eyes widened as he scanned the titles, letting out a low whistle, “H’oooh. Some pretty gritty stuff here. These are brutal. Blood, guts, limbs flyin’ all over the place. You tryin’ to give yourself nightmares?”

“Eh, it’s all fake anyway. Just cheesy, dumb fun.” You giggled, taking the horror flicks from him. A jolt of electricity shot through him as your fingers brushed his own. The contact was brief, but it left a flutter in his stomach he couldn’t shake. Parting your pretty lips, you teased, “They’re way more interesting than any lame, religious documentaries.”

Peter raised a brow and gave you a bemused look, your playful comment catching him by surprise. He crossed his strong arms, restlessly tapping his finger against his bicep.

“Mhm. But that “documentary” had some pretty hot angels, not gonna lie.” He joked. Peter smirked, his eyes flickering up and down, giving you a quick once-over. He snapped his fingers again, keeping his tone casual, “Hey, speaking of, are you gonna be wingin’ it back to the pearly gates anytime soon? Or are you stickin’ around for a while?”

Aha! So, you weren’t immune to his natural charm. Your eyes shot open, your blush sending a righteous wave of satisfaction buzzing through him. Peter pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and wiggled his brows. His confidence soared beyond the stars. Shrugging off any remnants of awkwardness, he eased himself back into a state of carelessness. You broke into another cute giggle fit.

You scratched the back of your neck, looking bashfully down at your shoes.

“Nice save. I think that one actually made me blush.”

Peter blinked laxly, drawing out a satisfied hum. 

“Oh, yeah, it did for sure. Looks cute on you. What can I say? I aim to please.”

A warm smile graced his face as he slid you the last tape.

“Flash Gordon?” He asked.

If you blushed any more, you’d probably explode.

“I couldn’t keep up with the way you were talking…but you mentioned that one. You said it was one of your favorites, right?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

The banter between the two of you seemed to flow so naturally. Time lost all meaning. And as the minutes passed and you said your goodbyes, moving towards the doors; Peter’s foot tapped at a frenzied pace. A powerful urge to chase after you swarmed him like a pack of angry bees. He knew he wouldn’t be staying in Indiana for much longer. Only a month more, at the most. But, man…there was something about you.

Ah, screw it. Act now, face the consequences later.

A fwip, and Peter materialized before you at the doors. You stumbled back and erupted in another surprised squeal. His hands instinctively reached out, grabbing your shoulders to steady you before you fell.

“Sorry! Sorry. Uh, any chance you’d wanna stick around for a while longer? It’s just so dead here tonight. We could kick it back, chill, and hang. And fingers crossed, I promise I won’t make you watch any weird, religious docs or nothin’.”

Miraculously, you agreed. Peter couldn’t believe his luck. And he spent the remaining few minutes of his shift, along with the rest of that night, hanging out with some cutie he met on a whim.

Maybe Robin was right. It was the vest, wasn't it? Chicks were totally into guys with accessories.

The impossibly hotter month of July.

Some might call Peter a little irresponsible. And true to form, he was. But you were legit the most fun thing to happen to him in months. Up there with the bitchin’ funnel cake he swiped from the carnival, the same night he met you. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. Both you, and the funnel cake.

Carpe diem or whatever.

In the cramped shadows of a video store supply closet, Peter pulled you oh-so-close against his body. Hot as hellfire. His heartbeat ran on bubbly fumes of anticipation. Peter’s chapped lips confidently claimed yours, a moment after you gave him a bashful peck and confessed the cutest thing ever-

“Pleaaaase don’t go back to Westchester!! I really really like you. I think you totally rock. I’m gonna miss you too much if you leave.”

D’awww. You were all soft on him. Your pouty lips and innocent eyes made his chest warm and tingly. Peter never imagined someone could win him over so easily. But after the front doors chimed, and you walked into the store wearing a Grace Under Pressure shirt - of which you told him you wore only because he got you into Rush; Peter thought he heard wedding bells. But, oh…wait. No. The doors chimed again.

Peter felt his resolve instantly weaken around you. Whatever aloof front of speedster confidence he held onto seemed to melt away. Mostly. Partially.

In the closet, he grinned into the kiss, tasting your giggles on his tongue as he coaxed you into something deeper. You were such an undeniable sweetheart. A ray of sunshine, casting light on the most boring summer of his life. Clinging bashfully to his intense kisses, you followed the motion of his tongue. Your own tongue raveled delicate threads with his. Overzealous, he tangled those threads in frantic knots. Peter breathed the softest groan, running strong hands down your back and just above-

Passionate rock songs rang out love ballad riffs in his head, and the music halted to a disappointing stop when - all at once, a veil of blinding light washed over you both. Moment ruined. What asshole would even dare? You pulled away from his kiss, but an eager Peter chased your lips. He only stopped himself once he noticed a figure looming in the closet doorway. Steve looked unamused, holding a broom and dustpan in hand.

“Can I help you?” Peter sarcastically quipped.

“Really, man? Really?” Steve scoffed, cheeks pinkening. Clearing his throat, his dark eyes shifted. Away from the couple getting a little too cozy. He stated in a matter-of-fact way, “FYI, you’re still on the clock, yanno? Jesus.”

“Jesus? I’m flattered, Harrington, but you can just call me Peter.”

A soft snicker erupted from your swollen lips. Your small hands curled shamefully into Peter’s work vest, narrowly avoiding the band pins stuck in the fabric. Ultimately, you failed to keep your giggles at bay. Peter always had a way of making you laugh til you cried. His own hands rested just above your booty, a centimeter away from some spicy grab action. Damn you, Steve. Damn you. Teasing an indignant sigh, Peter reached out to lazily snag the door handle.

“Ever heard of knocking?” He joked before easing the door closed, sealing your cute chuckles inside.

The icy cold, freeze-your-balls-off month of January. Post New Years.

Bundled up in a warm, turtleneck sweater and matching, black jeans; Peter cozied up next to you on the sofa. At his mom’s place, Wanda was perched comfortably on the floor. She kept her back against the foot of the couch close to Peter. In one of the loveseats, Lorna sat with her legs tucked under her. A blanket draped over her small frame. The faint hum of infomercials in the background went ignored, as Peter fell into a long winded info dump about the Lord of the Rings.

Peter’s mother padded into the room from the kitchen. A hand-made shawl covered her shoulders, knitted by Wanda and given to Magda as a gift. Carrying several glass bottle sodas, she passed one out to each of her kids before delivering the last one to you. Magda breathed a chuckle. She noticed the way you narrowed your eyes, as you struggled to follow Peter’s speedy rambling. His family seemed to have no problem keeping up. They understood every word, without asking him to stop and reiterate.

Lorna rolled her eyes affectionately. Wanda gazed up at her brother like he held all the secrets of the universe - and she wanted the details on every single one.

When Peter’s rambling eventually ceased, his mother asked him if he had any plans for the future. He poked inside his empty box of chow mein with a pair of chopsticks. A bit embarrassed, Peter grinned. Now that he finally scored his GED - he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He just hadn’t told anyone aside from Wanda yet. She patted Peter on the knee. A gesture of encouragement, pushing him to open up. With a timid sigh, he confessed - he wanted to teach at Xavier’s.

He got a big ol’ hug from mom for that one.

When she left for work, Peter snuggled up on the couch with you and his sisters. You were all crammed in like warm penguins on a chilly night. Until Peter randomly pushed himself out of the pile. He stumbled forward, checking his watch. Waving his soda in your face, he winked.

“Babe, hold this for me? I almost forgot I wanted to do something.”

Before you could ask, he zipped away and returned in a nanosecond. Peter threw himself into the cuddle puddle.

“Where’d you even go?” You asked, scooting aside to give him more room.

Peter snatched his soda and shrugged, lazily smirking.

“Dropped by Family Video. Tied Steve’s shoelaces together.”

[cosmos-coma]

Hi i was wondering if you can do a Bucky fluffy angst (modern/college au if possible) where basically him and reader are friends through steve and both have a crush on each other but don't do anything about it considering bucky is sort of a playboy and thinks reader is way out of his league and reader is sort of shy and quiet and thinks bucky is way out of here league but get together in the end

College Crushes

A/N: WOW, I'm so sorry, This has been in my inbox for like 2 months and I just didn't realize???? sorry!! So I tried to write this one out as quick as I could!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3011

Warnings: Little editing, Awkward goobers

Bucky Masterlist

Buy me a Coffee?

_________

“Y/n, did you hear what I said at all?” Your blond friend asked a small snort of laughter hidden in his voice. 

“Hmm,” you hummed, in something akin to agreement as you lifted your mug to take a sip. 

Steve smiled, but gave you a knowing look, even if you were too distracted to receive it. He knew your painting was due at the end of this week, hence why you had been spending so much time in the studio after class hours, getting lost in the smell of acrylic and the smallest brushstrokes.

“I said: ‘You know you’re drinking paint water, right…?’” He said, barely holding back his snicker.

“Uh huh…” You mumbled, “Yeah, I totally hear what you're saying….” you continued, taking a large sip from your mug, to which your face immediately soured, and quickly spit out the paint-clouded water back into your mug. “Oh, gross! Steve!!” you complained and wiped the dribble from your face, almost undoubtedly replacing it with yet another smear of paint.

Steve was fully laughing now, shaking his head at your accidental antics, “I tried to warn you…” 

You punched his shoulder lightly, delving into your own laughter as you reached for your actual drinking mug now, “Don't laugh at me…. Punk.” you grinned and took a much-needed sip from your new mug. Steve always had a good way of putting your shyness at ease. 

He only grinned and brushed off your ‘devastating assault’, “I really do think you’re just about done… I know you still think you have a lot left, but I’d hate to see you overwork something like this.” Steve nudges you, and he would know. The two of you met not long into your freshman year, the both of you being art majors and all. While Steve tended to focus on graphite and charcoal as his medium, you had your heart covered in paint splatters from the very start. Whether oil or acrylics you found your home smoothing them across a canvas even if they didn’t always end up how you liked. 

You were thankful to have Steve, not only for his friendship which brought you out of your shell,  but also for his artistic eye; Because of your difference in mediums, Steve was always one of the first to be able to tell you if you were beginning to lose your themes by doing too much and vice versa. 

You sighed and leaned back from your painting, looking over the piece as a whole instead of its individual parts, “You’re probably right…” You scratched some of the old paint off your hand and tilted your head to the side as you continued thoughtfully, “and I can always add to it after it's graded…. Okay, you’re right… You’re right!” you held up your hands in surrender as you started packing your things away. You knew a break was for the best, and your rumbling stomach firmly agreed. 

Steve snorted and stood up with his things, “Come on, let’s get lunch before our classes start. I’m buying.”

“Well, I’ll never say no to that,” you grinned and headed out as you finished packing up the last of your things.  

You smiled as you two walked down the busy sidewalk and out of campus toward your favorite lunch spot. You finally spoke up, “Sooo, What’s the catch here?”

“No catch,” Steve smiled at you simply, “I’m just trying to be a friend worth their salt, you know?”

Steve was always a great friend, but today he was being awfully nice… maybe even too nice? As you glanced over you could see the smallest glint in the corner of his eyes. “I dunno…. “ you drawled out as you bumped him, “buying me lunch at my favorite spot when it's already so far out of our way..? Seems suspicious to me,” you observed casually with a quick shrug. 

For a moment his perfect smile faltered and his far-too-honest and good-hearted nature got the best of him, “So… I know you’re not really a party person…”

“Steve…” You groaned.

He held his hands up, “But hear me out! It won't be too loud, and there’ll be plenty of people there…. Chances are you won't have to talk to anyone if you don't really want to, but I thought it would be a nice way to get out on a Saturday night…” Steve tried to argue. 

Pursing your lips you gave him a long look, searching him for something else, “Why do you really want me to go, Steve?” 

The blond man sighed as if he really thought he might’ve had you that time, “Bucky is gonna be there….”

You shook your head so quickly you thought you’d get whiplash, “Nope. No. I’m not doing it. Sorry Steve, I can’t. I think I would actually rather drink the paint water again.”

Bucky had been, hm- how do you put this lightly? From your very first meeting, Bucky had consumed your thoughts and shaken your heart. Steve had introduced the two of you a while back now, wanting the two of his closest friends to finally get to know each other. But once you two finally met you just clammed up. You didn't even mean to! But you saw those unbelievably blue eyes and you heard his full-bodied laugh and you haven’t caught your breath since. But of course, you weren't the only one who felt this way, and you'd be silly to think so. Everyone wanted a piece of Bucky, whether for just a night, a week, or something longer and you knew you had nothing on your competition. You were far too quiet, you always had paint somewhere on your face, and you were anything but a party person. You preferred to spend your evening in with whatever takeout you could afford that week- and maybe a small game night if you were feeling especially social. But You were leagues away from what Bucky deserved, let alone from the people he’d picked and chosen from before. Yet Steve still seemed relentless in his will to bring you two together since you’d confided your feelings in him. 

He sighed and plucked out his wallet to pay for your food, “Y/n, please? I know you’re a little nervous when it comes to Buck, but there’ll be plenty of other people around to buffer and It's been a long time since we’ve all been together…” he said, looking over at you.

God, you shouldn’t have looked at those big blue golden retriever eyes…. And following a moment of hesitation, you nodded, “I… I guess I can- yeah, okay, I’ll go… just for 20 minutes,” you finally caved with a sigh, thinking only, “What am I getting myself into?”

—----

Taking a deep breath you stared at the house before you. The party wasn’t crazy or overflowing yet, but there was still a handful of people outside already trying to get a break from the noise and crowd. 

“Just 20 minutes?” Steve asked beside you, his well-meaning smile giving you an iota of comfort.

You nodded, giving him a small reassuring smile and a thumbs up. You smoothed out your sweater beneath your hands, it was your favorite one- comfortable, didn't have any smudges on it, and you thought the color looked rather nice on you. It was just 20 minutes. You could go in and awkwardly talk about something for 20 minutes, right? And if not- Well, there’s always punch.

With a short breath of confidence, you headed through the doors. A small sea of people spread out about as far as you could see, with little gaps here and there for people to sneak through or join in the already existing conversations. You bobbed your head gently along with the music, searching the crowds as you made your way through the dimly lit rooms.

It was an achingly slow start to 20 minutes, most of your time being spent sipping punch while Steve talked to anybody and everybody as if he was personally running for mayor. So you stood quietly, nodding and smiling when people laughed and making expressions that seemed to match the conversation as you looked around for anyone you knew. The whole buzz of endless conversation seemed to get monotonous and verge on overwhelming as you listened in, until a particular laugh rang out, one that was hearty and familiar and made your heart rattle in its wake. 

You turned to confirm your suspicions and lo and behold there he was. Across the room, through the sea of people, you could see Bucky standing there like a lighthouse promising safe harbor.   His blue eyes squinted with laughter as he flashed the whitest smile and made some retort you hate that you couldn’t hear. Just the sight of him made your whole body heat up pleasantly, your lips splitting into a wide smile as your eyes just refused to leave him. 

It was only when he happened to glance over that you realized you were still staring, but he didn’t seem bothered. No, he simply grinned and raised his hand above the crowd to get your attention, urging you to stay where you were while he made his way over. 

Only his path got intercepted. 

A bright, bubbly girl maneuvered up beside him with no problem from the crowd, her arms wrapping around his bicep as she pulled him in possessively close. If that didn’t make your stomach turn enough, the kiss she planted right on his cheek surely did. 

You couldn’t even think enough hide the way your face fell, your whole posture deflating beneath you as your stomach dropped to the floor. “Hey, Steve…?” your voice squeaked out, your throat closed like a vice as you couldn’t pull your eyes away. “I’m gonna walk home, okay? I’ll see you later, I just- I need to go…” You managed to get out, not waiting around to hear out whatever argument he had to urge you to stay. 

“Y/n? Y/n, wait-” The blond urged as he looked around, immediately spotting Bucky and the unfamiliar girl he was trying to shake off, “Wait- It’s dark out, don’t walk alone!” Steve called back to you, but his only answer was the click of the closing door over the murmurs of the crowd. He went to say his briefest goodbyes and run after you when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. “Buck?” 

“I’ll go after her,” Bucky assured him, his face worried and serious as you ran off into the night by yourself, “You stay here, I’ll walk her home.” he finished before quickly making his own way out the front door and down the dark street. 

----

You huffed an angry sigh and shoved your hands deep into your all-too-shallow pockets. “Why am I even upset?” you thought to yourself with a biting tone, “you’re the one who's out of his league! You’ve said so yourself! Shouldn’t you just be happy he has someone that will be better for him…?”

“I hate parties…” you mumbled as you passed beneath the streetlight, pulling your foot back to kick the small rock resting on the sidewalk. “Aaaand of course I missed…. ” you think bitterly as your foot whiffs right past the rock, not even a bit of movement to prove your effort. 

“Hey…” A low familiar voice sounded out behind you, its owner coming closer as they jogged up to your side “What did that rock ever do to you?” Bucky grinned at you, half joking as he fell into step beside you. 

“Bucky…?” you breathed, your mood already lightening at the mere presence of it, but you quickly tamped it down, “Oh, right well… The rock…uh, tried to mug me” you half-heartedly joked, “ Really put me between a rock and a hard place, if you know what I mean. But don't worry, I beat it off.” You said with an awkward laugh, internally kicking yourself for such a bad joke and with a pun to top it off at that. 

But Bucky still snorted a laugh, his thumb jabbing back in the rock's direction as you both continued on, “You want me to go back there and kick it for you?” 

You grinned and shook your head, “No, No, that's okay… I think it's learned its lesson…”

You two walked in comfortable silence for a moment, a small smile resting on your face, but inside your heart still weighed heavy upon you. 

“Why did you leave...?” Bucky finally asked and for a moment you swore you heard something akin to hurt in his voice, “I had finally gotten a chance to see you again.” he said, quickly adding, “I just mean… it’s been a while since you, me, and Steve got to hang out. I, ah… guess I’ve sort of missed it with everything going on…”

You tried to ignore the way your heart squeezed in your chest and looked down at your wringing hands as you answered, “I just… It was getting too much for me,” you lied, thinking back to the confident kiss that girl planted on his cheek, “and I didn’t want to distract you from your time with… other people.”

Bucky furrowed his brow as he listened and stepped in closer to you as you hit a dark stretch of broken streetlamps. He was so close now, you could smell the faint scent of cologne coming up from his jacket. Your hands, both chilled by the late fall air, brushed together as you walked in time, though neither of you were brave enough to reach to the other. 

“You mean that girl from before?” He motioned back to the now-distant party as he spoke, “I’m not even sure who that was.” He laughed a bit, “she said her friends dared her to kiss me, but I’m not sure….” 

The weight of your heart eased significantly as you took in a quiet breath of relief, “that seems… huh…” you said as you frowned and rounded the corner, you could see the porchlight your house now and the keys jingled around your pocket as you tried to fish out the right one. 

“I agree…” Bucky said, letting out an exaggerated shudder. Despite the lights now populating your last few steps home Bucky’s protective presence did not waver, his shoulders brushing against yours now and again as you stepped up onto the porch and took out your keys.

Despite fumbling with them you finally manage to open the front door and take half a step inside, “Thank you for walking me home, Buck,” you smiled, “and threatening to beat up a rock for me...” 

That pearly white grin nearly blinded you despite the dark of night, “Of course, I’m always happy to rough up a pebble for you- but uh, I might draw the line at boulders, just so you know.” 

You bit your lip as you chucked, feeling butterflies bounce around your stomach uncontrollably, “Noted…. I should probably let you go before Steve does something stupid and heroic… But I’ll see you soon?” you proposed as you leaned into the doorframe, “Goodnight, Buck…”

He couldn't restrain the grin that parted his lips at the prospect of seeing you again so soon, and seemed to stumble over himself as he backed down the short staircase, “Right… right, I should- Goodnight, y/n…” His grin never left as he finally turned to leave…

… But something stopped him at the bottom of the stairs, “Wait-” He interjected into the silence. His lips tightened as he seemed to fight with himself for a moment, before finally turning back to you with a look of nervous determination in his eyes.

“Y/n, I…” his words paused as he searched for the next ones, his whole demeanor had shifted, not quite the suave confident soul you had always seen, but an endearingly awkward version of him. “I don't know if I’ll ever have the guts to say this again, but I- Y/n, I really like you…” Bright blue eyes met yours as you continued. 

“You’re thoughtful and genuine, and you always have paint on your face- even now-” He laughed softly, pointing to his ear.

“Oh, Shit-” you mumbled, rubbing it off quickly. 

“But it’s what I love about you. You do what you love and you pour yourself into it every time. And even though you’re quiet, when you do speak your words say volumes. You're funny, and kind, and just… so far beyond me that I know I don’t have a chance, but I just had to try why I still had the nerve.” He rushed to finish, ending with a deep breath as he urged himself to wait for your answer. 

Your face burned with the full heat of the sun as you tried to take in Bucky's words, He thought you were out of his league????

“You… I…. “ You had to laugh, your heart so unbelievably light as it all really hit you- he liked you!  You! 

“Bucky, are you serious..? I’ve had a crush on you from the moment I met you. You smiled and laughed and I haven’t been the same ever since.” You rubbed your blushing cheeks, trying to will away the embarrassing hue as you continued, softer, “But you could have anyone- there’s always people falling at your feet, I just figured I could never compete with the likes of them…” 

Wait, you liked him too? You said you liked him too?? With newfound confidence Bucky took another step forward, his fingers reaching out to you in invitation, which you gladly accepted. “You’re right… You could never compete with them,” he started, “ It simply wouldn’t be fair to make them compete in something they could never dream of winning.”

Your cheeks hurt from the sheer force of your smile and as you looked down at your linked fingers you swore your heart would fly away. 

“Um… Bucky, can I-”

“Please” He rushed, his own grin spanning from ear to ear as he leaned in for a kiss.

________________

General Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity @simpxinnie @goldylions @yeehawbrothers

If I missed or accidentally tagged you lmk! Wanna be added General Bucky taglist? Please ask/DM me!

[disjointed-art]

Catch my breath part 3: Bloom pages 10-11

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SUNDAY UPDATE!!! I finished these pages and couldn’t wait anymore 🤭

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TW: Death/suicide: Nancy has a breakdown about Steve’s illness killing him and the wording is similar to suicide so please take care of yourselves!

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We are getting there folks! The boys are being forced to spend time together!!!

Eddie speaking facts when he says no one is to blame for Steve’s illness or the anxiety Steve has towards treatment! This was a lesson I had to learn about my own shit and honestly this whole comic is coming to terms with allowing others to care for you when you need help. We love projecting in our art :p

Tumblr posts for the comic here or the easy full parts here on kofi

Monday updates usually unless I’m a goober and post early 🥰

[ddejavvu]

Steve telling off everyone, nearly getting into his old ‘king Steve’ ways, whenever they make fun of bimbo!reader for not understanding something. But if you ever get upset at his harsh scolding look, whether he’s using it against some assholes, or the kids when they’re misbehaving, he’ll immediately soften up and apologise, kissing your nose before butting it gently with his own, and promising he’s never mad at you. Which you know because your Stevie is always so kind with you! Even though you’re a bit sensitive, he knows what helps you feel best, and you’re always so good at helping him when he’s reminded of his upside down time, always so empathetic and soft and reminding him of what he’s got.

But he treats you all the time. He lives for treating bimbo!reader. He buys you whatever food you want, even if you don’t ask, he’s bouncing a twirl of your hair he’s caught in his finger and asking if you’re hungry. His pants don’t even twitch when you’ve always got a lollipop in your mouth, he just gets so happy at seeing you squeal and light up when he buys you a new bag of them, and he loves the sweet taste of your lips afterwards too! And if there’s something pretty you wanna wear in store, all you have to do is look at it for longer than 7 seconds, and he’s putting it around his arm, holding it out like a waiter as he wraps more dresses, and crop tops, and jackets over it, dangling a necklace from his fingers too. Which you kiss as you bend to put away a pair of shoes, since Steve was already buying you so much. Steve brings them back after work the next day. He always wears the bracelet you made him, every single day. Even if it’s slightly your style but you tried to make it like his, no matter what, he can’t be separated from it

And he’s always cuddling you. He loves you so much, and he loves how you’re never scared to show him your love too! How you’ll always be affectionate with him, no matter what. It makes him feel cared for. And he’ll always be told off by Robin for giving you so many smooches right on top of the till. But how can his poor heart resist when you pout at him with those glossy lips and ask “Kissy? Please Stevie, kissy?”

firmly believe steve is still just as big of a bitch as he was in s1 he just balanced it out with his goober side, so he'd absolutely whip out the nastiest, bitchiest insult if anyone dared talk shit about you. but sometimes he goes too far, and you rein him back in by going 'Stevie!' and he snaps out of it and looks over at you with his pretty brown eyes already apologetic, and he tugs you closer with his arm around your shoulders to say sorry. he nuzzles your noses together and plants a kiss to your face, promising to be nicer next time.

and yeah, sometimes you have the chance to reciprocate his protectiveness on his bad days! sometimes he gets flashbacks or awful memories bubbling to the surface and you smooth your hands over his cheeks, run your fingers through his hair, rub his back, kiss his face, and promise that he's safe now, with you, and he's never going back there.

he loooves buying you food, not just 'cause he can mooch off of you but because you'll actually feed it to him!! he adores letting you feed him forkfuls of noodles, and yes he's always stocking you up on sweets so that he can kiss the sugar off of your lips.

Clothes are even more exciting for him to buy you! It’s almost like he’s a kid playing with Barbies, rushing through the store and stockpiling whatever you want just to slip into a dressing room with you and kiss you through the neck of the dress you’re trying to slide over your head. And you wear all of the stuff that he gets you, so he wears what you get him. Yes his little bracelet that he can’t live without, it’s always around his left wrist ‘cause he says he wants it closer to his heart :’)

I think robin’s just jealous Steve gets to kiss pretty girls over the counter the whole time </3 he definitely gets in trouble, but he’d get fired if it meant he could kiss you forever in the break room <333

[witchofthesouls]

Hello, I don't usually ask questions on social networks, but I wanted to know what you think of a story where our human friend suffers an accident aboard the lost light in the Brainstrom laboratory and now the bots are able to see his thoughts. Bonus points if it's weird stuff (most of our minds are very weird), (sorry if something is poorly translated, I'm writing this with the translator) ^^)

One, I absolutely adore this concept.

Two, did you know there are people that think in pictures rather than use an internal voice?

And to top it off, people go around referencing pop culture, iconic scenes, memes, and their favorite media as well as the weird, intrusive thoughts and extreme, nonsensical daydreams...

I like to think there would be a media war between the Cybertronians that never went to Earth and only know beloved cartoons and shows and memes from the weird reenactment from the resident human's mind but with the Lost Light crew getting morphed into it versus the Cybertronians that actually had direct experience and personally downloaded those shows and movies.

As the "I Ship It" song goes, canon ground versus crack ship space.

Does anyone else remember those Naruto animation videos where the Akatsuki are drawn drunk or doing hilarious dances? The human looked up the Decepticon Justice Division, cross referenced on what they do, and immediately thought of a full sequence of the D.J.D. doing the Gang Torture Dance from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure.

The human thinks of sequences, including but not limited to:

Ultra Magnus as Steve Harvey from Family Feud with Rodimus with the "Nekkid Grandma!" bit

Rodimus doing "Goofy Goober Rock" because Roddy would love to be suspended in the air and dressed in wizard swag with a killer rip on a peanut-themed guitar. Drift has the legs to fulfill Patrick's fishnet-and-heels dance.

Megatron and Ratchet in The Office because he would stare deep into the camera at whatever new trouble has plagued the ship

Getaway and Rodimus doing the "Tony and Ezekiel" bit

So many fire-related memes: Elmo and the "This is fine." Dog.

The overlap of Rodimus in Gurren Lagen and Bang Brave Bang Bravern

The continuously weirder and weirder thoughts on how Cybertronian strip club would look like based on Futurama, Cyberpunk, and Night runner's Magnum Bullets. "Snu-snu" bit included. It's both highly ridiculous, strangely erotic, and absolutely terrifying at the same time to the Lost Light crew.

Whenever a mech does something stupid, the human immediately reimagines the mech in Wheel of Fortune fails, or a shoving potatoes in the exhaust

Nightbeat in a noir setting or as Sherlock Holmes

Rung is "Mister Cellophane" from Chicago

Assigned character theme songs

The last bullet causes so much drama because mechs want to have really cool or badass themes, but no! The human assigns them sex or porn songs like "Life is a Highway" and "Shut Up and Drive" and "Two Trucks," or something silly like "Barbie Girl" or the opening theme to Mega XLR or the sad song on the world's smallest violin to the poor bastard that gets stuck with the engex bill at the end of the night.

[reputationmunson]

Little Moments | Dad!Steve x Mom!Reader

[1.0K Words]

summary: A lazy Sunday morning with Steve and your two daughters

content: fluff, slight suggestive language, mention of mom guilt, steve and reader being the best parents

_

It’s a rare occurrence for you and Steve to wake up alone in your bed and when you did, it was a bittersweet feeling. Of course you both loved the alone time, but you also missed cuddles with your babies.

Today was one of those mornings.

You were up before Steve and by some miracle, your two daughters were still sound asleep.

Steve was lying on his side, facing you and he looked so dreamy.

His lips were slightly parted and sure, he might’ve drooled a little, but he was still as breathtaking as ever.

You move closer to him and lay on your side to admire him.

You start to grow restless and begin to slowly trace over his features with your index finger.

Your finger gently glides over his brow bone and he twitches, making you stop in case he wakes.

After a few seconds, you trace his cheekbone, then the bridge of his nose, his cupid's bow, and then his lips. You do it over and over again, while admiring his freckles that you’ve seen a thousand times. You’ll never get tired of staring at him.

“Mm that feels nice” Steve says, keeping his eyes closed.

“How long have you been awake, Mr. Harrington?” You trace your finger over his lips one last time and he gives your fingertip a kiss.

“Long enough, Mrs. Harrington. Are the goobers up yet?” He finally opens his eyes and your heart warms at the sight of his golden irises.

“Do you really think it would be this peaceful if they were up?” You answer and he chuckles.

He moves to lay on his back and motions for you to snuggle up to him.

You lay your head on his chest and let your arm rest around his waist. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in as close as possible.

“Do you not love me anymore?” He asks in a faux serious tone.

“What?” You move your head to look up at him.

“I have yet to receive my morning kiss. Should I be expecting divorce papers?”

You roll your eyes. “So dramatic”

You give a peck. Then two pecks. Then three pecks that turn into a slow, intense kiss.

You don’t move for what feels like hours.

“Wanna get lucky?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you’re about to say yes when you hear two little feet pitter-patter down the hallway. You give him one last kiss as a way to rain check your morning plans. 

Your bedroom door opens and your oldest, Olivia, stands in the doorway. “Mommy?”

“Hi, baby. Good morning.” Her hair is an absolute mess, much like yours and Steve’s, and her pajamas are uncomfortably twisted and out of whack. She’s so cute you just wanna squeeze her.

“Want me to fix your pjs, Liv?” You offer and she walks over to the bed. You go to help her up, but as she told you last time she got in your bed, she’s a big girl now. She balls the sheets in her fists to pull herself up.

She plops herself in your lap and you straighten her pajamas out. You kiss her forehead and her little arms wrap around your neck, snuggling into you. Your heart swells so much it might burst.

“What is up with my girls not giving me love this morning?” Steve reaches out and tickles her, causing her to giggle uncontrollably.

“Momma, help me!” She exclaims, still laughing and you start playfully fighting off Steve.

He moves to sit on his knees. “I think mommy needs tickles too”

All of the sudden, there’s a tickle war and the room is filled with laughter. “Okay, okay! I’m calling a truce!” You cry out and Steve retreats, falling back on the bed. You lie back on the pillows and Olivia lays on your stomach. Steve admits he's a little jealous, but he’ll never get over the sight of his girls snuggling.

Eventually, she finds her way into Steve’s lap and he sticks his tongue out at you. “You’re daddy’s girl, huh?”

“Yeah! Mommy’s too!” She’s perfect.

Moments of silence pass until you hear Claire crying and you suddenly feel terribly guilty.

“I got her,” Steve assures you. Livvy crawls over to snuggle you again.

“Why is sissy sad?” Olivia asks, concerned. She looks up at you and is an exact replica of her dad. You can’t help but give her cheeks a squeeze.

“Oh, baby, she’s not sad. She just can’t walk or talk yet, so that’s how we know she needs something” You rub her back to comfort her. She truly is the best big sister. Her and Claire are two years apart, so you were worried about jealousy issues, but Liv adores her baby sister.

Steve always says it’s because she has your heart of gold.

You always say it’s because she has his heart of gold.

You and Liv start to drift back to sleep until Steve walks back in the room.

“Diapers changed and she just had her bottle” He informs you. You give him a loving smile as a thank you.

“How’s my Claire-bear? I’m sorry we had a tickle fight without you, hun” You move to give her a kiss and Olivia does the same.

She coos and smiles at you. She’s always been a smiley baby. “Because she’s gonna be a goofball just like her mom” you recall Steve saying and it makes you smile.

Steve shifts closer to you. He has Claire laying on his chest while Liv lays on yours. Once everyone’s comfortable, he throws an arm around you and kisses the top of your head.

“Liv, are you hungry, baby?” You ask in a worried tone.

“Wanna go back to sleep, mommy”

“She’s fine, babe. You’re the best mom in the history of moms, promise” Steve reassures you, knowing you’ve been struggling with mom guilt. “Isn’t that right, Livvy?”

“You’re my favorite mommy ever” She says and a yawn follows shortly after. You kiss the top of her head in appreciation.

You all fall back asleep in a snuggle pile. It’s a little claustrophobic and you’re definitely starting to sweat, but it’s the best feeling in the world.

You can’t wait for tomorrow morning and every morning after that.

[drbtinglecannon]

Taking a second to focus on my favorite background bits of this wonderful beautiful gigantic cast picture by Dresden Douglas (their Tumblr is "dresdoodles" give them some love!!! I did not tag them here so I'm not hitting them with a notification full of my stupid observations haha)

Obviously gotta go to Darius & Eber first. Look at the utter disgust upon Darius' face even touching Hooty (or maybe it's directed at Eber for being willing to bite Hooty), meanwhile Eber is bitebiteclawmaim-ing Hooty but despite the claw marks they seem to be ineffective. I wonder how much of Eber's attacking is for his own safety/curiosity vs trying to save his bestie Darius from the Ick™. They're just my favorite "opposites that are besties for life" duo I could talk about these goobers forever

Skara & Viney (& Puddles)! My girls! They're wearing their Emerald Entrails uniforms! Personally I think they're a cute ship but even platonically I love how different they are yet have become their own little duo within the flyer derby team

THE BATTS *hiss*. Katya & Derwin looking at each other & doing the pose like total cuties, meanwhile Amber is making SUCH a face haha. Did anyone else imagine food fanfic chick from s1ep1 would end up fleshed out & important enough to be part of her own little corner of a massive art piece containing most of the show's cast that's hanging in a gallery dedicated to the show?

Gilbert & Harvey Park and Perry Porter, the Dads. So Perry focusing on work still even in this moment is condemnable honestly, dude is tangled in a coil of Hooty & is like "I need to report on this". Meanwhile Harvey has big watery eyes & Gilbert has a soft smile. I love the detail that Gilbert appears to be carrying Harvey, it matches with him being a construction witch (so probably fit) & also it's a funny reflection to Willow with her looking more like Gilbert & also being the Buff™ friend

Mattholomule & his big bro Steve!! Rip Steve this isn't the first time -- or even second time -- Hooty's taken him out, and it probably won't be the last. I love getting the brothers next to each other, helps show how similar they look. Matty is fairing better than Steve but he seems to be struggling himself. That's fair, boys, Hooty is certainly unpredictable

Grandma lesbians made it, good for them

You know that Gwen&Dell are looking at how happy their daughters & grandkids all are, like you know the scene before then is a dream come true kinda soft feeling that they've wanted for their daughters for decades

I love the fond expression on Emira's face looking at Edric, vs the confusion/surprised one on Alador's face. Edric's fine tho look at him he's having fun. Odalia can't even look at her family and is just absolutely scowling, but Kikimora is right beside her so horrible trash women Odalimora canon

You KNOW that Willow fanboy is shouting "WOooOOOooo GO WILLOW" seeing her & Hunter together. I think it's extra funny Boscha is right next to him looking like she's sucked on a lemon with Kat shrugging at Amelia but neither looking surprised by Boscha's antics. (as someone who always hated bos//low it's just such funny staging imo, I know it's probably not that but it's still funny)

[stevebabey]

surrounded by your embrace

summary: when you get drunk at a party, old memories make steve worry. he really doesn't need to because all alcohol does is make you clingy. gn!reader but mentioned to wear sum eyeshadow, no warnings u and steve are just absolute goobers for each other :D wc: 2k

He goes to the bathroom for five minutes.

Five minutes and you manage to make yourself scarce. The corner you had been previously inhabiting, slurping the lip of your red solo cup while talking to some friends, is completely void of you when Steve finds his way back to it.

Your friends are still there, leaned against the wall and chattering amongst themselves. Steve clears his throat to gain their attention.

"Did you see...?" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, asking if they'd noticed where you might've wandered off to. You've had quite a few drinks tonight already and Steve's not surprised if it means you've forgotten you're the only one he knows at this party. These are your friends, not his.

One of them points towards the kitchen and he mutters a quiet thank-you, beginning to wind his way through the people to reach the kitchen.

A fraction of unease prickles at the back of his neck. Last time he was a party and his partner ambled off, full of alcohol, it had left a couple memories that cut deep. Steve hasn't ever admitted it aloud to anyone the seeds that Nancy had sowed that night, the little insecurities that had never bothered Steve in the slightest suddenly sprouting up overnight.

Worst is, he can't make himself forget that night. He remembers the spill of red punch on her white shirt vividly. Remembers the sting behind his eyes. Remembers how later on she'd come back in the middle of everything with Jonathan by her side and Steve had just... known.

But you're not Nancy and he knows that. He knows that this is a different party, you're a different person, it's a whole different relationship—

Yet, those insecurities have rooted deep and Steve can feel them shifting painfully inside him as his worries get away from him. Like vines wrapping tight around his ribcage the longer it takes to find you.

You're aren't by the drink station on the kitchen bench and looking out at the sea of people in the living room, you aren't there either. Steve pulls his collar away from his neck, feeling the prickle roll down his skin again. You've gone, something in his head whispers meanly, You've left him and found someone else at this party. Someone without his baggage, someone without his neediness, someone—

Steve scrubs a hand down his face and shoves away his ugly thoughts. None of them are fair to you — you who has been nothing but impossibly and endlessly sweet on him in the one month you and Steve have been dating. He inhales sharply to clear his head and scans the crowd again. Nothing.

Just as he's turning to go bug your friends again, he spots movement out the corner on his eye, someone shuffling about the walk-in pantry. Steve walks closer and peers in. It's you.

Delight and relief bloom together in his chest and he rounds the corner with a shaky smile, leaning up against the door frame. "There you are."

You turn with a little hiccup, clearly startled.

Steve adores how the recognition on your face melts into excitement, steamrolling his anxieties in an instant, and you drop whatever is in your hands and leap for your boyfriend.

"Steve!"

"That's me," He says with a smile, arms opening for you to burrow yourself in. You do so, arms twisting around his middle and face smushing against his chest and he welcomes the warmth of you in his arms. He expects you to move after a minute but you stay put, pressed right up against him, hold only tightening.

"I couldn't find you." You whine.

"You were looking for me in the pantry?"

"Nooooo," The drinks you've had have turned your usual drama up to 11. You dig your face out of his chest and rest your chin against it instead, forcing Steve to look directly down to meet your eyes. "S'just went to get water from th' kitchen 'n' then I saw they have a box of Fruit Roll-Ups."

You say this all as if it's incredibly self-explanatory why you're in the pantry while you're also looking for your boyfriend. Steve looks over your head and spies the spilled box on the ground you were holding just a few moment prior. Lo and behold, half a dozen Fruit Roll-Ups are scattered on the ground.

"Fruit Roll-Ups, Steve." You whisper with more emphasis.

He laughs a little, looking back down at you and thinking how pretty you look tonight. There's this blue crystal-coloured eyeshadow lightly smudged across your eyelids and it glitters beneath the low hanging bulb of the pantry.

"Well, I'm sure you can have one." He nods to gesture behind you. "Melanie won't mind, you're her friend."

Melanie, the party's host, had been tucked up and fast asleep in her bed with a big red bucket by her side when he had opened her door trying to find the bathroom. Steve definitely thinks she won't mind letting you gorge yourself of a single Fruit Roll-Up. Or a couple. Whatever, he won't tell on you.

"You think?"

Steve rubs your back lightly and goads you back towards the snack you're clearly hungry for. Your hands slide out of the hug reluctantly but the moment you turn, you're scuttling over to the treats. Steve chuckles watching you plop yourself down, sitting down on the cold tiles. You're in shorts. Steve can see your goosebumps from here.

He takes a few steps and crouches down, taking a seat next to you, leaning his back up against a beam. You're trying to tear into one of the packets but the moment Steve's back in your view, you're pouting and holding it out to him.

Steve pretends to scoff, taking the packet and opening it easily, but really, he loves that you ask him to do those things. Loves doing little things for you. He offers it back to you and you pluck it from his hands with glee.

He assumes you'll sink your teeth into it but you stare at it for a moment before you surprise him, crawling forward and all bout clambering into his lap.

It's rather inelegant, your drunkenness not helping and you push the heel of your hand just two inches from where it would really hurt, making Steve wince in anticipation. He holds his hands up and out of the way and lets you settle yourself.

A quiet revelation makes something in his chest glows hotly. You're always affectionate, always want to be touching him, but this is another level for you — there's a shyness around PDA that you usually carry that seems to have been shed tonight. Anyone could peer in the pantry and see you curled up in his arms and lap and you seem too enamoured with him to even care.

Steve grins and chides himself for ever being worried earlier.

"Hi." You say, finally situated comfortably. Steve's not sure it is comfortable, sitting sideways in his lap with one leg twisted nearly underneath you and one out in front, sorta curled in, but you seem content enough. He places one hand on the small of your back, the other holding just above your knee.

"Hi there. Comfy now?"

"Very. Can you pass me my roll-up please?"

You've dropped it in your wriggle to get closer to him and its rolled nearly under the shelf Steve's leaning up besides. He leans over and retrieves it, thanks God for the wrapper, and produces it for you.

"A gift." He says, drinking in how your face washes over with delight. With the lights haloing behind your head, your hair frizzy from dancing earlier, he thinks you look like an angel.

"That's right!" You take it from him and pull it close to your chest, attention back on him. "I wanted to give you a kiss, to say thank you."

Steve feels his heart flutter, a stutter in the beats at the utter tenderness of your words. He squeezes your knee and turns his face, holding out his cheek.

"Well, go on then."

You giggle and it's the most dreamy honeyed noise Steve's ever heard. You lean in and plant a big wet kiss on his cheek with a happy hum, pulling back with a mwah!

"Thank you for the kiss, sweetheart." He rubs the hand on your back lightly and you soften at his words completely, pure giddiness running rampant across your features.

Steve soaks it all in, unsure of the last time he knew someone who gave him love so freely. You seem to have endless amounts of it for him. You don't even mind when he's greedy with you.

You finally peel back the wrapper of the Fruit Roll-Up and gobble a bit of it down. You chew and swallow and lean all your weight against him, your shoulder pressing into his. You're close, a couple more inches and the tip of his nose would brush yours. A bashful expression flits across your features.

"I like when you call me sweetheart."

"You do?"

You nod enthusiastically.

"That's good," Steve says, fondness coating each word. " 'Cos I like calling you sweetheart, sweetheart."

It's so cheesy that Steve thinks you shouldn't laugh, but you do because you're wonderful. He grins, his fingers on your knee tightening slightly as you look over him, your eyes crinkled up by your grin. The alcohol makes you brash enough to stare and you look at his face intently for a moment before you huff.

“God!” You drop your head back with a dramatic sigh and sink your teeth into your bottom lip to try contain your giddy grin. It doesn’t work in the slightest. “That look.”

"What? What look?”

You tip your head back up and Steve can read the shyness on your expression, pulling at your eyebrows.

“You know,” You say, a little embarrassed, which is even more adorable on you while drunk. You're flustered over your words, like you know you wouldn't normally have said them if you were sober. “You just get this look sometimes, when you’re looking at me—”

Steve frowns for a moment, minuscule, as he thinks of what face you might be referring to.

“—and your eyes get all intense and- ugh! It still makes nervous when you do it.” You’ve drop your head again, forward this time, to hide your face in his shoulder. You pat your tummy theatrically and then clutch it, voice lowering to a whisper in his ear. “These butterflies are your doing, Harrington.”

Steve laughs, entirely too pleased with himself —he still makes you nervous. Ditto, he thinks. “Is that so?”

"Mmhm." You hum and Steve feels you place a soft kiss on one of the moles on his neck. His breath catches and his heart flip-flops. You wiggle a bit but it's just to try get closer to him, your nose nuzzling against his neck. A tired sigh escapes you.

"You tired? Wanna go home?" He asks.

You nod sluggishly but make no attempt to move. Steve chuckles lightly, his hand still soothing up and down your back gently, not helping in the least he knows. Still, he can't help himself; he wants to ply you with love, with comfort, if he can. You sigh happily.

"N' a minute." You mumble. Your words are slurring the more tired you get. "Just wanna be at a party with my super hot and amazing boyfriend for one more minute. S'okay?"

Steve's heart crumples and he can feel his entire body curl up, his legs sliding up an inch, his hands tensing, all involuntarily reactions to try bring you in closer to him. There is an ache in his very core but it's a lovely ache. Steve feels a burn behind his eyes. He blinks and presses a long kiss to your hairline.

"Yeah, sweetheart," He murmurs into your hair. "That's more than okay with me."

[findafight]

Ohhh fic where Steve and Robin and Dustin and Erica all casually make funny little haha jokes with each other about getting tortured/almost caught by the Russians under Starcourt because they all have that shared trauma and had many a long late night calls reassuring each other they're alive and playing dnd together and fulfilling lifetime supply of icecream obligations.

They do this because sure the rest of the party knew there were Russians under Starcourt but everything they went through in that basement was sorta...forgotten in the aftermath of literal flesh monster. And with Hopper dead and the Byers moving, there's so much happening that whatever happened to Steve's face (lost another fight...) and why he and Robin went from mildly antagonistic co-workers to codependent goobers who couldn't go literally a day without seeing the other or what made Dustin always ask if Erica was going to come for party hang outs are all sort of brushed under the rug. Not a big deal, really. Bigger things happening after everything.

And they cope together and scoops troop is a weird little section of the party no one but them really understands. Robin and Steve are attached at the hip and to a lesser extent so are Erica and Dustin (but they'll never admit it), and they all have mini gatherings together.

So, the casual mentioning of starcourt and specifically what went down with the Russians is commonplace for them. (Erica is quick to remind them she saved their asses, and are they so lame they need her help again? but she smiles and Steve and Robin just laugh and give her a big hug.) And somehow, they forget that not everyone really knows what went down before July 4th 1985.

And I want them to do it in front of everyone. I want them to have their stupid "this was so fucked up but we're alive and we got through it so now we have to laugh or we may never stop crying about it" banter at a big "we saved the world again!" Barbecue. I want the rest of the folks there to go silent and them not to notice.

I want someone to mention Steve not getting a black eye this time, congrats! and Robin going "the only reason why I didn't get one last time was because the Russians said-"

And Steve, who is lying with his head in her lap, reaches up to gently cup her cheek and says in a terrible Russian accent "don't worry, we will not ruin your pretty face!" (everyone is quiet around them, they do not notice)

She laughs. "And punched me in the gut a few more times. I peed blood for like, three days."

Steve goes "ewwww" only to be pinched by robin.

"you peed blood too, dingus. You got it worse than me and my pretty face."

He giggles and opens his hand up for a high five "pissing blood buddies, hell yeah!" And shifts in her lap. "But they bruised my pretty face. Rude."

"aww. It's okay, Stevie, your face is still so pretty. Prettiest boy in Hawkins."

"thanks Robin."

"at least Dustin and Erica got us out before they started ripping out fingernails." She shudders.

"or used the bonesaw"

"mmm. Unfortunately not before we got funky truth serum drugs though."

He leans up, looking at the two "y'all couldn't have been a bit faster?" But he's smiling, teasing. A well worn joke.

Dustin and Erica respond simultaneously with "I'm missing bones, Steve, what do you want from me?" And "I was ten and my legs were short as shit. Beggars can't be choosers." Respectively.

It is at this point an Actual Grown Up butts in.

"what. What do you mean ripping out fingernails?"

Robin and Steve look towards Joyce, who asked.

"like. To interrogate us? Because we just kept saying we worked for scoops even with the truth serum."

"because they thought we had to be superspies to get into their creepy lair and not a bunch of kids."

"mmhmm"

Hopper jumps in "wait. You were tortured by them?"

Robin and Steve give him eerily similar looks that express how obvious the answer to that is.

"yeah, duh."

"I don't go looking to get brain damage every year, you know."

Hoppers eye twitches. "Why didn't you say anything?"

[ctrnewrites]

little moments (steve harrington)

hiii :3, im getting back into the passion of writing. and honestly posting to a little moth in the corner of the internet is worth it if i can reignite a passion. here is a little piece i cooked up

summary: a collection of moments throughout the day that make steve appreciate the little moments, (doesn't really follow any form of timeline, it's just assumed that the upside down probably happened, s2-s3 era steve) (fem reader)

wc: 1,150

The sheer curtain couldn’t completely hide the light from the sun shining into the room. Two bodies stir under the soft duvet of a queen-sized bed. Steve is the one to wake first, staring down at the head of his girlfriend. A head that’s tucked into his chest, nuzzled against his warmth. His gaze was full of nothing but love and admiration. Steve placed a soft kiss on her head, his hand playing with hers that was left resting on his chest. Steve admired times like these. Soft, quiet moments that seem small in meaning but are incredibly valued. Within a short span of a few minutes, his lover awoke. Looking up at the brown-haired boy and chuckling softly. Whispering a soft “good morning lovely”.

“Mornin’ sweetness.” He whispered in return. “Sleep well?” Steve asked her, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

“Always the best with you,” (Y/n) smiled, sitting up to give a peck to the corner of his mouth. “Lazy day today?”

“What day is it?” He countered, just to make sure.

“Uhm, Saturday.” She squinted at the small calendar across his room. “No work, unknown status on the goobers though.” She joked.

“Indeed. Well let’s just enjoy at least our morning together.” He smiled at her, returning the previous peck to her nose.

----------------------------------

The couple were still in their pajamas as they traversed the kitchen. Picking up leftovers from breakfast and placing dishes in the sink to be washed. As Steve placed the leftovers in the fridge, (y/n) started the task of wiping down the countertops and the table where they ate. “You always make the best pancakes ever baby.” Steve called out to her.

“It’s just a little extra cinnamon and vanilla extract. I keep telling you, yet you insist on me making them.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes and went to the kitchen sink to ring out the old rag she used. Then starting the chore of washing the dishes.

“But they aren’t the same.” He sighed, going up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. “Yours are always special when you make them.” Steve placed a kiss on her cheek, staying in his position of being wrapped around his girlfriend.

“If you say so Stevie.” She giggled, finishing up the last dish of the minor mess they made. The other cleaned dishes on a drying rack next to the sink.

There usually weren’t many dishes to be done throughout the day. Considering Steve’s parents were typically away on some business venture, Steve has been the only one around. Keeping (Y/n) and the kids around for company. But with them, it usually wasn’t so bad.

---------------------------------------------------

“Boo, it’s raining.” (Y/n)’s voice reverberated throughout the living room. Her eyes were glued to the window that faced the street; curtains drawn to bring in whatever natural light it could. “I wanted to have a picnic.”

“We could still have a picnic, just indoors.” Steve suggested, standing next to her, looking at the downpour.

“It’s more fun when it’s outside.” She raised her brows towards her lover.

“Baby we can’t go outside, you’ll get sick.” He gave her a stern ‘are you serious?’ look.

“That’s such a myth. I go outside in the rain all the time and I’ve ended up perfectly fine.” She turned to face him. “Especially after I take a nice warm bath, it basically reverses the cold.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” He rolled his eyes. Glancing between the girl and the torrential downpour outside.

“That is so how it works.” (Y/n) giggled at him as she toyed with the sleeves of the sweater she was wearing. It was his very own bright yellow sweater. Steve always thought the sweater looked better on her. But every time he voiced his opinion, (Y/n) fired back that yellow was definitely not her color. Regardless of how often she stole the sweater to sleep or just hang out in.

Steve knew she would get her way. They would end up going outside without the appropriate clothes for the September rain. The yellow sweater was discarded on a recliner in the living room as (Y/n) ran to the French doors leading out to the backyard in her tank and jeans. She looked Steve dead in the eye as she took a step out of the doors and onto the patio. Immediately getting drenched with the rain. Steve saw her bright smile as she spun underneath the dark sky. He decided he had no choice but to join her, stepping outside with his blue T-shirt and denim.

“You know I love you right?” He says to her over the sound of rain echoing around them.

“I am forever grateful that you do. And I love you too.” (Y/n) pulled him close, standing on her tip toes and giving him a kiss on the nose.

Steve started to sway to an imaginary song, bringing (Y/n) in to dance with him. Enjoying the feel of the rain as they danced. A sway, a spin, a lean, and finally he pulled her in closer, finally landing a normal kiss on her lips. His hands moved to her cheeks as her arms went around his neck. The rain continued around them, but it felt as if they froze in time. Out of breath, foreheads touching as they took in the moment. It was peaceful, serene, but also cold and wet.

“We should probably go inside.” She suggested, feeling a chill go down her spine.

“I told you so.” He captured her lips in a quick kiss once more. “I’ll go run us a bath. Bubbles included.”

----------------------------------------

After the bath and a new set of clean clothes, the two returned to the living room once again. The rain continued outside while they just laid on the couch, enjoying each other’s company and touch. It was moments like this that were truly cherished. No need for elaborate dates or crazy activities when all they needed was each other.

“I think I could stay like this forever Stevie.” (Y/n) sighed happily, nuzzling into his chest.

“Me too, sweetness.” Steve returned the sentiment. Playing with her hair as she laid her head on him. “I love you. So much more than you can imagine.” He said softly.

“I love you even more.” She smiled, gently closing her eyes to let sleep take over her for an afternoon nap.

He watched her lull to sleep, still holding onto her. Steve never felt stability like he did before (Y/n). It was a welcome feeling. One he would hold onto forever. It truly was moments like these where he was able to sit back and appreciate the cards that life dealt him. His thoughts slowly calmed down, finally succumbing to the same fate and falling asleep on the couch in the living room. Nothing to disturb the peace of the couple.

[hungharrington]

Steve is the type of guy to try push his feet over your shoulders when you’re bathing together 😔 just to be annoying

wait the way that you’re so fuckin right… i don’t know which way you’re picturing it but i’m imagining sitting between his legs and the moment you lean forward to like idk scrub your leg, he’s like wiggling to see if he can get them up there, over your shoulders, doesn’t matter if he’s slipping and sliding and taking in a whole mouthful of bubbles as he does. what a fucking goober i adore him

nonnie, may i RAISE you… if you sit too close to the edge of the bed while steve is on it, he will without fail, nudge you with his foot and try to kick you off- softly ofc!!! but you always forget about it until his foot is pushing against your lower back and u whip over to look at him and are like steve dooooon’t and he just grins and shoves u, til your sliding down onto the ground with a ☹️ face. he shows no remorse. how is his leg that strong idk man things. does the same thing when u tie your shoelace, just nudges you enough to knock you off balance — but half the time, he’s the one tying your show so it’s fair

[antigone-ks]

Lantern of Evil

It's been almost 5 years since I posted this on AO3, so I thought it was time to clean up some typos and put it onto Tumblr.

MASTERLIST

Summary:

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“No you do not.” She turned the phone toward Bucky, who whistled as he sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He looked up, winked directly at her, then tossed the rest of the seasoning like a long-haired Salt Bae.

“But you seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

***

Or, Steve gets de-serumed and falls in love over art, old movies, and taxi dances.

Rating: E for Explicity, Eventually

Tags: Steve Rogers/Reader; Plus Size Reader; Natasha Romanov (Marvel); Tony Stark; Sam Wilson (Marvel); James "Bucky" Barnes; background Bucky/Nat - Freeform; Skinny Steve Rogers; Pre-Serum Steve Rogers; Post-Serum Steve Rogers; De-Serumed Steve Rogers; all of the combinations of serums and Steves; Slow Burn; Awkward Flirting; Awkward reader; Awkward Steve Rogers; neither of these goobers know what they're doing; shameless Letterkenny reference; False Identity; horrible misunderstandings; love in art galleries; love on bridges; love on front porches; will earn rating in later chapters; I hope; inappropriate use of a history degree; Short Reader; Profanity; Fluff; Angst; Fluff and Angst; Smut; Oral Sex; Vaginal Fingering; Making Out; definitely third base; not all-the-way parking but pretty close; Biting; Cunnilingus; Fellatio; Vaginal Sex; Steve wants to be clear that this isn't fucking; Making Love

Chapter One: The Greens of June

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

____________________

You settled onto the bench, bag on the floor. The museum had barely opened – a bad sign; it meant you were either blocked or stir-crazy. Or both. Both was bad. You’d had the museum on your list of things-to-do-if-you-had-time, but when you’d first come to town you’d expected that there would never be time. You were getting the change of scenery and relief from responsibilities that you’d always wanted, so of course you never imagined that the same old problems would plague you.

Namely, writer’s block. Imposter Syndrome. “Every word I write is trash and I should sleep in the dumpster”-itis.

You’d gotten this amazing opportunity to take a sabbatical, move half a continent away, and just research the hell out of your magnum opus, a stroke of historical genius. Or what would be your magnum opus, if you could get the damn thing off the ground. Right now it was stuck at brevi opus.

Opus minimis.

You had piles of research, and a good starting point, but you either got stuck on the writing of it or spent days on end organizing the data until the sun coming in the curtains made you feel like a Morlock crawling out of its hole.

So you’d hit the museum.

It’d actually been working pretty well for you, the last few weeks, and you’d started making it part of your routine. Rather than wait for the Bad Times to force you out of the house, you’d come down every two or three days and just . . . pick something. A painting, a sculpture, whatever caught your eye, and you’d study it until your mind felt clear. Sometimes your mind would wander far enough afield that it circled back to your work, and you’d excitedly jot down a new avenue to explore or a turn of phrase you liked. Sometimes you got nothing but a peaceful feeling. Either way, it was good for you, and the initial guilt you’d felt at not being Productive At All Times had faded.

It sort of was productive, anyway. You told yourself so.

For the last couple of visits, you’d sat with Hamilton’s Joan of Arc and the Furies. It was Shakespeare’s Joan, about to be captured by the English and burned for heresy. It’s not . . . good . . . you think, you don’t like it, but there’s something about it. It’s like two different paintings in one, dark and bright, overbearing and reticent.

There aren’t many people around yet, no kiddie camp visits today, so you’re alone in this part of the gallery. The docents are used to you by now, and don’t bother eagle-eyeing you. You lean your chin on your hand and stare hard at Joan, at her Merveilleuse gown, which, like, didn’t Hamilton know she wore pants? Like, famously? But anyway.

“You know,” a deep voice said, “I’ve always wondered what’s going on with the light down by that first fury. What does it symbolize?”

You look over your shoulder at the speaker, a slightly-built blond man with a sketchbook under his arm. He’d shown up a couple of times before, wandering around with more purpose than the average tourist, like he knew which pieces he liked and why. He had a delicate face and serious eyes with just ridiculous lashes. You smiled uncertainly.

“Like, where even is it coming from? Under her skirt?” you ask, and he looks down at you and whoa nelly those are very blue eyes and chuckles.

“Is it the lantern of justice?” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Probably not in Shakespeare. Maybe a lantern of evil.”

“She keeps a lantern of evil in her skirt?” He’s smiling openly at you now, and it’s a really nice smile, and that’s the only excuse you have for what comes out of your mouth next.

“Lantern of evil – in my pants!” you chirp, grinning.

His eyebrows shot up and he gave an incredulous hah.

“Like, like the game?” you say hurriedly. “Where you add ‘in my pants’ to a quote, or a movie title?” You can hear your voice rising nervously and fiddle with your glasses to avoid looking at him. “One ring to rule them . . . in my pants?”

He’s laughing now – probably more at you than at the joke – but it’s enough to relax you a little bit.

“I have never played that game,” he said, eyes dancing. “But I know just the person to try it with. I’ve seen you here before,” he went on, glancing back at the painting. The tips of his ears went very pink.

“Yeah, this is turning into my happy place when work’s not going so well.” You look at Joan again and clear your throat. “I think I saw you, too . . . maybe Sunday?” Not that I noticed you. I’m not a creeper. I notice nothing. I can barely see.

He nodded and shrugged. “Probably, yeah. I’ve been here a lot over the past week.”

“Work got you down, too?” you ask. He kind of purses his lips and nods. Taking a breath, you gesture to the empty half of the bench. “Want to share Joan with me? She’ll take your mind off it.”

His smile is a slow, gentle thing, and even though you say nothing more until it’s time to leave, you feel warmer for sitting near him.

***

“Because they’ll clog up the drain.” Tony’s voice is clipped.

“They get rid of odors,” Natasha points out.

“So it was you.”

“You think I drink that light roast nonsense?” She looks up as Steve enters, the light of battle in her eyes. Well, the light of annoying Tony. It’s not hard. “Weak.”

“Now you’re a coffee snob, Romanoff? You – “ Tony points a pair of tongs at Steve “ – do some reconnaissance, rally the troops, whatever it is you do, and catch this villain.”

Steve clucks his tongue and fails to hide a grin. “Coffee grounds again? You know, we could just get a Keurig and solve that problem easily.” He ducks as both Tony and Natasha turn on him, allied in outrage.

“Just for that,” Tony says, “you get whichever steak I overcook.”

Steve eyes the barstools at the island. He can get into them now, but it involves just enough scrambling that it hurts his dignity. No one said anything the first time he did it, not even Tony, and that was somehow worse than teasing would have been. He’s not broken, for God’s sake. He’s a man of temporarily reduced stature. It’ll be fixed in no time, Bruce and Tony and Helen have promised, but . . .

He’d read a book once that described a gnome as a person whose ‘belligerence was compressed into a body six-inches high and, like many things when they are compressed, had an inclination to explode.’[1] Steve didn’t consider himself belligerent – although he had the urge to cross himself in penance and hope that Bucky was in a different building when he thought it – but he did feel like every human emotion was currently packed into a body too small to hold it all. This body didn’t fit, except that it did, and Steve honestly wasn’t sure which feeling was worse.

He leaned against the counter with – he hoped – an insouciant air and nodded at Tony. “’s long as I can gnaw through it.”

“Are you impugning my grilling skills, Rogers?”

“Wait, you’re gonna grill those?” Sam and Bucky entered the kitchen, apparently fresh off a sparring match. Sam’s skin glistened with sweat, and Bucky wasn’t much better off. Sam might not have super serum in his veins, but he wasn’t a pushover in the ring.

“How else d’you cook ‘em?” Bucky asked, wrinkling his nose at Sam.

“You sear ‘em on the stovetop in a cast-iron skillet,” Sam said, holding up one finger, “finish ‘em in the oven,” two fingers, “serve with a garlic-herb butter.” Three fingers, waved in Bucky’s face.

Natasha leaned on the counter next to Steve and pointed her phone toward the argument. “Every time,” she whispered, hitting "record."

“Every time,” Steve answered.

“In the oven? Cook like a man, Sam!”

“Grill makes ‘em too dry,” Sam insisted.

“Hey!” Tony snapped his tongs at Bucky. “My meat. My rules.” He straightened his shoulders under Sam’s withering look. “On the grill, flip once a minute for the good grill marks.”

“That’s overhandling.” Sam’s tone suggested he was heading straight to church to light all of the candles for Tony’s soul.

“Wait – everyone, wait,” Steve broke in. Natasha quirked her lip at him, annoyed that he was ruining the show. He winked at her. “The real issue here is, aren’t you gonna season those things?”

“Yeah, where’s the salt and pepper, bud?” Bucky asked.

“Don’t start with me,” Tony warned.

“Where’s the steak spice,” Sam asked, rummaging through the cupboards. “I made you a steak spice months ago. My own blend, Tony. I gifted it to you. I’m not eating one of your bland-ass steaks again.” Tony abandoned the meat in favor of bodily hauling Sam away from the cupboards, giving Bucky time to grind at least a little peppercorn on each of the steaks.

“ – my steaks alone!” “ – killing the flavor, man. Killing the flavor!” “ – oversalting!” “ – can’t cook ‘em right, you leave it to someone who can!”

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“No you do not.” She turned the phone toward Bucky, who whistled as he sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He looked up, winked directly at her, then tossed the rest of the seasoning like a long-haired Salt Bae.

“But you already seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

Steve’s eyes were wide with injured innocence. “Snuck? Back in? I –“

“Can it. I don’t care – probably no one will recognize you – but if Tony finds out he’s going to turn into Chicken Little about security.”

“Tony can go lay an egg,” Steve said firmly, making Natasha snort with real laughter.

She sighed. “As hilarious as this is, I’m getting hungry." her voice carried across the kitchen. "Knock it off of or I’m calling Rhodey in.”

Tony straightened, Sam’s arm still around his neck. “Betrayal, Romanoff. I feel betrayed.”

“Yeah, no calling in the brass,” Sam complained. “We can settle this on our own.”

“Better settle that meat on the grill before the others get here,” Steve said. “Want help?”

“Excuse me,” Tony said, affronted. “I can handle the meat.”

The words left Steve’s mouth before he could stop them “ – in my pants?”

Natasha dropped the phone.

____________________

[1] Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant

case/lang/viers – “Greens of June”

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

Read Chapter Two