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jobean12-blog · 4 months

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Had to be You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (enemies to lovers ish)

Word Count: 2,270

Summary: You and Bucky have been going at each other for months. He's grumpy and defensive. You're sassy and frustrated. Steve's had enough. So when Steve steps in to do something will it work? Or will it makes things worse?

Author's Note: At this point all I want is for Bucky to kiss me senseless for the rest of my life (and do everything else) but really. Kisses. Yes please. Anyway. Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: some light mead comsumption, angsty ex talk, tension but softness, happy ending

“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS! You get back here right now and open this door before I kick your ass!”

Steve’s chuckle only makes you angrier. “I’ll open it when you two make nice.”

“STEVE!” you screech.

His retreating footsteps have you banging your forehead into the thick metal of the door, muttering curses under your breath.

“Please tell me Stark has some hidden exit in here somewhere?” you sigh.

“I’m going to kill Steve.”

When Bucky’s speaks his first words since you got locked in the gym together you spin to face him, eyes hard.

“Get in line Barnes!”

“Hey, look at that kids, you’re agreeing already!” Steve’s voice rings out from down the hall.

With that last remark everything goes silent other than your frustrated huffs.

“Is this actually happening?” you whine. “Can’t you just break the door down?”

Bucky’s blue eyes stare blankly and you grow more agitated.

“Why the hell did he do this?”

You glare back in his direction, hands on your hips. “Because of your sunshine and rainbows attitude toward me!”

You spit out the words, letting them drip with sarcasm.

“MY attitude?” Bucky grits out as he sticks a finger in his chest. “Doll face. I’ve been nothing but a perfect gentleman to you.” That same finger spins to point at you now.

You face him fully and take a step closer.

“Grunts do not equal a greeting and barely answering questions and barely making conversation definitely does not show your gentlemanly side!”

Bucky opens his mouth to retort but you continue on. “And what about avoiding me all together!? What the fuck is that about?”

He runs his large hand through his hair and squeezes the back of his neck, setting his lips in a hard line.

“Fuck. Please tell me there’s still some of Thor’s mead in here,” he mutters.

“Why the hell would he leave alcohol in the gym?” you ask, your brows nearly hitting your hairline.

With a shrug Bucky starts moving about and searching under things. “He likes to ‘get drunk’” and he makes air quotes as he says it, “and then show us how he can still lift heavier weights.”

You can’t help the laughter that boils up and over but you quickly cover your mouth when Bucky gives you an unamused look.

“Here it is!” he chimes, seeming far too relieved.

You move toward him as you watch him take a swig from the bottle, the muscles in his neck shifting with every swallow.

“Save some for me,” you say quietly and hold out your hand.

He smirks.

“Careful doll. Too much of this and I’ll have to carry you out of here.”

As more of the mead circulates through your body you start to relax marginally, thoughts of killing Steve slowly fading.

Bucky has been sure to keep your consumption under control and other than feeling less murderous and calmer you’re lucid.

“So,” you muse. “It doesn’t look like Steve is coming back any time soon. And we’ve been quiet. No yelling or fighting.”

Bucky simply grunts in agreement.

“SEE!” you nearly shout. “That’s exactly what I mean. I say something and your answer is a grunt…WHAT. THE. FUCK!”

While waiting for his explanation you notice a slight pink flush to his cheeks and you find it hard not to throw him a triumphant smile.

Deciding to let him off the hook for now, you ask, “how long have you known your best friend is insane?”

To your surprise, Bucky laughs. A real laugh that has his eyes crinkling and his nose scrunching up.

You try not to stare too long but you find it difficult to look away.

“Are you drunk Barnes?”

His eyes meet yours and the corner of his mouth twitches with a boyish smile.

“You’re full of questions tonight doll. And for the record it takes a lot more than this to get me drunk,” he admits as his smile widens.

He shifts in his spot on the floor, his long legs now stretched out in front of him and you can’t help but focus on his thighs and the way his jeans pull tightly over the thick muscle.

“Who knew all we needed was a little alcohol to not fight.”

You chuckle and hold your hand out for the more.

He shakes his head no and places the bottle down on the floor before leaning forward.

“I don’t want to fight with you. Ever.”

At his admission, your expression hardens.

“Then why are you so….so… unfriendly?” you ask.

“Why are you always so sassy?” he shoots back. “Seems to me like you’re the one always looking for a fight.”

His answer makes you sigh.

“I don’t see you doing that to Barton or Steve…hell anyone else!” he adds.

He waits patiently, his eyes trained on you and his body straining forward.

With more nonchalance than you feel, you confess, “you’re kind of my type. And my dating track record sucks. So…you know…”

You motion to him. All of him. His long legs, broad shoulders, hard chest, sculpted arms and his perfectly handsome face.

Stunned, Bucky stares for a second too long and too fiercely.

Heat starts to tickle your skin as you feel your body react to his focused attention.

“Are you…” he starts, before clearing his throat. “Are you telling me that you’re attracted to me and that’s why you hate me?”

The tension is thick, stretching between you for many long seconds before you wrench your eyes away and look down at your hands.

“I don’t hate you.”

Your words are quiet and the next sentence that passes your lips is even softer. “I just have a hard time trusting men.”

When he doesn’t say anything you look up at him and see the hurt etched across his features.

“Are you sure it’s not just me you don’t trust?”

At his question, the realization of what he’s implying hits you and you immediately slide closer to him and reach your hands toward him.

“No Bucky. That’s not it at all. In fact I trust you with my life…just not necessarily my heart.”

When he continues to study you, his features softening, but doesn’t speak, you add. “It’s not your fault. Really.”

“I want to know why.”

“Why what?” you ask.

“Why you don’t trust men.”

His jaw is tight and his fists are clenched in his lap.

He’s clearly distraught over the fact that you’ve been hurt and you’re sure he’s thinking the worst. It melts you more and you want to reach out and trace the hard line of his jaw to reassure him.

“It’s not anything that bad. I’ve just been hurt. A lot. And not just in romantic relationships. Friendships too.”

He scowls. “In what ways?”

You shrug like it’s nothing.

“What is there to say? The first real relationship I was in ended when he found something better. He told me when we broke up, ‘why would I say with you when I can do better’.”

“That motherfucker,” Bucky fumes as he opens and closes his metal fist, the whirring metal sounds momentarily distracting you.

“Yeah. But that wasn’t the last. My boyfriend after that I found out was sleeping with my friend. Or I thought she was my friend.”

“Fucking hell. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

He stands slowly, visibly agitated.

“And we haven’t even gotten to my last boyfriend yet. Better sit back down.”

“I’m too fucking pissed off to sit,” he growls.

“Honestly, it’s more my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have dated him. He was just like the rest and when my friend sent me a video of the two of them fucking I was hardly surprised.”

You couldn’t look at Bucky anymore and you dropped your eyes.

“Guess I’m just not good enough to stick around for.”

“Fuck,” he exhaled. “Doll.”

He sat down in front of you, forcing your attention back to him.

“Please don’t tell me you really believe that.”

You give him an exasperated look. “After being dumped three times you kind of start to believe it.”

Suddenly, he kicks at one of the weight machines, making the metal creak and bend then he falls to his knees in front of you and takes your hands in his.

The smell of him surrounds you and you have no where to look but into his eyes.

“These men,” and he spits out the last word. “Fuck that, they aren’t men. These pieces of shit have no idea what a gift you are and they don’t deserve you. They deserve a fucking beating.”

“Bucky.”

You squeeze his hands. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he counters. “Tell you the truth? Tell you that you’re gorgeous, sexy, smart, and kind.”

His eyes drop to your mouth and he licks his lips.

“Hardly kind,” you scoff. “Look how poorly I treated you.”

He reluctantly drags his eyes from your mouth and determination hardens his gaze.

“Nah doll face. I get it now. And honestly, a lot of that is on me. I couldn’t understand why someone as perfect as you wanted anything to do with me. I put up my defensives the only way I know how.”

You whisper his name hoarsely and run your thumb along his jawline.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and he exhales.

Even if you wanted to you couldn’t stop the way your body moved closer to his and when he slides his hand up your arm and around the back of your neck your lips part in a gasp.

Just as you feel his warm breath tickle your skin the lock on the door turns and Steve calls your names.

You quickly pull away with wide eyes, shooting one last look at Bucky before you lift your eyes to Steve.

He stares between the two of you and then at the half empty bottle of mead.

“What…?”

“Nothing,” you and Bucky say at the same time.

Bucky jumps to his feet and holds his hand out for you.

You take it and let him pull you up and into his body. Your chest brushes his with your every breath and you’re right back where you were just seconds ago…under his spell.

It only takes a moment for your past hurt to flood back and wash away the desire you’re feeling and in the next breath you’re mumbling goodbyes and rushing off.

When Bucky finally finds you the next day the apology you’ve been wanting to give him spills out.

“I just want to say that I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting.”

He takes a step closer to you, crowding you against the door of your room.

“I really appreciate that doll, but I should be the one apologizing to you. I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Thank you.”

It’s all you can manage to say with him so close to you.

You can feel your pulse jump and when you hear the moving metal plates in his arm you look down at his hands to see them clenched into fists at his sides.

“Bucky?” you ask.

“I’m having a really hard time not touching you,” he explains in a pained whisper.

“Oh,” you breathe out.

He closes the space between you and your back hits the door. He slowly lifts his hand, caressing your cheek with his thumb and then slowly sliding his fingers down to stroke your neck.

The gentle dominance in his touch sets you on fire and you lean into him.

“I’m scared of getting hurt Bucky.”

The words tumble out and you start to drop your gaze but he stops you with the press of his fingers under your chin.

His eyes harden and he doesn’t speak.

You whisper his name, your voice shaky.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just talking myself out of hunting every one of your exes down and skinning them alive.”

His voice grows with anger and you press a soft hand to his hard chest.

“They aren’t worth it.”

“You’re worth it.”

Taken aback by the intensity of his words you stare into his eyes, their blue color filled with longing and fierceness.

“Fuck doll. You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are, do you? I can hardly catch my breath.”

Your hand shoots to your mouth and you quietly inhale, nibbling your bottom lip to stop the smile that wants to break out across your face.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

You drop your hand from your lips and reach for him. “No.”

He tilts his head and inches closer, his mouth lightly brushing yours.

Your fists clench the front of his Henley and your eyes close at the light press of his lips. You stay like that, trying to remember to breathe.

He pulls away only enough to stare at your mouth and then traces his thumb across your upper lip.

“What is it?” you ask with a worried tone.

His thumb falls to your lower lip and he gives it the same attention, savoring the softness.

“Why won’t you kiss me?”

He drops his hand from your lips and as his fingers fall they trace the outline of your neck before his hand wraps around the back of it and he brings you impossibly closer.

“I’m worried that once I start…” he breathes against your lips. “I won’t be able to stop.”

When he presses his lips to yours he groans low in the back of his throat, his hands desperate to get you closer.

The way you taste, the feel of your lips, your gasps and moans…he can’t stop.

He can’t stop.

@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @kmc1989 @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @littleseasiren @lizette50

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #enemies to lovers #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #bucky

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thechaosmuses · 2 years

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Closed Starter For: @godofthunderbolts Muse; Steven Grant Rogers

Steve still wasn’t sure how he ended up in the modern world. Tony, Howard Stark’s son, and two men named Bruce Banner and Scott Lang tried to explain time travel to the very confused blonde, but he walked away with more questions than answers. They told him they were trying to figure out how he ended up there and then they would get him home as soon as they could. Steve knew they were trying their hardest to figure it out, but he just wanted to get home already. Everything about the modern world confused him and he missed the simplicity of the ‘40s more than anything. The only thing close enough to the compound he had randomly appeared at a few days prior that gave him comfort was the lake about a mile or so out. So, whenever he got too overwhelmed with this time, which was often, he would take a walk down to the lake. Most days he went alone, sometimes with Bucky or Sam who was friends with the “bigger” Steve. But he had managed to make a new friend in Thor. He was still trying to get used to the whole alien God thing, but Thor’s personality just always seemed to brighten Steve’s mood. That was why when he got overwhelmed this time he went to find Thor and ask him to go to the lake with him. He managed to eventually track down the tall god and walked over to him, giving him a small wave as he did. “Hey, Thor, I was just wondering if you’d want to take a walk down to the lake with me..”

#[the marvel muses]#[closed starter]#[godofthunderbolts]#[muse; steven grant rogers]#[muse; steve rogers]#[verse; main]#[ooc; i hope this is okay!]

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apomaro-mellow · 8 months

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Hospitals still weren't Eddie most favorite place to be, even though they had technically saved his life once. He didn't give doctors the credit though. No, he reserved that praise for his husband who had literally carried him through hell, holding his guts together.

But alas, he was still only human. And thus prone to human ailments. Which was why he was currently in a hospital bed, preparing for a tonsillectomy.

"Steve, my love, my muse", Eddie took his hand and kissed it. "Should I not return from this-"

"Oh shut up. It's a routine operation." Steve could tell he was being dramatic to cover up the fact that he was actually scared. "You'll be fine. In fact, I'm going down to the cafeteria right now. You're not getting just any ice cream. I'm gonna bring you back a whole sundae."

Steve looked to the rest of the band, who had come for moral support. "Watch him please. And don't let him fall to hysterics." He left out, really hoping he wouldn't come back to an Eddie in tears.

"Sooo", Grant started. "If you don't make it, who gets your house?"

Eddie's brow furrowed. "Uh, my husband, duh?"

"Okay, who gets your husband?", Gareth asked.

Eddie saw the cavalry arrive in the form of Steve's true soulmate. "Robiiiiin", he whined. "You have to protect Steve from these vultures", he hissed the last word.

"We're just trying to hash out who has dibs on Eddie's hot husband", Jeff said.

Robin pointed to herself. "I made it clear to Eddie when he proposed that should the marriage end, either naturally or by divorce, custody of Steve would revert back to me."

"Not exactly the answer I was looking for Bucks, but as long as you keep Steve out of another man's clutches, I won't haunt you from the grave."

"Actually, I plan on setting him up with the first wealthy guy he meets", Robin said. "Thanks to your fame, I've become accustomed to a certain lifestyle. And also, Steve doesn't know how to be single."

The other CC boys nodded sagely.

"All the more reason one of us should get him. We can take care of him", Grant said.

"I can't believe this. This is a goddamn coup!", Eddie shouted.

Steve returned, none the wiser to their conversation. "You won't believe this. The cafeteria has chocolate syrup AND nuts? Isn't that wild? You're gonna have the best sundae of your life, babe."

He took his seat right next to Eddie's bedside and kissed his forehead.

"Angel, we're surrounded by snakes and thieves", Eddie said deliriously.

"What are you talking about?", Steve asked.

Having only Eddie in his line of sight, he couldn't see the others behind him. So he didn't see Jeff making kissy faces, Gareth making a circle with his hand and sticking a finger through it repeatedly, or Grant making a V with his fingers and flapping his tongue between them.

"Those traitorous lechers covet what is mine. And not even Robin seeks to protect your virtue!", Eddie said, desperately reaching out for Steve.

Steve kept his voice even and calm, trying to soothe his husband from whatever delusion he was having when the doctor came in. This guy looked like he played a doctor on tv. Chiseled jaw with perfectly manicured facial hair.

"Good evening", he greeted.

"Hi", Steve said, voice a little breathy.

"Oh he's perfect", Robin said, reading her friend perfectly.

"I'm Dr. Morip, I'll be performing your operation today."

"Morip?", Eddie tilted his head.

"Yes, as in 'more ripped than you'." Then he flexed and busted out of his scrubs and swept Steve off his feet, ignoring the cries of the invalid on the bed.

Eddie was tossing and turning even as Steve shook his shoulders to wake him up.

"You were having a nightmare", Steve spoke softly in the dim lamp light of the hospital room. "Was it 86 again?"

"Steve!", Eddie clung to him as best as he could. "You didn't leave me for Dr. Morip!"

"Dr. Morip? Eddie, her name is Dr. Hudson. And she's married and in her sixties."

Everything caught up with Eddie as his brain became more lucid. He'd already had the operation. That had all been a dream. The tension released instantly as he realized he wasn't about to die on the table and Steve would be scooped up by opportunistic friends.

"You're mine, you know that?"

"Really? Is that why I'm hand-feeding you ice cream?", Steve teased, holding up a spoonful to Eddie's lips.

"I love you", Eddie said, voice muffled from the food and a little watery too.

"I know, you dope. Love you too."

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #everybody loves steve

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sp0o0kylights · 4 months

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Backup drummer Steve and lead singer Eddie swap places during a televised interview perfomance after theyre told theyre not allowed to actually play live.

Instead, they're supposed to fake playing while a backtrack plays, and in revenge for this bs Corroded Coffin decides to make it obvious theyre not actually playing ( a la the time the band Muse did this exact thing cause that's where I got this from lmao)

They're scheduled to interview the frontman after, and while Eddie tells Steve the ruse will end at this point, he actually walks off stage with Jeff and Grant and leaves Steve to flail his way through the interview.

Which he does, but in revenge Steve gives increasingly ridiculous answers and lore about the other members of the band.

The fans love it. The fact Steve's not even the regular drummer (which is Gareth) becomes a massive in-joke. People regularly quote some of Steve's more unhinged answers and show up with t shirts with Steve's face on it and regularly demand he "sing."

(Muse did this swap as well, for anyone wondering, though obviously it was the actual drummer giving the interview and I'm sure he knew ahead of time LOL)

#Muse has swapped players around more than once in fact #Theres a clip of the lead singer playing drums thats hysterical.#steve Harrington #corroded Coffin #someone come up with a backstory for why Gareth was gone so much Steve had to take up drums lmao

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kechiwrites · 6 months

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property lines

dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader

kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).

synopsis: your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

wc: 2.2k

cw: dark content, non con, oral (male receiving), femme language + afab!reader, pet names, internal victim blaming, pet names (sweetheart), a touch of misogyny

author’s note: day 2 brings us more dark!steve, i fear i may be incapable of writing him sincerely. he’s just a little too perfect. I like to take off a bit of the shine. thank you @katsukikitten u r my muse.

Your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Mostly because you can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s just overly friendly. Maybe it’s the signals you give off, bringing a plate of thick, sweet, cheesecake brownies over to the recently sold house next door, hoping to make a new connection. Suburbia can be isolating, and with all of your friends shaking ass in the city, you need to branch out. It really isn’t the kind of home you figured a single man like Steven Grant Rogers would buy, but then again, you lived in your suburban palace alone, willed to you by your late grandmother and only in need of a few renovations.

He’d been so bright, when you first met him, with a perfect white smile and twinkling blue eyes. He’d been happy to accept the desserts, even happier to return the plate a day later, extolling the praise he and his poker buddies lauded on you over the taste. You’d shrugged it off, “The least I could do for a neighbour. I’m just glad you all liked them.”

Secretly though, the compliments had thrilled you, especially once you’d gotten a glimpse at the aforementioned “poker buddies”, the whole lot of them, handsome, built, big. All too happy to fix leaky pipes and paint fences in exchange for chocolate cream pie or a dish of homemade lasagna. But Steven - “Steve, please” - was your most loyal customer, always lending a hand, pausing during his early morning jog to check up on you while you watered your flower beds, asking how your book is going, what you do in that “big old house all by yourself” when you aren’t working on “the next great American novel”, of course (his words, not yours).

It’s fine at first, a little disarming to be at the centre of his white hot attention, burning your flesh like he had you under a magnifying glass on a perfect sunny day. But eventually it’s not fine, eventually Steve Rogers takes more and more steps over the property line of overly friendly and into the front yard of wildly overbearing. Eventually, Mr. Rogers insists on weekly visits, popping into your house by using the spare key under the mat he shouldn’t even know about. Slinging his muscled arm over you during the neighbourhood block party, and your neighbour’s son’s 5th birthday party, and the Fourth of July barbeque. He fixes your car without you asking, brings in your groceries when he sees you unloading them in your driveway, brings your mail to you during his daily jog. It’s helpful sometimes, yes, but it’s also suffocating. And you were going to set him straight. You were! But it’s hard, hard to stare into the face of a suburban god, the literal king of the neighbourhood and tell him no. It’s hard to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable, that you’d like for him to stop being so goddamn friendly all the time.

So maybe a little of it is your fault. Maybe you should’ve been clearer on your boundaries. Maybe, when handsome, strapping Mr. Rogers came to your front door to ask you to essentially cater one of his poker nights, you shouldn’t have stayed to serve the food, playing happy little housewife in front of Steve’s friends, bringing them cold beers from the fridge and sitting next to Steve, playfully making faces at his hand, then plating up dessert when he asked you to. But it felt good to have his attention. His favour. So when “the boys” start to head home, laying praise and amazement at your feet, you’re sufficiently buttered up for Steve to ask yet another favour of you. It’s not much, of course. Just a little help with cleanup. Then he’ll escort you home himself. After all, there are some real sickos out there.

So you agree. What’s the harm, right?

The harm, it just so happens, comes quickly after you finish drying the dishes Steve washes. You slide the last plate, towel dried as best you could, into his cabinets, sighing in contentment at a job well done. The harm is when Steve turns you around and presses you against the sink, water soaking into the back of your blouse, making the fabric cling to your skin. You stay there for a minute, not processing what’s happening, ready to laugh off another inappropriate joke from Steve.

You don’t really get the chance.

Two heavy hands clap down on your shoulders, exerting pressure on you until you crumple to the floor, knees hitting the tile of Steve's kitchen painfully. You yelp, struggling against him, pressing, then beating your fist against his tree trunk legs.

"Stev-" you choke on his name when your neighbour unzips his trousers before you, undoes the fly of the pair you helped him pick out, with him bent over your shoulder while you held his phone, his front pressed close to your back. Pulls his half hard dick out of pants starched and pressed with the iron he'd borrowed from you because his was "on the fritz" again.

"Open up." He cajoles, and you pin him with an incredulous, confused stare. No. No. This is all wrong. He doesn’t act like that. Steve Rogers isn’t like that.

The hand he doesn't use to stroke himself grabs your jaw, squeezing until you open your mouth, squeezing til it hurts. A sharp, purposeful punch of his hips is all it takes for him to make use of the opening. All it takes to put every little joke, boundary crossing, and stray touch into startling, horrifying perspective.

“It was the baking.” He whispers above you. “Peggy never baked, which was fine.” He sighs above you like he isn’t pistoning his cock deep into your throat with reckless abandon. “But I missed it, y’know? And you, you bake how angels ought to, sweetheart.”

Tears stream down your face while Steve uses you, dragging your dazed, crying face back and forth on his hard-on. On a particularly strong thrust, he broaches your throat. Your eyes roll up, until he can barely see the perimeter of your irises, and you warble out a miserable moan, begging, all while wrapped around his dick, for a reprieve. Your head is pinned to the counter behind you, and even though you shove against the muscle of his thighs, Steve brooks no quarter.

“Just take it,” he coos, like he wants you to swallow cough syrup, “it’ll be over soon.” his breath stutters when your lips brush against his balls. Steve moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible when he comes down your throat, groaning in pleasure while you struggle to swallow stream after bitter stream of his seed, lest you choke on it or fucking drown.

He finally releases you, and you pull back so fast you bang the back of your head on his pristine white counters. The pain radiates through your scalp, grounding you in the moment, cementing you to the spotless linoleum floor of Steve Rogers’ kitchen. You’re both panting, eager to fill your lungs with gulps of air.

“Whew.” He sighs, hands on his hips, like that took a lot out of him. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you, just didn’t expect the struggle.” He chuckles, patting you on the head. “But you settled down quick, didn’t ya?” His tone takes on…contentment? Happiness?

No. That’s not quite right.

It’s pride. Steve is looking down at you, your spit and cum slick mouth, the weepy, watery state of your eyes, and the disarray of the hair he’d used as a handle, with pride.

Your stomach roils.

He bends low and you flinch away from him, smacking your head on the countertop again. He cocks his head at the involuntary movement, and smiles at you. A familiar, warm thing. One that made your heart flutter with pleasure, beat fast with your own surge of pride when he accepted a pie, or offered a compliment. Now it does the same, your heart speeds up, your palms itch curiously, and your brain doesn’t know if you’re happy or sad. Doesn’t know if it craves those smiles anymore.

“Just wanna set you on your feet. C’mon.” He speaks quietly, like he’s soothing a frightened animal, and hooks his hand under your armpits, heaving you up with the same startling strength he'd used to face fuck the fight out of you.

“It’s okay.” You bleat, voice as wobbly and unstable as the pair of legs struggling to keep you upright. And it’s not, it’s far from okay, the taste of him lingers in the back of your throat and if you think about it for even a second more you’ll throw up all over his shiny floors, on those godforsaken pants.

“I admit,” he laughs, ducks his head with that small town charm he does so well, “I wanted to last longer. But you were too good.” He winks at you, like you share a secret. Like you’re in league with each other.

He staring, waiting for you to say something, arches a brow like it’s your line and you’re fucking up the show.

But there it is again, that smile, sunny and open, and so pristine.

“Let’s get you home.” He herds you towards his front door, hand glued to the small of your back, his pinky finger stroking the skin exposed by the riding up of your still wet shirt. The two of you walk into the balmy summer air, and the spaces in between the black night, punctuated with the occasional white streetlight, designate your path home. Some of your neighbours’ houses are still illuminated, their warm yellow windows denoting the presence of life. You wonder what goes on behind their doors, you wonder if someone is having a good night somewhere close to you.

You come across your door faster than you were prepared for, the cheery yellow paint job Steve and James had done for caramel apple pie, mocks you. The way he’d smiled in your face, touched you, laughed. Steve shifts next to you, holding onto your extensive tower of pyrex and tupperware, for an instant your blood runs cold at the prospect of Steve inviting himself in, like he’s done so many times before. Not to bring in groceries or put together a dresser, but to pin you prone to the carpet of your bedroom and smile at you.

“So!” He turns, “Same time next week?” You gawk at him, and when you don’t say or do anything, he stoops and slides your extra keys out from under your Garfield emblazoned doormat. The jingle of two, simple metal keys against the little bell shaped key-chain makes your head pound, your blood boil. He unlocks the door, and gestures for you to take a step indoors. You raise both hands, palms upturned so he can give the keys back, so you can hide them, or melt them, or flush them down the toilet. Instead, you get to watch him slip the key-ring into his pocket, before he places your dishes into your uplifted open palms. “I gotta say, the lemon bars were a hit.” He tweaks your nose between his thumb and forefinger, his compliment tempered by the greedy shine in his eyes. You nearly scratch your own eyes out when you get that pleased, soft tingle in your chest.

He smiles and you salivate. He compliments you and your heart responds. He’s proud and your brain tells you ‘I’m happy’.

Why hasn’t it gone away? Will it ever go away?

“Maybe those brownies again, the cream cheese ones?” His voice is hopeful, soft and pliant, like he’s worried you’ll say ‘no’.

Like there’s a world where he’d take no for an answer.

You nod, a jerky, quick gesture that rattles your brain around in your skull. “Sure. Yeah.” You answer, sweaty hands slipping against tempered glass and plastic lids. “Yes. Brownies.” Steve beams, clapping his hands together, once, loud, drawing your eyes to the brutish width of them.

“Fantastic. I can’t wait.” He jogs down your front steps, and the fist secured around your lungs loosens with every step he takes away from you. He pauses at the side walk, one foot still on your property, the other poised to leave it.

“We make a great team. Don’t we?” He turns to you, and this time, he isn’t smiling. This time, his eyes cut through the night and the streetlight and the foggy haze of misfortune clouding your brain.

And the fear finally comes.

You kick your door closed, and you lock your door, and you drop your pyrex and tupperwear and serving spoons in the sink and you lock your windows and you get into bed, still dressed for a poker night you had no business being at, and you pull the covers up and up and over your face.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

And neither will your neighbour.

god i want him so bad. tomorrow, captain soap.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

support city girls who bought $50 of baked cheesecake today, reblog what you like.

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movedto-stcrmybrews · 2 years

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Don't leave Steven Grant around anything that deals with Egypt. Marc would say that almost all the books Grant owns is mostly on Egypt.. other on animals and adventures. Steve was his escapism.

#Muses: Steve Grant #Muses: Marc Spector

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tartarusknight · 1 year

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The King of the Freaks | Pt 4

(Yes I am too lazy to keep writing that long title so it’s been changed from now on...)

Ao3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Eddie was kinda pissed as he stabbed at the food on his tray. "You sure they said we can't?" Gareth question, and he sounded just as Eddie felt.

"They said that we couldn't do this week," Eddie said again, and he glanced up as Steve moved to sit down next to Jeff. He was pulling something out of his backpack and it was the first time since that first time that Steve actually sat with them.

"What can't you guys do?" Steve questioned as he pulled out a container of cookies and slid them over to Jeff.

Jeff lit up even as the others looked confused. "We can't do Hellfire this week. Apparently, the drama club needs the drama room this week." Jeff explains, and Steve pauses.

His face makes a hundred micro expressions before he shrugs, "You could do it at my house. I don't really care." Steve states and moves to stand back up hit Jeff pulls him back down. "Uh, what?"

He looks confused, and it's unfair because it seems like the moment they should be confused. "Three questions. First I thought you had swimming? Second, why would you let us do it at your house? Most parents think we are a cult, and I doubt your parents would think differently. And lastly, what's up with the cookies?"

Steve looks a little embarrassed as he's forced to stay there. But he meets Eddie's gaze. "First, I do have swimming, but I don't care. Come over that night or another if you really care. Second, my parents are in either Beijing or Belgium right now, so they don't get an opinion. And the cookies are for Jeff because he helped me last weekend. He can share, or he doesn't have to, I don't care."

Eddie blinks, "you'd let us be at your house without you there?"

"Sure, why not. I doubt you'll trash the entire place. And even if you do, there's not much you could do I haven't seen before. I've had enough parties to get good at cleaning up." Steve states, and Eddie looks at the others, trying to see if they're just as confused.

"That's amazing, dude! How about we get pizza, since you'll host?" Jeff offers, and Steve gives them a tight smile. Eddie's not sure if it's because of the topic of food or the idea that they're going to take him up on the offer.

Steve nods and it’s a little sharp, “Right. Yeah just let me know date and time.” He pauses and goes back to his bag. He pauses before he can pull whatever he’s grabbed before steeling himself. “Here, just in case I’m busy.” He drops a key onto the table and practically bolts from the table.

Eddie waits for him to come back and take the key with a sike. But he doesn’t, instead Eddie sees him dodge Billy’s foot and escape out of the lunch room. “Here I thought we were adopting him.” Gareth mused and picked up the key. Jeff smacked him and took the key. “Hey!” Gareth complains.

“Yeah, I’ve actually been to his house so...” Jeff points out.

That gets Eddie back up and moving, “yeah. About that, what the hell?”

Jeff laughs, “I helped him cook. He’s been struggling with meet lately and you know my sister.” Eddie nods because it does make sense but at the same time it makes zero sense. “I bumped into him at the store...” Jeff trails off, “I think we need to try harder.”

“Harder?” Eddie squeaked and his friends gave him a look that he really wished he didn’t know.

Jeff doesn’t let that stop him though. “Well, I thought it was bad enough going from top dog to the new top dog’s chew toy but the guy is struggling. He only had condiments in his fridge even though he told me he was a good cook, which he is. Apparently he has no clue where his parents are at the moment. He had a guess but that was it. And! He has no clue when they’re coming back. I asked and he laughed it off saying maybe for Christmas. Christmas.”

“It’s not even Thanksgiving yet!” Grant states and Jeff nods.

Gareth sighs, “I’ve been bothering him during my free period. Normally just working on shit next to him... but the dude is not okay. He squints when he reads like he can’t see it well. I’m pretty sure he’s been getting migraines since he fought with Billy. And I’m 80% sure he’s partially deaf in his left ear. Cause if I whisper on that side he never responds. But he will when I sit on his right.”

“He never eats lunch,” Eddie sighs. “He always tears his food apart to make it look like he’s eating. If his fridge is empty than he might not be eating that often.”

“Well shit,” Grant sighs. “But how do we help him without it being weird.”

Eddie presses his hands together under his chin to think. “Okay, so we stop with the subtle friendship and go for it. If we’re his best friends then maybe he’ll let us help him.”

“So operation make Steve Harrington friendship bracelets is ago.” Gareth grins and Jeff throws a grape at him.

They already had access to the boy’s house. How hard could it be?

@zerokrox-bloglog @cyranyxx @adaed5 @the-redthreadd @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaringceyoustopcaring @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshitorthisshit @failedstarsandgoldencloudsds @bisexualdisastersworldd @deadlydodoss @anythingyouwanttobee @nburkhardtt @bestwifehaverr @thehumblefigtreee @megzdoodlee @swimmingbirdrunningrockk @mightbeasleepp @bxlthazarar @autumnal-dawnn @chillichatss @nonbinary-eddie-munsonon @the-daydreamer-in-the-cornerner @eddie-munson-is-my-wifewife @a-little-unsteddiedie @sharingisntkaren @a-huge-nerdy-nerd @0o-queendean-o0 @beckkthewreck @vi-an-te @vampireinthesun @newtstabber @dinosareawesome2137 @spicemallow @hellomynameismoo @luthienstormblessed @briceslayed @angeldreamsoffanfic @dbquills

#spoliers it will not be easy #but they are determined #steve won't know what hit him #and no this isn't their first steve meeting #stranger things #season 2 au #steve needs a hug #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #corroded coffin #hellfire club #i love these idiots #everyone is a dork and i love them so much #the fallen king and the king of the freaks

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sonnetsoncanvas · 1 year

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Mess it up

Summary: Years ago he had let you go for your own good. But this time, he isn’t sure he can

Part of the Mess it up series

Pairing: brother’s best friend rock star Bucky x fem reader (Steve’s sister) (dual pov)

Warnings: modern AU, angst, second chance, eventual smut, brothers best friend trope, implied cheating, self-deprecation, happy ending?

Inspired by: Mess it up by Gracie Abrams

Notes: This is the first time a fic has made its way from my laptop to the internet. So please be kind and do leave your feedback. Happy reading!

Chapter 1: How could I think that all that I gave you was enough?

Bucky Pov:

Walking down the street, he heard a group of teenagers screaming his song on the top their lungs. A small smile tugged at his lips as he pulled his cap down over his silken brunette locks.

After all, if anyone recognized James Buchanan Barnes, the lead singer of the Avengers, in the middle of the farmers market…. Well that would be another headache to deal with.

A tabloid on the newsstand with his face plastered on it caught his eye. The headline, "who is the muse behind our heartbreak prince’s chartbusters. Is there a special someone in the Avengers heartthrob’s life?"

He scoffed, knowing all too well what would be written in the article. They would have papped him with yet another woman, and casted her as his girlfriend, or even fiancé.

It didn’t bother him anymore. These made up lies, these speculations, only helped in building the enigma around him, the quiet, reclusive rockstar who kept a tight leash on his personal life.

As long as they didn’t know the truth behind the inspiration for his songs, the reason why he wrote and sang songs so emotive, that they earned him the misnomer of the heartbreak prince. As long as everyone remained oblivious to his own heartache, he was unconcerned.

And oblivious they were. nobody knew. Not even his best buddy, his bandmate and flatmate, Steve. And Bucky couldn’t ever let him know too.

Because if Steven Grant Rogers ever knew that it was his childhood best friend who broke his precious little sister’s heart, he would leave the band and Bucky with it, 30 years of friendship be damned.

And so Bucky carried this secret in his heart for years, well hidden from the rest of the world, about his first and only love.

Because he could never even try to deny it. It was you, had always been you.

Even if he had to let you go, he could never bring himself to fill the void that you had left behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He carried the shopping bags into the spacious penthouse that he shared with Steve, dropping them off at the kitchen counter. “Thank you for helping me carry these bags inside punk” he sassed at the blond mass of muscle glued to the television. “Especially considering the fact that your lazy ass nagged me into going to farmer’s market early in the morning. On a Sunday. To buy mangoes. ALONE.”

“well, A. if you don’t go early all the good produce is gone. My ma told me that. B. Farmer’s market is only there for Sunday. And C. I did not come cause I was injured.” Steve pointed to a small cut on his pinkie with a cheeky smile.

“bullshit! You once went for a concert with a dislocated shoulder. Do not give me that crap. And since when did you start eating mangoes?”

“they aren’t for me.”

“you’re telling me Nat gave up whatever stupid diet she’s on?” Bucky was referring to Steve’s on again off again girlfriend Natasha Romanoff, a supermodel, whom he’d been dating since college.

“like that’s gonna happen” he chuckled, “the mangoes are for Y/N”

Bucky froze in his tracks. It wasn’t like your name wasn’t mentioned around here. You were Steve’s sister after all , and he did keep sharing your latest achievements and tit bits from your life time and again. But that didn’t mean his heart didn’t skip a beat every time anything remotely related to you was mentioned.

“you got mangoes for Y/N ? are you planning to visit her in Boston ?” he asked

“Yeah, about that man, I told you that she graduated top of her class at Harvard, Right?”

“yeah” Bucky said, secretly proud of you. Your convocation was a few weeks ago, he didn’t attend for obvious reasons, but Steve did, and he heard everything he had to say about it.

“So of course lil peanut got a lot of offers but it all comes down to these two jobs, one in this firm at Manhattan and other one in San Francisco. So she’s coming here to interview and then stay here for a week, cause I literally begged her to. She’d already interviewed for the San Francisco one online, but between you and me, I'm tryna get her to stay here, its been too long………”

Steve kept on rambling, but somewhere in between Bucky’s brain stopped comprehending his words. All he could think was you.

You are coming.

To New York.

To stay.

Under the same roof as him.

He will see you.

After 4 years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stayed in his room for the rest of the day. Reminiscing with his eyes closed. Of his life back in Brooklyn, of the happiest year of his life, of falling in love

Of the last time he saw you. tears marring your beautiful face. Pain and betrayal in your eyes. Your shoulders sagged with defeat.

“I can never stop loving you.” you’d said.

He opened his eyes with a long, suffering sigh. He has no idea how he’s going to survive seeing you again.

Because he couldn’t stop loving you either.

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mysticmunson · 1 year

Text

rainy days (steddie x reader)

summary: when rain wakes you up earlier than usual

word count: 1.5k

authors note: this is for my best friend @lilacletter i love you so much and appreciate you beyond what i can say. i hope you have an amazing birthday and a fabulous week in general. you deserve all the love in the world, to many more. i hope you enjoy. :)

(not proofread)

The gentle patter of rain on pavement roused you from your sleep, the room being a shade of grey due to the storm outside. Peering at the sleeping figures on each of your sides, Eddie and Steve remained in deep slumber, both sets of lips hung open slightly with light snores.

Entangled in them, you stealthily slipped away, adjusting the blankets around them and walking downstairs. The quaint home was a new edition after a few years of dating, deciding more space was necessary amongst the chaos of each of your work schedules, along with your schooling.

Pine seeped from the dried candle on the countertops, mixing with coffee as you put some in the machine. Rubbing your eyes, you checked the time to see it was barely 8 am, something unnoticeable due to the lack of sun. The April showers transcended into May, greeting summer with the chilly water, a welcomed addition.

Hickory liquid began to fall into your pot, smoke surrounding it, as you reached for your blue mug. With a dash of cream and sugar, it soon blended as you poured it in, reaching the very top of the rim.

Thunder rumbled, averting your attention to the small patio out back, the rain not too heavy against the roof. Wandering through the door, the smell of rain met your brew cohesively, looking out at the land before you.

A few years ago, the plausibility of having a home to share with the men you loved seemed slim to none. The mundane became something to be cherished, never taking a moment of solitude for granted. You all had done a lot of growing, fleshing out to be functioning adults once leaving Hawkins.

Steve had used his free time while working at Family Video to learn about the growing world of the internet, taking classes to get more experience after you persuaded him enough. It was one of the first times he really felt good about his abilities, seeing he was good with technology, and he secured a place at a global company.

Eddie had graduated and had a slight crisis, not positive about what exactly his path was. After a few weeks, he decided to try tattooing, knowing his love of the art and his knack for drawing. He didn’t know he could love something as much as playing guitar until he started that, saving up to have his own store that was now successful in your new city.

They had been more than supportive of you continuing your education, bragging about how smart you were, even if you failed a test or cried out of frustration. Along with school, you worked at a hotel as a receptionist until you could work in your field. The boys insisted that you didn’t need to work, knowing they both had bills and extras covered, but you were stubborn in that sense.

There were ups and downs, Steve having to travel, Eddie working overtime, and you being overly stressed with your workload. However, the one thing that saved you all was the effort put in, there was never a moment you doubted the other didn’t want to be with you, making sure communication was clear due to past scenarios.

Part of you wanted to run out in the storm, to feel the cool water trickle down your arms and onto Steve’s shirt. The warmth in your palms kept you restrained, letting it run down your throat and burn slightly in your chest. The caffeine was slowly rising, now more alert of your surroundings as your feet rocked on the cement.

“What’re you doin’, trouble?” A teasing voice spoke softly, the door shutting and tattooed arms wrapping around your waist. A bare chest pulled flush against your back, soft pajama pants skimming past your bare legs.

“You’re up early.” You mused, securing your spare arm against his, feeling his soft brown hairs. His chin rested on your shoulder, stubbly cheek pressed against your soft one, raising your drink to his lips.

Stealing a bit, his eyes fluttered as you tilted it back, pulling away after a beat. Gulping it down, he winced at the slight burn, but thought of pouring himself a cup in a minute.

“Rain woke me up. Also didn’t feel you.” He murmured with closed eyes, pressing his nose against your face, kissing below your jaw. You tilted your head to nuzzle upon his curls, smelling the hints of his coconut shampoo, kissing his hairline.

Taking in another taste, the coffee was gone and the smoke had vanished. The cup clinked against the small side table beside a double-framed photo. One side had Steve, aged 5 at summer camp with missing teeth, and the other with Eddie, about 3 at a picnic.

Holding the frame, you looked at it in adoration, the coloring slightly faded after being shoved between photos in an attic for years. Steve hated his, but it was one of your favorites. You wondered what they were like as kids, to be boys together despite not knowing one another, so unaware of everything else going on.

“He looks so sweet.” You cooed, finger tracing over his outrageously 1970s haircut. Bangs rested above his eyebrows, hints of blonde between hazelnut locks, eyes squinting due to the sun. He was sitting on a log in front of a lake in a yellow shirt and jean shorts, hiking sandals on his feet.

Your eyesight went to the one of Eddie, a mess of ringlets as he reached his chubby hand at a teddy bear. The hand extending it to him had painted nails of pale pink, his wide eyes looking at her with an even wider smile. You could practically hear the giggle erupting, imagining one like his own, but up a few octaves.

“I love this photo of you too.” You commented, touching where the blue gingham cloth sat beneath him years ago.

Blushing at the affection he still hadn’t grown into full comfort of, he scoffed, standing straighter, but pulling you closer.

“I just know I look cooler than Steve does.” He remarked, making you laugh at the foolishness, interjected by the opening door.

“What? When?” Steve questioned, walking out in a baggy shirt and boxers, scratching at his navel. He held his own cup of coffee, but he had his mostly black, only a spot of sugar.

His eyes fell to the frame in hand, groaning himself, grabbing it and putting it back in its place. The furrow in his brow was not solidified as it quickly vanished as he pecked both of your heads. Instead, he glanced at Eddie in a mysterious, silent agreement.

Suddenly wet lips peppered kisses on both sides of your face, exaggerated smooching noises to add to the dramatics. Squealing, you tried to shrink away, being stopped by their firm hold.

“Thinks she can be all cute and embarrass us.” Eddie teased, lifting you up an inch off the ground, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively, “Did say you were cute though.”

Ignoring Steve’s obvious blush, you playfully berated them instead, “I was just enjoying my rainy morning, go back to sleep.”

Now they both scoffed, Steve wiggling his fingertips against your belly to make you squirm in the other man’s grasp. A sharp gust of wind signaled you all inside, your feet now back on the tiled floor.

“Want pancakes?” Steve asked, yawning behind the back of his hand, already reaching for the cupboard as the answer was always yes. Still, you and Eddie confirmed, leaning against the beige countertops.

The meek hiss of the batter hitting the pan was the only noise as you stood in comfort, Eddie’s arms having returned to your body moments after becoming stationary. He found comfort in touch, not responding well to playful resistance or as a form of punishment. Ignoring either of them wasn’t an option for any of you, no matter how big or small the issue was, it left both distraught.

Without much thought as Steve handed you both a plate, you smacked his bottom with a smirk, noticing how it jiggled. He blushed profusely, leaving both boys’ mouths agape, Eddie’s with a bit more amusement.

“You’re paying for that later.” He quipped, narrowing his eyes with a pointed finger, taking his own plate, and settling you all at the table.

Even if your whole day had consisted around this wooden table, the sticky syrup on the sides of your glass of water from accidental touches, you think you’d still be one of the luckiest girls on the planet. There was every ounce of care and love imaginable in their being, even when being playful.

In decades from now, pictures of the three of you would collect dust on a shelf as loved ones enjoyed their own versions of this day. You hoped the warmth you felt at this moment resonated from the ink, seeing the sparkle in their eyes as you did daily.

The bad days felt heavy, but each of those was worth days like these. Ones where the rain poured, the coffee brewed, and old photographs resided in your possession.

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suspiciouslackofclowns · 11 months

Text

Billy tries to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible when he enters the living room, easing down into a seat on the sofa with a plate packed full of finger food in his hands.

He's been steadily picking at the spread in the kitchen all afternoon — he isn't even really hungry anymore, but it's at least something to keep him occupied. He tries not to think about how he's eating out of boredom as he pops a mini quiche in his mouth.

As if having a sixth sense, Eddie turns around in his seat on the floor. Spreads a smile and crawls toward the sofa, leaning his elbows in Billy’s lap as he gazes up at him like he’s some ethereal being.

“Hey, blondie,” he lilts. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Billy snorts.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing your game?”

“We’re having an intermission,” Eddie huffs. Leans further into Billy’s lap and wraps his arms around his waist. “Besides, I miss you.”

“Miss me? Munson, we sleep in the same bed every night.”

“And?”

“And you’re a fuckin’ dork,” Billy chuckles.

Eddie pouts. Hides his face in the front of Billy’s hoodie, and the blond has to fight every urge he has to suck his stomach in, lest Eddie pout even harder.

It’s taken some getting used to, the changes in his body. Especially after he quit smoking.

Had he known he would develop a permanent case of the munchies, he might’ve just stayed his course. Maybe he’d still have abs.

Maybe he’d still feel sexy.

Regardless, here Eddie is, smushing his face into his stomach like he’s a pillow. Billy takes a bite out of a chocolate-covered strawberry and sets his plate on the brunet’s back. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, well, you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says like it’s an insult. “And smart, and sweet, and funny, and—“

“Jesus, I get it, you like me. You can stop now.”

Eddie shakes his head. Presses a kiss to Billy’s stomach, which has the blond’s face blossoming red, and rubs up and down at his sides.

“I adore you. Wanna snuggle with you all day everyday and never do anything else.”

“Not even play D&D?”

“Nope.”

From behind him, Grant and Jeff both scoff, and Billy spreads a smile. Cards his hand through Eddie’s hair.

“I don’t think the guys like that idea.”

“Tough shit. How am I expected to function when you come in here looking all pretty ‘n stuff?”

Billy chuckles. Eddie grins at the sound.

“I’m wearing pajamas,” Billy points out. “And my hair’s not even done.”

“I know,” Eddie sighs dreamily.

“Mm, well, if you’re cuddling me all the time, when does my other boyfriend get a chance? Doesn’t sound very fair to me.”

“I don’t see this other boyfriend that you speak of. Plus, I’m calling dibs for the rest of time, so he’s outta luck.”

“You’re telling me you’re never gonna cuddle with Stevie again? Just me, forever?”

Eddie ponders the question for a long moment, and Billy chuckles again.

“Damn,” he muses. “You really do like me that much, huh?”

“I do,” Eddie admits. “I would miss being Stevie’s little spoon, though.”

Gareth snorts, clapping his hand on the coffee table.

“Wait, you’re the little spoon? Big bad Munson is Steve Harrington’s little spoon,” he cackles. “That’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Billy grabs his plate again just in time for Eddie to sit up and swivel around enough to cast a glare at his friend. It makes Gareth laugh even harder.

“Dude, you’ve literally heard me call him my princess and shit before, but you’re choosing to make fun of me over this?”

“I always thought that was you poking fun at his masculinity or something.”

Eddie shakes his head and clicks his tongue.

“Stevie is my pretty princess,” he lilts. Glances up at Billy and chews his lip. “And Billy bear is my little babycakes. He’s the baby, actually.”

Billy’s face flushes red all the way down his neck.

“I am not,” he huffs.

“Yes huh, you’re baby girl, baby doll— you love that shit. We wouldn’t say any of it if you didn’t.”

There’s a polite chuckle from around the room and Billy scoffs.

Eddie notably softens. He rubs at Billy’s thighs, leaning forward to press another kiss to his stomach and humming pleasantly when his lips make contact.

“The nicknames just mean that we love you,” he coos.

“Guess I just think you both have weird taste,” Billy murmurs, then huffs a laugh to himself. “If I nicknamed myself, it’d probably be something like lardass.”

Eddie makes a shocked noise of offense and furrows his brows.

“Hey, no one talks about my boyfriend like that.”

“No? What’re you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna tell on you.” Billy’s smirk falters and Eddie hums triumphantly. “I’m gonna tell Steve. He’ll baby you about it and pull out some old family recipe he’s got locked away just to make you eat your words.”

Billy presses his lips together. Thinks about the last time he made a self-deprecating comment in front of Steve. Thinks about how it was definitely a handful of pounds ago.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

He pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair. The brunet leans into his touch, but spreads this sickening little grin. All teeth and no remorse.

“Then I guess you better take it back,” he lilts. Billy locks his jaw shut. Eddie clicks his tongue and pokes teasingly at his side. “There’s no downside for me, I like a little extra fluff. Nobody likes thin pancakes.”

“Pancakes?”

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums. “You’re like a stack of ‘em.”

Billy quirks a brow.

“How so?”

“I fuckin’ love pancakes.” Eddie flattens his palm against Billy’s side and rubs gently back and forth. “Plus, y’know, they’re soft and warm. Pillow-like.”

A little smile quirks at the corners of Billy’s mouth. Some part of him wants to take offense, but he can’t. Not when big brown eyes are gazing up at him so fondly. He scratches softly at Eddie’s scalp and has him all but purring, eyes slipping shut as he melts under the touch.

“You’ve never had crêpes?” Billy asks.

Eddie’s eyes crack open.

“What?”

“Crêpes,” Billy repeats. Chuckles when Eddie looks at him like he’s growing a second head. “Thin pancakes? They’re Stevie’s favorite, I’m surprised you didn’t notice. He always orders them when we go to the diner downtown.”

Eddie sits up straighter. Thinks hard for a moment, like his whole world is crashing down.

“Is that what those things are?”

“What did you think they were?”

“I dunno— not pancakes.” Eddie pouts when he’s laughed at, but still fixes Billy with a serious look. “Brushing past the fact that you just ruined my whole analogy, I maintain that you’re perfect just the way you are.” That little grin comes back full-fledged in a matter of seconds. “Besides, crêpes always have filling, don’t they?”

It’s Billy’s turn to pout while Eddie snickers at him.

“Whatever. Just don’t tell Steve.”

“Why, you scared he’s gonna put pounds on you?” Eddie pinches his side and earns a huff. “You still haven’t taken back what you said.”

“‘Cause I don’t want to. Don’t see why you’re so hung up on it.”

This time, Eddie looks… disappointed. It hurts Billy deep in his chest, like he swallowed a shard of tortilla chip that refuses to go down smoothly.

“If someone was talking shit about Steve right in front of you, what would you do?” Eddie asks.

“I’d rock their shit.”

“Why?”

Billy shrugs.

“I dunno, it’d piss me off.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s Steve,” Billy huffs. “I don’t— I don’t like the idea of anyone talking shit about him. That’s my boyfriend.”

Eddie nods. Tilts his head to the side and slowly begins to rub up and down at Billy’s waist, similar to how he had been earlier.

“Then why is this any different? I still get to be upset when I hear someone talking shit about you, even if it’s you who’s doing the shit-talking.”

Billy’s mouth opens, but then promptly closes again. Is this the same guy who was comparing him to pancakes a minute ago?

A moment passes. Then another. Eddie just stares up at him expectantly, and Billy says nothing. It’s a stand-off. A battle of will. Billy’s fixing to cave when the front door opens and the tension is suddenly broken, yet somehow doubles at the same time.

“Intermission?” Steve asks.

He hangs his keys up and shrugs out of his coat once the door is shut behind him, already wearing an easy smile.

“Unofficially,” Gareth grumbles.

Eddie shoots him a glare, but is quick to soften when Steve leans over the back of the sofa and drapes his arms around Billy’s shoulders.

“Hey, baby,” Steve greets. Ignores the knowing giggle from around the room in favor of pressing a kiss into Billy’s curls. “Thought you’d still be asleep when I got back.”

More kisses land in his hair as Billy purses his lips.

“It’s almost six.”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums.

In an instant, Eddie gets this look on his face, and Billy’s stomach drops. He opens his mouth, but Steve is too quick.

“Have you just been eating junk?” He asks, gesturing to Billy’s plate.

The blond glances at his little collection of nibbled-at finger food. Tries not to think about how many plates of it he’s had already.

“Yeah, just… snacking,” he says timidly.

Steve tsks. Billy almost flinches at the sound.

“Well, that won’t do.” Steve nabs the plate from Billy’s hand and pops a cube of cheddar in his mouth. “Tell me what you want, bubs, and I’ll make it.”

Billy feels like he’s on fire.

“Lasagna?”

A sheepish smile finds its way onto his face when his chin is tilted up, and Steve plants a kiss directly on his lips.

“Coming right up.”

Then the brunet vanishes from behind the couch, padding into the kitchen to root around for a casserole dish before he’s even taken his shoes off.

On the floor, Eddie bites back on a giggle.

“I didn’t even have to tell him,” he whispers amusedly. Leans completely into Billy’s lap and hugs his torso again, half smothering himself in Billy’s stomach. “Hope you’re hungry, Bill, ‘cause it’s pancake time.”

For emphasis, he gives Billy’s side a squeeze, which has him huffing irritatedly.

“No, we’re having lasagna,” Steve calls. There’s a clatter as he moves about the kitchen. “We can have pancakes tomorrow night.”

Eddie gives in to the giggles, shoulders shaking as he hides his face in the front of Billy’s hoodie.

Finally accepting defeat, Billy sighs. Cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair while he laughs, trying to find it in himself to be upset about what’s to come.

But his mouth is already watering before the oven is even done preheating.

#harringroveson #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #background corroded coffin guys #chubby billy hargrove #fluff #tw weight #tw insecurity #body image #internalized fatphobia #Billy is so Garfield coded #hey look at that Steve is actually IN a harringroveson fic of mine #weird right?#ficlet #my wriitng #mostly unedited #soon to be on ao3 when I have time

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supersonicart · 1 year

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NOW ON VIEW: SUPERSONIC FACES & FIGURES

Supersonic Art's group exhibition, "SUPERSONIC FACES & FIGURES" is now on view at Supersonic Art Shop.

"SUPERSONIC FACES & FIGURES" is a groundbreaking exhibition that unites over 45 of the world's foremost contemporary artists, each celebrated for their distinct approach to portraiture and figurative painting. Showcasing a remarkable spectrum of styles and techniques, the exhibition embodies the multifaceted perspectives and avant-garde innovations shaping this dynamic artistic landscape. Viewers will be enthralled by the breadth of expressions, textures, and visual narratives encapsulating the ever-evolving aspects of the human experience.

The exhibition highlights artists who have skillfully transcended the conventional limits of portraiture and figurative art by adopting diverse methods, ranging from classical techniques to cutting-edge digital tools, and from hyperrealistic representations to inventive image manipulation. These artists generate hybrid works, harmoniously fusing classical aesthetics with contemporary sensibilities to classical, contemporary realist musings. As visitors immerse themselves in the eclectic array of artistic expressions showcased, they will observe the creative metamorphosis revitalizing these genres and gain a deeper understanding of the myriad ways contemporary artists depict their subjects and distill the essence of human identity.

Participating artists: Aaron Robert Baker • Alessandra Maria • Alex Garant • Allison Reimold • Ant Carver • Bobby Leash • Brennan Major Harris • Casey Weldon • Cotoh Tsumi • Dorian Vallejo • Ed Fairburn • Elliot Brown • Elly Kawaguchi • Erlend Tait • feebee • Gian Galang • Glenn Arthur • Grant Gilsdorf • Hanae Nakajima • Isabella Mellado • Jeremiah Palecek • Jerome Masi • Joshua Lawyer • Julio Reyes • Kelsey Beckett • kiminoe • Kip Omalade • Lee Wagstaff • Matt Brackett • Michael Koehler • Reuben Negron • Richard Liu • Roos van der Vliet • Sam Rodriguez • Shinnosuke Hariya • Shoichi Okumura • Simon Hennessey • Sokuseki • Steve Martinez • Tatiana Suarez • Tom Bagshaw • Tommy Mitchell • Victoria V. Nunley • Yohta Matsuoka • Yok Joaquin

View the exhibition on Supersonic Art Shop.

THE SUPERSONIC ART SHOP | FOLLOW ON INSTAGRAM

#art #painting #contemporary art #exhibition #art exhibition #art show #group exhibition #fine art #modern art #illustration #artwork #artists

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nerdieforpedro · 1 month

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Day Thirteen- Smell

Word Count: 444

Warnings: Domestic fluff & Steven being a sweet man

Notes: One of the Moon Boys has popped up. 🤭 I pictured him doing something relaxing like this for someone he loves. I know @megamindsecretlair and @soft-girl-musings would like it

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenges

Steven had been biding his time. Keeping his Donna off his back at the museum for at least the last few months. It was now Spring so there were going to be new shipments of items to sell and he'd be able to stock up on what he needed.

Grant is an honest man, so he’s no one to steal. Instead, he buys one set twice a week for a month straight so he had eight of them. The text he sends you isn’t clear on exactly what he wants to do when he comes over to see you in the evening. Mainly that he wanted to take care of you because you’d been complaining that your muscles were sore most of the time. He cooked dinner, the curry of the chicken paired perfectly with the Parmesan couscous and red wine he’d picked out. Steven enjoyed cooking for you, saying that it was because he felt lucky to have you.

Often, you reminded him it wasn’t luck, you’d bought him tea at the small drink cart outside of the museum where he’d poked fun at your coffee order. He jokingly said that if he could pick a tea you’d drink instead of coffee, then you might go on a date with him. He picked hibiscus tea for you and it did taste good but couldn’t quite replace your coffee. You haven’t told him after six months of dating that he was wrong. You do drink the tea more often now that he makes it for you.

He even asked that you wear the turquoise dress that he’d bought you because he called you his source of joy. Sometimes you think Steve is exaggerating about how much he grown to care you down to making sure he had shirts that were large enough for you to wear but had his scent in it for when he’d need to do overnight inventory and he wouldn’t be able to stop by.

He watched as you walked into the bathroom and you dropped the dress to the floor at his encouragement. Steven had run you a bath and added frankincense to the water, having you soak your tired muscles. He starts explaining that the scent was used for embalming but it was also for healing and anti-inflammatory properties. While Steven lifted your legs and arms to massage you in the water he continued to explain, you dosed off to the comforting timbre of his voice. The citrus notes of the oil with the faint scent of of mint from his own tea he’d had after dinner lull you further into relaxation, the scents of his love for you.

#fanfiction #oscar isaac #oscar issac characters #moon knight #steven grant #Steven grant x plus size female reader #steven grant x reader #a nerdie fic #march spring prompts 2024 #thirteen #smell

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