#// no matter what you may think steve feels

[aphrogeneias]

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 — squirting

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: shy!reader (not "innocent" or inexperienced, just a little more reserved). penetrative sex.

Chrissy didn't know what she was doing.

It was an innocent question — as innocent as the questions being raised could be, that night. The conversation had quickly descended into more risqué subjects after Steve had gotten a little too tipsy and started complaining about his lack of luck on his latest escapades.

Nothing out of the ordinary, really. You were all used to talking about sex in one way or another. Eddie was famously loud about it, always having a story to tell, his or otherwise. Stories that made you imagine yourself on the receiving end of, guiltily wanting your friend to do those same things he was describing to you.

You kept those fantasies to yourself, though. Not wanting to be teased by the girls, maybe even worse, have them try to set you up with him. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if Eddie ever rejected you, or dated you out of pity. There was no scenario where this would work in your mind, no "you and Eddie", just you and your thoughts of him, where he would never hurt you, where all he did was make you feel good, imagining it his hands on your body, roaming until they found that place between your legs, instead of your own.

That night, it was no different. After Steve started the conversation, there was no stopping it. You often listened more than talked — not due to lack of experience, you were just a little too shy to share too much, even among close friends — but when the talk switched to Robin commenting about making her girlfriend squirt, you slipped.

"Good for her."

Your reply may have sounded a little more bitter than you'd anticipated, because, one by one, all of your friends looked at you. Maybe it was the scoff that has left your mouth, maybe it was the alcohol that had loosened your tongue. 

"What was that?" Nancy asked, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow at you.

"Yeah. What was that?" This time, it was Eddie who repeated her question. He sat on the opposite couch with his legs spread, tight black jeans stretching on his lean legs, making you wish you sat between them. You avoided his eyes.

"Nothing. I mean…", you signed, already regretting having said anything, "it's good! Good for her. Robin is good to her, that's a good thing."

You cringed even before you could finish all those convoluted sentences.

"Honey, have you ever… you know," Chrissy asked from her place on the floor, sitting as delicate as a fairy. "squirted?"

"No." You said, simply. Scared to run your mouth even more. "It's not a big deal. Doesn't happen to everybody."

"Have you tried?" Steve asked from behind his beer. He got a myriad of answers ranging from "that's not how It works, dingus!" from Robin, "it's not a matter of trying" from Nancy and "don't ask that, dude" from Eddie.

"I don't even know where to start, Steve. And before anyone asks, yes, I have cum from sex. Just not… like that."

You wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. It was even worse when you could feel Eddie's eyes on you, like he could see right through you. He tilted his head, and you weren't able to handle the kindness in his brown eyes. You looked away.

Your friends' opinions diverged again, making questions and trying to get you to speak, but you couldn't deal with their scrutiny anymore.

"C'mon, guys. It's fine! Can we change the subject, please?" You tried to swerve them. "Like I said, it's not a big deal. Maybe I'm just broken like that."

They shrugged. You shrugged. They moved on — but Eddie's eyes stayed on you for the rest of the night.

You're on Eddie's passenger seat, right in front of your apartment building, later that night when he brings the subject up again.

"I don't think you're broken."

The two of you had spent the entire ride silent, which was odd since Eddie was the chatterbox between the two of you, always filling the gaps with anything that would cross his mind. Neither that, nor his music filled the silence between you.

"What?" You looked at him, still not believing what you'd heard.

"You said that maybe you were broken like that. That's not true, you're… you're perfect."

That feeling of wanting to hide came back tenfold, making your eyes fill with tears. "Eddie, forget about it, please."

"Hey," he brought your gaze back to him with a finger to your chin, delicately turning your head. "I meant what I said. You're perfect, it's just that no one's taken the time to treat you right. It takes patience, from both sides."

"Yeah, and?"

"I was thinking that maybe I could change that. If you'd let me."

One thing you'd always admired about Eddie was his strength of conviction. He never said anything he didn't believe in, and backed it all up. His voice never faltered, he doesn't shy away from speaking his mind — and you hated that you were forcing yourself to disbelieve him.

"Eddie…"

"Look at me." He pleaded, and in spite of your concerns, you did as he told. His eyes bore into your with a sincerity that was so painfully him. "You can say no. I'll go home and we'll forget about everything I just said. But, sweetheart… I'm dying to prove you wrong."

Eventually, he did.

After you'd gotten up the stairs to your floor kissing and tugging at each other's clothes, letting Eddie's tongue taste yours over and over, stopping to let yourself be cornered against the wall by him. Getting lost in the feeling of his solid body against yours, the smell of him — a strong, masculine perfume, cigarettes and beer — making you dizzy, his lips on your neck making you even dizzier.

After he took your clothes off halfway down your living room, reverencing your body with his rough hands, kneeling between your feet in the middle of your halfway. He made you cum for the first time that night with his mouth, kissing your pussy the way he kissed your mouth, sucking on your clit the same way he sucked on your tongue. You came as you pulled his hair, his strong arms around your hips preventing you from falling.

After he guided you to your bed, still craving a taste of you. Hands not knowing where to sit still while he pulled another orgasm from you, his fingers deep within you, curling and stroking your walls, his mouth still not leaving your clit. Your ears buzzed with the force of your climax, not being able to hear Eddie's praise. "That's my girl," he said, head resting on the plush of your thigh, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, "doing such a good job, but I'm not done with you yet."

After he made your eyes blur with pleasure when you finally entered you, rubbing the head of his cock on your sensitive bundle of nerves, once, twice, three times before putting it in, slowly bottoming out. Leaving kisses all over your face, shining with sweat. You didn't think you could take it, curling your toes and hugging his narrow hips with your spread legs, feeling each thrust with a tenderness you never did before.

After he filled and stretched you to the brim, pulling out only to push it all in again. Uttering against your skin, broken whimpers, your name on his lips like a prayer. You were beyond the point of forming words, kissing him to stop yourself from screaming. You could feel yourself dripping down your pussy, and into the sheets, soaking Eddie's cock.

After he pulled your thigh higher up his waist, and stood on his knees, pounding into you with measured speed. He hit your spot over, and over, and over — you grabbed the sheets with both hands, repeating his name like a broken record, music to his ears.

"Yeah? That feels good, baby? Am I making you feel good?" Eddie looked like a god above you. Wild hair down to his shoulders, pale skin slick with sweat, eyes drilled on you. You made the mistake of looking down to where your bodies met, watching his thick cock drenched with your juices, going in and out of you. His pubic hair, also matted with your wetness, creating a delicious friction against your clit. "Tell me. Who's making you feel this good?"

"You, Eddie." You whimpered. "You, you, you. Always you."

"That's right, baby. That's" a hard thrust, "fucking," a a squeeze of your thigh, "right."

You felt your orgasm approach with a  deep pressure on your navel, building and building until you couldn't keep It down anymore. You let yourself go, the ringing in your ears louder and cleared, cumming with Eddie's name on your lips.

That's when you felt it. You were limp in your bed, with Eddie above you. You'd felt him cum too, dropping his weight above you, but still keeping himself steady by his elbows. but everything was distant, like it was happening in a dream. Slowly, you came back to yourself — to Eddie, gently coaxing you with sweet words, and to the warm wetness coating your thighs, your ass, and Eddie's lower half.

"Did I…?"

"Fuck yeah, you did." His boyish smile, so different from the confident smirk you saw not moments ago, made you smile too, weakly and still a little embarrassed, but too satisfied to care.

"Happy now?"

"Only when you do it again." 

[steddieas-shegoes]

“any regrets? anything you’d do differently?”

eddie knows the interviewer is just doing her job, probably doesn’t even realize that’s the worst question she could ask. but the guys tense and the air gets thick and something shifts inside eddie’s chest.

“it’s been two years and i still haven’t apologized.”

the interviewer doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but she doesn’t need to. he’s not gonna explain more than that and he doesn’t care if people make their own connections and excuses.

maybe steve will hear it. maybe robin will. maybe dustin will convince steve to call him.

or maybe he was cryptic for nothing and steve will keep ignoring his calls. he used to think his timing sucked until mike let it slip that he lets all calls go to his answering machine to avoid picking up when eddie calls him.

eddie only calls on bad nights, if he’s drunk or high, or sometimes on the nights that could only be better if steve was by his side. eddie calls most nights.

the interview is done and eddie is being whisked away, getting berated by their publicist about his answer to a question that can never have a good one. the guys are pretending not to listen, but failing. eddie loves them for trying.

the next interview, he stays quiet, at least as much as he can get away with. he fakes a smile, a laugh, whatever it takes to seem like he didn’t just admit that he fucked up on live television.

they get to sleep in their own beds tonight, but tomorrow is the start of their radio show tour to promote their album. it’ll be two weeks long, hitting the major stations daily until they’ve answered all the hard hitting questions like if gareth snores or if they ever find time to eat healthy on tour.

but his bed is his least favorite place to sleep, and no amount of tossing and turning is gonna give him what he needs.

so he calls steve.

“harrington’s house, you’ve reached the harrington who actually lives here.”

eddie’s so shocked that steve answered he barely even registers his words.

“hello?” steve’s voice turns serious. “anyone there?”

“stevie?”

eddie shouldn’t have started with that, but he wasn’t in control of his body anymore.

steve hangs up.

somehow it’s worse than if he hadn’t answered at all.

but eddie is fine. he is.

he’s gonna close his eyes and go to sleep and maybe not dream about dying or fucking up the only good thing he ever had.

his phone rings and he’s almost certain he’s dreaming already.

“hello?”

“sorry i panicked.”

steve’s voice is like a reverb in an arena, sending chills down eddie’s arms.

“you’re not the only one.”

“but…you called me.”

“because you never answer.”

“so why call? if i’m never gonna answer.”

“because if you do answer, i can hear your voice.”

steve sits with that answer for a minute before he speaks.

“dustin played me the interview.”

“yeah.”

“was it me? was i your regret?”

how could steve think that? how could the man who saved his life ever believe he was anything less than a gift? in no universe would eddie regret steve.

“no. my regret is making you ever think that you could be a mistake.”

eddie should end it there, let steve marinate with that. he knows no amount of apologies will actually help, but he could give it a try anyway.

“i’m sorry i left when you needed me. i’m sorry i was selfish and chose to get out and leave you behind. and i’m sorry none of my sorries even matter because it’s too late.”

for a minute—yes, eddie counts— there’s silence. and then there’s a small shuffling sound and eddie’s almost sure that steve’s gonna hang up.

instead, steve sounds like he’s holding back tears when he speaks.

“are you gonna come back?”

eddie can’t. he can’t just put a pause on the band or any of their plans. it’s not fair to the guys or the fans or himself.

but he can do something he should’ve done two years ago.

“will you come with me?”

the question hangs in the air for what feels like forever. steve may say no. that’s part of why eddie didn’t even ask the first time. but he may say-

“yes.”

“you will?”

“on one condition.”

“anything.”

“you stop trying to forget all the bad parts. the bad parts sucked, but they brought us together. running from them means running from me. at least hold my hand so i can run with you.”

eddie thinks maybe he could write a song about that.

and he thinks he’d like to hold steve’s hand while he does.

[blushweddinggowns]

I'm all for the angsty overhearing a conversation trope where it's all sad because of a misunderstanding. But I also love the opposite. Overhearing a conversation where the other person is just singing their praises. Especially with Steve and Eddie.

Like Steve being very aware that he likes Eddie, but way too afraid of rejection to actually do anything about it. So he just pines away, and gets closer and closer to him with the full expectation of it never going anywhere. Until one day, he comes to pick Dustin up from Hellfire too early, and he can hear everyone talking through the door. About him. But mostly it's Eddie, his loud voice carrying across the room. And he's just raving about him, and somehow managing to bring him up in conversations that have nothing to do with him.

Do you remember that time Steve saved my life by shoving my guts back into my body? Yeah, that's the level of skill and luck you're going to need to survive this.

Did you guys know that Steve actually gave me this background music? He's weirdly knowledgeable about classical stuff. Isn't that cool? He's so smart and-oh, yeah, the merchant agrees to the deal.

So uh, is Steve maybe seeing anyone? He isn't right? Like he would tell me if he was, wouldn't he?

And he doesn't give a single fuck at the collective groaning of the group whenever he gets going, never failing to pull out the I almost Died saving the world with you card to get them to shut up. And by the time it actually ends, Steve is a glowing, blushing mess who can't stop smiling.

Or the other way around. With Eddie full on assuming he has 0 shot because Steve's, Steve.

The golden boy who could obviously never be into him like that, or any other guy for that matter. So he doesn't do anything about his feelings, he just hangs out with him more and more and falls for him more and more, waiting for the inevitable day when he gets a girlfriend and his fantasies could finally die. Except one day, he spends the night at Steve's, but he isn't in bed when he wakes up. He goes to find him, just to hear him downstairs loudly talking to Robin. Because neither of them know the concept of inside voices when they're together. And he waits at the top, listening in just for the fuck of it, but mostly because he doesn't want to interrupt.

"I just feel like bed sharing the way you guys do is gay as hell," Robin sighed, "Especially at your age. Also, should we even be talking about this with him in the house?"

And before Eddie has time to freak out over that and the possibility he's gotten caught with his feelings, Steve is already answering, "I know right? And don't worry about it, he sleeps like the dead. But I don't know what to do about it. He still hasn't done anything. Am I just reading this whole thing wrong?"

"Well you could try making the first move instead of trying to trick him into doing it," Robin tried.

"And ruin our friendship incase I'm wrong? Yeah, no. Besides, I go like, full dumbass around him when I'm nervous. He's too hot. I'd probably walk into a wall in the middle of professing my undying love."

"Yeah," Robin sighed, "You probably would."

And Eddie is just having a moment upstairs. A full on I think I may have to jump for joy moment. Or even, I think I'm five seconds away from squealing like a teenage girl moment.

Yeah, I like that shit.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Okay, so vampire Eddie is a pretty standard trope at this point, but may I offer...Twilight vampire Eddie who is absolutely pissed off about his sparkly existence?

Eddie actually isn't that old, he was turned in the 80s when he was around 20. He lives with his small and not only vampire family. There's patriarch Wayne, his partner Scott who always becomes a teacher no matter where they move, Claudia Henderson and her son that have been with them ever since Scott noticed Dustin being unusually quiet in his class and soon after, Wayne kicked out his abusive father.

The problem with living with a smart man who loves educating people and a man who never received the education he deserved is - they take school really, really seriously. Whenever they move, Eddie usually has to re-join high school, it's all "just so that you have some socialization! Also we need to be able to blend in, so look around and see what's normal with young people! Also I'm pretty sure some of the stuff we know is now obsolete or disproven, so make sure to tell us!". And Eddie loves Wayne and Scott, he really does, but he had trouble blending in even when he was alive, so now? Impossible. As for gathering information, Eddie has been trying for decades to explain to Wayne that even if becoming a vampire healed the wounds from the lynching mob, it didn't do shit for his ADHD, so there. Wayne finds Eddie banging his head into a desk one day and chanting "WHAT-THE-FUCK-IS-TIK-TOK?!"

So yes, Eddie hates being a forever highschooler, but it also means he can run DnD clubs everywhere he joins and he's not even lynched for it like in the 80s, so hey, progress! He gets mostly content with his existence, except that he's fucking sparkly and can't turn into a bat, so what's the point?!

But then a huge group of people moves from the close town of Hawkins, they had a really fucked up earthquake - Wayne told him all about it, he often volunteered in rescue and high risk works, and he's never seen anything like it - and their little town becomes way more crowded. There are high school freshmen just begging to be introduced to his club, Hellfire, although one of them is scary observant and Eddie is really sure that Jane knows he's a vampire.

And then there's Steve Harrington. A young man with the prettiest hair ever who joined Eddie's class, apparently he needs to repeat the last year too because if your school burns down, you can't take final exams. He's stupidly pretty, snarky, bitchy, and even though he could be partying day and night and spending the rest of his time on dates, he prefers to hang around with the freshmen. Lucas tells him one day that Steve got badly hurt when he was digging through the collapsed middle school, finding and rescuing their whole group, and well...Eddie respects that. Dustin absolutely loves Steve and maybe Eddie feels a bit jealous, but he has to admit - the guy is cool.

The problem with Steve Harrington is this - he's seen so much shit that nothing really fazes him. Eddie loves shocking people. Steve is unshockable. It becomes their little game, they get close, Eddie realizes he has an embarrassing crush, all that jazz. He tries dropping hints, he slurps his bloody lunch from a bottle that has a "THIS IS DEFINITELY TOMATO JUICE AND NOTHING ELSE". He wears a cape. He adopts a horrible Dracula accent. Nothing works. Steve always just laughs and tells him that he's weird and that's why he likes him.

Finally, Eddie has enough. They walk in the woods to get high, Eddie decides to break the ice, he scoops up Steve, does his whole dashing-through-the-woods thing, and he hopes that he can finally share his secret with Steve.

Except Steve just pats his back and says "Wow, that was cool, man! You'd be amazing at track. Great core strength too," and Eddie's head implodes.

"Okay, Steve. Don't you think there's something rotten here?" he tries.

"I mean, it's the woods. Of course there's something rotting all the time."

Eddie tries again. "You've noticed something strange, haven't you. I'm inhumanly fast and strong."

"I sure didn't expect that! You must be secretly training. I didn't know this town had a gym."

Again. "My skin is pale white and ice cold."

Steve is watching a nearby squirrel instead of looking horrified. "Yeah, not all people tan great, Robin is like that too. And I told you, man. Your circulation is shit, you need better socks and some gloves too."

"My eyes change color."

"Yeah, I know, I do envy you that you can wear those cool contact lenses. My eyes are too dry for that."

Eddie is growing desperate, he's gesturing at the trees because Steve doesn't listen. "I speak like I'm from a different time."

"80s slashers will do that to you. You basically live on those. But I gotta admit that they're pretty fun. Oh look, she's got an acorn! Clever girl!"

"Very clever. Also I never eat or drink anything."

"Hey, I'm not judging. Some people prefer one or two meals in a day instead of the whole five meal thing."

Eddie feels like howling and he isn't even a werewolf. "I. DON'T. GO. INTO. THE. SUNLIGHT."

Steve's eyes finally leave the squirrel. "Duh. We've already established you can't tan."

And Eddie's had enough. He tears off his t-shirt, marches directly into the sunlight and throws the biggest tantrum of his life. "STEVEN HARRINGTON. PAY ATTENTION. I am 20. I have been 20 for a while now. You know what I am, right? I am a vampire. So ask me the question, what do we eat? That wasn't a fucking tomato juice Steven!!!"

Steve just watches him with quiet amusement, as if he's waiting for something.

Eddie doesn't notice. His monologue is reaching its most dramatic part. "I've killed people before! I'm the world's most dangerous predator!"

Steve snorts. "I saw you trip over your own feet in the cafeteria."

"Not the point!"

"You told a waitress "you too" when she told you to enjoy your meal."

Eddie actually howls now. "THE POINT IS." He spins in the sunlight and sees the reflections of light off his skin. "I wouldn't have minded becoming a vampire, but let me tell you. Being stuck in high school forever? Sucks. Craving chips and throwing them up whenever you try them? SUCKS. And thinking you've become the legendary creature of the night when you're a glorified glitter mascot?! And you can't even fly?! DOUBLE SUCKS."

He points at his bare glittering chest. "THIS THE SKIN OF A FUCKING DISCO BALL, STEVE!"

Steve just laughs and gets up from the tree stump he was sitting on. "Thanks for sharing. I was kinda hoping you'd finally ask me out since this is the first time we've had some privacy, but this was interesting too."

Eddie's sharing mania suddenly stops. He realizes he's shirtless in the middle of the forest, and his yelling has scared off the squirrel. He promptly grabs his shirt and puts in on. "Um. You...you wanted me to ask you out? Because I totally want to do that. Yep. But I thought it would have been unfair to ask you before I told you-"

"That you're a vampire? Dude, I know."

Eddie blinks once. Then again. "Excusemewhat?"

Steve smiles at him and touches his hand. "Look. After what happened in Hawkins, I know the smell of blood. I knew it wasn't tomato juice. Also I've accompanied the kids to enough monster flicks to know."

"Oh." Eddie licks his lips and doesn't really know what to say. "Um. What...does that mean for us?"

Laughing, Steve grabs his other hand too. "Definitely two things. One - you can and should kiss me. Two - you can stop wearing that cape. I got your point."

"Oh okay. Cool. Will do. Both."

And since Eddie Munson is a vampire of his word, he does.

(Wayne is absolutely delighted that Eddie is dating, he watches sports with Steve and discusses the pros and cons of Steve becoming a paramedic. Scott helps Steve with some of the subjects he's struggling with. In return, Steve works with Robin to find a makeup brand that is fully sparkleproof, giving the vampires a chance to walk in the sunlight again. And sometimes, he helps them answer the questions that have been plaguing the Munson-Clarke-Henderson household for years...such as: what is TikTok?)

(oh and also. Turns out Steve really thought Eddie was wearing creepy contact lenses. That one aspect of vampyrism he found very cool)

[slutt4lovee]

friends (b.b.)

𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚒 - 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 2356

warnings: NO SMUT, just cutesy fluff, maybe just a tiny bit of angst but not really, nothing really to warn about. might be some typos and shit but at this point y'all should be expecting this from my dyslexic ass.

summary: After being friends with Bucky for years, you finally get the confession you've been dreaming of.

Being Bucky's friend isn't really as great as Steve made it seem. Sure, Bucky is caring and funny and fiercely protective of the things and people that he loves. Yes, he's funny and charming and everything good in the world, but he is also arrogant and cocky and so emotionally repressed that you're not even sure he knows what feelings are anymore.

Being Bucky's friend means that you're also the Winter Soldier's best friend and that is a horrible feeling. Not because of the fact that he is the Winter Soldier but more so because the Winter Soldier has a fucking martyr complex. Despite the fact that Bucky is an amazing person who you think encompasses every good aspect of the world, he's an incredible dumbass. Not just a regular dumbass, the kind of fucking idiot that thinks everyone else, everything else is more important than him. The kind of idiotic person that thinks everyone but him is worth saving, the kind who runs head first into danger because he genuinely doesn't care if he lives or dies as long as he saves someone. Bucky is the type of imbecile that would run into a building, knowing it was rigged with explosives just to save a cat.

Bucky may be one of the best people you've ever met, but being his friend is horrible.

It's caring so intensely for someone who doesn't even care about himself. It's not being able to see or even speak to him for weeks or months because he's off on some insanely stupid mission to save the fucking world or something stupid like that. It's him constantly thinking he's some kind of invincible god and you having to remind him over and over and over that he's not. No matter how much he might look like one. It's trying to convince someone that hates his entire fucking existence that he deserves every soft, sappy thing in the world no matter how much he thinks he doesn't.

But worst of all it's being in love with a complete fucking idiot who doesn't even think he's worthy of love. You'd take all the anxiety, the panic, the dread, the crying and worry a million times over if you could just not be in love with that complete fucking dumbass. Or if you could maybe convince him that he deserves all the love in the fucking world.

—

You can't sleep, never can when he's gone. Some stupid romance movie you've seen about a hundred times plays on your tv—a feeble attempt to keep your mind off Bucky. To keep your mind from imagining what he's doing on his mission and all the ways it could go horribly wrong.

It doesn't really work.

It's almost impossible to keep him out of your mind. When you're not worrying about all the ways he could be killed, you're pining after him in the worst fucking way.

Just staring mindlessly at the screen daydreaming about him and the way his clothes always fit just right, just enough to give you a good view of his muscles without being too tight. And the way he looks in his stupidly attractive one armed outfits he wears on missions—which shouldn't be so fucking hot, but it is, it really fucking is. And his lips, just everything about them, their shape, their pretty pink color, the way they look so fucking soft all the god damned time. And that boyish, way too endearing, smirk of his that makes your heart feel like it's about to burst out of your chest. And his hands and the way they feel against your skin, rough calloused fingers with a touch so soft it sends chills down your spine. And—and, God you're so fucking fucked about him.

He's your best friend, really one of your only friends, and yet you can't stop thinking about him doing filthy things—that he would probably never do—to you. It's horrible and dirty and disrespectful but you just can't stop, thinking about Bucky's mouth and if it's really as soft as it looks.

You smell him before you even hear him, woody smoke, and honey, mixed with sweat. You smile softly to yourself as he drops his bag to the ground with a little grunt. Your mind moves slowly, struggling through your lack of sleep to put pieces together. You're clumsily climbing over the back of the couch the second you realize he's really there.

"Bucky," You start to say, stumbling a little at the ungraceful way you dismount from the back of the couch. "What the fuck?" You ask, waving your hands up and down in his general direction.

He's not sure if you're questioning his appearance or his presence...maybe both. You're not really sure either.

"I just got back," He mutters, words dripping with exhaustion as his arms slip lazily around your waist, making you trip over your own feet as he pulls you into his chest.

"You didn't text," You whisper, matching the soft tone of his voice as you slide your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He doesn't respond right away, he pulls you closer instead, grabbing onto your shirt to keep you there as if you had any plans on letting go. He makes a soft, barely audible noise, as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. His arms are tight around your waist, holding you to him like he's scared you're just gonna disappear and the thought makes your chest ache. You tilt your head, squeezing your eyes shut as your nose presses into the top of his shoulder, your lips just barely touching the leather on his jacket. Your nose floods with his scent, and you find yourself wishing you could capture it and keep it forever. He smells like camping in the summer, like searching for bugs and plants and pretty rocks in the woods, like staring up at the sky and pointing out the prettiest ones.

He smells likehome, warm and cozy and safe.

Slowly it feels like every ounce of worry and dread is leached out of your body. He's home, he's safe, he's here in your arms and nothing else fucking matters. This is the good part, this right here, all the worrying and sleepless nights are worth it just for this feeling. This happy sort of peaceful relief you get every time he comes back safe.

"M'sorry," He mutters after a few seconds, his words muffled in the crook of your neck. "Jus' wanted to get home."

Your stomach twists at that, a giddy sort of feeling floating around in your stomach at his words. He came straight from his mission to you. Didn't stop at his place, didn't go to the compound, he came straight to you. Straight home to you.

"Took ya long enough." You whisper against his shoulder, voice light and teasing as his grip on your shirt tightens.

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell this one must've been rough on him. It's obvious from the way he's clutching your shirt like a lifeline. Holding you to his chest like he thought he'd never see you again, like he's scared to let go. You don't ask him about it, he'll talk when he's ready, but you do hold him just as tight as he holds you. Rub your hands along his back, over his shoulder, up the back of his neck, lingering the softest touches everywhere you can reach because you know it calms him down.

"S'good you came home, you were gone so long I was about to come lookin' for you." You tell him, smiling softly against his neck at the little snort he lets out.

He's quiet for a bit longer, just standing there with his arms around your waist, his hands clutching at your shirt like he's terrifiedyou're going to vanish. After a while he relinquishes your shirt and before you can even think about pulling away, not that you would, his hands are running down to the backs of your thighs.

"M'sorry," He murmurs into your neck, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist like you weigh absolutely nothing. "Came as quick as I could, darlin', didn't even get to shower or anything."

"Did you eat?" You ask softly, holding onto him a little tighter as he hooks his arms back around your waist.

He shakes his head and you start to offer to cook him something while he showers but he's walking in the direction of your bedroom before you can get a single word out. He nudges your bedroom door open with the toe of his boot without saying a word and it makes you frown because Bucky is never silent around you. Talks so damn much you started to think he just liked the sound of his own voice (really he just loved the sound of yours but he's not about to admit something that sappy).

"Do you want to eat?" You ask, voice all soft and sweet in a way that makes his head spin.

He shakes his head again and without even letting go of you, he falls forward onto your bed, sandwiching you between him and your mattress. He's heavy, dense, thick muscle directly on top of you, but you don't complain. You wouldn't dare tell him that he's crushing your fucking chest because then he'd let go and you don't want that.

He settles with his head on your chest, his ear pressed up against the center of it. Listening closely to the sound of your heart like he didn't believe it was real. His hand slips a little under the hem of your shirt but stays resting on your hip as if all he wanted was just to feel your skin.

He's silent for a while, laying so still that you almost think he's fallen asleep. You don't say anything either because what could you possibly say? You could tell him about work or something but you're almost certain he doesn't want to hear that.

"Thought you were dead..." He whispers as he nuzzles his face against the center of your chest. His hands squeeze at your hips and you can't shake the feeling that he's trying to make sure you're real.

You don't really know what to say to that either. You stroke your fingers through his hair and you swear you feel your heart break a little at the pain in his voice.

"God, I thought you were fucking dead..." His voice cracks a little this time and his arms wrap around your waist tight, too tight but you don't say a thing. You're happy to just let him squeeze the life out of you if it makes him feel even a little bit better. "They...they got in my head, made me see things...and all I could think about was that I never got the chance to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You ask and you think your voice comes out a bit strained because he immediately loosens his grip.

"That I'm fucking in love with you," He forces out, voice rough with emotion as he shifts a little so that he's looking down at you.

Your heart fucking stops at his words and all you can do is just stare up at him like a complete fool. Cheeks flushing bright red and eyes wide as you stammer and choke on 16 different failed attempts at speech.

He loves you. No. He's in love with you.

"I thought you were dead and all I could think about was that you didn't know I loved you." He tells you, voice softening some as his eyes scan over your face. "All I wanted to fucking do was hold you and kiss you and just fucking touch you again and I know that's so fucking selfish of me but...fuck."

"You...love me?" Your voice comes out all meek and unsure as you look up at him. You're not even sure if your heart has started beating again because it feels like you could, very well, drop dead at any fucking second.

"Of course I do you fucking idiot." Bucky laughs and the sound is utterly heart wrenching to you. He tries to smile but it just looks so fucking sad that you want to cry.

And maybe he's right and you are a fucking idiot because you can't think of anything to say. You want to tell him you love him too but the words won't come up, they stick in the back of your throat and make you choke. All you can manage is to reach out, grab his face, and pull it down to yours in a pathetic excuse for a kiss.

He kisses you back instantly, taking control of the kiss, somehow calmer than you. His lips are soft and sweet against yours and nowhere near as clunky and uncoordinated as you but he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. He smiles a little against your near frantic lips, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your face.

It's not your first kiss, not even close, but you're so clumsy with it that it damn near feels like it. He hums against your lips like it's the best damn kiss he's ever had, strokes his thumb over your cheek and laughs when your teeth hit his.

You think he'll pull away, you would if you were him, but he doesn't. If anything he kisses you a bit harder, trying to take control of the kiss and guide your lips to work with his and it works wonders, you practically melt into it. He makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat when you finally relax and then his tongue slides over your bottom lip and you melt all over again.

You've never been the biggest fan of tongue kissing, it's always just so wet and slimy and forceful. But there's something about the way Bucky's tongue slides so so softly across your bottom lip that has you parting your lips without a second thought. And you don't fucking regret it at all.

It doesn't feel all slimy and gross like you're used to. His tongue is soft and wet and there's a faint hint of sweet mint as he kisses you. One of his hands squeezes at your waist under your shirt and he fucking groans like kissing you is the best thing he's ever experienced.

He kisses you until you're both breathless, until your lips are raw and swollen and slick with spit.

His forehead presses against yours and his voice comes out all hoarse and raspy as he says, "Fuck, I could kiss you for fucking ever,"

You laugh at that and the noise is so soft and sweet that it makes his breath hitch. You flutter your eyes open, thumbs stroking at the side of his neck as you look up at his flushed face.

"I love you too," You whisper and God, the way he smiles sends a jolt of warm heat through your body. "I didn't say it earlier, but I do. I really fucking do."

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Twenty

Steve gets dressed fast, his brain kind of fixating on the memory of Eddie’s...penis? Wriggling it’s way across his skin. The way the head or...face, had slowly started to open up.

Jesus Christ.

They can just never have sex. Or be naked together. Ever. That’s fine. That’s absolutely the most normal and logical way to play this. Steve stops, one leg in and one leg out of his pants...what if it bites?

“Stee love?” Eddie’s still wrapped in a towel, wearing it kind of toga style, wrapped firmly under his armpits. He already has his hat back on. He’s fidgeting with the edge of the material.

Eddie used to be half fish anyway, so it’s not like Steve was expecting an involved sexual relationship when...when he thought Eddie was going to die. Steve feels like absolute shit for thinking it, but there was never any commitment before, their relationship had a very definite end. Which, yes, okay, had the positive effect of Steve just...completely by passing any kind of sexuality crisis.

Or species crisis.

But now...now he’s in it for the long haul. And Eddie may want intimacy. Hell, Steve would quite like some intimacy. When Eddie just had a...well, a parting, like a girl, Steve hadn’t given it much thought really, Eddie’s only just freshly legged. Eddie only just now has a real life span. Steve just kind of figured they'd...work something out at some point.

They are probably still going to have to do that.

“Stee love?” Eddie asks again, more quietly this time, uncertain. Steve hates that he’s probably the cause of that.

He still wants the defense of pants though, right now, while he...processes things.

“Right, Yeah,” Steve forces his brain back on line; whatever that was, Eddie was fine with it. And it’s a part of Eddie, clearly...so. Steve needs to just get over this real fast, “what do you want to wear? You can choose.”

“Choose,” Eddie goes to the closet, pulling out some draw string sweat pants and the sweater Joyce made for him.

He takes the towel off, leaving it on the bottom of the bed. The slit is clearly closed; Steve can’t see any evidence of anything. He’s so entranced, staring at the space between Eddie’s legs, that Eddie manages to get a leg in before Steve thinks to intervene, “wait, baby, boxers first.”

Steve gets them, Eddie pulling his leg out, turning the pants inside out in the process. He puts the boxers on backwards, but Steve figures it doesn’t matter since he’s got to sit to pee anyway. Eddie’s clearly confused by one leg being inside out, so Steve helps him fix it.

Watching Eddie put on the sweater is a bit of an experience, it starts off going on over his head sideways, one arm hanging from Eddie’s chest, so Eddie twists and sticks an arm in there, forcing it to straighten before he puts the other one in.

“Uhm,” Steve says, staring at the fully six inches of belly buttonless exposed midriff Eddie’s left with, “maybe we should put a tee shirt on underneath.”

“Underneath,” Eddie cocks his head.

Steve gets him a shirt, helping him back out of the sweater, into the tee shirt, then back into the sweater. The shirt is pastel blue, the sweat pants gray, the sweater red and green. It’s a bit of a look, especially with the bobble hat, but Eddie grins big as Steve finishes dressing himself. Eddie watches closely as Steve puts his socks on, and then goes and gets himself a balled up pair from the drawer.

He sits on the edge of the bed, next to Steve, unballing the socks, one immediately falling to the floor, Eddie clearly not expecting what would happen as he unraveled them. He gets them on okay, apart from one being upside down, so the heel is on the top of his foot. He’s pulled both of them up over the top of the ankle cuffs of his pants.

“My boyfriend is a fashion disaster,” Steve comes to terms with it pretty fast; it’s just Eddie being...Eddie.

“Called boyfriend? Called...fashion disaster?” Eddie sounds the words out carefully.

“Oh boy,” Steve sighs, “here, let me at least fix the socks,” Steve kneels, twisting one sock the right way around and then pulling the cuffs of his pants out so they’re over the top. It reminds him of the ring, kneeling in front of Eddie like this; Steve touches it, where Eddie’s hands rest on his thighs. He might not of exactly intentionally put the ring on that finger in the moment, but now that he realizes what he’s done he definitely likes it. “Boyfriends means I love you, and you love me.”

Eddie nods.

“It’s not the same as friend love...so I love Birdie, but it’s different, to how I love you...I won’t kiss anyone, except you, you understand? I love Birdie, and the kids, and Nancy and John and Joyce and...Hopper, I guess. I love them and I care about them, but…”

“Love Eddidie more good.”

“Yeah, yeah baby.”

Eddie nods, “Eddidie love Stee. Perfect love. Kiss Stee. Not kiss not Stee,” Eddie’s so earnest as he looks down at Steve. His eyes are much better, only vague traces of where they were bloodshot, the lids no longer red or swollen.

Steve snorts a laugh, “so you won’t kiss anyone else,” he says slowly, “you won’t kiss other people.”

“People. Stee. Eddidie. Kids. Hopper. El. Joyce…”

“All,” Steve makes a large encompassing gesture with his hands, “all people.”

“Not kiss all people. Kiss Stee,” Eddie tells him, almost desperate, “love Stee.”

“Love you too baby.”

Eddie’s face crumples for a moment, and for that horrible second Steve thinks Eddie’s going to cry, he certainly looks on the verge of it, big brown eyes liquid, when he says, “Eddidie sorry.”

“Sorry for what baby?” Steve rubs at Eddie’s thigh through the material of his sweat pants, trying to comfort him.

“Eddidie different.”

“I...yeah. Yeah but it’s okay, it’s fine-”

“Not. Stee scared.”

Steve sighs, well fuck, he thinks. “I was just…you are different, okay. But it’s fine, okay, it’s good, I was just...surprised. Okay? Not bad. Not bad I promise.”

“Perfect true? Promise? Eddidie not bad?”

“You’re not bad. I promise okay, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Touch more? Kiss?” Eddie asks uncertainly, and for the first time ever, Eddie won’t look at Steve when he speaks. He’s staring down at his own knees instead. It guts Steve a little.

“I...yeah. Yeah...later?”

“Today?” Eddie looks up, so earnest still.

He clearly needs reassurance and Steve feels like an absolute shit for making Eddie feel this way. He really didn’t mean to, his response was pure instinct, he really had no control over it, “maybe today...maybe tomorrow? Soon, okay. I promise soon.”

Eddie nods in agreement, but he looks...wilted.

“Come on, you wanted cobbler? And we can watch ‘Splash’?” Steve knows it’s distraction through bribery, but he just needs a little time to process.

Eddie brightens immediately, nodding, “cobbler many good.”

Tom Hanks is under a table, trying to dry Daryl Hannah’s mermaid tail away with his dress tie. Eddie is fascinated. He’s sitting forward in his seat, watching, enraptured.

The phone rings, but Eddie barely registers it, so Steve leaves him to it.

“Hey kid it’s Hopper, you still want a ride to your appointment tomorrow?”

And actually, Steve had more or less forgotten, “uhm...no, I think I’ll be okay,” Steve’s pretty sure he’s up for driving, he can get a shoe on no issue now as long as he’s careful.

“All right, I’m going to need some I.D. photos of Eddie for his documents, think you can manage that?”

“Yeah, yeah Hop, should be able to do that tomorrow. We need groceries anyway.”

“Right, well don’t forget he can’t wear that hat in the photos.”

Shit, Steve thinks, “might have to wait then, I mean his ears are kind of pointy.”

Hopper hums, “what about a wig? Like a fancy dress one that looks like his hair, just for the photos?”

“That...could work, but where-”

Hopper sighs down the phone, and it sounds like it pains him to admit, “I might have something.”

“Again?” Eddie asks, the second the film finishes, “Madison good.”

“Later baby, Joyce is coming over.”

Eddie immediately perks up, “Christmas food?”

Steve laughs, “no, something else, but are you hungry?” Eddie nods, “okay, I can make us something quick.”

“Here honey, sit down,” Joyce indicates a chair for Eddie, “I’m not sure how well this will curl, but if I just spray it down and twist it up, it might be curly tomorrow.”

Eddie sits, letting Joyce fit the wig on his head. It’s obviously false, and nothing like Eddie’s real hair, but the transformation is still immediate. It makes Eddie look healthier, more like himself. Joyce hums to herself as she brushes it out, Eddie fiddling with the ends.

“And why do you have this?”

“I told you kid, no questions.”

“Oh don’t be such a grouch Hop,” Joyce chastises him, smiling, “we went to a costume party for Halloween, we were Sonny and Cher.”

Steve can’t help the shit eating grin he turns on Hopper, “of course you were,” Hopper just rolls his eyes and mooches a beer out of the fridge.

“Eddie I’m going to cut some off this okay? I’ll try and get it about right for you okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, sounding bemused, “thank you Joyce.”

“Such good manners honey, you’re very welcome.”

“Called manners?”

“Oh...well it mean you always remember to say please and thank you.”

“Please and thank you.”

Steve watches them chatting away, vaguely listening to them talk as Joyce asks Eddie which were his favorite parts of Christmas; she seems genuinely thrilled that Eddie is wearing the sweater she made.

Hopper’s leaning against the counter with his beer, “kid we gotta do something about the pool.”

For a moment, the words resurface a truly horrific set of memories that bring Steve up short. Just for a second, he almost can’t breathe, and then it passes, “look Hop, that day, I’m...I shouldn’t have shouted, the way that I did-”

“Kid, I’m old enough to know when I was wrong,” he looks over at where Joyce is snipping bits off Eddie’s ‘hair,’ “and I was wrong.”

Steve looks out the window with Hopper; it’s cold out there, a thin layer of fresh snow decorates the lawn with patchy white splotches. Steve can see what Hopper means though; Steve’s pool chair is nearly black with vines. Hopper moves, clearly intending to head out there; Steve heads into the hall, slipping on his sneakers carefully and grabbing a jacket and some gloves.

He meets Hopper, looking down at the vines and the shitty murky crap in the bottom; Hopper flicks his cigarette end into the muck.

He sighs, “what you got in the shed?”

They had drained the pool as much as they could, but the pump soon started to protest the sludge, so they turned it off and then Steve ran it through with buckets of clean water from the hose. Hopper’s in there, double layers of trash bags taped to his thighs and a bandana mask over his mouth and nose. Joyce and Eddie have a shovel and a fork between them, standing on the pool edge, scraping the vines off the edge and the tiles so they drop into the black muck at the bottom. They’re dead and brittle, snapping and breaking off easily, leaving little puffs of grey dust to float down after the chunks fall.

Steve runs back and forth, sneakers dirty as he goes as far in as he dares, shoveling and moving buckets and then the wheelbarrow to Hopper’s instruction. There’s a clear set of footprints and wheel marks across the lawn and snow, into the trees where Steve’s been dumping all this is in the hopes the melting snow and rain will wash it all away.

They work for a couple of hours before the dark finally drives them back inside, but the pool does look much improved. Steve figures if he can get out there in the day and spend a good few hours on it, he could definitely clear the worst of it. It’s gross, but no where near as deep as Steve feared it would be.

“Once we get near to the end we can put a couple of feet of water in, then just get in and scrub and the pump should do the rest,” Hopper tells him, “you got your appointment tomorrow, but I’ll drop by the day after?”

“Thanks...thanks so much Hopper, I really really appreciate this.”

Hopper shrugs, “I’ll bring Jon, he can help.”

“Thank you Hopper,” Eddie tells him, too.

“Kid, really, it’s fine. No pine cones necessary.”

Part TwentyTwo

[buckybabesonly]

as long as we're together (does it matter where we go?)

Summary: You don't want to be a burden to Bucky, knowing he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!OC

Genre: Angst

Length: 7.8k

Two years ago

“I don’t think I want to be with you anymore.”

Bucky had expected it. Weeks of you being distant, making secret phone calls, avoiding his touches like they physically hurt you. Countless times Bucky had asked, what's wrong?, only for you to shut him down and say that everything was fine. Bucky was sick of hearing that empty, meaningless mantra, but it didn’t mean that he reveled in your confession now.

Even though it didn't come as a surprise, it still felt like a punch to the gut. It physically winded him to hear those words leave your lips.

He wondered what he did wrong. He wondered where they went wrong. They were so in love, so wonderfully content in each other's company. You were his person. Steve had once told Bucky that he would find someone unexpectedly, when Bucky made an off-hand comment about how lucky he was to have met Peggy.

“You’ll find your Peggy.”

Things had been perfect. Or maybe Bucky had just been in denial, ignoring all the problems between you because he thought that his feelings for you triumphed over everything, no matter what hardships you may have been suffering from. How could he ever face the reality that you might actually leave in pursuit of something better?

Now, Bucky’s chest was tight with an indescribable feeling, both of you stood in your shared apartment. Your belongings stuffed into a black suitcase, Bucky’s heart in pieces on the hardwood floor.

He had expected it, but it didn't stop him from wanting to die.

"Why?" It was all he could ask. He wanted to know the reason, wanted to understand. Wanted to know if he could fix it. He was desperate to make you stay.

Bucky stared at your face. You looked so...indifferent. Unattached, in contrast to the woman he had met all those years ago. Where had the softness in your eyes gone? Why couldn’t you meet his pleading gaze, even now? At what point did your feelings for him start to fade, and was there anything he could have done to salvage it?

Your face was a blank slate, emotionless, and it made Bucky feel a truly troubling combination of sadness and anger. It was as if you had already said your goodbyes to their relationship, completely ready to move on whilst Bucky was still trying to process your words. You were ready to leave him behind to mourn.

“I don’t think we’re right for each other,” you had said quietly. “I don’t think we can give each other what we need.”

"Bullshit," Bucky said, his voice cracking. You grimaced ever so slightly at his tone, still unable to meet his eyes. "How can you say that?"

He took a step forward; you matched it with a retreating step, but with wide strides he seized your wrists. He silently willed you to say something which could somehow lessen the excruciating pain.

“Will you just look at me?”

He wanted so badly for you to meet his stare, to find some source of comfort within your eyes which usually held so much love for him.

Finally, you relented and lifted your head. They did not fill Bucky with any hope. You pressed your lips together firmly as he searched your face desperately for any sign of residual affection.

"We - we're in love. How can you say after all these years that we're not right for each other? For fuck's sake, will you just tell me what happened?"

"People change, Bucky," you said softly. The look on your face - was it sadness, or apathy? "We've become too distant."

"And whose fault is that?" Bucky released you then. He was so angry, wanting to elicit some sort of reaction from you, that he wanted to punch the wall beside them. It made him feel nauseous at how stoic you were now, like a piece of unyielding rock. He knew you hated it when he took his anger out physically. You had been the one to teach him how to manage his rage more constructively, to talk things out and use his words rather than his fists.

"Are you trying to say it's mine?" Your tone was sharp, finally demonstrating some emotion. "Are you saying that all those nights waiting for you to come back home, all those evenings alone whilst you stayed at the Tower, all those hours I spent staring at the four walls of this apartment were my fault?"

"You left me!" Bucky retorted, gritting his teeth. "You left me long before today! You think I haven't noticed? You can barely stand touching me. You're always on your phone, always texting, always out seeing your 'friends'," he said, making air quotes. "I asked Wanda, she said you haven't been meeting her or your other friends for weeks. Who's this 'friend’? Who the fuck is it that's so important that you can't spare any time for me, never mind your actual friends?"

A long, pregnant pause filled the air, an indecipherable mask on your face once more. Bucky’s eyes were wet, and if he hadn't been so angry, he would've seen the way your lower lip was trembling ever so slightly, the way it did whenever you were trying not to cry. It had been the biggest telltale sign for him over the years to know when you were upset and trying your best to hide it.

He was usually so good at reading you, but he was blinded with sadness.

"Fine," you said eventually, slicing the silence with a shaky exhale. "I'm seeing someone else."

You might as well have struck Bucky across the face.

Suspecting it and hearing the words fall from your lips were two different things. He physically reeled back in anguish as he stared at you. He took in the sight of his girlfriend in front of him, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. This was, without a doubt, the woman he had met five years ago. The woman he spent five years loving. The woman whom he recognized no longer.

"Why?" Bucky whispered, all the fight leaving his body. He physically seemed to sag, forehead creasing at all the other questions running through his mind, visions of you being touched and fucked by some faceless, nameless man.

You were almost pitiful in the way you looked at Bucky, and he hated it.

"I care for you, Bucky. But I’m not in love with you anymore. And I'm sorry I had to do this to you. Things just got out of control."

I’m not in love with you anymore.

You offered no further information, but he had stopped listening, anyway. The finality in your voice pierced him slowly, tortuously, through the heart. He barely moved when you took your suitcase and pulled it out behind you, out of their apartment. Out of his life.

The door slammed shut.

Present day

You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Mercedes Knight & Samuel Wilson

Sam had become Bucky’s closest confidant in the past few years, and the latter had been a close witness as Sam met Mercedes ‘Misty’ Knight, a former NYPD officer who had somehow become roped into their crazy world. It was no surprise to Bucky when they announced their engagement just six months into dating.

Bucky found himself being pulled into their wedding planning discussions far too often. He tried to keep an amused smile at bay whilst listening into Misty and Sam’s wedding talk at the Tower. They were using one of the many conference rooms - a Knight-Wilson union was official business, Misty insisted.

"Are you bringing a date?" Misty asked suddenly in the middle of everything, the question directed at Bucky.

"Of course he's bringing a date," Sam smirked. "Heard things with Sharon are going well, right?"

Bucky smiled non-committedly, shrugging. "She's great." It didn’t go unnoticed by Sam that this didn’t quite answer his question.

"You two look good together," Misty offered. She glanced at her watch and widened her eyes theatrically, grabbing Sam’s hand. "Oh crap, we need to go meet with the wedding planner."

"But it feels like we just sat down," Sam complained.

"There's no rest for the bride and groom, Sam," Misty said, pulling her fiancé out of his seat as she waved goodbye at Bucky.

As soon as they departed, the smile on Bucky’s face dimmed. He was beyond happy for his two friends, he really was - but every couple he knew was a fresh reminder of his own failed love life.

Ever since you, he hadn't been in a long term relationship. Sharon is different, he told himself, and she was. They had been friends for a long time, and of course spent a lot of time together carrying out missions and the like. Over time, somehow, they had gotten closer, and one day Sharon had just asked him, “So when are you going to ask me out, Barnes?”

At that point, Bucky was still frequently thinking about you. Sharon had never met you before, but Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if she had heard stories about you from the others, since he had been notoriously affected by the breakup. Even though he was dealing with the aftershocks of the broken relationship, he was forcing himself to get past it.

They had been dating for two months now, and it only seemed right for Sharon to be his date at the wedding.

He had moved on. He was no longer the depressed, dark wreck he was when you left.

Sometimes it’s better to lie to yourself than to face the reality.

“You invited Bucky’s ex to the wedding?” Misty asked curiously.

“Uh, yeah. She’s not just his ex,” Sam explained gently. “She’s my friend too, and I haven’t seen her since she left town.”

"You told Bucky?"

"Nope," Sam snorted, shaking his head. "I can't. I don't think he'd turn up if I did. I want them both there on the day - I'm sure they can be civil for one night."

“I wonder how Bucky will react," his future wife pondered.

Sam shrugged. Not well, probably.

"What else can I do? I can’t not invite her, I really want her to be there. You never met her, so you don’t know, but she’s been through some shit.”

“I know, I know, you told me,” Misty said. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. Do you think she'll be okay seeing Bucky again? Especially if he'll be there with Sharon?"

"She said she can handle it. She would be happy to see that Bucky was happy. She was the one who practically begged me to encourage him to move on."

“Do you think he has?”

Sam paused, considering the question carefully.

“He has to.”

Several weeks later, Misty Knight and Sam Wilson were officially wed at the local registration office. The day was full of hugs, cacophonous laughter, friends and family, and Bucky watched with a wide beam on his face as he witnessed his friends glow. Those kinds of smiles were few and far between nowadays, but he was truly happy for once.

"They look so good together," Sharon murmured as hundreds of guests filled the hotel ballroom, the party commencing in full swing. The newlyweds were in the center of the room, Misty being twirled around wildly by a laughing Sam before his wife collapsed against his chest in fits of giggles, looking up into his eyes adoringly.

More and more people joined them on the dance floor after the conclusion of their official first dance.

"Barnes, would you like to dance?" Sharon asked suddenly with a smile, extending a hand.

Bucky chuckled, allowing her to take his hand and lead him out to the dance floor.

An hour passed, and Bucky had to truthfully say that he was enjoying himself, assisted by all the alcohol he had consumed. Sharon was draped all over him as they swayed to the music, and Bucky found himself appreciating the feel of her body against his all too much, the scent of her intoxicating. His hands felt the fabric of her silky, emerald green dress, buried his nose into Sharon's blonde hair, sighing softly as he tightened his grip on her waist.

Her perfume was strong and woodsy, like a forest. It irritated his nose ever so slightly. You had preferred a more subtle, floral perfume, one that smelt like sakura blossoms.

Sharon was more confident and seductive in the way she danced, whilst you used to always let yourself become putty in his arms, enjoying how he took the lead and managed to make you look like you knew how to dance despite your two left feet.

However, despite the differences, if Bucky closed his eyes and just tried a little harder, he think he could pretend that -

"Sorry to interrupt.”

Bucky pulled away from Sharon suddenly, and he turned to mock glare at Sam. "What do you want, Wilson?"

"Need to borrow you for a minute," Sam said, an undecipherable expression on his face. Bucky tried to see where Misty had disappeared off to, but saw no trace.

"Um, sure..." Bucky tried to read Sam’s face but gleaned nothing.

"I'll just go say hi to Natasha," Sharon said, giving Bucky’s forearm a squeeze before she disappeared.

Sam’s smile faded, and he caught Bucky’s arm in a vice grip. "I need to tell you something. Don't get mad, okay?"

"What?" Bucky scowled as Sam dragged him to the side of the room, weaving through the crowds of guests. "What good news starts with, ‘don’t get mad’? Are you gonna tell me you want to run out on Misty or something?" He joked.

Sam pulled him out through one of the open French doors which led to a pretty, outdoor stone balcony. He shut them behind him as Bucky continued to babble, a little tipsy from the champagne he'd had. "I gotta tell ya, if she asks me to kick your ass I will literally do so -”

"Bucky," Sam said, taking a deep breath. "She’s here." Meeting Bucky’s nonplussed eyes, your name rolled off Sam’s tongue in clarification.

He felt like the breath was sucked from his lungs as he stared back at Sam, who looked uncharacteristically anxious.

“What?" He asked hoarsely, instantly sobering up. “What do you mean?”

Chills were running through his body. The name he had avoided for years was suddenly causing him to feel breathless. How did you still have such an affect on him?

"She couldn't make it to the ceremony earlier today, but she just arrived."

"You - you invited her here? She’s here, now?"

"Yes," Sam replied, nodding. "I invited her.” He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest almost defiantly.

Bucky was speechless for a moment, taking a step back and scoffing. He shook his head. “Do you remember what she did to me?”

“I'm sorry, Buck..."

Bucky suddenly laughed, startling Sam. His laugh was curt, humorless. "What are you sorry for? I'm over her, Sam. It was two years ago. I haven't seen her in two years. I don't care anymore," he said quickly. Too quickly.

"Listen -"

"Look, it's okay." Bucky raised his hands in small surrender. “You have the right to invite whoever you want. I’m not mad. But I just don’t want to be held accountable for whatever happens now.”

He turned and wrenched the French doors open with such force that the handle buckled slightly. The noise inside the ballroom spilled out to replace the painful silence on the balcony.

He disappeared inside before Sam could say anything else, and he tried to hide it, but Sam could clearly see that his hands were shaking as he marched inside.

For the next twenty minutes, Bucky found sanctuary in the restrooms. He stood inside the stall, trying to stop himself from mentally collapsing.

He didn’t know what was happening. He had never felt this overwhelming panic rush over him before, immobilizing him. Anger, sadness and yearning swirling inside a melting pot of emotions that was crippling him.

She was here. The woman he hadn't seen in two years, the woman who broke his heart, the woman who betrayed him, the woman who left him in tatters.

Your infidelity had had an unforeseen impact on him. When he first found out, he was devastated. Terrified of how you became someone he didn’t recognize - or had you always been someone capable of betraying him, just good at hiding it?

You had poisoned all the happy memories they had once shared. Bucky found himself recounting all the years you were together, micro-analyzing everything, wondering if there was a hidden lie behind it all.

That was one of the things which made him angriest. You turned all the beautiful years of your relationship into a lie. None of it was real, Bucky had told himself.

You crushed him.

Of his feelings, anger prevailed, slowly simmering to the surface, like a volcano about to erupt. How dare you walk back into his life like this? He would show you, Bucky thought with determination. He was over you. He had no reason to be angry, he thought bitterly, because you were nothing to him.

Just like Bucky was nothing to you.

When he emerged from the toilets, the first thing he did was find Sharon. She looked relieved to see him, although confusion was clear on her face as she eyed Bucky.

"Where have you been? Are you feeling okay?" She commented, brow furrowed with concern.

"I'm fine," Bucky assured her. "Have you seen Sam?"

Sharon pointed, puzzlement still painted across her face, and Bucky snapped round quickly.

And there you were.

It was as if you had never left. As if the past two years filled with Bucky trying to eradicate every memory and feeling he had for you had never happened, because as soon as Bucky’s eyes found you through the crowd, everything came collapsing back down on top of him like an avalanche. Suffocating.

You were still so beautiful, strikingly so. Like a burning beacon among the crowd, Bucky’s eyes found your face as easily as anything. For a second, he allowed himself to ignore anything except you, and how the sight of you still managed to take his breath away.

You looked thinner than he remembered, your face gaunt. Bucky frowned slightly at this acute observation and found himself wondering if you had been taking care of yourself.

"Barnes? You okay?"

Bucky registered Sharon shaking his arm, but his eyes remained fastened on yourself and Sam. Neither of you had spotted Bucky yet, who was rooted to the spot like a statue. Sam’s mouth was moving, words that Bucky couldn't hear escaping his mouth, but his expression was angry. Almost as if he was scolding you for something.

"I have to...I..." Bucky stumbled over his words, voice faint. He could feel those tendrils of anger slowly seizing him again, wisps at first, until they grew more and more potent by the second. He remembered every single thing he felt when you left him, and instead of trying to hold back the emotions, Bucky just saw red.

"Let me introduce you to someone," he said suddenly, his voice strained as he took Sharon's hand.

"You said you were better," Sam said, expression torn.

"I am," you lied, trying to put on a smile. Truth was, you were exhausted, just like how you always felt. The ballroom was so crowded and loud, and you just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep, which you would the moment you finished congratulating Sam and Misty. And perhaps, even though you didn't want to admit it, you wanted to catch a glimpse of Bucky, too.

"Look at you, you're -"

“Sam, please don’t,” you interrupted gently. “Just drop it, please? It’s your big day, I don’t want you to worry about anything else.”

Sam opened his mouth to talk, but stopped suddenly, his eyes flitting to look behind you.

"Hey."

You froze. You knew that voice, of course. Heard it enough times, the deep, gravelly voice that had once whispered sweet pet names, proclamations of love, and plagued your dreams ever since you left him.

You had longed to hear his voice again, hear your name being spoken lovingly. His voice was your favorite sound in the world. Except tonight, hearing it for the first time in two years, you heard nothing but ice.

"Bucky?" You turned slowly, and your breath hitched. He was just the way you remembered him. Even more handsome, if possible. Clad in a sleek black tux, tall and dark and sexy, everything you had missed and dreamed of, and...

He was holding another woman’s hand.

"Bucky," Sam repeated, voice tense. Bucky could hear the underlying warning.

"It's been a while," he said stiffly, acting as neutral as he could. As if he hadn't spent months after their terrible break up being a shell of who he used to be, barely repaired even now. Bucky felt like any other venomous words from your mouth would shatter him again, but he had to take the chance. He had to talk to you, show you that he had moved on. He didn't care about you anymore, or how you so ruthlessly left him.

"Yes," you said weakly, smiling softly. God, he still thought that you looked beautiful, clad in a periwinkle blue dress, a thick coat draped around your shoulders. You were shivering, and Bucky resisted the urge to ask you what was wrong. Now that he was closer, he could see that didn’t look well at all. You had dark circles under your eyes and your collarbones were too prominent, your gaze devoid of any livelihood.

You glanced at Bucky’s fingers interlaced with a gorgeous blonde. You had seen her on the news before, you were pretty certain. Your smile forcibly stretched wider, blinking a few times, not knowing what to do with yourself.

"This is Sharon," Sam said, clearing his throat and exchanging introductions.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Sharon said politely. She was gorgeous, you thought, watching as she sent Bucky a subtle, questioning glance.

Bucky was still staring at you, unmoving. You took the initiative first.

“Bucky, can we talk for a second?"

You could see the way he was trying to control himself by the way his lips stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He gave a curt nod. He didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Sharon and the other hundreds of wedding guests.

“Let’s leave these two to catch up,” Sam said lightly, trying to hide his discomfort as he led Sharon away.

"So now you want to talk?" Bucky asked as soon as they were out of earshot, his voice sharp. You cringed, almost folding into yourself at Bucky’s hard stare.

"Yes," was all you managed to whisper, eyes darting to the ground to avoid meeting his glare. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

You turned and walked towards the exit of the ballroom, turning back to look at Bucky. He followed after a second, his jaw set like stone as you led the way to the empty lobby outside, away from the noise.

"It's been a while, Buck.” You voice was sad as you turned to face him again.

"Yes," he said, fighting an internal battle. He was so torn. Seeing you again made him want to wrap you up in his arms like he would've done two years ago, when you were still together. And feeling like that made Bucky angry. What right did you have to make him feel this way? Who gave you the right to mess with Bucky’s heart again after so long?

"How have you been?" You asked eventually after a painfully awkward silence.

He scoffed at that. "How have I been?" He repeated incredulously. He doubted you really wanted to hear about all those nights he spent in his apartment, refusing to talk to his friends, being a complete social introvert (more than he usually was) because he felt like he just couldn't live anymore. Not without you.

"Great. Fantastic," he said without a shred of sincerity.

You stared at him for the longest time, your lips pressed into a thin line. You looked so regretful that it made Bucky feel uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," you said eventually, your voice wavering like you were struggling to breathe properly. "I'm so sorry for leaving you like that. We...we could have ended things better. You didn't deserve how I treated you."

You flinched when Bucky scoffed derisively. He dropped any remaining restraints he had previously put in place, letting all his feelings run free.

"Are you kidding me? Why? Why are you coming back here and apologizing after all this time?" He felt like he wanted to tear his hair out in frustration as he stared at you, making sure to keep his distance lest he found himself wanting to pull you closer. God, it was all so confusing. He despised you, and yet seeing you here in the flesh was everything he had ever wanted in the last few years.

He hated how you were making him feel.

"Look, it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done," he spat through gritted teeth, all the while completely unaware of how your heart clenched painfully at Bucky’s scornful eyes. “Do you have any idea how unfair this is? You fucked up big time, disappeared off the face of the earth, then come back standing in front of me now asking how I am?”

“I know. You’re right, about everything. I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”

“No. You have no right to do this,” Bucky seethed. “You have no right to come back here and try to - what, settle your guilt? Make amends?”

You didn’t say anything, choosing to let him vent instead.

“I still remember the way you left. What you did. I will never forgive you for that. So don’t you dare stand in front of me today with all this bullshit and expect me to have something nice to say.”

"You really hate me, don't you?" You asked then, taking Bucky off guard. You lifted your head properly to stare at him, and the look in your eyes was unsettling.

"I hate you," Bucky confirmed unwaveringly, his voice hard. "I hate what you did to me and by extension, you."

You didn't respond. You bit your lower lip hard, trying desperately not to cry in front of him. Your heart hurt so much.

It was the worst feeling in the world, maybe, seeing the man you loved so dearly tell you that he hated you. It was excruciating, the clenching inside your chest as Bucky’s words rang in your head.

"I know my apologies will never be enough. I just wanted to see if you're happy now," you whispered.

"I'm happy," Bucky replied almost immediately. "I'm happy with Sharon. Does that bother you? Did you hope that I'd still be pining after you? I'm not that pathetic anymore." The barriers were broken, and the hurtful words were falling from Bucky’s mouth, two years worth of it.

“I never said you were pathetic,” you retorted, slightly indignant. “I’m glad that you’re happy.”

Bucky was breathing hard, unconvinced by your words.

“And how's the man you left me for?"

"He...it didn't work out," you shrugged, trying to keep your face as straight as possible.

"Good," Bucky said harshly. "Because you don't deserve happiness." If he wasn't so mad, he wouldn't say such irrational things. But he just wanted you to hurt. He wanted you to feel all the pain you caused.

Bucky pretended he didn't hear you gasp. He pretended that he didn't see your eyes gloss over at the sheer amount of hate in his voice.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice clearly shaking. "Okay," you repeated again, nodding your head. Bucky watched you take a step back, away from him.

“I -”

“I'm sorry, Bucky. Please take care," you interrupted, smiling sadly before you turned and walked away as quickly as possible.

That was not how you envisioned the reunion to go. All you wanted was to apologize, know that he was happy, so that you could go in peace.

But maybe that was the consequence of your decision. Maybe he was just always going to hate you for the rest of his life and remember you as someone awful.

You didn’t know that all Bucky wanted to do was run after you. Tell you to stop. He wanted to apologize and tell you how he didn’t mean a word of what he just said.

Rage and pride kept him shackled, and he watched your retreating back, feeling like a coward.

The last thing Bucky expected when he opened his apartment door a few days later was Sam’s dirty glare.

"You can be a mean son of a bitch, do you know that?”

"Hello to you too,” Bucky retorted.

“Why did you say all that stuff to her?” Sam asked, pushing his way past Bucky.

Bucky closed the door, knowing exactly who he was referring to.

"Why is this any of your business?"

"You acted like a dick!" Sam said furiously.

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done something like that on your special day. But-”

“I want you to feel sorry to her.”

"She left me,” Bucky exclaimed. "You were there, Sam, you saw how fucked up she made me. She cheated on me! You want me to apologize to her?” His face was incredulous.

“You’re so fucking frustrating.”

“Oh, excuse me for not being the bigger person,” Bucky sneered. “But you don’t know how she made me feel, Sam, so don’t you dare try to give me a fucking lecture now.”

Sam was quiet for the longest time, looking exasperated. He stared up at the ceiling, sighing.

“Bucky, look man. She never cheated on you,” Sam said finally, an apologetic look in his eyes.

The apartment became filled with nothing but the sounds of Bucky’s heavy breathing.

“What are you talking about?” He spat, realizing now that Sam knew something he didn’t.

Sam let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I promised her I wouldn’t tell you. But fuck it, man, cause I think this is messed up. She’s sick, Bucky," he said solemnly. "Like, really sick."

Two years ago

"It's cancer, Sam."

You physically couldn't cry anymore. You had done enough of that the day the doctor had told you, your eyes puffy and swollen. Funnily enough, the first person you had sought out wasn’t your boyfriend, but rather his best friend.

Bucky wasn’t even in town that weekend, and you really didn’t want to tell him over the phone. In fact, you never wanted to tell him. How do you tell the man you love that you're dying?

"You can get treatment, right?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. It’s not looking good. They're doing some sort of new clinical trial in England, but even that’s a long shot. I - I’m going to try, though.”

Sam sat up straighter. “And Bucky?”

"You can't tell him," you said firmly. You had thought about it all night, and you knew you couldn't let him know. You didn't want to put him through something like this. "My father had cancer too, Sam," you said softly. "He died in so much pain, he had so much treatment but it didn't help. He was throwing up all the time, having fevers, his body was so weak, and by the end he wasn’t the same anymore. I don't want him to see me like that."

“But-”

“No buts,” you said. You had given it enough thought already. You knew that you would have to be very, very lucky to make it through this - the end was essentially inevitable. There was no way you would make Bucky bear witness to you succumbing to this illness the same way you had to watch your father.

It was the worst time of your life. You had told Bucky about it in the past, as he had never had a chance to meet your father since he passed away years before you met Bucky. Knowing what you did, you would never inflict that same experience on him.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I have to leave him.” You had been preparing yourself for what you needed to do all night. "If I go, there's a chance I might not come back, you understand that, right?"

"Don't say things like that," Sam said forcefully, clenching your hand. "Just stop. Bucky will support you all the way, you know that!"

"That’s exactly why I have to go by myself. I can't be selfish, Sam. I want him to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted. I can’t make him drop everything to make me his number one priority. Looking after me will take time and constant care. If I go to England, he will abandon everything and come. Manhattan is his home.”

Sam looked anguished and you knew that he was disagreeing with everything you had just said, but you plowed on.

"It’s not just a matter of time and effort. If he stays, he will watch me die, and I don’t want him to do that.” You began to cry, and Sam hugged you, wishing he could say something comforting.

“It’s okay," you said through the tears, even though every fiber in your body was telling you the opposite. You had been repeating these words to yourself all night, as if you would believe it if you said it enough times. "It’ll be okay."

Maybe you were being stupid, but you didn't care. You knew Bucky loved you with his body and soul, as did you. But you weren’t going to let him suffer over your illness. You wouldn't let the person you cared most about in the world see you slowly deteriorate.

You had been witness to how your father was clearly in a depressive state, and yet tried his hardest to pretend to be happy and fine around other people. You didn’t know if you had the strength or bravery to even pretend.

You began distancing yourself. Stopped trying to make conversation with Bucky, until the long, endless, random talks you used to share diminished into curt sentences. You stopped waiting for Bucky to come home, simply pretending that you didn't care. You became more secretive, furtively hiding your calls with your doctor and your mother.

There was no other man. You loved him and only him, and had been nothing but faithful. You didn't know what hurt more: having to lie to Bucky or the fact that he so easily believed you would betray him like that.

In the end, you had really regretted fabricating a story of infidelity. You should have just gone your separate ways without making him think that you had been unfaithful. But at that time, you wanted to find a quick solution that would make Bucky voluntarily detach himself from you. It seemed like a wise decision, but you really, really wish you hadn’t let him believe that you didn’t love him. It was truly the worst feeling in the world.

It was all over in a few weeks. You packed your things and left, trying not to cry with every heavy step you took towards the door of your apartment. You knew you were making the best decision for them both, surely.

Time would heal Bucky, and he would be happy again one day.

It just couldn’t be with you.

Present day

"She just didn’t want to feel like a burden to you, man," Sam said, shaking his head. "Why did you have to say all those things to her at the wedding?"

Bucky could register nothing else after Sam finished explaining everything. He was in disbelief, though he knew that there was no way Sam would fabricate a story like that.

Now, he could only think of the way he had shouted at you. The way he told you how much he hated you. The way you had left.

"Where is she?" Bucky whispered.

"She’s leaving today," Sam said tersely. "She’s going back to England. She was real sick for a long time, and she recovered a few months ago, but the cancer came back.”

He slipped a hotel business card into Bucky’s hand. “This is the address she’s staying at," Sam said.

He grasped it like a lifeline, eyes unable to see Sam standing in front of him. His vision was completely filled with images of you.

"Go," Sam said forcefully. "Go and find her.”

The tears wouldn't stop falling.

You didn't know words could hurt so much. Sure, you had expected Bucky to hate you, but you weren’t prepared for the way every single word seemed to embed themselves into your skin like splinters into your heart.

They were once so happy. They were so perfect.

You hated yourself. Hated yourself for getting ill, for ruining what you had. The logic was irrational, but the self-hatred had become second nature.

You had spent the last few days holed up in your hotel. You had planned to use the time to see a few friends before returning to England, but you no longer had the heart.

You left your room that morning only because Wanda was furious that she missed you at the wedding, and you agreed to have coffee with her. She almost cried at the sight of you, but you put on a brave face, refusing to talk about Bucky. You begged her if you could just talk about happy topics and she eventually obliged, smiling sadly when you hugged each other goodbye.

“I’ll see you again, dear,” Wanda had said, and you hoped to God she was right.

As soon as you got inside your hotel room, you felt a switch click internally.

Everything hurt. You were tired, unhappy and you really didn’t know if you would ever make it out of this emotional blackhole. You felt so weak, like you would keel over at any given moment.

Cancer really was a bitch.

You kicked off your shoes and entered the bathroom. You lay down in the bathtub, fully clothed, turning the cold water on until you were almost completely submerged, wanting to numb all the pain inside your body and mind.

You eyes were red and swollen, and you couldn't remember crying so much since that day the doctor diagnosed you. Why was life so unfair? You wanted your old life back again. The life where Bucky didn't detest you, the one where he was happily and wonderfully in love with you.

You lay back, letting the water cover you completely. You closed your eyes, your hair gently swirling around your face. You opened your mouth and screamed, bubbles erupting to the surface.

Eventually you emerged, gasping and coughing, your tears hot in contrast to your frozen face. Your body wracked with sobs, shaking uncontrollably.

You sank back down into the water, your mouth opening once more to scream in uncontrollable rage. It was cathartic, your fists clenched into balls as you willed the feelings inside you to just - disappear.

When you opened your eyes beneath the water, you nearly gasped at the sight of a blurry, warped figure above you. You didn't have time to do anything when arms were suddenly encasing themselves around you, lifting you to the surface.

You spluttered and coughed, your ears assaulted by the voice that once whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

"- the fuck are you doing? Are you okay?"

Bucky.

You blinked past the water in your eyes, bewildered at the sight of him, kneeling beside the bathtub with his hands gripping your shoulders. His bright blue eyes were scared, wide open with concern.

You were startled at his sudden appearance, unable to say anything as he scooped you out, lifting you with ease. You were clearly in shock and scared.

You collapsed against him as he sat down on the bathroom floor with you in his arms.

"What were you doing?” Bucky was appalled as he pulled you close to him, watching how you continued to weep, blinking blearily at him. Your body was ice cold, every inch of you soaked.

He whipped a towel down from the railing beside you, wrapping it around your body as you shivered uncontrollably.

"Bu - Bucky?" You asked, as if you couldn't fathom why he was here. You were almost convinced you were hallucinating.

"Fuck, we need to get you out of these clothes," Bucky said, gritting his teeth as he tried not to cry. He had so much to say to you. He wanted you to know how sorry he was, how he didn't mean anything he said, but now wasn’t the time. He had to be strong for you.

You felt like a baby as Bucky removed your soaking wet garments until you were naked, then immediately swaddled you with more towels. He picked you up completely off the floor and took you out of the bathroom.

He chose to place you down on the edge of the bed, positioning himself to kneel down in front of you.

"Bucky," you whispered, voice thick, trying to pull away from him. “I think you should just leave me alone."

He stiffened. It scared him to hear you talk like this, to see you look at Bucky with such defeat in your eyes.

“No,” he said resolutely. “I'm here now, okay? I'm here, I'm not leaving, and I need you to be with me. I need you here, talking to me.”

"I can't. I can't do this anymore. Just go, please."

Bucky looked at you then. Really looked at you. The woman he loved and misunderstood for so long was now a trembling wreck in front of him, skin paper thin and trembling like a leaf. You looked so vulnerable and sad, and it made his heart twist.

Bucky suddenly held you tight against his chest, tucking his nose against the crook of your neck, and you didn't resist.

"Do you have any idea how much I hate myself? I hate myself for letting you go through this alone. I hate myself for telling you all those lies that night. I love you, I love you, I love you," Bucky said, wishing that you would see it.

“Don’t.”

“I wish you had told me. I would have helped you. You should have told me. I can’t believe you -”

You realized now that Sam must've told him the truth, and you sighed softly.

"I'm not good for you, Bucky," you whispered. "I will only ever hurt you, put you through more pain."

"I know everything now," Bucky said firmly. "No matter what happens, I will gladly endure it as long as it means we're no longer apart."

“Don’t be so stupid,” you said, anger tearing through your voice, though the tears were still falling. “I’m broken, Buck. I can’t give you a future. Please just find someone else - stay with Sharon.”

“Sharon?” If you hadn’t mentioned her name, Bucky would never have even thought about her. “No - we’re not serious, doll. She was never going to be the one.”

“No,” you insisted. “If not her, then fine, find someone else. Just not me.”

“Why aren’t you listening?” Bucky asked furiously. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please don’t do this. I need you." He was desperate to make you see, to make you understand. It was you or nothing. "You don’t know how awful the past few years have been. I don’t want to be apart from you, please.” He was prepared to grovel at your feet and beg.

He hated himself for how easily he gave up two years ago. This time, he was not letting you leave him.

His beautiful blue eyes pleaded with you, and you felt your barricades crumble. Your arms finally moved to wrap around him, and he felt a wave of relief as he encircled you in his arms. You had missed this, the feeling of Bucky holding you so tenderly.

You didn’t know if you were making the right choice, but you wanted to give in so badly and just let yourself be selfish and enjoy what time you could have together. And now that Bucky had you back by his side, he was definitely not going to let you go.

Even if they were in pieces, at least they were together. And Bucky was positive that they could put those pieces back into a whole, as long as you gave it a chance.

"You're so stupid," you said through your tears.

"I don't think so," Bucky said, managing the smallest smile. "Just stupidly in love with you."

You wanted to stay like this forever, entangled in each others arms. He pulled back slowly to study your face, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your lips. He kissed you again, deeper this time, breathing you in.

“You owe me two years of kisses,” he mumbled.

You laughed softly, but it soon died. First, you had a lot of talking to do. You used the following hour to tell him the details about your illness, why you had left, how sorry you were for treating Bucky the way you did when you broke up with him.

"You're so dumb," Bucky had said, sounding furious for a moment. "You had no right to decide something like that for me. You know I would support you.”

"I know, Buck," you had interrupted. "That's exactly why I had to leave. I didn't want you to see me die, okay?"

You had looked like you were about to cry again, so Bucky stopped scolding you immediately. He would never make you cry again, he swore.

"You're here now," he said, kissing your temple. "We're together now. Everything feels...right again."

You swallowed, biting your lip. "I told you, my cancer is back and -"

"You'll get better again," he said, refusing to look at you. You knew that tears were in his eyes. "You'll get better, okay?" His voice wavered slightly.

"It's worse this time, Bucky," you said. "Look at me. I'm practically withering away."

"You'll get better," he said, clenching his teeth.

You didn't say anything, just nestled against Bucky’s chest, relishing the way he wrapped his arms securely around your frame as if you would disappear at any moment.

Maybe he was right. Maybe by some miracle, with Bucky by your side, you would be able to give him all the time in the world.

"I'll try to stick around," you whispered.

[biteofcherry]

Does mafia!Steve's Reader ever get jealous? Maybe there's a businesswoman or mafia related one that Steve has to have meetings with and reader gets jealous?

Nesting

Not an inch away

mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings for the part below: some angst; soft!dark Steve Rogers; mafia!Steve Rogers; possessive behavior; arranged/forced relationship;

~ * ~

You shouldn't care. You really shouldn't, you tell yourself as you watch Steve open the restaurant door for that other woman to enter.

A woman that looks stunning in a body-clinging white dress and killer heels, not a single thing out of place in her confident persona.

She tilts her head and smiles at Steve, who reciprocates with one of his most charming smiles - one that gets you weak in the knees when he flashes it at you.

He told you he'd be home late because he has boring business meetings to attend to, so you talked your bodyguards slash enablers - Natasha and Yelena - to go to the movies and for some greasy food afterwards.

It's pure coincidence that the spot you picked for your snacking was opposite of a fancy restaurant to which Steve took this woman.

You know plenty of women have successful businesses, but you don't think a mob boss of Steve's caliber would actually do any business with one of them. In a romantic restaurant at that.

Natasha's face is perfectly impassive at the sight, but Yelena cringes as if she feels bad for you for seeing this.

You tell yourself that it shouldn't matter. This whole arrangement, one practically forced upon you after Steve found out about your pregnancy, is one you wanted out of at first, right?

The elegant, shiny ring on your finger, which you grew to love and often looked at with a fond smile, now reminded you of the cage Steve trapped you in. Gold, pretty cage.

With how intense and dotting Steve was, you actually believed the cage could become a warm house, with a faithful, loving husband.

Seemed you were going to become a cliche, instead. A wife to produce heirs to a mafia king, while he fucked around with whomever he desired.

Perhaps you should walk into the restaurant, make a scene, throw a drink in Steve's face. Throw it at that woman's white dress.

But you only clench your hands on the paper bag with takeout you bought to eat at home (your pregnancy is turning you into a bottomless pit). You straighten your back and keep your head up high as you march to the car and get inside, Natasha and Yelena slipping inside soundlessly.

Yelena tries to say something, explain Steve's actions, but you tell her you're not interested.

"I don't care." You announce as coldly as you can, quite proud that your voice doesn't crack with how hurt you feel inside.

At home you devour your food. And some chocolate muffins that you baked in the morning. Each bite as delicious as heavy, your stomach revolting with the bitter jealousy and anger at the thought of what Steve was up to.

Are they having a romantic dinner and smiling at each other across the table? Is he sliding his hand up her thigh and under her dress? Does he make her come silently in front of all the patrons?

Will he take her to a hotel room, or one of his apartments that he owns all around the city, and fuck her into a screaming mess?

Will he fuck her better than he did you last night... yanking a fistful of your hair as he wrecked you into a dripping mess and praised you, A good little wife, taking all of me so well.

Ripping apart another muffin, you decide on your next step. You know running away wouldn't work. For one, you have two guards, who may be friendly, but still were loyal to Steve and what he said triumphed over whatever you wanted.

Secondly, even if you managed to slip out, Steve would find you. And he'd drag you back into the cage and the life he builds with you beside him.

You can't leave the penthouse, but you can make yourself a safe space in one of the free guest rooms.

Since Steve's dipping his dick in other woman's cunt, he doesn't need you sleeping beside him.

You definitely don't want to touch him when he reeks of other woman's perfume. You don't even want to see him.

So after you drag most of your stuff from the main bedroom and hastily put it in the closet in your new room, you close the door. Just in time, because less than ten minutes later the echo of firm footsteps resounds.

You flip a book open, trying to focus on the printed words and not on the way your heart hammers in your chest as you hear Steve's footsteps aiming for the main bedroom.

A vicious part of you hopes that he is a shocked, seeing that you're not there.

Not in the huge bed, naked under soft covers, waiting for your husband lord and master to throw you a crumb of his attention.

The emotionally heaving part of you shudders in sobs at the image of Steve simply not minding that you're not there.

Maybe he's only a little surprised, but brushes it off and simply takes a shower to wash off the remnants of that woman's arousal and his own sweat. Then he'll get into bed and fall asleep sated, uncaring for your state as long as you obediently stayed inside.

You rub at your eyes, cursing the tears away. You shake your head and try once again to focus on the words you're reading.

But then, after a long stretch of silence, footsteps sound through the space. A creaking of door being open. Then another. Slowly moving towards where you are hidden.

Your heart rate increases, fingers trembling against the paper pages of your book.

You take a breath, willing yourself to remain calm and not show Steve how hurt you are. Play it the way mob bosses wives in movies and tv shows do it - cold and indifferent, an armor around you, so nothing can prickle you.

The door to your claimed room opens and Steve stands there in the doorway in all his stormy glory.

He frowns, seeing you sitting stiffly on the bed.

He walks inside. Sleeves of his suit jacket are pushed up, showing his forearms and twirls of tattoos. He braces his hands on his hips and gives you a look that's a combination of concern and blatant anger.

"Can you explain what's the meaning of all this?" Steve's voice is thick and raspy.

You swallow, but shrug nonchalantly as if his heated gaze isn't bothering you.

"I thought it's better to leave the main bedroom, in case you brought your companion home for the night." You say and return your gaze to the book, fighting the urge to wave him away with a dismissive gesture.

"What?" Steve's frown deepens, actual confusion showing on his face.

"I'm not sure your mistress would like seeing me there. Might ruin the mood." You lift your head and sneer at him. "So I simply made it easier for you."

"I have a mistress now?" Steve raises a single brow, remaining calm while everything inside of you was boiling.

You snap your book closed and slam in onto the bedside table. With a little huff you get off the bed and stomp over to Steve.

"No need to lie." You scoff. "I saw you. With her. Didn't know mob business meant taking beautiful women to expensive restaurants."

You push at his chest in anger, but Steve's strong, muscled body doesn't even sway at your outburst. So you push at him again, unsuccessfully, but at least you get to unleash some of your fury.

"Just do me a favor and don't bring any of your whores home once the baby is here. Stay in one of your apartments, or allow me to move into one."

You can't hold off tears anymore and as some pour out, trickling down your cheeks, you clench your hands into fists and slam them against Steve's chest.

Steve's fingers wrap around your wrists, a tight, almost painful hold that keeps your hands bound to his chest.

"You are not going away from me." He declares, a definite order.

His eyes darken, a flash of lethal danger he rarely directed at you.

"In any form." He ads, obviously meaning you switching bedrooms.

Slowly, Steve's face lightens up. Twinkles appear in his eyes and it makes another wave of annoyance surge through you.

He keeps your wrists locked in one of his hands as he uses the other hand to cup your cheek.

"Any moving you're going to do is along with me." He says and tries to lean his forehead against yours, but you pull your head back.

Steve sighs.

"Which is why," he forces you to maintain eye contact with him, "I had a meeting with Camilla. She's a real estate agent who works for me on renovating a house that I bought for us. For our family."

His words make you speechless. A house? Someplace where you'd feel more free and where your kids could run in glee.

Still, you remain suspicious. You want to assume it's just a crafty lie, you're sure Steve's good at those.

"The Infinite is a rather romantic place to talk construction." You narrow your eyes.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. He lets go of your wrists to wrap both his arms around you, pulling you close to him despite your attempt to squirm away.

"Jealous little bird." He hums and slides one of his hands up to grip the back of your neck.

"In my line of work-" Steve leans closer, his nose tracing the line of your jaw, hot breath tickling your skin making you shiver-

"I manipulate people. Some with threats, some with sugar. And some, like Camilla, with never voiced promise of something they wish for."

Steve's soft snicker puffs across your cheek at your sneer. His lips travel toward your lips. You close your eyes at the intensity of his blue irises and the way your body reacts to the touch of his mouth against yours.

"A restaurant dinner gave her that little spark that will make her work her ass off to grand me all my wishes regarding our house. Even though not once have I even brushed an inch of her body with my fingers."

"It also happens-" the tip of Steve's tongue licks over your bottom lip, his hand starts pulling up the hem of your nightgown- "that I know how to manipulate my wife's body, so she sweats out all that jealousy and anger while she creams on my cock."

Your tiny, needy whimper makes him chuckle in dark victory.

"That what you need, huh?" He grips your buttock and kneads it. "Should I fuck you braindead every day, so that your mind doesn't come up with silly ideas?"

"It wasn't silly." You try to defend your earlier outburst, but it comes out breathy and weak.

"Thinking I could be interested in anyone else when I have your sweet, ripe body at my disposal. Absolutely ridiculous." Steve flashes you a wolfish grin.

He lifts you up suddenly, forcing your arms and legs to wrap around him. His fingers slide from your ass to dip between your thighs as he turns around and walks out of the room.

"You're coming back to our bedroom." He growls a command.

"I'm going to keep you naked and full of cum for the next few days, so it really sinks in that neither of us is stepping away from this marriage. Ever."

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay. 

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway. 

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks. 

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.” 

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. 

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees. 

Steve asks, “How much time?” 

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.” 

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.  

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough. 

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids. 

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did. 

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.” 

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.” 

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond. 

“And us,” Erica adds as well. 

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.” 

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.” 

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him. 

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?” 

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally. 

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.” 

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.” 

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital. 

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them. 

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.” 

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.” 

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.” 

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...” 

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase. 

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.” 

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.” 

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?” 

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.” 

~ 

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children. 

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.” 

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him. 

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!” 

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.” 

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!” 

“So you guys joined the club, then?” 

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed. 

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?” 

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.” 

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says. 

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.” 

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.” 

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.” 

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.” 

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

[navybrat817]

How does Bucky handle you being sick? 🥺

I may have gone overboard, nonnie. 😂

Sick Day

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky takes care of you when you get a cold. He also takes care of the guy who may have given you a cold.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Fluff, humor, established relationship, reader has a cold, implied smut, interrogation, Bucky Barnes being a ridiculously wonderful boyfriend in love (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I don't know where this came from. Maybe a bit of inspiration from @inklore here. 😂❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

When you had a hard time getting out of bed this morning due to a cold you caught at work, you tried to brush it off. Bucky immediately called in to take a personal day and said he had to take care of you, which forced you to take a sick day as well. It was for the best. You had a tendency to push yourself past your limit some days and he kept you in check.

You snatched a tissue out of the box beside you just in time to sneeze into it. With a pained groan, you scrunched up your face and dropped the tissue into the small pile in your lap. It took you a moment to sip your water, followed by your herbal tea. Though your throat was sore, you had to stay hydrated. You also had to get some rest.

Bucky wouldn’t let you hear the end of it if you didn’t.

“I hate this,” you mumbled to yourself before your boyfriend rushed into the living room to check on you, his piercing eyes searching the room as if to assess a threat.

“I heard you talking, baby. You need to rest your voice,” he said, adjusting the humidifier he set on the coffee table before his concerned gaze snapped back to you. “Wait. Do you need something? Do you not have enough blankets? I can get you more tea. Or I can put something on TV. Shit, where’s the writing pad?”

You tried not to smile as the massive shirtless supersoldier bustled around the room. He hadn’t seen you under the weather since the two of you started dating and you should’ve known he’d make a big deal out of it. Whether it had to do with growing up with Steve who dealt with all sorts of ailments or simply because it was his girlfriend feeling less than stellar, you weren’t sure. Either way, it was endearing to see the former Winter Soldier worked up over you.

He had nothing to worry about though.

“I’m fine,” you croaked before you went into a coughing fit.

Bucky’s eyes widened as he crouched beside you and brought the water back to your lips once you had yourself under control. His brows furrowed when he checked your forehead with his right hand, which made you fall in love with him a little more. You tried to tell him earlier to keep his distance so he didn’t get sick before he gently reminded you that he wasn’t exactly prone to catching colds thanks to the serum.

A silver lining from the pain he had to go through.

“You’re not fine. You’re sick. Well, you’re still 'fine',” he smiled a little, making your heart swell. “I used that in the right context, didn’t I?”

You almost went into another coughing fit as you giggled, the sound huskier and deeper than normal. “Only you would think I’m fine when I’m like this,” you said, reaching up to run your fingers through his silky chestnut hair. He hadn’t brushed it today. Too busy taking care of you. “And I’m not ‘sick’ sick. it’s just a cold.”

“It isn’t just a cold. Not to me,” he said, his jaw clenching as his vibranium fingers curled.

“I’ll be better before you know it,” you assured him, raising an eyebrow as his cheek twitched. “What’s the matter?”

Why is he getting himself worked up?

“I just don’t like you feeling any kind of pain,” he said, leaning up so he could press his lips to your forehead. He huffed as they lingered there. “I wish I could take it away and I can’t.”

It was a sweet sentiment, especially after everything he went through.

“I know you would if you could and it’s okay that you can’t,” you said. You understood where he was coming from though because you didn’t like the idea of him in pain either. He had a heart almost as large as his body and you were lucky to get a single ounce of his love. “Don’t worry, okay?”

“You’re my girl and it's impossible not to worry,” he said, a touch of possession and tenderness seeping into his tone. Belonging to him was as natural as breathing. “But I'll try to relax a bit.”

“As long as you try,” you said as he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

Your head tingled from his lips before you frowned. This close, you could usually get a whiff of his woodsy cologne. Your eyes welled up when you inhaled again and couldn’t smell him, doing your best to blink the tears away so he wouldn't catch them. It was silly that you suddenly missed the comfort of that smell because your nose was acting up.

He didn’t need your tears on top of that.

But, of course, he caught your sad sniffle, which sounded slightly different from your cold sniffle. His body stiffened, like a cobra ready to strike. “Tell me what’s wrong, even if I can’t physically fix it.”

God, I love this man.

“I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but I really miss the smell of your cologne,” you told him, your gaze probably nothing short of pathetic as you tilted your head to see his handsome face.

Your breath caught when he looked back at you and brushed a tear away with his thumb. There was nothing but love and adoration in those brilliant eyes of his. It made you feel lighter.

“That’s far from ridiculous because I smell amazing,” he teased, bumping his nose against yours to bring a smile to your face. “How about I spray the blankets after you take a nap and I make you some soup? That way my scent will be there even if you can't smell it.”

Tears clogged your throat as you gave him a nod, committing the moment to memory. You were used to going it alone before he came into your life. He couldn’t take the pain away, but he could make you feel better in ways that mattered to you. That likely comforted him just as much as it soothed you.

“That would be great,” you said, yawning a bit. “Can we watch a movie after my nap?”

“We'll watch whatever you want.”

You pulled him close so he could join you on the couch, knowing that his muscular and warm frame against yours would feel just as comforting and safe as the blanket that covered you. And he relaxed and quickly accepted your wordless invitation to wrap his arms around you, keeping you in his loving embrace. It was home and always would be.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, closing your eyes as you nuzzled your head against his bare chest. “I love you.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” he promised, his vibranium hand moving in slow circles along your back as you began to drift off. “I love you, too.”

You let out a happy moan before you said one more thing. “And hunt down the person who gave me this cold, okay?”

With your eyes shut, you didn’t see the determination written all over his face. “You got it, baby.”

You were right as rain and back to work a couple of days later, thanks to Bucky caring for you and some much needed rest. Not even an hour into your shift though, Steve requested for you to meet him in the second lower level. You didn't hide your surprise as that was usually reserved for interrogations.

Which was exactly why he called you down there.

“What's going on?” You asked as you walked into the viewing room. Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Tony all looked your way, but didn't give you any sort of response. “Seriously, what's up?”

“You don't know?” Natasha responded, nodding toward the glass.

You followed her gaze with a gasp as you saw Bucky tower over some blonde male agent in the cell. Your boyfriend was almost unrecognizable with his face devoid of any emotion, dominant and on the edge of terrifying. It was a far cry from the loving side you were privy to, yet you loved this side of him just the same.

“Buck dragged John down here a few minutes ago,” Steve explained in a quiet voice as he punched the bridge of his nose. “Said something about him hurting you.”

You tilted your head as you looked at John, recognizing him after a second due to his punchable face. “Him? No. He didn't hurt me. He just bumped into me the other day in the break room,” you explained. Which wasn't that big of a deal to you, but probably offensive to Bucky. “But he didn't apologize.”

He also had a cold.

Oh, no.

“So, you had nothing to do with this?” Sam asked, chuckling as you lifted your chin.

“No, I didn't,” you replied as you bit your lip. “At least, I don't think I had anything to do with this.”

Your heart raced faster when Bucky pushed the sleeves of his shirt up and gripped John by the collar, the veins in his right arm popping out. You wished you could lick them. Maybe later.

“I know it was you, you piece of shit,” he said, roughly shoving the agent back into his chair. “You got my girl sick.”

Oh, Bucky.

You stared straight ahead as you felt the group collectively look your way, refusing to react under their stares. “Before any of you say another word, this is definitely not my fault,” you stated.

“Of course it isn't,” Natasha smirked. She knew Bucky loved to play the hero on your behalf even though you could take care of yourself. “Just enjoy the show.”

Your mouth fell open as your boyfriend slammed his left fist on the table, leaving a sizable dent as John nearly fell backwards in his chair. This guy was an agent? He was either new to interrogations or simply scared shitless of the former assassin.

Maybe both.

But you ignored him as you shifted your attention back to your beefy, perfect boyfriend.

When you had mumbled for him to find the person who gave you the cold, you didn’t think he’d actually do it. You weren’t sure how he narrowed down to John, but the former assassin was resourceful and you should've known he'd take you seriously. And, fuck, if it wasn’t slightly mortifying on your behalf and hot as hell watching him in action.

“That cold you gave her made her cry. You made my girl cry. Do you know what I do to guys like you who make my girl cry?” Bucky said through his teeth, bringing his fist down on the table again as John flinched and you smiled. With all the strength he possessed, you never had to worry that he'd hurt you. But you couldn't say the same for the frightened agent. “You're about to find out.”

You didn't think you could love Bucky more after he helped you get over your cold, but he proved you wrong.

And you could now add Bucky threatening people to your list of things that made you dreamily sigh and tingle between your thighs.

“Look, I'm sorry. I’m sorry! All I did was bump into her. It was an accident!” John shouted, putting his hands up in surrender and trembling when Bucky stood to his full height and cracked his neck. Your boyfriend waited a beat before he grabbed one of his hands and began to twist, making the agent pale as you bit back a whimper. “Fuck, stop! I won’t even breathe around her again. I’ll hold my breath! Just let me go!”

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” Tony asked you, taking out his phone to type a quick message as you hummed. Maybe you were enjoying it. How many guys went out of their way to scare someone who possibly gave you a cold? “Does the Manchurian Candidate know how much I’ll have to pay to keep this guy from suing him?”

“We can tell him it was a prank?” Steve suggested, bringing another laugh out of Sam as Natasha shook her head.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he flung the hand away, his hair falling in his eyes as you held your breath. He looked like a wild animal, untamed and stunning. “I should choke you. Make you see how long you can really hold your breath before you pass out,” he snarled as John rubbed his sore skin.

Steve snuck a glance at you, his cheeks a little pink when you put a hand to your throat. “I don't want to overstep because you're my best friend's girl, but you do know you just moaned, right?” He whispered low enough for only you to hear.

Oops.

“Oh, my god,” you groaned, putting your warm face in your hands to hide your embarrassment for a moment. “Is anyone going to stop him?!”

“Why haven’t you stopped him?” Natasha countered knowingly.

Because I’m too busy thinking of how I’m going to suck his dick so good later that I'll make him see God.

You took a breath as the ache between your legs got stronger and pressed the button beside the glass. “Bucky?”

He swung his head toward the glass and met your gaze even though he couldn’t see you. No matter what, he’d always be able to spot you. “Hey, baby. I found the prick who gave you a cold. Want me to beat the shit out of him?” he bragged as John paled.

“I love you,” you giggled from how sweet and ridiculous he was. “And no. I appreciate you defending me, but I think you can let him go.”

Tony playfully rolled his eyes when Bucky grinned. “Your crazy matches his crazy.”

True.

“Okay. I love you, too,” Bucky said in a light tone, his smile falling the second he looked back at John and smacked the table against the wall with a clang. The agent looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “Next time you see my girl, apologize and walk away. And the next time you have a cold, stay the fuck home or you'll answer to me.”

Yeah. I’m going to suck the soul from his body to thank him for everything the moment we get home.

And maybe the two of you could take another sick day to spend the day in bed.

Totally normal boyfriend, right? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[livwritesstuff]

It’s uncharacteristically warm outside for late-winter in Hawkins, Indiana.

It’s 2004, and the whole entire Party is back in Hawkins to celebrate Jim and Joyce’s fifteenth wedding anniversary (it’s actually closer to their sixteenth by now, but they’ve all well and truly entered that phase of adulthood where planning things is next to impossible), and it’s the first time they’ve all been in one room since…honestly, Steve doesn’t even know when. Since Lucas’s wedding in ‘99, maybe.

Everyone is inside unwinding after dinner. Steve can hear them from where he’s sitting outside on the front deck gently rocking the porch swing Hop had installed years ago with one foot, a now-empty bottle resting on the unfinished pine floor by the other.

The front door of Jim and Joyce’s house quietly opens and Steve looks over as El steps onto the porch, closing the door behind her as soft as she’d opened it.

She pauses, her eyes turning wary as they slide off of him and onto the baby girl drifting asleep in his arms (his and Eddie’s littlest baby, Robbie – the older baby, Moe, who’s nearly three so not really a baby anymore, is inside still probably being doted on by all her aunts and uncles).

Even in her early thirties there are so many ways El is still just like the little kid Steve met back in 1984. At the same time though, she’s completely changed.

“Doin’ okay, Ellie?” he asks gently.

She nods.

“It’s getting loud,” El tells him, “Someone put on Jeopardy.” 

Yeah, that’ll do it these days – older and wiser they may all be, but any kind of trivia is still a vice for pretty much the entire Party.

“Well, you’re welcome to join us out here for as long as you like,” Steve replies.

He knows El is a little apprehensive around babies still, same as she is with cats and puppies – really anything small and vulnerable that might have been used against her many years ago, so he half-expects her to go back inside.

But she comes over and sits down next to him on the porch swing anyway and for a while, both of them are quiet.

Robbie exhales a satisfied snuffling noise that tells Steve she’s well and truly asleep.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees El’s hand twitch, like she was going to raise it but then stopped herself.

“Can I?” she asks tentatively.

“‘Course,” Steve tells her, and he watches as El runs the tips of her fingers over the wisps of soft hair on Robbie’s head.

“How old is she now?”

“Three months,” he replies, “Four in a week or so.”

“And she’s…she’s doing…good?” she asks, and there’s something so El in her tone, the same tone she always uses when she’s tip-toeing her way through something that, to her, is foreign territory.

“Mm-hm. She’s good.”

El nods.

“Your daughters are lucky,” she says, her brown eyes trained wistfully on Robbie even as she pulls her hand away. 

Steve thinks he knows what she’s getting at, but before he can ask, she keeps going.

“She’s gonna live her whole life never having to wonder if she’s loved or if she matters,” El says, “She won’t have to wonder because it’s always true. That’s special. I love Hop, and everything I have that is good is because of him, but…I still wish I could have had what you and Eddie are giving her too.”

And Steve knows exactly what she means because he feels the same way, because he thinks about it all the time, every time he thinks about his daughters and the way they are his entire world like he should have been to his own parents and yet never was, every time he thinks about himself and his father and his father’s father and knows it ends with him.

He’s not sure how to put any of that into words.

It’s El though, and he’s never really had to put those kinds of things into words with El, so he decides to just nod and settle back into the porch swing with his friend at his side and his daughter asleep in his arms and the faint noise of the people he loves most carried over them on the breeze of a warm winter evening.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Buzzed

steddie, omegaverse, modern AU, Eddie got out of Hawkins and got famous

Most days it’s easy to pretend. Steve and Robin share a house and a workplace and most of a life in Indianapolis. He can usually forget how he and Eddie almost had something.

But that was before Eddie moved to L.A. to try doing something with his music, found his way into playing a busker in an indie film that miraculously got oscar buzz, and suddenly he’s a household name, booking tons of projects.

And Steve is happy for him!

Really!

He is.

It’s just… He misses having Eddie around. How excitable and goofy he can be, but also having a thoughtful alpha to hang out with other than Robin.

Not to mention his campfire scent and the way his callused fingers feel against Steve’s skin.

They still talk occasionally, texting mostly, little check-ins every couple months, but Steve hasn’t seen Eddie in-person in at least five years.

That’s why it’s easy to pretend. Steve’s old friend, Eddie, and Eddie Munson, alpha movie star, are two different people.

Steve’s crush can exist between the pages of magazines and on internet gossip sites.

He can moon over the pics from Eddie’s photoshoots that he has saved on his phone in private. Can keep his fantasies contained in his nest as he imagines his fingers sliding into short curls.

At least until he gets a call from Dustin on an unassuming Friday night. Steve and Robin are already nearly through a bottle of wine, kicking their feet up after a long week of teaching, when Steve’s phone rings.

“Eddie’s next movie is shooting in Chicago,” Dustin starts.

“And he’s flying out early so he can stop in Indy for a week. I may have told him he should skip the hotel and stay in your guest room.”

“Dustin!”

“What? You’ve got one of the mattresses from the podcast ads in there! It’s comfy! And that way he doesn’t have to deal with paps!”

“Can you just say paparazzi like a normal person?” Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “But it should be fine. When does he get in?”

“Next weekend.”

“Dustin!”

“I only just found out! El and I are driving down in a week, and Mike and Will are only able to skype in.”

He doesn’t mention Lucas and Max, since they also live in Indy; Dustin and El are likely staying with them.

Robin elbows Steve and hisses for him to put the call on speaker, getting caught up as Steve has a private crisis at the thought of finally seeing Eddie again.

To make matters worse, his totally not stalkerish web alert for Eddie’s name pings after he hangs up with Dustin. A new photo shoot.

Eddie’s curls are gone, buzzed down to his scalp; Steve mourns for a fraction of a second.

Then he needs to squeeze his thighs together.

The wanting that he’s been squashing down for the better part of a decade comes back in full force, strong enough that Robin asks if his cycle is early and he’s going into heat.

Blushing, but knowing he can’t keep a secret from her to save his life, he shows her his phone.

“All I can see is how noticeable his ears are now,” Robin says with a judging look and a shrug. “And I am never going to buy Eddie as a tough guy, but I guess I can understand what you omegas see in him.”

“Rooooob!” Steve whines, indignant.

“Steeeeeve!” she teases back.

“I just… Fuck, I need to get laid.”

“I’m sure Eddie would if you asked him nicely.”

“Rob!”

“He looks like he could hold you down, get you to stop stressing so much.”

“Robin… I can’t think about that.”

“Sure you can.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you know why: The bulk of the conversations Eddie and I still have are about you. He always asks me how you are, what you’re up to, at least once a month.”

Steve’s taken aback by that. “What?”

“Yeah. He usually asks if you’re seeing anyone. Tries to sneak it in. Like I’m not going to notice.”

She raises a single eyebrow, and Steve feels intensely confused. “Then how come he doesn’t ask me? Or talk to me more?” He tips back the last of his wine and pulls his legs up tight to his chest.

“Because you’re both idiots,” Robin says, voice warm and full of love as she hugs him.

A week later, a car with dark tinted windows pulls up in Robin and Steve’s driveway.

Eddie has a baseball hat and sunglasses on as he gets out, the disguise barely enough obscure his features, but even if it were better, Steve would still recognize him by his posture.

Robin is out running errands and picking up dinner, but mostly giving Steve an hour of privacy. A chance to say something before either of them can get stuck inside their heads and fuck it up.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie says with a smile as he pulls off his sunglasses in the entryway.

“Hey yourself,” Steve replies, pulling Eddie in for a hug, ready to make it quick, only for Eddie to hold on tight and press his nose to Steve’s neck. A purr rumbles from his chest.

Steve reaches up and pulls the hat from Eddie’s head, letting it fall to the ground.

He rubs his fingers over the stubble of the alpha’s hair, keeping him pressed close to the bonding gland at his neck, his scent crying out for Eddie to claim him.

Soft lips ghost against Steve’s neck. “I missed you,” Eddie whispers.

“Missed you, too.”

Steve kisses the side of Eddie’s head, the only part he can reach, lips pressed to the velvet of his shorn hair. Then it’s like his brain suddenly catches up with him. “Sorry! We- I didn’t-”

Eddie presses a single finger to Steve’s lips, finally pulling back to look in his eyes.

Without his curls, Eddie’s gaze is somehow more intense, dark chocolate looking into Steve’s heart. “Don’t apologize, puppy. You have nothing to apologize for, not to me.”

“Eddie…”

“I’m the one who ran away, who’s been hiding instead of alpha-ing up and telling you.”

“Telling me what?” Steve asks, lower lip trembling.

“That even after all this time, I can’t get your scent out of my nose. That I still dream about you every night. That I work so much to keep from going insane missing you. That I sh-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss.

Eddie doesn’t waste any more time, just picks Steve up, their lips still connected, and carries him to the nearest bedroom—fortunately Steve’s—and drops him on the bed. Getting out of their clothes doesn’t take long; they’ve both waited long enough.

And Robin will be home soon.

Part 2

Now expanded into a full fic! Read here

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: nice to see ya again!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Thor makes himself as permanent as the layers of sediment. Whether you’re in the dirt or looking over the charts and maps, making notes or sorting through your findings, he appears. Knowing he’ll be there keeps you coming yourself. Despite the short nights and long drives, thinking of him finding an empty site deters you from a day off, even against Sam’s pleas. 

The night before was filled with similar chiding from your friend. Sam is as persistent as ever. He always has a new account of his antics with Bucky and never forgets to tell you to take a break. You can’t stop though. You know if you do, you’ll have to think about everything you’re denying. 

The time away has given you time to breathe but it’s suffocated you in new ways. Along with that weight on your chest that has a name, there’s another you can’t quite understand. The one that sees you spending your spare hours alone and your working hours longing for anything but. You’re desperate to get out but terrified of the very same. 

When he arrives that day, you’re ready to give up. The tension in the air is giving you a headache and the dampness makes your skin feel sticky. You just feel gross. 

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d brave the weather today,” he muses as Thunder hops around his feet. You don’t look up, in a mood as grim as the sky. “You’d do well to stay in tomorrow. Trust me.” 

He’s always right about the weather. It must be the familiarity and yet it’s almost eerie how accurate he is. You might take his advice. You don’t like being wet and you’re starting to go cross-eyed from the hours and hours of concentration. 

Thunder yipes as you use your gloves to brush away clumps of dirt. Thor’s footsteps mulch patches of grass that sparsely carpet the dirt. He hums as his shadows looms in your peripheral. 

“Yes, my darling, I believe you’ve found the perfect spot,” he praises. 

You look over curiously. What is he talking about? You only notice then that he has more than the tiny dog with him. He has a basket on his elbow and a blanket under his arm. You sit up and watch him place down the former and shake out the latter.  

He spreads the blanket over the dirt and Thunder jumps onto it, rolling around on the fabric, digging her nose into the patched quilt as she wiggles across it. You clap off your hands and watch him as he gets down to his knees and flips open one side of the basket. He lays out several containers and two thermos’; one is the very same he brought you tea in.  

“I thought you could use a nice lunch before the weather turns,” he stands and nears the fence, “summer doesn’t last long here. You may as well enjoy it.” 

“Lunch?” You utter. 

“Brunch?” He suggest coyly. “Surely you can take a break. You are only human, you need to eat.” 

“You...” you lean to see around him, “you brought me lunch?” 

“I know it isn’t the most elaborate picnic but I thought it might be a pleasant surprise. I must confess I’ve been rather bored these days,” he admits, “so?” 

“Thor, that’s so... sweet,” you frown, “but...” 

“Work, work, work. Surely they can’t expect you to work yourself to the bone, pardon the pun,” he insists, “it will only be a bit.” 

“Yes, but...” you leave the sentence to hang. You don’t have a good excuse. You don’t know. It just makes you nervous. It’s a whole lot of effort for just you.  

“Oh, I don’t mind if you would rather stay over there. Only mean more for, eh, Thunder?” He asks the canine tramping around the blanket. “More than happy to sit here and enjoy my jelly cookies and hot coffee. 

“Coffee?” Your brows raise. 

“Freshly brewed. Promise, There’s nothing pickled. Though I don’t mind a nice herring,” he grins. 

Thunder bounces over and barks at you. She stands on her hind legs as she paws at the barrier between you. Now, how can you deny her? 

You stand and shed your gloves. You carry them over to the table beneath the tent and grab a wet wipe from the back. You come back under the open sky as you wipe your hands. 

“Sorry about all the dirt,” you scoff as you cross the dirt. 

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. He pulls apart the panels of the fence to let you through. It isn’t something you could ever forget but you can’t help but be stricken again by his sheer size. 

You bend to pet Thunder as she gets between your feet. She licks your fingers and you giggle. She’s cute. 

“Go on, pick her up,” Thor goads, “she loves it.” 

You scoop up the dog and stand. She squirms as she wags her tail incessantly. She swipes your chin with her tongue and you scrunch up your face. You carry her to the blanket and look over the spread. A leafy salad, pasta salad, sandwiches, cookies... There’s so much. Your protein bars and peanut butter and jelly can’t compare. 

“Oh gosh, this... a lot.” 

“Is it? Isn’t too much. We’re friends, yes?” 

“Friends?” You face him as you pet Thunder’s soft head. 

“Perhaps it is rather one-sided. You are obligated to be here, I just sort of haunt this place,” he chuckles. 

“No, no, friends,” you smile, “that sounds about right.” 

You turn away and lower yourself onto the blanket, sure to keep your boots off of it, as you hide your face. There’s a tinge of disappointment. You hear a far off echo in your head. How many times did Steve say the same; we’re friends, just friends, you’re such a good friend. Well, that’s all this is. No need to be so sensitive. 

“Do you ever take time off?” He asks as he gets to his knees. 

You look at him as you put Thunder down. He barely keeps her from chomping down on a rye crust. He lifts her easily and she kicks her legs. 

“Eh, you beast,” he points a finger at her snout, “be good.” 

He sets her back on her paws and she obeys. He tells her to sit and she does so. Her eyes continue to hungrily rove over the food. How can he resist them? 

“Like you said, the weather won’t last. Should get done what I can before the ground gets cold.” 

“Ah, yes, that is a concern,” he tuts, “how would you deal with that?” 

“Heat lamps, tiger torch... jackhammer if I really need but I’d have to put in a request for that...” you hadn’t thought too much into the inevitability of winter.  

“Ah, that’s...” he smirks, “I’m sorry but the idea of you with a jackhammer,” he snorts. 

“Hey,” you pout. 

“It isn’t to be mean but... you’re so gentle. When you dig, you’re so delicate about it.” 

“Am I?” You wonder. 

“Mm, is it a bit weird to say so?” He wonders aloud. “Yes, you are very precise, very cautious.” He takes out a set of plates and offers you one, “please, help yourself.” 

“It must be boring watching. Really, I’m the one digging and it gets dull,” you accept and pluck out one of the sandwiches. Salmon, you think. 

“You make it interesting,” he muses. “You talk to the bones.” 

“I talk to the bones?” You repeat, “what?” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re not aware of it. But your lips move when you’re focused. As if you’re chatting up the dirt,” he chuckles, “sometimes a few words do slip out.” 

“They do?” You blanch before you can help yourself to the salad. 

“You don’t say much. Usually something about the dishes, I’m not too sure.” 

“You never mentioned,” you look away shyly. 

“It’s... cute,” he shrugs. 

“You mean crazy,” you shake your head. 

“I say what I mean,” he counters. “No use in not. We can’t be happy if we’re not honest, not least of all with ourselves.” 

You’re quiet as you turn your attention to your plate. His words feel sharp despite his placid tone. You know it’s only because they’re true, especially for you. If you’d just accepted everything sooner, if you hadn’t been so dumb, if you hadn’t been so emotional, it would never have gotten so bad. No, if you’d just been honest. 

“I hope... I hope that didn’t come off wrong,” he says. 

“No, no, I’m... this all looks so good and I’m starving,” you assure him as you sit back with your plate. “Thank you again. This is... great.” 

“Well, I was thinking, you must miss your friends. I might be a paltry substitute but I thought i might fill that gap, even just for an hour.” 

“It’s really...” your eyes tingle but you push away the tinge of sadness, “it’s really nice.” 

“So tell me,” he scoops up salad onto his plate, “tell me about home.” 

“I...” you begin, surprised by the prompt. “It’s just home. New York. It’s busy and loud. Not like here.” 

“No, not that. Your friends. I want to know all about them. If I’m ever going to come up standards, I’ve got to know the competition.” 

You laugh. He speaks as if he needs to impress you. It’s nice to be somewhere where no one knows you’re not that special. You take a bite of the sandwich and chew, thinking out your question.  

You swallow, “well, my friend Sam, he calls every night to bitch at me. He’s great. Supportive but pushy. He likes to terrorise Bucky. He’s the strong and silent type, you know? Grumpy to boot but they’re... they’re awesome.” You smile without thinking, “before I left, they took me to this cocktail bar...” you blow out between your lips and roll your eyes, “real girly stuff.” 

“Ooh, cocktails. I’ve been known to indulge. I love finding new recipes.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yes, I love the sweet ones. I’ve only just perfected my blueberry basil concoction. I’m afraid I can’t share the secret ingredient unfortunately.” 

“Blueberry?” You ponder the flavour, “sounds yummy.” 

“Perhaps one day you can try it,” he suggest. 

“Maybe,” you say evasively. “Anyway, yeah, Sam and Bucky are... characters.” 

“They sound like it. How’d you meet?” 

“Oh, it’s boring. What about you?” 

“It’s not my turn,” he deflects, “tell me.” 

You don’t know why he cares. It’s as confounding as everything else about him. You still don’t get why he’s here watching you sit in the dirt. It sounds as grueling as watching a golfing tournament, in your opinion. Yet here he is, a man who looks like that, staring at you in your mud-stained khakis. 

“College. We met through a mutual friend,” you explain vaguely. 

“Ah, so you’ve been friends for some time. Yes, I see, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he hums thoughtfully as he toys with the braid that hangs loose by his face, the rest of his hair twisted back as always. 

“Steve,” you say without thinking, your eyes drifting off into the distance, “he was my best friend. We met in art history. We spent almost every day together. Studying, whatever. He was more of a partier than me but... fifteen years, more than, and we saw each other...” You choke on your words and scoff darkly, “sorry, that’s... I’m homesick, I think.” 

You bat away the glaze in your eyes and focus on your food. You take a few bites as he sits quietly. Thunder stands up cautiously and crosses the blanket. She settles against your leg, leaning her head on your thigh. It’s comforting. 

“Yes, I think I would be very homesick as well. I lived in the city for a while but mother and father, they need me. And I love this mountain. It’s home. There was nothing in Oslo for me. I can work from here.” 

“Work? What exactly do you do?” You ask, happy to divert from your own painful past. “Oo, are you like a farmer? Or a shepherd. There must be sheep up here or something.” 

He laughs, “there are some sheep, yes, but those are protected by the government. We’ve not much of a choice where they settle. No, I’m not so savvy as all that.” 

“Hm, you... oh, what could do you here?” You look around, “on a mountain... oh, tours? Do you give tours?” 

He laughs, “it’s not a bad idea, but no. I’m a business owner.” 

“A business. You must sell fitness or something.” 

“Must I?” He narrows his eyes, “and what else do you assume about me?” 

“Oh, it’s only you’re so...” you cringe as you eke out the word, “big?” 

“Genetics,” he affirms, “not that but close, in a matter of looking at it. You recall that tea I brought you, with the cloudberry?” 

“Uh, yeah, it was sweet. Yummy.” 

“I’m happy you enjoyed it,” he smiles proudly, “I make superblends. All Nordic ingredients. There is a demand for wellness and organic products. I found the right niche and I’ve not done too badly.” 

“Must not if you can live all the way up here,” you remark. 

“Yes, but... it’s a reason I moved back. Business is a lonely venture. Now I’ve got it all figured out, I have my managers and my business plan, I break even, I realise how much I put to the side,” he mulls his sandwich and takes a glum bite. It’s the first time you’ve seen him anything but bright and beaming, “I feel like I’ve fallen behind. Like I’m playing catch up.” 

His words sink in and storm inside of you. You crunch on the crisp lettuce and gulp. You wipe your mouth with a napkin and clear your throat. 

“I know exactly what you mean,” you say breathily. 

“Do you? You’re out here, on an adventure all you’re own, how brave,” his voice is wistful and his gray blue eyes reminds you of the clouds above. 

“Yes, I know,” you say, “better than you. Trust me.” 

You smile, a bittersweet tug in your cheeks, and he stares back at you. Your eyes cling to each other and you feel as if the world is moving around you. He smiles and a glimmer of something unfurls in your chest. You make yourself look away. 

“Well,” you push the salad around your plate, “what about you? You must have friends, aside from the girl in the dirt.” 

He hums and scrapes up a bite of the pasta salad. He takes his time chewing before he answers. You scratch Thunder’s nose as she sniffs at your plate. 

“Yes, if you ever come to sample my cocktails, you might meet a few,” he coaxes, “I think you’d get along. Hogan and Vol, and Fandy. All good company. Sif’s not around so often when my brother’s around but he’s as fleeting as the sun.” He tuts, “I would call Loki a friend as well but he does scowl at the very thought.” 

“Loki?” 

“My brother of course,” he explains with , “yes, he is quite the dour one. He might get along with that Bucky.” 

[p1utofairy]

PAC: your upcoming relationship 🎀🫧🎆

pile 1 🧸 —

ok so i immediately heard let the light in by lana del rey ft. father john misty! this is a very passionate relationship pile 1 wow. your person is very patient, attentive and willing to put you first no matter what. the dynamic will be similar to allie and noah's but minus the toxicity…there's a push and pull but just enough to keep each other engaged and entertained. i'm hearing a lot of witty playful banter, you grinning until your cheeks hurt and not being able to keep eye contact because they give you butterflies. i'm feeling some gemini influence in this pile hmmm communication will be really important between the 2 of you. i think you both are very similar when it comes to your interests and values but have a different approach to how you handle your feelings and express your emotions. you may be a bit more hesitant or resistant to sharing how you feel in hopes of keeping the peace but i feel like your person will encourage you to speak your mind instead of bottling it in. this goes for any scenerio as well, they want you to be able to step into your power and not dim your light for anyone or anything. your person could have prominent water/cancer/or 4h placements because they give nurturing vibes. i just heard "I JUST WANNA SEE YOU SHINE, CAUSE I KNOW YOU ARE A STARGIRL." you mean everything to them. even if you two were to have a disagreement, they'd probably be a bit moody at first but at the end of the day they'd want to talk it out and make up with you. (and i heard make it up to you) they'll never want you to go to bed angry at them or vice versa, this person is very mature and doesn't like to cut corners when it comes to their relationships. this person has an "all or nothing" type of mentality, when they commit themselves to you that's it. all they see you is pile 1, awww it's so sweet. you're gonna have lots of fun with this person.

pile 2 ⭐️ —

love you like a brother, treat you like a friend, respect you like a lover. OOOO pile 2 your person is very suave, they know exactly what to say and when to say it. i feel like they light up every room that they walk in & could definitely charm the pants off of anyone. it might be hard to take them serious at first or you may question if they're serious about you because they seem to be very friendly or more experienced. but i'm hearing that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, because although this person may give player vibes they’re actually a sweetheart at the core. i can see this person having a really bright smile, they'll love to make you laugh and put you in a good mood. you will bring a good balance to them, they need stability and you're exactly that. they're very confident and extroverted but deep down they feel like no one really sees them except for you. i'm hearing infrunami by steve lacy so maybe some of you already know this person. it honestly does give a good friends to lovers vibe. i can see you two texting a lot, going on little dates and having random/deep conversations about any and everything. maybe lots of discussions about movies? i'm hearing some of you really love cinema. i think you'll definitely see this person in a different light as you get to know them, compared to your first impression of them. it’s like when andie was putting ben through all those hoops until they went to visit his family in staten island…and once she saw him in his element/who he truly was at the core she realized her feelings for him. yeahhh this is super cute pile 2, i dig it.

pile 3 🍬 —

heyyy pile 3, right off the bat i keep hearing the word CUTE. like maybe this is what people will think when they see you and your person together? you two are absolutely made for each other, i think your inner child will really come out when you're around this person. i can feel the excitement, the giddiness and anticipation you two will exude when you're in each other's presence. i heard "like a kid in a candy store" lol that's adorable. power trip by j. cole ft. miguel is playing…yeah it's very much THAT. i feel like you both will pinch yourselves thinking is this real??? your person is gonna make you feel like you're on cloud 9 hehe i see them getting you flowers, writing you cute little messages on sticky notes and gifting you thoughtful things that you may have mentioned in passing but didn't expect them to remember. i feel like you (and maybe even your person) have been waiting/yearning for a connection like this for very a long time, i get an almost lonely energy. like you've been single for a long time and now you feel whole/complete. the intimacy between you two >>> not even just sexually but intellectually and emotionally! you're gonna feel so safe and comfortable with them. your person is very sentimental and they will never take a moment shared with you for granted. i see polaroid/photobooth pics of you 2 being all close and cutesy :) this person might be a little lowkey/reserved in nature but you definitely bring them out of their shell. the scene where jenna says “arrivederci” and is so giddy when matty responds back with “au revoir” is coming to mind. AH y'all are gonna be so goneeeeee pile 3 i love it for you.

[callme-holly]

i love how accurate ur hcs are!! do u think u could do dating hcs for sodapop??

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - I love Soda so freaking much someone please requests more stuff for him like ugh <33 Hope ya'll enjoy and as always my asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 495 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - none!!

He loves you so much and he will tell you every chance he gets. There will never be a moment in your relationship where you feel unwanted or unappreciated because this boy will shower you with praise all the damn time.

He'll really open up to you. He trusts you enough to be vulnerable around you and if something is bothering him or he’s upset please just hold him until he’s better.

He is so clingy like it drives the gang insane. He always has to be near you or touching you in some way and if you aren’t nearby he’ll feel super uneasy.

He is not shy about pda at all, in fact, if you two are out together he is almost always holding your hand and covering you with little kisses. He doesn’t care what other people think at all and will show you off.

In private, he is even worse. If you’re doing something, he’ll drape himself over your shoulders and kiss your neck until you pay attention to him. If you’re sitting on the couch reading, he’ll rest his head in your lap and place your hand in his hair. He needs all the attention, please give it to him.

Honestly, Darry and Pony love you. You make their brother happy and that’s all that matters to them <33

Steve is always fighting you for Soda’s attention. He likes you well enough but that’s his best friend right there and he’s not having you steal him away.

Always visiting Soda at the DX just to watch him work. It’s definitely the highlight of his day when you walk through that door and if you don’t know, he’ll mope around and whine to Steve.

Showering together every chance you get!!

He will never let you walk home alone, doesn’t matter where it is you’re going or what time of the day it is, he wants to make sure you get back safe.

Dates consist of going to the diner and getting milkshakes or going to see a movie. He gets restless after the first 40 minutes or so but he can try and sit still for you.

Soda has and will use every single pet name he knows on you. It doesn’t matter how cringy they may be, he is using them.

Stealing his flannels!!

You two very rarely argue but when you do he’s so upset about it. He’ll go all quiet and once you’ve both made-up he’ll just hold you and whisper apologies in your ear.

When you’re upset, he’s there in a heartbeat, kissing away your tears and whispering little words of comfort into your hair. He hates seeing you sad and will do anything and everything to cheer you up.

He thinks you’re the prettiest person on the planet and will remind you of that at least once every hour.

He’s always buying you little things. It’s never for any particular occasion, he just likes seeing you smile.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!