#deli label

[bananarchy4ever]

Some of the stickers in my shop <3

#sticker art #small business #tmnt #tmnt fan art #nicolas cage #nick cage #mandy movie #deli labels #memes #funny stickers #weird art #net art #vaporwave art #teenage mutant ninja turtles #1312 #pizza lover #digital art #stickers #sticker artist #horror fan

[harmonictechnicality]

Grocery shopping with Steve Harrington should not be such an arousing task, but it is.

It so is.

Eddie swears on all of his calloused fingers that watching Steve strut down the cereal aisle with his little shopping cart is better than hand stuff.

Seriously. He always walks a few feet behind Steve, just to get the perfect view of that award winning ass (Eddie made him a trophy for it last Valentine’s Day - it’s on their mantle).

They’ve been together for what? Eight years? And it never gets any less sexy. Watching him reach for the granola bars on the top shelf, stretching his annoyingly tucked in shirt.

Eddie pretends to peer through imaginary opera binoculars as Steve reads over the nutrition label. Steve flips it over a couple of times because he always forgets which brand he likes better - the blue box or the red box. Eddie never reminds him that his favorite is the blue box because the whole charade is too adorable.

But once Steve figures it out, he tosses the blue box into the cart, and Eddie always lets out this rumbly throat sound at the sight.

Steve turns his neck to look at Eddie. “This again?”

“This always.” Eddie catches up to Steve’s side at the canned food section, slides his hand in Steve’s back pocket. “Never not this.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bends down to grab a few cans of chicken noodle soup. Which holy fuck, seeing his boyfriend at a 75° angle holding his favorite soup preference? Eddie might as well be packaged and placed on the shelf. Cause his mind is turning to liquid. He’s becoming a bowl of horny broth at the sight of Steve all domestic and bent over.

Eddie quickly flicks off his jacket because the entire store just warmed up exponentially. Global warming doesn’t have shit on Steve Harrington holding discounted canned goods.

Steve lightly smacks Eddie's arm. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’ll pull your self onto my self.”

“Really?” Steve snorts. “That was the best you could come up with?”

“Yeah well, the lower quadrant of my brain shut off the second I visualized your ass dimple in the middle of the bread aisle.” Eddie explains, untucking one edge of Steve’s shirt.

“Sorry for the inconvenience to your grocery-kink brain.”

“You should be.” Grocery kink. Steve with a shopping cart kink. Eddie has both, no doubt.

And it’s totally true. The bread aisle is usually where all hope is lost for him. Fluffy breads, kneading dough, squishy carbs all around them. Steve’s sides are just begging to be squeezed in that aisle (amongst other places). The deli employee outwardly gawks as Eddie pokes at Steve's waist, pinching any area of skin that he can get his hands on.

"Just making sure the products are nice and fresh!" Eddie shouts to the employee, hugging Steve firmly from behind. The poor meat-slicing guy laughs nervously before scurrying into the stock room. Honestly, Eddie should probably feel more sympathetic but it's so hard to focus on anything else when Steve kisses his cheek. Accepts his weird affections fully.

"These people don't get paid enough to put up with your shit." Steve is laughing as he says it though. Clearly not that bothered by all of the attention he's getting. That's part of the reason they work so well together. They're absolute attention whores, equally.

"Okay, cut it out." Steve wiggles out from Eddie's grasp. "You're gonna smush the sourdough."

Eddie freezes. Mulls over the consequences over the next thing he's about to say. "Is that an invitation?"

"Ew."

"You said it."

"You twisted it."

"How could I not?"

"You need help." Steve turns down the next aisle, still speaking as he stays on task. "Preferably the kind that involves a person with a legal pad and a couch that you can lie down on."

Eddie snickers, thoroughly loves it when Steve bites back. Makes the chase feel like it just started, even after all these years.

He keeps it together for roughly twelve more minutes, which is probably a record. Eddie also deserves a trophy on their mantle for that - he's gonna hint to Steve about investing in one whenever they get back home.

But the aisle where Eddie’s composure levels malfunction entirely, is the frozen food section. See, whenever Steve opens the door to get milk or eggs or whatever essential dairy item they need, a rush of frigid air blows out. Makes Steve’s already bitable skin all bumpy. His neck is covered in little chill bumps, all of his baby hairs stick up with his raised skin.

This is the only instance where Eddie mildly wishes he were a cannibal, just to give Steve a little chomp. A little nibble at his change in skin texture. Eddie's not even sure why the chill bumps send him over the edge but they do - every damn time.

“Baby, we’ve talked about this.” Steve says once Eddie gets him pinned up behind the corner freezer in the very back.

"There were no snoopy old ladies around this time." Eddie licks all the way up to Steve's ear, tugging gently around the edges. "I checked."

Steve huffs once before taking Eddie's face with both hands, kissing him deep. The rest of his body is cold from the surrounding freezers, but Steve's lips are warm. Hotter every time Eddie's mouth connects to his again. Steve still tastes like the nectarine samples they had back at the produce aisle. The taste drives Eddie to suck on Steve's bottom lip, drinking up any leftover flavor he can. Make Steve's natural pout even more plush than it normally is.

He untucks the rest of Steve's annoying polo - lets his hands slide all the way around, landing at the small of Steve's back. Eddie presses his fingers into Steve's skin, making him shiver. Causing more chill bumps to rise. Ones that he created this time.

They've kissed like this over a thousand times by now, but it always feels different. It’s a new kiss on a new day.

And Eddie couldn't give a single fuck if the deli employee or the snoopy old lady saw them making out next to the lactose-free cheese selection. He'd show off his stupidly gorgeous boyfriend everywhere, make a complete spectacle out of it every damn time.

Steve would let him do it too. Eddie bets that Steve would let him get away with a full anarchist uprising if he wanted. Which he does. Kinda. After they're done kissing, obviously.

They stop only because Steve lets his lips part and his fingers drag down Eddie's chest. And whenever Steve does that move, he's approximately thirty seconds away from moaning explicit words. Loudly too. Eddie knows all of Steve's physical indicators by heart now. It’s practically Eddie’s native language, he would speak only that one if he could.

Eddie takes the cue to stash all of his hormones away - goes back to dotting small pecks all over Steve's face. He needs to get Steve laughing instead of panting. It's safer that way. Eddie isn't trying to get arrested in a supermarket for christ's sake (although that would make one hell of a story for family reunions).

They're sort of blotchy, all pinks and reds, as they get to the checkout line. The cashier must think their complexion is permanently like this. Every time she’s seen them, they’re blushed-up like Vegas showgirls. Eddie is immune to the embarrassment of the situation. He's pretty sure Steve is too - he can tell by the way Steve is still leaning all over him while he fumbles to get his wallet open. All love-drunk and kittenish.

They head back to their car, and Eddie gets one last look at Steve's signature shopping cart strut. He sighs dramatically - crushed inside that he'll have to wait till their next grocery run to see it again.

"That's it." Steve says after Eddie sighs for the fifth time. "You're returning the cart."

"Why?"

"It's punishment for your ridiculous behavior."

"Rude."

"Necessary."

"Fine." Eddie snatches the handle and stomps all the way to the cart corral at the front of the store.

This is an outrage. Steve should know that his sexy cart-walking encore is the best part of Shopping Day. Seeing him walk further away before returning - always doing a little hair ruffle thing as he comes back. It's Eddie's own version of Baywatch and Steve is ruining it.

He slides into the passenger seat, slamming the car door to emphasize his anger.

"Steve Harrington, I'm so fucking mad at y-"

Eddie can't even finish his sentence before Steve's mouth is on his. It's a messier kiss this time, Steve is doing all the moving while Eddie tries to figure out what's going on. He pulls back, raising both eyebrows.

"I get it now." Steve answers Eddie's nonverbal 'what the fuck' question.

"Get what?"

"The shopping cart thing." Steve looks Eddie up and down. "I get it."

Holy shit. "Were you checking me out?"

Steve nods. Shrugs. Nods again.

"How much time do you think we have before the ice cream melts?" Steve motions to the backseat, tucking in his lips, hiding a smirk.

Oh. That. They're doing that.

"I'd say we have..." Eddie checks the nonexistent watch on his wrist. "More than enough time."

They haven't had desperate car sex like this since their first year of dating. It's so good that Eddie wonders why they stopped having desperate car sex.

For the rest of the car ride home, they're obnoxiously touchy-feely. Eddie's hand stays glued to Steve's overpriced jeans. The denim is much softer than any pair of jeans that Eddie owns. Maybe that's why they cost a fortune.

Steve takes one hand off the steering wheel whenever there's a straight shot - rubs his fingers over Eddie's knuckles. Bounces off his rings like stepping stones.

They're nauseating. If Eddie saw any other couple act like this, he'd throw tomatoes ate them. Taunt them mercilessly.

But Steve Harrington is the prototype that future scientists will use one day to build their genetically flawless human race. So Eddie is allowed to be as nauseating and revolting as he wants.

Their plan failed. The ice cream is completely melted by the time they get home. But who fucking cares? Eddie is dating someone with his same weird shopping cart kink and that's all he could ever ask for.

And besides, that just means that they’ll have to go grocery shopping again.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #I should've been writing for either of my two wip but nope #I made this instead lol #I had domestic steddie on the brain and the only solution was to write them a strange little grocery scene

[stevieschrodinger]

It's just biology, is all. Steve's an Alpha, Eddie's the only Omega in their little found family pack.

Steve picks up on Eddie's cycle; he can't help that either. He can pick the date Eddie's heat will begin about a fortnight before it happens. Again, he can't help that, he just knows, it's instinct.

Just like how he knows Eddie goes off carbs completely and becomes a demon for cheese and protein. Like he knows Eddie won't eat the pizza they order for movie night, so he picks up fancy meats and cheeses and a fruit platter thing from the deli and then labels it as Eddie's before everyone comes over.

He knows he does dumb stuff too, knows it's instinct and he operates on auto pilot. Knows that Eddie accepts it all unthinkingly too.

He catches Nancy smiling at him at the table and is baffled by that until he looks down and realises he's taking Eddie's favourite bits off his own plate and moving them to his.

He catches Dustin sniggering at him and shaking his head, it's all done amusement, but Steve has to genuinely stare at his own lounge for a good two minutes before he realises what he's done. He's set up for nerd game night as usual but...oh, yeah, there's like five blankets piled onto the chair when Eddie sits. Right.

Steve moves them to the back of the couch considering Eddie won't even be able to sit with them there...and then brings one back, the softest one, and leaves it draped over the back just in case.

It's all just instinct. Eddie will spend a few days alone in his nest, just like always.

#eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #alpha steve harrington #omega eddie because he's so pretty #omega eddie munson #angel steve harrington #steve harrington is a sweetheart #oblivious steve Harrington

[nesyanast]

Some suggestions for experimenting with Jewish practice and experiencing Jewish culture

Observe one full Shabbat. For 25 hours, do no work- not even the laundry. Attend services, read and relax, but don't go shopping or cook. If you have children, do something fun together as a family on Saturday afternoon.

Attend a synagogue-sponsored retreat for a sense of what a complete communal day of rest can be.

Try to keep kosher in a basic way for a month as a way to infuse one of the most basic of human needs with Jewish content. At home and when you eat out, avoid all shellfish and pork products, don't mix meat and milk, read the labels in the supermarket and don't buy foods prepared with lard.

Plan and host a holiday celebration.

Go shopping in a kosher food store and Jewish bookstore.

Attend Jewish theater performances, Jewish choral groups, shows by touring Israeli pop stars.

Tour the local Jewish community center (JCC).

Attend an Israel Independence Day celebration.

If you are a member of a congregation, get involved in a congregational program or two. Attend an adult education class or sisterhood events. Volunteer for committee work.

Include Jewish tours and expeditions while on vacation or business trips. In New York City, visit the lower east side, the Jewish Museum and Ellis Island. In Washington go to the Holocaust Museum. In Rome, visit the ancient Jewish ghetto. Whether you find yourself in Baltimore or Bombay, try to find the oldest Synagogue in the city, or makes a pilgrimage to the best Jewish deli. If you're in a strange city on Shabbat, go to services at a local synagogue.

From "Choosing a Jewish Life" by Anita Diamant

#jumblr #jewish #judaism #jews #jewish culture #nesyapost #jewish history #jewish holidays #jewblr #jewish conversion #jew by choice #jewish books #Jewish reading #full note: i feel be very cautious with hosting a Jewish celebration with no Jews present #i have a feeling others will feel the same tbh #some of these are more geared at with the assumption of having a Jewish partner so just keep that in mind

[puppietooth]

hi these are some of my sydcarmy headcanons:

* i love reading fics where they both realize they like each other and then start furiously making out but. also. what if carmy asks syd out and she’s a little skeptical about it at first? but she agrees to go on the date anyway — and carmy takes her out to a little fancy joint by the river and is so nervous about messing up that his hands are so so so shaky and he can’t even pour the wine into their glasses right. so he fumbles through some half apology half speech about how he’s just really happy she’s here and how he really really really likes her and how he’s honestly glad that she was willing to give him a chance and how he’s very anxious because she looks so pretty in that dress she’s wearing. and syd realizes that, holy shit, he really does like her — and she thinks she really likes him too. so they wine and they dine and when the night is over he takes her home, walks her up to her door, and doesn’t kiss her because he says that’s something he’d like to do on the third date, if she’ll have him. and of course, she says yes, she would like to go on more dates with him — she says yes like he just proposed to her, because they’re so intense about everything they do.

* i think that syd and carmy, carmy especially, are the type of people to be vaguely private about their relationship. like, it’s very obvious that they are together, they won’t hide it — if you see them in person, if you see the way they look at each other, move with each other, the way they talk to each other, you will know that they’re together. they will casually mention each other in interviews and articles, refer to the other as their partner. but they will not post a million pictures of each other on social media, they are not that couple. there will be the occasional, slightly vague post — a picture of carmy in his chef whites, back turned to the camera, posted to syd’s instagram account to congratulate him on The Bear’s fifth year of service. A congratulations to chef sydney adamu on her james beard nomination tweeted to carmy’s twitter account. and if they ever do attain that level of fame, there will be the occasional pap shot of them walking back from a deli, or a farmer’s market (in true JAW fashion). but unless you’re close to them you’ll only see that surface level to their relationship

* i know that they’re roughly the same height but in my head sydney is just slightly taller than carmy, just by a few inches, nothing too big. carmy is not the type of person that cares about height, it’s not a big insecurity of his, and deep down, he finds the similarity in height between him and syd to be quite grounding and comforting. he likes being able to hug her and comfortably put his chin on her shoulder. he likes how it doesn’t feel awkward when they put their arms around each other, and how neither of them have to bend down or get on their toes to kiss each other.

* another thing i absolutely love in fics — when syd just gets the opportunity to talk about her hair. i don’t think carmy is ignorant, but realistically, he does not know about, for instance, the difference between 2b and 4c hair (as in, the labels) and how to care for 4c hair, which (i’m pretty sure) syd has. like, i think hair care would be such an important aspect of their relationship — syd teaches him about protective styles, tells him why she sleeps with a satin scarf wrapped around her braids, what silk presses are and why she has to spend a good twenty minutes wrapping it up each night before she goes to bed. and carmy helps her take her braids out, because four hands are faster than two, he helps her put twists in, helps her blow dry and comb it out the night before her next appointment. and sixth months into their relationship, he becomes a walking glossary — he will tell you what leave-in conditioner is, what edge control is for, why you shouldn’t buy cantu products, the textural difference between synthetic and human hair. and secretly, he thinks to himself, this will also be useful information for him to know if he and syd ever have kids one day because yes — carmy doesn’t do things halfway and he is already thinking that far ahead.

#the bear #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #the brainrot is real #pj rambles

[moveslikekeithrichards]

i got all the classic stickers (these ones are for fun friday bingo winners). surprised i havent gotten any messages from parents asking why their kids are coming home covered in deli labels every friday

[ID: a poorly-made sticker dispenser made from a box of plastic bags. there are three rolls of stickers coming out: bright green and black ones that say “warning: this product may contain peanuts,” shiny silver and red ones that say “fresh ground beef,” and bright orange ones that say “roast beef & cheese.”]

#tiddytaco

[copperbadge]

While I was on jury duty my mother sent me a package of treats from Zingerman's, a Michigan-based deli and bakehouse that we like because they have reasonably priced and interesting gift baskets. One of the things in the basket was a loaf of banana bread, which I'm not very enthusiastic about (I'm not a big fan of sweet non-yeasted breads) but it was a nice thought.

My favorite part is that the banana bread comes wrapped in special banana-print paper and sealed with a banana-label style sticker.

[ID: A photograph of the sticker in question, an oval blue sticker with a yellow circle on it; inside the circle is a banana in ruffled sleeves, beaming and throwing one arm up in the air enthusiastically, above the word "ZING" for Zingerman's. It looks like a label you'd peel off a banana.]

#food #banana #zingerman's

[renecdote]

how about "this reminded me of you" if it sparks? <3

Hi Kate ily I hope you don't mind that I took some creative liberties with the dialogue here <3 It also got way longer than expected oops so enjoy 4.4k of these two being ridiculously in love.

Also for @starlingbite who requested the same prompt.

[Read on AO3]

The package shows up on the doorstep on Wednesday afternoon. Eddie is supposed to be at work—the last shift in the cycle before their four days off—but instead he kissed Buck goodbye at the door, made him promise not to do anything too dangerous, then stayed home to look after his sick kid. He’s expecting groceries when the doorbell rings just after five p.m., not the lumpy grey package left by a USPS driver who is already climbing into his truck and driving away.

Eddie skims the label as he shuts the door—sent to: Evan Buckley; description: boyfriend hoodie—curious because he doesn’t remember Buck mentioning anything he ordered recently. He doesn’t open it, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He pulls out his phone instead and types boyfriend hoodie into the search bar, only hesitating a moment before he hits enter. A dozen links pop up, but none of them are all that enlightening. Eddie is left with no clearer idea of what a boyfriend hoodie is and a vague disgust at how expensive they are to buy. He’s pretty sure that if Buck ever put together a budgeting spreadsheet it would look something like:

Food $200

Data $150

Rent $800

Hoodies $3,600

Utility $150

And Eddie knows he’s so, so far gone for his boyfriend. He knows he has been for a long time. But damn he’s got it bad because he knows that if Buck put a budget like that in front of him, he’d never be able to talk him out of spending a fortune on all his cosy, tempting hoodies.

The doorbell rings again, cutting into his thoughts, and Eddie leaves the package on the dining table to collect his groceries. Milk and eggs and the deli bacon Buck likes go in the fridge, oranges in the fruit bowl, crackers and pedialyte left on the table, everything else in the pantry. He checks on Chris—sleeping, no warmer than he was an hour ago when Eddie brushes a hand over his forehead—and somewhere between folding laundry and ladling chicken soup into a cup, the mystery of the package slips to the back of his mind.

****

Buck tries to sneak in when he gets home, but Eddie is dozing on the couch, half awake in case Chris needs him, and he hears the rumble of the Jeep’s engine before the door is unlocked.

“Hey,” he greets sleepily, “you’re early.”

He’s not really: it’s twenty past eight. Eddie is just so used to calls taking them overtime, or lingering in the station at the end of a shift, or the hell beast that is LA traffic in the mornings. Their shifts end at eight, but he rarely sees the inside of his house any earlier than eight forty-five.

“Hey,” Buck echoes, yawning. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Eddie shakes his head, swallowing back his own yawn. “Nah, I’ve been up for a while.” Sort of up, anyway. “How was work?”

“Busy,” Buck answers. “I missed you.”

He looks tired, which means he probably didn’t get much sleep in the bunks. Hard to tell whether that was because of the busy or the I missed you though.

“How’s Chris?” he asks before Eddie can question him further. “Is he feeling any better?”

It hits Eddie sometimes, in the moments he least expects it, that he’s been coparenting with his best friend for far longer than either of them realised. Buck letting himself into the house, asking how Chris is when he’s been sick—none of it feels new. They could have had this conversation just as easily three years ago as they are today. The only difference is that now, after Eddie has reassured his partner that Chris seems to be on the upswing, he can tip his head back against the couch and Buck will lean down and kiss him; first on the forehead, then, when Eddie pouts upside down at him, on the lips.

“Hi,” he murmurs, eyes crinkling with his smile, and Eddie can’t help smiling back at him.

“Hi,” he echoes. Thinks: I missed you too.

Buck starts to straighten up and—it’s fine, he’s not going to go far, but—a sound of protest catches in Eddie’s throat and he reaches up and snags his boyfriend by the hoodie string and—

Oh. The hoodie!

“You got mail,” he blurts, sitting up so fast he almost smacks Buck in the head.

“Mail…? Oh!” Buck’s eyes light up as he grabs the package. “I didn’t think this would be here until next week.”

“You bought another hoodie?” Eddie asks, trying to sound casual and probably failing. He hopes it’s a nice blue that will bring out Buck’s eyes. Or the kind of pink that makes his lips pop. Or that burnt orange he looks so good in. Or green, or white, or maroon, or purple. He’s pretty sure Buck doesn’t own a purple hoodie yet.

“Actually,” Buck is already ripping open the packaging, his grin bright and unrestrained, “this one is for you.”

Eddie frowns, confused. Why? he almost asks. We both know I’d just steal it from you anyway. And then Buck gets the hoodie out of its packaging inside the packaging (Eddie mourns the environment) and holds it up, the material unfolding to show a grey-blue hoodie that says I stole this from my boyfriend on the front. He blinks. Reads it again.

“Doesn’t it defeat the whole purpose if it’s for me? I mean, if you give it to me, I didn’t really steal it from my boyfriend, did I?”

Buck rolls his eyes, but his grin hasn’t faltered. “I can wear it a few times first, if that helps.”

“I think you should,” Eddie agrees, reaching out to run his fingers over the white letters. They’re embroidered, thread bumpy under his fingers, not the plastic feeling of writing that will flake off after a few too many washes, and when he dips his fingers under the hem, the inside is so soft and cosy he almost shivers just thinking about wearing it.

“Dad?”

They both turn—and Eddie’s heart thumps, a pain that doesn’t really hurt, at the way Buck responds just as easily—to find Christopher making his way towards them.

“Hey, buddy,” Eddie says. “How are you feeling?”

Christopher shrugs, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m thirsty.”

Buck’s hand presses against Eddie’s shoulder just for a second—I’ve got it—and then he’s moving into the kitchen while Eddie fusses over Chris, checking his temperature and getting him settled on the couch and convincing him to try a piece of toast.

“Buck,” Christopher says between nibbling bites of toast, and Eddie watches Buck shake himself back to attention, the long shift starting to catch up with him. “Do you really need another hoodie?””

Buck blinks, slow and cat-like in his confusion, and then his face twists into such exaggerated affront that Eddie has to bite his cheek on a laugh. The packaging is still scattered on the dining table, the new hoodie hanging over the back of a chair, and Chris couldn’t have seen who it was addressed to, but he didn’t even question that it would be Buck.

“There’s no such thing as too many hoodies,” Buck tells Chris mock-seriously. Mostly mock, anyway; Eddie knows there’s a part of him that really believes there is no such thing as too many hoodies.

Christopher’s teeth poke out with his smile. “But we live in LA.”

“LA gets cold,” Buck insists, the same way he insists whenever anyone brings up his absurdly large jacket collection (“it’s not just me! why does no one ever talk about all Hen’s sweaters?”). He looks at Eddie for help, but Eddie just shrugs.

“Kid has a point,” he says, as if he doesn’t spend half his time stealing from his boyfriend’s side of the closet.

Buck grasps his chest in mock betrayal, but there’s a smile pushing at the corners of his mouth.

“Now I know you’re feeling better,” he says, tousling Christopher’s curls while Chris giggles and ducks away.

It’s overwhelming, sometimes, how much Eddie loves them both. His heart is doing that thing again, that hard thump that makes his breath catch, and when Buck glances at him—you okay?—he just shakes his head, smiling back: I love you, I’m okay.

Buck reaches out to take his hand, tangling their fingers together: I love you too. His eyes in the morning light are a pale, glittering blue and Eddie leans over and kisses him, just because he can.

****

Eddie has been expecting to be taken out by the germs from the moment Chris first pushed his food around his plate on Tuesday night and said he wasn’t hungry.

Somehow, it’s Buck who catches the bug next. He crashes for four hours while Eddie putters around doing housework, sleeps right through lunch, and when he wakes up in the afternoon, he’s achy and shivering.

“I’m okay,” he still tries to insist, slumped at the kitchen table while Eddie watches him warily, putting all the sandwich fillings that were offered and rejected back in the fridge. Christopher and Buck are more alike than they both know, their appetites always the first thing to go when something is wrong.

“You’re sick,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you’re denying it, it was bound to happen.”

Buck grumbles. “I was fine earlier.”

Eddie thinks back, tries to remember if he missed any sign, but Buck really did seem fine earlier. It doesn’t really reassure him; Chris seemed fine when they picked him up from school on Tuesday as well. 

“Go lie down,” he suggests. “The sooner you give in, the sooner you’ll be able to kick this bug.”

More grumbling, but Buck goes to lie down on the couch. Eddie mentally files that under feeling worse than he’s willing to admit. He stands by the table for a moment, listening to Buck and Chris through the open doorway (a muted “hey buddy,” and, “sorry I got you sick, Buck”), the sound of a cartoon explosion on the TV, a funny line of dialogue that should get twin laughs from the couch but doesn’t.

Definitely feeling bad, Eddie thinks, and it’s not like it’s the first time germs have been shared around between the three of them—he’s lost count of how many times they’ve huddled on that couch and taken care of each other—but it still makes his heart squeeze.

When he checks in on them fifteen minutes later, Christopher is fast asleep at one end of the couch and Buck is huddled under a blanket at the other, eyes closed but not sleeping. His face is flushed with fever heat, but even under the blanket, he’s shivering.

“Are you cold?” Eddie frowns, checking Buck’s temperature with the back of his hand.

Buck shrugs, lethargic. His face is half hidden by the blanket, but there’s a tight little scrunch between his brows that means he probably has a headache as well.

“Okay,” Eddie says, quiet. “Hang on.”

He heads for their bedroom, but the dryer beeps so he backtracks to the laundry instead. He pulls out the clean clothes, dumping them all in a basket to be dealt with later, then fishes out the new hoodie that he threw in with the load earlier. It’s warm in his hands, feeling even softer and cosier than it did coming out of the packaging.

“Here,” he says, smiling as he drops it in Buck’s lap. “The sooner you wear it, the sooner I can steal it.”

“You might not want to steal it if I throw up on it,” Buck mumbles, but he puts the hoodie on, struggling for a moment with the left sleeve before his head emerges, curls sticking up in every direction. Eddie runs a hand through his hair, then kisses the top of his head.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t throw up on the hoodie,” he agrees, “but I’d still love you.”

“You always love me.”

Buck blinks up at him, pale and miserable, and even after all these years there’s a persistent thread of wonder in his voice, like he can’t quite believe how much he is loved. Like he can’t quite believe that they made it back here, together, after everything. Eddie can’t blame him because he still can’t believe it sometimes too. He doesn’t know what to do except kiss Buck again, holding him close and hoping that some of his warmth will soak through the layers between them. Buck sinks against him, boneless, and Eddie thinks they could stay like that forever, just holding each other, until Buck pulls away with a low groan.

They spend a while on the bathroom floor after that.

“You’re going to get sick,” Buck tries to protest, but it’s half-hearted; getting sick has pretty much been an inevitability since Christopher brought the note home from school a week ago warning parents that the stomach flu was going around. Once Buck was taken out, it became a certainty. It’s not like Eddie is going to move out of their bed until the germs are gone, after all.

“I’ll risk it,” he says, rubbing Buck’s back. He’d risk a hell of a lot more than a virus for his partner, but it doesn’t feel like the time to say it.

Buck shakes his head, but it’s not really a denial, just, “You don’t want this, Eds.”

Eddie kind of wants to shake him sometimes. To take him by the shoulders and say: I want you, remember? all of you? But he’s pretty sure it would be labouring the wrong point, right now, and it doesn’t really matter anyway because Buck is scrambling to get his head over the toilet again and Eddie can only grimace sympathetically and rub his back. Buck is right: he doesn’t want this bug. But he does want Buck and Chris, so. Germs are a pretty small price to pay.

****

He tosses and turns, sleeping fitfully, and by three a.m. they’re both sick and miserable together.

“Is this what they mean by ‘in sickness and in health’?” Buck asks the ceiling, and Eddie’s sluggish brain has to think through that for a long moment before he remembers:

“We aren’t married.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Buck’s voice sounds far away. “Should we get married?”

Eddie thinks about that for a long moment too.

“Probably,” he decides. And then his stomach twists again and it doesn’t really matter if they’re married or not because he’s too busy throwing up to think about anything except how awful he feels.

****

When Eddie does steal the hoodie, it’s mostly an accident. He wakes up freezing, desperately thirsty, and when he staggers up in search of water, he grabs the hoodie that has been tossed onto the end of the bed without thinking about it. It’s already over his head before he realises that it’s the one Buck was wearing when they crawled into bed.

The next time he wakes up, he’s too warm, Buck a long line of heat pressed up against his back, and he has to wriggle free to wrestle the hoodie off again. It’s damp with fever sweat and he tosses it on the floor in disgust. He just did laundry yesterday, but he’s already thinking about how they’ll need to do it again.

“Okay?” Buck asks, still half asleep.

The answer is yes but also no, I feel like crap, and I hate how never-ending housework is, which is all too much to explain. Eddie just groans and buries his face in his pillow. A sound catches in Buck’s throat, something vague and sympathetic, and he slips a hand under Eddie’s t-shirt to rub his back. Eddie shivers, pressing back into him.

“Your hands are cold,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t mean stop.

Buck shuffles a little closer and kisses the back of his neck: I’ve got you.

Eddie still feels awful, but he thinks he’ll feel a little less awful as long as he has Buck there rubbing his back. He knows this isn’t what either of them meant when they promised to have each other’s backs all those years ago, but it feels inevitable that they ended up here anyway. Buck’s hand moves over his skin, warm and solid and familiar, and Eddie wonders—lets himself wonder, the way he doesn’t usually dare—how it might feel with a ring on his finger. He’s pretty sure it would feel just like this; like home.

****

The hoodie spends two days waiting for someone in the house to have enough energy to do another wash cycle, then three more days at the bottom of the laundry basket waiting to be folded and put away. Buck is the one who finally puts it in the closet, his hands moving restlessly when they get home from a busy shift, jittery from too much caffeine and too little sleep.

“I love you,” Eddie says when he pulls oven cleaner out from under the sink next, “but if you’re going to deep clean our whole house, I’m going to nap without you.”

He’s exhausted, slumped at the kitchen table because even sitting up feels too hard right now, and Buck’s energy is starting to make him a little dizzy. He doesn’t think twenty-four hour shifts used to be this exhausting, maybe he should be more worried about getting old?

“Twenty minutes,” Buck bargains, already reaching for a cloth to scrub the oven with. “I just want to do this and then I’ll join you.”

Eddie considers insisting—he knows Buck is just as exhausted as he is and if he lies down for ten seconds he’ll probably crash—but compromise is the foundation of all good relationships, or so Bobby keeps telling him. It’s a foundation, Eddie is willing to concede, but he’s pretty sure the foundation of all good relationships is trust.

“Twenty minutes,” he agrees. “I better not wake up alone, Buckley.”

Buck smiles, like he can see right through the faux-stern Buckley to the heartfelt honey underneath, and ducks in to kiss Eddie on the cheek on his way to the oven.

“Twenty minutes,” he says. “I promise.”

****

Eddie is out as soon as his head hits the pillow, so he doesn’t know if it is twenty minutes, but when he wakes up and rolls over, he finds Buck sprawled on the bed beside him, dark green hoodie rucked up around his waist, one leg sticking out from under the covers, breath whistling faintly between snores. He smiles and closes his eyes. Chris is at school, the house smells vaguely like lemon disinfectant, he’s warm and comfortable and they have nowhere important to be. He can spare five more minutes before getting up, he thinks.

Half an hour later, they’re still in bed, wrapped up around each other, and Eddie has forgotten why he ever wanted to get up at all.

****

“Uh, isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?” Chimney asks, pointing between them.

Eddie glances at Buck, I stole this from my boyfriend embroidered right over his heart.

“Looks fine to me,” he answers, shrugging.

Buck grins. “You think I look fine?”

Eddie opens his mouth, a dozen answers to that on his tongue, half of them straying dangerously close to NSFW, but Hen beats him to it was a drawn out, “Oookay, save it for when we don’t have to stand here and listen to your foreplay, boys.”

Eddie can feel his cheeks turning pink, but Buck is as unrepentant and shameless as always.

“You could stand somewhere else,” he suggests, and he’s laughing when Hen smacks him in the arm.

****

The hoodie is traded for an LAFD one instead, relegated to Buck’s locker for the duration of their shift. Eddie isn’t fussy; he’s just as happy to watch the LAFD material stretch over Buck’s arms and chest and broad shoulders as he is any other kind of clothing.

Buck goes home with the hoodie tucked into his bag the next morning, but somewhere between walking in the front door and leaning against each other in the kitchen while the coffee maker works its magic, Eddie ends up wearing it. It’s like wearing a hug, he thinks, but that might be the way Buck’s arms are wrapped around his waist as well, a solid wall of heat at his back. Eddie doesn’t want to step away when the coffee machine beeps, but the lure of caffeine is strong enough to get him one step, two, three, cold as soon as his partner’s arms are no longer around him.

“Thanks,” Buck murmurs when Eddie hands him a mug.

Eddie kisses him, a quick peck on the lips, you’re welcome, and Buck catches him by one hoodie string to kiss him again when he starts to step away. The coffee mug in his hand dips and Eddie takes it from him, setting it aside without looking. The space the movement put between them is only there for a second before Buck hooks his hands in the hoodie pouch to pull Eddie closer, deepening the kiss.

“Have I told you lately,” he says between kisses, “that I love when you wear my clothes?”

Eddie hums, busy working his hands under the hem of Buck’s shirt so he can touch as much warm skin as possible. It takes him longer than it ordinarily would to string together the words to say, “I thought you bought this hoodie for me?”

“I bought it because it reminded me of you,” Buck agrees, his own hands under Eddie’s hem now, hot enough to brand everywhere he touches, “but you’re the one who said it doesn’t make sense unless it’s my hoodie.”

“And you said you’d just wear it a few times first,” Eddie reminds him, distracted enough now to frown, hands stilling on Buck’s waist. “Hang on, are you trying to steal my hoodie?”

Buck’s next kiss is more like a bite, teeth nipping under Eddie’s jaw; the promise of a mark that will sit just above where the hoodie might cover it.

“Right now,” he says, the same kind of promise in his voice, “I’m just trying to get you out of it.”

Eddie is more than happy to help with that. He lets Buck take him by the hand and pull him down the hall towards the bedroom, coffee forgotten on the counter, hoodie tugged off and quickly forgotten on the floor. Buck lips press against his skin right over this heart, right where the embroidered words would be, and Eddie feels like there is a mirror image of them etched into the beating muscle beneath his skin: my boyfriend stole this from me. He would have given it—has given it, a dozen times over—but every time he reached into his chest, he found Buck’s name already there.

I love you, Buck presses into his skin with his lips.

And Eddie holds him close and kisses it right back: I love you, I love you, I love you.

****

“Our hoodie.”

“Huh?”

Buck pushes himself up on his elbow and Eddie blinks up at him, his brain still feeling a little melt-y.

“It can be our hoodie,” Buck says, idly tracing a pattern over Eddie’s ribs, just because he can.

“Like a timeshare?” Eddie asks, musing, the start of a smile breaking through. “You steal it this week and I’ll steal it next week?”

Buck flicks him and Eddie grins.

“I take it back,” Buck says, rolling away onto his back. “It’s my hoodie now.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to push himself up on an elbow, going far enough to lean over Buck and kiss him, cradling his face in one hand. It’s just supposed to be one kiss, but Buck kisses back readily, arms wrapping around Eddie’s back, and it’s easy to lose themselves in it after that, the thread of conversation unravelling as they make out.

“Okay,” Eddie says eventually, the word quiet and breathy in the space between them. “Our hoodie.”

It gives him a thrill, the same way it always does, whenever he refers to the two of them as an our. Our home, our family, our hoodie.

Buck’s smile is a brilliant thing. It burrows in through bone and blood and tissue to reach the heart underneath, making itself at home.

“I love you,” he says, so sincere Eddie feels it in his chest.

“I love you too,” he replies, punctuated with a kiss. “You know Hen and Chimney are going to give us so much shit about this hoodie for the rest of our lives, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Buck agrees. “Maddie too. Don’t tell Chris, but she thinks I already own too many hoodies as well.”

Eddie laughs. God, he’s so, so far gone for this man.

“She might have a point,” he says, but he’s pretty sure it just sounds like there’s no such thing as too many hoodies.

Buck rolls his eyes, still crinkled with his smile. “See if I ever buy you a hoodie again.”

It’s an empty threat. And it doesn’t really matter anyway because—

“That’s fine,” Eddie answers. “I’ll just steal yours.”

He can’t be sure, really, which happened first: that first stolen LAFD hoodie, or Buck stealing his heart. He tried once, wine drunk with Hen and Karen, to answer their question about when he knew he was in love, but the only answer that came to him was I’m pretty sure I loved Buck before I knew him.

“I don’t think it’s stealing if I let you,” Buck tells him.

“You’re going to let me, huh?”

“Yeah.” Buck nods. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I kinda like it when you wear my clothes.”

Eddie grins. “I might have had some idea.”

The proof is on the bedroom floor, or whatever that saying is. He never did understand why it was always in the pudding. It’s on the bedroom floor, and in the way Buck is smiling at him, and in the laundry all mixed up in the basket. It’s the way Buck kisses him, soft and lingering, and the way Eddie’s heart thumps once, twice, a pain that doesn’t really hurt. It’s our home and our family and our hoodie. It’s I love you and I love you and I love you.

It's the fact that they’re here, together, despite everything. Because of everything.

It’s kissing Buck again, and again, and again. Just because he can.

****

(Eddie wonders—lets himself wonder, the way he doesn’t usually dare—how it might feel with a ring on his finger. He’s pretty sure it would feel just like this; like home.)

#Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #911 Fox #fic #clothes thief eddie my beloved<3

[crippleprophet]

gluten & dairy intolerant and sick as shit: a “what the fuck do i eat?” primer

most gluten-free, dairy-free (hereafter abbreviated gf/df) recipe sites are so clearly written by people who have the energy to cook - consistently enough that they don’t need to worry about food spoiling - and money for tons of ingredients and equipment. as a person who’s bedridden a large portion of the time, this is useless as shit!

so here’s how i’ve kept myself alive the past 6+ months for other sick folks looking for a realistic starting point, in descending order from least to most energy required. in addition to being gf/df, i can’t eat raw vegetables or red meat, need to avoid/minimize seeds and artificial sweeteners, and try to minimize soy when possible, so these suggestions align with that.

as always, check the labels first! other folks feel free to add on with any suggestions!

meals

gf cereal - chocolate gf off-brand rice krispies are a go-to low-energy meal that can also be a snack

bananas with peanut butter

rice cakes are my best friend - they’re like 4x cheaper than gf bread and the easiest option i’ve found so far. my go-to is rice cake, vegan cheese, 4 slices of deli chicken, a pinch of salt; 4 of those makes a filling meal for me

gf toast with peanut butter or butter, cinnamon, and brown sugar

gf oatmeal in the microwave, seasoned with brown sugar and cinnamon. if you need to avoid cross-contamination, make sure to only purchase oat products that are certified gluten-free; they can easily get cross-contaminated from wheat in the field

tofu scramble - season with curry powder, garlic and onion powder, chili powder, and salt. add whatever veggies you want - i do (frozen or canned) spinach, mushrooms, and tomatoes

gf chicken nuggets - if i have a little extra energy i’ll make a vegan ranch using a vegan mayo base

gf/df pizza - they’re expensive. i’m sorry.

gf/df nachos - vegan mince with gf taco seasoning, olives, vegan cheese, corn tortillas chips. for a lower-energy version, i melt vegan cheese on tortilla chips in the microwave and add torn-up deli chicken and seasoning

frozen gf fries - plain or with vegan cheese sauce, vegan cheese, and/or vegan mince (seasoned with garlic powder, chili powder, paprika, and salt)

rice with ingredient - canned beans and/or peas; canned tuna cooked with curry powder; frozen edamame and canned salmon cooked with gf (tamari) soy sauce, honey, and chili powder

fish tacos - frozen fish cooked with cumin, paprika, chili powder, salt, pepper; cilantro-lime rice; avocado if you’re up for peeling/cutting; vegan cheese; corn tortillas

snacks

pre-popped popcorn

tortilla chips

gf/df cookies

gf/df chips (crisps) - in the UK, Seabrook is a great gf brand, and the classic ones are df as well

gf/df protein or granola bars

gf/df ice cream

tangerines, clementines, etc - they last longer than other fruits

#dietary restrictions #celiac #lactose intolerance #dairy free #gluten free #chronic illness #mac.txt

[bananarchy4ever]

Jehovah's Witness wankers sent me this junk mail so I turned it into this 😄

#label 228 #queer art #sticker art #collage art #collage #collagist #stickers #thick sausage #sausage #deli labels #fluorescent labels #extra thick #228label

[fuck-customers]

i work in the deli section in a big chain grocery store and i had someone come up to the counter and ask "the thing that's labeled 8 piece chicken, does it have 8 pieces of chicken in it?"

i'm not paraphrasing, and the box had a window

it took everything in me to not swear and just give her a simple "yes"

Posted by admin Rodney.

[friends-to-lovers-tournament]

PRELIMINARY POLL 2: THE OWL HOUSE

hello owl house fandom! out of all the ships you guys submitted, soba and i have narrowed it down to these three: aladarius, huntlow, and raeda. as per a previous post where we said we'll only be letting a maximum of 2 ships per fandom into the tournament, we're doing this poll to determine which ship(s) will represent your fandom. we haven't fully finalised the shortlisted ships yet, so based on the results either the top 1 or top 2 ships will be selected

also let us know if you guys have any preferred images for your ship(s)! i just plucked these from the shipping fandom wiki

propaganda for the ships are under the cut!

-mod deli 🎀

Aladarius:

Ahhhhhh, so many thoughts; where to begin? Well, first off, they were absolutely childhood friends and were practically attached at the hip for years and years. When they finally started dating around mid to late teens, they literally only changed labels and that was it. After a falling out and a messy breakup (and y'know alador getting married to someone else), it seemed like all was lost. after all, they were desperately trying to lessen contact with stark animosity between them. but after the day of unity, everything changed. with character arcs and divorce papers galore and maybe they began on speaking terms. and then friendly terms. and then back to where they were before, bickering like an old married couple. and then *being* an old married couple. yeah. gotta love the magical slime dilfs ◡̈

Huntlow:

They’re just. SO CUTE!! Hunter develops a crush on Willow first. When they first met, he was just looking to recruit more people into the emperor’s coven, and he thought she and some others would be a good fit. They played flyer derby together (a sport in the demon realm), and it was the first time he’d actually been able to have fun with people his age. His original plan was still in play so Willow and the others on the team got taken and put into custody so they could be put into the emperor’s coven. However, at this point Hunter felt incredibly bad. In the end, he broke the rules and got them out of there. He was prepared to be hated, but Willow and the others forgave him. I think at this point is when he started developing feelings for her. This guy, who talks so much people can see through his disguises because of his voice, will get SO quiet and blushy when she’s nearby. He knew there was an illusion when the illusion acted scared and shy because he saw her as the strong, courageous witch she is. She saw his cringe outfits and cosplay and took a picture for her scrapbook and called it a look. She winked at him and he blushed and smiled this goofy smile. When she finally broke down after trying to keep a brave face for the others, he comforted her. I think somewhere around here she started developing feelings too. They held hands!!! She said “you mean a lot to me too”!!! They mean so much to me.

Raeda:

NONBINARY REPRESENTATION DISABILITY REPRESENTATION TOGETHER AND HAPPY IN THE END They met as kids and got along from the start. They barely knew each other and still defied the orders of a representative of the EMPEROR so they wouldn't fight each other (they literally DANCED on the face of authority together. They eventually became lovers and broke up. Many years later found each other again and still loved each other so so much. I'm gonna repeat myself, but a disabled, chronically ill character and a nonbinary carachter have a friends to lovers story with a happy ending in a DISNEY ANIMATION. What else could you want?

#the owl house #aladarius #huntlow #raeda #mod deli 🎀 #ftl admin stuff #ftl prelim poll #neither soba nor i are familiar with the owl house so if we made any mistakes please kindly point them out! <3 #also i probably don't have to say it but please be nice to the ships you didn't vote for and those who did vote for them <3

[writinginthetwilight]

You Look Good in Green.

Chapter 2 - First.

Eddie Munson x Bartender! Fem! Reader.

>>Summery: Between a deli and a laundromat in downtown Indianapolis, a bar sits unassuming. Almost derelict looking from the outside, to the untrained eye. But by night she's a different beast.

>>Chapter warnings: 18+ only, strangers to friends to lovers, found family, fluff, angst, drinking, smoking of, strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, slow burn, depictions of a panic attack.

>>Author note: There's a bit more of Eddie and reader in this chapter but chapter 3 really amps up their interactions. Thank you for all the love on my last chapter and anyone who took the time to read, it means the world. 💚

Chapter 1

MASTERLIST

1977

Dense and unruly clouds dominate the sky as he makes his way down the sidewalk, the already rapidly fading light of late afternoon now muted to a dream like shade of blue. Shop windows send out a warm glow onto the path in front of him winds whipping past and urging him on. 

The sound of the bell rings through the store as he peeks inside warm air prickling his cheeks. 

The cold that rushes in behind him runs down Angie's back as she sits on the ground hunched over, surrounded by boxes of half labelled tapes.

Knees aching, and fingers cramped she tries to stand quickly, warm greeting on the tip of her tongue halted and replaced by a curious smile at the sight of the young boy in the doorway.

Eyes wide and pink-cheeked, he takes in the sight of the half-decorated record shop. Newly tacked posters line the walls, shelves sit half full and the smell of fresh paint still lingers. 

Pulling at the neck of his green woollen sweater as it itches against his skin, he startles at her voice.

“Hi.”  

Eyes meeting, he ducks slightly, only raising a hand in greeting before making his way into the cluttered aisles.  

She stretches up on her toes and watches the top of his shaved head move its way behind the shelves and out of sight. A Glance at the windows shows no parent lingering outside. People pass but nobody stops. 

Making her way around sharpie-marked boxes and shelving yet to be assembled, she finds him browsing, finger running down the edge of a record. 

“Can I hel-” 

“ I wasn't stealing!” The boy spins to face her, quickly turning out the pockets of his slightly short bell-bottom jeans.

Mortified she moves towards him “No, no, I didn't think you were honey” he steps away and she stops. Placing her hands up in surrender she sighs “Just, wanted to know if you needed help finding anything.” 

He eyes her wearily and she chuckles, dropping her hands to her hips and looking around “ Ain't really organised yet. ” 

She glances at the records he was browsing. 

“Blues?”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head straightening to his full size and she struggles to suppress a smile at the sight.

“Metal” 

“Oh,” she drawls, “a man of taste.”

She brushes past him leading him to the front of the store, showing him the pile of boxes yet to be unpacked. He immediately dives down to search through the records.

The tall fogged windows at the front of the store start to streak with drizzle. 

“You here by yourself?” she says watching the rain run down the glass and people dart past in blurred succession. 

“Uncles round the corner at the auto shop.”

She hums and reaches over to the top shelf that's hastily labelled new releases grabbing a stack, her chipped polished nails flick through until she finds what she's looking for. 

“Here,” she says, tapping the record against his shoulder. 

He turns eyes going wide and eagerly takes it. His fingers trace the snarling face on the front leaving a path through the thin dust that covers it.

"Good?"

“Will blow your mind.”

Behind him, she sees a man rush past. He stops just short of the door and makes his way back to look through the window, face obscured by the now pouring rain. 

The bell rattles. 

“Eddie!”

The boy rolls his eyes as an older man rounds the corner on him, dripping wet his footsteps turning the carpet a darker shade as he advances through the store. 

“Boy I swear to god, I told you to stay put. ”

He pulls the cap from his head scrubbing his fingers through thinning sandy hair. 

“Sorry ma'am didn't mean to disturb you,” he says, spotting Angie the anger in his tone lowers kind blue eyes looking her way.

“No not all, nice to have folks inside. I think most think we're still closed” she says gesturing around. 

“Wayne” Eddie interrupts and the man swings his head down to look at the young boy. 

“Can we get this?" he says holding up the record. 

“ No.” The words are hushed and he takes the record from Eddie, gingerly passing it back to Angie with an apologetic look. “Now let's go.” 

“ Please, come on.” 

“ Ed-” 

“ On the house.” The pair look at her and she gives a small smile. 

“ That's very kind ma'am, but.”

“ We don't need charity.” Eddie interrupts, arms crossed against his chest and Wayne sends him a glare. 

Angie mimics him, crosses her arms over her chest and bends so she's at eye level with the boy. 

“Does this look like a Goodwill kid?” Her eyes search his.  “It's a gift.” She hands the record back to him, glancing at Wayne for approval. 

“Thanks," he says tentatively as he takes it looking at the creature on the cover staring back at him, a grin slowly slips onto his face.

“ Thank you, ma'am. You really didn't need to.” 

“Please god call me Angie” she says grimacing and waving her hand  “and I know.”

A silent exchange is made as they look at each other and Wayne takes a breathy laugh putting the cap back onto his head  “Thank you, Miss Angie.“

She nods and  Wayne puts a palm on Eddie's head, an exasperated sigh leaving him as he directs them towards the door, cold air rushes in the sound of rain pounding against the pavement.

“Hey, Eddie.” 

He looks up, tearing his eyes away from the record to see Angie, hand on hip pointing a slender finger at him. 

“Be nice to your uncle.”

……..

The door rattles on its hinges, bell chime cut short and shrill as Eddie bounds his way in and through to the back of the store. Long strides carry him until he spots her. 

“You,” he says pointing to where Angie sits at her desk, a magazine laid out before her, coffee still too hot to drink, nestled on the neatly organised table. He's grinning so hard it aches teeth and dimples on full show. 

“My angel.” 

Her face is stoic as she flips the magazine closed but he's too buzzed to notice, still running on the unfiltered joy that came from the phone call late last night. 

Standing, magazine in hand, she walks towards him and Eddie grins harder, opening his arms wide, leather jacket creaking, ready to engulf her in a bone-crushing hug.

“Ahh!” 

Eddie lurches back as the rolled-up magazine makes contact with the side of his head. 

“What the fuck?” She swipes at him again, “Ang?”  

“An hour late Eddie!”

His eyes go wide and he ducks behind the arch leading to the store, the beaded curtain rattling as he flounders through it.

“We got lost,” he says throat tight as he stumbles backwards.

“You got lost? You've been there before, don't lie to me.” She points the magazine at him, pages creasing in her grip. 

“I'm not,” he dodges her again. "We took a wrong turn in traffic and, and.” 

He swallows as his back makes contact with the shelving behind him, contents rattling. 

A force to be reckoned with when angered, all southern sensibilities dissolve from her, temper blowing them away like dandelion seeds in the wind.  She had put him back in his place more times than he cares to admit and she still scares the shit out of him.

Pushing the magazine into his chest she stares him down. 

“It's a good job you impressed her.” 

A smile tugs at the corner of his lip and she gives him another hard swat against his chest.

“If you are late Thursday, nothing me or Jazz say is going to convince him to let you come back. Understood?” He nods quickly and she squints at him.

“So Metallica worked then.” Grin spilling onto his face, Angie rolls her eyes, walking away. 

“Of course it worked, what do you take me for?”

He hurries behind her and watches as she settles back into the desk, pressing out the wrinkles in her magazine and taking an audible deep breath through her nose. 

He tentatively moves towards her, arm wrapping around her rigid shoulders from behind in an awkward hug. Her eyes don't leave the pages before her. 

“Thank you,” he says, squeezing her softly, shaggy curls obscuring her view and he feels her ease.

“You're welcome kid.”

“I  was thinking,” he says after a beat, the floor creaks as he shifts from foot to foot and she sighs, turning with a bored expression which can't quite hide the affection in her eyes. “Dangerous. ” 

He presses a palm to his chest, face aghast but his theatrics are halted as she raises a single eyebrow. Dropping his hand, his tongue peeks out, suddenly sheepish “Can I use the copier?”

……

The mixtape is pushed into the office boombox before you've even taken off your jacket. 

Alone, lights dimmed and Miles Davis echoing against the walls you float through the room. Figments of memories and familiar faces surround you. Your mom's chicken casserole wafts through the air as she hums in the sunshine-yellow kitchen back home. Friends in your old childhood bedroom, carefree laughter, gasps and shrieks as you tell stories of the weekend. There's a homesick comfort in the melodies, cherry-picked and rose-tinted.

It makes guilt crawl up your throat, and as the song comes to an end you're thankful for Dios voice. Loud, operatic, unseemly for a girl your age to be listening to says your dad's voice from somewhere in the recesses of your mind. 

New family, a new home. A mantra that's been built between these walls, over late nights and tired eyes, spilt drinks and frustrated tears. 

It was just you on Tuesdays, Gus pops in from time to time to grab things but it's always fleeting and customers are few and far between. Funds are still low from the weekend, but we're not quite at the mid-week hump which will fetch in people under a mutual disdain for the work week.

Scrubbing the sticky stains beneath a pool table at the far end of the room, it takes you a moment to distinguish the sound of the phone ringing against the music blaring in the empty building. In the rush to get out you smack your head on the underside of the table, scrambling out while cradling the back of your head as your feet skid over the wooden floor. 

“Hello?” You strain to sound professional, but your voice is breathy as you squeeze your eyes closed still holding the back of your head.

“Jazz honey, Gus there?” Angie's voice says quickly.

You release your work facade shoulders sagging “Hey, no he hasn't been in, everything okay?”

“Yeah, darlin’. Actually, you're probably better. Eddie's made some fliers for Thursday you mind if he hands them out.”

Excitement bubbles up within you. 

“No not at all, that's great, yeah. Good idea.”  

You pause for a moment looking over to the stage, “Nothing too out there, you remember the mess with the college last time.”

She chuckles through the line “ They're tame don't worry, won't induce any reports of sacrifices anyways, all okay down there?”

You nod running your hand over your head.

“Yeah fine, just smacked my head off the fucking pool table again.”

The rest of the afternoon goes as routine, deep clean and stock take, lists and order forms ready stacked for Gus tomorrow. A little after half 4, you head to the back through the small glossy black door behind the bar. 

The light flickers as you enter, dark, dusty and bare, goose flesh runs down your arms, the smell of damp ever present. It shuts out the world on the other side of the door once it clicks closed and you try to spend as little time as possible getting what you need. 

On the other hand, you've spent more than enough time in here during shifts getting your shit together. The mayhem reduced to a low murmur, cool air feeling good against hot skin when the world spinning out of control. 

The stool scrapes against the concrete as you pull it out, it's sturdier than the rest, heavy, with a high back and sides, faded rose upholstery rough against your fingers

Your only Tuesday regular Bill, if he arrives, is always after 4 but before 6. You finish up putting away your cleaning supplies and head to the office, retrieving the tape you need which sits snugly amongst invoices and bills in the corner filing cabinet. 

It was only your first week  when Bill had come shuffling into your life, with no warning from Gus other than to keep the music low and to pull out a chair from the back.

At 5.15 in he walks, grey flat cap low on his head walking with an unsteady canter that still after all this time has you moving down the bar toward him, regardless of the fact you know he'll wave off your offer of help. 

“Hey Bill”

The creases in his face deepen as he smiles at you, familiar and warm and you make the small walk to the bar from the door with him helping him into his seat. A single measure of scotch already sat prepared and waiting. 

He's an old gossip truth be told and between history, wars and weddings he scatters stories of people around town. Most stories you already know and you smile along, asking rehearsed questions you know the answers to. 

He hums to Ella Fitzgerald in the quiet moments as you busy yourself with simple chores, he calls out your name shaking his glass. 

He's the only person who uses your name. 

On that first meeting four years ago, as you buzzed around like a fly. A hastily written list of unfamiliar jobs trembling in your hands, the paper damp and creased at the edges. 

He had watched you quietly. 

The previous Saturday had been on a loop in your head. Gus’s face as he watched you drop a fresh bottle of tequila onto the floor, countless wrong orders and angry customers. 

“What's  your name?”

It's so soft you almost don't catch it, and Jazz is all but out of your mouth before the sincerity sitting in his eyes makes you swallow the lump in your throat.

You gave him your first name with a croaky voice and he'd smiled warmly at you.

“Beautiful name." he'd said" Why don't you sit for while."

It's always 7 on the dot when James appears, he's in his late thirties, 36 if Bill is to be believed, but if so he's been 36 the whole time you've known him. So, who's to know? 

Always in a different shade of beige shirt and brown slacks, he looks like his dad.

“Hey, Pops.” He leans against the bar next to Bill and pushes his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.

“James my boy, what are you doing here?”

James glances at you and you give a tight-lipped smile busying yourself with slicing lemons, hissing as fingers sting around your nail beds. 

“I thought I could give you a ride back”

He pats James's arm “Stay for a drink, she makes a mean scotch,” he says nodding his head towards you with a cheeky raise of his eyebrows that makes you laugh.

“Bill, you don't even have ice.”

“Linda's expecting me,” James cuts in, “in fact why don't you come for dinner? She's making pot roast? The kids would love to see you.”

“Now how could I refuse an offer like that”  he says throwing back the last of his drink 

You smile at him and he takes your hand over the bar. 

“We should do this again soon.” 

“Of course,” you say, placing your hand over his. 

James gives you a pointed look and you remove your hand quickly, telling them to drive safe as they walk out slowly arm in arm. 

……. 

Thursday morning had started so well.

Nestled in your comforter, the world soft and warm, you'd managed a good half hour of drifting between dream and reality before your furry flatmate Sme had started eating your hair, signalling it was time to get up. 

After feeding the beast you'd fed yourself, got out a pan, prepped eggs and thick toast with the radio turned up. Sang off-key and danced with your less than enthused cat while it cooked.

Paused to disinfect the scratches. 

You'd showered with the last of the birthday body wash and matching body lotion your mom had gotten you, and dressed in your weekend uniform of black tank top which shows just enough cleavage to increase your tips and the acid wash jeans that make your ass look great. 

You felt good. 

But, the incipient doubts started trickling in on the bus ride over. They come out of nowhere like a tide coming in as the waves of adrenaline build, little by little. 

What if they don't show? Would Gus give up?  

Drizzle starts to catch the window as you near your stop blurring the passing buildings and you blink hard as if it would reverse the thought.

Would he call it a day? Decide you don't need a band. 

Making your way off the bus the rain is getting heavier sliding down the neck of your flannel making your shoulders hunch while you try to hurry and find your keys in your overfilled rucksack.

With shaking hands you place the key in the lock and storm in, letting your belongings drop in a pile at your feet. You stand at the edge of the dark room covering your face with your hands. 

Inhale, exhale. Shit. Please don't spoil this. 

Okay, throw yourself into the day, and gain back some of that excitement. Get music on, don't let the silence creep in. Keep busy. 

It helps for a while, but everything is done at speed, the waves are up to your neck and your treading water. 

You fly through your to-do list and when there's no more to do, everything is in place and the whole place smells of stringent lemon cleaner. 

Trying to think of anything left to do your eyes drift across the empty stage, and your stomach drops.

What if it's a bust? Gus would hate them, or everyone would hate them. You would have to watch their dejected faces as they leave. 

“It's going to be fine,” you say aloud but the sound shakes. 

But what if it's not?

What if the band hates it? Or Gus liked them so much that he just put them in rotation at the weekend. 

You're heart pounds. You're drowning. You go to take a glass from the shelf under the bar still hot and damp it slides straight out of your hand and smashes onto the floor. 

The women's bathroom door slams against the tile as you head for the sink, running cold water against your wrists until it hurts, until your fingers are numb. 

“Stop it. “You say to your reflection finger pressed against the glass a rivulet of water drips down and you follow it, watching until it disappears along the edge of the glass. 

Not today. 

The band arrives a little after noon, an old zip lock pack of saltines in the bottom of your bag and seltzer water has calmed your stomach and you stand eyes closed focusing on Hetfield's voice and the feeling of the exposed brick cool against your back when the door’s abruptly kicked open. 

Your eyes snap open to see Gareth armed with a disassembled drum kit struggling through the door and you rush over to hold it open.

“Decided you come back then.” you laugh awkwardly cringing internally at the waver in your voice. 

“We had to push some stuff around," Jeff says, giving you a warm smile with Grant not far behind. 

He pauses to look at you, crease between his eyebrows and shakes his head silently, a huff of laughter comes out on your exhale and you feel the knots in your stomach lessen. 

“Thank you, ma'am,” Eddie says with a nod, high hat rattling with each step. 

You stand in front of the stage, picking at the dry skin around you nails you feeling redundant as you watch them set up silently. 

“Okay, so what did Gus tell you guys? You have a set list right?”

“Hour set?” Eddie says looking up at you, no waver in his voice despite his shaking hands, reaching into his back pocket he takes out wrinkled lime green paper and passes it down to you. 

You nod unfolding it and see ransom note-style letters pieced together to advertise tonight, you smile at the devil's face drawn in thick black lines. 

“With a 15 minute break so you might need to cut some songs,” you flip the flyer over to see the scrawl of songs, a mess of different handwriting, songs crossed out and others squeezed in between. 

The boys watch you as you silently read chewing at the raw patch of skin on your lip wincing when you taste blood  “Metallica to open?” 

Sly smiles are shared by the band. 

“Maybe we should start with something, slower?” You say finally looking up just in time to watch their faces fall. 

“It's a good set, I just don't want to change it just. Rearrange it.”

“That's changing it,” Eddie says flatly. 

You bristle slightly at his tone, anxiety making your temper short “We have the open mic first which is,”  you pick up your notebook and flip through it “mainly acoustic and, an acapella band, apparently” You snap it closed. 

Eddie frowns at you arms tucking under each other. 

“Ease them in okay.” You plead “You're good. I'm on your side, but this is my, baby. It needs to go smoothly. Please, work with me. Start slow. Melt their faces later.” 

“She's the boss,” Jeff says, cutting off your ramble, plucking a string which reverberates out over the room. 

“No, not the boss. I’m just- ”

“If it's your baby, does that make us your babies?” Gareth says leaning over his drums, a faux thoughtful look on his face. 

What the fuck. You wrinkle your nose at him. 

“Melt their faces later. ”

Eddie says as he hitches his guitar over himself running his hand down the neck and making it squeal.

“Got it, boss.”

The second time around and past the haze of excitement of finally having a band, you find yourself hearing them with fresh ears.

You can hear off beats and cues missed, they aren't going to be headlining any arenas, but they're more confident than when you last saw them, they command the stage and you find the excitement which was there this morning flutter and spark in your chest. 

Reluctantly you stop them after only a few songs, but a noise complaint from Marg at the deli next door is not something you need right now.

“Please be on time,” you say as they gather themselves to leave. 

“We'll be early. I want to see the acapella group.” Gareth laughs. 

“No.” You bite out your finger meeting Gareth's chest as you descend on him in a couple of short steps. “No being assholes. Am I clear?”

You turn to look at the rest of the group. “They're  just as much a part of it as you are and unless you want to get booed off stage by the crowd you will behave or so help me god I will drag you off-.”

“Well behave.”

Eddie says walking into your line of sight, arms wide blocking you from the youngest member of the band. There's that look again, recognision and familiarity but it dances with amusement that makes you frown harder.

He purses his lips to hide the smirk that's threatening to break out at the sight your angry face.

“Look, thanks for giving us a shot.” He tilts his head and then looks back over to the guys with expextent eyes.

“Yeah, we appreciate it, fighting our corner and all,” Jeff says stepping up to stand by Eddie's shoulder and you watch as Grant nods at you saying his thanks then turning to shove Gareth when he doesn't respond. 

He rolls his eyes and lets out a reluctant thanks. It's quiet but there. 

“I meant what I said,” you sigh “I want you guys to be here. But it only works if everyone is on the same page.”

You let them out and watch as they head down the street, puddles on the floor catch the sunlight and make everything a little too bright, but the air feels too good on your clammy skin so you let yourself just stand for a moment as they walk out of sight. 

…… 

“Don't touch that!“ you say rushing over to Jay, his hand stops mid air hovering over Eddie's guitar. 

“Come on, they won't know.”

“I'll know dipshit, go help Charlie with the tables.” you point to your other Thursday night bartender while she struggles to carry the small circle table out of the back room and he sulks off towards her. 

Mental checklists on repeat you murmur to yourself as your eyes look over the records and framed posters that clutter the walls. Nerves at a manageable hum, the rest of the afternoon had gone on without a hitch.

A low whistle from the bar drags you back to reality and you see Angie and Gus walking in. 

“Look at you” Jay says, shaking his mop of blonde hair at her and she gives him a twirl satin purple shirt which flares at her wrists floating as she spins. 

 Gus watches her hands jammed into the pockets of his soft leather trench coat with affectionate eyes. 

“Decided to dress up for the occasion?” you say hopping off the stage and walking to him, tugging on the oversized lapels.  

“Hands off the good," he says sweeping the patches you touched. 

“You fly in or?” you eye his lapels 

“Don't be mean,” Angie says, coming to place her hands on his chest and shoo you away. 

It was odd to see him like this, on the other side of the bar while you fixed him a drink. Calm, and relaxed, they curl around each other a fondness in each of their eyes that makes your chest ache. 

George comes in and brings the cool air with him and Charlie nervously passes him a beer.

“Thanks,” he says gruffly and she scuttles away. 

He’s not dissimilar to Gus in appearance, tall and broad, covered in tattoos, hair shaved to a glossy shine, which Jay once asked if he polished and got a silent death glare in return. 

That was the main difference, he doesn't have the conversational skills, silent and well scary. The stereotypical picture of an angry metalhead and a good fucking doorman. 

He's given you a jump more than once, appearing silently behind you while you argue with douchebags no other warning of his presence than. 

“Do I need to put them out? “

They usually leave fairly quickly. 

As the neon light clicks to life in the window the street outside is cast in a gentle red glow and people start to slowly filter in.

It starts with old regulars, familiar faces who want a quick drink before it gets too crowded and then the weekend shift gangs appear. Co-workers commiserating over drinks to the weekend ahead and couples who want time together before becoming ships in the night for the next three days. 

It's a simmer of chatter and laughter, the jukebox roaring to life with each clink of change that goes in. Long shadows dance across the walls as people move around. Glasses are collected, and leisurely small talk and quips are shared as you serve. 

By 6 pm the procession of people coming in is steady, open mic performers and their friends greeting you as you sort through slots and take names for anybody who's decided to show up on the night. 

The bar is constant, little time to talk but practised greetings and thanks as the three of you work. 

It's a dance you know,  reaching for drinks without a second thought, prices and measures all done from memory, Jay works much the same reaching around you for glasses and garnishes as he flirts with anything with a pulse and a gaggle of women wait on him. 

Charlie on the other hand is new-ish. 4 months isn't long enough to get the dance and she stutters and flounders around herself. 

Freshly 21, her short hair is sticking up on end, looking sickly under the blue and red bulbs, her eyes are frantic as she looks through glass bottles. 

“Hey, what are we looking for?” you say pulling out the vodka and pouring a measure into a glass. 

Her breath stutters as she goes to speak and you put the glass down, you've seen that look before, had that look before

“Hey, I need you to head to the back and take a minute, okay.” 

“No, I'm fine”

“You're not" you say firmly and that's okay but I need you here tonight so I need you to go take a minute.” 

She squeezes her eyes closed, nodding quickly before pushing past Jay to the back room, you make eye contact with Angie who slips from her seat and in after her. 

As 7 pm comes you head up to the stage, heart hammering. The room quiets down as all attention falls on you. 

“Hi guys,” you say into the mic mouth like cotton “so thanks for coming out tonight we've got six great acts. Erm, be nice and make sure to give them a lot of encouragement.” 

You see Eddie enter first the rest of the band behind him and they all grin at you. 

“And we have a great band playing afterwards! Corroded Coffin. If you haven't seen the posters around town already, then well, if you guys like them maybe we will keep them around. “

You smile awkwardly at the boys and a few heads follow your gaze. 

“Okay, I'm getting out of here, first up we have an old favourite for you guys, the one and only Tony Lyth.”  

You practically jump off the stage after a polite exchange with Tony. Wiping your sweating palms down the sides of your jeans, your face hot. 

You make your way down to the end of the bar and spot  Angie as she tries to fluff Eddie's hair. 

“Early?” you tease as you make your way past them and Eddie swats her hands away. 

“Need to see that acapella group” Gareth says leaning over the bar and you give him a warning look before making your way down to check on Charlie. 

You bounce between serving and introducing each act as the boys watch on. 

“She looks like she's going to puke. “Jeff says watching you ramble on, trying to sell the acapella group to a crowd who are used to a slightly heavier tone to their evening entertainment.

“She's actually better than she used to be.” Gus pipes up from behind them taking a long drink his eyes never leaving you. 

The boys grimace as you laugh loudly at your own joke only to be met with a few murmurs and pitying half laughs in response. 

“It's cute,” Eddie says head tilted watching as you wave the group on stage and jump straight off after. You rush over to behind the bar and snatch the drink from Gus's hand and down it. 

You look at all their amused faces and scowl. 

“Shut it.”

The acapella group crushes it. Doing heavier song covers with comedic timing woven in and you reign in the urge to shove it in Gareth's face. 

The bar gets busier again once the acts finish. Beers and glasses of wine turn to spirits and shots as people leave and the crowds change. 

Time slips away and when you see the band set up you run over before they start. 

“Are you guys good?” 

“Bigger crowd than we're used to.” Jeff laughs, the nerves in his throat making the tone fall flat. 

“You'll be fine, just, pretend you're back home” 

They all crack up. 

“We'd rather not,” Eddie says leaning into you. 

“Okay, well.”

“Are you giving us an intro?” Grant asks face stoic and ba-dum-tss comes from the drums behind him and you see Gareth grinning.

Little shit. 

You suck your teeth “No I'll leave you guys to introduce yourself.” 

Feedback comes from the stage as you press your way through people, the din of voices lowering. 

You settle behind the bar and watch as Eddie approaches the mic.  The lights catch the haze of smoke which sits heavy in the air, swaying with the movement of bodies. 

“Hello, boys and girls.” Eddie purrs, mouth close to the mic a wolfish grin spreads on his face. It's infectious and you look over to Angie as she woops loudly. 

“We're Corroded Coffin.” He makes eye contact with you and as the first chord is played you feel your stomach clench. 

Stupid pretty boy charm. 

Your face hurts from smiling, body moving behind the bar to the beat of the music. As customers steadily come in you see more of the band's flyers strewn around as the open mic crowd filters out. You start to recognise more faces. 

Your eyes dart over to Gus at slow points and you hope it's not just the drinks in his system making him grin like that. 

The first half is over before you know it and a swell of pride rises in your chest at the sight of them all, sweaty, laughing and grinning as they step off the stage only to have people crowd them. 

 As you see Gus and Angie walk over the doubt creeps in again, but the crush at the bar makes it so you can't see the conversation, serving drinks on autopilot, you miss them head back on stage, the sound of Eddie's voice makes your head snap up. 

“Right okay uh,” he laughs, strumming the guitar once. “Fuck, looks like we will be seeing your beautiful faces again. ” 

“Yes!” You throw your arms into the air, the word out before you can stop yourself, and the crowd turns. You pull your arms down, unable to rid yourself of the grin still plastered across your face as you fold into yourself at the attention. 

The band laughs and Eddie leans back into the mic

“We only have a couple of songs left but, shit, make sure to see us here every Thursday.” you watch him wipes his hand over his face sweat making his bang stick out awkwardly, grinning he points over to the bar and sends you a wink, “Tip your bar staff folks.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader #bartender! reader #first fiction #fanfiction #mywriitng

[dyinglikenarcissus]

Stripped Naked

Part III

Warnings: 18+ only! Contains: Virgin reader, stripping, alcohol, vaginal intercourse, a couple consenting adults having a good time. It’s pretty vanilla but sometimes all you want is vanilla

He wanted you to come over after your third date but you weren’t ready yet. You knew what ‘coming over for dinner’ meant. It took two months to finally work up the courage to ask Steve to ask you over for dinner again. It was so backwards and silly. And you just weren’t quite ready.

And he respected that.

He kept your dates public and always made sure you were comfortable. He was so respectful it was almost unbelievable.

It took you almost an hour to plan out your text message only for Steve to call you in the middle of writing it and force you to stutter through your speech.

“You are so fucking adorable,” Steve sighs through the phone after you tell him your date idea.

“Should I, um, bring like an, uh, over…night…bag?” You draw out the question as long as possible fearing how ridiculous you sound.

“I don’t know. Do you plan on staying the night?” You can hear the smile in his voice and your face heats the more you think about it.

“Do you want me to?” You whisper.

“I would love for you to stay the night.” There’s such a heavy emphasis on the word ‘love’ that your heart skips a beat.

You suppress a whine at his heated words. “Okay! See you Saturday! Bye!” You rush and toss the phone at your bed. You hear his chuckle because you were too dumb to actually hang up the phone and a muffled, “See ya, sunshine,” before your phone beeps.

You’re so nervous and excited, you have your bag packed by Wednesday.

He was going to have Bucky cook but you thought it would be more fun to cook together. “I don’t know what we have, sunshine,” Steve sighs as you walk together through the grocery store aisles.

“You have to have salt. Bucky’s a chef.”

“You should call him and ask,” the blond suggests while pushing the cart.

“Do you go in your kitchen at all?”

“I go in there to get drinks. I know we have beer, and bourbon, and whiskey, and those limearita things which we need more of. Oh! And there’s water in the door.”

“Oh my gosh,” you giggle as he continues to list all the alcohol in his home. You wind your way around the grocery store and learn far more than you have on any date. Steve has a huge sweet tooth. He wanted every ice cream tub and candy bar he saw but settled on a cherry pie you could share. He’d stand there and read the labels on all of them to convince himself he didn’t need it. “I could have like five protein shakes or this one ice cream bar,” he’d mumble and put it back on the shelf.

He was also extremely picky which was shocking for an adult. “I don’t like brussel sprouts,” he frowned when you read it off on the ingredients list.

“We can have some other vegetable. Green beans?”

“No.”

“Carrots?”

“No”

“Broccoli?”

He paused and thought. “Nah.”

“What do you like?”

He thinks again for a moment, leaning his tall body over the basket handle. He looks like a giant buff child after saying no to every vegetable you could think of off of the top of your head. “Bucky makes a zucchini pasta that I like.”

“Zucchini then,��� you smile.

“You don’t come to the grocery store often, do you?” You ask when he comments about how many types of bacon there are.

“Nah, Sam and Bucky do the grocery shopping. I deal with the cleaning and the fixing and the house work. Target and Home Depot are more my speed,” Steve sighs and slips his hand in your back pocket while you wait for the deli man. “I’m good with my hands,” he says as he squeezes your ass and you practically jump out of your skin. He just laughs and thanks the deli man for you before tugging you away.

You weren’t sure what to expect from the home of three bachelors but it certainly wasn’t this.

“You’re sure this is your house?” You whisper as he pulls into the circular driveway.

“I’ve got two roommates with actual jobs. I’m taking full advantage of it,” Steve grins as he backs into the garage attached to an enormous mansion. You notice his bike next to another more classic one. It must be Bucky’s but otherwise the garage is empty. Steve promised Sam and Bucky would be out for the evening leaving the house to just the two of you. You were a little embarrassed by the thought of other people being in the house while the two of you…

Your face heats just thinking about it.

Steve only lets you carry his pie while he leads you into the house with the rest of the groceries. You’re a little glad he did because you’re in awe the second you step through the back door. And it just leads into the kitchen. The chef’s kitchen. With a giant fridge and freezer, a double gas stove, four ovens, and one of those countertop sinks like the Kardashians have!

You almost drop the pie.

“You need a tour,” Steve laughs as he takes his precious dessert from your hands. He links your hand with his and leads you into a dining room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a beautiful rose garden. There’s a game room, a theater, an infinity pool. The gym even has a stripper pole.

“Why do you ever leave your house?” You question looking up at the enormous chandelier in the entry way.

“Gotta pay the mortgage somehow. I made that, by the way,” he sighs gesturing to the light fixture you were in awe of.

“No!” You hiss.

“Yup. I was going through a sculpture phase. Sam convinced me to go with it and Bucky told me to just make sure it’s functional. So, that’s what happened.”

“Wow,” you whisper walking around in a circle to get a full view of it. “It’s beautiful.”

“The whole thing is recycled plastic. All of the ‘crystals’ were 3D printed and chained together with hot glue. The rods are cut up PVC. All a facade,” he sighs leaning against the table at the center of the entry way.

“Is there a story behind it?” You ask noticing his melancholy attitude toward the piece.

“I went through a bad breakup. She was very beautiful on the outside but completely fake on the inside. Making that was how I got over it.”

“Oh,” you whisper wanting to know more but knowing better than to ask too much about exes. But there’s something you have to ask. “Do you miss her?”

He sighs as you step in front of him, the points of your flats meeting his loafers. “I think part of me always will but I think I’m worth so much more than a pretty face.”

“You are,” you smile. “If she couldn’t see that, I don’t think she really knew you.” He instantly lights back up, smiling down at you before pulling you closer. He kisses your forehead, then your nose, then the very corner of you mouth.

And then you meet his lips. Your hands travel up to his face, cupping it as you pull him that much closer. He groans into your mouth and you feel something stir in your core. Steve’s hands find the backs of your thighs and lifts you to wrap your leg around his trim hips. His lips leave yours to travel down to your jaw before he buries his face in your neck. He teeth nip at your throat and you whine his name not knowing what to do and feeling so much all at once.

“What do you want, sunshine?” Steve husks into your skin.

“You. Make me yours.” He growls. Actually growls. And your need for friction overrides your brain as you grind against his hips.

“Want that. I want all of you,” he swears, placing opened mouth kisses over your pulse and sucking the blood to the surface of your skin. “But we have to make dinner first.” You cry out softly and he chuckles before carrying you back to the kitchen. “Get to work, woman!” He laughs and spanks you softly after placing you back on you feet.

“Is this how you treat Bucky?” You laugh and start unpacking the groceries.

“I spank him harder,” Steve smirks and helps you find some cooking equipment. Cooking is fun and extremely stressful as Steve practically wraps himself around you while you attempt to pan fry two salmon fillets and roast vegetables. He doesn’t even let go when the oil in the pan starts popping.

That’s real love.

You do the same thing to him while he cleans up: standing on his feet and latching onto him like a koala. He seems to love it, stealing kisses every chance he gets.

“Alright you. Time for bed,” Steve announces after drying his hands. He puts you over his shoulder and totes you upstairs like you weigh nothing.

“This is my room,” he announces opening a set of double doors.

“Wow! I love how everything is upside down,” you giggle.

“She’s got jokes when it’s just the two of us,” he observes before dropping you on the bed. You bounce once before getting a good look around the space.

It’s sparse. White walls and leather furniture. There’s a drawing above the bed of Steve, Sam, Bucky, and Natasha. They’re all laughing and hugging and it makes you smile. “Who’s that?” You ask seeing a half finished portrait on a large canvas near the window.

“Sam’s sister. Bucky’s got a huge crush on her and he asked me to paint it for her. I’m having trouble finishing it.”

“A crush?” You laugh. It sounds so juvenile when the man is, like, thirty.

“He used to be such a lady killer now he has a break down just thinking about asking a girl out. The military changes you,” he sighs.

“How did it change you?” You wonder.

“I used to be 5’7” and 110 pounds soaking wet.” You give the giant man a dubious look. He just tugs out his phone and scrolls for a moment before showing you a photo. “Used to stand on a fucking box to reach Bucky’s height.”

“Did they experiment on you or something?” You guess taking his phone to enlarge the picture of him in an enormous suit and Bucky in his army greens.

“What do you think they do in the military?” Steve laughs and swipes through some picture for you. “I just hit puberty late and basic training did the rest.”

“Wow,” you breathe watching the progress photos. “I need to join the army.”

“Nah, you’re perfect,” Steve quickly denies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You just give him a coy look and stand up to inspect the painting more closely. He really is an amazing artist. “Why can’t you finish it?”

“My inspiration is focused on something else,” Steve mutters and picks up a sketch book on his bed side table. He opens it to a marked page and hands it to you.

It’s the selfie he took with you at hero training. But it’s not? “You drew this, huh? It’s amazing,” you sigh in awe.

“You like it?”

“I love it,” you grin.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I made it…bigger?”

“No, of course not.” He inhales sharply before opening a door and pulling out another large canvas.

“Don’t get mad.” He prefaces before showing you the art on the other side.

You gasp. It’s the drawing blown up and painted in neon colors. “That’s me?”

“Yeah,” he says tentatively.

“You made me blue like an Avatar! I love it!” You cry happily.

“You really like it?” Steve asks sheepishly.

“Stevie! I love it! It’s amazing! How did you pick the colors? It’s like it’s normal if you don’t think too hard about it.”

“I made a personalized color wheel every regular color corresponds to neon color so the theory still makes since. It’s like a negative but I picked my own opposite colors.” He excitedly explains all the details in depth to you and you just can’t believe someone would take the time to draw you let alone make up a color theory revolving around you. No one’s ever…cared that much.

You stand on your toes to press a kiss to his lips, stopping any further words. When you pull away, all you whisper is a soft “thank you”.

“You’re welcome,” Steve exhales.

You both stare at each other for a moment and that feeling in your core starts to go haywire again.

Steve turns to lean the painting against the wall before spinning back on you. “Can I just…?” He presses a kiss to your lips without even finishing his question. Whatever it was, you would’ve said yes. You tangle your fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. So soft and fluffy and “eek!” You trill as he lifts you by the backs of your thighs.

“Want you in my bed,” he mutters without ever breaking the kiss. You just nod, a soft whine escaping you when one of his big hands gropes your ass.

You suddenly feel your back meet the plush duvet and it all feels so real. The way his hand travels up your skirt and feel of his jeans rubbing against the insides of your thighs.

It’s a little too much.

“Wait!” You cry, breaking away from him.

He immediately stops And pulls away from you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I-I just…can I use your restroom?”

“Of course, sunshine,” he smiles and points to a closed do before rolling off of you.

You sprint towards the door and double back to grab your duffel bag before closing it firmly behind you. You don’t even turn on the light. You’re too nervous.

You hold your face squeezing your cheeks between your palms to try to calm yourself. It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s Steve. It’s just Steve. The man you’ve grown to love and trust.

He won’t hurt you.

All of the apprehension is in your head.

You heard him. He thinks you’re perfect. He’s perfect. You just need to make it through this first time.

You take a deep breath and rifle through the clothes you brought before finding the bright yellow garment.

You can do this.

You had so much confidence when you bought it but putting it on for the man you bought it for is the true test of strength.

You return to the room to find Steve lounging across his bed. His face instantly lights up when he sees you attempting to hide behind your bag.

“My sunshine girl!” He grins and beckons you back to the bed. “Don’t try to hide that gorgeous body from me. Come here.” You take a shaky breath and put down your bag before approaching the bed. “Beautiful,” he sighs getting an unobstructed view of your body wrapped in a strappy yellow lingerie set you got for him. He takes your hand and makes you twirl for him. “I’ve got to see you on a pole. Come on.” He’s off the bed in an instant and tugging you toward the door.

“What? Where…?” You gape attempting to slow him down.

“The gym,” he laughs and pulls you again.

“Oh no! I’m not leaving this room in this.”

“There’s no one here. Come on.” You let out a soft whimper but you follow him anyway. “Here.” He tugs off his shirt and hands it to you knowing you’re uncomfortable with the idea. It’s still so warm as you slip in on and follow a little more confidently.

Steve takes an experimental spin on the pole before holding out an arm for you. You happily fall into his embrace and his kiss.

His very shirtless embrace.

You place a hand on his toned stomach. So many muscles. You let out a satisfied hum as your hand roams up to his large pec. He let out a growl and nips at your bottom lip.

A feeling flutters through your stomach and heads straight for your core.

Steve grips your hand and presses a kiss to your palm. “Show me your moves, sunshine.” Steve places your hand on the pole below his.

“Right now?” You laugh nervously.

“Yup. Right now,” he grins and steps away from you to take a seat on one of the benches. “The t-shirt really makes it.” You giggle and toy with the hem of his shirt before gripping the pole a little more confidently.

“What are you dancing to?” He asks tugging his phone from his pocket.

“You pick,” you smile and do an experimental twirl for him.

“You don’t even need music,” Steve chuckles and plays some surprisingly soft big band music. You weren’t expecting this.

You hum softly as you contemplate the song before doing one of the five moves you know.

“Perfect,” Steve cheers as you successfully spin down the pole hanging on by just your legs. “You know, it helps if you have more skin contact.” You roll your eyes and finally remove Steve’s shirt. “Fucking beautiful,” he sighs as you continue your dance.

“You really think so?” You ask making a jump at the pole.

“I know so,” Steve sighs and stands to join you. “Come here.” He pulls you into a kiss, his hand holding you by the bare small of your back. You feel it slowly inch up but you’re so lost in his lips and body that you don’t notice him unhook your bra until you feel the material loosen around your chest. You let out a soft gasp and attempt to catch it but Steve grips one of your hands. “I want to see you. All of you.” You stare back into his deep blue eyes before finally giving him a small nod. The bra falls to the floor and his hand runs up your side, his thumb tracing the crease of your breast making you shutter. “Can I touch you here?” You quickly nod again wanting for more of that feeling but he grips your chin and directs your gaze back to his. “Can I hear you say it?”

“Yes, please, Stevie,” you whisper.

“Please what?” He smirks still holding your face and caressing the skin just shy of your nipple so you can barely think.

“Please, touch me!” You finally whine. “My breast. My ass. Everywhere. Please!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve grins and finally connects with your pebbled nipple making you moan his name. “I love when you say my name like that,” he groans and bites your bottom lip.

“Stevie,” you whine in response, wiggling against his roaming touch.

Then one long strong finger slips just between your clothed folds and you practically crumple at the feeling.

“Like that?”

“Mmmhmm,” you moan squeezing your eyes shut as he adds a little more pressure to your clit.

“You know what I’m gonna ask,” Steve goads as that sinful finger makes a lazy circle around the bundle of nerves.

“Please, play with my pussy. It yours. All yours,” you husk leaning back against the hard metal pole to support yourself.

“Such a fast learner,” Steve chuckles but removed his hand from your core. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I just need you to trust me.”

“I trust you,” you agree instantly.

“Such a good girl,” he sighs and hooks his fingers into the band of your panties to shimmy them down your thighs and to the floor. “Such a beautiful, perfect girl,” he mutters as his kisses trail lower to you neck and collar bone. He nips at the thin flesh there making you shutter before sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Steve! Please! Ohhhh!” You cry as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive flesh. You hips make waves against nothing as you grip his shoulder and the pole behind you.

“Do you need some attention down here?” Steve asks running his fingers along your folds. You nod still unable to open your eyes. “Look at me,” he orders and you reluctantly focus on him. He’s on his knees now in front of you, his beautiful face level with your chest as you watch him. You caress his cheek and he turns to press a kiss into your palm.

“Let me make you feel good.” You nod and he lifts one of your thighs just to toss it over his shoulders and dive face first into your pussy. You almost scream at the feeling. He skillful tongue makes loops around your clit and you’re forced to grip his hair for balance. His fingers squeeze into your ass, forcing you closer as his mouth delves deeper into your folds.

Steve’s nose bumps your clit as his tongue wiggles into you and your knees give out completely.

But he’s so strong. He just holds you there. And oh god! You just hump against his face as he pulls something out of you that your vibrator never could. You let out a soft whine as your climax hits and practically smoother him in your core but he keeps going and you feel it getting higher and faster and tighter and-

“Eeek!” You scream as squirt right into his waiting mouth. Your breaths are shallow as you ride out your orgasm on his face, his tongue keeping pressure on your clit until you’ve had enough.

You’re mortified. You’re body’s never done that before. You slowly release the death grip you have on Steve’s scalp only to find him grinning up a you.

“Fuck. I’ve never gotten anyone to do that before,” he chuckles and presses kisses to you mound and hips.

“What?” You try to process what just happened while he showers you in affection.

“You just came, sunshine. And it was glorious.”

You can’t help but laugh at his words. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head quickly as Steve stands back up showing off his soaked face. “That’s all me, huh?” You ask, running your fingers over his wet chin.

“All you. And you taste amazing.” Your face heats but you don’t have time to feel embarrassed as Steve tugs you from the gym. “I can’t let your first time be on the gym floor. We gotta do this right,” he insists as leads you through the halls completely naked. But it doesn’t bother you at all in your dazed state. You just nod and let him take you where ever he wants.

Then Steve’s bedroom door clicks shut behind you and a little part of you wakes up.

It’s really about to happen.

Steve brings the hand he was just holding to his lips before placing it at the crotch of his jeans.

“You feel that, sunshine?” You gasp at how big he is. You grip his confined cock slightly and he lets out a soft hiss. “You feel what you’re doing to me?”

“So big,” you mutter.

“All for you.”

You remove your hand from his crotch and undo his jeans shakily. You look up at Steve to find him watching you intently. “It’ll fit?” You ask making him smile.

“I’ll make sure it fits,” he assures you and presses his jeans and underwear down his hips. He’s built like a god. Thick muscular thighs and a red cock that drips precum like a broken faucet once it’s exposed.

You shutter slightly but let him guide you to the bed. “Lay down,” Steve mutters, following you on top of you while pressing kisses to your lips. That’s all you can focus on. The way his lips make your stomach do somersaults and your core flutter. You completely forget how nervous you were just a few minutes ago.

He makes you feel so comfortable as his hand strokes your arm and hip softly.

“I’ve been told that it stings a little your first time,” Steve mutters, pulling away a little to watch you. “I obviously don’t have much experience with that but I don’t want to hurt you,” he trails.

“You’ve been perfect so far,” you assure the blond, pressing your body up to kiss him. “I trust you.”

He nods and presses one of your thighs to your chest. He takes in a shaky breath. “God, this pussy is fucking beautiful. Do I need a condom?”

You shake your head with a small smile. “IUD.”

“Last chance to say no.”

“Stevie. Please, fuck me,” you beg just wanting to get past the pain and trusting he’ll bring you pleasure.

“Alright. Okay. Deep breath.” You nod and inhale just for him to press into you as you start to exhale. You let out a soft cry as he slowly fills you.

This was something you’ve never experienced before. You felt so full and tight and then it got to the point where it burned. You hiss as Steve pulls you a little tighter to him.

“Relax. You’re squeezing the shit out of me.” Steve instructs and you attempt to take a deep breath.

You gasp as he rocks into you, inserting just a little more at a time. “Almost there,” he mutters. “You’re doing so good for me, sunshine.” You feel so full as he finally bottoms out leaving you whimpering into his neck.

Steve pauses deep inside of you, letting you adjust to his girth.

He’s so heavy.

Your breaths come out shakily as he pulls away. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

“N-No,” you whisper. “You’re just really…really big.”

He chuckles at your words. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Let me know when I can move.” Steve presses his lips against your temple before trailing them down to your jaw. You smile at the affection and attention, preening as he whispers sweet nothings into your neck.

“You feel amazing, sunshine. Made for me.”

You whimper and wiggle under his hold not sure what you want but you feel restless now. With him deep inside you, stretched to your max, his touch and words sending butterflies around your stomach and to your core with every breath. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

“Stevie, I think I’m ready,” you whisper.

His voice starts with a soft hum against your skin. “You sure?” You nod and he quickly pulls away and lifts a skeptical brow at you.

You can’t even laugh, you’re so full but you still smile up at him. “Stevie, I want you to fuck me the way you’ve been threatening to since I met you. That’s an order,” you state confidently.

He grins down at you and wordlessly grips the calf of your leg folded against you, pressing into you a little further.

You’re pretty sure you’ve lost your breath.

You let out soft squeaks with each of his deep thrusts until you feel like you might pass out.

“Hey,” Steve breathes, slowing down to a soft wave. “Are you breathing?”

You gasp and laugh in embarrassment before taking a deliberate breath. “I think I forgot how to for a minute.”

Steve tosses his head back in laughter. “Did I take your breath away, sunshine?”

“Give it back, Stevie,” you demand playfully.

“Nah, I think I’ll keep it,” he grins and presses a kiss to you lips, then another, and another. Steve tosses your bent leg over his shoulder giving you much more breathing room as he goes back to fucking you.

His thrust are deliberate, like he’s searching for something; never hitting the same spot twice. You start to ask what he’s looking for until it hits you like fright train.

“Fuck!” You groan, tossing your head back into the pillows.

“Yeah, there it is,” Steve breathes. Your eyes squeeze shut as everything sparks in your body at once.

Your vibrator has never done this. You can’t help but whine as he rails into that spot over and over.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Squeezing the shit out of me,” Steve moans as he grips your thigh. You can barely feel it. Every nerve ending is firing on all cylinders. You start to feel like you can’t catch your breath but your lungs are completely full.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” you cry repeatedly.

“Let go for me. Fuck,” he groans. “Come on!” He barks and you almost cum on sight. Your breath hitches as stars light the darkness behind your eye lids. You feel like you’re gasping for air as you body wracks against Steve’s. Somewhere you start to feel kisses against your neck and jaw as you catch your breath. Your fingers trace the back of Steve’s shoulders as you start to return his kisses. “There you are,” you can hear the smile in his voice as you slowly open your eyes to meet his ocean gaze. “You okay?” You nod. You think all you can do is nod. He strokes your cheek and starts to pull out of you.

“Was that it?” You ask a little disappointed that it’s over.

“You aren’t satisfied with that?” Steve smiles stroking at your now empty but so sensitive core.

“I-I am! That felt amazing! But I thought it would be…longer?” You question, not exactly sure what you wanted it to be. It was good, really good! But it didn’t seem finished.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it so far,” Steve laughs and leans back on his heels to watch your prone form. “But I’m not done with you. Turn over,” he commands. You quickly scramble onto your stomach and wait for further instructions. Steve just chuckles behind you. “I didn’t think you were that green. On your hands and knees.”

“Oh,” you squeak and quickly follow directions.

“God, this ass,” Steve groans as he spanks you softly before squeezing the fatty flesh with both hands. “I’m gonna get a little rougher with you, alright. You let me know if you need a breather.”

You nod before remembering yourself and give and affirming “okay”.

Steve manipulates your body, spreading your knees and pulling back your hips until he has you in a bizarre yoga position.

“Comfortable?”

“Not really,” you admit, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“You won’t care in a minute,” Steve laughs and grips your hips. “Let me know if you need a break.” You nod and he slips back inside of you and you both let out soft groans.

This feels different. This feels deeper and there’s more friction and you feel more grounded and “Ugh!” You can’t help the noises that escape you as he finds that spot again but it’s so much more intense as he drives right into it over, and over, and over.

Your breaths come in short gasps and soon your arms can’t hold you up anymore. You fall onto you elbows smoothing your face in the pillows below you. Your cries and moans are muffled while Steve sets a punishing pace inside you.

You’ve cum at least once like this but you can’t tell anymore after that. They all seem to blend in as Steve fucks you into the bed. Moisture drips down your thighs as the noises your slapping skin gets wetter.

“Fuck! You came like a faucet, baby,” Steve moans. Your core clinches at his words making him groan and spank you again. “Let’s see if you have another one in you.” Steve grips your shoulders and pulls you up so your back is flush with his chest.

“Oh fuck,” you whine. This new position just gives him more leverage as he attempts to destroy your insides.

“Yeah. That’s it,” Steve groans, pressing his lips to your throat as he tugs your head back by your braids. “Fuck, I’m close. Give me one more.” And with all that he’s doing inside you, he presses his fingers to you swollen, sensitive clit and rubs tight circles over it. You let out a hoarse scream as you cum again but Steve doesn’t stop. His fingers continue to work and his dick continues to stir you up until you let out a soft shout and you feel something so satisfying empty from your core just in time for Steve to fill you up again.

“Shit,” Steve groans as he paints your insides in hot sticky cum just as you paint his bed in your own. “Fuck,” he pants when you feel his cock jerk inside you and release a little more.

He collapses back on his heels dragging you down with him as he catches his breath. You pant as you lean back against him. You never felt so raw and vulnerable in your life.

You can’t wait to feel like this again.

Your eyes finally slide open to see the trail of drops left on Steve’s comforter from your release.

“Fuck, sunshine. Look at that masterpiece,” Steve sighs referring your cum.

“Steve,” you shy away, attempting to hide your face but you’ve already opened everything to him. What was the sense in hiding now?

Steve presses a kiss to your cheeks as his hands wrap around your waist. He holds you so close and you feel so good in his arms, you start to relax and instantly feel his cum start to drip from you and onto him and the bed.

“I’m definitely going to have to wash this,” Steve laughs. “Totally worth it.”

You smile and look back to press a kiss to his lips, tangling your fingers behind his head to pull him closer.

“I love you,” you whisper softly against his lips.

“It was that good?” Steve asks with a soft smile as his fingers tickle your sides.

“It was that good,” you confirm confidently.

Steve hums in satisfaction and presses another kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he sighs into your skin making you shiver.

Steve lets out a soft groan as he slips from inside you making you whine softly from the loss. “How are you feeling?” He asks, rubbing your shoulders. “Satisfied? Was that enough? If not, give me a couple minutes and we can do it again,” he grins making you giggle.

“I don’t think I can take anymore,” you whisper. “Am I supposed to be this sore?”

“Again, I don’t have any experience on your end of it but I think so.” He finds a dry spot on the bed to lay down and watch you still sitting back in the position he left you in. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he sighs. You just shake your head and glance over his naked body.

“You’re gorgeous,” you admit looking at all those muscles as he lounges across his bed.

He just smirks at you a reaches for your hand. He pulls you to him and you pick around the wet spots to lay against his chest.

“So, you’re not a virgin anymore. How’s it feel?”

You giggle, snuggling into his side before answering. “Um…I feel the same?”

“You’re telling me virginity is a social construct meant to keep women from exploring their sexuality?” He gasps making you giggle again.

“I guess so,” you agree, your fingers tracing shapes around his abs.

“Thank you for sharing your first time with me,” Steve sighs.

“Thank you for being an amazing partner,” you smile.

“Next time, you’re on top,” Steve declares and moves to get up.

“Where are you going?”

“Gotta clean my girl up. Unless you want my dried cum all over you. I’m not complaining. Make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Oh,” you squeak at his sudden possessiveness.

“Too much?” He smiles pressing a kiss to your head.

“No, I like it,” you whisper and lay back against the pillows.

“So, I can keep you locked up here? You can be my little sex prisoner?” Steve jokes as he walks off.

“Depends,” you muse and stretch only to curl back into the pillows.

“On what, my little sunshine?” Steve asks returning with a damp towel. “Open up,” he requests pointing at your legs.

You wince slightly at his touch. You didn’t realize how raw you truly felt. He glances up at you after tossing the towel on the floor to focus in you. You give him a coy smile. “Depends on if you’ll strip for me.”

“Oh, honey. Name the time and place,” Steve coos nuzzling his nose against your as you pull him into an embrace. “On one condition: you’ll strip with me.” Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head which he counters with an adamant nod. “It’ll be so much fun! Couples routine! I’ll have my choreographer make us something.”

“Steve! I can’t-no!”

“Yes! What was all that about trusting me? It doesn’t have to be for a paying crowd. It can be just for us,” he mutters against your lips. “It would be so hot.”

“It can be just for us?”

He nods, kissing your nose. “Just for us. And maybe Nat. And Sam and Bucky have to see it of course. And my choreographer, of course. And Carol! She’s trying to replace me and I need to assert my dominance.”

You giggle at his enthusiasm. “Stevie, no one can replace you. But this is starting to sound like a lot of people…”

“Sunshine, you haven’t met Carol. She’s blond, she’s tall, she was in the air force. Her stage name is Captain Marvel. She’s coming for my entire brand! And I want to show you off. I want people to know you’re mine,” he trails.

You watch him for a moment and try to look at it from his perspective. Dancing was a huge part of his life. He wanted you to be part of your life.

You think you can put your insecurities aside for one evening. For him.

You take a deep breath and nod. “Okay.”

“Really?” Steve grins excitedly.

“Yeah! Really,” you giggle. “Let’s do it. Show Carol there’s only one Captain America.”

Steve presses a deep kiss against your lips. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too.”

Part II | Master List

#steve rogers fic #Steve Rogers x reader #steve rogers x black!reader

[soupy-sez]

“Mike D., crossing the street after a deli run back to his apartment, in giant red clown shoes. It was October, 1987 and the Beasties Boys were trying to catch their breaths from the back-to-back touring schedule of the past two years. Eventually, they would leave Def Jam for another label.”

Photo credit: Sean Casarov

– Source

#why is this birds eye view #love it #beastie boys #mike d #mike diamond #pics #80s #music #musicians #soupy's #sean casarov #1987 #defjambook

[gatheringbones]

[“While “essential workers” in the poultry industry were made to feel dirty, nonessential workers in fields like finance and computer engineering—the “people with laptops”—were sheltering in place, more distant from what transpired in industrial slaughterhouses than ever before.

Thanks to FreshDirect and Instacart, consuming meat no longer even requires coming into contact with a deli butcher or grocery clerk. With a few taps on a keyboard or the swipe of a screen, consumers can get as much beef, pork, and chicken as they want delivered to their doors, without ever having to think about where it comes from. And yet, as the popularity of bestselling books like Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma and Jonathan Safran Foer’s Eating Animals attests, a lot of Americans do think about this. In recent years, more and more consumers have begun to carefully scrutinize the labels on the packages of the meat and poultry they buy. The ranks of such consumers have grown exponentially, paralleling the rise of the “good food” movement, which promotes healthier eating habits and reform of the industrial food system.

Although the movement is, in Pollan’s words, a “big, lumpy tent,” composed of a broad coalition of advocacy organizations and citizens’ groups that sometimes push for competing agendas, one of its aims is to persuade consumers to become more conscientious shoppers and eaters. Among those who put this idea into practice are so-called locavores, who buy food directly from local farms, ideally from small family-run enterprises that embrace organic, sustainable practices: ranchers who raise grass-fed cows that never set foot in industrial feedlots; farmers who sell eggs that come from free-range chickens reared on a diet of seeds, plants, and insects rather than genetically engineered corn and antibiotics.

Locavores engage in what social scientists call “virtuous consumption,” using their purchasing power to buy food that aligns with their values. The movement appeals to the growing number of Americans who want to feel more connected to the food they eat and to the people who raise it, with whom locavores can interact directly at farmers markets or through community-supported agriculture programs. It is a captivating vision, and the benefits of eating locally grown food—which is likely to be more nutritious, to come from more humanely treated animals, and to be better for the environment—are manifold.

But locavores have some blind spots of their own, most notably when it comes to the experiences of workers on small family farms. As the political scientist Margaret Gray discovered when she set about interviewing farm laborers in New York’s Hudson Valley, the vast majority of these workers are undocumented immigrants or guest workers who toil under abysmal conditions, often working sixty- to seventy-hour weeks for dismal pay. “We live in the shadows,” one worker told her. “They treat us like nothing,” said another. In her book Labor and the Locavore, Gray asked the butcher on a small farm why so few of his customers seemed to notice this.

“They don’t eat the workers,” the farmer told her.

“He went on to explain that, in his experience, his consumers’ primary concern is with what they put in their bodies,” Gray wrote, “and so the labor standards of farmworkers simply do not register as a priority.”]

eyal press, from dirty work: essential labor and the hidden toll of inequality in america, 2021

#eyal press #currently reading