#Silver Fox!Chris Evans

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 6

Woohoo!! We're really into the thick of it now. Everything is going to heat up from here. Again, heads up for the spicy talk.

In this we have the second half of round one and all of round three getting to the two that earned dates.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

~

Steve had a stack of questions on his lap and was sorting through it to decide which questions to ask each Suitor, once he was ready, he nodded to Bob.

“Welcome to the heart to heart where our Catch gets to delve deep with each Suitor and get to the real meat of each one. Each Suitor will be asked five questions over the course of the round and their answers rated.”

“Billy if music was played every time you walked into a room,” Steve asked, “what would it be and why?”

“‘Bringing Sexy Back’ by Justin Timberlake,” Billy replied. “Because wait until you see me.”

Steve fanned himself with one of the ranking boards. Each little sign was round with a number from one to three on them. A number one got three points and so on. “Three points for sure!”

Bob wagged his eyebrows. “Hell, yeah. I’ve seen him and yeah, definitely not beating the allegations.”

The audience wolf whistled and cheered.

“Tommy, who is the best famous Chris?” Steve asked. He was starting slow, getting a feel for their answers.

“Evans,” Tommy said. “Those blue eyes and chiseled jaw? Smoking hot, man.”

“That is Hemsworth erasure!” Bob protested. “And I won’t stand for it!” He stomped his foot and pouted.

Steve leaned into the microphone. “The correct answer is Pine. Have you seen him lately? He is a complete silver fox these days!”

The audience seemed to agree with Steve as they whistled and cheered for that response.

“Doesn’t hurt he was in both Star Trek and the D&D movie,” Eddie added brightly.

Steve laughed. “That too! I’m going to give Tommy two points for that one because Evans is pretty easy on the eyes.”

“How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie pop?” Steve asked, trying to stifle a giggle. He didn’t quite manage. Most because Eddie started giggling too.

“One,” then a licking sound, “two,” then a another licking sound, “three,” another licking sound, “CRUNCH!” He giggled again. “Three!”

The audience politely clapped and Bob winced. “Well that dates this crowd, ouch! Do yourselves a favor and look up Toostie Pop owl. You’ll thank me later!”

Steve laughed, his nose scrunching in amusement. “Yay! I was really hoping you were going to do it that way. Three points for sure.”

“I aim to please.” It was said in a lower octave that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine as if the that wasn’t the only thing he aimed to do.

“Billy,” Steve said clearing his throat. “What is your favorite thing to watch on a lazy Sunday morning?”

“I usually like to catch whatever game is on,” Billy said, then paused. Steve could imagine him licking his lips. “Or if there is two of us, nothing like a porno to get the engines running if you know what I mean.”

Bob wagged his eyebrows. “Someone likes getting a little action. Very nice.”

Steve on the other hand was bright red. He shuffled through the number signs. “Two points.” Looked down to hide how much the comment embarrassed him.

“Tommy,” he said roughly, “if you were in a relationship right now, who would be your celebrity pass?”

“What’s that?” Tommy asked confused. “I’m not sure what that is.”

Bob smirked at the camera. “Well, Tommy it’s if you were in a committed relationship and there was a famous person who wanted to sleep with your significant other for just one night, who would that be for you? Like between me and my wife, if Winona Ryder wanted to sleep with me, I would get a free pass to sleep with her without my wife saying I cheated on her. Hers is Chris Hemsworth.”

Tommy laughed. “Yeah, all right. I get it now. We all know Stevie’s would be Chris Pine.” Steve blushed again. “Um...Michael Sheen in his Lucian from ‘Underworld’ leathers. Hell yeah.”

“Three points because hell yeah,” Steve agreed.

“Eddie, what is one thing everyone should try once?” Steve asked. This was Mike’s question and the last one from the kids.

“D&D,” Eddie said. “Pick any edition that makes you feel comfortable but for beginners I would definitely avoid anything pre-2000 as it’s a lot harder, but just let someone you trust run a game for you get you involved in the process and see how you like it.”

Steve and Bob shared a look of amazement at his answer, they were both expecting something a little more deep, but instead it was quirky and fun.

“Three points for sure,” Steve said, more than a little awed. “Some of the kids in my classes play it and they would love to meet someone as passionate about it as they are.”

“Hey,” Eddie said warmly, “even if this gig doesn’t work out, give me a call and I’ll happily come run a game for your kids.”

Steve blushed even harder. How was he supposed to recover from that? “I might just take you up on that.”

“Any time,” Eddie positively purred.

Bob grabbed one Steve’s signs as the audience laughed to Bob fanning himself with the number one.

“Did it just get hot in here?”

“Right!” Steve said with forced cheer, trying to move this along. “Billy if you had the chance to relive one day of your life what would it be and why?” He figured that was a safe enough question. Or at least enough of distraction from how hot this Eddie was sounding.

“Oh that’s easy,” Billy said, low and dark. “My twenty-fifth birthday, I had low, slow, deep sex with twins from Morocco. We fucked all day. Man, those boys could bend.”

“Jeez,” Bob huffed, “how do you sleep if you’re getting so much sex?”

“With my dick in their ass or their mouth on my dick,” Billy said darkly.

As much as Steve would like to say that was unexpected, it was really wasn’t. Not coming from Billy. But he also knew that he was just as much of horn dog. “Two points.” The two sign was getting a lot of use today.

Billy chuckled. “I’ll convert you yet, Steve. Just give me the chance and I’ll blow your world. I would love to fuck you slowly, baby.”

“Wow,” Bob said and then pursed his lips, cocking his head to the side. “That was certainly something.”

Steve’s left hand fisted his slacks as he tried to tramp down on his embarrassment yet again. “Tommy, what would you make for breakfast for a date who spent the night for the first time?”

Tommy let out a low whistle. “That’s a good one. I would make chocolate chip pancakes with real maple syrup from Vermont with scrambled quail eggs, and freshly cut pork shoulder bacon. For the drink you can either freshly squeezed orange juice, without the pulp of course or Colombian coffee home ground with just a hint of vanilla.”

“That’s certainly a fancy spread,” Bob replied, he turned to Steve. “And how would we rank his answer?”

Steve grimaced. He hated all that pretentious stuff. Just give him buttered toast and a cup of hot coffee and he’d love them forever. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “One point. I’m just a middle school teacher from Indiana. I don’t need anything fancy.”

He closed his eyes as the silence stretched a little thin. Then Bob was clearing his throat. His eyes shot open. Right. He had a show to finish.

“Eddie,” Steve said, throwing out the previous question about a road trip, “how do you feel about kids?”

“Can you clarify?” Eddie asked softly. “Like do I want them? Or just kids in general?”

Steve blushed at his warm tone. He had never blushed so much in his life. He cleared his throat. “Well it was kids in general, because you wanted to come DM for a few of them, but you can answer the former, too if you wanted.”

Bob’s eyes went wide as he turned to the camera and the audience oohed.

“That’s fair,” Eddie said with a laugh. “I love kids. I love their devious little minds. DM’ing for kids is more fun because they’ll come up with the weirdest shit imaignable to get out of the most mundane situations. I just love that. Little girls are scary in that regard though. They’ll befriend the local wolf pack and the next thing you know, they’ve taken over the world.”

Steve laughed. Yeah, that tracked from what he saw in his own students. As long little girls didn’t have parents or teachers trying to beat that out of them, they absolutely would take over the world.

“And as for the other question,” Eddie said seriously, “yeah sure. I’d love to adopt specifically. Kids like me, who if I didn’t land in with my uncle at an early age, I would have been that troubled kid.” He cleared his throat. “So yeah. I’d love to have kids.”

Steve wiped away a tear. “Three points.”

“He better have gotten full points for that answer,” Bob huffed. “That was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard on this show.”

Steve could only agree, especially in its sincerity.

“Billy, what is the hottest thing anyone has done for you?”

“Ooh, spicy!” Bob said.

“That’s a tough question, babe,” Billy said, his voice dark and sultry. “I’ve had a lot of hot things that boys have done to me.”

“Most recent then,” Steve said with a huff of laughter. This balls on this guy must be larger than his head. If there was anyone who matched Dustin’s ego it was definitely this dude.

“Now that one was fun,” Billy said. “I had a guy that I sat next to on a long flight from Hawaii to LA. It was a red eye so there was only the two of us in first class. He gave me a blowjob when all the lights went down. Definitely in my top ten blowjobs, too.”

Steve’s nose wrinkled, but he did ask for it. “Two points. Not into semi-public to public sex.”

Billy laughed. “To each their own, doll.”

“Tommy,” Steve said just plowing through to the next question. “If you had a million dollars to give away, where you give it and why?”

“Only a million?” Tommy said with a scoff. “I do that yearly, anyway. Some of my favorite charities are youth after school programs and cancer research.”

Steve sighed. There was that push to show how much money he had. He really wondered if this guy was happy. “Three points.” But only because if he had given any less there would be a riot. But it was obvious he only picked those things because saying what he really would have given the money to probably would have raised some red flags.

“Eddie,” he said, “here’s a fun question for you. Who do you think killed Pres. Kennedy?”

“Ooh, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed. “You certainly know the way to a man’s heart. Conspiracy theories are my jam. Not because I believe in them, but because they are so fascinating. But in this case there is no doubt there was a hell of a cover up. A warehouse worth of evidence and it disappears before it can be declassified? Nah, fam. So, I’m going to say it was CIA. JFK was going to win the next election and they couldn’t have that. So they had him killed.”

Steve laughed. “That tracks. Thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” Eddie said brightly. “That was a fun question.”

“All right,” Bob said, “we are going into the last question for all three of our Suitors. Our current totals are: Eddie with fifty-seven, the clear runaway leader. Billy with thirty-seven, and Tommy with thirty-six. It’s down to this last question who will get the chance to go on the date with Steve, Billy or Tommy. All righty, Steve. Lay those last questions on our Suitors.”

Steve had originally had a different question for Billy, but after all the unhinged sexual answers he decided he had a better question for the man whore. “Billy, how do you feel about male lingerie?”

“Male lingerie?” Billy said in confusion. “I thought lingerie was only for chicks, not dudes.”

“Well, Billy,” Bob said with a smile, “there has been a recent development where men wanted to feel sexy, too. But lingerie is designed for breasts and wider hips, things that would look bad if a man tried wearing them. So designers came up with silky underwear that fit a man’s body.”

“Hmm,” Billy said thoughtfully. “Who would be wearing the male lingerie? Because that would determine how I feel about them.”

Gotcha! Steve thought. “Me.”

“It would be nice for to come home to,” Billy said, “the once. Then I would rip it off you and fuck you into the mattress.”

Steve was a little disappointed in the answer. His lip quivered and he bit it.

“I would buy you as many as you wanted,” Eddie said softly. “I know it’s not my turn, but babe. I’d buy them in different styles and different colors and lovingly remove them each time to keep them safe.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks, Eddie. Two points to Billy. For the great sex afterwards I guess.”

“Get me to the dating round, doll,” Billy huffed, “and I’ll make you a believer.”

“Tommy what was your dream job when you were a kid?” Steve was hoping for something sincere for a change.

“Rich and famous,” Tommy said with a laugh. “Didn’t everyone?”

Bob and Steve shared a concerned glance.

“No,” Steve said slowly. “I always wanted to be a teacher. Or an archaeologist. Until I found out about the math.” He shuddered. “One point.”

“I think that cinches it for Billy to go on to the date round,” Bob said, “we’ll still have our catch ask his last que–”

“Wait!” Tommy said. “I know it won’t change anything, even if I get three points Billy still wins by one. But can I change my answer?”

“It would technically be a tie,” Bob said gently, “so I can’t have Steve change your points, but go ahead.”

Tommy was silent for a moment. “I wanted to be a fireman. I know most boys did at a certain age, but I really wanted to be a fireman. But my dad was a banker, so he wanted me to follow in his footsteps. So instead of training to be a firefighter out of high school I went to college.”

Steve heart broke just a little. “That sounds sweet, Tommy.”

“Thanks,” Tommy said with a sniffle.

“All right, Eddie,” Steve said gently steering the conversation back to the game. “If we were to get matching tattoos, what would it be and why?”

“A tattoo question for little me?” Eddie asked gleefully. “Did you peek? You did, didn’t you? You saucy thing.”

Bob laughed. “Nope, apparently Mr. Middle School Teacher here has a tattoo on his forearm.”

Eddie giggled and stomped his feet excitedly. “I guess it would depend how far we are into dating we were. But definitely not each other’s names. That’s just asking for trouble. I’d say... hmmm... a little half heart on the inside of the wrist, so that when we hold hands they form a complete heart.”

“Dude,” Bob said, “are you for real? This show has never had a score as high as yours in the history of its run. Billy can only hope you spill wine on Steve’s lap on your date in two days otherwise you’re going to be really hard to beat.”

Eddie chuckled. “I’m just me, man. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Well I know what I want to say,” Steve said a little breathless. “Three points.”

“And there we have it,” Bob said to the camera. “Tomorrow Billy will pick up Steve from his hotel lobby in his fancy Camero to wine and dine Steve. We will fly Eddie out to Hawkins tomorrow so he can pump your best friend Robin for all your favorite things to do and the best place for a picnic. Then miniature golf and dinner at the local diner, Benny’s. Then you’ll both fly back here for the finale where Steve will reveal who his love connection is!”

~

Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: CLOSED

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10- @ollieolive @dissociatingdemon @stripey82 @kultiras @micheledawn1975

[l223m0nade]

Bees (a stucky au snzfic)

ok

ok ok

so I saw this random thing on a tumblr post:

and it got its Stucky-idea hooks so deep in my brain. It just did. And the thing is my deepest inspo is honestly in the land of snz. (This fic kind of ends abruptly sorry but i want to do more and it'll probably end up on Ao3 w like a M or E rating 😳🫣 when and if that happens i'll link to it)

Stucky au, no powers, age gap, what I'm picturing in my head goes less with the words "silver fox Steve" and more with the words "dorky Dilf Steve" like 2012 Cap fashion with current Chris Evans face? in..a good way? and longhair early-20s burnout Bucky. I have some backstory headcanons that are just hinted at here, hopefully it's tantalizing rather than confusing.

anyway have 11.5k words of this and encourage me to write more bc i have fallen in love with these particular boyz. Some light existential angst but mainly idiots pining aka the sweetest sauce

~Fic~

Sam isn’t sure how much longer he can allow this to go on. His barback and the new semi-regular square dude are once again being all awkwardly flirty while pretending they’re not, like two sad lonely white...ducks, who never learned a mating dance and have zero game.

At least Square Dude has an excuse: he’s the most obvious newly-divorced newly-out family-type guy Sam’s ever seen. He’s clean-cut, with a ridiculously handsome square jaw, wearing well-made but unstylish button-down shirts and pants that make him look like he belongs in a Norman Rockwell painting. He started coming in about two months ago, quiet, friendly when ordering his one or two beers of the evening, and firmly shy when it comes to the inevitable overtures sent his way. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this is him dipping a first toe into the pool: coming to a relatively quiet gay bar, just to sit and watch men talk to each other and let the whole notion sink in.

By now most guys would’ve found someone to spread their wings with or gone elsewhere to find em, but Square Dude, whose name is Steve, seems content to talk to the guy who pours his beer about whatever DIY project Bucky is pulling questions out of his ass about.

The crush is painfully obvious, and suburban closeted Steve can’t be blamed for having no deal-sealing abilities, but Bucky has no such excuse. Sam has watched him pull stiff-backed business bros in five minutes flat when the mood struck him, with his big blue puppy eyes and his dark wicked smirk and long lean slouch. But with Steve all he appears capable of doing is asking him questions about crown molding as though those words mean anything to him while gazing at him like he’s beaming the words You could fix me directly into Steve’s skull. Steve, for his part, just doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere other than Bucky.

As usual, anyone that tries to strike anything beyond a friendly conversation is kindly but firmly rebuffed. “He’s not ready for that yet,” Bucky had insisted with unnecessary defensiveness when Sam implied it was time for the new guy to move from spectating to participating in the relatively mellow flirting and hookup scene the bar played host to most evenings. “People go at their own pace.”

“The only pace he’s going at is towards you,” Sam smirked. Bucky glowered at his implication. “You gotta make it weird. He comes here to, like, practice. I’m part of that, in a chill, friendly way.” He shrugged and looked at the glass he was drying. “When he is ready, it’s not gonna be for me, it’s gonna be for someone actually in his league, like a...hot college professor, or something.” Sam had rolled his eyes and resolved to stop trying to help Bucky Barnes flail around in his mess of a love life anymore, for the hundredth or so time.

Tonight is busy enough that Sam can mostly be distracted from this bad sitcom, and not so busy that he has to yell at Barnes for being distracted. Still, there are a couple empties on tables in the Steve-less side of the bar, and after finishing the drinks for the people in front of him he turns, catching Bucky’s voice, in a tone of delight he uses when speaking with only one person, saying “Wait. Seriously? Bees?”

“Yeah!” Steve responds, equally puppyish. He’s tall and broad, sandy hair and beard just beginning to show a hint of salt-and-pepper. He looks like anyone’s fantasy fireman or lumberjack, at least in the context of a place like this. He also exudes genuine sweetness and vulnerability despite his intimidating muscled height.

Bucky Barnes, Sam’s barback and old friend, leans against the bar doing the helpless-goober-with-a-crush stare, a look on his face like Steve just announced he was a Nobel Prize winner. “No way. How do you keep bees? Just as, what, a casual hobby? That’s, like, a whole thing, you can’t be an expert in so many things!”

Bucky is all shaggy longish dark hair and stupid cheap graphic t-shirts, with a striking, animated face that is used mainly for sarcasm. He and Sam had been at the same high school a few blocks away, though Sam is older, and in the funny way of life they’ve wound up good friends. He’s working at Sam’s place because, in his words, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with his life. Bucky’s going through his own version of one of those fairly bleak lost periods of 20-something misery, but he’s smart and not a drunk and decent at what he does for Sam, and if he bangs a third of the customers he does it discreetly enough. Sam never knew dark-blond, broad-shouldered, bass-voice sad-eyed dudes pushing 40 were the kryptonite that made him unable to do anything including flirt, until Steve came in one day and Bucky sprayed himself with the keg he was tapping.

Steve chuckles— is this man blushing? “Oh no, I’m nowhere near an expert. But it’s pretty easy once they get established. Don’t need much from you. I’m not, uh, living at the place with the backyard where the hives are, right now….so….but they’ll be fine without me.”

Steve gets a little quiet and Bucky’s fangirl expression dims with distressed sympathy. It gets sad like this sometimes when talking to Steve. Recently divorced guys had this problem, where everything came back to the one topic. Steve’s not doing it pathologically, didn’t seem like, just genuinely realizing another change. Bucky looks stricken. He doesn’t always seem young, at newly 24, but sometimes it still shows.

Sam finally manages to catch his eye away from gazing at Steve to convey a quick head jerk of get-the-hell-over-there-and-do-the-job-I-pay-you-for, and Bucky peels himself away with an apologetic smile at Steve. Sam picks up the conversation with Steve as Bucky clears tables at top speed, hearing how he’s renting a place month-to-month not far away, not able to plan something more permanent just yet. He doesn’t say anything revealing, but it’s still easy to paint a picture of a small, empty apartment. Bucky’s not the only one with a soft spot for this guy, and Sam is warmed by the thought that his little bar offers him respite.

………………..

“That’s so sad,” moans Bucky a few days later. It’s just after opening on a weekday afternoon, and Bucky seemed quieter than usual so Sam is tantalizing him with what he learned talking to Steve the other day. “Did he say—you know he has kids?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam answers. He’d been as offhand as a person could be about that sort of thing, but it wasn’t hard to see how he really felt. He was standing in the rubble of a sincere loving marriage to a woman with whom he had two 11-year old twins. Helped explain his rectitude when it came from moving from his spot at the bar, meeting someone other than the staff. Bucky’s eyes are pools of sympathetic anguish and Sam feels the need to say, “This kinda stuff happens to people, Buck,” earning an eye-roll for his patronizing efforts. “It’s good he’s coming here, learning about himself. I think you help a lot, for the record.”

Bucky starts and gives him a bewildered look. “What?”

This is aging him. Sam sighs, “He’s lonely. Maybe feels kinda lost right now.”

Bucky’s mouth gets a pained downward slant to it.

“He. Likes. You.”

At that, of course, Bucky gets uncomfortable, blushing and moving off to wipe tables somewhere away from Sam, rubbing his nose and clearing his throat like he’s been doing since he got there. He brightens when Steve comes in an hour later, and Sam rolls his eyes and leaves them to their game of mouse-and-mouse.

Steve is telling Bucky... how window insulation works. He thinks he asked, he hopes to god he did, at least. He’s been embarrassing himself for weeks, coming to this place almost every day. He’s kept it pretty well under wraps that although he liked the neighborhood simplicity, and talking to Sam, and got comfortable after the first few visits, the real reason he’s there more evenings than not is to see Bucky. With his bright grey-blue eyes and dark hair hanging past his chin, swinging against his cheekbones, with his smile and wicked sense of humor and his confounding ease in himself, the ease that gives Steve despair and hope for himself. With that mouth and that divot in his chin, and those last two thoughts are not allowed, because the need to put his thumb into that dot in his sculpted chin and kiss those ridiculously pink lips is urgent and unthinkable.

He doesn’t do that, he just sits and pines and chats awkwardly with him, and gets to know a few other regular guys and talks sports with Sam. He just likes talking to Bucky, it’s easy, easy like nothing has been in a long time, and he’s a creep, he’s a pathetic older guy using his experience to take advantage of a younger guy—

Only, he’s not actually experienced here, at all. And Bucky is so smart, he’s self-deprecating about it but it’s not like he and Steve aren’t generally on the same level beyond his inner glossary of home improvement terminology. He downplays the fact that he knows cars like an expert, insists the stuff Steve learned from keeping up an old house and the hobbies he picked up to stay sane is somehow far more impressive— Steve’s pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, to make him feel less adrift and clueless. He has that way about him, of someone who looks after other people without realizing it.

Things were all dark there for a while, with the end of his marriage to Peggy. But he’s pretty sure he and Bucky are friends, and he feels bright when he sees him.

Tonight, though, Bucky seems just a little worn down. He’s wearing a waffle-knit shirt under his incomprehensible-thorny-calligraphy-t-shirt, as though he’s cold, and his eyes are tired. Steve waits for a reply to the last thing he said and looks to see Bucky with a dazed, spaced-out expression, before he shakes his head and rubs his nose, saying “Sorry, I thought I was gonna sneeze, what’d you say?”

Talking about the goddamn weather and window insulation was segueing into a real conversation, to Steve’s delight: “How my mom moved us out to Jersey so we could live somewhere better and I never forgave her.” Bucky gives a wide-eyed grimace of agreement and he can’t help the bright laugh that bursts out of him. “How about you, you grow up in the city?” He’d inadvertently spilled his guts about the divorce on like his third time in the bar, something that humiliated him to think of but Sam had simply said with an understanding face wasn’t too unusual, so Bucky knew the basics about Peggy and the twins, but Steve had felt clumsy asking Bucky about himself.

He rolled his eyes with his problematically attractive crooked grin and answered, “Aw man, I grew up practically around the block from this place. Went to high school at the big catholic cinderblock in the neighborhood. I was at school on the west coast for a couple years, but…” His eyes cast downward. “now I’m back.”

Steve remembers how bad it felt at that age, to not have accomplished enough fast enough. Saying that will make him sound like an old grey dad and even if that’s what he is he can still hold out a little hope of being something different here, so he just says, “Brooklyn’s a good hometown to come back to.”

That makes Bucky smile at him and look him in the eye, like he liked what Steve said, even like it made him feel better. Steve tamps his answering grin down to reasonable levels.

Bucky’s also been rubbing at his nose on and off this whole time, and he can see it give a little twitch right before he breathes out a “scuse-me” through hitching breaths, his eyes flickering closed. He pushes his nose firmly into his long-sleeved elbow. “hhh-hh-tdschuh!” He sneezes quietly and muffled. “Oh, snf, sorry,” he says, blinking and emerging from his elbow but not lowering it, the hazy ticklish look still on his face, breaths hitching. “Another—hhh—‘nother one?” He freezes, looking up at the overhead lights, nostrils flared, but after a second he deflates with a sigh. “Nope, nevermind. Snff.” Steve’s guts swoop. This crush is so unsustainable. He’s gonna fail to be cool and friendly and he’ll have to watch Bucky go all uncomfortable and pitying as he explains to Steve that he has six hot boyfriends who are not almost-forty almost-virgin losers who only know how to take up his time when he’s trying to work. According to his therapist these “harangues of negativity” are “unhelpful.” But Bucky looks tired and a little pale and like his nose is going to start turning pink and Steve is just trying to survive.

“Bless you,” Steve says softly in his gentle voice that’s so deep it takes Bucky by surprise and makes his stomach flutter every time he talks to him. He feels like he might be blushing.

“Thanks,” it comes out husky and he clears his throat hard, moving to the little sink to wash his hands.

“Allergies, or…?” Steve ventures, a little divot between his eyebrows of concern-more-like-pity.

“I dunno, something’s bothering my nose today,” he says lightly with a shrug. In truth Bucky has a good idea what’s making him sneeze. The fucking radiator that was supposed to heat his cheap shitty basement apartment had stopped working in the middle of the night, so he’d spent six hours until dawn shivering, and an itchy tickly feeling had been growing in the back of his nose and throat since around noon. It’s starting to evolve into a runny nose and an ever-present but elusive feeling of being about to sneeze, and he knows that means he’s coming down with a cold.

He sees some convenient glasses to clear and excuses himself with a smile so he can sniffle out of Steve’s earshot; he’s enough of a mess compared to Steve on his best day, he doesn’t need to show off his scraggly urchin runny nose aesthetic of tonight any more than he has to.

For the next hour, these light, tickly sneezes either sneak up on him or abandon him at the last minute, leaving his nose feeling like it’s going to start getting stuffy.

Steve watches Bucky do his job, sniffling, rubbing his nose, and sneezing furtively into his sleeve or collar; tucking the strands of hair that have come loose from his short ponytail behind his ears, and feels so helplessly tender for him that it can’t be normal or healthy even by desperate crush standards.

Bucky’s coming down with a cold. He seems to want to brush it off, but Steve can hear a slight change in the resonance of his voice that gives it away even if the tired pink starting to border his eyes and nostrils doesn’t. The place is getting crowded and he’s busy; Steve feels for him, as well as pathetically jealous of his attention as he banters with him in passing once in a while.

He glances up as Bucky heads in his direction with a short stack of empty glasses and sees his steps slow; he pauses, blinks up at the overhead light, eyes hazy, and then, wavering, starts to turn his face into his shoulder, before pausing again and then sighing and sniffing as the sneeze evaporates. He looks up and sees Steve watching him like a creep and laughs, “Damn, lost her,” and then as he continues behind the bar, “You havin’ fun watching me look stupid?”

“It’s agony actually,” he responds, gets a laugh, and feels the now-somewhat-familiar internal squeal of this is flirting! I’m flirting with a guy and I think he can tell! It’s painfully pathetic, but he can’t help but track the fact that Bucky knows plenty of the folks that come to Sam’s, that he’ll give anyone his attention if they ask for it, smiling and joking, but the only person he really goes out of his way to talk to, initiates teasing with, is him, Steve. It’s still nothing more than polite obligatory chatting, he’s sure— when you work at a bar this kinda thing is natural. Bucky is young and charismatic and gorgeous. His love life would probably give Steve enough combined envy and jealousy to cause heart failure, which would be perfectly appropriate because he is an old square divorcee. It makes him warm and bubbly enough that he seems to be Bucky’s favorite customer to pass the time with.

A guy down the bar gets his beer from Sam and sidles closer. “This seat taken?” he asks with a good-humored cocked eyebrow. This is why Steve actually started coming to this place: to meet people, to meet guys, in a way that, well, went somewhere. To call his own decades-old bluff. Not to moon over staff half his age who woulda been out of his league even if he was still in his twenties. He turns to the guy—his age or a few years older, attractively lithe with muscle, a hard but handsome face, and smiles.

Bucky gets busy for a stretch— Sam’s place is actually full tonight thanks to the playoff game. He enjoys the feeling of being a genuinely necessary part of the bar’s operation, when some nights it’s hard to believe he’s more than Sam’s charity case. Nights like this remind him that he has a real job, he’s decent at it even with a bum left arm; whether he’s living out his dreams or not he’s an adult with a job, a place to live, and people he cares about. Plus it distracts him from feeling sorry for himself for coming down sick.

His satisfied feelings fade when he looks over to the Steve end of the bar and sees Brock Rumlow talking to him. He scowls. Fucking Rumlow. He only ever comes on nights with games these days, but Bucky would be perfectly happy if he never came in at all.

It’s fine. Steve’s fine. He is a grown-up, significantly more of one than Bucky. Of all the people who have no need of his misplaced ineffectual chivalry, Steve has got to be last in line.

Maybe he finds more stuff to do in the general area of that end of the bar, and maybe he’s listening for Rumlow to say something dickish, or maybe he’s just a masochist and he wants to know firsthand if they hit it off. Sam is trying to point his “Don’t-be-Stupid” face at him like a flashlight beam but he resolutely ignores it while he replaces a couple bottles that legitimately needed it, ok, just because they’re in a convenient place doesn’t make that untrue.

“Yeah, I’m glad I found this place,” he catches Steve’s cheerful voice. A wave of bar noise obscures their next words, and then he makes out Rumlow,

“—actual sports on the TV. ‘Course,” the smile is audible in his voice, “the clubby places are good for at least one reason, y’know?” He quiets down to say it but not enough. Steve wouldn’t particularly like that, Bucky guesses, and then grinds his teeth as his brain helpfully supplies him with the memories of how easily Brock had charmed him, months ago. It wasn’t any kind of nightmare, but it was still probably his least favorite hookup to date: he’d been so happily focused on Bucky at first, then rough and selfish in bed, capped off by an unnecessarily clear implication that he wouldn’t be calling. Bucky knew the score with casual sex, but it had still given him enough whiplash to sting; it crossed his mind a few days later that it had been like Rumlow wanted him to feel like a dumb kid.

Steve has sputtered something about “not sure he’s looking for anything like that” while Bucky fumed about the past. He has to grab beers for a couple guys, and bending to get in the lowboy fridge makes his nose run suddenly, and flush with an insistent tickle. He manages, just barely, to squash the sneeze completely into a silent mmp! into his shoulder, andmakes a getaway to the bathroom. He blows his nose, but it won’t stop tickling, so then he stands there like an idiot, holding paper towels like they’re a book he’s reading, staring up into the lights and waiting to coax the sneeze out.

He can feel it coming but it still takes forever. At least the bathroom is empty. He wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly and sniffs and his breath finally starts to catch.

“hehh...heh...heh—heh-Uhh....huhh. Fuck.” There’s no way it’s not happening though, his goddamn nose tickles so bad— “hhHAh—EHSsschhooo!” It’s a ridiculous cartoony sneeze but at least it’s satisfying. He blows his nose again, then sighs. He’s definitely sick. Gonna be great sleeping in a freezing apartment. Turning into kind of a shitty night, he thinks with sarcastic pep.

When he leaves the restroom he can’t help glancing over to where Steve sits, and sees he’s now frowning at whatever Rumlow’s saying, looking politely uncomfortable on the way to annoyed. As he drifts back into earshot he hears, “….fun, but, if you’re looking for more than, um, casual, I dunno, kind of a dead end.” Then his pulse jumps as Rumlow looks right at him and finishes, “not dating material, trust me. Either way,” he leans in, “I think you can do better.”

Bucky closes the distance but puts himself behind the bar so he doesn’t immediately clock the asshole. His fists are clenched. Can he throw him out? If he doesn’t get away from Steve and shut up Bucky’s gonna end up fired and charged with assault, probably, but he doesn’t know if he can throw someone out on the grounds of being a jerk that he hates. Thank God, Sam’s caught on that something is up.

Rumlow doesn’t seem to have won Steve over, in any case. He’s turned cold and hard in a way that makes him look unfamiliar, and he says quietly but very clearly, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” He sounds like a straight Army Captain contemptuously shattering an underling’s heart immediately post-office-suckjob or something; in the morass of anger and panic it still registers with Bucky’s dick to his utter bewilderment. It definitely triggers some core memory for Rumlow, who turns the color of old milk before flushing and standing. He takes in the sight of Bucky glowering behind Steve and barks an ugly laugh. “It’s like that, huh?” he asks, shaking his head in mock pity. “Good luck with that rescue mission.”

Bucky feels like he did when Hank Ackerman pantsed him in 8th grade. Everything’s too bright and clear. He wants to cover his face and run into the back, but he’s rooted to the spot by the thought that that’s just what the dumb baby slut Rumlow’s been making him out to be would do.

“That’s it man,” Sam comes up beside him, smile on his face as though he’s just casually joining their conversation. “You’re done. Get outta here.”

Rumlow scoffs, takes a step towards the door, then turns with the beginning of a macho intimidation-lean in Sam’s direction. He’s hammered, Bucky hadn’t realized, and he can usually tell with people. He’s...kind of fucking scary. Had he gotten rougher around the edges, or had he been like this when Bucky went home with him? Jesus Christ.

Sam just returns his stare, all semblance of friendliness gone from his face. “Get out.”

Rumlow glares another second, but then he goes. There’s a reason Sam’s successful running a bar in the middle of the still-managing-to-be-seedy part of Brooklyn, as well as his finely tuned sensibilities to the unmet needs of Brooklyn’s grownup queer folks. He has the air, recognizable to serious troublemakers, of someone who will absolutely meet and raise any escalation. There were, in fact, a taser and a gun behind the bar, but Sam had never had to use them.

Steve stands up sharply, like he’s—what, gonna follow? Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but then—“Steve.” Sam’s got the side bar entry folded up and he’s intercepting his angry stride. “Please don’t.” He goes on, too quiet for Bucky to make out. Steve deflates and sits back down, taking a long drink of beer and then frowning at his knees.

Bucky consciously lets go of his tension as he sees Rumlow’s silhouette, walking outside, disappear from the last window on the right. He feels shaky, the way any kind of confrontation leaves him, and embarrassed as hell. He avoids Steve’s eyes for all he’s worth, scrubbing a hand under his nose and sniffing sharply.

Steve was just a customer. Bucky was just one of many people that Steve made polite conversation with in the course of a day. Feeling like this was just a consequence of getting that confused. Because he’s an idiot. He has to sniffle again. He also feels about ten times sicker than he did a few minutes ago, and successfully blinking away the brief prickle in his eyes just turns it into the need to sneeze.

Steve tries to breathe smoothly and calm down. This frat-boy rage is ridiculous, he still wants to go punch the hell out of that fucking creep. He must be drunker than he realizes, although deep down he knows it has more to do with the inarticulate surge of protectiveness he’d felt for Bucky since the guy had gestured to him with a jerk of his head as he crossed the room.

He hears a shuddering gasp and sees Bucky duck down to crouch behind the bar. His concern flares way up, but then he hears the three muffled sneezes, all in a rush, “hhhMPtchsh—hmptsschoo—hptsshhuh,”. He straightens back up, sniffing hard, more wetly than he sounded earlier. He’s rubbing his nose and glaring at the door, not looking at Steve.

“Bucky,” he says, frowning, determined to get this across, “what that asshole said about you—”

“Steve, snff, it’s fine, just drop it, okay, I’m asking you,” he meets Steve’s eyes with a downcast expression, before it flickers as his breath catches, and he sneezes again, half-pinched down into the collar of his shirt, “ihh-dtsschuh!”

His nostrils keep quivering and he lets out a shaky sigh of frustration before ducking around the corner out of sight with his hands tented over his nose and sneezing, “hiih-hih-HIDtschoo!...hih-HIH-TISchoo! ..heehh...heh—HEH—” the last one deserts him and leaves him sniffling. They’re still pretty quiet, but a lot heavier and spraying than the first sneezes Steve heard earlier. Bucky blows his nose and washes his hands thoroughly, and when he’s back behind the bar his nose is decidedly pink.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky’s lips thin in exasperation— it’s not like him, compared to the guy Steve’s talked to the last few weeks. Whatever, he can’t help but say, “you do sound like you’re coming down with something, you should—”

“Steve, I’m fine,” says Bucky, in a soft tone that brooks no argument. Still tense, he turns to Steve with a crooked smile and says, “Really,” and it’s warm, if strained, between them again, and it seems like that’ll just have to satisfy Steve, and he says as much to Bucky who blushes and bites his lip for some reason.

Sam rescues Bucky by asking him to do inventory in back, letting him be sneeze and be dramatically in his feels without anyone around, especially Steve. The bar is slow enough now that he just shamelessly hides for the rest of the night. He’s constantly sniffling and sneezing and needing to blow his nose with the roll of rough brown paper towels back there, and even without that he’s too keyed up and pissed and miserable for human company, so it’s for the best.

He casts furtive recon glances to the bar where Steve sits, first craning his neck trying to spy Bucky, then brooding into his beer glass which makes Bucky feel like an asshole, then perking up at least a little shooting the shit with Sam, hopefully talking shit about Brock Dickface Rumlow. Then the misery wells up enough to get him to actually focus on work to avoid feeling it, and then it’s a few hours later and they’re closing up and he goes home to his little icebox and tires not to think about anything.

The next day, Sam chooses evil.

Steve and JB Barnes are both at least somewhat complex men, and it is always a bad idea to meddle in the affairs of others. But screw it, he’s had Bucky moaning in his ear for months now, and he was gonna have to recheck all his angry counting from last night, and these guys really seemed dumb enough to let the tension of mutual attraction strain between them until it just broke, some misunderstanding threw them both on the defensive or whatever, and they missed the chance at any of the fun part of connecting with each other.

So.

It isn’t a big surprise when Bucky calls him around 2, apologizing and pausing to make some gross “ihHgjshuhh!” noise, saying he was probably too sick with this cold to come in. What is a surprise, for poor Bucky, is Sam’s implacable response: “Duuude, I’m so sorry, but there’s some kinda convention in town and the place is packed, I need you here so bad, no matter what. You can take the next two days off, I’ll pay you.” He hears Bucky swallow back the what the hell and resignedly say ok. He feels diabolical. But hopefully it will be worth it. Steve usually comes in early on Thursdays, and he’d looked all hangdog-worried about Bucky the night before.

He’s been there twenty minutes already, chatting distractedly with Sam and staring at the TV screens but really looking all over the room like Bucky might be hiding somewhere. Bucky slouches in, ten minutes late, takes in the mostly empty room and gives Sam a betrayed glare.

“You really ndeeded mbe, huh,” he mutters as he puts his backpack away.

“You don’t even sound that bad,” Sam rejoins cheerfully, and Bucky’s mouth drops open with incredulity.

He moves some boxes around in back without issue. Then he tries to start prep by the bar. In a fifteen-minute period he has two sneezing fits that require him retreating to the bathroom to blow his nose endlessly and wash his hands. Sam decides that’s plenty sufficient. He and his customers are gonna pay a price in germ exposure for this stupid ass cupid skit he’s putting on.

“Steve, you believe this guy?” Bucky’s been avoiding Steve’s concerned hopeful looks since he got here. “He insisted on coming to work.” Bucky chokes in outrage, then coughs for real, while Steve moves a few seats closer. Sam turns; Bucky couldn’t look more betrayed if there was a knife with Sam’s name on it in his guts. Lord deliver him from dramatic white boys. “Did you take the bus here, Buck?” There was no other way for the guy to get to work, but he just replies flatly,

“Yeah.”

“You oughtta go home and rest.”

“Le me give you a ride, Buck,” Steve jumps in with the Air-Bud eagerness Sam had expected. They confirm it and bustle Barnes into a Civic while he’s sneezing too much to protest. Sam washes his hands metaphorically of the situation, and also very literally and thoroughly.

Steve’s car is a little old, and cold, and dusty. Bucky shivers as he buckles his seatbelt. He feels silently nervous and thrilled to be in Steve’s Car!!, but at the moment it’s hard to be anything but….sneezy…

“hhh-hh-hhmmPtchuh! S-s-sor-ry-hiihHIptchsh!” Holding them back when he feels like this just makes his nose more irritated and thus even sneezier. He stubbornly jams his fist under his nose to quell the tickle. He has some napkins from work, so a nose-blow is possible, but it doesn’t feel possible, not so close to Steve, who has it a million times more together than Bucky even on days when he isn’t falling apart on a cellular level.

“Bless you,” Steve says quietly. He looks at him reflexively, to see a small, sweet, sympathetic smile. “Ready?” Bucky gives a little nod and the car pulls out into the slushy road.

His nose is running onto his finger, it’s a crisis. This is why it’s always a terrible idea to leave the house when you’re really sick. “Ugh, I gotta blow mby ndose, I’mb sorry, I’mb so gross right ndow,” talking also makes his nose angry. Fucking Sam and his supervillain plan to humiliate him. What had he done to deserve this? He fumbles for the napkins with his less-dextrous left hand, the one he should have stuck under his nose, goddamnit, he’s gonna sneeze again…

“Psh, don’t worry about it,” scoffs Steve like the big huge dad he is, then with a sympathetic glance he turns the radio on, to the classic rock station, because of course, Bucky almost laughs even while racing to get tissues on his face before this giant wet sneeze overcomes him. The music is loud and it does help him feel less embarrassed.

“heh—HEH-KSSSHOOoo!” he gets the wad of napkins in front of him just in time. Blowing his nose after that demolishes them, but he feels a little closer to a human being.

“Bless you!” Steve chuckles. “Man you got a good bug, jeez!”

Why are he and Sam both so cheerful. “Thanks, I’mb glad you’re impressed,” he croaks.

“You have cold stuff at home?” Huh? When Bucky doesn’t answer he continues, “Tissues, tea, soup, medicine, you know?”

“Oh, umb, sorry, I’m tired,” Steve makes a sympathetic sound. “I usually just use toilet paper. I took the last of my Dayquil before work. I dunno if it even helped, all it feels like it did is mbake me jittery and sdeezy.”

“Why don’t we stop by a drugstore.” He sounded decisive.

“Oh, you don’t have to bother with that, really Steve—” he pauses to sniffle desperately. Technically he can afford a couple things, and he probably needs them. “Or—you could drop me off and I’ll get myself home from the store, that would totally be a big help—”

“Is the heat even on in your place?” Steve interrupts, shrewd-eyed. At Bucky’s wide-eyed sputtering response he continues, “I knew it. I used to be a broke Brooklyn kid, once upon a time. Only reason to come into work, am I right? Can’t believe landlords are still getting away with this shit.”

Bucky considers denial, then slumps. “S’why I’mb so much...hhh...worse...hh-huh-hudschuh! Snff-snff. Worse today. They said it’ll be fixed by tomorrow so...we’ll see, ha. I got a space heater and an electric kettle though, I can get in my blankets and drink tea and I’m fine.”

Steve is quiet, no response, and Bucky worries irrationally that he pissed him off. A few minutes of classic rock later, he pulls into the small parking lot attached to the drugstore, turns the car off, and turns to him, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Bucky I—” he breaks off and laughs to himself. “I know you have to be polite to customers, I don’t want to—” he makes eye contact, looking pained and rueful. “I’d like to think we’re friends. But I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything,”

“We’re friends,” Bucky interrupts gently. Steve’s face brightens like a sunrise and Bucky’s chest does a nice warm thing.

“Yeah? That’s...I’m real happy to hear it.” Steve says, sheepish but grinning. Then his eyes get the determined look that Bucky is starting to think means trouble. “Well the reason I asked is, as a friend, I really hate the idea of you trying to ride this out in an icebox apartment. I have heat. And a couch!” He hastens to add at whatever wide-eyed look Bucky’s giving him. “It’s just, I know it’s no fun being sick by yourself, and, well, honestly I wish I’d socked that asshole at the bar last night, and I really wish I’d clocked him as a jerk faster, and I’d feel a lot better if I could do something nice for you, and you really seem like you could do with some rest and medicine. Will you let me grab some stuff here and spend the night at my place—where there’s heat— and let me fuss over you?”

“Steve, that’s—that’s so nice, but I really can’t imb—snff—impose on you, and I gotta be so contagious right now…”

“I don’t care about that,” Steve says easily. “And I know you’re not gonna die on your own, but,” and, whoa, he’s deploying some kind of dignified mature version of puppy-dog eyes, it’s so sincere, and also so certain, that it starts to seem like the only sensible course of action is to let his gorgeous crush take him to his apartment while he’s the polar opposite of sexy, an unspeakable snot factory, and also possibly starting to run a fever.

….His apartment is gonna be so goddamn cold.

And lonely, incidentally.

And Steve is so nice. He’s literally, actually here, he seems to mean it that he wants to take care of Bucky’s sick bedraggled ass as some kind of friend-favor. There’s no way this is a come-on with him in this state, even if he can still muster enough energy to wish it was. No way Steve’s ever gonna want to fuck him after watching him snuffle through 200 tissues and mouth-breathe all evening, but he was nuts to think he ever would anyhow. He’s just that nice, and Bucky is that pathetic, and that might not feel great, but he wants to be Steve’s friend, he really does, and even through his own shyness he can see that the guy is pretty lonely.

“You, umb. You really don’t have to.” He says, watching Steve, who waits with obvious hopefulness. “But. Uh.” Steve raises his eyebrows and gives him a little smile, and Bucky finds himself returning it helplessly. “If you really don’t mbind. It could, potentially, be really ndice to take you up on that. You really don’t have to though!”

“I want to, though.” Jesus, he’s so sincere. Bucky feels some weird kind of protective way about the earnest honesty in his eyes.

“Well, then, okay. Thangk you, I really appreciate it.” He laughs, finally feeling how miserable it would have been to go back home and try to sleep in a cold blanket pile on his mattress on the floor. “Mby place sucks right now.”

“Alright then,” Steve beams. “Let’s get you a couple things and then get you cozy.”

Bucky’s nose is not okay with him using his face to talk instead of constantly blow it. It’s gotten completely blocked, and it’s tingling unpleasantly, and running so bad again he has to smush his knuckles under his nostrils. The tickle crests and his breath catches before he can do anything about it, but he clenches his jaw and forces it into a stifle. “hhh-huh-MMP!!” The problem with doing that is it just makes the tickle— “hh-mMP!” worse. “Ugh, sorry.” His hand is a dam against his nose at this point.

“Bless you!” They both step out of the car, but Steve hurries over to his side with a crinkle in his brow. “Why don’t you just stay here and I’ll grab a few things. Anything in particular, or just tissues and NyQuil?”

“Dyquil is just schndapps,” Bucky grumbles, then his brain catches up a little and he says “tissues,” fervently, and then it catches all the way up and he says “wait, ndo way are you buyig!”

Steve cocks an eyebrow like a handsome jerk. “You really wanna go in there?” With your current nose situation? He’s kind enough to not say.

He casts about for a moment—“Grab me a little pack and then I’ll go in!”

Steve gives him a skeptical look and says “Sure,” in a way that makes him think his orders won’t be followed, but he’s too busy squishing his nose more firmly and silently begging it not to make him sneeze again to keep arguing, or to protest when Steve opens the door for him and puts his car keys in his hand before dashing into the store with a promise to be quick.

He’s back not even ten minutes later, by which time holding his nose plugged and not letting his sneezes out has put Bucky in a state of perma-misery, stifling relentless sneezes every few seconds, unable to keep his eyes fully open. Steve tosses a box of tissues onto his lap before he gets all the way into the car because he is a saint.

“Guh,” Bucky says gratefully, pulls out a wad of about ten, and lets the miserable sneeze that had been building out into the nest of forgiving softness. “HehgSHOOmpff!!” And then blows his nose forever. Finally he feels like he can speak and have a face again; the little drugstore bag is now home to a dozen nasty used-tissue balls. “Well,” he says as he puts the last one in there, “wish I hadn’t had a witness for that.”

Steve just chuckles. “You’re fine,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble. “I grabbed you a toothbrush, and I’ve got some stuff that can fit you for pjs.”

Bucky feels like he sneezed out the last of his strength. “You’re way too nice.” He sniffles and slumps against the window, looking at the familiar blur of orange streetlight. “I should be more worried you’re a serial killer.” Steve chuckles again, and he likes that, so he goes on, “Probly got a nice Jeffrey Dahmer setup at your place. Sorry if I don’t make a good steak.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Steve replies, sounding indignant. Then laughs for real, shaking his head, “I’m not gonna chop you up and eat you, I swear.”

“It’s fine. Just mbake mbe into soup,” sighs Bucky. That would be warm. He’ll just be a big hot pot of Bucky, and Steve will stir him and season him so carefully with his big strong hands. This is a weird train of thought. He might have a fever. But he can still hear Steve chuckling.

Steve pulls into his parking spot and the car shudders to stillness as he takes his key out of the ignition. Next to him, Bucky is asleep with his head mushed against the window. He’d conked out for the last five or so minutes of the drive. “Hey, Buck, we just got to my place,” he says softly, trying not to sound too bedroom-y. His eyes flutter open, the blue of them standing out, and Steve takes a steadying breath because Bucky is so good-looking it catches him off guard and overwhelms him sometimes.

His eyes are glassy-bright and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones, and as he shifts upright in his seat Steve reaches over and touches his forehead without thinking about it. It’s noticeably hot, but not burning. The twins’ childhood bouts with the flu gave him a sense of bad-fever heat. “Think you got a temperature,” he murmurs sympathetically. Bucky just blinks up at him, a little wide-eyed, and only then does he realize his big meaty hand is practically covering half his face. He feels himself flush to match Bucky, and for a second they just look at each other.

Until Bucky sniffs a miserable liquid sniffle and they both almost jump. “Sorry,” Steve mutters awkwardly, and Bucky’s saying the same thing at the same time. They both move to get out, “Just one flight of stairs up.”

“huh—tschumpf!” is Bucky’s answer, his nose buried in a new handful of tissues. “huhh, hUH—huh.” The second sneeze fizzles, leaving him blinking and frowning and wrinkling his nose snifflishly against the ticklish haze as he shuts the door. “Fuck. Sorry, scuse mbe.”

“Bless you.” It’s probably not normal to find someone so sick so adorable.

Steve leads him up and along the hall and then he’s unlocking the door, feeling giddy that he’s letting Bucky into his apartment, and then guilty for being excited, when the poor guy is just hesitantly accepting a much-needed favor. Bucky trails in behind him and then stands still while Steve sets the bag from the drugstore and started to turn to him, saying, “It’s not much, but—”

“ASHHOO!” Bucky’s sneeze interrupts and snaps him forward into his tissues, and then he just stays folded over for a second like it sapped the last of his energy. Then he straightens, rubbing his nose into the tissues and sighing. “Jesus, sorry,”

“Bless you! You don’t have to be sorry, you’ve just got a cold.” Steve has to hold himself still to keep from rubbing his back.

“You’re...hh-huh….? Snfff, ugh. Totally gonna catch this, I owe you way mbore apologies.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” he chuckles, toeing his shoes off. Bucky follows suit and he continues, “I stopped caring after raising toddlers, they’re little germ factories, you catch everything.” Why’d you bring up your old-dad status, Steve? “I’ll grab you some things to sleep in.”

An hour and one confrontation about Steve giving up his bed later, Bucky is ensconced on his couch like the king of cold-medicine commercials, surrounded by blankets and pillows and tissues and steaming cups and bowls. He feels a little more human, which is nice, but lets him access how incandescently awkward he feels at being rescued from his idiotic life like a snotty Cinderella. Steve has been flitting back and forth between the couch and kitchen, fussing over him to a truly excessive degree while exuding satisfaction and cheer, like some kind of calendar-model Santa with a caretaking kink. He was practically rubbing his hands together at the prospect of getting Bucky blankets and tea on his couch. Now he’s giving a rundown of his TV system standing next to the couch and it feels the tiniest bit manic and Bucky can feel himself getting a little too quiet but he can’t help it. After a minute Steve notices, and sets the remote down.

“I should stop babbling at you and leave you in peace,” he says with a bashful chuckle, turning to leave the room.

“No, I— you don’t—” Bucky doesn’t really have a response beyond ‘please chill out and hang out with me and let me picture cuddling with you,’ which will not be said aloud.

“You really don’t hafta feel like you need to entertain me, Bucky.”

“It’s not, I don’t,” he sighs and then sniffles. He doesn’t want to sit here and stare at the wall and stress about this, alone in this room in Steve’s goddamn apartment. He maybe should have thought about just how much he’d fallen for Steve before taking him up on this offer, because the concern and sweetness and fussing are starting to ratchet up his anxiety, because what if there was a chance it meant—

“Is anything the matter?” Steve crouches smoothly to be on his level and torment him with his eyes’ blueness. When all Bucky can do for a moment is flounder he looks more concerned, and a little downcast. “I really don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. If anything’s bothering you, you can just tell me.”

What the hell is an ordinary sinner supposed to do in the face of this much sincerity? Act like he thinks he’s a damn grownup, Bucky guesses, and girds his nervous loser loins.

“Why’re you—” he starts, frowning, then cuts himself off and tries again with a small, apologetic smile.

“It’s just...this is such an imposition, and you seem...kinda weirdly happy about it? I just don’t get why.”

One side of Steve’s mouth quirks up, making him look dry and self-deprecating and unfairly handsome. “You’re worried I’m gonna start talkin about Scientology, or put you in my basement dungeon?”

Bucky shrugs. “Kinda.” Just ‘cause he went home with strangers didn’t mean he had no sense.

Steve seems to cast about for an explanation, and he also starts to turn pink. “It’s—you’re just so—” and then he sighs and sits on the end of the couch, next to his blanketed feet, addressing his words to the wall in a rush. “Honestly, Bucky? I have a huge crush on you, and,” he laughs in embarrassment, decidedly blushing now, “I’m just real happy to have a chance to take care of you in whatever little way.” Now he does turn to look at him, pained. “I’m sorry, that must be so uncomfortable to hear. I promise you’re not my hostage! Please don’t make a break for it, it’s cold out and you’re so sick. I swear I’m not Cathy Bates in Misery.”

“Y—hihdsschuh!” The sneeze catches him by surprise, but he has wadded-up tissues in his hand already anyhow. He has to blow his nose, and he does it thoroughly to buy time. Steve stares stoically at the ceiling as though waiting for sentencing. Is this seriously Steve telling Bucky...he likes him?

“You…” he stops, sniffs. He needs a plan. He doesn’t have one. His mouth is gonna keep moving anyway, “You said, ‘you’re just so—‘, what were you gonna say?”

Steve looks confused for a second, and then just helpless. “Bucky, you’re just so sweet. I’m happy for a chance to do something for you because I owe you, you get that, right?”

“Owe me?” Bucky asks, nonplussed. Steve laughs with what seems like disbelief at his confusion.

“Yes, Buck! For the last few months! For taking pity on me that first night I came into Sam’s. You asked me a question about antifreeze.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. His world is rearranging itself. Steve remembered that?

“I feel—real self-conscious, I guess, coming into the “scene,” he gives it air-quotes and Bucky’s heart swells a little more, “by the route I have. Y’know, married dad who woke up one day and realized the stuff he repressed at sixteen might be the real him. Sam’s was the third place I tried to go into. I just felt so ridiculous, I still do— 39-year-old brand-new gay dude, it’s idiotic. I was practically gonna have a panic attack, I was definitely gonna leave and not try again and just...stop trying in general, maybe, to figure this new scary shit out. Except you were there, this—this smokin-hot guy, and you’re acting like you actually want to talk to me, and… so I stayed. And came back.” He looks Bucky in the eyes and it makes Bucky’s stomach clench. “I feel like you’ve been taking care of me this whole time, helping me ease into things, helping me not to feel bad about being completely uncool, asking me about stuff I actually know about instead of laughing at me because I’ve never heard of ‘poppers’,”

At that, Bucky has to give in to the giggle bubbling out of him, which inevitably leads to a short coughing fit. His first instinct is to keep laughing, rake Steve over the coals, but Steve is looking at him with a careful sort of expression, and it occurs to Bucky that just because he’s older and seems like he has it all together and has great posture doesn’t mean he’s immune to feeling vulnerable. And he looks like he’s feeling really fucking vulnerable right now. Acting like Bucky is worthy of this adorable schoolboy crush is absurd, but it’s not like it was so many eons ago that little baby Bucky Barnes was having his First Gay Bar experience, and he’d been scared as shit.

He already feels like he missed the boat on his life. Steve is starting over at 39. He’s so fucking brave. Bucky...somehow, unthinkably, Bucky is in a position where he could really hurt this guy.

“I’mb, umb. Snfff. Thing is, I’m a little surprised…” And Steve must think that’s the prelude to rejection because he pulls this sad little smile onto his face that’s the worst thing Bucky’s ever seen, and he has to make it go away, “It’s just, to hear you tell it I took pity on you and I’ve been talking to you to, like, guide you along and coach you because I’m some saint!” He smiles, starting to feel amused. “Steve— I just wanted some reason to talk to you, dude.”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

He has to laugh, putting his forehead in his hand. “Sorry. I, just, I have not been operating under the assumption that I had a chance with you? And now it sounds like you’re telling me I do? While I sit on your couch filling your trash can with my disgusting tissue mountain?”

All he gets from the man is “...Huh?”

“You said ‘crush’,” he insists, and he’s not laughing, his heart is pounding actually. “What did you mean by that?” He’s gonna awkwardly say that he wants to fuck, and once that box is checked in his Gay Awakening, he’ll move on to actually date people actually in his league, and that’s maybe not gonna feel great, but, well…

Steve looks up from staring at his hands, makes eye contact, and he looks a little confused and a lot like he’s facing a firing squad. “I meant, I mean that…” he blows a breath out. “Jesus I have no idea what I’m doing. I mean that I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out on a date, since pretty much the first night I met you.”

Bucky’s head does a record scratch and Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, “But I guess instead I kidnapped you when you were sick and blurted this out to you while you were trapped on my couch waiting to be left alone to sleep. I was never smooth but I swear I’ve done better than this.”

A giddy feeling is rising up in Bucky’s chest, making him forget completely about how tired and crappy he feels. “Well, I am smooth,” he says, “I’ve got game. At least, I did, until you showed up and turned me into a giggling bimbo. What the hell, Steve.”

“This is starting to seem like a romantic conversation but I can’t tell,” murmurs Steve with his face still uncertain but a little twinkle in his eye.

Bucky’s nose is gonna ruin this, he’s surprised it gave him that long a grace period. “Yeah, snfff, real romantic, I’mb gonna—hih—fuckin’ sndeeze—heh-heTShoo! Againd.”

Another sneeze teases out, and then he has to blow his nose for about ten years. “Bless you,” says Steve all quiet and bedroomy in his deep voice, and he’s definitely smiling, sparkle-eyes, leaning towards him the tiniest bit, but still looking like Bucky’s leaving him hanging a little, unsure, and he can’t help the wave of doubt he feels.

“Steve, you—” he stares at the blanket on his lap. “I’m a mess. You’ve accomplished shit, you have a real goddamn job, I—I’m just, ok, we’re both adults, but I feel like a screw-up kid compared to you.” He takes a deep breath and says what he doesn’t want to, “I’d be...pretty damn flattered if you wanted to hook up. I kinda can’t imagine you actually want to date me.”

He dares to look up and Steve looks more serious. He doesn’t say, “no shit.” He says, “I won’t argue if you say you don’t want anything, but I sure don’t agree with how you describe yourself. I don’t want to hook up—at least, not just that— I want to date you, get to know each other better, because I like you. I trust my judgement, when I think someone’s a good person.”

He says it so simply, and Bucky finds himself believing it despite himself, and a warm happy fire is kindling under his ribs. “Well, shit,” he murmurs, “it’s starting to seem like you’re asking me out.”

“It’s...starting to seem like you might be saying yes? If I am?” Steve looks agonized and Bucky’s doubts are no match for the giddiness fizzing up inside him, and he lets it show on his face with a grin, and whatever that looks like makes Steve kinda gulp and scootch up closer to him. Bucky makes a show of giving a slow, considering nod. Yes.

Steve has this soft, nervous little smile on his face, but his eyes hold something weighty, almost burning, as he moves even closer, and it’s just, it’s really, wow, Bucky has maybe never been taken seriously in quite this way by anyone before, it makes his knees feel watery and kindles something in his core. “I know you’re sick,” he rumbles, “but I feel like I gotta kiss you,” and how is it that the softer he speaks the deeper his voice sounds? He brushes his curled fingers over Bucky’s cheek because that’s how close they are now and this isn’t really Bucky’s life, is it? “What if I was to kiss you, right now?”

It’s hard to tell with the sexiness melting his brain but he realizes Steve is actually asking, because he’s a gentleman— a gentleman Bucky wants to be taken apart and turned inside out by. “Then you would be a guaranteed victim of my plague,” he breathes. “But I wouldn’t stop you, I’m not that selfless.”

“Sounds like a dare,” Steve murmurs, and tilts his head and presses their lips together.

It’s a short simple kiss but they each give a quiet gasp at the contact, and then stay there a moment. Steve’s beard isn’t huge but he feels it, like a firm underline to the shockingly warm plush pressure of his lips. He thankfully tragically remembers that congested people can’t make out and pulls away after just a brief press of lips, but not before giving a soft lick to Bucky’s, full of promised things to come.

They sit there a few inches apart and breathe. Bucky feels like a vibrating tuning fork. He just barely stops himself from shakily saying “wow,” like a highschool virgin, but when he sees Steve looking at him with lips still parted and a gobsmacked expression he changes his mind and lets it out anyway, “wow,” with a giddy grin.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, blinking like he got hit with a cartoon hammer, going from pink to red, and then he swoops in and kisses Bucky’s cheek, and then stands, going, “Excuse me, just gotta go...out of your sightline, and. Do something cool. And serious. No victory dances.”

…..the next morning…….

Steve could hear Bucky in the shower, sneezing three times, but not sounding—four times—nearly as heavy or exhausted as the night before. A few minutes and one loud noseblow later, he came out wrapped in a towel, mercilessly bare-chested, his nose bright red but his eyes clear and cheerful. Steve’s attention caught on his chest as his nipples tightened in the relative chill as Bucky said sheepishly, “forgot my clo-hothes—” his voice swooping to a breathy quaver on the last word, “hhh-hh-hehh—EHisSHOooh!” he turned as far away from Steve’s part of the room as possible and sneezed over his shoulder. “Snnfff. Excuse me, sorry.”

“Can I lend you some warmer stuff, just for now while we eat breakfast? There’s no way you’re not still sick,” Steve fussed, forcing himself to round the kitchen island slowly and casually instead of rushing over and wrapping him up in his arms and kissing his red nose that was twitching again. He quelled it with another sniff that sounded a lot less congested than the previous night.

“Ah, I’m ok. I felt really bad yesterday, but I slept so well,” he said with a warm grateful smile at Steve that went to his toes, “I don’t feel shitty and run-down anymore, just all, like, shnuffly.”

Steve chuckled helplessly and went over to rub his shoulder. “You’re adorable.”

“No way!” Bucky glowered, but then a few drops fell from his wet hair to his chest and neck, and he shivered into a sneeze so quick and light it sounded incomplete, “hih—tish!” followed by “ih-hihtchoo!” and he blinked, taken by surprise.

“That was... the cutest thing that ever happened,” Steve said truthfully.

“Shuddup— heh—edschoo!”

[littlemagicalstardust]

Orange Cassidy Singles Career in AEW (So far)

First Singles Win: 2020 First AEW Dark Win: Jason Cade (05/06/2020) First AEW Dynamite Win: Jimmy Havoc (04/22/2020) First AEW Rampage Win: Jack Evans (09/29/2021) First AEW Collision Win: Bryan Keith (12/16/2023) First AEW Championship Win: All-Atlantic / International First Reign: October 12, 2022 - September 3, 2023 (31 Defenses) Second Reign: October 10,2023 - March 3, 2024 (12 Defenses)

How many singles total in AEW: 105 Out of 105 he has WON: 88

He’s defeated (Some names repeat, I'll just be noting one time): Jimmy Havoc, Jason Cade, Peter Avalon, Powerhouse Hobbs, Serpentico, Chris Jericho, Angelico, Ten, Kip Sabian, Luther, Steven Stetson, Ryan Nemeth, John Skyler, Prince Kai, Dean Alexander, VSK, Penta El Zero Miedo, Cameron Cole, Cezar Bononi, The Blade, Jora Johl, Matt Hardy, Jack Evans, Nick Comoroto, Mike Verna, JD Drake, Adam Cole, Anthony Bowens, Ethan Page, Tony Nese, Wardlow, Anthony Henry, Ari Daivari, PAC, Katsuyori Shibata, Lee Johnson, Jake Hager, QT Marshall, Trent Seven, Trent Beretta, Jay Lethal, Lee Moriarty, Wheeler Yuta, Big Bill, Jeff Jarrett, The Butcher, Dralistico, Buddy Matthews, Gabe Kidd, Bandido, Daniel Garcia, Kyle Fletcher, Swerve Strickland, Lance Archer, AR Fox, Johnny TV, Aaron Solo, Rey Fenix, John Silver, Claudio Castagnoli, Jon Moxley, Bryan Keith, Rocky Romero, Dante Martin, Preston Vance, Komander, Tomohiro Ishii, Matt Taven, Mike Bennett, Nick Wayne, Alex Reynolds, Shane Taylor, Isiah Kassidy, Kyle O’Reilly & Bulk Bronson

Total matches in AEW: 238

Longest Timed Singles Match (WIN): Kyle O'Reilly (19:31) Longest Timed Singles Match (LOSS): Cody Rhodes (20:00) Shortest Timed Singles Match (WIN): Prince Kai (0:06) Shortest Timed Singles Match (LOSS): Miro (7:27)

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Chris Evans Masterlist

Fics with a ❤️‍🔥 contain smut and are 18+. MINORS DNI!

I do not have a schedule please don’t ask when updates will be!

One Shots

Speak Now

Lip Sync Battle

The 2020 Election 

Best friends

Swap

Happy Mother’s Day

Tease

Which Chris?

Hiccups

Surprise!

The girl on set

Evening Activities ❤️‍🔥

Call it Even

Favour

Call me babe for the weekend (Follow up to Call it Even) ❤️‍🔥

Let It Snow

Surprise Visit

Think about it

Floofy Haired Surprise

Floofy Haired Delight ❤️‍🔥

Floofy Haired Treat 

Glammed Up?

Under The Stars

Silver Fox

It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to

Rollerblading Hero

Okay Gramps

I told you so

The Perfect Wingman

Dog Sitting

Cuddle Buddy

Sexiest Man Alive ❤️‍���

Pumpkin Carving

Sweet Nothings

New Girl In Town (Bookstore AU)

Greatest Regret

Series

Boston ❤️‍🔥

Best Friend’s Brother ❤️‍🔥

The Interview Series

Burnin’ Up (Firefighter AU) ❤️‍🔥

Burnin' On (Firefighter AU)

Boston Bears 1: Off-Limits ❤️‍🔥

[coltrainbat]

the reader and chris meet for the first time at a dinner with shared joy. the reader notices chris directly and would like to get to know her better. the reader just thinks he is from the market since she heard the news that he is dating alba. only his family and friends know that alba and chris only have a personal relationship. chris tries to explain that to her

Pork or Pasta?

Disclaimer: All characters, mentioned and referred to even those based on real people are entirely fictional. All characters and events are entirely works of fiction for the purpose on entertainment. I make no comment on those mentioned within the request or story. (Can't sue me now baby I'm a law school drop out 😘 )

Fuck fuck fuck. You were late, sooo beyond late for the Charity Gala. Security were mulling outside and in an attempt to save face and avoid having them open the large and very loud doors for your entrance you ripped off your heels clutching them in your hand with your bag as you raced up the stairs. 

“You’re late…” Tommy, the security guard who got rostered on all the events in your city was at the door, eyes honed in on you with a devilish smirk. Tommy had gotten you out of many difficult situation and in return you’d sneak him beer to drink out the back. 

“No shit Tommy.”

The security guard laughed “Don’t worry no one’s taking your spot, get in there.” 

“You’re the best.” Giving him a quick hug

Muffled conversation filled the room as you made your way to your seat in between your work bestie, Nigel and… who the fuck was that?

“Always making an entrance.” Nigel leaned over to the mysterious stranger with dark hair who you couldn’t see the face of but you swooned at his booming laugh. 

“I’m here! I’m here! Don’t fret!” You slid into your seat with a huff causing your bangs to raise slightly from the sudden gust. 

“Omg when did you stop wearing shoes that’s not chic.” Nigel faux gasped. Realising you were still clutching them you quickly tried to manoeuvre your foot back into the all too expensive, uncomfortable heel under the table. 

“I ran here.” You huffed at Nigel.

“That’s great sweetie good for you! Smashing those New Year’s resolutions! Now turn around and meet Chris.”

You were finally able to look up at the handsome celebrity, who looked thoroughly amused by your grand entrance and clunky movements.

The event was held annually to raise money for the arts and your work was a key sponsor but occasional celebrity appearances were nothing to make your jaw drop like this. 

“Be nice…” Nigel whispered swiftly in your ear before he pranced off to socialise. 

“I’ve heard lots about you.” He held out his hand for you to shake

“Good stuff I hope.” The corners of you mouth raised slightly as you returned the gesture. You never saw Chris Evans on the guest list and Nigel always handled the table seating, it was starting to became incredibly clear that the man who had listened to you rant on and on about your relationship status for years had pulled off the mother of all blind dates. That sneaky, conniving little bit-

“Nigel was telling me about how much you do for the artists you work with and quote how ‘You’re their God’…” You were pulled out of your train of thought by Chris smirking at the last line. 

You finally were able to look at his face properly, the small signs of ageing present in the specks of grey in his beard and the wrinkle on his forehead. He was a borderline silver fox, still in his prime with obvious experience present in his face and demeanour.

But you weren’t going to let yourself swoon so easily. Memories flooded in of your recent girls night, as you all huddled around Instagram reading about his newest girlfriend who was conveniently not present. 

She was young which was fine but your FBI level investigator friends were intricately telling you about her background like she was some girl from college. Her horrid behaviour towards waitstaff, her lack of work ethic and how little she cared about her projects, the tweets of her shaming anyone who wasn’t skinny and white - those ones hit hard. You were never the beauty type but that didn’t stop you from gaining the attention from men. But the idea of another woman shaming another for their looks made your skin crawl. She was the antithesis of everything you ever believed in; good manners, kindness and hard work. You believed people were a reflection of those who they surrounded themselves with. And as the memory recalled in your head you couldn’t help but feel icky at the man who while nice and polite probably felt little of you. 

You felt to get through the night you’d definitely need a little help. 

“Well not really, I just listen. People like when you hear them out. I feel like today that kind of personal aspect is lost in interactions.” 

Great answer. Professional. Clear. Nailed it. 

“Well I think they’re lucky to have someone like you. It’s great to see someone give people a platform to share their art.” 

Your eyes diverted from his intense gaze as he spoke sincerely at you to one of your favourite people walking past with a large bottle of wine, the condensation on the sides told you it was white. Your favourite.

“Yeah it’s great, sorry just a second… pssst Geraldine!”

The elderly woman looked at you with a beaming smile on her face, immediately shuffling over to you. 

“Hey! how are you girl?” You took her outstretched hand, squeezing it with happiness. 

“Good! So happy to see you here - I’ll get you the good stuff this stuff… it’s no good!” She waved her finger at you, sticking her tongue a little. 

“Thanks Gerry.” You smiled at her, appreciative of her and the gifts she brings. She was your version of God. 

“You’re welcome darling!”

“You know the waitstaff by name?” His eyebrow raised and you prepared yourself for a snarky comment. 

“They’re human too aren’t they?”

“No I agree I just have met very few people at stuff like this who aren’t so self absorbed with themselves to notice the people who are doing things for them.” You heart pinged a little at that comment, you started to soften in his presence. Catching yourself, you readjusted your posture, pulling your shoulders back. 

“I dont believe you should treat people on their perceived importance, besides kindness pays and now we are all gonna be drinking the good stuff.” You raised your empty glass up, ready to receive the tasty confidence from a bottle.

“I’ll drink to that.” He raised his tumblr of dark liquor, clinking it to your now full glass, making eye contact as you both sipped.

You had nothing to lose and decided to have fun with this, already planning how you are going to recount this epic story of ego takedown to the girls. 

“So Evans right?”

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Huh didn’t recognise you without your bucket hat.”

Chris scoffs “So you saw that huh?”

“Against my will but yes.”

“Well it was complicated.”

“Yeah I imagine hanging around models and c list celebrities all day is “complicated”.”

“I’m hanging around you aren’t I.”

“I’m not a model and I’m not complicated.”

“That surprises me.”

“You don’t know me near enough to be surprised.” You shake your head. 

“No but I would like to.”

“Now THAT surprises me.”

“Seems you don’t like me very much based on what you’ve read.”

“I never I said I didn’t like you I just believe you are the company you keep and I don’t like your company.” 

“That’s still an assumption.”

“Well screenshots live forever don’t they?” You gave him a sarcastic grin.

“You think I would know about those and still continue to hang around someone?”

“How could you not know, do you not know how to use Twitter?” 

“During all your research I thought you would of realised I’m not the best with social media.” He laughed awkwardly.

“I didn’t research you, as I said ‘against my will’”

“Well we are both here now so ask away.” He gestured his drink outwards.

You bit your lip trying to decipher the bullshit from reality but every word he spoke sounded so earnest.

“Why do you date the same skinny actress just in different fonts every time?”

“Who said I dated all of them?”

“Fair enough.”

“Not every woman I’m pictured with I’m necessarily dating.”

“Why would you chose to hang around someone who is so…”

“Horrible?” He interjects 

“I was going to say repulsive.”

“I don’t always have a choice.”

“That’s ridiculous you’re in your 30s.”

“40s… thank you but it’s the way of the game.”

“So you’re a coward?”

His jaw tightened at the suggestion and his playful gaze fell from his face.

“No I just haven’t found the right one.” 

“Maybe because you’re going for the wrong ones.”

“Do you know what this industry is like? I’m constantly getting pushed into being around people that I don’t particularly like.”

You gestured around you with obviousness apparent on your face. 

“Your job is different.”

“So now you’re saying my life is easy?”

“No I’m saying you don’t have 50 cameras in your face at once and people usually aren’t using you for what you have.”

You pursed your lips realising you’ve hit a nerve,

“You really didn’t know did you?”

“Nope. If I did I wouldn’t of taken it as far as it got. People are damn good at hiding their true-selves when it’s convenient but something tells me, you would never understand that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well for starters, you came in late, expensive heels in hand - tells me you have good taste but are practical when need be.” 

You nodded at the analyse. 

“You’re nice to everyone you meet, I think about 50 people have walked past beaming at you which is a nice change to have the attention off me for once.” 

“I’m just good at my job.”

“I don’t doubt it but you give it humility. Nigel told me all about what you do and he didn’t understate it.”

You blushed at your accolades particularly coming from the handsome actor.

“I think you can’t help but be anything but yourself and why would you when you’re so great? It’s endearing and a little bit intimidating.” He chuckled out that last line. 

“So I’m asking, can we start over?” He leans in a little closer, placing his hand on your knee like it was nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Yes.” You place your hand on his.

“But first… what if your type?” You quizzed.

“I’m looking at her.” He smirked at you.

After many speakers, more glasses of wine and an unspoken plate swap with Chris who graciously gave you his pasta after you starting drooling over it, the night was starting to become less formal and performers started to play covers of songs you couldn’t help but bop and sway to.

“Do you dance?” Chris asked casually

“Well yes but-.”

“Great!” He interjected, pushing out his chair and holding out his hand.

“Dance with me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good look, there’s photographers around and I know-“

“Omg woman just shut up and go dance with him!” Nigel nudged you out of your seat with Chris quick to steady you.

“You’re an asshole.” You faux sneered at him.

“And you’ll thank me Monday.” He gave you a smug smile.

Chris walked you both to the makeshift dance floor. Wrapping his arm around your waist as you swayed softly.

“So what do you think?” He quipped

“The Gala is going great, no major issues everyone looks like they’re having a good time.” You looked around nervously at a few curious eyes on you two.  

“About me I meant.”

“Oh! Well… I’m 80% convinced.”

“Convinced of what?”

“That you’re not an ass.” 

“That’s promising.”

“Well I’m not easy to sway.”

“Didn’t think you would be.” He purred at you.

You bodies were moving in a slow sway, Chris taking the lead as you melted into his arm as he moved you around the floor. 

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Dancing?”

“No being seen with me.”

“What’s so wrong with it?”

“People still think you’re dating her.”

“And? Now they won’t and for good reason.”

“And I was the perfect choice?”

“You weren’t a factor in the plan but if you must know a news report from a “close friend” is due to come out in…” He checks his watch behind your shoulder. 

“12 hours that her and I called it quits.”

“So how do I come into it?”

“You’re just the beautiful woman I met at a charity ball days after a break up that turned out to be my future wife.” He was grinning now. 

“You’re ridiculous you know that?”

“Maybe, but I still want to see you again.”

“80% Evans.”

“Well do you think it’ll be at 90% by next Wednesday?”

“Possibly why?”

“Cause that’s when I’m taking you out… lean back.”

He dramatically dips your body down near the floor never letting an inch of hair even come close to the ground, pulling you back up slowly so your bodies are closer than ever.

You were slightly panting now as he eyes raked your face for a sign of agreement.

“You’re a little too good at this aren’t you?”

“I use to do Tap.”

“No with swooning women.”

“Well if it helps you’re harder to crack than most.”

“Keep it that way.”

He spins you out, only for you to spin back in, your back towards his chest as his arms wrap around your stomach securely. His nose dragging along your cheek.

“So Wednesday?”

“It’s a date.” You move around, hands now landing on his strong chest, his arms clutching your waist protectively, scared if he loosens his grip you’ll somehow disappear into thin air. 

“Would you mind being the front page of a gossip magazine?”

You looked at him confused “Yes why?”

“Because I really want to kiss you but there’s a guy with a camera just over your left shoulder.” 

“Can he see my face?”

“No.”

“Is he filming?”

“Photographer so don’t think so.”

“Could you make him delete it?”

“Definitely.” He grinned.

With that you leaned up a little closer, putting your weight on your toes and placing a soft kiss on his warm plump lips, seeing a sudden flash of white light through closed eyelids you pulled out a little flushed, biting your lip as brush rose to your cheeks. 

“Make him send that to me before he deletes it.”

“Whatever you want.” He leaned down for another kiss.  

[janeykath318]

I invite any disillusioned Chris Evans fans to join me on the Chris Pine bandwagon!

1. He steers clear of social media.

2. He has pretty blue eyes.

3. Played Jim Kirk AND Steve Trevor

4. Can sing

5. Is cute as all get out.

6. Has an amazing vocabulary.

7. Has done some really nice photo shoots

8. Supports the Writers!!

9. Heading towards Silver Fox territory.

[notrandtumblin]

Another entry into our statistical experiment to determine the best Marvel casting choice.

This poll is dedicated to the Fantastic Four. We have now covered (most of) the MCU, (most of) the X-Men, Deadpool, and The Fantastic Four.

Next we will determine the best casting choice of the remainder of the Fox characters then move on to Sony - including Morbius! YAY!

At the end of this endeavor we will face off all the winners and decide, once and for all with science, who was the best acting choice in Marvel history.

Also, let me know if you reckon I ought to include casting choices that we’ve yet to see in a movie (like Mahershala Ali as Blade). I’m currently unsure if I will.

[chrispevanss]

Lovely Little Bunny

A/N: The first thing I’ve written in over a year and we’re going straight in, kiddos. Inspired by many a slutty conversation with my lovely bffs and moots @nsfwsebbie and @tellmealovestory i love you both bunches!

Pairing: Silver Fox!Lawyer!Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ only, Oral (m & f rec), P in V, unprotected sex, Daddy Kink, Sexting, age gap, pet name (Bunny). I think that’s everything.

Moodboard by me: I don’t own any of the pictures.

Please do not copy, translate, rewrite, or repost my work on any other platforms!

It started out innocent enough. Chris had been your father’s lawyer for years, helping the wealthy influential Mob Boss get out of trouble with the law without so much as a scratch to his reputation. The two of you had always exchanged flirty glances, you wore skirts that were just a little too short, and he would leave the top buttons of his shirt open, giving you a peek of the tattoos and light smattering of chest hair that crossed his skin.

Until one sunny summer afternoon he slipped you the number to his personal cell phone. It was wrong, you were just fresh out of college and he had been in practice longer than you’d been alive. But something about the glisten of that silver hair, always styled just so, the matching silver beard, and those sparkling blue eyes made it impossible to say no. Which is how you found yourself buried under your covers, hiding the light of your phone screen, as the two of you exchanged filthy texts into the wee hours of the morning.

C.E.: Wear that little blue dress tomorrow. The puffy one, love when it rides up and I see those sweet little panties. Makes me wanna bend you over the desk, hear you make all those pretty sounds for me. Bet you’d like that. Me using you, making sure everyone in the office knows who you belong to.

You smirk and rub your thighs together to stave off your growing arousal. He’s never gone beyond filthy texts and the occasional picture or video, but you’d be a liar if you said it wasn’t something you craved everytime he walked into the house smelling of expensive cologne and bad decisions.

Bunny: Hmm I don’t know if I feel like wearing a dress tomorrow. Pop doesn’t like the boys lookin at me when we come to your office

You quickly press send before you can change your mind. Biting your lip as the typing bubble appears almost instantly.

C.E.: Maybe I won’t let you cum then. Thought about getting us a hotel room this weekend in the city but if you wanna be a bad girl…

You let out a soft whimper at his words. Before you can reply a video is appearing on the screen. A darkened room, his hard cock the only thing illuminated by the flash. You grab your headphones and quickly stuff them in your ears before pressing play. His heavy breathing is the first sound you hear, followed by the lewd sounds of his spit slick cock.

“Fuck bunny, look what you do to me. Wish your mouth was on this cock right now,” Chris growls. You hear him spit in his hand before going back to stroke his cock even harder. The video cuts off right as he lets out a loud groan, white ropes of his spend landing on his tummy and happy trail.

C.E.: Well Bunny, I better get to bed. You should too. I’ll see you at the office bright and early with your dad. xo

You can’t sleep, tossing and turning, thinking about the filth that Chris sent you. Eventually you end up watching the video again while shoving your hand between your thighs, you bring yourself to that ethereal high.

**

Brushing the skirt of your dress you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. You take the file your father sent you with and walk into the lush law office.

“Well good morning!” Hannah chirps from the front desk and you give a small wave.

“Just here to see Mr. Evans. Dad sent some files with me.” You hold up the thick envelope and she nods.

“He’s waiting for you,” She gestures to the open door and you thank her.

“Close the door.” Chris commands smoothly. You smile, face heating up as you close the large door with a click. “Lock it,” He approaches you from behind, large hands resting on your upper arms, he’s inhaling the scent of your shampoo with a deep breath.

“I told your dad not to come. Told him I had a meeting this morning. Couldn’t stand not touching you any longer,” He confesses in a low grumble. You shiver, letting out a soft moan.

He smells of coffee and his cologne, your head is already spinning with filthy thoughts. You turn around in his grasp, cupping his silver stubbled cheek. He smiles down at you, brushing your hair back from your face he’s leaning down and taking your lips in a kiss. Your toes curl in your shoes as you kiss him back eagerly. The thick file in your hand drops to the floor, your arms encircling his neck.

“You want this here? Now?” He rasps, pulling back and looking down at you with lust blown eyes. You nod, pushing him back toward his desk. He’s leaning against the edge and you’re kissing him again, more insistently.

His hands slip down your body to cup your ass. He’s bunching your dress at your hips, long fingers playing with the elastic of your simple panties. Before you can start undressing him he’s picking you up, flipping you around and laying you on the desk.

“Such a pretty little thing, gonna make you cum so hard you cry.” Chris promises, licking his lips he’s pulling off your panties, tucking them in his back pocket. He’s parting your legs, spitting on your folds. Using his thick fingers he’s spreading your juices and his spit. You whine softly, hips bucking.

“Aww baby, you’re so desperate. Don’t worry, daddy’s gonna take good care of you,” Chris coos, kissing your forehead he’s moving down to kneel between your legs.

“Such a pretty cunt, can’t believe I didn’t get you alone sooner,” He purrs, tongue flattening against your center he’s licking slowly.

“Oh god, Chris!” You gasp, propping yourself up on your elbows to look down at him. He stills his motions.

“What the fuck did you call me?” He sneers, slapping your pussy lightly making you jump. Your eyes widen and you let out a little whimper.

“Daddy! Daddy! I’m so sorry!” You plead, hips bucking up, desperate for his touch.

“That’s what I thought,” He chuckles, slipping his ring and middle fingers inside you he’s curling them upwards. Stars are exploding behind your eyes and you let out a loud moan.

“Oh fuck! Daddy!”

Chris is pumping his fingers in and out of you, tongue flicking over your clit slowly.

“Never had such a sweet pussy,” Chris groans, lewdly sucking your clit. His fingers curl up and you let out a breathy whine.

You feel your orgasm building with every pass of his tongue and you know it won’t take long to push you over the edge. Just as you start to clench, breathing coming heavy and short, he stops.

You bolt upright on the desk with a scowl. Chris is lewdly sucking your juices from his fingers, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Taste so sweet. Already addicted to this cunt,” He growls, standing up, towering over you. Your walls flutter around nothing and you whimper softly.

“You want me to fuck you? Want me to ruin you for any other man? Huh? Wanna be mine?” His lips turn up in a smirk when you nod eagerly, maybe too eagerly. He’s unbuttoning his dress shirt, the dark ink of his tattoos being exposed with every button. You reach a hand up and stroke the intricate lines. He hisses when you drag a nail down the center of his chest.

“Mmm sure you can keep up old man?” You wink with a soft giggle. He’s on you in an instant, pressing you into the hard mahogany of the desk.

“Oh I think it’s you that needs to worry about keeping up,” He growls. He’s making quick work of his slacks, hard cock slapping against his lower stomach. You gasp softly, hand wrapping gently around his length. You’re stroking slowly, admiring the way his face contorts as you wipe your thumb across the tip of his cock.

“Stop. Stop. Stop.” He’s panting, pushing your hand away. “Gotta be inside you when I cum, pretty girl,” He explains with one of those blinding smiles.

You scoot back a little on the desk. He’s climbing over the top of you, caging you in with his thick arms.

“Gonna ruin you now, sweetheart.” His Boston accent is thick and you shiver in delight.

“Wanted this for so long,” You confess, legs wrapping around his waist you’re pulling him closer.

“How long honey? Hmm? Be honest..” He goads, smirking at you. You’re squirming under his gaze but he’s holding you still. “Come on bunny. Be honest..”

“S-Since that first summer I came home from college,” You confess, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Well I better fuck you real good, cause you’ve been such a patient little girl, waiting for me,” He chuckles, pinching your cheek. You giggle softly, face heating up.

His gaze drops to your core, he’s lining up his cock and sinking in. He bottoms out with a loud grunt and your eyes flutter, you’re in heaven. The stretch is bordering on painful as he begins thrusting slowly. But it soon gives way to pleasure. He’s bending your knees, planting your feet on the desk so he can drive even deeper into you.

“Oh god! Oh fuck! It’s in my tummy!” You’re whimpering, eyes slammed shut.

Chris’ hand snakes between your writhing bodies, his thick fingers strumming your clit expertly. He’s leaning down, teeth dragging along the side of your neck as he picks up his thrusts. The lewd sounds of his balls clapping against your ass, and your pathetic whines create the perfect symphony to your tryst.

“So fucking tight,” Chris growls, fingers digging so deep into your skin you know you’ll be wearing his prints for days. Your walls are fluttering around his cock, your hands are grabbing at his shoulders, the material of his shirt slipping underneath your sweat soaked palms.

“Who owns this cunt huh? You gonna let those stupid college boys in here again?” He’s growling. You shake your head, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“No! No daddy! It’s yours!” You’re sobbing. You feel that blissful end slowly approaching, your hands are clenching themselves into fists.

“Look at me, look at me when you cum. I wanna see how good I make you feel,” He’s pinching your cheeks together, forcing you to look in his eyes. The once baby blue orbs are dark and wild with lust.

Your open palm slams on the desk as your orgasm comes crashing into you. Your walls are clenching around his cock, nails digging into his clothed biceps.

“That’s it baby girl, oh fuck, gonna cum okay? Gonna fill you up,” Chris is panting next to your ear. You’re nodding, words dying on the tip of your tongue as the pleasure overwhelms you.

It only takes a handful of thrusts before he’s spilling inside you. Filling your tummy, he’s kissing you deeply, tongue sliding with yours.

“On your knees,” He growls in your ear, sliding out and tugging you onto the floor. You look up at him, confused.

“What? Why?” Your hands are resting on his thighs, lashes fluttering innocently. Chris is sliding the tip of his cock along your lips, smearing your combined release.

“Be a good girl and clean up your mess.”

Tagging: @dontshootmespence @tellmealovestory @nsfwsebbie @sagechanoafterdark

[ozarkthedog]

An older, distinguished Senator!Chris.

Feel free to use but please give credit!

[elkleggs]

Festive nonsense on patreon ☃️

https://www.patreon.com/posts/hoehoehoe-2-75510940?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link

[branded-witha-j]

All this salt and pepper is gonna make me act the fuck up.

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Niamh’s Reading List and Recommendations - February

To help combat the community tags hiding fics that deserve all the attention in the world, I have been saving the links to fics I have read this past month so I can share them and hopefully help others find amazing writers and fics

Please heed any and all warnings given by the creators!

In The Present (Curtis Everett x Reader) by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork - A delightful little drabble for an amazing series that truly shows how much of an A-Hole Jake was and how Honey is in a much better place now

Arranged Series Drabble: Sempre e per sempre (Mafia!Chris Evans x Reader) by @time-for-a-lullaby / @time-for-a-library - A gorgeous glimpse in the the far future of Mob!Chris and his family! And I’m loving grandpa Chris because he’s definitely one sexy silver fox

His Hand Or Nothing (Biker!Ari Levinson x Reader) by @angrythingstarlight - A sexy little drabble that is both super fluffy and leave you begging for more

Only You (Cowboy!Steve Rogers x Reader) by @flordeamatista - cute little cowboy steve drabble to warm your heart

Cute Chris (Chris Evans x Reader) by @lives-in-midgard - super cute and sweet little drabble

Whoops (Chris Evans x Reader) by @time-for-a-lullaby / @time-for-a-library - if you love accidental ‘i love you’ proclamations like me you’ll love this

The Pack What If (Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader) by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork - love conquers evil in this amazing what if!

Life’s Short So Make It Sweet: Part 18 (Curtis Everett x Reader) by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork - Curtis + phone sex + toys = one hell of a chapter!

I’m Not Okay Part 1 (Chris Evans x Reader) by @time-for-a-lullaby / @time-for-a-library - perfectly titled because I was not okay after reading it! So heartbreaking but so beautiful!

I’m Not Okay Part 2 (Chris Evans x Reader) by @time-for-a-lullaby / @time-for-a-library - did someone say a proclamation of love mid fight? Yes please!

Unusual First Date (Steve Rogers x Reader) by @americas-ass-writing - super sweet and cute way to spend your first date

Invisible (Steve Rogers x Reader) by @americas-ass-writing - a very real fic about feeling left out and invisible with a sweet ending

What A Time…. (Chris Evans x Reader) by @time-for-a-lullaby / @time-for-a-library - Another brilliant ex’s to lovers

2am Pancakes (Curtis Everett x Reader) by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork - the best kind of car rides are the ones where you don’t go anywhere 

Search and rescue pt 1 (SAR!Chris Evans x Reader) by @time-for-a-lullaby / @time-for-a-library - well if falling off a cliff leads to a rescue like this… im finding my nearest cliff

I have to say i'm pleasantly surprised with the number of fics I managed to read this month! I thought it was only going to be 5 at most! Clearly forgot I had read some of these but all the more reason for a re-read!

Please go show these writers some love and if you have any recommendations for me send them my way in my ask box, my dms or just tag me in your fics!

[pineapplebread]

Power couple

[salamileume]

[trynnabemultifandom]

i- i need a minute.... 👀👀🤰🤰

[iheartsebstan]

Umm...who did these?!? And how dare you!! 😍

(Credit to Bucky edit by @nix-akimbo and to Steve edit by @thebeardedcap)