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gutsby · 1 month

Text

Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

Taglist: (please lmk if I missed anyone! I can only tag 50 at a time so will continue in a separate post) @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @identity2212 @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @minimarvelingmarvel @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grantspector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

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bitterkarella · 2 months

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Midnight Pals: Hackin'

King: i can't believe elon's grok is pretending i'm friends with him King: i need to stop that AI before everyone believes it! King: i've got to hire a hacker King: franz, you've got to help me Franz Kafka: what? me? Barker: steve, no

Kafka: i'm not a hacker King: oh i thought franz was a hacker Barker: what gave you THAT impression? King: you know, with the cat ear headphones and the striped thigh socks Barker: no steve that's something ENTIRELY different Kafka: n-no it isn't, on second thought yes I'm totally a hacker

Kafka: it means i'm a hacker, nothing else Barker: sure franz Kafka: it does! it totally means i'm a hacker! Barker: franz, go play with your blahaj plush, the adults are talking here

Barker: you know who you need? you need william gibson Barker: the best hacker money can buy King: william gibson? how do i contact him? Barker: you don't Barker: he'll contact you

King: can you really hack grok, william? William Gibson: [wearing black duster and fingerless black gloves] my hacker name is shadow gigabyte King: oh sorry Gibson: can i hack grok? listen kid i was cyberbyting the megabyte mainframe when you were just rebooting your motherboard mouse data bandwidth modem email King: wow!

Gibson: my CPU is a neural net processer, a learning computer King: wow he really sounds like he knows what he's talking about! King: that definitely sounds like hacker talk to me Gibson: CD Rom Gibson: internet Joe Hill: dad can i talk to you for a second King: not now joe daddy's hiring a hacker

Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] i'll re-index the mega bit blaster cyber codex Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] now we'll cybersecurity the lock box data center King: hey what happens if you push that button? Gibson: what the-- no!! [klaxons sound] King: what's that mean? Gibson: shit Gibson: we've got company

Gibson: sentient cyber virus electronic guard cyberbots Gibson: real high tech Gibson: state of the art in bio-tech wetware neural-data scrapers Gibson: [putting on sunglasses with red laser scope] and they ain't friendly

King: what are we going to do?! Gibson: kid, you keep your hands to yourself unless you wanna become roadkill on the information super highway!!! Gibson: hold on to your CPU (central processing unit)!!!

Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] gotta reconfigure the darkweb logistics for ethernet wavetech Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] upload the memory downloader for dumpware backup Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] uncodify the cyberpatch modifer aaaaand Gibson: i'm in

King: wow, you hacked twitter?? how did you do it? Gibson: the greatest hackers never reveal their secrets [earlier] Gibson: [wearing fake mustache] hey elon its me catturd Gibson: could you give me your password? Elon Musk: sure it's "picklerick420"!

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #franz kafka #joe hill #william gibson #elon musk

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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Steve doesn’t notice the answering machine for several weeks.

His time is split between the hospital and donating food and clothes; and when he’s not doing that, he’s helping put up missing posters for people’s loved ones.

It’s only when both Max and Eddie are discharged that he has a moment to even catch his breath—when, half-dozing on his feet, waiting for a microwave ready meal to heat up, he notices the blinking red light in the hallway.

He feels like he’s still in a dream when he presses ‘play’, hears his mother’s voice. There’s people talking in the background, the echoing, constant chatter of a hotel lobby. She’s laughing at something someone must have said before the answering machine kicked in.

She sounds… happy.

“Steve? Steve?” The rustle of the receiver getting briefly pressed to her blouse, a muffled, “Just a minute, hon, he might still pick up.” Then, clearer: “No, you must be out. All right, Steve, it was just to let you know that we’ll be home a little sooner than we—yes, I’m telling him, what do you think I’m doing?”

Steve’s thoroughly grateful that he’s listening to a message, and no response is required—can only stand there, jaw slack, at just how light his mother’s voice is.

“A couple of work things fell through,” she continues with a breeziness that probably means several major ‘things’ went disastrously wrong, work related or otherwise. But it doesn’t sound like she cares all that much; if anything, she sounds excited.

“So I thought we could—well, I don’t know how late we’ll be, but if you’re not too hungry, we could just order some pizza, lazy dinner? Plain cheese for you, right?” The distant ring of a bell on a counter. “Steve, darling, I know we haven’t been—” She cuts herself off with a sigh that’s gone too quickly for Steve to parse.

He hasn’t ordered a plain cheese pizza since he was 12 years old. But she’s trying, he thinks. She’s trying.

“Oh, we’re just checking out. What? No, I thought you had that bag. Oh, well, just—sorry, Steve, see you tonight. Love y—”

The message ends.

In a daze, Steve replays it once, twice—it’s on the third re-listen that he hears the mechanical voice intone what date the message was left.

See you tonight.

He inhales sharply just as the microwave beeps, and then he’s out the door, leaving the food to congeal.

He knows the route they would have taken. Plays it backwards in his head as he drives. Can see them in his mind’s eye taking the exit that leads into Hawkins—his mom berating his dad for not using his turn signal.

He finds the road. Stops. Gets out and presses his hand to the tarmac. He can feel it under his palm, like a scar.

The gates spread, at the end.

There’s no proof, nothing he can point to and say there, that’s what happened to them. Not a trace.

But he knows.

He knows.

“Okay, what’s up?” Eddie asks him three days later.

It’s almost funny, how little things have changed. Steve keeps waiting for a knock at the door, a just kidding! There’s no harried phone calls from their work, so they must have taken extended leave or—he doesn’t know.

He’s never going to know.

“Nothing,” Steve shrugs. “Just thinking if the kids want popcorn now or later.”

Eddie’s suspicion melts away with a snort; it’s too easy. “Stupid question—the answer is always now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Second cupboard on your left, Munson, knock yourself out.”

“What am I, the maid?” But Eddie’s already reaching for the popcorn, opening the microwave door with a clunk, and then there’s an abrupt silence.

Steve realises why a second too late. “Shit, I—sorry, lemme just—”

He picks up the plastic tray full of mouldy pasta and throws it in the trash—feels a prickle of shame as he does so.

It’s stupid that this is the thing that makes his breathing catch. So fucking—senseless.

“Steve,” Eddie says haltingly, like he somehow knows this isn’t just about being absent-minded.

“Don’t,” Steve says.

He knows that’s practically a signed confession already. But Eddie nods and even cleans the damn microwave without a word of complaint. Because the popcorn still needs to be done, and the kids are waiting, and they’re pretending, Steve thinks.

They’re all just pretending.

He loses himself in washing up, makes the water run hot and doesn’t wear gloves, lets his skin scald. They’d all ordered pizza, and Steve had hidden every slice he’d taken, torn them all up and stuffed them into a napkin.

He stops when he comes to a large plate with a floral trim.

Would she have picked this one? he wonders. The pizza would’ve looked pretty, served up on that.

And then, as quickly as that thought came, another takes its place. How dare she? How dare she think that a fucking lazy dinner would fix everything? Did she think he’d just forgive her, forgive them both, just like that?

But she never got the chance. He’ll never get the chance to—

A sharp, stabbing pain. Steve turns off the faucet automatically, sees that the plate has smashed in the sink. A shard of china in his palm.

Eddie’s voice echoes in the hallway. “Um, I called Wheeler? Uh, Nancy. She—she took them all home.”

“Cool,” Steve says, voice tight.

He knows that Eddie has entered the kitchen when he hears a shocked hiss. “Dude, what the fuck? You’re bleeding, wait there, just—”

It’s not a deep cut, Steve thinks numbly. He doesn’t know why Eddie is worried. But he lets him fuss, lets him gently pry the remnants of the plate away, lets him wrap a bandage tightly.

“Hey,” Eddie says. His voice is soft. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it, ‘kay?”

Steve can’t look at him. Clenches his jaw.

“We will, you hear me, Harrington? I promise.”

Steve shakes his head. “Can’t fix—” he gets out before his throat closes up, and when he glances back, Eddie’s eyes are wide and fearful.

“What?” he says sharply, and he looks almost nauseous, like he suspects he’s about to be told that the monsters are back, that they have never even left. “What the fuck do you mean? You’ve got to tell me, man, just—”

Steve makes an anguished noise that feels like it comes from somewhere in his chest, and Eddie freezes. He considers Steve for a long moment.

“Okay,” he says, a wary placation. “Can you… um. Can you show me instead?”

Steve blinks. He flexes his hand, uncaring of the cut, and jerks his head to the hallway.

Eddie stares. Frowns. Then leaves.

He figures it out, of course he does. Steve just stands there, hears the click of the answering machine. He closes his eyes.

This is all that’s left; these are his scraps. A sigh he’ll never understand. An aborted, “I love you.” It had never come easily to her, but it had left her freely then.

Why?

A hand on his shoulder. Steve opens his eyes.

Eddie looks stricken. “Steve,” he whispers, then stops like he doesn’t have the words.

Steve can’t blame him. Neither does he.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know,” Eddie says. “Steve, I didn’t—”

“They were coming home,” Steve says stupidly, feels a bit like he’s twelve years old. “They were—Eddie. They were gonna come home.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, and it leaves him all in one breath. “Oh, Steve. C’mere.”

Steve falls against him, muffles something that’s half a cry, half a scream against his shoulder—and mourns the loss of a conversation he will never have.

#steve and his parents #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington’s parents #steve and his mom #steve harrington’s mom #steddie

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avelera · 23 days

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Re-watched Captain America: Winter Soldier and First Avenger (in that order lol) and hey guys

Remember that time Steve woke up in New York City 70 years later and panicked, thinking he was in HYDRA hands and haha, actually it turns out, he kind of was??

Also remember that bit where he found out in the most deadpan way possible (thanks Nick) that everyone he had ever known and loved was dead or aged to to the point of death in the blink of an eye, and no one ever actually like, gave him a moment's sympathy for the fact his entire world ended in a split-second of self-sacrifice that ended up just being one battle in a war that never ended?

Remember when he found out that the only person left who loved him, Peggy, only occasionally remembered him in moments of lucidity haha and then it turned out that the only other person who still lived and who loved him, Bucky, also only remembered him in moment's of lucidity?? Good times, good fucking times, I'm an emotional wreck about it

And one last thing, because I will never ever fucking ever let this grudge go, remember that time Tony fucking Stark who I mostly love but in the context of Steve Rogers specifically I want to tear him to shreds, decided to have beef with a literal traumatized 20-something year old war veteran whose entire world just dissolved into nothing in the 70 years he was on ice, and Tony fucking Stark decided to pick a fight with this guy and rag on him 24/7, despite being in his 40s himself and completely comfortable, stable, and with insane levels of wealth and privilege, because his fucking dad who has been dead for decades apparently loved this guy more, something that would have bewildered Steve who like, barely knew Howard outside of work, and that Steve had fucking nothing to do with Howard's neglect of his son because it all happened while he was unconscious?

Don't even get me started on Civil War, we will be here all day in how these supposedly equal sides weren't even slightly equal in morality or logic at all, but I will die on the hill of Tony fucking Stark was being a Grade A fucking asshole for his stupid man-child fight he picked with Steve Rogers when you actually objectively view Steve's life story as a human being instead of a symbol that he was literally forced to be

Whew. Ok. I'm ok now.

...

AND ANOTHER THING...!

#steve rogers #captain america #catws #caws #catfs #cacw #seriously though I could rant for literal days #look i mostly love tony but I can't stand the beef he has with steve it is so messed up to me and severely damaged my love of the character

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chxrryhansen · 3 months

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౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Cevans One Shot Rec List

here you will find all of my favourite chris evans + characters fanfiction recommendations, i have many more to add and will continue to update this list. Please don’t forget to reblog these amazing writers fics as they deserve so much love!💘💘

Walk On The Wild Side - @hansensgirl

you just wanted to go for a stroll down the road—but he wants you to take a walk on the wild side. (Dark!Chris Evans)

You Better Not Pout, Better Not Cry - @hansensgirl

they know if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake. (Dark!Multi character) - i would add every single one of her fics to this list if i could💘

Sinful Devotion - @evansbby

Lloyd promises to let you go, but he demands a depraved repayment. (In other words, Lloyd pops your cherry)- my favourite writer in the whole universe💘

Smothered With Bliss - @whereireid

Is it hard being married to the most influential man in America? You most certainly think it is. — Steve Rogers: Captain America, the heart of his nation, the soul of his country. After returning home from a particularly bad day at work, Steve finally snaps, deciding you need re-educating on how to be the perfect housewife.

The Night - @misshoneybee

Working as the Barber family's nanny is a piece of cake, but what happens when the dad you've been tip-toeing around all year comes home late one night to find you asleep in his bed, wearing his favorite sweater?

Little Miss Red - @anika-ann

Ransom’s looking for a good time tonight, when you walk through the door, he knows he’ll get it. And you? Oh you’ll get it too. He's going to make sure of it.

Unholy Errand - @buckets-and-trees

You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss. (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark! God The Bounty Hunter + Ransom Drysdale)

What A Shirt Can Tell - @justalonelyslytherin

5+2 times Colin asked 'Is that my shirt?' plus the one time he got asked it. Aka a look through the journey of Colin and his girl, each in which his shirts play an important role.

Start Again - @wkemeup

A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath (Steve Rogers)

Daddy’s Little Pet - @sinner-as-saint

You and Steve are the epitome of ‘opposites attract’. He is the American hero, a super soldier who is known for his bravery, and righteousness and for being the one leading the Avengers. You, on the other hand, are a well-known fashion designer in the city. Creator and owner of your own brand, and elite boutique. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like you and Steve would be compatible. But you surprisingly are. And behind closed doors, in secrecy – you two are each other’s solace, each other’s definition of home. He’s your strong, loving and caring man. And you, his lovely, little pet whom he adores more than life itself.

Good Girls And Skype Calls - @youre-deadangel

chris gives you a treat for behaving.

Afternoon Delight - @christowhore

you're steve's live-in housekeeper and find your boss and his friends having a bbq on a heatwave stricken afternoon. they invite you to join them and show you all the pleasurable ways to cool down from the sun. (SoftDark!Steve Rogers + Sam Wilson + Bucky Barnes)

Got You - @hispeculiartreasure

The two of you had grown close over the last year; first as teammates, then as friends. You had been distant at the start, just as he had. Slowly, agonizingly - blood, sweat, and tears were definitely involved - walls were dismantled. A current of trust ran between you, one which caught Steve by surprise. As dense as he could be about matters of the heart, suspicions of his blossoming romantic feelings being mutual had proven true with a simple kiss. (Sex Pollen, Steve Rogers)

Golden Boy - @bucksfucks

you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but. (Roommate!Steve Rogers)

It Must Be That Old Evil Spirit - @vonalyn

There’s something unsettling about his demeanor but you can’t quite put your finger on it. As if there’s something hiding beneath the surface just waiting to pry its way out of the tight shirt across his broad frame and tear your throat out. Maybe it’s your general unease around others when you’re traveling alone, or maybe it’s just him. (Jack-O-Lantern!Ari Levinson)

Stupid Kitty - @onsunnyside

Your father wrongfully entrusted Lloyd to care for you—it’s too bad he’ll never get you back. (Lloyd Hansen x Cat-Hybrid!Reader)

Manners- Or Lack Of Them - @rogerswifesblog

Ransom wants you, the sweet girl at the bar…but you’re not what he expected you to be. (Sub!Ransom Drysdale + Mommy!Reader)

Shadow Boxer - @mypoisonedvine

you’re stuck in the same destructive cycle with ransom, but maybe you don’t want to get out of it. (Angst + Smut, Ransom Drysdale)

It’s Not A Challenge - @gagmebucky

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. (Boxer!Steve Rogers)

Pretty Princess - @frostironfudge

Andy Barber gets jealous when he presumes you shared a room with one of his associates.

Over And Over - @frostironfudge

Ari Levinson is a possessive man, he'll punish you till you apologise.

Such A Good Boy - @lilacevans

You and Ari attend a business meeting, and at the beginning the other boss you're meeting with just assumes that Ari is the one in charge; however, that's not the case. While you look dainty, angelic, like you couldn't even hurt a fly, you're the one who runs the family and will not hesitate to fuck up anyone who stands in your way. (Puppy!Ari Levinson) - one of my favourite fics EVER.💘

Breathe - @buckyownsmylife

The one where the new co-star is obsessed with the idea of making Chris hers, but he makes sure to show her you’re the only one for him.

Justified - @dbnightingale24

Ransom has always been the center of your world you’ve always been the center of his. However, when he can’t change his ways and you’re tired of the heartbreak, is it really so bad if you think it’s best to walk away? Ransom thinks so. - one of the sweetest most talented writers i have ever met💘

My, My, My - @1800jjbarnes

Stevie couldn't help it. Every time he saw you, he felt himself grow heavy in his slacks. You were everything he needed. And he needed you now.

All The Time - @geminixevans-stan

He is one of the most powerful men on earth but there’s more worse than him (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark!Nick Fowler)

Snack - @katherineswritingsblog

he just wants his snack- which is you.

Watchful Eyes - @espinosaurusrexex

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself. (CEO!Steve Rogers)

Cherry On Top - @dcllbows

you’ve found your favorite way to help your daddy with his grownup work. (Ddlg, Daddy!Andy Barber)

Voracious - @arilevinsons

The first time he set eyes on you; you were his sudden infatuation. (DarkProfessor!Ari Levinson)

Best Friend’s Dad - @imyourbratzdoll

you've been pining over your best friend's dad and decide to take your chance, knowing he's out and your best friend is asleep, you be a little bit naughty and touch yourself on his bed, not knowing he's coming home early.

The Breeding Ground - @fl0werfae

To others, Ari’s house was a breeding ground for him and his omega, but to him it was just fulfilling her purpose of carrying his pups. (Alpha!Ari Levinson)

My Sweet Pea - @mavsstar

Mr. Levinson lives right next door to you, the sweet, innocent college girl. Little do you know that you're Mr. Levinson's favorite neighbor. He's there every chance you need the slightest of help, maybe a little too much. (Trailer Park Au)

Like A Movie Scene In The Sweetest Dream - @worksby-d

Johnny’s always been on your “no” list, but you've finally agreed to work with him. (Pornstar!Johnny Storm)

Easy As Pie - @navybrat817

You bake pies for Andy, but you're still his favorite treat.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfic #chxrrys fic recs #fic recs #chris evans fic recs #steve rogers fic recs #steve rogers #ransom drysdale #chris evans smut #andy barber #lloyd hansen #ari levinson #johnny storm #steve rogers smut #ari levinson smut

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chelseeebe · 3 months

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everything has changed

you and steve were once the bestest of friends, cruelly torn apart when you’re forced to leave hawkins suddenly. fifteen years on, everything has changed and yet, nothing has changed.

i had this idea a while ago and then have recently become re-obsessed with the song so decided to give it a rewrite! it’s kinda giving seven x everything has changed and i love that. i have a sitcom level idea of a part two for this but i’m not sure it’ll ever come to fruition

18+. no smut but my blog is 18+ :) mostly just fluffy friends to lovers stuff hehe

‎♡‧₊˚

“you promise we’ll be friends forever?” steve asks, quirking his little eyebrows up. still so innocent, so unaware that the world was a cruel place.

“i promise!” you’d shrieked, toothy grin beaming over at him as you sat poised on the climbing frame. “we’ll write letters every week and in the summer you can come and visit!”

steve whooped with glee, the metal frame shaking from the force of his body, “okay! my mom has your mom’s number so i can call you,” grubby hands clinging onto yours.

you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug, wobbling atop of your tower. full of hope and your shared joy. oblivious to how the next 15 years would play out.

life hadn’t been so kind as to keep the two of you in contact. steve’s mom had tried to explain it to him, but his poor seven year old brain couldn’t quite grasp it.

it was only when he was older that he had realised what had happened.

you had been whisked away to california, your mother’s home state, far away from your dad. for your safety of course. his mother had warned him not to mention where you had gone to anyone, and he’d stuck by that.

and really, life had gotten in the way of thinking about you too much. basketball tryouts and getting girls into the back of his bmw had taken precedence over fading thoughts of freckly girls he once knew.

steve was at college now, admittedly tagging along with robin, but he was enjoying it. he played basketball, studied children’s education and had even scored himself a kinda stable girlfriend.

he’s sat in the library, book open and unread in front of him on the table as robin attempts to convince him to go out tonight.

“it’ll be fun! besides, i promised my roommate that i’d go.. y’know she’s having a hard time,” turning on the puppy dog eyes that more often than not, worked on him.

he groans, “i don’t know rob.. finals are coming up soon and i really need to get this down if i wanna graduate with you,” though he makes no effort to actually pick up the book, more interested in the coffee robin had used as a bargaining chip.

“steve,” almost warningly, “come for an hour,” nodding at him, as if to subliminally make him agree, “and then i’ll help you study all day tomorrow, okay?” tilting her head, bright green* eyes glistening at him.

“fine,” succumbing to her pleas, “but you owe me,” sending a glare across the table as he finally turns the page.

robin grins, happy she’d gotten her own way. again.

they walk arm in arm into the bar, squeezing through the crowd as they attempt to locate robin’s mysterious roommate.

steve sighs, whispering into robin’s ear, “why do i have to be here? just because your roommate is a lonely weirdo, doesn’t mean you have to drag me out too,” pouting like a petulant child.

she pinches his arm, causing him to yelp into her ear, “this is why i used to pray for the ceiling light to fall on your head in mrs click’s class,” pulling away from him as she spots whoever she’s looking for.

“wait.. what?” he calls out after her, weaving through the crowd to find her again.

she has her face buried into someone’s shoulder, blabbering about the busy bar and how good it was to get out.

robin pulls away, gesturing over to steve as this lucrative stranger meets his eye.

it’s you.

the little girl who had promised to be his best friend forever now stood before him, all grown up. he almost doesn’t believe it. in fact, he can’t. not until you speak, his name echoes around meaninglessly.

“what the fuck?” he gasps, still in utter shock.

“it’s really you? you’re.. oh my god, you’re steve of course you are,” wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug, the exact way you had fifteen years ago.

you even smell the same, a distinct sort of vanilla smell that takes his mind hurtling fifteen years into the past. he almost wants to throw up from the turbulence of it all.

“i can’t believe you’re here,” you gasp, still nuzzled into his shoulder, “this is so surreal,” now holding him at arms length, dissecting his face in the same way he was yours.

you looked the same and yet completely different. no more gappy smiles or sun bleached hair, very pretty. his seven year old self had thought so too, but your friendship had meant more.

“you two know each other?” robin perplexes, watching the scene unfold with zero context.

“we.. uh- yeah,” unsure of how much he can divulge, still under strict orders from his mom to never tell a soul where you’d gone.

“we were friends, i was born in hawkins so.. god, this is so weird,” you exasperate, letting go of his frame to talk to a bewildered robin.

“you’re from hawkins? you told me you were from california?” robins face twists in confusion.

“it’s a.. complicated story,” you look back at him, still trying to decipher if he was even real, “i moved away when i was young but we were like, best friends,” baring your teeth with your smile.

“well shit, i’ve got time,” robin laughs, sliding into the booth, she looks up at steve, “drinks on you.. you know, to celebrate,” wiggling her brows in that irritating way she did when she wanted something.

he dutifully obliges as you begin your story, he supposes that now you probably can.

your dad had moved out of hawkins a while ago, it wasn’t exactly a secret as to why you guys had just up and left so abruptly. steve had always hated him, made sure to glare daggers into his back when he and his mother would pass him in the street or in melvalds. he felt he owed you that.

plus steve was angry, angry that you’d had to leave him behind because of your dad. his tiny mind couldn’t comprehend that it was for the better, only understanding that it was your dad’s fault his best friend had been taken from him.

steve’s curious about california, how your life differed from hawkins. you play it off as nothing special but you smile differently when you speak of afternoons after school spent on the beach and learning to surf.

he makes some off-hand comment about making it out which causes your brows to furrow, “so did you,” tapping the table in front of him, “remember we would talk about college? living in a big house together?”

he chortles, almost choking on his beer, “yeah, with ten dogs and three cats,” shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all.

“wow..” robin butts in, “so you did this with other girls before me?” faux-offence written all over her face.

you beam, looking between the two of them, “so are you guys dating?”

steve does choke this time, sputtering as the bitter liquid slides down the back of his throat.

“no!” they chime in unison.

“jesus christ, you think i’d date him?” robin falls into a fit of giggles, it didn’t hurt his ego anymore. robin had very particular tastes and that very much didn’t include men.

“thanks rob..” he snarls jokingly, “i uh, i have a girlfriend.. just not robin,” he’s not sure why he’s apprehensive to tell you. christ, he’d only re-known you for five fucking minutes.

“sorry, i just assumed..” shrinking into your seat, desperate to change the subject.

he’s modestly pleased that you don’t ask any more about his girlfriend, which in turn makes him feel a rotten sense of guilt.

“yeah well, to assume makes an ass out of you and me,” robin adds, giving you a poke to your ribs for good measure, “and he’s definitely not my type,” her nose shrivelling up in disgust.

you snigger, poking robin right back as she explodes into her myriad of reasons why she would never date steve. she kept a list.

there’s a sickening feeling of affinity, like all the years you hadn’t been together just ceased to exist, they no longer mattered.

especially when your eyes meet as robin prattles on, like you’re sharing an old joke.

he doesn’t like this, doesn’t fancy his odds of coming out of this unscathed but that doesn’t stop him from shifting his chair closer as the night goes on. nor does it stop him from walking you home, supporting a tipsy robin on his arm.

and it most certainly doesn’t effect him when you hug him goodnight, nestling your chin into his shoulder the way you used to.

fuck.

steve climbs down the steps into the strange smelling studio, he hadn’t even known this ever existed. there’s art littering the walls, the shelves, just about any surface that was available.

you’re at the back of the empty room, dabbing a paintbrush onto a canvas, completely unaware of his presence.

“hey.. robin said you’d be down here,” he speaks softly, so as to not startle you.

you still jump, clutching your chest as you spin on your heel, “jesus christ,” panting rather dramatically, “you scared the shit outta me,” shock turning into a wide smile.

“sorry,” he chuckles, weaving through the easels, trying his damn hardest not to touch or knock anything over, “what ya’ working on?” peering at the canvas.

it’s a beautiful scene, a lone swing set lies in the middle, surrounded by a peachy-pink sunset. it’s reminiscent of something he can’t quite place.

“oh just..” shrugging him off, “some stuff for my exhibition.. i dunno if i like it yet,” downplaying the glorious work of art in front of him. as if there were any need.

“what are you talking about? it’s so good,” still clinging onto his backpack strap.

you shake your head, taking the apron off of your body, tossing it onto the hook full of other dirtied aprons. “i can do better.. anyway, did you trek all the way down here for a reason or..?”

he lingers by the painting for a second longer before turning to face you, remembering his actual aim, “yes! are you joining us for dinner tonight? robin wants you to meet all of our friends,” he offers, though he’s aware it’s not much of a deal for you.

“uh.. who’s gonna be there?” you ask, quirking a brow. he’s aware that you’re not exactly a social butterfly.

“well, nancy, jonathan, vickie.. argyle, if jonathan can convince him to come out,” they were all nice enough, if he and robin liked you, they definitely would too.

“i dunno..” wrinkling your nose.

“come on,” he pleads, “it’ll be fun.. they’ll love you. nance’s been begging me to get you out.. please?”

you shake your head, as if weighing up your options, “okay.. fine, but dinner’s on you,” as you drop the pallet into the sink for someone else to deal with.

“great,” he beams, there’s something to be said about the fact he still hadn’t introduced katie to the rest of his friends yet.. but he doesn’t wanna think about that.

his hand comes to rest on what he thinks is a dry desk, waiting for you to finish up, only to find his hand now covered in goopy white paint, “oh shit,” he fusses, pulling your attention from the sink.

“oh fuck, i should’ve told you that was wet..” looking between his outstretched hand and his eyes, a giggle bubbling on your lips as he stomps over to the sink.

“oh is this funny to you, huh?” joining you at the basin.

you run the hot water for him, grabbing the bottle of soap ready to clean his hand, “well it’s a little funny,” lips twitching while he stands like a lemon.

as steve normally does, he acts before he thinks, pressing his paint-covered palm to your cheek, only registering what he had done when you shriek in response, splashing water everywhere.

“you asshole!” you gasp, brows furrowed as you conjure up something for revenge.

that’s when you grab the still paint-covered brush and smear it over his cheek and nose, staining his features a daring bright orange.

“oh it’s like that is it?” he grins, grabbing your wrist with his clean hand, threatening to mark you again. “you don’t wanna mess with me, i’ve got the upper hand,” sticking his tongue out slightly, unable to shake the way your eyes still glistened the same.

“if you want me to come to dinner, you’ll put your hand down.. call a truce,” bargaining with him.

he obliges, holding his hands up in surrender, “okay.. okay, you win,” unable to contain his laughter as he washes the paint from his palm.

you shoulder barge him as you come back to the sink, pulling your clean brushes from the water and leaving them to dry on the metal board.

“we’re gonna have to swing by my room,” you smile begrudgingly, shoving your stuff into your bag, watching as he dries his hand.

“okay,” his grin still lingering, “personally, i think you should just come to dinner like that.. it looks great,” enjoying the ribbing that came with being your friend.

you scoff, practically pushing him out of the studio, ensuring he couldn’t wreck havoc on anything else.

the pair of you glide down the hall, steve filling you in on the guests that would joining you for dinner when a voice calls his name from in front.

katie bounds up to him, smile fading the second she sees the new colour of his face, “why are you orange?” face screwed up as she rescinds her offer of a kiss. he’s slyly thankful that your adorned his face now.

“oh we.. i- i tripped, got paint everywhere,” he chuckles, feeling like a scolded child.

katie hums, “right.. that’s kinda weird,” her eyes flit over to you and the paint on your face, “you trip too?” a judgemental look flashing across her features.

“no,” shrinking into yourself, “steve.. tripped,” doubting your own words, like your measly paint fight needed to be kept secret. but maybe that’s just how he felt, is that wrong?

he can’t decide.

“hmph,” katie frowns, her attention turning back to steve, “go and clean up.. you look like a clown,” before speeding off down the hall, ponytail flouncing around as she goes.

he just rolls his eyes continuing out of the building as you scurry along behind, “she seems nice,” sarcasm dripping off your tongue.

“ignore her,” brushing the whole encounter off, “she’s just.. pissy because i’m busy tonight, don’t take it personally,” offering a short smile. he glances at his watch, grimacing at the time, “oh shit, we’re late,” grabbing your hand as he starts sprinting ahead.

“i can’t meet your friends like this!” you holler, bounding behind him.

“they won’t mind!” he screams into the wind, dodging other students with a skill only possessed by someone who chronically sleeps through their alarm.

they really don’t.

in fact, robin bursts into laughter as you walk into the diner, “i’m not even gonna ask,” tapping the plush cushion for you to slide in next to her, steve follows closely behind.

the two of you share a look, an inside joke that was just yours. he liked that, it made him feel strangely important. like he was worthy of sharing things with just you.

everyone is lovely, obviously. he had no doubt that they would be. argyle corners you about california, discovering that it is a rather large state and no, you won’t have bumped into each other.

steve doesn’t want the night to end, he’s selfish like that. so he does the sane thing to ensure you spend as much time together as possible, walking you and robin back through campus, still adorned with paint.

“thank you.. for making me go,” you smile coyly once you reach your door, robin had already disappeared off inside, leaving just the two of you.

“no worries.. i told you they’d love you,” shoving his hands into his pockets, mostly so he doesn’t do anything stupid.

you chuckle, reaching for the door handle, “i’ve really missed you, you know? it’s like it’s all hit me at once,” shrugging your shoulders as if that were just some nonchalant comment he would ever be able to forget.

“i missed you too,” he adds, truly meaning it.

sure, he’d found friendship again but nothing had ever felt quite like you. it was different, and even now after years and years of being in separate states, with no idea that the other was even still alive, it all felt normal.

like you could walk back into that park tomorrow, sit on the swings and just natter away about everything and nothing like you used to.

“goodnight, see you tomorrow?” you smile, sliding through the door, waiting just long enough for his reply.

“of course,” returning the smile.

he hums all the way home, a child-like joy overrunning his senses. he thinks about you when he dreams, of sharing crayons and candy. high-pitched giggles and an unfaltering feeling of love.

it had been weeks of hanging out now, sharing tales from your childhood, robin was still struggling to understand that you were also from hawkins. “you’re just.. it’s crazy, you’re nothing like the usual hawkins dwellers and the fact that you were friends with him? wow..” she had muttered with a swift jab to steve’s arm.

she had had the bright idea of a sleepover, they hadn’t really been able to since moving to chicago, out of respect for their roommates but now her roommate was you, what was stopping them?

“why don’t we push the beds together?” robin blurts out, like a lightbulb had just gone ding on the top of her head.

you nod excitably, going to heave your bed across the room. steve pushes the end of the bed frame, connecting it to robin’s as she stands there doing absolutely nothing to help.

“phew thanks robin, couldn’t have done that without all your help!” steve quips, throwing his best friend a snide smile.

“shut up dingus, my nails are still wet,” as if that made it okay.

you smile at the two of them, stood in your pyjamas that steve had definitely not been gawping at. he doesn’t mean to, he knows it’s not like that. he has a girlfriend for christ’s sake.

that’s what he’s been telling himself anyway.

“you’re in the middle,” robin declares, looking at you, rather than him, “put your cold feet on somebody else for once,” before climbing into her side of the bed.

you slide in next, cuddling up to robin as you do. steve’s next, fashioned in his excuse for pyjamas, namely a chicago university shirt and his boxers. it probably wouldn’t go down well if katie were to find out but he didn’t particularly care.

there’s a joke there, something about sharing a bed with a lesbian and his childhood best friend but he can’t be bothered to think about it.

not when you turn over to face him, all smiles and warm cheeks, he has to remind himself that robin is on the other side of you, mumbling something about not waking her up early.

“goodnight,” you grin, relaxing into the pillow you shared as the light flickers off.

“night,” he replies, pulling his eyes away from your shadowy features, deciding that staring at the fuzzy ceiling was better than being a freak.

you roll over slightly, head falling onto his shoulder making his breathing falter, sworn to this position until you up and moved. it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

he shouldn’t be thinking like this, you’re friends, old friends to be exact. and he has a girlfriend.

except, he awakens in the morning, stiff shoulder and a cricked neck, taking a peek at the other side of the bed to find robin had forced you into him with her sprawling limbs.

you rouse not long after he does, blinking at the light and hurriedly moving your head from his dead arm.

“oh my god,” you remark, “i’m sorry.. was i on you all night?” wriggling around the small space you held.

steve exhales, lifting his arm in the air in an attempt to get some blood flowing back into the extremity, “yup.. it’s okay though,” quickly rolling over to face you, “sleep well?”

“well, apart from robin’s foot in my back.. yeah, pretty well,” chuckling into the pillow as you shy away. he wishes you wouldn’t.

“then it was worth the dead arm,” returning your abnormally bright smile, you were far too chipper for this time in the morning but he didn’t mind. made a difference from the usual grump robin was in, for sure.

“you should sleep over more often,” you smile.

he heart soars, god he’d love to. “oh yeah? like we used to?”

the crinkle by your eye returns, remembering times gone by, “yeah, just like that,” speaking softly, as if it wouldn’t take an industrial alarm to wake robin.

“you wanna go get breakfast?” he asks, before this devolves any further.

“absolutely.”

there’s a knock at the door, tommy doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even make a half assed effort to pretend to care so steve huffs and gets up to answer.

you’re stood on the other side, already smiling as you wait. it’s a welcome sight, without robin he’s been a little stir-crazy, not yet brave enough to venture to your room without her there.

maybe he’s afraid that something would happen, maybe he’s not. he’s not entirely convinced that he’d have the power to stop himself.

“i just came to give you a ticket.. for my exhibition, it’s on saturday so.. if you’re busy i totally get it,” you fret, offering out the ticket to him.

there’s an undetermined feeling in his stomach, looking down at the paper ticket in his pal, warmth rushing to his chest at the fact you’d even considered him.

steve steps out of the room, closing the door behind him, away from tommy and listening ears. tommy and katie were friends somewhat, mostly by association through his girlfriend carol. anyhow, he wasn’t keen on him telling some misconstrued story to carol and then reaping the punishment from that.

“wow..” still starstruck that you had asked him. “i’ll be there.. wouldn’t miss it,” sliding the ticket into his pocket, mostly so he would stop looking like a weirdo for staring at it.

“okay,” you nod, smile up to your ears, “it’s only small..” here you go again, downplaying your talent as if steve would ever care.

“stop it,” he warns, jokingly rolling his eyes, “hey, i’ll walk you back.. i needa get out of that fucking room,” gesturing for you to take the lead.

you chatter all the way across campus, talking about everything and nothing, he wants to ask if that painting of the swingset will be there but doesn’t. letting you blabber on about composition and the asshole gallery manager that wants you to set up at 6am.

its only when you reach your hall that you stop, turning to face him with a genuine smile that makes his heart thud.

“it’d really mean a lot if you came..”

he nods, stepping closer only just, “i will, i’ll be there,” assuring you as much as he could. he meant it, too. there’s really nothing he could think of that would make him not go.

he allows his gaze to slip to your lips, he lets himself do that even though he shouldn’t.

studying the curve, the slight gap between your bottom and top lip, the way they twitch with what he hopes is anticipation.

you’re both inching closer, neither of you acknowledging what’s about to happen. the air is thick, silent even. a knowing sense that you’re either about to ruin everything or become something more.

two doors down, a door swings open, a voice bellowing out, “i’ll catch up!” before a boy speeds out, glancing at the two of you briefly before disappearing.

you clear your throat, averting your gaze, studying the dirtied floor, “okay.. i’ll see you saturday,” coy smile as you unlock the door and potter off inside.

steve stands there, blinking at the wooden frame as if you’d somehow materialise from the other side.

he hightails it back to his room, in some sort of daze as he attempts to reconfigure himself. his relationship and his friendship with you. nothing made sense.

he’s not sure it ever will again.

fuck he wishes robin were here. of course she’s at some stupid family reunion when he needs her most. his next port of call would be you and well.. that didn’t seem particularly helpful.

he errs on calling robin, floating around his room with no purpose. at least tommy was no where to be seen, unsure if he could’ve handled his beady little eyes and snooping questions.

katie would be waiting on him, he always stayed over on thursdays, at least he used to. before you were back i. the picture. before you had completely consumed his mind with your stupid smile and stupid face. both a distant memory and an important part of his current life. it’s fucking dizzying.

it’s not really stupid, he thinks he’s stupid actually.

steve does what he does best and decides to ignore his brain, grabs his keys and storms out of his dorm. he’s grateful that katie’s house is on the opposite side of campus from your building. that way he couldn’t accidentally wind up there instead of where he’s supposed to be.

she welcomes him in, a pink, frilly house that steve had always detested a little bit. it smelt too strongly of vanilla and the other girls always side-eyed him, bitter and judgemental over something he couldn’t figure out.

it’s now that they’re sat on katie’s satin bedsheets that he realises that he really, really doesn’t want to be here.

nevertheless, he swallows it down. putting on false pretences as they fake-watch the shitty rom-com she’d turned on to fill the silence.

“so.. have you got your suit for saturday?” katie asks, playing with his limp hand.

“yeah,” resisting the urge to move his hand away, “sorry- saturday? i thought it was tomorrow?”

katie had asked- or more precisely begged him to escort her to this senior send off ceremony. some bullshit sorority ritual that made zero sense to him.

“uh.. no, always been saturday,” she’s still smiling, still trying, “steve, i told you weeks ago,” her frustrations seeping out of her pores, spilling over onto her features.

“you said friday,” so sure of himself, so sure that she was wrong. how would he forget that?

unless something, or perhaps someone was shrouding his mind.

“well, what plans are more important than your girlfriend’s senior send off?” she asks, all defensive.

he struggles to answer, there’s no way he can really spin it to make it sound less bad, strangled noises drift from his throat as the words fail to form.

“exactly,” katie pouts, crossing her arms over her chest, “you’ll just have to rearrange.”

steve doesn’t stay over, makes up some shoddy excuse about needing to study to get out of it. she’s not happy, obviously, but when is she?

he’s grateful that the campus is quiet as he stalks back to his dorm, thoughts swirling through his brain. everything is so confusing, his cushy little college life had been majorly disrupted and now all of the plans he had made had come crashing down.

there had been conversations about finding a house after graduation, moving in together randomly starting their life and yet, that couldn’t be further than what he wanted.

at least now.

steve finally gives up, turning to the only person he thinks will rationalise his thoughts, robin buckley. who has pulled her grandmother’s phone into the private dining room just for this conversation.

“we nearly kissed,” he spits out, eyeing the group of drunk students passing in the hallway. wouldn’t it be great if it somehow got back to katie through some nosy busybody.

“what? when? why didn’t you call me sooner?” she demands, “why didn’t you kiss? oh my god steve harrington, you’re so useless.”

“uh.. what do you mean why didn’t we kiss? remember my girlfriend? who’d chop my balls off if i ever cheated on her?”

“who cares? nobody likes her anyway,” robin roars right into his ear.

“i’m not gonna even acknowledge that.”

“okay, well, did you want to kiss her?”

steve pauses, perplexing the situation. he doesn’t need to really, of course he wanted to.

“..yeah.”

“well there you go!” she shrieks.

“it felt.. weird, i dunno, i think she wanted to too,” he curls the cord around his finger, “and now katie wants me to go to this senior send-off thing but there’s the exhibition.. i don’t know what to do,” his shoulders slumping.

“wait wait wait, what do you mean it felt weird?” dismissing his dilemma. you know, the thing he had actually called her about.

“well it felt right.”

the line goes silent but he can still hear her faint breathing down the line. she’s thinking, probably attempting to sweeten up her words. but eventually she sighs, “i think you know what to do.”

“but i don’t! rob i really don’t! why do you think i’m calling you at fucking one am?”

she clicks her tongue and steve can picture what smug look she has on her face, it was a signature feature of hers, especially when she’d been able to prove him wrong. “you do. i think you called me because you wanted me to tell you what you want to hear.. but i don’t even need to do that.”

he wails into the receiver, all he’d wanted was a clear cut answer from his best friend. a little advice and maybe some confirmation bias, was that too much to ask for?

“you’re no help,” he scowls, patting his now empty pockets in search of more coins, “i haven’t got any more change.. i’m gonna have to go,” sighing as he’s left on his own with his head once more.

“you’ll do the right thing, steve. i know you and i trust you,” before the line cuts out, the dial tone screams out.

he slams the piece of useless plastic back onto the holder. that wasn’t helpful, rather just some weird, reverse psychology lesson. he feels cheated, his first option of just flipping a coin would’ve been more helpful.

his feet drag along the carpet back to his room, swallowing the guilt and all of the other confusing emotions he seemed to have accumulated.

it’s funny that even though robin hadn’t exactly said anything specific, he’d known what she was talking about. it’s even funnier that as he climbs into bed, all he can think about is you.

steve hangs back, stood at the back while the speech finishes. he doesn’t know what he’s doing here, what he’s supposed to be looking at or talking to, incredibly out of place.

no one pays him any mind, too interested in whatever this balding man has to say.

you don’t spot him either, keeping your eyes trained to the art director. he can tell you’re nervous, picking indiscreetly at your hangnail, chewing on your cheek. you’d never liked, or been particularly good at public speaking, steve was your voice for many years. not that he minded.

there’s lots of chatter, people walking around the small space with their hands behind their back, putting on this facade that they were art snobs and not just weird middle-aged people looking for something to do on a saturday afternoon.

they all sort of disperse, ogling the paintings and such. leaving him stood in the middle of the room like a lemon, wondering if he should just go over to you or wait until this had all finished.

but you meet his eye momentarily, head snapping in his direction when you realise who it is. your lips slowly curve into a smile, ditching the conversation to weave through everyone to him.

“you came,” you state, like there was ever a chance of him not coming.

“i told you i would,” he’s not one to break a promise. ever.

“no i know but, robin mentioned something about your girlfriend, she didn’t know if you were.. forget it,” throwing your hands about, ridding the air of your words.

he’s not exactly surprised that you’d have doubts, not after your almost-kiss the other night. he hadn’t seen you since, too busy with the exhibit to sit and dwell on it, he bets.

steve shakes his head, “nah, i had something more important to do,” full of unbridled exhilaration, it’s like his body knew he had made the right choice.

you flush, avoiding his eyes as you usually do when you’re nervous or embarrassed. “well.. thank you,” shrugging him off. he so wish you wouldn’t.

he decides to just lay it all bare, tired of skirting around the truth and minimising his obviously very real feelings. “this isn’t the right time but,” smoothing down his wrinkled shirt, “i just wanted you to know that i’ve wanted to do this for weeks and.. shit,” he sighs, cupping your cheek and moving in before you can protest.

your lips connect, sending flames through his veins, you’re not expecting it judging by the lack of movement on your part, stood frozen even as he pulls away.

“sorry,” the first thing he says, watching your face as you stand shocked.

he was so sure that his feelings would be reciprocated, had pretty much convinced himself that you were destined to grow grey together but maybe he’d got it all wrong.

his cheeks burn as you just blink, time slows and he wishes that the floorboards would just collapse under him so he could disappear forever.

in lieu of a reply, you smash your faces together again, this time steve’s not quite expecting it, your noses bang against each others. but he doesn’t move, his smile growing against your lips.

there are a collection of muttered oohs from the crowd. it was rather a lot for a saturday morning.

“sorry,” you echo, biting down into your bottom lip, “not the wrong time at all,” your eyes shining through your spindly lashes.

steve bursts into laughter, drawing an even bigger crowd of eyes as he does so. his eyes dart around the vaguely stunned audience, “hey look, find me after.. i’ll be here,” gently pushing you off to go and do whatever the hell it is that artists do at these things.

you nod, all dazed and smiley, immediately falling into conversation about a painting.

he’s only dozing when the door creaks open, too encapsulated by sleep to bother to open his eyes. you’re dead to the world, snoring softly curled into his chest.

a quiet gasp rings out from the door and then just as expected, robin bounds over to your bed, poking his arm that was both underneath your shoulders and hanging off of the bed.

he peeks a look at his slightly deranged best friend, the lamp was just bright enough to showcase her enthusiastic grin, “you did it!” whispering far too loudly, “i knew you’d make the right choice,” buzzing around the room.

she damn near jumps in the air, clicking her heels together like some freak.

steve just closes his eyes again, falling back into sleep with a grin on his face and you between his arms.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic

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corroded-hellfire · 6 months

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As You Wish - Eddie Munson x Reader, Part 7

A collaboration with my partner in crime @munson-blurbs

Summary: Now that the boys know you and Eddie are together, this should make life easier. Right? Unfortunately, there's still Brittany and the court case to deal with. Not to mention, the age gap now bringing some complications to light.

Note: I will never ever get over the lovely things you all say to me about this series. Some comments make me laugh, some make me cry, but every single one of them means the world to me. I can never thank you enough for reading this series.

Warnings: smut, oral, m!receiving, age gap, older!eddie, dad!eddie, breeding kink, Brittany should just come with her own warning at this point

Words: 7.6k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Gray. Gray everywhere: the clouds roll in, dark and stormy, threatening rain. The overcast weather cloaks the atmosphere in dullness, as though it could sense your mood as you and Eddie head towards Brittany’s house—the same one they used to share.

Ryan and Luke are playing at the Harrington’s house; Steve promised to drop them back home in time for bed, though you imagine it’ll be later than that, given his pushover nature. Just a little pout and a pleading, “five more minutes, Uncle Steve?” is all it takes.

Their temporary absence gives you and Eddie the rare opportunity to speak to Brittany alone; something you typically avoid, but you need to have this conversation sooner rather than later.

Eddie debates whether or not he should knock on the door. It was still technically his home by law, though he certainly doesn’t feel like he belongs here. He decides to let himself in, announcing that you’re both present.

“Hello? Brittany? It’s me. Well, it’s us,” he amends, clearing his throat.

Brittany comes down the hallway from the bedroom and it’s the most unkempt you’ve ever seen her. Her usually flawless blonde hair is pulled up into a frizzy, messy bun on the top of her head, and you swear you’ve never seen the woman in a pair of sweatpants before this moment.

As soon as she sees you, she groans and crosses her arms over her chest. “You can’t just send the boys in?” she asks, an inevitable eye roll gracing her annoyingly pretty face.

“The boys aren’t with us,” Eddie says as the two of you fully step inside the house and you close the door behind you.

“Excuse me?” Brittany just stares at the two of you, the look completely blank, not even any confusion behind those dead eyes. Complete indifference.

Eddie sighs, relaying the explanation. “Steve’s going to be dropping them off later,” he says. He subtly nods for you to follow him more inside the house and away from the door. “We need to talk to you. While they’re not here.”

“Why?” Now the venom is back in her scowl, her lip practically quivering and threatening to turn into a snarl. There’s the Brittany you know.

“Just…” Eddie sighs and runs a hand over the top of his head. “Just come sit down.”

You follow Eddie into the kitchen, as does Brittany, no matter how unwittingly it was. The three of you sit at the table and it’s silent; no one knows what to say or wants to be the one to break the tension.

Leave it to Brittany to be the one to speak first, and though you’re less than thrilled to hear her voice, a very small part of you is glad that someone says something.

“Are you going to tell me why I’m sitting here with you and your tramp? Or are we gonna fucking play charades?”

As Eddie’s hands clench into fists on top of the table, you realize Brittany hasn’t looked at you once since you stepped inside. It brings you an odd air of satisfaction and smugness.

Eddie, meanwhile, is fuming at the derogatory term she used on you, and you can tell he’s about to rip his estranged wife a new one, but you’re able to calm him down by taking one of his fists in both of your hands and massaging it and uncurling his fingers until his tension starts to melt. You’re tempted to press a kiss to the back of it, but you both came here for a reason and now that conversation must be had.

“So, uh,” Eddie pauses to clear his throat, “we just wanted to give you a heads up because the boys already know and they’re not exactly tight lipped. Nor should they feel like they have to hide anything from anyone—especially a parent.” He almost said “especially a mom” but he and the boys know she’s never been much of one to begin with.

Brittany’s eyes finally land on you as her gaze flits back and forth between you and your boyfriend.

“What?” She demands. “What’re you giving me a heads up about?”

“Well,” Eddie says, linking his fingers with yours with the hand that you soothed for him. “We’re together. Like, officially. The boys know and they’re pretty over the moon about it.” Eddie didn’t need to add that bit, but he enjoyed saying it nonetheless. Maybe it’s petty, but he wants to show off how happy he is.

Brittany’s arms drop to the table as if they’re suddenly dead weight. “What the fuck, Eddie?” Her gaze is now solely on him again. “The boys know you’re fucking their babysitter?”

“Jesus Christ, Brittany,” Eddie groans, closing his eyes for a moment as he massages his furrowed brow. “No, the boys know that we have feelings for one another and are going out on dates.”

“Are they even old enough to understand that?” Brittany snaps.

“You just asked if we told them that we were fucking,” you say, piping up for the first time in this conversation. “But them knowing we have feelings for each other is too hard for them to comprehend? They’re not babies anymore.”

The glare Brittany gives you could rival that of Medusa.

“Sorry if you missed the fact that they’ve grown up because you were too busy fucking half the town,” Eddie retorts before he can stop himself.

“You can shut your mouth. You’re not their parent,” Brittany says, pointing a freshly manicured finger at you before turning it on Eddie. “And you can eat shit.”

Eddie sees the opportunity presented to him on a silver platter and he knows he has to take it. “It would still taste better than kissing you.”

Heat rises to your face at his words and Brittany looks like she’s about to hurl a chair at him. Eddie just laughs and leans back in his seat. He wraps his arm around the back of yours and you lean in towards his body.

“Is that all you’re here for?” Brittany asks through gritted teeth. “Because you’re free to fucking leave any time you’d like. You know where the door is.”

Eddie looks at you and nods his head. “I think we’re good to go. Ready, babe?”

“Ready,” you affirm, always eager to be out of Brittany’s presence. It’s the same satisfaction you’d get taking a shower after you’ve been covered in caked up mud and dirt.

Brittany doesn’t bother saying anything as she stands up and storms down the hallway. You and Eddie can’t help but share an amused look and a chuckle as you stand up. There had been so many times back when you were just the babysitter that Brittany would say or do something and you’d just want to look at Eddie like, is this bitch for real? Now you know that all along Eddie wanted that too, and now you’re both on the outside looking in at this angry and pathetic woman who’s more trouble than what she’s worth.

As you’re approaching the front door, an annoyed and frustrated groan emanates from the back of the house. Sucks to be you, you think as your hand twists the doorknob. You don’t think there’s ever been a day in your life that you’ve felt sympathy for that woman, and you don’t intend to start any time soon.

“That went better than expected.”

“Better?” you gawp, still reeling from the barrage of insults hurled your way. Nothing less than what you’d expect of her, but still…damn.

Eddie shrugs. “She didn’t cut my dick off, so…yeah.” His eyes soften when he takes in your rigidity. “Baby, are you…she didn’t upset you, did she?”

“I know it’s stupid—” you start with a sigh, but Eddie cuts you off gently.

“It’s not stupid. C’mere.” He pulls you in for a hug as you stand under the yellow porch light shining as best it can in the dreary evening around you. “I love you. My boys love you. And nothing’s gonna change that, okay?”

You don’t fully believe him—which part, you’re not sure, but his promise is enough for now. “Okay.”

You would think it’s the first time you’re looking after kids ever with the way the butterflies are surging through your bloodstream. They left your stomach when you kissed Eddie goodbye this morning and now they’ve hitched a ride to every other part of your body.

Danny and Amelia have been great all day. Amelia is not a fussy baby, though she does want to be held most of the time. And Danny is a very helpful little boy, always showing you where the different things you might need are: extra diapers, toilet paper, batteries for the television remote, snacks, and even where his dad keeps an old baseball bat with nails hammered into it in the garage.

“N’case someone wanna break in,” Danny informed you, as if this bat a state-of-the-art alarm system.

Both kids drift off on the way to pick the older gremlins up from school. It’s just as well since you wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a thing they’d say anyway. Your thumbs beat out an erratic rhythm on the beige leather steering wheel in the Harrington family’s van—left in your care so that you’re able to transport all six kids at once. You’re more jittery than normal, jumping at every horn that’s blared or siren that’s sounded on the short drive down to the elementary school.

Right before you’d left to snag the four older children, Eddie had called you from work. He had been notified of when his first court appearance for the custody case would have to be. Ever since the phone call you’ve been on edge, the idea of Eddie having to make a case that he deserves to have the kids when anyone with half a brain already knows that he should have them full time. The words “court date” just keep replaying on a loop in your brain over and over again.

You’re only waiting in the Hawkins Elementary School pick-up line for ten minutes before the kids all clamor in the van, loud as all hell as they continue whatever conversation it was they were having on the way to the vehicle. They all buckle themselves in and say hi to Amelia and Danny, who are excited to see them now that the ruckus has woken them.

“Everyone all buckled in?” you ask.

“Yeah!” a chorus of children respond.

“All right, here we go.”

When you get back to the Harrington house, it’s time for Amelia to take a nap. You carry the sleepy girl on one hip while you lay out apple slices and pretzels for the older kids on the dining room table. It doesn’t take long for the crunching and chomping to reach your ears as you head down the hall to Amelia’s room.

Once the kids are done eating, it’s time for them to do their homework. They sit at the dining room table all together, after only minimal push back, visible from where you sit on the couch with Danny. You’re hardly paying attention to some new cartoon about a sponge who lives in a pineapple that Danny is watching. Stupid, you think to yourself. This show will never last.

The first one to finish their homework is Natalie, who moseys on over to sit next to you on the arm of the couch. She has shiny light brown hair that looks like it could give Steve’s a run for his money someday, and wide blue eyes just like her mother. The soft-spoken little girl looks like she wants to say something to you but isn’t sure how.

“How was school, Natalie?” you ask, deciding to try and break the ice for her.

“Was good,” she says. She balances on the arm of the couch and pulls the hem of her skirt over her knees, almost like a nervous habit. Only then do you realize she’s only met you those few times for brief play dates and doesn’t really know you.

“I saw when I walked past your room before that you have a PowerPuff Girls poster,” you say. “You like them?”

“Yes!” her face lights up at the question. “Blossom is my favorite.”

“I like the pink one. With the red hair,” you tell her. “What’s her name?”

“That’s Blossom,” Natalie tells you with a giggle.

“Oh, silly me,” you say, scrunching up your nose.

Apparently, this was enough for Natalie to feel like she could open up and talk to you more. You’re glad; you want her to be comfortable with you.

“Ryan told me that you’re his daddy’s girlfriend.”

It’s the last thing you expected her to say, and you almost choke on your own saliva.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I am.” Your face feels warm, and you wonder if the young girl notices at all.

“You love Uncle Eddie?” she asks, eyes shining as if she’s expecting an epic romantic tale.

“I do,” you tell her, a grin lighting up your own face.

“Ryan’s my boyfriend,” she tells you matter-of-factly.

You remember the way Ryan gets quiet and shy around Natalie or even when she’s simply mentioned. The feeling is decidedly mutual it seems.

“Does Ryan know this?” you ask.

Natalie shrugs, seeming unbothered. “If he doesn’t, he will.”

You can’t help but admire the young girl’s confidence.

“Does Uncle Eddie know he’s your boyfriend?” she asks.

“Yes,” you tell her, letting out a small giggle. I may have had my fantasies for a while there, but this time it’s real.

“Are you gonna get married?”

The unexpected question has your eyes bugging out and your throat going dry. “Okay, that’s enough questions,” you sputter, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. “Let’s get some homework done.”

“I am done,” she tells you.

“Then, uh, why don’t we see if any of the boys need some help.”

You breathe a sigh of relief when she skips off to check on Ryan, Luke, and Theo. Talks of marriage must wait another day.

You’re reheating some chicken cutlets on the stove when the doorbell rings, almost silenced by the sounds of oil popping and six children playing nearby in the family room.

It’s a bit early for Nancy or Steve to get home, and they wouldn’t ring the bell, so you have no idea who it could be. It sets you on-edge, especially knowing how many kids you now have to protect.

Hugging a sleeping Mia to your chest, you look through the peephole to see none other than Edward Munson standing on the stoop.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, your excitement quickly turning to frustration when you notice the boxes in his hands. “Is that…?”

Eddie’s too busy short-circuiting at the sight of you holding Mia to pick up on your ire. She looks so perfect holding a baby.

While you’re distracted, Danny and Luke run up to the door. “Uncl’ Eddie brought pizza! Yes!” Danny shouts, and the whole crew erupts into cheers.

“Eddie,” you hiss, trying not to wake Mia, lest you have another child to chase after, “Nancy told me to give them leftovers for dinner.”

“They can have them another time,” Eddie shrugs, “no big deal.”

You shake your head. “Yes, it is,” you insist. “I was given specific instructions to follow, and I’m not about to mess it up on day one.”

Eddie puts the pizza down on the table and rests his hands on your shoulders. “Look at me, okay? It’s just pizza. I’ve known the Harringtons since before they were the Harringtons, and they’re not gonna get mad over this. And if they do, I’ll take full responsibility.”

A tiny smile tugs at your lips despite the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. “You better.”

“Scout’s honor.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and there is a mixture of “aww” and gagging noises coming from the children. “I love you,” he says loud enough for only you to hear.

“You talking to me or Mia?” you ask, giving him a smirk as you cock an eyebrow.

Eddie chuckles and looks down at the sleeping little girl again. Her small back gently rises and falls beneath your hand, the bottom of her dark red downy hair brushing your skin. “Talking to my favorite girl,” he says as he looks back up at you, brown eyes gleaming. “But Little Miss Mia knows how much I love her, too.”

As everyone is finishing up dinner—Mia now happily sitting in the lap of her favorite uncle—the front door opens and both Steve and Nancy step inside.

“Mommy!” Danny calls, already out of his chair and running towards his mom at full speed.

Nancy huffs a laugh and manages to catch him before he can either knock her over or accidentally speed right past her and crash headfirst into a wall.

“Hey,” Steve pouts, resting his hands on his hips. “Mommy’s been going to work every day. Who usually stays home with you? Me! Did you miss me?”

Danny just giggles and hides his face in Nancy’s shirt, having chosen a favorite parent for the evening.

“Hi, Daddy!” Theo calls from the table, waving a tomato-sauce-covered hand high above his head.

“Looks like we missed a pizza party,” Steve says as he walks over to the table. He raises his eyebrows and immediately turns his gaze to Eddie.

You’re slightly nervous that Steve is going to be upset about the pizza and you start to fidget with your hands under the table, already thinking of a way to keep him from getting too angry.

Before you can muster up an explanation, Eddie takes one hand off of Mia and grabs your trembling one to give it a reassuring squeeze. “Stashed the extra pie in my truck so the rugrats didn’t try to sneak a slice,” Eddie tells him with a grin.

“This is why we’re best friends—oh shi-…I mean, sugar. Did I just admit to that out loud?” Steve muses as he turns away from the table to head out to Eddie’s truck.

“Too late,” Eddie calls after him. “It’s already been written down by the stenographer.”

Luke leans in towards you. “What’s a sornographer?” he asks, mouth surrounded by a tomato sauce goatee.

You press your lips together to keep from laughing at his mispronunciation.

“Someone who types all the words people are saying.”

Luke’s eyes widen and he frantically looks around the dining room in search of the mysterious ‘sornographer’. “Where are they?”

This time you can’t hold the giggle in. “Noooo, not here, Luke. Like, in court. With a judge and lawyers and stuff.”

Natalie wipes her hands and face off on a napkin before skipping over to her mother. “Mommy!” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around her.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Nancy gives her a big hug. “How was your day?”

“So good! At school we watched a video with this cute little doggy who was being Sherlock Holmes, and then we came home and had the best time!”

Natalie’s enthusiasm about the time you spent with her this afternoon warms your heart and has the pressure of tears building behind your eyes. She leans into her mom and whispers so no one else can hear, but judging by the way her eyes flit over to Ryan before sliding over to Eddie, you assume she’s telling Nancy about your discussion about boys earlier.

“You’re a silly girl,” Nancy laughs, pressing a kiss to her eldest daughter’s temple.

When Natalie bounds back over to her siblings and friends, you take the opportunity to shyly make your way over to Nancy’s side.

“I’m, um, sorry about the pizza. I know you said to use the—”

Nancy cuts you off with an understanding shake of her head. “Don’t worry about it; I already figured that Beavis or Butthead brought it home.”

“Who’s who?”

She sighs. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

Usually, the routine would be for you to leave the Harrington’s with Ryan and Luke, then take them to whichever parent they’re staying with at the time. But, one, Eddie isn’t in his new apartment yet, and two, Eddie was at the Harrington’s as well tonight, so it becomes a group activity to bring the boys to Brittany’s.

The boys insist on being with you in your car on the ride over, which brings a smile to your face that warms Eddie’s heart. As much as he’d love to spend every available moment with them, having them want to be with you was a very close second.

When you park in front of the familiar one-story house, both boys take turns leaning into the front seat to give you hugs that are so tight you’re wondering when they got so strong.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, guys!” you call through your open car window.

“Bye!” Ryan says, throwing you a wave as he hikes his backpack up.

“Love you!” Luke calls back and it just about stops your heart. You’ve always known that the boys care about you and even adore you, but love? Tears prick the corner of your eyes, and you hope the light from the full moon outside is casting a shadow over your car so you can dab at your eyes with some privacy.

Eddie gets out of his truck and walks over the cracked sidewalk to meet the boys in front of the house. Luke takes Eddie’s hand and even in the darkness of the evening you can see Eddie smile at his youngest. Before they can get to the door, it swings open and reveals Brittany waiting there, arms crossed over a fuzzy white sweater. Her piercing eyes land on the boys, move to Eddie, dart to you sitting in your car, back to the boys, and finally land on Eddie again.

“You don’t have to walk them to the door, you know,” she snaps at her estranged husband immediately, not even taking a moment to acknowledge the kids. “You can stay in the car with your homewrecker.”

Eddie is fuming but he won’t show it in front of the boys. Every little insult she throws your way takes a little chink out of his armor and he’s not sure what he’ll do when that armor eventually leaves him exposed.

Instead, Eddie gets down on one knee on the uneven cobblestone path in front of the door so he can give each of his sons a big bear hug goodbye, silently praying what their mother just said goes over their heads.

“I’ll see you guys soon, okay?” Eddie says, shards of his heart being crushed into dust as the moment he has to leave them here with her approaches.

“I’ll miss you,” Luke says, reaching up and gently running his fingers tips over Eddie’s stubble that’s longer than usual. The way Luke studies his father’s face is almost like he’s committing the smallest details to memory. You wouldn’t be surprised if it’s so the boy could find ways to try and look like Eddie even more than he already does.

“I’ll miss you too, bud,” Eddie says, his glass heart completely shattered now. “But soon I’ll have my apartment and we’ll have all the time in the world to hang out.”

“I love you, Daddy,” Ryan says, a sad smile on his face. Ryan has an easier time understanding the dynamics of what’s going on with the divorce and all, and he’s come to realize that his dad doesn’t want to leave him just as much as Ryan doesn’t want him to go.

“I love you, too. Both of you,” Eddie says as he ruffles up both boys’ hair. He stands up and presses a kiss to the top of both of their heads.

“See ya soon, you funky raccoon,” Eddie says, coming up with the ridiculous rhyme on the spot.

It gets the intended response though, as Luke busts out into giggles and replies, “see ya soon, smelly baboon.”

Eddie gently boops Ryan’s nose before he gives them one last smile and heads back down the walkway. He shoots you a small smile as well, that you acknowledge with a little wave. You wish you were both driving in the same car right now. You’d be able to hold his hand and assure him that everything is going to be alright. Deep down, Eddie knows; it’s just nice to be reminded sometimes.

Eddie climbs back in the truck and starts the engine. Once he pulls out onto the road, you follow behind him and make the drive back to your apartment.

As soon as you get to your place, you and Eddie are all over each other. There was barely any preamble as the pair of you got out of your vehicles and met each other at the entrance. A breathy “hi” barely made it out of your mouth before Eddie’s hands were on your hips and his lips were attacking your neck with fervor as you tried to buzz the two of you into your building.

Mere steps from of the staircase, he starts peeling your jacket off your shoulders while you’re still in the hallway.

“Impatient much?” you tease, going in for another kiss and biting his lip purposefully.

“You tell me.” He guides your hand to where his erection strains against his jeans. Without warning, you give a particularly hard rub over his aching cock, just to hear the satisfying hiss that comes from his lips.

You can’t open the door fast enough; luckily, Jess isn’t home to make a sarcastic comment as you pull him into your room and push him onto your bed.

“All mine,” you murmur as you suck on the skin along his collarbone. He tugs on your thighs to pull you up more, so your pussy is on top of his groin. As you continue to grind on him, you feel him softening beneath you. You frown, but try to hide it by ducking your head.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Nope, all good,” he lies through his teeth. Not well either, but you don’t want to press the issue.

You try to push past it, but he can’t deny that there’s an issue when you unbutton his pants and pull down the waistband to reveal his flaccid penis.

“Eds,” you frown, ignoring the shame overtaking you. You’re on top of your boyfriend and he couldn’t be softer if he tried. You make a mental list of everything you hate about your body before asking, “What’s going on?”

He sucks in a harsh breath. “Christ, I…it’s her, okay?” You don’t have to guess who he’s referring to. “All I wanna do is focus on you, but she makes me so damn mad.”

“S’okay,” you keep your voice soft and kiss just below his earlobe. “We can talk about it later, if you want.” He nods, and you continue, “for now, let me help you relax.”

You slide down until your knees make contact with the thin pink rug you have to cushion you from the hardwood floor beneath. Eager lips trail down the sparse patch of hair on his chest, to his tummy, and down to his cock. “Do you think I didn’t notice the way your eyes nearly popped out of your head when you saw me holding Baby Mia?” You giggle when he freezes up. “Tell me, Eds; what were you thinking about?”

“Was thinkin’,” he swallows thickly, “about our baby.”

“Mm, so just me holding our baby? That’s what got you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head. “N-No, a-also…also thought about getting you pregnant, watching you grow our child…” His dick twitches slightly; you lift it and lick up the underside of his shaft. A seed of pride plants itself in your chest at knowing just what to say to get him feeling excited.

“Keep telling me what you thought about while I make you feel good.” You bring one ball into your mouth and suck lightly, already feeling his length starting to stiffen once more. “Don’t be shy.”

He breathes out slowly. “I want to fill you up every goddamn day and night until it takes, oh, fuck.” His concentration fades in and out as you suck on the head of his cock. “And once I knock you up, you know damn well I won’t be able to keep my hands offa you.”

You hum your acknowledgment, sending vibrations from tip to base.

“Sh-Shit, thinkin’ ‘bout you pregnant and bouncin’ on my cock. Gonna be so perfect.”

Avoiding the temptation to touch yourself, you put one hand on each of his ass cheeks and grab at the flesh, opening your throat to take him deeper. This is all about him right now.

“Gonna keep you pregnant forever. I’ll marry you first, though. Promise.” Heat creeps into your face; he catches the soft smile dancing on your lips before you collect yourself and continue pleasuring him. “You like that? Gonna be my cute little pregnant housewife?”

Your thighs clench together involuntarily, and you quicken your pace. “Fu-uck, baby doll. ‘M close.”

You suck harder, deeper, your nose grazing his pubic hair. Saliva drips down your chin but you can’t be bothered to wipe it away.

“Look at me while I fuck your pretty face,” he orders, and you peer upwards into his lust-blown eyes. “Good girl.”

You cup his balls with one hand and his knees weaken, a string of swears passing his lips as his release coats your tongue and slides down your throat.

He holds out a slightly trembling hand and helps you up off the floor.

“You’re a fuckin’ dream come true.”

A giggle bubbles out of you as he tugs you onto the bed with him and you land on top of his chest.

“I could say the same about you, Mr. Munson.” The slight movement from Eddie’s spent dick beneath you brings a satisfied smirk to your face.

“Jesus, the way you say that drives me crazy,” Eddie admits, still trying to catch his breath.

“I noticed,” you say with a wink.

After both of you have showered, the two of you go into the kitchen looking for a late night snack. The folder Eddie has been keeping all of the documents related to the divorce and custody in is on the table, an unwanted reminder that you’d hadn’t gotten a chance to really discuss it today beyond that brief phone call.

“So, uh,” you say, breaking the ice as you pull a bag of Cheetos from the pantry, “your first court date is set?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a sigh. He slides down into a chair at the kitchen table and you take the one opposite him. “Monday, March 29th.”

He doesn’t offer more information, so you have to do the digging. You hate having to draw information from him like this; you wish he would open up easier. “Did you, o-or rather, did your lawyer tell you what to expect?”

“I’m supposed to have some sort of plan of what I want for the kids,” he shrugs, though his fidgeting fingers tell you that he’s more concerned than he’s letting on. “Like, how I want full custody. But I’m not opposed to Brittany getting visitation rights. I think the judge just kind of wants to hear what both her and I have to say.”

“I imagine she’s going to have a very different plan than you prepared,” you say with a grimace.

Eddie huffs a humorless laugh and rests his head on his propped up fist. “She’ll go for the throat. Use any mistakes I’ve made or bad days I’ve had over the years as an excuse for why they shouldn’t be with me.”

“She’s going to make it brutal,” you say more to yourself than to Eddie. “But I’ll be right by your side the whole time, okay?” You start to reach for his hand, frowning when he looks away. “What?” Did I say something that upset him? Am I handling this right?

“Maybe,” he breathes, carefully considering his words, “maybe you can stay here with the boys?”

His rejection smarts like a slap across the face. He doesn’t want you there. But why?

The obvious answer stares you down: you’re the other woman. The young babysitter who seduced a married man and destroyed his otherwise impeccable relationship, as Brittany will likely paint it.

Shame seeps from your pores; you will yourself to ask him the question burning on your tongue: “Did I do something wrong?”

Eddie can feel his heart break with each word. “Did you—no, it’s just, y’know, don’t want too many cooks in the kitchen.” He inwardly winces at his pathetic excuse, not wanting you to know the truth.

“Right, yeah.” But nothing about this is right; you’re partners—or, at least, you’re supposed to be. If you were in his position, you would love to have him by your side, supporting you. Clearly, he doesn’t feel the same way.

He’s going through a lot, you try and reason with yourself. Maybe a change to a happier subject will lighten the mood. There’s plenty of time before the hearing anyway.

“So, um, my birthday is in a few days.” You lower your voice to a sultry tone, trailing your bare foot up his leg beneath the table. “My friends wanted to take me out and get me wasted for the big 2-1, but I was thinking we should spend it together…in bed…clothing optional?”

Eddie stands up and kisses you, and you think he’s going to accept your offer, but he shakes his head. “Nah, babe. You should go out with your friends. Enjoy your time with them, ya know?”

His head swims with of all of the instances where he’d begged Brittany for cozy nights together when she had wanted to go out with her girlfriends. He doesn’t want you to resent him the way she did.

You’re so young; at your age, he’d go out with his friends, drinking and partying. Is he tying you down? A relationship with a man going through a divorce and who has two kids? At 21 years old? The least he can do is encourage you to have that wild 21st birthday with your friends that you deserve.

“Okay, um, do you wanna come with me? I’d love for you to meet my friends,” you try again, desperate to crack the shell he’s built around himself. You stand and pad closer to him.

Eddie puts his finger under your chin. “Go with your friends, baby. I’ll be around to pick you up if you need a designated driver.”

Tears embarrassingly blur your vision. “Did I do something, Eddie?”

“No, why?” He leans on the countertop, chewing a Cheeto thoughtfully.

“Because…because you don’t want me at the hearing, and you don’t want to celebrate my birthday with me. And if I did something to upset you, I want to fix it.”

He wipes the orange dust on a nearby towel and exhales impatiently. “Babe, I told you. The court stuff is just messy, and I want you to have time with your friends. Don’t read too much into it.”

His nonchalance irritates you. He doesn’t want you around, and he’s playing it off like it’s nothing.

“Jesus, sorry for trying to support you and for wanting to be around you,” you snap, your craving for snacks evaporating as you’re filled with anger. It’s better than the despair that’s threatening to replace it. “I guess I’ll just swing by whenever you need a quickie.”

Eddie winces at your vitriol. “Swing by whenever—what the hell are you talking about? This is more than just sex, we love each other, and you know it.”

You do know it, but you’re too worked up to care about logic. You grab his keys from the countertop. “Go home.” It’s not until the words come out of your mouth that you realize he doesn’t really have a home to go to. The consideration of taking them back flits through your head like a leaf caught in a wind tunnel.

He throws his arms up in the air, defeated. “C’mon, babe. Don’t be like this.”

“Be like what, Eddie? Upset that my boyfriend doesn’t want me around? Frustrated because it shouldn’t be fucking impossible go get you to open up to me? Humiliated because you were soft while I grinded on top of you?!”

“I told you,” he says through gritted teeth, “it was because of all of the shit with—”

“I know; all of the shit with Brittany. I got it.” You roll your eyes. “That’s why I offered to go to court with you, but you said no. So, I guess I’m good enough to use as a distraction, but not—”

“I’m not…I’m not using you. Jesus Christ.” Eddie rakes his hands through his curls. “You wanna be at the hearing with me? Listen to all of the terrible things my ex has to say about me? Be my guest.” His mind goes back to just yesterday at how you were bothered by Brittany’s hostility. It would only be increased tenfold when she’s putting on a performance for the judge.

You’re fuming, hurling words like hand grenades. “After everything we’ve gone through, do you really think I’d take what she says to heart? What, is she gonna complain that you cheated, when she’s screwing half the town?”

Your candor awakens a rage within him. “You know what?” he seethes. “I give up. I spent most of my marriage trying to make my wife spend time with me, and that didn’t work. Now, I’m trying to make sure you have a life outside of our relationship, and that doesn’t work either.”

“I can handle myself!” You bite back. “I know what’s best for me; I’m not a child.”

“Barely.”

The one icy word has tears burning behind your eyes, but you refuse to let them show—it’d only give his insult traction.

“Is that what you think this is, then?” you demand. “Poor, young girl just wants a big strong man to take care of her?”

Eddie looks like he’s about to tear out every last hair on his head. “No! Fuck, why do you keep twisting my words?”

“I have to try and find some meaning behind them when you won’t tell me what you’re really thinking!”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie groans, rubbing his hands down his face. “You want to know what I’m really thinking? I’m thinking that before this moment I didn’t see you as some whiny brat who’s going to scream and stomp her foot when she doesn’t get her way.”

“And now?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

He sputters for a response. “Now I don’t know what to fucking think. You’re more mature than this—or so I thought. But it seems like now you’re having a goddamn tantrum.”

A tantrum. You’re trying to communicate how excluded you feel, and he reduces it to a tantrum. “I just don’t understand! Why don’t you want me with you?”

Eddie paces a few laps in front of you, his hands on his hips. “You want to know? You wanna know fucking why? Because I know the venom Brittany can spit when she’s not even trying to hurt someone. And when she puts her mind to it? The woman channels Satan himself.” He chuckles tersely, shaking his head as though he can’t believe he’s even entertaining this conversation. “I couldn’t give two shits what she says about me in that courtroom. But she’s going to be hurling her malice in your direction as well and there’s no way I can have you hearing that. She’s vicious and ruthless and I want to spare you from that. I don’t want you there with me that day, but it’s not because I don’t want you at my side, it’s because I want to shield you from that and her.”

The rational explanation should calm your anger, but it only fans the flames further.

“I get to make that decision for myself, Eddie. I am a grown ass woman and I get to decide what I can and cannot handle. You don’t get to make those choices for me and then call it protection. That’s not how this is going to work. And what about my fucking birthday, huh? Trying to ‘shield’ me from something there, too?”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to take a calming breath to steady himself—it doesn’t work all that well. “Sweetheart,” he starts, not missing the ice in your glare at his use of the pet name, “I just want you to go out and have a good time with your friends, okay? That’s all! It’s your 21st birthday, for Christ’s sake. You should be going from bar to bar with your friends, getting free shots and dancing and laughing the whole night. And you want to spend that night with me?” Eddie shakes his head incredulously. “We spend every night together right now.”

“But it’s not just an ordinary night,” you shoot back. “It’s my birthday and I should be allowed to say how I want to spend it.”

Eddie is steadily moving from anger to exasperation. He takes a step closer to you and lays his hands on your shoulders, making sure you’re looking at him.

“You are young. This is when you should be partying and drinking and all that shit with your friends.” He’s practically begging you to understand his perspective. “Not coming to some stuffy courtroom with a man who is going through a divorce and fighting for the custody of his kids.”

“But I choose this,” you say. “I choose you.” You jab your index finger into his chest. “I’m more than capable of making decisions for myself, Eddie. I don’t need you telling me what’s best for me. This is my life and I call the shots. And, for the love of God, can you please stop acting like you’re this ancient old man? I know I tease and call you old all the time but you’re thirty-fucking-two! You are young!”

“I just…” Eddie trails off with a sigh. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, though it’s still tinged with anger. “I just don’t want you to end up resenting me because you spent your early twenties being a shoulder for me to cry on when you should be exploring and enjoying life.”

“I am enjoying life, Eddie. With you!” you insist. “This is what I want. It’s my choice and you can’t take my autonomy away from me.”

“And I would never want to,” Eddie says, voice slightly calmer. “I’m just trying to do what I think is best because I love you. That’s all.”

You drum your fingers on the counter, mimicking a heartbeat. “You don’t get to determine that, Eddie.”

Eddie sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. “You’re right.”

There’s a beat of silence before you say, “thank you.” Eddie simply nods in acknowledgment. “So, can I come to the courtroom?” you ask, the slightest bit of hope in your voice.

“I still don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart,” he admits with a sigh.

Heat rises in your body as your temper threatens to engulf you again. Not wanted, not needed. Disposable. Easily discarded.

“And…what about my birthday?” You should shut up, stop asking questions, but you’re desperate for closure.

Eddie sighs again. His eyes look anywhere but at you. “It’s your birthday. You make the call. I just…I wish you’d go out with your friends.”

“Would you come with me?”

“Princess,” Eddie says softly, and you already know his answer. “I’ll just be a downer. You don’t want me there.”

But you do. None of your words seem to break through that thick skull of his though. You were willing to compromise about going out as long as your boyfriend would come with you, but no. Eddie wants this to be an Eddie-less birthday for you for some reason.

“I think I should stay with the Harringtons for a bit,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “I just…I need to think about things.”

Your bottom lip starts to tremble despite yourself. “Think about…us?”

“Yeah,” Eddie starts, backtracking immediately when he sees the panic in your eyes. “No, no, not like that.” He steps forward, as if to comfort you, but stops himself. “Just…about this.” Eddie gestures vaguely to the space around you. “I think we both need some time to calm down and think.”

You nod and wrap your arms around yourself. Part of you knows he’s right, but part of you wants him to stay here so you can work through it together. But it’s been a long day and it’s not the worst idea to have some time for yourself. “O-Okay,” you say in a shaky voice.

Eddie slips into your room and grabs the duffel bag he’s been living out of. “I’ll, uh, talk to you later,” Eddie says. Everything in him wants to lean in and kiss you—even just your cheek, but he restrains himself.

“Okay,” you repeat, unable to conjure up a more eloquent response.

Eddie picks his keys up off the counter and jingles them a few times between his fingers. He wants to speak but doesn’t know what there is to say, so he nods his head and walks out the front door.

You listen as his footsteps disappear down the hall and once you can no longer hear them, the first sob leaves your lips as you slide down to sit on the kitchen floor and just cry.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #AYW #AYWS

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lives-in-midgard · 5 months

Note

Hi! 🩷

I saw this reel yesterday, and I instantly thought of Bucky, especially after everything he's been through as TWS and his recovery! It can be single dad!Bucky, or he's in a relationship, whichever you're more comfortable with, of course.

Thank you so much for agreeing to let me make this request, and I can't wait to see where you'll be taking this! I already know the fluff on this one will be off the charts 🥰

Real Superhero

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky's adopted son goes back to school and gets a homework that surprises Bucky.

Word Count: 1645

A/N: Thank you so much @nicoline1998enilocin for giving me this sweet request! 💖I really like this video and you're right it really fits to Bucky's situation. I really hope you like how this turned out!!

Masterlist

Everyone knows Bucky Barnes as the Winter Soldier. The guy who killed a lot of people and to most of them he is not a real superhero, even though he joined the Avengers and has now helped and saved a lot of people in danger. Bucky fights alongside his best friend Steve Rogers aka Captain America and the other Avengers.

There are a few people for whom Bucky is a hero. For Steve, Bucky will always be a hero, not only because he is now an Avenger, but also because he has been through a lot and has always been there for him, Sam, Natasha, and the other Avengers. And of course, for the people he saved, but there is also one special person in Bucky’s life. For him, Bucky will always be the best and greatest hero of all time, even if Bucky isn’t really sure about that. Even though Bucky sometimes gets on this little guy’s nerves when he doesn’t do his homework or clean his room. I’m talking about Bucky’s adopted son Steven, or Steve as Bucky and everyone usually call him. Which can sometimes be a bit confusing and funny at the compound.

Bucky saved him when he was very little. Bucky and Steve brought him to the Avengers compound and took care of him. Bucky felt responsible for this little boy and decided to adopt him. Because they didn’t know his name, he called him Steven, in honor of Steve and everything they had been through. Bucky took good care of little Steve, and the other Avengers helped him. When Steven got older and had to go to school, Bucky decided to move away from the compound and no longer go on missions. Of course, the Avengers, especially Steve, Sam and also Natasha helped him and came to visit whenever they had time. Sometimes Bucky and little Steve would come to visit his aunts and uncles on the compound.

It was Steve’s first day of school in third grade. Bucky made his lunchbox while his little son ate his cornflakes. When Bucky was finished, he put the lunch box in Steve’s school bag. Then he looked at Steve and noticed that he wasn’t eating much and was really quiet. So, Bucky walked closer to him and knelt in front of his son.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Bud?” Bucky asked.

“I’m so nervous, daddy.”

“Oh, Stevie, you don’t have to. Remember you will see all your friends again.” That brought a smile to Steve’s face.

“You ’re right, dad. I can’t wait to see them again.” He said with excitement and made Bucky happy as well. Steve jumped up from the chair and hugged his dad. Bucky smiled to himself and hugged his son tightly.

“But now it’s time to go to school, buddy.”

“Can we call Uncle Steve and Aunt Nat later?” Bucky had to chuckle.

“Of course, we can.” Bucky said and then they made their way to the car. They drove to school and when they arrived, Bucky wanted to go with him to Steve’s classroom, but his son insisted on going alone. After a brief argument, Bucky agreed and knelt down to hug Steven and kissed his forehead. As his son walked away, he turned back to wave at his father. Bucky waved back with a smile and once he knew that his kid was save at school, he went back to his car and drove home.

When Bucky had to pick up his son from school, he waited outside with some other parents. After a few minutes the children came running out and he immediately looked for his son. When he saw Steve running towards him, Bucky started to smile.

“Hey, how was your day, buddy?” Bucky asked as his son stopped in front of him.

“It was so cool. All my friends were here, and we have a new teacher.” He blurted out in excitement.

“I’m so happy for you. How is your new teacher?”

“She is so cool!”

“She?”

“Yeah, Miss Y/L/N (Your last name), she even brought her dog with her.” Steve said and made Bucky curious to meet his new teacher.

Days passed and Steven always told his father a few stories about you and what a cool teacher you were. Bucky was getting more and more excited to meet you. What Bucky didn’t know was that his son also told you about him and what a great father he is. That Bucky saved him and is the best father. You always had to smile when Steven walked up to you and wanted to tell you another story about his wonderful dad. You couldn’t wait to meet Mr. Barnes.

It had been a few weeks since school started when Bucky was waiting outside the school again. He looked over at the small playground and saw a beautiful young woman standing there. He looked around and then saw his son playing there with his friends. This must be miss Y/L/N, his son’s new teacher. Bucky was stunned about how beautiful you looked.

A few minutes later his son and all the other kids came out and Bucky saw you looking over at the kids. For a second your eyes met Bucky’s and you both smiled at each other.

During the drive home, Steven told his dad about his day. When they got home, they had dinner and Steve started doing his homework. Bucky couldn’t stop thinking of you and your beautiful smile and even caught himself smiling of the thought of being the one making you smile or even laugh. After a while Steven came into the kitchen where Bucky was cleaning up the dishes.

“Daddy?” He said and Bucky immediately turned around.

“Yes, buddy?”

“Can I call Auntie Nat; I need some help with my homework?” He asked nervously.

“Sure, you can, but what’s the homework, maybe I can help as well.”

“Well…umm, we have to dress up as our favorite superhero and make a short presentation.” His son told him.

“And you want Aunt Nat’s help?” His son nodded, Bucky smiled and pulled out his phone to call Natasha. It only took a few seconds for Natasha to pick up.

“Hey Tasha, I have someone here who wants to talk to you.” Bucky said and handed the phone to his son. Natasha’s face lights up.

“It’s my favorite Steve.” She said and made them both chuckle. Natasha agreed to pick Steve up and go shopping with him.

After a few hours they came back, and Natasha had to say goodbye. Steve immediately went to his room get dressed. Bucky was curious to see which superhero his son chose. He probably chose Spiderman, Captain America, or maybe Iron Man? Bucky thought.

“I’m not looking. Are you almost ready?” Bucky asked as he knocked on the door to his son’s room.

“Yes” His son answered.

“Do you need any help?”

“No”

“Okay” Bucky said and suddenly his son walked out of his room. Bucky was confused because his son was wearing normal clothes. Well, they almost looked like something Bucky would wear.

“Wow. That is definitely not Spider Man!” Bucky said.

“He’s not a real superhero.”

“He’s not? Okay I give up. Who are you supposed to be?” Bucky asked confused but also curious.

“I’m you daddy.” His little son said. Bucky began to smile, and Steve smiled back at him. Bucky walked over to his son, knelt down and hugged him tightly. Bucky was so lucky to have him.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to expect when he picked Steve up from school the next day. But it definitely wasn’t like he was finally going to talk to you. His son came over and told him about his day when suddenly Bucky saw you walking towards him, and Bucky started to get nervous.

“Hello Mr. Barnes.” You nervously greeted him.

“Hello, miss Y/L/N. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Only if you call me Y/N.” You said but began to blush a little while Steve chuckled.

“Steve, how about you go to the playground and join your friends? I would like to talk to your dad.”

“Okay.” He said and you both watched as he ran to his friends.

“Oh, no what did he do?” Bucky asked and you had to chuckle and then smiled at Bucky.

“I can assure you, Bucky, he didn’t do anything wrong.” When you said his name, Bucky smiled.

“Actually; I wanted to compliment you on your son. He’s such a great student, always helps people and his presentation about you today was also very good.”

“He really did it about me?”

“He did, and your son is right, you really are a real superhero and one of the greatest.” You confessed, but Bucky began to get shy.

“You really believe that?” He asked.

“Of course, I do.”

“Thank you, Y/N, it means a lot to me to hear that.”

“Of course.” You said but didn’t know what else to say. But you didn’t want to leave him either. Bucky felt the same way, so he had to do something before his son came back.

“I’m not sure if this is okay, but I would really like to meet you again.”

“I would like to meet you again too, so yeah that’s okay.”

“Okay. I can give you my phone number, so you can text me whenever you have time.” Bucky said and you nodded. You handed him your phone and Bucky tipped in his number. He smiled when he handed it back to you. You said goodbye and walked away with a big smile. When Steve ran back to Bucky, you heard him say to Bucky:

“Do you like her, daddy?”

“Yeah, I really like her.” Bucky said and you had to smile because you really like him too and can’t wait to see him again.

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luveline · 7 months

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i’ve been re-reading some of the kbd au and was wondering if u would be up to writing a little kbd blurb wherein steve’s being all flirty and silly with reader? idk what it is but flirty kbd!steve specifically rips my heart open he’s so cute when he’s trying to charm r make r laugh <3 thank u as always mwah

thank you my love!! ♡ kbd au

Bethie brings a drink with her as she enters the living room. Steve a few steps behind her, your husband leans in the doorway and winces with every drop she spills on the floor.

The cup is half full when it reaches you, but it is for you. "Here, mom."

"Thank you," you say, tone enthused with bubbly affection. Bethie looks like you rather than Steve, and her smile is a mirror.

"Daddy says, uhm…" She looks over her shoulder at Steve. He nods encouragingly. She turns back. "Dad says to tell you that it's from a man at the bar. Because you look beautiful."

You sniff at the drink, take an experimental sip. It's Steve's version of a virgin margarita, lemonade, orange juice and a spritz of fresh lime juice. "Ooh, so yummy. You want to try?"

Bethie wrinkles her nose. "Will I like it?"

Probably not. "I'm not sure, but it's got bubbles?"

Bethie shakes her head. You don't take it personally, scooping your second eldest up to sit on your thigh. She's not heavy. It's actually really nice when she leans back and uses your tummy as a chair, to be loved like this.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. "Come here often?" he asks with a wink.

"Only every day, handsome."

"Handsome? You're two timing the poor dolt stupid enough to buy you a drink, you know."

"Poor dolt should've used his eyes." You gesture to either side of you, where Avery, the eldest, sits to your left and Dove, the youngest, lounges at your right. "I'm clearly taken."

"Can't blame a guy for trying. I mean," —Steve whistles, looking you up and down, but he can't commit to his skit, and he cracks a smile— "hot damn, look at you."

"Come here," you say.

Steve's smile turns smug. He dodges the small margarita puddles on the way and leans down to kiss you, his hands on your face, a spritely peck that turns to kisses all over your left cheek. "Was the drink okay?" he asks, rubbing at your cheek with his thumb when he's done.

You meet his eyes. Sugary brown, little flecks of honey crushed as his pupil grows bigger the longer he looks at you. "It's nice. I like your margaritas more than the store bought. Thank you, honey."

"Oh," he hums, kissing you again. "You're welcome."

"Daddy," Dove says simply.

Steve knows what she wants, he can read their wants and needs from less, scooping her up to perch on the end of the couch. She can still fit into the curve of one arm if she tries.

"Let me guess, you wanted a margarita," Steve teases, sliding a hand under her shirt to tickle her tummy.

She laughs but ultimately protests, waiting for Steve to kiss her. He noses at her forehead, kissing her temple softly. "Better?" he asks.

She settles in his arms and turns back to the TV, content.

"See? You're not the only one in high demand."

You sit back and beg him with your eyes to do the same. Steve does so immediately, shoulder to shoulder with you, pressing the tip of his nose to your cheek. Bethie wriggles in your arms and Avery asks about dinner, but for a few silly seconds, it's just you and Steve.

"Love you. You look really, really pretty today. I had to tell you," Steve says.

You reach out to squeeze Avery's hand to show you've heard her question. "I love you too, Stevie. Thank you." You make me feel really, really pretty.

Especially when he says it like that. Three kids and he acts as though you're pretty enough for an urgent telling. Steve would tell you you're even prettier than the day he met you, and he's consistent enough that you genuinely believe it. He's your number one fan, and you're his.

"Takeout?" you ask.

Steve's eyes glow with love. "Did I mention that you're beautiful?"

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bangaveragewhitewine · 7 months

Text

soft slow, morning glow

Steve Harrington x Reader

A prosaic peek at Steve Harrington’s inability to sleep in and stay in bed and his reasons for changing his ways.

October 1997; a cosy easy morning, where kisses are shared and ABBA songs are sung as a lullaby.

Word count: 4.3K

Content/Warnings: TW for talk of bleeding during pregnancy, borderline neglectful parents.

Mention of sex (18+), not explicit. This contains dad!Steve & mom! reader toward the end; pregnant reader. Kinda rambling. Very soft. Low angst (but not none).

Note: Thank you to my ST rewatch for making me fall for Steve all over again.

Proofread by @specialagentmonkey | Divider by @silkholland

Steve Harrington was always an early riser.

As a honey-haired little boy, he spent Saturday mornings on the sofa watching cartoons with the volume dialled low as his parents slept. He knew not to make a mess with the cereal, or the milk, rewarded with a stack of pancakes or a new toy for keeping himself amused as Richard and Katherine Harrington slept off the previous evening’s dinner party hangover.

Always the first awake at sleepovers, he would wait with bated breath for Tommy to stir or feign a sneeze to wake him.

He never had to be dragged from bed to go to school during the week, always up and at ‘em to go see his friends, play tag and swap baseball cards on the playground.

As a sporty and popular teenager, he started running when he didn’t have early swim practice or basketball. Steve rose with the sun and waved to his neighbours politely as his shiny sneakers slapped the pavements of Loch Nora.

He was never sure what he was running from, or towards, but the burn of chilly morning air in his lungs made him feel alive.

When he started going to house parties and hangouts on Saturday nights, his Sundays still started early, dragged to show face at his parent’s church. It was less about faith and god and all about appearances. He snuck out of bedroom windows, hopped white picket fences as the sun rose, fought hangovers as the priest’s voice droned and caught the eyes of pretty girls from the convent school a town over - they always blushed when he smiled at them or dropped them a sly little wink as the collection plate was passed around.

When his parents started travelling more, after the shortlived re-commitment to the church, Steve’s Sunday morning hangovers were kept at bay with cold swims in the pool or hot coffee and loud music in the kitchen as he tried and failed to focus on homework.

Steve started working right out of school as punishment for unsubmitted college applications and lower-than-predicted grades. He volunteered for the opening shifts in Scoops Ahoy and Family Video - he liked the responsibility and having a purpose, having an excuse to be out of the house before his parents could tutt and fuss and lecture him. It was easier when they weren’t there; when the office in Indy needed Richard’s attention more than his wife and son did, when Katherine spotted smears of lipstick on his collars again and insisted she spend some time with him in the city apartment.

In their absence, the Harrington house was a mausoleum of failure that Steve couldn’t bear to be in. So he raised his hand for early delivery shifts and stock takes and drove his friends to school when he didn’t have to, already awake after another night of nightmares, memories of flying fists.

Steve Harrington rose early and burned bright; burned out quickly when he realised he didn’t know what to do with himself or what his purpose was.

He filled his time with making himself useful to other people, chasing and seeking a purpose or a person to fill the gaps and spaces in his chest; the hollows once reserved for the people who didn’t return the outpouring of love he offered so freely, so innocently. He found and made a rag-bag bunch of friends, a found family, who returned the love he deserved in the ways they knew how. Woven and knotted friendship bracelets, squished candy bars, mixtapes, weed sold and rolled at buddy rates or for nothing at all.

Steve Harrington moved to the city with his best friends; a Beemer and a battered van filled with boxes and suitcases. The early morning drive made Steve Harrington glow golden in the rising sun, his excited eyes hidden behind dark-tinted sunglasses as Robin Buckley snored in the passenger seat and Eddie Munson listened to metal at an ear-bleeding volume in his van and flipped Steve off with that big grin in the rearview mirror. They stopped for strong coffee and sweet pancakes and started a new chapter in the city.

When you fell in love with Steve in 1990, he found a reason to stay in bed a little longer. A reason to slow down, soak up the sunshine glow you shone on him.

You spent Saturday nights with friends, a patchwork group cheering on Corroded Coffin and selling T-shirts and tapes at a merch table when they scored a bigger venue and a bigger crowd. Movie nights and takeout Chinese food and a stack of new and old movies from Blockbuster. Date nights at swanky bars and restaurants, with flickering candles and pizza on the way home because you didn’t want the night to end yet. You spent hours in bed together, night and morning, talking about everything under the rising sun and dwindling moon, learning about each other’s life and mapping each other’s body with kisses and gentle touches.

In the morning he gazed at your sleepy softness and took his own pulse to make sure he wasn’t dying. No heart attack, just falling in love.

He brought you cups of coffee and sweet pastries from the bakery a block away when his limbs felt restless. He always got back into bed with you to cuddle and while away the morning without a moment wasted. With Steve, those mornings were syrupy slow; he worshipped you between your thighs and held your hands as the headboard bashed against the wall.

You became Mrs. Steve Harrington in the spring of ‘94.

A small wedding. A big party for your friends. A honeymoon week where every morning felt like a perfect lazy Saturday.

When Steve found his reason to stay in bed, together you created a reason that kept you from it.

Bethany Rose Harrington. Born June 21st 1995.

Beth had her Daddy’s eyes and her Mama’s nose, and the sweetest little dimples in her smiley pink cheeks. She was her Daddy’s little doughnut, her Mama’s little bee. She inherited Steve’s charm and wrapped her extensive collection of doting uncles and aunts right around her tiny finger. She took after you in the way that Steve was completely and utterly in love with her.

Just like her Dad, Beth liked to start the day early. After a few weeks of seeking out and settling into a routine, Steve spent the earliest part of the day feeding his little Bethie her bottle of milk in the cosy armchair nestled in the corner of her pale yellow nursery. As he watched her big brown eyes gaze and blink, felt her tiny fist wrap around his finger, Steve decided that these were the happiest mornings of his life.

On those soft and slow mornings, you could hear Steve’s low murmur to your little girl through the baby monitor when his excitement to see her gummy smile or stop her sad fat tears bypassed the off-switch. You fell back asleep to the sound of Steve telling Beth about how the Cubs and the Bulls (their teams now) were doing this season, or about the walk in the park you were going to go on once ‘beautiful mama’ was awake. He sang to her; never typical lullabies, Queen and ABBA and Dusty Springfield.

Steve basked in the joy of her little smiles, soaked in the soft cooing noises as Beth found her voice to talk back to her Daddy. When she fell asleep again, milk-drunk with her cheek against his heartbeat, Steve watched the morning sky shift and brighten and listened out for the sound of your waking time. The soft thud and shuffle from bed to bathroom, running water, your yawn and stretch, the gentle steps to seek and find him and your little treasure. You filled reams of camera film, documenting Steve as a Dad, your little girl's first weeks and months. Lit by morning light, by afternoon sun and the shade of the tree in your yard, and dusky nighttime lit by nightlights.

When your laundry list of chores allowed it, you took one of your three options on those mornings of parenthood - take turns to bask in the warmth of lavender and milk-scented baby cuddles while the other showered; bring the sleeping beauty back to your bed to gaze at the ten fingers and ten toes you had created together; or leave the sleepy and full-tummied grub to sleep in her crib again to spend the slow dawn hours holding each other and trading kisses, and knotting yourselves up in the sheets together once the doctor gave you the all-clear and a prescription for birth control.

You did plenty of all three.

Summer turned to Autumn, then Winter, and Steve balanced being a father and husband with keeping a roof over your heads and the final year of his programme to get his qualification to become a guidance counsellor. His mornings with Beth were part of his routine, leaving her smiling and drooly for you when he kissed his girls goodbye. Missing him during full days of supervised sessions and hours in the college library when he wasn’t in classes bonded you and Beth, thick as thieves and lovestruck for the golden Harrington boy-turned-man. You made sure that he never missed a moment with how many pictures you took, and Beth saved all of her firsts for when he was home. You coached her to say ‘dada’ in Steve’s absence and he sobbed happy tears when she parroted it back. (He had been coaching her to say ‘mama’ during their early mornings together).

Your late nights of talking turned to early-to-bed nights, sleeping when the baby slept and when your little home was some semblance of clean and tidy. Steve fell asleep to the sound of Bethie’s breath on the monitor, your heart under his cheek and the soft stroke of your fingers in his hair, along the length of his arm.

Both of you were exhausted. Neither of you had ever been happier.

When he graduated in the Summer, you and Beth cheered and clapped for your golden boy along with his best friends - the loudest bunch in the college auditorium. A picture of the Harrington trio - Steve in his shirt and tie and graduation gown balancing a smiley baby and his degree as you kiss his cheek and tickle Beth’s tummy for the camera - was placed with pride on his desk when he started a counsellor job that landed in his lap in the late summer of ‘96. He coached basketball two afternoons a week on the side; it was perfect for him.

You go back to work part-time and you balance taking care of Beth and each other with the utmost care. With help from your family and Steve’s trust fund from the Harrington’s, you make it work. You are what he holds dear, pride of place in the centre of his chest, once vacant and hollow. The gaping space he yearned to fill with the wrong friends, the wrong girls, watery beer and too many cigarettes.

By the Fall of ‘97, Steve had learned to sleep again. Sleep when the baby sleeps. Enjoy your days off. Enjoy every moment. He is. He’s so tired but never happier.

This morning, you wake first.

Your little house in the Chicago suburbs is bathed in autumn darkness on a lazy Saturday. Six a.m. and Steve snores peacefully.

Beth is silent, dreaming of her two favourite things: fairies and pancakes. That top five list favourites is rounded out by her Daddy and Mama and Mrs. Murphy’s orange cat that visits the backyard.

The littlest Harrington is an early bird too, twirling in your tummy beneath Steve’s protective hand. Until Steve can take the morning shift, you are the early riser.

Beth is your sleepy little dreamer, she loves her bed like her Mama. She sneaks in between you and Steve (and the bump now too) when she wakes too early; you spend those mornings gazing and counting fingers and toes again like when she was a tiny thing.

This baby however seems to take after her father’s love of sport, the way she practices the aim and strength of her kicks on your bladder. You don’t officially know yet (they were less than cooperative at the last ultrasound), but you know it’s a girl. Steve swayed to boy for a day or two before realising you were right. Maybe next time…

The flush and sigh-groan from your aching back pulls Steve from sleep. When you pad back in from the little bathroom, he’s just about upright and wild-haired.

“Y’okay?” Eyes swollen with sleep, he reaches blindly for you to help you back into the cosy nest of blankets.

“Mm, needed to pee.”

You try to keep your cold feet away but Steve sandwiches them between his own size fourteen and always warm feet. His lips brush your shoulder and the back of your neck when you settle into a comfortable position; Bump dictates what will suffice as ‘comfortable’ and settles under her father’s comforting hand. Harrington’s magic touch is famed in your home; settling gassy babies and working out knotted shoulders, fixing leaky faucets and carrying all of the groceries inside in two heavy handfuls, making shadow-puppet shows on the bedroom wall and holding back your hair when you’re not well.

Slowly, small-spooned by Steve’s bigger body, you drift again. Sleep comes and goes like an inconsistent tide, and you are anchored safely in his arms. Baby names ebb and flow into your tired head and you wish Steve was awake to tell you what he thought of ‘Heather’ or ‘Ava’. Whether your (very slow) re-read of Little Women was influencing you too much to ‘Josie’. You wonder about how much candy you should get for the trick-or-treaters, and whether Beth will be too scared to help you answer the door to them this year.

You wish he was awake - because you always wish your every waking moment was spent with Steve Harrington - but you’re so glad he is sleeping soundly, snoring sweetly behind you. You wish you could take more responsibility, take the pressure he puts on his own shoulders from him, but this pregnancy is less easy than the first and you hate that you can’t do it all anymore. You take solace in the fact that Steve is asleep, not awake worrying or nesting.

Turning in his sleepy hold, you place his hand back on the bump to keep the littlest Harrington settled and content, and watch your handsome husband look like the teenager you wish you had known. You map the laughter lines instead of the ones etched by worry, counting the happy memories (which are insurmountable) as you fall back to sleep with him at last.

Sleeping Beauty herself slumbers on until almost 8 a.m., meaning that both you and Steve sleep until almost 8 a.m. too - later on you will toast coffee (decaf for you) over that parent win. For the next few months, the weekends mean Steve will be hitting snooze on his body clock when the chances arise.

This morning Beth’s little voice sings his name down the hall. Steve wakes with a smile and kisses your sleepy face as you stretch and peel your eyes open.

“You’re up, Coach.” Your voice is a tired yawn, mumbled into the fluffy duvet Steve untangles himself from.

“Bring her in for cuddles please.” You pout for a tired kiss and hum happily when he grants your wish.

Steve’s ankles crack as he walks from your room to Beth’s. She’s wide awake and wild-haired, matching her Dad, and she sits up in her bed with her bunny-teddy clutched in her fist.

“Hi bumblebee,” he gasps, his tiredness swept away by his genuine joy to see her. Steve lays down on her too-small-for-him baby bed and pretends to get comfy to sleep again. “Sleepover?” he asks, opening his arm for her.

“Nooooo, yo’bed!” Her sweet voice crackles with sleepiness and the remnants of a cold she picked up as the seasons changed.

In the warmth of your bed, you can hear the mini-eye-roll she’s giving her Dad as he plays up to her dramatics. Uncle Dustin has a lot to answer for.

“Bethie,” you call from your nest, “I miss you.”

Steve watches with barely restrained amusement as her face beams bright like sunshine before leaving him in the lurch to seek out Mama. “Hey! What about me?!”

You can hear his grumbling as he hauls himself up from the tiny toddler bed but your focus is the bundle of sunshine that bounds her way to your room in her sky-blue jammies. Pushing messy hair from her face, she squeaks happily as you lift her before Steve can beat you to it. You didn’t want another moment apart from your girl and she burrows against your chest under the toasty-warm duvet.

“Morning Betty Boop.” You press kisses to her smiling face and hear Steve stomp and flop back into the room and into the bed.

“Is Daddy not invited to this love-in? Just for Mama and Beth?” he asks, scowling at your smushed-together faces.

You cuddle Beth and stroke her back as the girl shifts her impish gaze to Steve. “What do you think, Betty? Kisses for Dada?”

She can never ever resist him and reach-grabs out to be gathered in his big strong arms for kisses and cuddles.

Steve lights up, features relaxing from his feigned annoyance, as he gives and receives morning kisses. You are gathered up alongside the titch of a girl and with her help, you smother kisses all over Steve’s happy face.

“Never ever not invited to the love-in, my love.” You kiss his shadowed jaw once and tuck yourself under his arm.

“Kiss d’baby?” Beth’s messy head pops up and looks at you hopefully.

“You wanna say good morning to Baby?” Steve asks, and she nods. “Mama?”

“I think she’s asleep, but I bet she’ll wake up when she hears Big Sis and Dada.” Beneath the pitched tent of the duvet, you lift Steve’s t-shirt and present the rounded bump for inclusion in the morning love-in.

Beth has been immensely eager to meet her baby since she took notice of your bump and realised the new baby was actually in there.

The little girl’s pillow-soft cheek rests against the curve as she hugs around your middle. “Moh’nin, baby.” Her little voice is still a little stuffed up, nasal.

Your heart and tears swell as you watch her with Steve, who kisses the bump and murmurs hello. You’re at that point of pregnancy where you could cry when the wind changes and you cover your eyes so Beth won’t go out in sympathy-tears with you.

Steve’s big hand squeezes your hand as he distracts Beth, who babbles in toddler talk to her sibling. His eyes are wide and worried as he looks up and sees the hitch of your chest. He’s had that worried look since you bled at ten weeks and the doctor put you on bed rest, just three weeks into actually knowing you were pregnant. Everything has settled bar your hormones and emotions; two perfect heartbeats, an active healthy baby, a happy but tired Mom. Steve is more scared now than he was with Beth but pretends to be brave for you.

You swipe at your hot tears, dry your hand in your t-shirt before reaching down to stroke through Steve’s thick hair.

“M’okay.” You give him a watery smile. “She’s just… so sweet, Stevie.”

Moving up to lie along your side, Steve wipes your cheek and presses a kiss to the trail of the tears left behind. “Sweetest. Sweet Bee. Feelin’ okay?”

His hand stays on top of your bump and then passes over Bethany’s bedhead when she looks up curiously.

Seeing that she is missing out, Beth decides she has had enough and wants to cuddle with you instead of the baby who won’t kick back hello. She wiggles up to lie on Steve’s chest, little fingers poking into the freckles and moles as he pulls the duvet back around you all like a cosy cocoon.

“Feeling good. You okay?”

Steve has tucked away his worry again, but you still see the pinch in his brow - though the curious little fingers might be the reason for that.

“Peachy.” He chases the poking fingers with a growling kiss, pulling a shrieking giggle from Beth. “Hello, can I help you? Why are we poking Daddy this morning, huh?”

You giggle with Beth and kiss where her fingers had pressed, modelling the gentle sweetness you know she possesses in multitudes. “Poor Daddy. See, Betty? Gentle kissies.” A kiss is snuck onto his mouth for good measure.

“Daddy,” Beth sing-songs, patting his cheek lovingly.

“Bethie,” Steve sings back to her, echoing her melody. He accepts a wet baby-kiss as you curl close to them both.

You twirl a finger in the messy wave of her hair. “What will we do today? Do you want to get some library books? Or we could… go to the park?”

Steve pats her back gently. “Oh wow. All the possibilities, huh?” His lips press to Beth’s forehead as she cuddles up to him, her fingers distracted by the gold chain he wears around his neck. “Gentle, please.” He kisses her head again and looks at you. “We can do both… Go get a t-r-e-a-t?”

You smile and nod, covering Steve’s hand on Beth’s small back. “I like t-r-e-a-ts. What do you want to do, big guy?”

Steve’s fingers slot with yours. His lips brush your head as you share his pillow - the firm one to help with his neck pain. “Just be with you two. Could stay right here all day and I’d be the happiest guy.”

You press your nose against his cheek and close your eyes; you’re both surrounded by your favourite people, it is utter bliss.

“I love you.” Your voice is soft and tired against his stubbly jaw.

“Love you. So much, babe.”

Steve tilts his head so you can share a morning-breath-be-damned kiss. He wishes he had woke up sooner, before the wide-eyed toddler, so that he could have showered you with kisses, made out like teenagers (despite the baby bump between you).

“No! Me!” The frustrated little whine makes you smile apologetically to each other, chancing one more peck before you both look to scowling Beth.

“Sorry, Bee. Mama’s too delicious for me to resist.”

“Steve!” you tuck your face in his neck as you laugh, an affectionate headbutt.

“What? The kid’s gotta know.”

The two-year-old smushes her face to her Dad’s chest, still too little to comprehend her Dad’s silly banter when she just wants to be the centre of both of your attention. You have a few months left to figure that out before the baby arrives, but it scares you that she might feel like she’s not the best thing that ever happened you (bar her Dad, of course).

Your pout matches hers and you push back the stinging Mom Guilt Tears. She is only coaxed away with sweet little cheek-kisses from you as you hum-sing Take a Chance on Me (accompanied by Steve’s tapping fingers on her back ‘take a chance, take a chance, take a, take a chance-chance.)

The girl's smile splits her frustrated face, a quiet giggle as she is serenaded by her current favourite song (you have just got I Was Made For Lovin’ You out of your head after Steve had introduced her to KISS in the car). Her little arm hooks around your head as you whisper how much you love her, soft voice tickling her ear and cheek.

Beth’s laughter coaxes a fluttering kick against your belly, which Steve feels against his side as you spoon against him. He wears the same wide-eyed joy on his face every time he has felt your babies kick.

“Oo, she’s awake again. Finally joining the party.” You rest your hand against the side of your rounded belly and telepathically tell the tiny one how much you love them too, how you can’t wait to meet them but please stay in there until they’re fully cooked and ready.

Steve’s free hand - the one not keeping Beth upright as she sits up on his torso - joins yours and echoes your telepathic communication to the littlest Harrington - I love you, I can’t wait to hold you, please stay safe in there and be nice to your Mom.

His wide palm on your bump settles the fluttering before she aims her kick right against it Hi Dad! Okay, Dad!

You share a secret little smile with him and kiss his cheek as his eyes shimmer before rolling onto your achy back, feeling the satisfaction of the pop and crack as your spine relaxes against the mattress. Steve’s hand stays on your belly, and you hug his arm to your chest, as Beth sings her toddler-babble version of an ABBA mashup for you both from her throne.

Steve’s face hurts from smiling as he listens to her, hears some semblance of the lyrics in Beth-speak. He doesn’t remember mornings like this with his parents, few and far between were the times he was even allowed to cuddle with them in bed on a weekend morning.

You glance at his face, watching shifting emotions come and go as he remembers, tries to forget and focuses on the memories being made right now in your cosy nest of a bed. You squeeze his arm and hold his hand on your belly - matching gold wedding rings clicking against each other as your fingers intertwine.

Steve squeezes your hand, three pulses. There is simply nowhere he would rather be.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington character study #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington x f!reader #prosaic fic #bangaveragefics

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rosewaterandivy · 7 months

Text

petrichor

a continuation of sugar & mint

summary: a summer friday feat. long lie-ins, a doting husband, and something unexpected

pairing: dad!steve x mom!reader

W.C.: 2390 K

warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, smoking, cursing, pregnancy mention, my usual brand of filth (unprotected p-i-v, oral - m & f receiving, come eating)

a/n: disclaimer, i'm not a mom (unless you count my two pets)!! i am but a simple god mom to some feral babies, whom i adore. if pregnancy or mom!reader is not your vibe, i completely get it - i just couldn't get the thought of these two out of my head 🥹

🎵🎵 Oh, woe-oh-woah is me, the first time that you touched me 🎵🎵

pet·ri·chor /ˈpetrīˌkôr/ (noun)

definition: a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

Waking to the sound of rain falling steadily on the roof, you blearily pry an eye open to check the time. The sheets beside you on the bed are cool, Steve having made good on his promise to let you sleep in. The clock informs you of the late hour, 1 PM, as your stomach begs for sustenance.

Scrubbing a hand across your face, you roll over and rummage around for a shirt to cover throw on before trotting downstairs. Bub is off with her aunts for one final summer weekend, and there’s a slight chill in the air. Enough to warrant slipping on your husband’s discarded gray sweatshirt.

Aside from the rain against the eaves and windows, the house is silent. Grabbing your favorite mug from the cabinet, you busy yourself making a cup of coffee before you see the post-it stuck to the fridge.

Hope you got to sleep in, your majesty. Grabbing groceries in town, see you soon. xxx - Steve

Grabbing a cinnamon bagel and your coffee you settle in the window seat of the breakfast nook to watch the rain, free of distractions and responsibilities. It’s rare that you get a moment like this, no pressing deadlines, drop-off or pick-up lanes, hosting dinners for friends, or attending a birthday party.

Eyes following the drag of raindrops on the windowpane, your hand falls to the nearly imperceptible swell of your stomach. Early days yet, but you knew the signs: nausea, exhaustion, all the usual suspects. Finishing your coffee, you trekked upstairs in search of a rogue pregnancy test— would it have expired by now?

After checking the date and deeming it worthy, you took the test and checked the time. Deciding it best to go back downstairs to ease your anxiety, you settled back in the window seat with a second cup of coffee.

“Couldn’t find a shirt?”

He laughs, shaking off the water droplets like a dog in the foyer. “It wasn’t raining when I left,” Steve says, as if that’s explanation enough. Not that you’re necessarily complaining, his hair and skin damp, tank top doing fuck all being as soaked as it is. “And I couldn’t find my—”

Catching sight of his sweatshirt grazing the tops of your thighs he smiles. “Nevermind, looks better on you anyway.” He kicks the door closed, shoes squelching against the floor as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“Baaaabe,” you whine, catching a whiff of tobacco on him, “Please tell me you didn’t smoke in my car.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, sunglasses resting against the visor of his ball cap as he sets the tote bags on the counter. “Trader Joe’s was insane,” he says setting the keys on the counter, “It was an emergency cigarette, I swear.”

A roll of your eyes as you begin to put away the groceries. “If you bothered to wake me, I could’ve told you Trader Joes on a Friday was a bad idea.”

Steve quirks a brow in interest, grabbing a few items to shove in the freezer.

“Flower delivery is Friday, brings all the Lululemon moms to the yard.”

“Huh,” he grunts, “Explains all the spandex and lycra then.” Damp fingers trail against your thigh before wrapping an arm around your hip to draw you close. “Besides,” he breathes against your neck, “If I remember correctly, you requested to be left to sleep in.”

Failing to stifle a yawn, you eek out, “Because I’m fuckin’ exhausted, Harrington.” Setting your mug in the sink, you turn in his grasp and drape an arm across his shoulders. “Raising your daughter and dealing with your sorry ass.”

“Oh,” he pulls you closer, hips flush against one another, “So she’s my daughter now?”

“When she’s having sleep regression, yes.”

“Poor thing.”

“Yes,” you huff, “Me, I’m the poor thing because she insisted on crawling into our bed and kept kicking me in the ribs all night.”

“Hmm,” he hums, resting his chin against your head, “Explains the post-it stuck to my face this morning. ‘Help me Steve Harrington, you’re my only hope! Can you get Bub off to Aunt Nancy & Robin’s and please (for the love of god) let me sleep in? xxx —the love of your life & bearer of your child.”

“Hey,” you grouse into his chest, “I am clever and cute and you love me.”

Steve pulls back to get a better look at you— sleep mused, hair askew, barely dressed in a sweatshirt that had seen better days, and bare feet. He reaches down to link his fingers through yours. It feels so good, and warm, and you sigh almost contentedly.

“Course I do.” He takes a breath, “How could I not?”

“Steve Harrington,” you whisper against his lips, “You sweet talkin’ me?”

And with that, you crash your lips over his, sliding your tongue—sweet and heavy with promise into the space of his mouth.

He tastes like a stolen cigarette and coffee, cinnamon dancing on his tongue from the Big Red he’d swiped from the car. Kisses you slow and deep, easing you back against the counter. Chest pressed flush to yours, you let out an involuntary hiss.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

A shake of your head as your pepper his cheeks with kisses, bristles of five o’clock shadow catching against your lips.

“My tits just really hurt.”

“Huh,” he tuts, leaning back to look you over. “That’s uh… new.”

Quirking your brow, you level him with a look. “And how would you know?”

Steve’s lips curl in a slow smile, “I notice things.”

Glancing to the green numbers illuminated on the microwave, you grab his hand and make for the staircase. “Sure you do, big guy,” you toss over your shoulder playfully.

Settling him on the bed, you trot back into the en suite and return with the white plastic test in your hand. Handing it to him without fanfare, you watch as his face turns from one of mild curiosity to that of astonishment. Shock.

There was a cautious longing in your eyes and your face was measured. The air was weighted in silence, desire crystallizing as he leaned towards you, a pull he allowed himself to fall toward, closing the space between, choosing not to think, blocking out any hesitation and he was kissing you.

You were trying not to rush this, trying to savor this, slowly, carefully, tormented with the scent of his skin, all warm and washed linen, comfort laced in a simmering heat that he kept tempered somewhere deep within his soul.

Your face was cradled in his hands, pulling you closer, skin hot against palms, lips hotter still against his own when he realised the rain had stopped.

You crawl into his lap, straddle his waist, and his breath is punched out of his lungs in awe of your beauty. You undress him with deft fingers, yanking his clothes, hissing when he pulls away to peel the shirt off— as if not touching him pains you. The sweatshirt comes off— thrown carelessly landing somewhere on the floor— Steve revels in the exposure your chest—soft, heaving with love and agony.

Steve. Stevie. I love you. I love you. I love you so much.

Desperate, again.

You tug his hair, grip his chest and back, kiss him until his head spins. The bed creaks softly, as if it doesn’t want to interrupt the sounds that your bodies create together.

His kisses were deliberate towards one destination as his hands moved toward another, caressing you soft on the skin of your hips, slowly, sweetly up your sides and arching your back where you perched, a way to kiss you harder, reach you further to rediscover all his favorite parts of you.

The moan started low in your throat as he eased himself into you, sinking all the way to the hilt, delicious and easy, because he couldn’t wait and neither could you. You in all your love and splendor, always ready, always open for him, legs widening and gripping him as he began to move, slowly and agonizingly sweet.

Steve was trying to restrain himself, slow it down, revel in the feel of you, warm and wet and wonderful around him. He wanted to make it go slow, try not to lose himself through your soft sounds, the little breaths that told him the how, the when, the yes, please, right there, yes as you dissolved into moans that had him aching.

It was less deliberate now, more messy, a stuttered rhythm that had his legs feeling shaky, chasing his release, the push and pull of desire tightening, closer, hotter, tighter, and then an instant hardness that had him seeing stars, mouth tucked into the curve of your neck, your fingers threaded, gripping his locks, spilling feeling from his cock through your cunt.

He makes love to you, and even though he is bone tired from the hectic morning, he doesn’t feel it until you tremble in his arms and slump against his chest.

Your breath caught in your throat when he drew back to look at you, half-embarrassed, half a smile awash in his flushed face, hazel eyes full and wanting – utterly beautiful. Steve kissed your nose, your mouth, lingering sweetness on your lips, and you groaned as he picked you up, still buried inside you, his hands strong beneath your ass, fingers itching to trail the familiar paths of faded stretch marks. To praise the skin that grew to house you and your daughter, knew instinctively what to do, even if you were less than pleased with their sudden arrival.

Steve can’t help it - he loves your body for that, for keeping you and Bub safe. It’s something he won’t ever experience, but each time he happens to catch sight of you, pregnant or not, he can’t help but feel that he’s witnessing something sacred. Something holy.

The bed now, a comfort beneath your back, sheets scrambled beneath his palms as he balanced himself above you, then a stuttered breath as he slipped out, your muscles already missing the fullness of him. His pretty head moved lower now, your pretty hands still stroking through his pretty hair, sending pretty shivers through his spine.

The gasp was low in your throat when Steve pushed his fingers inside you, slow and agonizing, damp with you and him, all melded together and you almost winced when he dipped his mouth between your thighs, his tongue careful and deliberate, tasting you, tasting him, his mouth warm and licking you from core to clit.

This time, your legs were shaking, skin like fire and you were already too wound up, too high on just the feel on him, his hair brushing skin, beard soft on your thighs. Your fingers were fisted still through his hair, and god, he loved the way he knew how to drive you by the tension in your hands, the scrabbled grip through his locks as you got closer, more breathless, a groan and then an arch of toes before you were wrung out and writhing beneath him.

A clap of thunder sounded out as you collapsed, loose limbs and shivery skin as he came up to kiss you, shared joy and wonder, near awe that he could still bring you over the edge this way.

Steve's hair was something else now, wild and beautiful – definitely overdue for a trim and you were laughing now, face sparkling with glee.

“You look awful,” you told him, bringing your lips up to kiss him, all giggly with delight.

“Thank you,” he replied, nosing you close and drawing new breaths from your tongue as your hands drifted to the velvet skin beneath his thighs, working him slow and sweet.

“Oh, I will,” you answered, tempered smile in that face he adored so well, and shifted your body, drawing Steve onto his back as you dipped lower and he tried to hold the groan as you took him in your mouth.

He had to look away, some way to regather himself, the rushing blood through his skin, shooting straight to his cock, the warmth of your mouth on him, your tongue stroking him, the push and drag of your lips along that sensitive skin.

Steve focused on the feeling of you surrounding him, your warmth, your light, but even so, it was too much after a while and he had to change it, change the way you felt on him before he got too eager, too earnest. He lifted you, a giggle escaping your lips as you pulled off him with one last, deliberate drag of your mouth and this time, he couldn’t help the moan from his lips.

It was heaven, warm and sweet, when he pushed into you for the second time, your knees almost matched high at your chest, grazing your aching nipples as he found that special part of you that drew his most favorite sounds. You were keening, moving slowly together, trying not to lose control, trying to savor this for as long as you possibly could in this delicious bubble of time and space. _

Hours later and the pair of you had yet to leave the house. Rain pouring on and off throughout the afternoon and into the evening.

A tentative look at your belly, still smooth and firm. His hand finds the plane of it, fingers brushing the skin and over newly forming goosebumps. A surprising amount of excitement flutters in his own at the thought. It’d be good.

Steve insisted on throwing something together for dinner and made his way downstairs. He’s excited at the prospect of another baby, especially if they continued to take after you like Bub had. And she’d be adorable big sister, his heart swells at the thought.

He grabs the plates and heads back upstairs, the creak of the trick-step signalling his ascent. Nudging the door open with his hip, he pauses to take in the sight of you, and sets the plates on the nightstand.

Steve doesn’t know how someone can light up a room like you, just sitting there in his sweatshirt, doing nothing but smile. “Honey,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb the moment but can’t help himself. He just wants to see you looking at him.

“Yeah?” You turn your head ever so slightly, peek up under flared lashes— sleepy eyes struggling to stay awake— still sparkling. “What is it?”

“Honey, I love you.” Is all he can manage. Everything else seems to fade away.

And then you smile, a slow curling of your soft lips, cupid’s bow catching a moonbeam. You smile so sweetly his heart stops in his chest. The world comes rushing back with your tired sigh and your hand linking itself with his. One beat, two beats, steadily, heavily, his blood pulses again when you kiss his cheek and murmur,

“I love you, too.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #dad! steve harrington #Spotify

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sebastianstanisahotmf · 6 months

Text

Forbidden fruit

Steve Rogers x Fem!reader

A/N Hey guys I'm re-posting all my fics. Also all mistakes are my own and comments, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated xoxo

18+ MINORS FUCK OFF YOU'RE NOT OLD ENOUGH (I WARNED YOU)

Summary Your dad's best friend, Steve pays you a visit. (idk how to summarise this)

DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APPS/SITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.

Warnings fluff, Unprotected sex (use protection because you're not fictional), daddy kink, squirting, spitting, the word slut used like once or twice and one slap.

You weren’t expecting anyone today. Between your dad being at work and the lack of plans on your part you didn’t expect the loud knocks on the door at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. You cautiously tiptoed over to the door and looked through the peephole. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding when you saw it was Steve. You opened the door with a smile and tried not to stare at the man in front of you. After all he was your dad’s best friend.

“Hey darlin’ is your dad in?” Steve questioned while looking you up and down.

You were wearing some sweatpants and a t-shirt that belonged to your dad. You were home all day so you didn’t bother to put nicer clothes on.

“N-no” you stuttered trying not to focus on the wetness that is now soaking through your panties.

“He told me he wasn’t at work today” Steve said while walking into the kitchen to help himself to a beer.

“He said something about an emergency. I’m not sure though I wasn’t listening properly” you replied.

“I thought you were a good girl” Steve replied with a smirk.

You could feel your cheeks heating up with the praise.

“I-I was in the shower when he told me”

I wish I was there Steve thought as he looked at you hungrily.

“Actually I was here to see you princess” Steve said while watching your face closely.

“me?” you questioned.

“yes. I wanted to know if you meant to send me the photos of your pretty tits and the video of you playing with your pretty pussy.”

Oh my fucking god y/n you thought to yourself. “o-oh I-I’m really sorry Steve t-they weren’t meant to be sent to you.”

“who were they meant for then? Because they better not have been for a boy who doesn’t know how to treat a girl like you right.” Steve said bitterly. “Have you had sex with him before?” you nodded slowly watching Steve’s face for his reaction. “how many times has he made you cum?”

“well...” you replied looking at the floor.

“You’re joking. He had a pretty thing like you at his fingertips and he didn’t make you cum once. I think we should make another video to show your friend so he knows how to treat a girl like you.”

“I-I don’t think we should do this,” you replied.

“He’ll be home in about 45 minutes. That’s more than enough time to get those sexy legs of yours quivering and you screaming my name like a prayer.”

All you could do was whimper in response as Steve stepped closer to you. He brought his hand up to your face and brushed his thumb over your lips. You opened your mouth, and Steve pressed his thumb onto your tongue. You closed your lips around his thumb and sucked, which elicited a deep moan from Steve. He removed his thumb from your mouth and softly grasped your chin to make you look at him.

“Before we do anything, I want to set some rules,” he said sternly.

“O-okay,” you whimpered.

“Firstly, I need to know if you know what the traffic light system is.”

“I, umm, I know what it is.”

“Good girl. I want you to use it at any time, especially if you don’t like something that I’m doing or if you just want to slow down. I don’t care about anything but your well-being. Do you understand?” he questioned in a serious tone.

“Okay,” you replied while crossing your legs.

“Secondly, I’m going to have my way with you, but if you disobey me, I will have to spank you. And most importantly, you are to call me daddy and only daddy. Am I clear?”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you almost whispered.

“Good girl,” he growled.

He grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against his chest.

“No bra?” he questioned.

You shook your head. You put your left hand on his chest and your right one on his cheek. He leaned down, and you reached up to meet his lips. It started off tame until Steve licked across your lips. You instantly opened your mouth and welcomed his tongue into your mouth. Your tongues fought for dominance, a fight that would always be won by Steve.

He moved his hands to your ass and told you to jump.

You pulled back. “Are you sure?” you questioned.

Steve looked at you like you were crazy. “Did I stutter? I said jump. So you’re gonna jump, and I’m gonna carry you to your bedroom, and then I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. Better than any guy your age can.”

You decided that Steve didn’t care and jumped. He caught you and wrapped your legs around his waist. You started to kiss him again as he made his way upstairs with you. Luckily you had left your bedroom door open do all he had to do was kick it so you both could fit through the doorway. He dropped you on your bed and then started to strip his clothes off. However, you were visibly disappointed when he didn’t take his tight boxers off. You could see his bulge and it looked too big to be real.

“see something you like?” he said with a smirk on his face. Then, he looked you in the eyes and said “strip. I want everything off.”

“ok daddy” you replied whilst taking your clothes off with shaky hands.

Once you got your panties off, Steve took them out of your hand and put them on top of his pile of clothes.

“they’re mine now”

All you could do was whimper in response.

“lay back” he ordered.

You did as he said and then he laid down on his front between your legs. He grabbed your thighs and wrapped them around his head.

He looked up at you and said, “I want you to suffocate me with your pussy. I mean it, if I die then I’ll die a happy man. Also, I want both hands in my hair. They move, I stop. Do you understand?”

“y-yes daddy,” you replied a shiver running down your spine.

You buried your hands into Steve’s soft strands of hair and pulled which made him groan.

He leaned forward and you tightened your legs. He smiled to himself before he dived in. He started with long languid licks from your hole to your clit. Making sure to leave nowhere untouched by his tongue. He licked into your pussy while his thumb swiped over your bundle of nerves.

You pulled hard on his hair making him groan once again. He shook his head so he could get deeper and decided to change his tactics.

He rubbed two fingers up and down your wetness, pushed them inside and curled them. The moan you let out made Steve grind his hardness into the mattress. He started to suck on your clit and you pulled as hard as you could on his hair.

“OH FUCK DADDY.” You screamed. “I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum.” You chanted.

Steve carried on what he was doing. Well he had no choice. Your legs were so tight around his head now that he couldn’t move. He couldn’t be in a better position if he tried. It was like being in heaven.

You let out an earth shattering squeal as you came. Steve carried on as your legs quivered and your hands tried to push his head away. The overstimulation feeling like too much. Steve added another finger and curled them hard against your g-spot. He got into a rhythm of harshly thrusting his fingers in and out of you while he sucked as hard as he could on your clit.

Then, a weird pressure started to build. One that you had never felt before. It felt like you needed to pee.

“daddy it feels weird. Daddy I’m gonna cum gonna cum again.” You shouted.

He carried on with his movements and then suddenly he pulled his fingers out of you. He continued you roughly rub two fingers across your clit even as you writhed and your legs shook. He put an arm across your waist as he continued his ministrations.

Then suddenly you came. Your release squirted out of you while Steve continued to rub your swollen and almost painful bundle of nerves.

“DADDY!” You squealed and then you shouted, “YELLOW.” The feeling was pleasurable but it felt too much. You just needed everything to slow down.

Steve removed his hand and put his other one on your cheek as his thumb stroked the skin under your eye.

“Are you ok baby? Do you want to slow down or stop?” he asked in a soft voice.

“I just want to slow down. It just got a little too much. I can go again now. I-it’s just that I needed a break.” You breathlessly replied.

“Ok baby but if its too much just tell me. I won’t be mad.”

“ok daddy.”

Steve leaned down and whispered “good girl” into your ear making goose bumps form all over your body.

“Daddyyyyy.” You whined. “I need you”

“what do you need baby?” he said while smiling softly at you.

“I need you inside me. Please please daddy!”

“Good girl. Such. A. Good. Girl.” Steve punctuated each word with a kiss.

He started to kiss from your lips to your neck where he started to kiss and bite you leaving a trail of marks. You tangled your hands into his hair, pulling on the strands.

Steve groaned as he grinded his erection into your leg. He kissed down to your breasts where he sucked your left nipple into his mouth. He bit down on it which made you groan. He then switched his attention to the other nipple.

Once he felt like your nipples had had enough attention, he started to kiss his way back up to your lips.

He sat back on his legs and started to remove his boxers. As he pulled them down his legs, his large cock sprung up and laid flat against his stomach. The red tip was leaking a steady stream of precum.

You sat up and reached out for Steve’s cock and grasped it. You started to pump his cock up and down occasionally twisting your hand as you reached the sensitive head whilst using his precum as lube. He let out a loud groan.

You got closer so that you could lean down and take his member into your mouth. You sucked harder as you got to the tip. Once you had a steady rhythm, Steve put a hand on either side of you head and started to fuck your mouth.

“If you need me to stop just tap on my thigh twice” He gritted out.

He held your head down so that your nose was buried in the hairs at the base of his cock. Then he pulled back and carried on thrusting into your mouth. As he got close to cumming, he pulled out and picked you up.

Steve laid you down on your back and then kneeled between your open legs. He shuffled closer and grabbed his cock. He started to run the tip up and down your folds.

“Daddy please. Fuck me please daddy please!” you pleaded desperately.

“ok, ok, baby” he said looking at you with lust blown eyes.

He grabbed his member and pushed it inside you. You moaned and you arched your back as he slowly entered you. Steve stilled for a few seconds to let you get used to his size.

“Steve please!” you begged, desperate for Steve to pound you into the mattress.

“what did you call me?” Steve snarled and slapped you around your face.

You moaned and clenched around him making him hiss.

“sorry daddy sorry I just want you to fuck me. PLEASE!” you pleaded.

“you want me to fuck you really hard do you?” Steve said as you nodded your head. He chuckled and then put his hand around your neck squeezing gently. “ok then I’ll fuck you but don’t expect me to stop you slut.”

Steve started to pound into you. His hips slapping against yours while his balls slap against your ass. His thrusts were quick and sharp not allowing you any time to move away.

Steve grabbed your legs and put them over his shoulders. He leant down and you were practically folded in half. What he did next surprised you. Steve used his spare hand to hold down your jaw while he spat into your mouth. He removed his hand and you automatically swallowed and opened your mouth again.

“Such a fucking slut wanting my spit. Dirty girl.” Steve said while spitting into your mouth again.

You swallowed. Then, Steve snaked the hand that he used to open your jaw down to your clit and started to rub it quickly. Your legs started to shake and your back arched off the bed.

“Are you gonna cum my dumb slut?” you nodded. “Tell daddy. Tell him you’re a dumb cumslut” Steve started to thrust faster which you didn’t know was possible.

“I-I’m a-a cumslut. D-daddy’s cums-slut. I’m gonna cum daddy. I’m gonna cum.” You sobbed while your legs shook and the feeling at the bottom of your stomach grew.

“that’s it good girl” Steve groaned. “good girl, such a good girl for daddy.”

That’s when the band inside you snapped and you came for the final time. Your last released squired out of you and drenched Steve’s cock and thighs.

“good girl. Such a good cumslut.”steve moaned his thrusts losing their rhythm. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, gonna cum”

“daddy cum inside me please daddy please. Want your cum inside me. Please!”

That was it for Steve. He was a goner. His hips stilled as his spend pumped inside you.

You both stayed like that for a while until Steve suddenly got up. You whined at the loss of contact but your attention was now on Steve picking up your phone.

“Open it please baby. I want to send a video of my spunk dripping out of you to that little shit who thinks he deserved you”

You whimpered at his possessive tone and took your phone out of his hand to put the password in. Steve then clicked on the camera and took a video of your still pulsing hole which had his spend leaking out of it.

Steve stopped the video and sent it to your friend. Then he laid on top of you with his head on your breasts while you ran your fingers through his hair.

You both stayed like that for a while until your phone rang. Steve rolled over beside you with a groan and you picked up your phone.

“shit, it’s my dad.” You said as you answered the call. “Hey dad what’s up?”

“Nothing sweetheart I’m just calling to say I’m gonna be home 30 minutes late today.”

“o-ok I’ll see you later. Bye dad, love you”

“bye love you too.”

You put the phone down and looked at Steve with a smile on your face. “we have an extra 30 minutes”

“good. Now I can take care of you the way you deserve.” Steve picked you up and took you to the bathroom down the hallway.

He sat you on the toilet so you could pee while he went back into the bedroom to take the sheets off your bed. After you were finished in the bathroom, you called Steve back in. He picked you up again and placed you on the counter.

“where are the towels?” Steve asked.

“in the cupboard under this counter.” You said, smiling softly at Steve.

“ok then darlin’. You get the shower going and I’ll get a change of clothes and towels ready before I join you.” He smiled and then slapped your ass when you walked over to the shower.

You yelped in response but carried on with the task you had been given. Once the shower was to your preferred temperature, you got under the spray and got your hair wet.

Just as you were about to reach for your body wash Steve had entered the shower and came up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your hair. You turned around in his arms and leaned up to kiss him.

Then you reached out for your dad’s shower gel and squirted some of it on a loofah. Then, you thoroughly cleaned Steve’s body and then his hair. Once you had finished, Steve decided to return the favour.

These simple acts felt intimate but you knew you couldn’t have a relationship with Steve. It was like he was forbidden fruit since he was your dad’s best friend. How would your dad react to that?

After Steve had finished cleaning your body and hair, you both got out of the shower. Steve decided had that you didn’t need to walk yet.

He put you down once you reached the bedroom and then you both started to get dressed which gave you an opportunity to look Steve over and appreciate his chiselled body.

“you’re staring baby” Steve said while laughing.

Your cheeks started to heat up again but that was short lived since Steve dragged you back into bed so you could cuddle. Your head was on Steve’s chest while his arm was around you and your leg was thrown over his waist.

Your peaceful moment was torn apart by the sound of a key in the front door. You and Steve jumped out of bed and started to panic

“hey its OK, I’ll quickly go downstairs and tell your dad that you was getting changed. Ok?”

“ok I’ll wait a few minutes before coming down stairs then” you agreed.

“good girl” Steve whispered in your ear before kissing you on the lips and then on your forehead.

He ran downstairs and into the kitchen to pick up his beer and talk to your dad. All this happened while you were still thinking about what you and Steve had just done and how it would change your relationship.

Taglist: @buckys-wintersoldier @nicoline1998enilocin

#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x reader #Marvel #Mcu #Steve Rogers x reader fluff #Steve Rogers x reader smut #Fluff #Smut #Steve Rogers fluff #Steve Rogers smut #Captain america #Captain america x reader #Captain america fluff #Captain america smut #Chris evans x reader #Chris evans smut #Chris evans fluf

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undreaming-fanfiction · 7 months

Text

Hearts Don't Break Around Here

For the lovely @thefreakandthehair for her wedding. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be!

(also on Ao3)

It’s the small things that make Eddie Munson realize he’d like to make some changes to his life. The mountain of mugs on his desk tells him that, hey, maybe he should get a tea pot (or a bigger desk). The holes in his t-shirt don’t really bother him until he accidentally drops some very hot cigarette ash through one of them and he realizes that he should retire the t-shirt, or maybe re-purpose it for his next battle vest. The way he thinks about it, he needs the universe to send him a small sign.

When it comes to Steve Harrington? Eddie is the happiest in his life. Steve isn’t just a boyfriend, he is THE boyfriend, the alpha and omega of boyfriendness or boyfrienddom, Eddie still can’t decide what to call it. Whatever a boyfriend should be, Steve is. So Eddie doesn’t really think of any possible changes, everything is perfect, except…

Except they’re in bed together, trading lazy kisses and exchanging those stupid little words that make Eddie feel all warm and fuzzy and put a silly smile on Steve’s face. They’re holding hands, Eddie’s guitar calluses against Steve’s sport ones, and Eddie runs his finger over Steve’s and thinks.

I really, really want to put a ring on this man.

The realization hits him like a baby Demogorgon, and once he scrambles together a poor explanation of why he froze mid-kiss (“there was a bug, Steve, like an enormous bug, Shelob-like, I swear on Dustin’s mother!”), he courageously decides to explore his feelings on the matter.

Of course, they can’t get officially married. Yet. Eddie is an optimist, so there is always a yet to be added to any negative thought. It isn’t really about making it legal or seeing Steve in white (well, maybe a little) or having a big party. No, it’s just…

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it’s about the promise.

Eddie hasn’t had many certainties in his life, but when they appear, he’s distrustful of them. Nothing lasts long for him and if it does, it only gets taken away the very second he starts feeling hopeful that maybe this is it, this is the one thing he’ll get to keep. He used to feel that way about Steve, but Steve Harrington never left. And when Eddie finally broached the subject, asked him why he tolerates Eddie’s humor, messiness, lack of drive and basically everything Eddie, Steve took Eddie’s hands in his and told him, “I’ve had my share of perfection for a lifetime, Eddie. It’s pretty but so cold. Being with you? It’s like…like being in the sun in the spring, when it’s warm and you’re lying on grass and there are ants walking over you and your clothes are likely to get stained, but you just don’t care because it’s the only place you want to be.” And as if that wasn’t too much for Eddie’s poor heart, he added, “I will never break your heart, Eddie. Never. And I don’t make these promises lightly.”

So no, no one can blame Eddie for wanting to give Steve something back. He wants Steve to be the first commitment Eddie dares to believe, and no matter what, he’ll get that ring.

If only it was that easy.

First of all, choosing anything in Hawkins is impossible. His dear old dad made sure that Eddie can’t go anywhere near jewelry shops without people blaming him for trying to steal stuff, so he makes a trip to Indy and stares to his heart’s content. It’s only when the shopkeeper, a nice elderly lady, asks him what style he’s looking for, he realizes – he has no idea.

He promises to come back the next weekend, a bit more decisive and well-prepared.

Eddie sucks at being inconspicuous, so he enlists help. Robin – after squishing his cheeks to death and beyond – agrees to be his spy and drags Steve off to an emergency meeting, claiming things are way more serious with her college girlfriend than they really are and, “I want to give her something nice, like a ring, but a ring that doesn’t say “marry me”, you get me Steve, no time for that when I’m up to my ears in books, so what would you say is an ideal ring? Is that different for guys maybe? What would you choose? I’m just curious because the only example of a guy with a ring I know is Eddie, and I’m not giving her a silver demon thing, nope, not ever.”

Eddie learns two things this way.

First: Steve doesn’t have clear preferences for jewelry, he is all for “seeing the thought behind it”. Eddie wonders if Steve realizes how many thoughts he has and not all of them are ring-worthy.

Second: Steve thinks having an engraving on the inside is the most romantic thing ever, even something simple can become so personal and touching. What should the engraving be? Robin doesn’t know.

The next weekend comes and Eddie drives back to Indy again (Wayne is covering for him, telling Steve he asked Eddie to run some errands for him) and he’s better prepared this time. He chooses a simple gold ring with a yellow stone, just a small one, almost invisible, but Steve’s sweater is always on his mind, so it’s a good choice. He thinks about the engraving too, and his list is, in hindsight, atrocious, and he might have written it when seriously sleep-deprived, but still. He cringes at his own handwriting.

To my Ozzy

You’re so metal, baby

I tolerate basketball for you

To my only reason why 1986 was good

Get a mug collection with me?

But there is just one that Eddie sees and thinks , this is it . So when the nice lady asks him what to engrave, he hands her a paper with his messy handwriting that simply says:

You’re my home, Stevie

The moment of elation and victory is short-lived. She asks him for Steve’s ring size, and well. He should have probably found that out, shouldn’t he?

He promises to return to the shop as soon as he knows. On his way back, he tries to figure out an inconspicuous way of measuring Steve’s fingers.

Once again, Eddie sucks at being inconspicuous.

He tries wrapping a measuring tape around Steve’s finger when they’re asleep. That nearly earns him a smack in the face with Steve’s bat because he’s a light sleeper and forever scarred by their Upside Down adventures. At least Eddie manages to persuade Steve that it was just a piece of his pajamas stuck on Steve’s finger so he doesn’t question the weird feeling that woke him up.

He practices measuring by touch and holding Steve’s hands a lot. The margin of error is in centimeters, so he gives this idea up pretty easily. He blames it on not having enough time to practice, of course.

He (inconspicuously, of course) wonders aloud whether his hands are larger than Steve’s. They place their palms against each other, notice that Eddie’s fingers are slimmer and longer and Steve’s are shorter and stronger, but otherwise? Not helpful.

The breakthrough finally comes when Eddie actually volunteers to wash the dishes for once, but asks Steve to hold on to his rings. He places them on Steve’s fingers and notices with barely contained excitement that yes, one of his rings actually fits Steve’s ring finger (some shuffling around was required, “I don’t want to lose any of the rings, Steve, they need to fit very, very precisely!”).

Eddie has his answer now. He ties a small ribbon to the ring so he doesn’t forget which one it is, basically races to Indy again after calling Wayne and using the agreed code word to have his uncle send him to run some imaginary errands again.

He bursts into the shop, wheezing and holding the ring between his fingers. “This big!” he chokes out and collapses against the counter while the shopkeeper (Margaret, they’re on first name terms now since he’s been ring shopping for around a month) hands him a glass of water.

“Your Steve must be pretty special,” she smiles at him, and Eddie’s brain short-circuits because Indy is better, but definitely not accepting, and this lady has been so nice, has he blown it? Has he ever mentioned he has a boyfriend? Shit, he must have…

He opens his mouth like a fish several times. “Uh…m…Stevie…is, yes?” he says and prays he’s not going to get kicked out in the next twenty seconds. “The…the stone reminds me of him. He’s like a ray of sunshine.”

Margaret just laughs and refills his glass. “Good for you. It’s nice to see someone have the courage. I wish I had it in my day.”

Eddie is laughing with her now, the water surface in his glass is swaying from side to side and tells her, “Your day isn’t over, it’s never over until we’re done breathing.” She gives him the kindest smile anyone outside of his found family has ever spared him. It keeps him warm on his way back to Hawkins.

He picks up the ring in three days, he can’t wait any longer, and Margaret is kind enough to get the engraving as a priority. She meets him outside of the shop in the evening, hands him the small blue velvet box and grasps his hand before letting go. “Go make that handsome young man happy,” she says and Eddie has never promised to do something so easily and so fast.

He stashes the box in the drawer with his formal wear and waits for the perfect opportunity. That resolution lasts him for about one week because another thing Eddie sucks at is being patient. On top of that, Eddie knows in his heart that Steve has had a lifetime of grand gestures and pretend perfection. Sure, Steve deserves all the romance and luxury Eddie can afford, but if he says he’s even happier in their cramped home, on their old bed, with the constant DIY projects, homemade meals, and bad movies rented from Family Video, Eddie will respect that. Hell, Eddie loves that.

They’re cuddling together on a sofa, dishes unwashed and piled up in the sink, and the latest B-list sci-fi movie playing on their small TV. Eddie’s holding Steve’s hand again and he traces his fingers, feels the bare skin and realizes – this is it. This is when I do it.

He kisses Steve and promises he’ll be right back, he just needs to quickly take a note of something for the next campaign. Eddie doesn’t even try to conceal the rush he’s in, he dives into their bedroom and completely destroys the fragile order in his drawer to get to the priceless box. His hands are shaking, but he’s determined, he opens the door again, slips into their living room and-

And Steve is there, smiling at him like his own personal ray of sunshine, a bit shy but radiant, just as he always is. And in his hand-

“No way,” chuckles Eddie and inspects the blue box Steve is holding to confirm that yes, it bears the logo of Margaret’s shop. “When did you get to Indy?”

Steve takes a step closer and tucks Eddie’s unruly hair behind his ear. “Let’s just say I skipped some basketball practices. And before you ask, yes, I had to use blackmail to keep Sinclair quiet.”

“Oh?” Eddie’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but he can’t help it. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing big. Just that I still have the list with potential date ideas with Max he forgot at my place and I’m holding that hostage. Now, I believe I have a question to ask. And…” he looks down at Eddie’s trembling fingers, “maybe you do too?”

Eddie kisses him, short and sweet. “That depends, are you going to say yes?” It’s playful, but there’s also a hint of insecurity, the fear that Steve managed to weaken but never truly destroy. And maybe it’s the coward’s way out, but Eddie needs to know if he’s right in thinking Steve wants this too, if maybe he just got the ring because he wanted to make Eddie happy or assumed that’s what Eddie wanted. Which duh, he does, but this is not about

“I told you, Eddie,” and Steve’s hand is back on his cheek, stroking it, grounding Eddie. “I will never break your heart. And I trust you so much that I want to give mine to you. If you’ll have it.”

He leans his forehead against Steve’s, smiling at the ridiculousness of the question. “If I’ll have it? Stevie, I do. So much. I will cherish it, polish it, even dust it because I know you love everything to be clean.” Steve snorts, but Eddie continues, determined to finish his improvised speech. “I know it’s not the life you thought you’d have. I can’t give you a real wedding, kids, I can’t even kiss you in public. And I know it doesn’t change much between us, but I just want to give you this. I want to give you a real promise that your heart is safe with me, just like mine is safe with you. And it will always be.”

They exchange their “yes” between kisses, and when they catch their breath, the rings follow. Steve loves his, of course he does, and he tears up at the engraving, but then Eddie sees his own silver band and notices something written inside too.

I will follow you to Mordor, Eds.

“You remembered,” he whispers as Steve pushes the ring onto his finger. “You don’t even know the books and you remembered.”

Laughing, Steve shakes his head. “Don’t give me too much credit. I had to badger Dustin to tell me what you said during that spring break. I…I just thought it’s fitting, you know. It was fucked up, cruel and painful, and yet…I’d go through all of it again, just to be with you here.”

Crushing Steve in a hug, Eddie knows exactly how he feels.

The next morning, Eddie actually wakes up early. He manages to leave the bed without rousing his fiancé, Jesus Christ, he’s never going to get used to saying it or seeing the ring on his finger. Sneaking towards the phone, he finds his wallet and the card that Margaret gave him, and when she picks up, he doesn’t even give her a chance to announce her name.

“Hello Margaret, my dear,” he drawls, “when were you planning to tell me that you know Steve too?”

He can hear her chuckling. “Well, dear. I thought me saying that Steve is handsome implied it?”

“Oh.” Eddie isn’t entirely speechless, but it’s close. “So…how did you know it was…you know. My Steve? And not any other Steve?”

There’s a strange sound, possibly Margaret sipping coffee, before she responds. “I could tell you it’s the experience I have. Or that I had a hunch. But – he came in wearing a yellow sweater. A very familiar-looking yellow. And he said he’s looking for an engagement ring for someone who is non-conforming, passionate and loves silver, red and black. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together, especially after he told me what he wanted engraved.” Another sip. “But that’s enough about that, what I want to know is – who proposed first?”

Eddie laughs into the phone and switches hands so he can admire the silver ring glistening in the morning light. “I’d say it was a tie. But hey, we both said yes. Thank you so much, Margaret, for all you’ve done. And, uh. If we ever get to have a wedding, you’re invited.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she says and Eddie thinks she really means it.

“Great, I will call you then. And Margaret?” He twirls the cord around his fingers, only sparing a second to form his thoughts. “In case you find some of that courage too? I can guarantee you a plus one, so be a brave lady and get one, hmm?”

Her laughter follows him as he hangs up and returns to the bed to join the future Mr. Munson.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic

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