#feeder steve

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

hii i’m sorry if this is dumb or too vague or unwanted, it’s my first time sending an ask and i’m just not sure how to do it i guess so again i’m sorry

i was just wondering if you had any ideas or concepts for nat as a feedee? i don’t think i’ve ever seen any content where she’s the feedee/gainer so i was just curious if you had any thoughts!!

thank you and again i’m sorry if this isn’t good or appropriate or anything :/

No no no! You're all good, you're very nice actually 🥺 and it's not too vague, that just gives me a lot of room to be creative and you're so right, there isn't any content I know of where Natasha is the one being fed/fattened!

Either way, I've been sitting on this ask for a while (sorry); trying to have motivation to write but also trying to figure out exactly where I wanted to put feedee Natasha and also what I wanted to do with her but now, I've finally decided. I'm thinking about:

Dominant but feedee Natasha with her service feeder Steve.

Currently, I'm picturing this Steve as post serum Steve who's muscular and strong but so so gentle and soft, always bending to Natasha's every order and always good for her. Blushing, stuttering, and cute despite his intimidating stature. And Natasha... Natasha has something of a dominatrix aesthetic going. Except..... she's growing out of her glamorous, sexy clothes. They only get tighter and tighter, her body only growing, bigger and bigger. Natasha's lingerie, heels, latex, and leather are all too tight, revealing pale, soft flesh that's bulges out between straps and gets exposed, exploding out below hem lines and such. She used to wear chokers a lot but her neck is too fat for any of them to fit and she hasn't had time to get more yet.

Yeah...

She's a growing girl 🤤

More unbeta'd Romanogers under the cut. Warnings for belly kink, weight gain, stuffing, bloating, body worship, goddess kink, light puppy play, etc.

Overall though, Natasha likes to be in control. She likes ordering her strong, capable man around like he's nothing but a weak puppy at her disposal. Such a puppy that Steve will even whine, pant, and kneel whenever she asks. Begging eagerly too. And, God, is his begging hot. What Natasha really, really lives for though is being worshipped for her growth and her ability to put away food, drinks, whatever-

She fucking loves how gluttonous and sinful and pleasurable it feels to fill herself up until her gut is rounded out farther than her boobs and she's short of breath, no room for her lungs to expand. It makes her throb between her legs, always carefully working around her swollen gut to squeeze her thighs together, feeling how wet she's become, just sitting under her gut. It feels like hard work, lazing around and stuffing herself. She ends up sweating and short of breath every time. And that incredible, untouchable feeling of fullness (only made better with a few orgasms 🥴) is heightened impossibly when she also has her Stevie to sit at her feet and touch her with trembling hands like she's something unreal- like a man crumpled to his knees, his lowest point, reaching up and touching God, begging for redemption. Steve always starts out shaking and gets steadier and steadier the more he's allowed to touch. He has to get acclimated to her. How good she feels. How good she looks. It makes him dizzy.

Good enough that he physically shudders, unable to stay still while touching her, he gets off so hard on it. Always desperate for whatever she has in mind.

Snapshots of little ideas I have for them:

Steve rubbing her spice-scented lotion into her skin and telling her how beautiful and gorgeous she looks, all swollen and full. Voice breathy and light as he says, "Goddess, oh, Goddess, you feel so good."

Steve always wants nothing more than to bury his head between her thick, jiggling thighs and lick her. He wants to lick up her wetness as it drips from her cunt like a man fresh out of the desert, more thirsty than he's ever been in his life. He wants to taste her. He wants his Goddess to sit on his face and suffocate him. Too heavy for him. Making him sink into the mattress and stopping his breathing becaused he's buried so deep in her sweet cunt. She eats so much sugar she tastes like it, rotting his teeth with the sweetness. And she always sounds so good with his mouth on her too... her head and fiery hair thrown back, moans rushing out of her parted, full lips, back arched sticking out her dome of a tummy and round, heavy breasts, her fingers and toes curled- all of it. She basks in the pleasure like no one else. She is beautiful like that. Every time. Steve could feast and survive on the sight of her pleasure alone. He doesn't need food. And she can have all of his on top of her own.

And sometimes play with the idea of Tasha really being a goddess. Steve waiting on her hand and foot, hand-feeding her whatever she wants, even literally peeling her grapes for her. Feeding her and feeding her until she waves her hand at him, brushing him of with, "Stevie, Stevie-," she arches her back weakly under the weight of her bloated, heavy stomach, burping under her breath as her fingers curl tightlt in their white sheets, stained with their day of decadence, "no more." She pauses to burp again, covering her mouth with a hand, illusions of being proper and polite. "I'm done. I've had enough for now." Steve nods, instantly putting the new board of thinnly sliced cheese and meat and fruit down on the chest at the bottom of their bed. He waits to be told what to do. Tasha orders him to pull down the sheets, nearly transparent over her skin, and rub her stomach. "Make it feel better," she waves her hand, spoiled and almost dismissive, knowing Steve will do anything. Anything for her."Yes, Goddess," Steve says, voice light, stumbling over himself to slowly drag down the sheets and expose her bloated form. Instantly his hands are all over her. She moans at the contact, then demands, "tell me how getting your hands on me finally feels." Steve is unendingly eager to respond, "feels good. You feel so good, Goddess. Your stomach is so full and round. You ate everything you wanted and look so good, getting everything you wanted. I want you so much, Goddess. I can't resist you. There's so much of you too. Your belly is so big and heavy, I want to touch it. Your tits are so big too, I want my mouth on them. Your thighs are so thick, I want to grab them. You're so beautiful, Goddess, I can't stand it. Please. Please, lemme worship you, Goddess. I want you so much." Natasha sighs, growing wetter as the knot in her gut grows tighter. She shuts her eyes and simply tells him, "I want to come. Make me." She feels too high off of her all day, non-moving stuffing, lazing out on their bed, to care about how Steve does it. She just needs to come. Now.

Natasha bloats herself intentionally often, downing bottles of wine and loaves of bread and slices of cheese. The carbs expanding in her stomach, extra heavy as they sop up the wine. Her speech slurs the drunker she gets and she gets more and more loud the drunker she gets. By the time she's done, Natasha is flushed and laughing, a little extra loose and more horny that normal- forcing Steve down between her legs with the grip she has on her hair or grabbing his throat, looking him right in the eyes, and saying, nose to nose, "huuuurp," she burps accidentally, not excusing herself, nor caring enough to tease Steve with the way he squirms turning just as red as she is without the excuse of the alcohol flush, "h-h-hurry the fucc'up an' fuck m'. Wan'yur fuckin' huge dick in m', stuffin' m'fuller." Steve loses himself as much as Natasha has like that, fucking her wet, tight pussy while grabbing handfuls of her wide, plush hips or massaging her tight, hot belly, barely any room to push down into the taut surface.

Natasha will sometimes sit at the head of the dinner table - occupying her chair with her legs spread and her heavy, full tummy resting between them, arms set wide on the armrests - when Steve comes home from working at his downtown art studio. She works from home with a very... flexible schedule that she can finesse into allowing her to sit down for lunch at noon and stay there until Steve returns. Half because she's unsure her legs will hold her if she stands and half because she wants to see The Look painted across Steve's pretty face when she curls a finger at him. Beckoning him forward. Her nails are painted classic red, sharp, and instantly have Steve stumbling over his own feet to get to her. Falling to his knees with a thud that'd make anyone but her good puppy wince. Natasha enjoys taking advantage of Steve's gym honed body, he seriously looks like he should be a sculpture in a museum, telling him she doesn't want to walk. She could, she's digested enough. But she doesn't want to. And Steve doesn't question if she can or not. She doesn't want to. So she won't. Steve will pick her up and walk as slow as she commands to not disturb her gurgling, stuffed tummy. Even if he's shaking and sweating, hauling her around from the dining room to the kitchen to the bathroom where Steve draws a bath for her. Shivering as she sinks into the water with her huge bloated gut and big, fat tits staying dry, rising out of the bubbly, scented water like islands. Steve kneels at the side of the tub and tucks her hair behind her ears when it falls forward, feeding her little bites again and again because she's still too stuffed to really eat but she's too greedy to stop. Steve's treat will be taking her hands and helping her out of the water, so full she looks ready to pop, and toweling her off, feeling every fat, swollen inch of her. Dessert will be licking and nipping and lavishing attention to her thighs and belly while she leans back against the bathroom counter, muscles shaking under her own weight but still moaning for more. Moaning for Steve to worship her, worship her, worship her...

Going back to the idea that she grows out of her clothes and she looks ready to pop, not only pregnant but overdue; when Natasha does want to get dressed up, squeezing herself into her largest latex skirt and forgoing a too tight shirt for an open leather jacket instead, exposing her cleavage and teasing much more of her breasts, Natasha has to have Steve put her shoes on for her. Like a pregnant woman, Tasha can't bend over her belly. Steve is always there instead. He kisses her ankles and the tops of her feets, almost literally kissing- worshipping the ground she walks on. This happens as he puts her heels on for her. Gentle with her, careful not to break her expensive shoes or pinch her skin in buckles or zippers. Once he's done he will be happily kicked back by one of those high heels, falling onto his elbows, staring up at her with a heaving chest as she gets up clumsily, puffing, "oof" and putting her hands on her lower back like a pregnant person. Getting up is worth it though. Because Natasha gets up and bends down. Straddling Steve's lap, her panties wet under her skirt and her belly lapping over the waistband of it. "Touch me," she tells him, pushing her gut into his hands at the same time that she grabs his arms, knocking him flat on his back. She places his arms right on her taut tummy. "Touch me," she moans. "Touch me in my too tight clothes. Touch me and feel how much I've grown. I've grown so much with your help, baby, feeding me just like I want you to. You're making me so huge and so fucking sexy. Spilling out of everything. My clothes and your lap, baby. Spilling out of your lap, such fatter than you. I'm pinning you down aren't I? Sitting in your lap, so heavy you can't move. You can only worship your Goddesses gut as it looms over your face, round and-" she runs out of words, so breathless and hot and wet that Steve is lightheaded and he's not even inside her yet.

Once, Steve fucks her cunt after pushing a powerful vibrator into her ass. Double stuffing her while she's already stuffed. Bloated really. Bloated with whole milk and honey. Milk and honey for a Goddess. Only the best for his Goddess, laying back under Steve moaning and letting her eyes roll back into her head, grasping as her stomach as it sloshes with her puppy's eager thrusts. So so so full of liquid and sugar and- ohdearfuckinggod it feels so good. She's so full. So satisfied. A full belly while both of her holes are full too, struggling around Steve's natural girth plus the intentionally fat vibe shoved up her ass. There is no room left inside her. She is as full as she could possibly get. Anymore and she'd burst.

Uuuuhhhh anyway, yeah. The Goddess Natasha brain rot is strong tonight 😳😳😳

#ask #mylevisdontfitanymore #belly kink #text #stuffing #weight gain #bloating #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #chubby natasha #feedee natasha #feeder steve #romanogers #stevenat

[achubbydumpling]

After everything he's been through Bucky struggles with letting himself be vulnerable.

Fandom: Captain America (Movies) Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Feeding Kink, Kink Exploration, feedee Bucky, feeder Steve

The arm laid in the middle of the table. Sunlight caught in the gold details.

Steve busied himself in the kitchen while Bucky tried to calm down. This was happening. Not just a fantasy but something Steve wanted too.

Thick stacked burgers sat next to his prosthetic. Bucky couldn’t eat them without it if he wanted to.

“Ok?” Steve asked.

Bucky looked at the arm one last time and then turned to face Steve.

“Yes.”

“If you need to—”

“Just feed me already.”

Steve’s gaze darkened. Bucky leant forward eagerly when Steve picked up the burger.

#12 days of chubmas #feedee bucky #feeder steve #male feedee #hand feeding #weight gain fiction

[theclandestineclementine]

Random idea

I don't really know how anyone else feels about this but I also kinda like the idea of Feeder!Steve putting on a lil bit of weight from Eddie's feedings rubbing off on him. It would be unintentional wg but holy shit Eddie will see why Steve is a chub chaser. ❤

I love that idea!

I love mutual gaining.

I can see Eddie just DROOLING over Steve's little growing tum and just touching it and kissing it every chance he gets.

Steve being a little insecure at first because he's always been such a jock and his dad being a prick.

But then I can see Eddie just reassuring him how fucking gorgeous he is, and reminding Steve that he finds Eddie's new belly hot and those feelings are double for Steve from Eddie.

Steve relaxing and still mainly being a feeder but not minding his belly getting bigger.

#anon #feeder steve #feedee eddie #gaining eddie #gainer eddie #gainer steve #mutual gaining

[scoops-aboy86]

Rockstar Eddie Munson taking his husband Steve on a tour of Europe. They’re well past their Upside Down days, both starting to go a little gray. Eddie has his wild stage antics to stay in shape for, but Steve with his school counselor desk job has softened considerably over the years. 

During their stop in London, Eddie brings Steve to the Ritz and treats him to an extravagant afternoon tea. The next table over seems to be doing the exact same thing, a tall and wiry man with red hair and sunglasses passing little plate after little plate to a rather more portly fellow with white-blond curls who every now and then gives happy little sighs and pleased little wiggles, just like Steve. 

“Eds, can you pass me more of those round pastry things?” Steve asks, reeling Eddie’s attention back in to focus on how content his sweetheart looks, trying a little bit of everything to start and then moving systematically through the rest in order of alright to favorite. He looks, Eddie thinks, only a few minutes from surreptitiously unbuttoning his pants and untucking his shirt, prepared to leave it that way for the long haul and probably all the way back to the hotel. 

“Of course, angel,” Eddie replies, reaching easily for the requested dish. 

He doesn’t notice Sunglasses at the next table looking over with a raised eyebrow, suspicious at first but then softening into a huff of amusement at who knows what. Or the little wave of the man’s hand, a few extra plates appearing on both his and Steve and Eddie’s table. Or the blond man smiling beatifically with a honeyed, “Oh Crowley, you old sap.”

#wg steddie #chubby steve harrington #feeder eddie munson #rock star eddie munson #surprise! it’s a cute little good omens crossover! #scoops words

[minorcharactertournament]

ROUND 3, MATCH 2

other matches

#polls #character poll #character bracket #minor character tournament #the owl house #toh #steve toh #splatoon #tangle bottom #bottom feeders #sorry the tangle transparent is kinda messy

[iwriteweightgainbullshit]

chubby steve harrington makes me go insane especially when it’s steddie

Hey anon!

You and me both.

Steve relaxing after Vecna and gaining a few pounds. Being all insecure at first and hiding from Eddie.

Eddie confronting him about this and telling him he likes it.

From there it all changes...

Eddie will feed Steve in bed while telling him how beautiful he is.

Steve becoming all chubby and cuddly, Eddie's perfect princess.

What do you think anon?

Thanks for leaving an ask btw <3

#chubby male #chubby steve #chubby steve harrington #feeder eddie #stranger things #steve fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #thank you for your ask #send asks #ask away! #ask box open

[literaryspinster]

So I guess we’ll deal with Taissa’s family in s3 😅

#whenever that is #yellowjackets #taissa turner #simone turner #sam turner #steve turner #poor steve #there is probably feces just everywhere #she better have gotten that poor thing a gravity feeder #worst dog mom of all time

[djosephqueery]

After the dust from the Upside Down settles, and Steve gets his feet under him, he gets really into plants and gardening.

He fills his and Eddie's home with plants, as many as he can get his hands on, and he has outdoor plots that he tends to religiously.

He talks to the indoor plants, names them all. Eddie makes fun of him for it constantly, but really he finds it endearing.

Eddie doesn't understand the gardening as much- he's not as big on being outside and doing manual labour- but by god does he think it's hot seeing Steve get all sweaty pulling weeds in the summer.

Working in the garden calms Steve, it gives him a sense of purpose and fulfills his need to care for things. It feels good to get his hands dirty and he enjoys being able to see the (literal) fruits of his labour.

He has a huge vegetable garden- carrots, tomatoes, zucchini, potatoes, even a pineapple plant. He got it as joke for Argyle, there is no way it should have survived in Indiana for so long, yet somehow it refuses to die.

Steve likes to cook, and he loves being able to feed the people he loves with food he grew himself. His pride and joy is a large blackberry bush that sits at the front corner of the house. It was the first outdoor plant he had, it came with the house, and it's what got him into gardening. He yells at the kids constantly for stealing all the ripe ones before he can pick them for a pie.

Steve also has some fairly impressive flower plots. He likes how they bring colour and life to the exterior of the house, and after everything they went through with the Upside Down, it's a way for Steve to reassure himself. The world isn't ending- as long as the flowers are growing, as long as there is plant life and bugs and weeds trying to get into places they shouldn't be, the world isn't ending.

He sets some chairs and a little table out by his flowers, for Eddie or the kids to sit at while he gardens. Eddie sits at the table and reads, or just watches Steve work.

The kids hang out in the yard sometimes, making noise and sneaking snacks off the plants when they think Steve isn't looking.

El learns how to make bee rest stops, and little butterfly feeders out of sponges, and starts leaving them on the porch, and in the corners of Steve's gardens.

Robin and Nancy come over often, and Nancy teaches Steve and Robin to make flower crowns, a skill that Eddie takes advantage of at every opportunity.

Steve likes that his garden can be a place his family can come to rest. That they can fill his life with their loud laughter and prove to him that, even after everything, they'll be alright.

#Steve for sure has an herb garden too #grows and dries his own oregano and basil #he has a cilantro plant that Eddie can't stand #he's tried to kill it on more than one occasion #cilantro tastes like soap to Eddie #100% #Eddie also tries to put up a bird feeder in the garden #but has no idea what kind of birds they have around them so he fills it with parakeet food #all they end up getting are squirrels #shoutout to my friend who helped me come up with this #thanks for putting up with meee

[stvolanis]

ꕥ𝐉𝐂s 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐓ꕥ

“ₜₕₑ wₒᵣₗd ᵢₛ yₒᵤᵣₛ”

MASTERLIST

ABOUT ME

RULES

REQUESTS OPEN‼️‼️

.・゜゜・. .・゜゜・. ゜゜・

.・゜゜・. .・゜゜・. ゜゜

✮ I WRITE FOR

✎ Stranger Things (Eddie, Billy, Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jim Hopper)

✎ Mötley Crüe (Nikki, Tommy)

✎ Guns N’ Roses (Axl, Slash, Steven, Duff, Izzy)

✎Metallica (James, Kirk)

✎ KISS (Eric Carr, Paul, Gene, Ace)

✎ My Hero Academia (Aaizawa, Toga, Dabi, Hawks, Shigiraki, Bakugo, Endeavor)

✎ Hazbin Hotel (Alastor, Valentino, Angel Dust)

✎ Outer Banks ( JJ, John B, Pope, Rafe, Barry, Ward, Sarah, Kiara, Cleo)

✎ Stand By Me (Ace, Eyeball)

✎ On My Block (Latrelle, Spooky, Ray)

✎ Hilda Furacão (Saint, Aramel, Roberto, Hilda, Leonor)

✮ I WILL WRITE

✎ degradation, hybrid OC/reader, praise, spitting, heavy cnc, power play, age gap, sir/daddy/mommy kinks, threesomes, gang bangs, voyeurism, step-cest, pet play, power play, size kink, slapping, breath play, gun play, knife play, blood kinks, dom/sub/switch, role-play, kidnapping, oral (m & f receiving), somnophilia, etc. just ask!!

✮ I WILL NOT WRITE

✎necro, ddlg, age play, anything to do with urine or feces, incest, feederism, pedophilia, rape, under the influence sex, raceplay, beastiality, basically no weird ass shit!

#stvolanis #elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #metallica #metallica imagines #stranger things #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #avatar #avatar twow #kiss #kiss band #guns n roses #guns n roses imagine #slash fanfiction #spiderman #hobie spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel ohara #hilda furacao #hilda hurricane #saint malthus #friar malthus

[theclandestineclementine]

Steve and Eddie have a movie night.

Steve is in charge of pizza, Eddie is in charge of movies.

Steve goes to pizza hut and gets a good deal on a few large pizzas and large cheese sticks.

While Eddie piles a stack of movies in his arms ranging from Halloween and Friday the 13th to The Princess Bride.

Steve's already seen the scary ones, so he's more focused on Eddie and all the pizza and cheese sticks he is eating.

At first eddie is just hungry, eating fast and gets through one pizza himself before he starts to slow down.

Then he's slowly and carefully grazing, pizza slice in one hand, other hands laced with Steve's.

They go through another movie like that, until the movie is over and the pizza is gone.

They start The Princess Bride and Steve offers Eddie the cheese sticks.

"Dunno if I can, I didnt realize I ate two pizzas, but those sure as hell look good."

Steve's blushing, "well maybe if you relaxed a bit you could eat it without getting an upset stomach." He offers offhandedly.

Eddie raises a brow, "oh?"

Steve looks at Eddie, "can i?" He reaches a hand towards the waistband of his Jeans and raises a brow.

Eddie dips his head in a silent nod and Steve grins, he turns slightly towards him, and tenderly cradles the sides of Eddie's belly, soft but taut from the food.

Eddie leans back to give Steve better access as he begins to gently rubs little circles into the tighter parts of Eddie's belly.

Along the sides pressing with enough pressure to help release, but not hard enough to hurt.

Steve's fingers dip along Eddie's blooming belly, as it arches outwards away from his torso, til he reaches the lowest of the dip downward and he can still jiggle it with the slightest bit of movement.

Lifting the bulk of it up and watching it jiggle and drop back into place.

"Still got some room in the tank, want to work on the cheese stick?" Steve asks still rubbing and massaging thae sides of his belly.

Eddie thinks for second, as he does Steve reaches under his belly to unsnap and unzip his fly. The tiny metal teeth falling apart and letting his belly ease downwards towards his lap.

"Think you can now? Big boy?" Steve asks holding a cheese stick to Eddie's lips.

Eddie grins and reaches for Steve's wrist with one hand, guiding it to his lips, as he does he murmurs, "as you wish"

#steve ended up wishing eddie ate all thre food he had brought exceot for the two slices of pizza he ate #and eddie ate it all happily #until he couldn't move #and then steve happily rubbed little soothing circles onto his belly #and eddie fell asleep #Steve's arms around him as far as they would reach #unable to touch #steddie wg #fat eddie munson #chaser steve harrington #feedee eddie munson #feeder steve harrington

[scoops-aboy86]

In which Eddie panics a bit, Wayne is a voice of reason, and Steve is really going through it but finds some relief in Eddie bringing him lunch.

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4 of the love spell no go au

Eddie does not, in fact, see Robin or Steve the next day. He holes up in his room for three days until Wayne drags him out by his ear, sits him down, and pries an explanation out of him because “do you know how many times that Harrington boy has called, knocked, and slid notes under the door trying to track you down? I’m surprised he hasn’t climbed in your damn window by now.”

He breaks and tells Wayne about the love spell and getting to know Steve. He walks his uncle through the entire strangled route of his logic and the thoughts he’s been stuck in his head with ever since the other day. 

And, okay, the whole prom scenario had been a completely theoretical product of his overactive and dramatic imagination, but something like that might have happened. Except if Eddie, instead of fucking up, had somehow cast it really, really strong… 

“That’s why he keeps calling, because of the spell,” Eddie concludes. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” He desperately wants to hear that no, actually, he’s lost his marbles, no one can brute force a spell into being smart and biding it’s time like that. 

But Wayne sighs, somehow conveying both endless patience and weary amusement, and says, “Eddie, what have I always told you?”

“Uh… never tell anyone that magic is real?”

Wayne snorts. “That, sure, and that magic ain’t ever something outta nothing. Your daddy always thought he could make gold from thin air, never even tried spinning it outta straw, and look where it landed him.” Jail. Eddie winces. “The reason no one bothers with love spells much is they gotta have some potential to grab onto, so they fail more’n you’d think. Spell or not, Ed, there was always something there.”

By the end of the conversation, Wayne has more or less managed to hammer in the idea that maybe all the spell had done was keep them apart until they fit better. Eddie retreats to his room again, this time to brainstorm how to make up for the abrupt three day radio silence. 

Steve has had… a rough few days. If it hadn’t been for Wayne Munson assuring him that no, his nephew hadn’t disappeared like Will Byers or the Holland girl, just “got a bug up his ass about something and is still holed up in his room working on it,” he would have completely spiraled. As it was, he’d had trouble sleeping even before smoking through the last of his stash, on edge all the time, swimming laps at night because that feels better than doing nothing. 

So when he looks up at the jingle of the bell over the door and sees Eddie slink into Family Video, he’s torn between relief and upset. If Eddie is fine, and very obviously not eaten by monsters or kidnapped to an alternate dimension, then where the hell has he been? Why hadn’t he returned any of the messages Steve had left him? Is the return to jock tendencies that off-putting?

His eyes catch on the bag and cardboard carrier Eddie is carrying, laden with three paper cups from the nearest diner. The warm greasy smell hits him, and it’s been a long few days of wanting to stress eat but not letting himself. Steve’s mouth fills with saliva—just because he hasn’t had his lunch break yet.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks flatly, since there’s no one else in the store right now. 

Eddie ducks his head. “Ye-eah, I deserve that.” He holds up the bag and drinks, tentatively meeting Steve’s gaze from under his bangs. “Brought you a peace offering?”

Steve breaths out sharply and runs a hand through his hair. He’d probably…Yeah, he’d probably been overthinking everything. Wound too tight, like Robin said. Not everything is a sign that the world is ending; Eddie had probably just been busy and knows that Steve is kind of needy, and brought him lunch as an apology. 

God, it smells like his usual order from before Starcourt. And Eddie is here now, perfectly fine except for the shadows under his eyes. What does Eddie have to be so worried about?

Get it together, Harrington. 

“Okay,” Steve says, not bothering to wonder if he can make whatever Eddie’s brought him fit into his diet—cheat days are a thing for a reason, right? “I’ll let Keith know I’m taking my break.”

Tilting his head to one side, Eddie is now close enough to set his offerings on the checkout counter. “No Robin today?”

“I wish. It’s her dad’s birthday, so she got roped into family stuff.”

“Hm.” He flicks at one of the straws poked through the top of the lid. “Looks like I brought one too many milkshakes then. Which is the more egregious sin, letting it go to waste or sharing it with Keith?”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Second one. I’ll go punch out, meet me around back?”

A few minutes later they’re sitting across from each other at the table behind the little strip mall that houses Family Video and the arcade. It’s technically for anyone who works there, not just the video store, but it’s hot as balls out so there’s no competition for the spot. The first mouthful of milkshake is a welcome explosion of cold and rich chocolatey goodness in Steve’s mouth, and he hums approvingly. Holy shit, he’d forgotten how much he liked ice cream. 

“How’m I doing on the apology?” Eddie asks, starting to pull foil-wrapped burgers out of the greasy bag. 

“Pretty good, if one of those has cheese or bacon on it.” Steve accepts the one held out for him and unwrapping it to find both, and a second patty. He takes a big bite and hums in satisfaction, chewing for a moment and pleasantly aware that Eddie is watching him. As soon as his mouth is empty enough to speak, he says, “... Alright, you’re forgiven. Just answer your damn phone next time, man, okay? Let me know you’re still alive?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, looking guilty. “Yeah, sorry, I will.” He nudges a large fries across the table, followed by several packets of ketchup. Eddie hates ketchup on fries, because he’s some sort of heathen, but doesn’t so much as comment when Steve squirts all of the packets down one side of the container for himself. “Didn’t mean to make you worry about me, Stevie, I just… got in my head about something.” 

Steve swallows a mixed bite of fries and burger, christ he’s hungry today. Must be the relief of knowing that Eddie is okay. “Anything I can help with?” he offers, because now that his ruffled feathers are soothed, he doesn’t like how tired his friend looks or the hint of melancholy that had flashed across his face at Steve’s requests. Eddie, who had looked at his bruises from Starcourt and visibly didn’t buy the government-concocted explanation for them but agreed not to ask, and thinks the source of his recent tension is from a few days of trauma rather than going on two years.

But also—Stevie? That’s new. Steve takes another big bite of his burger to hide how much the nickname makes him want to beam, that would be so weird given the current topic of conversation. 

“Nah,” Eddie says. He mimes knocking his fist against one temple, other hand tapping the underneath of the table to make a wooden sound. “Got it worked out now. I’m good.”

“Well, good.” Despite himself, Steve grins around his next bite of burger. He swallows, snags Eddie’s milkshake (strawberry) and then Robin’s (vanilla), following with a sip from his own—a poor man’s Neapolitan. “Want to come over tonight and finish that movie?”

A surprised look crosses Eddie’s face at the offer, followed by something else that Steve can’t read, and then a small grin of his own. “Sure, if you don’t mind starting it over. I’ve kinda forgotten the beginning.”

Which is fine, because Robin had insisted on finishing it (“You know I don’t do well with cliffhangers, Steve. Do you want me to not be able to fall asleep tonight trying to guess what happens next? Do you?”) and Steve isn’t sure he remembers where they paused it last time anyway. He’s pleased as he finishes his burger, licking the grease from his fingers and grabbing a bunch of fries positively dripping with ketchup, hurriedly getting them in his mouth before any can drop on his work clothes. Feels even better when Eddie chuckles and reaches across the table to wipe a smear of the condiment that had dripped down the side of his chin, almost making it to his work vest. The contact is nice, makes his heart beat faster. 

It doesn’t have to mean anything, but he wants it to.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8

Part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

#love spell no go au #wg steddie #scoops words #steve harrington #eddie munson #good uncle wayne #feeder eddie munson #i don't even think he realizes what he's doing he just wants steve to have a nice lunch #the extra milkshake really was a coincidence but of course steve finishes it #and most of eddie's too lbr #goes back to work with a little more pep in his step that has nothing to do with the eating purely to fuel his body he's been doing lately #does he learn anything from this? no he does not #but he's got a lot on his mind

[hotluncheddie]

Sub Eddie Week 2024 Masterlist

🦷 Day 1: Accidental subspace: "Open Wide" | Ao3

wc: 1.5k | rated: M | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, pre relationship, oblivious Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson, non-sexual subspace, aftercare

🍰 Day 2: Cockwarming: "Puppy" | Ao3

wc: 1.5k | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, collar & leash, chubby Steve Harrington, thigh humping, food during sex, fingering

🦇 Day 3: 24/7 dynamic: "Angel" | Ao3

wc: 1.5k | rated: M | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, kas!eddie, blood drinking, handjob

📸 Day 4: Edging: "Bi Freak" | Ao3

wc: 3.5 | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, bisexual Eddie Munson & Steve Harrington, mean dom Steve Harrington (kinda), degradation, sub top Eddie

🎸 Day 5: Possessive Steve: "Rockstar" | Ao3

wc: 1.7k | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, blowjobs, mention of exhibitionism

💝 Day 6: Bondage: "Like it" | Ao3

wc: 1.9k | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, rimming, pleasure dom Steve Harrington, chubby Eddie Munson, feederism kinks, public foreplay, humiliation kink

❤️‍🩹 Day 7: Daddy Steve: "Softly" | Ao3

wc: | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, soft dom Steve Harrington, anal sex, crying, pet names, Eddie Munson needs a hug

#;3 #so so fun!!! #enjoy!!! #hotlunch #my fic #sub eddie week #sub eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #<3 #subeddieweek

[heli0s-writes]

Sweet

A/n: You know how sometimes when you’re having a breakdown and nothing is helping but then something completely unrelated and stupid just does it for no reason. This is that. With pot brownies and kissing. Bucky is recovering and reader is an moron with a heart of gold. Angst, hurt/comfort, humor. Reader/Bucky. 3k words Warnings: Marijuana use; conversations about trauma, particularly food-related; language.

-

The path leading away from the cabin is littered with wet patches of morning. Rime colors of miserable winter in sludge grey are starting to be overtaken by sprouts of green, yellow, and brisk dew, springtime optimism come to life.

Pepper’s got the front of her house looking like a farmer’s market flower stand. Pots of tulips and daffodils explode up the steps and tri-color ribbons connecting porch-light to porch-light. The magnolia tree is soon to bud, and she’s hung hummingbird feeders and birdhouses all around.

When the cars start rolling in for the quarter-yearly potluck, you hang out near the garden, rocking back and forth on your feet. You'd shown up early but didn’t know what to do around a toddler, so outside it was.

The familiar Range Rover halts to a stop, Sam’s door opening as he makes his way out, holding ceramic handles of an enormous crockpot.

You call, “Bring your famous chili?”

“Damn right, I did,” he beams, “you bring your appetite?”

You waggle your eyebrows before looking to the SUV he hopped out of, Steve lingering by the back door with a brown paper box tucked beneath his arm, knocking on the heavily tinted windows with a long-suffering sigh. “C’mon, Buck. Up and at ‘em.”

A loud, decisive knock thumps back at him and Steve rolls his big, pitiful, puppy dog eyes in your direction. Beneath the blue of his left orbital is what looks suspiciously like the fading ochre stain of either an almost healed bruise or a newly forming one, which only makes Steve’s silent call for aid more pathetic and urgent.

Damn, okay. Since you’re kind of on thin ice already, this could go one of two ways.

Sliding up, you crack your knuckles.

“Barnes,” you call, “I got something illegal for you. Wanna see?”

“Dead body.” He responds from behind the still shut door, and you’re not sure if that’s a question. Steve glares at you accusatory, as if you’d actually bring a dead body to a potluck, good grief.

“Uh, no.”

“Knife.”

Steve shoots you another look—which is just ridiculous at this point, the both of them.

“Knives aren’t illegal.”

“Depends.”

Steve shifts the box of what looks to be cherry turnovers and mouths phrase day, which means that Barnes decided to stop talking in complete sentences sometime between when he woke up and probably when Steve over-crowded him and is now reducing all communication to two or three words as both a method of punishment for Steve and self-preservation for Barnes.

“It’ll make you feel better,” you urge, “Loads better.”

“Sex.” He rolls down the window just enough for you to get a glimpse of his eyes, narrowed and steely. “Drugs?”

You mouth bingo, outrightly ignoring the fact that it feels like Bucky Barnes nearly solicited you for sex, and Steve puts his hand over his own face, about to quip until he realizes that he’s probably said too much already—which is what got him in this predicament to begin with—and simply drags himself toward the house.

Barnes watches him go wordlessly before he opens the door and steps out, looking down at you, lightly shivering in the cold, and says, still one-worded, “Okay.”

-

He pops three brownies into his mouth and chews, opening just enough to get out a muffled, “too sweet” before returning to grinding down like he’s cracking pecan shells in there.

“I know you have like,” you make panicked motions with your fingers, snapping the red Tupperware lid back down frantically, “hella metabolism, but pump the brakes or you’re going to flip.”

“Flip,” he concludes, determined. He squirrels about two more in before you can do anything about it.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I was going to let you take those home later—oh my god, I’m going to get into so much trouble.”

The two of you are stopped at one of those cutesy stone birdbaths around the perimeter, leaning on the lip as Barnes licks remaining chocolate off his fingers, looking as pleased as punch. As much as he can look, anyway, you think, since you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him smile at anything other than the time Steve stubbed his toe bad enough on Tony’s kitchen island that he doubled over. 

“Did you say sex earlier?” You suddenly remember the flash of silver from the darkness of the SUV. “Wait, actually, I wanna go back even before that—did you really think I’d have a dead body?”

He shrugs.

“Cool,” you reply, “cool, cool, cool, cool. I think I should be more concerned, but you know what, I like it. Feels like a vote of confidence.”

A wide grin stretches across your face and you temporarily forget that Bucky fucking Barnes has eaten about half a pan of brownies with 25 grams of pot baked into them, that in about 15 minutes you’re both expected to sit down like normal people and have a nice dinner without anyone doing… whatever it is that he might do when he’s blazed to high heaven.

You shake the thought of Steve’s disappointment out of your head. Maybe it’d be best to keep acting natural, get him into some kind of headspace.

“So,” you whistle, “what’d you bring to the potluck?”

He gives you a sidelong stare and if there were Olympics for how someone can convey eat shit and die without moving anything but their eyes, he’d win every 8 years for the rest of his unnaturally long life.

“Well, I brought myself,” you curtsy, starting back down the trail again, figuring that you’ve got five minutes walking forward before it’d be time to turn back to the house, “and your present,” to which he gives you a short nod, “and an empty stomach. You excited for Sam’s chili?”

“Spicy.”

“Spicy?” you recoil, suddenly finding the prospect of a man who gave Captain America a black eye last week or possibly this morning—the monster who ate half of your most lethal bake—panting and sweating over a bowl of chili astoundingly inconceivable.

“Oh wait, you live with Rogers. What’s he feeding you at home? Steamed chicken?”

“Baked.”

You sigh, “God, you’re fucked. Nat brought something with Carolina Reaper infused honey glaze. Barnes... we’ll have to do a prayer circle for your ass.”

His face twists into a look of disgust before he starts to notice his lips, pressing them together, pulling them apart. After a few more motions like he’s discovering his body, bit by bit, he turns to you, and announces, “Feeling it.”

You laugh, jealous, because although you had a bite about 30 minutes before he even arrived, the brownie hasn’t hit you yet. “Good,” you say anyway, “that’s good, right?”

He only apathetically regards a sparrow flying past. You suppress a chortle when Barnes repeatedly licks his lips and rubs at the sleeves of his sweater.

“Have you ever been high before?” You correct, “In the fun, recreational, consensual way?”

Another listless shrug before he turns his head. You push yourself off a nearby log and make a show of stomping through haphazard piles of sticks and dead leaves, curling your fingers in a come along motion.

He follows, boots crunching, steps short and patternless, making a racket behind your back. He looks like a kid, fingers tucked up into his long sleeves, bouncy knees as he attempts to splash into every puddle as he possibly can before catching up. He’s almost got a grin when he looks at you, remembering where he is again, and there’s a light brush of color along the tops of his cheeks from the chill.

Around a small bend in the path, you duck under a branch, hop over a stone, and when you land back on both feet, the ground wobbles just enough to notice.

The air smells nice. Your eyelids feel heavy in a good way.

“Steve really piss you off this morning, didn’t he?”

Barnes lands a couple of feet away, his face dropping into an exhausted expression at the question, which you can’t fault him for because Steve’s a lot of things. Simple things, on the surface, but Barnes has known him longer than most anyone else and you imagine all of his noble qualities—his longstanding patience and willpower and belief in the goodness in everything and everyone—you imagine that shit gets old.

Hell, it gets at you on occasion, and you’re not even the brainwashed best friend who’s probably hearing a hundred voices in his head and is too tired to hear one more no matter how well-intentioned it might be.

Sometimes, being inundated by language just breaks it all back into foreign, incomprehensible script. And sometimes, being exceedingly plied with something you can’t make any sense of makes you turn inward, makes you bare your teeth in self-defense.

Which makes you realize you probably should ease up, too, talk less, but then he takes a long step with his ridiculous legs and is by your side, walking as if you two do this all the time.

“He’s a fixer.” Bucky’s brows are scrunched together, hands buried in his pockets. You nod quickly, not wanting him to go into any more detail than that because it’s not news that the entire population is still wary of Bucky Barnes’ re-emergence as a United States citizen when he was, up until very recently, a—uh, Russian one.

This, obviously, puts many things at odds with each other, including Steve, who is Mr. United States himself. The Avengers, too, who are mostly Team United States, considering the location and overwhelming population. But most of all, Bucky, who is still cobbling together bits and pieces of his life each day, is faced with the knowledge that everyone in the world knows more about him than he does.

You rub the back of your neck sympathetically because that shit would kill your heart so fast.

“You know what.” You shake the Tupperware at him, “Have the rest of these. You deserve it. And like, a million hugs.”

He barks a laugh, gladly gulps down the rest, and there’s a dapple of fudge on his chin looking so silly and sweet as he chews.

Ah, shoot. You avert your gaze, feeling very bad ideas break out up your arms and neck, and the shudder that is about to overtake you seems less about Barnes’ sweet face and more about Steve’s disappointed one. Like, he’s going to read your mind and know you’re having ideas about his best friend. And he’s going to do that thing where his eyebrows drop and his lips press together as he attempts to hold back a few choice words. Until later, probably, when he corners you somewhere and unleashes them anyway.

What were you thinking?, he’ll hiss. Are you capable of thinking rationally?

“What?” Barnes prods. “What is it?”

“Nothin’” you take a leap forward, herding the both of you back. The closer you are to the cabin the more you’ll remember that you’re at a family event, with friends, who should all stay in the friend territory.

But you blurt anyway, “You said sex earlier!” Because you’re a whole ass idiot.

He makes a small noise, says, “Yeah,” like that’s any help.

“Are you…” what the fuck, your head is spinning, “like, in… need of some?” Your face feels hot.

“Maybe. My body is…” he frowns, so weirdly open right now, and then he looks at you with half is face in a weary grin, the other half lost and confused. “Responding to stimuli in ways I haven’t— responded to in... Trying to fix it. Steve wants me to be fixed.”

He tilts his face to the sky, glaring at it. “Can’t get it out.”

You’re trying to force your rabbiting heart down to a manageable pace. You’ve never had any in-depth discussions with him about anything, much less his sex drive. The most interaction the two of you get is the occasional mission or get-together where you crack jokes and get shitfaced when the job’s done. You’ve been told you’re sort of a pain and haven’t given a fuck too much to change that.

You’re sort of in trouble right now, having been “irrational” during the last mission, running across the iced lake instead of taking the planned route and falling in. It ended up working out, since you got to the enemy helicopter before the enemies, but then there was the stabbing because you were sort of outnumbered and the pneumonia afterwards because you fell into the fucking lake…

There was a massive chewing out. Steve and his many, disappointed words.

Something about motor-mouths and low-object permanence but sure, good on the inside when it counts.

You hope this is one of those times where it counts.

“Listen,” you start. “Take as long as you need, there’s no rush on recovery and pushing yourself too hard is detrimental to your health. It’s not a straight line.”

“I hit him.”

Your wheeling brain is making a sharp left, trying to figure out where Barnes is driving toward. Oh. The black eye.

“Aw, Steve?” You wave your hand, swatting nothing. “He’s a big boy.”

“I’m hungry. Then I’m not.”

“I mean, that sounds normal—“

“No, a lot. Fast. Cyclical. Endless.”

It must be his metabolism adjusting. The realization of his relationship with food comes fast, almost visceral. Scarce when he was young, then rationed during the war before it was taken from him altogether. He was given the bare minimum with Hydra—protein slurry, tube-fed—then purged—stomach pumped—before being put on ice.

For decades.

Starvation must have truly felt endless.

And now with food being a surplus, with his body readjusting to it, yet his mind still struggling with habits—it must be so confusing. Another seemingly natural function to be confused about.

“Ah,” you manage, a lump in your throat like a blockade.

“I get nightmares.” He’s glaring at his hands, one flesh, one metal, opening and closing his fist like trying to get a grip on himself, and his voice is so small and pained. “These thoughts. All sorts. Can’t sleep.”

You extend your hands, shake off the dry sob that wants to erupt from your chest, and declare with flourish, “On the fourth day, God made Purple Kush, and it was good. So, we can—we can fix that.”

He takes another one of those long looks, through his lashes, lips quirked in quiet humor.

“You’re not really a fixer.”

He shakes the container of crumbs in your face.

You gasp, snatching it back in offense. “I can fix… some things! I replaced the utility light in the kitchen yesterday!“

Your cheeks are hot, face twitching like a broken screen because all you can think about is how handsome he is, out here like this, nose blushing, eyes lazy and crescent shaped, the heavy creases beneath them less pained and more relaxed.

And how he’s teasing you—- and he’s kind of a little shit.

“You fucker,” you say.

He grins—all big and silent, and for a second you count your blessings that he’s not going to say anything else shitty until he quips, “Not unless you’re offering.”

He’s staring at you intently, a curious expression winding its way up his face. His eyes are huge and blue and the most alert, glazed-over, pair of bloodshot, redder-than-the-devil’s-dick eyes you’ve ever seen on anyone stoned halfway to the moon.

His tongue darts out, sweeps a slow, careful line over the width of his bottom lip, practically asking, and you’re just the simple idiot who openly gawks at him.

“Ah,” you nod. “Yeah you’re definitely right. I’m—“ you gulp, “more of a fuck-up.”

Because what’s another fuck up to add onto the long-running list of fuck ups you’ve had recently, anyway? Kissing Barnes might count as a really serious one, sure, but at least it’s not pneumonia.

It’d make him feel better, probably, it’d make him feel something, at least. Steve would appreciate that, if Barnes came to the dinner table verbal, maybe even laughing. No one has to tell Steve that his best pal kissed your face off in the woods.

The idea of your face being kissed off is doing a number on you. The idea of Bucky Barnes, this gorgeous, miserable, godly, tragic contradiction, your at-arm’s-length teammate, your quickly-becoming friend, kissing your face off because he needs to feel something soft in the midst of the rest of the horrible, jagged things he already feels every second of his life—and he can get it from you.

You’re stupid and simple and how could anyone say no to that? So you take one last second to steel your heart, push forward, and lean in.

It’s, frankly, bizarre.

He kisses you gently, fantastically, inconsistently, wavering from assured one second to apprehensive the next, like he remembers how but can’t quite execute.

You meet him where you can, respond to the parting of his lips with your own, adjust to his tension with grace, and when he starts feeling like he’s getting the hang of it, like muscle memory has  finally settled into his body, you let him lead.

One hand finds the base of your skull, the other placing itself on your waist. His kisses grow greedy, like he remembers desire is a thing that occurs to him. He tilts his head down, kisses up like he wants to swallow every sigh between your lips, like he’s hungry for the sounds you make—and you’re making, embarrassingly, a lot of them. He’s good—dominant but kind, mouth wide, lips full, tongue cocoa-sweet and clever as it strokes yours again and again.

When he backs you up into a tree, you barely register it. His hand has moved to cushion your head, and he’s urging his entire body forward into yours, grip tight at your hipbone, moving his mouth to your jaw, then your neck, and you stutter a string of letters that refuse to make words.

Barnes is expertly sucking marks beneath your collar, right beneath the neckline, his breath hot and coming out in a near snarl and when he scrapes his teeth down, sinking them into the soft skin of your chest, you yelp loud enough to send a few birds scattering from the trees.

He jumps off like he’s burned you, eyes frantic, afraid.

“No—” you clear your throat, hands out, “Hold on.”

He’s blinking, head clearing, head trying to assess what he’s done, the situation, the pulled loose neckline, the wet shine of his spit up your throat.

“S-sorry—”

“No, don’t be sorry.” You give him his distance but take a small step forward. “That was hot. But,”

He blinks, confused, and this whole thing could easily go pear-shaped, your well-intentioned explanation might turn into unintelligible speech at any moment, but you have to try or else he’ll tailspin into catastrophe, and you suddenly feel so sorry for Steve, the poor fuck who’s doing this every day, clinging onto the hope that what he’s saying doesn’t set Bucky off, doesn’t push his boulder back downhill.

He's still stuttering sorry, starting to pace.

“Listen,” you say firmly, clipping your own panic, “that was wow, let me tell you. But if you don’t stop, I’m going to like— hotwire a car.”

Somehow this stops him in his tracks, “What?”

“Well, I didn’t drive here. Because you know, I was going to like, get really shitfaced.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and like, take you to a hotel or something.”

He frowns, obviously completely lost. “Why?”

It’s your turn to be lost. Both of you open-mouthed and panting at each other like two dumb dogs chasing each others’ tail in an ouroboros of idiocy.

“Huh? What do you mean why? You just tongue-fucked me, do you think I’m immune to getting on my knees for that?”

Now you can see it happening—the incomprehensible speech like a marquee as it runs across Barnes’ brain. Tongue-fuck, immune to getting on my knees. He doesn’t understand any of that, and god bless any soul who can. What language are you even speaking right now other than hot-brained, hot-skinned, hot-hearted to him, who’s still struggling to defrost?

“Never mind,” you redact, “ignore that.” You put your hands on his shoulders to ground yourself, vaguely thinking that maybe you shouldn’t touch him but the firm slap of your palms seems to break him out of his new trance. “Can we kiss again, later?”

He blinks, staring at you, at your hands on him, at your lips all swollen up.

“Yes.”

You sigh, relieved and thankful that other than you, no one’s freaking out, that your plan to get Bucky Barnes high worked out after all, and that he has agreed to make out later because he’s really, really good at it.

“Wonderful. Let’s go back now? Are you ready?”

He mulls it over and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sure, but I’m not eating chili.”

“Well, you’re in luck, there’s plenty of chicken.”

He grimaces, cuts a sharp look up to you before a twinkle settles in his blue, blue eyes. “Okay,” he agrees, “guess we should do a prayer circle for my ass.”

You clap your hands together and recite Our Father.

-

“It was sex, wasn’t it?”

Sam’s got one hand over his belly, snickering. Everyone else looks your way, gullible, scandalized, and you can’t blame them since the two of you were gone an awfully long time and came back extremely disheveled.

Bucky had walked in dutifully behind you, wiped off his boots, sat down at the dinner table, and asked for seconds saying please and thank you and he even threw in a that was delicious just to watch Steve’s head explode.

And Bucky, who you’ve come to realize is genuinely a shit— still one-worded and knowing full well the repercussions of his one word— only shrugs and responds, “Yes.”

The room erupts into shouting as you throw a buttered roll at his head. He catches it easily and brings it up to his grinning mouth, shimmer of spit glossy and fantastic on his lips.

#reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes/reader #reader insert #fanfiction #mcu #hurt/comfort #angst #humor

[livwritesstuff]

for those who have never lived in a rural area, there’s a certain level of cohabitation with the wildlife that sort of comes with the territory.

Steve and Eddie live in a fairly rural town in my steddie!dads ‘verse, so I’ve been thinking about how they would feel about this.

Steve is mostly neutral about it. He likes the bird feeders they have scattered throughout the yard, and does his best to learn how to identify all the different species so he can point them out to their daughters, and he thinks the owls that live in the woods behind their house are neat, but other than that, he doesn’t really pay all that much attention to it.

Eddie, on the other hand, fucking loves it, thinks it’s the coolest thing in the world, so much so that it actually becomes a source of stress for Steve.

There’s a possum who comes to their back porch for food that Eddie christened Alonzo and is adored as practically another member of the family. It disappeared for a while and they were all convinced it had died until one day it suddenly was back and snuffling around the porch. Ed and the girls threw a welcome home party complete with a hastily-made banner they taped to the door so he could see it.

Eddie would happily get chickens if not for the fox that lives in their backyard (in his words, “the fox was there first”).

Once, when Hazel is a baby, Eddie takes her on a walk around the neighborhood and comes home to see that a hawk had flown into the porch and gotten its talons stuck in the screen door. He looks at it for a second, decides it’s stunned from the impact, closes Hazel in the car parked in the driveway, and then helps the bird out. Doesn’t get gloves or anything, just bare-hands it and gets the bird unstuck. He’s correct about it being stunned because once it's free, it kinda just collapses on the porch. After a little bit, it flies away. Steve finds out about this a month later and flips out (“Sorry, was the last time you got gutted by flying wildlife not enough for you or something?” are his exact words).

When Moe is a teenager and starting to learn about all the ways the Earth is falling to pieces, she finds out that native bee populations are dwindling. Eddie is equally upset to learn about this, so they tag team planting native flowers around their yard. This is the same summer they learn that Robbie is allergic to bees.

Steve comes home one day to see Eddie fully conversing with a juvenile screech owl perched on the rafters of their front porch.

Eddie: So glad you’re here.

Eddie: But

Eddie: We have a cardinal family and a blue jay family

Eddie: They’re off limits.

Eddie: Rats, mice, insects, vermin – go to town on those fuckers.

Eddie: Do not touch my cardinals or my blue jays. Got it?

Steve:

Steve: Don’t let Moe see that thing

Steve: She’ll think it’s delivering her Hogwarts letter

#moe just turned 11 and school starts in a month and a half #steve is trying to be gentle in explaining that she will be going to her normal school in the fall #steddie #steddie dads #liv’s steddie dads verse #steve harrington #eddie munson