#stevie baby i love you
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fandomfluffandfuck · 6 months ago
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I feel like I just saw a meta about how Steve may or may not be unable to take baths as a result of his history of, y'know, crsshing a plane straight into arctic waters, but I can't find it now--and now I'm thinking about how his PTSD probably does interweave with water and bathing but maybe it's, on good days, at least, attached specifically to cold water.
So, he can have a nice, steaming hot bath after a mission to relax his muscles, but if he accidentally falls asleep in the tub and wakes up a few hours later with the water gone cold? Then, all bets are off and he's waking up with a surge, hyperventilating until he's dizzy while his memories of what it was like to first wake up after being thawed overlaid by his existencial nightmares of being frozen entirely in ice, unable to move, unable to scream, unable to do anything but feel ice-cold down to his bones, crushed by the weight of frozen water and by the loneliness of being imprisoned in an unmarked grave.
Oh, Steve.
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girlwiththegreenhat · 6 months ago
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hey when they wrote "knight behind bars" and they wrote kitt helping a couple get together and they gave him the line "Some day, it will be my turn" [to find love]. did they know what they were doing. did they know that in some 40 years some gay autistic robot-obsessed little freak on tumblr would not stop thinking about it for weeks and write literal dozens of paragraphs screaming about it on discord. did they know they were going to ruin Me, Specifically, with this concept that feels like the culmination of everything kitt has gone through through the show and such a fascinating thing to think about in regards to michael and kitt's relationship,
one of the themes of knight rider is kitt developing as a Person, developing a line between the Knight Industries Two-Thousand, and Kitt. discovering humanity, his own emotions, the joys of the seemingly and logically pointless, and often through the lens of his own driver, his partner, his friend, Michael - his primary guide through all these experiences, his reference for those human things he doesn't understand. and as much as he initially claims to not be capable of experiencing emotions, of understanding feelings, he learns to. he experiences a wide range of emotions through the show even while claiming he doesn't, he even learns fear and insecurity. perhaps it's only natural a robot would learn to love, or at the very least be terribly curious about it and wonder if such a thing could ever exist for Him
the majority of people are not exactly kind to kitt. they talk about him like he's not there, they talk about him like he's a machine, a novelty, some people are even scared of or disturbed by him when all he's trying to do is make polite conversation and company. he's always Othered - there's no other cars like him (at least not anymore), but there's no other person like him either, he doesn't truly belong among humans or vehicles. some of the technicians at FLAG don't even seem to fully respect him as a person, at least they don't based on my vague recollection of how they talk about him in Junkyard Dog. when Michael asks him after KARR is destroyed if it feels good to be one of a kind again, he doesn't say yes or no - he only says it's a "familiar feeling." it may be familiar, but it's surely also isolating, and i think that's something he'd realize as he slowly picks up this curiosity about love. where could he even find it when so few people see him as an equal person to begin with?
and then there's michael. oh my god, and then there's michael. no matter what flavor you choose to read it in, the whole show is about their relationship, they're a duo, a set Not to be separated, they're Partners. they work together, they worry about and look after each other (forever insane about when kitt was a melted shell, Michael stuck around the garage for hours, waiting for any news like a worried spouse, constantly checking on him every opportunity he got... encouraging him to recover, and even helping paint back on his protective coating... kitt always looks after michael, but for once, it's michael's turn to look after Him), in a way they were Made for each other - Kitt more literally, being programmed for Michael and holding his namesake, but Michael was also made in a sense for the pilot program, hand picked and given a second life to work for the foundation and with this strange supercar. and even if they had a rocky start, michael comes to view kitt as a person - car, TV set, or computer core, Kitt is his partner, his buddy. he helps him find himself, guides him and teaches him about these things that make us human, and in a way, kitt becomes human - but his entire experience is still through the perspective of an AI in a car, it's still very unique and isolating, and I think he sort of grows into his own limitations, he's finally brushing against the walls that define him.
he learns of love, and then he learns to dream Of love. these things he sees in the movies, that michael tells him about, that he so often sees michael Partaking in that he gets so oddly jealous of, doesn't it all seem so wonderful? he's very curious. but who could ever love steel and circuitry, who could ever see him as an equal let alone a partner in a romantic sense? who would ever love a car and all the limitations That comes with? it's a problem for a hypothetical hopeful Some Day, in the meantime stuck between two worlds where he doesn't perfectly belong to either, where no car Can love him and no human seemingly Would love him...
and michael loves him anyway. before either of them really realize or talk about it, in spite of everything, in any form, regardless of the fact it wouldn't be a typical relationship by absolutely any means, michael loves him anyway. kitt is as much a person to him as bonnie or devon or RC, and that person is someone he loves and cares for deeply. the feeling is mutual, kitt's world revolves around michael, he's one of the most important people in kitt's life, and he'd do anything to protect him.
and it is michael that will finally teach him to love, and what it means to feel loved in turn, to be loved as the person he undoubtedly is.
#liz blogs#kr#knight rider#michael knight#kitt#robots#gay#this isnt writing. its rambling. its very insane rambling.#WHAT is the ship tag. i dont even know. fuck it we ball#michael x kitt#sure#knight rider spoilers#i saw someone make up a really good one but i cant remember what it was-- oh my god was it MK2000. was it. was that iT-#mk2000#retroactively gonna go tag all the fruity posts with that i dont care#do not even get me started on michael learning to love for the first time in This lifetime. ... literally dont get me started i havent seen#the last stevie episode yet. thats next weeks crying fit. but i feel like that's a piece i need#but stevie was michael Long's girl. part of His life. michael Knight can't go back to that. and maybe he Shouldn't#listen. its about michael teaching kitt to love. and kitt Letting him learn to love Again. something real besides his weekend flings#i need a lobotomyyyyyyy i need an ice pick to the brain i need to stop being completely fucking insane about robots#IF BEING INSANE ABOUT FICTIONAL ROBOTS WAS A JOB I WOULD BE A MILLIONAIRE#anyway michael is bisexual and a dashboard smoocher thanks for coming to my ted talk#homosexuality is rampant in the military jerry. thats a bisexual if ever i saw one. have you seen the way he dresses. he calls his car baby#if you dont watch knight rider and you read this i'm sorry i must look deranged#this ship is queer flavored even besides the fact its two guys. there's like four levels of queer flavoring in this bitch
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stregoniconiconii · 2 years ago
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a sapphic egg transfem Stevie moment that exists in my brain is her being jealous of robin’s lesbian relationships. not because she necessarily wants to date robin or robin’s gfs but bc she really wants to Have a girlfriend and Be the girlfriend
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leapinarmadillo · 1 day ago
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it's so serious.
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listening to silver springs by fleetwood mac on repeat hurting my own feelings with insane hypotheticals
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pebblezone · 2 years ago
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I love the Pokemon that we’re created just for double battles like not even a tatsugiri dondozo situation where it’s like solely battle strats but like a plusle minun or volbeat illumise situation like you give those to a duo and it’s like Yeah. Those are Partners
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roosterbox · 2 years ago
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Fic Rec Friday 3/31/23
Title: More of You to Love
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson
Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington, Top Eddie Munson, Bottom Steve Harrington, Established Relationship, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, Chubby Steve Harrington, Body Worship, Intersex Omegas, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Boys In Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eating Disorders, Self Confidence Issues, Scars, Internalized Fatphobia, Breeding, Discussions of mpreg, Digital Art, NSFW Art
Summary:
Before his heat, Steve usually puts on extra weight, like every other omega. For some reason, the softness of his body is upsetting him this time around. Eddie is there to remind him of his worth, like always
———
Today’s rec, once again, is from the absolutely fantabulous world of Steddie. Yes, these adorable boys have their hooks in me but good. Which is only mildly annoying, I promise. And recently two interesting things have happened. One - I added more fics to my bookmarks (including this one!). Two - Steddie has become the ship with the most fics in said bookmarks (52!). Damn, son. I think I forgot what being in a fandom in its prime was like! Very fun!
This one in particular struck me right in the heart. It’s a somewhat familiar tale: dear sweet precious Stevie having Issues, lovely caring bean Eddie helping and supporting him no matter what. Familiar, but oh so good. Body image issues are nothing to sneeze at, and they are handled with such grace. Nothing is one-and-done easily resolved either; these things can’t be fixed by one session of caring words and tender lovemaking. It’ll take time, and everyone involved (Steve, Eddie, and the reader/narration) knows this. But as a reader with their own body image issues, I get the sense that Steve is going to be just fine. With a lot of love and a lot of tenderness (and a mate who adores him), he’ll be okay. Maybe it’s because of the aforementioned body image issues, but I feel like this one hit particularly close to home. But since I don’t have my own Eddie Munson to snuggle with (DON’T I FUCKING WISH), I will instead live vicariously through sweet Stevie. And the spicy scenes are just hnnnnnnng *bites fist*.
The artwork spliced throughout in key points is absolutely stellar. Beautiful even. I especially love their rendition of Steve - even more of a cutie pie than usual (which for Stevie is saying a lot!).
Also, I’m not gonna say that I was drawn to the story because it’s ABO. But I’m not not saying that either…
Highly recommended.
———
Next Week: Think it’s time for some… Spacedogs, eh? One of the perhaps stranger ships I discovered on my Ao3 binge last year, but hot damn is it amazing. Which fic to choose? Hmm… How about something super fucking cute? I’m talking full on tooth-rotting “I can’t believe we both planned on proposing” fluff here. You’ll get yourself a nice big sugar fix to start April off right.
¡Hasta luego!
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wonderfucktv · 10 months ago
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it's important to be open to other opinions and accepting of people liking different things than you. it's healthy for people to be salty sometimes, and we all have things that we irrationally hate as an outlet. <3
that being said, I've blocked like 40 people on main this week over incredibly petty shit lmfao and I regret nothing
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luvmahae · 3 months ago
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where you are ‣ lee haechan smau
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summary: what the absolute fuck is up baby! fall semester marks the peak of greek life at ncu. the campus quad is filled with tents representing various fraternities and sororities with their letters proudly presented in front of each booth, all eager to recruit new members. as students return to campus, they are met with a flood of fliers and invitations to parties, mixers, and rush events. while you were walking through the crowd of eager freshmen to join these organizations, you bumped into someone very unexpected...
what do you do when you bump into the guy you hooked up with after a music festival during summer break? instead of the royal blue basketball jersey you first met him in, it was replaced by a varsity jacket with the letters reading "ΝΧΘ".
"haechan?"
pairing: fratboy!haechan x fem!reader
genre: smau, non-idol au, college au, fluff, nsfw/suggestive (mdni!) comedy, humor, slight slowburn, strangers to lovers, rave bae core? (am i in love with you or is it just the drugs?)
warnings: mentions of alcohol/substance usage (marijuana, mdma/ecstasy, lsd, cocaine), profanity, jokes about sex and death thrown around, both groups are out of pocket and tmi doesn't exist apparently... no ones safe! the boys gc is kinda questionable (this is where i say men deserve no rights!), haechan x reader met at an edm festival (the term rave bae will be said here and there. rave bae is someone you meet unexpectedly while raving, kinda like your temporary s/o for the duration of the rave or festival... smth like that!) disclaimer notice: these portrayals are fictional and are not intended to encourage or glamorize substance use.
playlist: where you are - john summit | club classics - charli xcx | intimidated - kaytranada, h.e.r. | high and i like it - it's murph, evalyn | what a life - john summit, stevie appleton | saving up - dom dolla | talk talk - charli xcx, troye sivan | mr useless - shygirl, sg lewis, club shy | atmosphere - fisher, kita alexander | thinking about you - calvin harris, ayah marar | gas pedal remix - john summit, subtronics, tape b, sage the gemini
notes: omg!!! my first post ever... honestly i've been debating to do this for a long time... now here i am :D ngl i lowkey based this off a personal experience (i am a changed woman now okay... spare me! 😭) my first lil fic dedicated to haechan!!! the playlist is highly edm biased with a sprinkle of brat. i just think it fits the vibe so well hehe. open to feedback and enjoy!!! ♡
status: ongoing!
taglist: closed!
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profiles: live laugh love y/n (1), john summit fanboys (2)
intro: so.... edc next year?
one: comedown
two: wtf is college
three: boutta fuckin jump (written)
four: y/n’s eras tour
five: is my brain braining?
six: heyyyyyy 👀
seven: i know what u are…
eight: tequila ftw (written)
nine: ot3 timeout
ten: i want u 😩
eleven: drunk olympics
twelve: stuDYING
thirteen: agram 🙏😭
fourteen: gn haechan (written)
fifteen: team y/n
sixteen: options
seventeen: u did ur big one 😞
eighteen: h for harry styles
nineteen: kms postponed! (written)
twenty: haechan x y/n crumbs
twenty-one: how tf we feelin (written)
twenty-two: use protection 😏
twenty-three: missed connection
twenty-four: shhhh 🤫
twenty-five: enemies to lovers trope
twenty-six:
twenty-seven:
twenty-eight:
twenty-nine:
thirty:
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arpicityandneed · 2 months ago
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My Turn
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18+ f!reader. best friends steve and bucky. dirty talk. bisexual steve. bisexual bucky.
~
"Tell me again where you want it baby." Your new husband had you in his lap thumbing your clit while you rode him. Your thighs were shaking but you were desperate, tears of frustration on your pretty lashes as you balanced yourself with both hands on his shoulders.
"Inside, Stevie, please?" His hands were roaming over your body possessively, gripping the fat of your ass and thrusting his soaked cock up into you with every down stroke of yours.
"Don't make the sweet thing cry Stevie." Bucky groans as he palms himself through his slacks, waiting his turn for once in honor of your wedding night. Usually he and Steve would've flipped a coin or fought for who got to bully their way inside your pussy first.
"I'm not gonna Buck, she's just so pretty when she begs. My wife." Steve's baby blues were dancing with mischief as Bucky cursed.
"You met her first by accident, Rogers. I'm older-" Bucky started growling the same damn argument they'd been having since they decided they wanted a baby and therefore a wedding. (They were too old fashioned for anything else.)
"Boys, can we argue later?" You cut in breathlessly, and Steves arm wrapped around your waist. Your only warning before he took over- fucking you up and down his shaft like a rag doll as he groaned,
"Alright baby. I gotta do right by my Mrs don't I?" With the smuggest grin you'd ever seen his balls twitched, and spurt after spurt of cum filled you fluttering walls.
"Goddamnit, Stevie." You would've comforted your other boyfriend if you could focus. But Steve's thumb was rubbing your clit as you seized up, coming hard and milking his cock for all he had to give.
You collapsed against his chest.
"You gonna be good for Bucky baby? You got one more in you?" Steve murmured gently as he rocked you on his softening shaft, his cum leaking out of you and drenching his balls in your combined juices.
"Mhm. Want him inside too." You smiled as you kissed him, soft and sweet like you had several hours earlier in front of all your friends and family.
"My turn." You hadn't heard him move but you weren't surprised when you were lifted and bent over the massive bed, Bucky was hardly a patient man once he had the green light.
"Fuck sweetheart, you're dripping." Bucky's voice was hoarse. But Steve, who was laying down close enough for you to tongue at his soft cock, just snorted.
"Don't complain like you don't love it, jerk." Steve guided his shaft into your mouth and murmured softly, "Clean me up baby."
"'M not complaining punk, it's a compliment." You moaned around Steve as Bucky took one good lick of your stuffed pussy before straightening and dragging his cock head through the mess. "Your cum tastes better inside her by the way."
"Shut up, you love my cum anyway you can get it, Barnes."
"Maybe." One smooth thrust and you were full once more, and Bucky goes from teasing his boyfriend to cursing how good you feel. "I gotta say doll. You're kind of a slut."
"B-Bucky!" Your scolding would be more effective if your pussy didn't clench around him from his words and the memories flooding you brain of watching Bucky swallow down Steves cock.
"Greedy fucking pussy-" His moans were loud, shameless. "Back me up here Stevie."
"He's not wrong sweetie. Youre an absolute slut for us. But just us, yeah?" Steve sounds proud. Proud that on his wedding night his wife is being tag teamed by him and his best friend.
Fuck.
You were going to cum, hard and Bucky- the smug bastard- wasn't going to let it happen quietly.
"Someone likes being reminded how needy her pussy is. Clenching down so hard on me doll." Bucky fucked different than Steve. Harder, filthier. His hands were dragging you back onto his fat cock until the audible slap of his hips against your ass echoed around the room. He was getting close you could tell. His heavy balls were slapping against your clit, aching to add to the cum already slicking him inside you. "Should've waited till after the honeymoon to let me fuck her Steve."
His hand snaked around to find your clit and with quick tight circles over your swollen nub you came apart with a cry.
"Yeah, Buck? And why's that.." Steves eyes were narrowed like he was annoyed at being told what to do, but you knew the truth. His cock was growing hard in your mouth again. Bucky thrusted hard inside you before he started to unload, grinding into you as if to make sure his seed took first.
"Cause now we're never gonna know who knocked her up first till the baby's born."
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skeltnwrites · 2 months ago
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At Least It’s Not the End of the World ♡
After protecting the kids from demodogs and sentient tunnel vines with Steve, a weekend babysitting Holly Wheeler together is supposed to be simple. That is until feelings neither of you expected start to make things way more complicated.
gn!reader, takes place in between seasons two and three, people who fight monsters together to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff 16k
── .✦
It doesn’t take long to remember why Holly is your favorite Wheeler. She’s patient and sweet, amazingly level-headed for a preschooler, and her manners could put some adults to shame. Compared to her siblings, Holly’s a little sweetheart. And a mama’s girl through and through, clinging to Mrs. Wheeler more often than not. 
Like now, she wriggles in her mom’s lap, scrunched over a coloring book at the dinner table. She squints at her box of crayons and purses her lips— choosing colors is hard when you’re five. She hasn’t said a peep since you arrived, but in the foyer, she greeted you with a clumsy wave and a sheepish smile. 
“It would be Friday afternoon to Monday morning,” Mrs. Wheeler explains, stirring a glass of lemonade with a curly straw. “I’d ask Nance but she’s having a girl's weekend.” 
You glance at Steve. You know girl’s weekend is code for spending the night with Jonathan Byers. But if he knows it too, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t so much as bat an eye at her words. In fact, he’s relaxed under Mrs. Wheeler’s gaze. He’s sitting in a chair he’s sat in dozens of times before, talking to a woman he sees more frequently than his own mother. 
You don’t know her as well as he does, but you aren’t strangers by any means. 
“And Mike, well, he’s not old enough to watch her for that long. But he’ll be staying over at Joyce’s so you don’t have to worry about him,” she pauses to sip her drink. “I’d pay you, of course. I don’t know what your schedules look like— I know you’re probably busy with the new job, Steve— but I figured since it’s a few days, I’d offer it to you both.” 
Steve flashes an honest smile and leans forward. “Are you kidding? I’d hang with this squirt for free. I’m actually off this weekend so it works out.” 
Mrs. Wheeler beams, eyes springing to yours. 
“Yeah, I could help too,” you shrug. You also happen to be free this weekend and the extra cash would be nice. 
“Great! You both are so lovely. Oh, I was so worried, I kept telling Ted– well, it doesn’t matter now.” Her bracelets clink and clash as she reaches across the table to cover your hand with hers. “You’ll have to keep an eye on these two. She becomes quite the riot when her Stevie comes over.” 
Steve chuckles and raises his hands in defense. “She owes me a rematch at Candyland so I can’t promise anything.” 
Mrs. Wheeler’s fingers retract from yours, landing on the end of Holly’s pigtail. “She’s really missed having you over. Asks about you still.” 
Holly ducks her nose into her paper, pink traveling up her ears. 
“Is that right?” Steve teases. “I’ll have to swing by more often.” 
“Please. You’re welcome anytime, Steve. Whether Nancy’s here or not.” Her attention drifts to you. “And the same goes for you. Mike won’t stop talking about that comic book you gave him.” 
A smug grin surfaces. Out of all of the kids, Mike is a tough one to please. 
“I’ve never been away from Holly for so long. But I trust you guys.” Mrs. Wheeler pecks Holly’s crown to hide a wobbly smile, her sentence spilling out in a breathy string of words.
She really does trust you both. It would take another set of hands to count the number of times either you or Steve had driven her kids home safely. This is just different. She loves all of her kids equally, but Holly’s her baby. 
Holly’s eyes cast up at her mention, bright as a sunlit gem. 
Mrs. Wheeler smooths her daughter’s sleeves down her shoulders. “But Holly’s a good girl. Right, Hollybear?” 
She turns to bury a toothy smile in her mother’s shirt. 
Mrs. Wheeler is meticulous as she presents each and every detail of Holly’s routine. From car seat safety to emergency contacts to allergies, she covers every question you might have before you have it. 
Steve’s a good listener but he’s cursed with a very short attention span. Mrs. Wheeler lost him somewhere around Holly’s sudden aversion to mac and cheese, but she doesn’t seem to notice. You’ll fill in the gaps for him later. 
This won’t be the first time you’ve babysat with Steve. Dustin roped you both into hunting his pet lizard-turned-alien which very quickly escalated to protecting four children from not one, but several, vicious aliens. Safe to say you two are experienced enough to handle one kid for a couple of nights. 
You haven’t seen Steve much since then. It’s summer now. The demodogs and sentient tunnel vines feel much more like a dream than something that actually happened to you these days. Steve works at the Scoops in Starcourt, or so you’ve heard several times– Dustin only reminds you about every time you see him. But despite being as close to death as you’ve ever been beside Steve, visiting him at work feels strangely wrong. Like crossing a line that neither of you ever drew. 
You would not consider Steve Harrington your friend. You’re friendly, as you might be with a neighbor or coworker, but you don’t talk much outside of ​​world-ending, portal-to-another-dimension kind of events. He’s family in a weird sort of way, bound by the shared trauma and unspoken loyalty— like someone you only see at family reunions, familiar enough to care about but still a stranger in most ways. High school was a long blur and your circle of friends couldn’t have been farther from his. So you don’t know Steve, not really. But of what little pieces of him you have come to know in the last year, he’s not half bad at babysitting.
ᯓ★
On Friday afternoon, you park your car beside Steve’s shiny BMW in the Wheeler’s driveway. You take the house key that had been slipped from Mrs. Wheeler’s key ring to yours and unlock the front door. And you find that inside, it’s completely silent. Holly’s quiet as a mouse but she’s still a kid and kids make noise. 
Your bag drops onto the floor beside Steve’s shoes as you toe off your own. When the kitchen and living room turn up empty you jog upstairs. Alarm sinks in on the last step where you still hear nothing. No shouting, no laughing, no crying, no nothing. 
There’s a large window in the hall upstairs, dividing Nancy’s room from Mike's and Holly’s. In your panic, you miss the suspicious lumps in the drapes that frame it. 
As you brush by, Steve rips the curtain across the rod and shouts, “Ha! Gotch– Oh.” 
Your entire body jerks, fear cinching every nerve. “Christ! Steve!”
“Sorry, sorry!” 
Your nostrils flare with hot air as you shove him, “You scared me!” 
His open palms hover in between your chests, unsure how to help. “I thought you were Holly. Sorry.” He gives you an apologetic once-over before a breathy chuckle escapes. 
“It’s not funny. All the shit we’ve been through. God.” He’s lucky you didn’t punch him. A part of you still wants to. 
“Mommy says that’s not a nice word,” Holly says from behind you. 
You turn, shoulders sagging in relief. “I didn’t mean to say that. Sorry.” 
“Stevie, I was supposed to find you,” she whines incredulously, hands planted on her hips. 
“We can go again. I’ll find a new spot.” 
Her frown mends as quickly as it appeared and she skips back to her room to count. 
“Sorry,” Steve reminds you. “Help me find a spot to hide?” 
Soft eyes, a softer smile. It’s hard to stay mad when he looks at you like that. “Okay.” 
Twenty seconds isn’t very long to hide. Especially when Holly counts as fast as she does and when you spend half of your time standing in the hall. So you end up crouched in the corner of Mike’s closet, Steve arched over you, trying his hardest not to crush your toes. 
“Jesus. Does this kid even wash his clothes?” Steve whisper-shouts. “It smells like something died in here.” His palm snaps to the wall behind your head, the flesh of his arm warming your ear.
“You actually couldn’t have picked a worse place. Oh my God.” You press the neckline of your shirt over your nose. Steve’s wearing enough cologne to drown out the stench of dirty socks, though it’s choking you all the same. 
“We had like three seconds. I panicked!” 
You’re glaring at him but only a fraction of light filters in from underneath the door so you’d guess he doesn't see. 
The closet is the first place Holly checks when she barges into Mike’s room, but you’ve never been happier to be caught so fast. 
“My turn!” She glows in victory, pigtails swishing like yellow ribbons as she shouts. 
Steve huffs. “Let’s take a break. We’ve been playing for like an hour.” 
“Can we play tag?”
“In a little while. I’m tired.” He pinches her neck playfully until she squirms out of reach. “How’d you have all that energy?”
She shrugs with her whole body. “I dunno. I’m a kid.” 
A laugh bubbles out of your throat. When your eyes flit to Steve you find him already smiling at you. 
“What about something a little more chill,” you suggest. “We could color?” 
“Bracelets?” 
“You want to make some?” 
She nods, “I can’t reach them. The beads are on top of my closet.”  
“I’ll get ‘em,” Steve offers. “Come show me where.” 
You fan out her multitude of craft containers across the kitchen table. Beads, charms, strings, all neatly filed away. She pops open a lid and plunks down across from you. Steve takes the seat at the end in between. 
“What color bracelet are you gonna make?” you ask, raking through the rainbow of options. 
“Umm, yellow. No– green!” 
“Nice. Here’s a cute little frog charm. Want that?” 
“Mmmm. No, thank you.” 
“I’ll take it,” Steve says, stretching his hand toward you. 
You drop it in the center of his palm where it clinks against a handful of blue beads. They’re pretty and vibrant like the sea. A flicker of an idea pulls you to grab your own handful. 
Holly slides four beads onto a string, two lime green and two baby pink. She drags the other end up and they all slip off, bouncing in separate directions across the table. You smack one before it dives onto the floor and Steve catches another two mid-air. 
“Can you help me tie it?” Holly asks from under her chair, searching for the fourth. 
“Sure.” Steve swaps his bracelet for hers, triple knotting one end. “I like these colors.”
She resurfaces with a grin, voice lilting as she speaks, “Do you like purple?”
“Yeah, purple’s okay. Do you?” 
She nods, pinching a lilac gem and examining it. 
You slip into a peaceful rhythm. The bead bin rattles as Steve digs his fingers in. He murmurs something about sparkles as he shuffles. Every now and then, you peek up at him. And each time, you find that he’s fully absorbed in this, rubbing his chin or poking his tongue out in concentration. You’d even bet he’s having fun. 
“Can you tie it on me,” Holly asks when she finishes. 
Steve takes her hand gently, fingers engulfing her tinier ones. “This good?” He tugs the strings across each other at her permission, sealing it with an extra knot for good measure.  
Holly starts a second one as you finish your first. You hold it up triumphantly for them to see– red and blue beads between every white pearl. 
“Very patriotic,” Steve teases. 
“It’s for you. For scoops. These are the colors right?” 
He softens, eyes rounding like brown buttons. “Wait, really? Thank you. Wow.” He inspects it fondly where you release it in his palm. “Will you tie it?” His arm shoots over to your side of the table. 
You feel his gaze shift from the bracelet to your face as you lace it. And you pretend that it doesn’t make your cheeks burn. 
“You don’t have to wear it to Scoops if you don’t want to,” you mumble, releasing his wrist. 
“What? Of course, I’m wearing it. No one’s ever made me a bracelet before.” 
Your lips bend up into your cheeks as he leans back in his seat. He twists and turns his arm, looking it over again with a similar expression. “Now, it was supposed to be a surprise, but since I’m almost done, I actually made this for you.” He scoops up the piece he’s been working on and waves it in front of you. 
You cock an eyebrow and smirk. “You sure you didn’t just decide that since I gave you one.” 
“I didn’t! I was planning this the whole time! Right Holly, didn’t I say that?”
“No?” 
“Holly, come on now.” He elbows her arm. “Supposed to back me up.” 
“But you didn’t,” she giggles. 
“Holly doesn’t lie, Steve.” 
“Okay, I didn’t say it. But I thought it. I was gonna give it to you I swear.” He jams another couple of beads on his string. “See! Look, it has your favorite color on there.” 
“It has every color on there.” 
“One of which is your favorite.” 
You roll your eyes as he takes your wrist. His hands are warmer than yours, softer than you expect too. He stills as your palm flips face up. A jagged, fleshy ridge runs from the bottom of your pinky to the meat of your thumb. Steve was there when you got the scar. He’s never said it, but you know he blames himself for it. A demodog had you pinned in that damned junkyard school bus so Steve pushed you out of the way but you caught yourself on a broken window. 
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
His head dips in a silent nod. He isn’t sure whether to believe you or not. Either way, he feels sorry still.
His bracelet is a statement piece for sure. It truly has every color under the sun and a random assortment of charms and shells. But it’s sweet that he gave it to you. Even if he totally did not plan to do so at first. 
He makes a second bracelet for Holly with purple string and butterfly pendants. Holly gives her next one to him as thanks, then begins on a third for you. 
Steve stands from the table. “I’m hungry. Grilled cheese okay for dinner Holly?” She nods as do you when he asks you the same. 
Your focus drifts between him and the necklace you’re starting for Holly. He coasts around the kitchen naturally, like you imagine he would in his own house. But it’s a bizarre sight. Steve Harrington cooking you food, in the Wheeler’s kitchen out of all places. 
And he’s about as good as a chef as you expect him to be. He’s clumsy and uncertain, even dropping a spatula on the floor with an, “Oh, shi–ugar…” But he kindly refuses to accept any help or advice when you offer. 
He eventually swings around the kitchen island, brimming with pride, one plate in each hand. They’re set in the space you’ve cleared and you quickly see that the sandwiches have been cut adorably into stars. You just as quickly see– and smell– how burnt they are. They aren’t black, they’re edible for sure. But Holly’s five, and polite as she is, most kids would never willingly eat this. 
So you aren’t surprised when she looks at it in disgust, borderline horror. 
“Look, it’s a star,” Steve beams, oblivious. 
Your chest aches with the desire to laugh and an equal pang of sympathy. 
Holly shakes her head, visibly toning down her expression for his sake. “Can I have something else?” 
“It’s good! I promise, just try it.” 
She slowly shakes no again. 
“Steve,” a peel of laughter escapes your lips. “It’s burnt.” 
He scoffs. “It’s not that burnt.” 
Your mouth twitches in a funny little line and your eyes leap between him and the plate. “It’s pretty burnt, Steve.” 
After a moment of silence, he sighs and picks both plates back up. 
“Wait,” you shout, “I’ll still eat mine! Mine isn’t that bad. You did a good job!” 
He sulks at you. “You’re just saying that. I’ll make new ones.” 
“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll eat this one. I don’t mind.” 
He plants the plate in your grabby hands and spins back toward the stove. 
Round two is much better, still star-shaped, and a few shades lighter. Holly thanks him more than once while eating it without you even asking her to. If only Nancy and Mike were as precious as her. And Steve eats the first attempt, now cold, and admits that it tastes, “slightly burnt.” 
You take the empty plates to the sink to wash while Steve and Holly lug the jewelry kits back upstairs. You meet them in Holly’s room after. They’re playing house, Steve the dad, and Holly the mom, with four babydolls for children. She appoints you to be the neighbor when you join. 
You knock on her bedpost, pretending it’s her front door. “Holly, in one hour you’re gonna take a bath.”
Her head pops out from under the blanket. “Can we watch a movie before bed?” 
“Sure, but we have to do bath now if you wanna watch the whole thing.” 
“Okay!” She kicks the sheets away, jumping off the bed in a race to the bathroom. Steve winces as she steps on his hand. 
“Do you need help?” he asks, sprawled across the bed, socked feet hanging over the edge. 
“No, I got it. You can rest in peace now,” you joke, halfway through the door. 
Holly is self-sufficient enough to bathe herself so all you have to do is supervise. You find a matching polka dot set of pajamas in her dresser and a towel under the bathroom sink. And she gets dry and dressed all by herself, Miss Independent. 
“So there’s The Little Mermaid, E.T., Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory…” Steve trails off, kneeling in front of the entertainment center. 
Holly hands him a VHS tape, “This one?” 
“Ooh, good pick.” Steve feeds the tape into the player and rewinds it. 
You pat the couch cushion beside yours as Holly skips over. Steve hits the light before flopping into the recliner with a satisfied groan. The Jungle Book glows to life on the TV, casting an indigo wash over each of your faces. Holly curls into herself, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them.
“Here,” Steve chucks a blanket from the basket at his side. 
“Thanks.” You scoop it off the floor where it missed the couch and billow it out over you and Holly. “Don’t fall asleep, Harrington.” 
“Yeah, yeah.” Steve folds one leg over the other and crosses his arms, eyes glued to the screen. He reminds you of Mr. Wheeler sitting in his recliner like that. It’s alarming how attractive you find it. He’s not even doing anything worth staring at. You force your eyes back on the TV. 
The credits scroll up the screen for a whole minute before you realize the movie has ended. You aren’t asleep but you aren’t totally awake either. Steve’s not far off by the looks of it and Holly, on the other hand, was out like a light halfway through. Her head presses into your upper arm, her hand scrunched in the blanket on your thigh. The weight is nice, making it all the harder to pick yourself up and get her to bed. 
But thankfully Steve’s there to help. He twists in his chair until his back clicks, smiling when he catches sight of you and Holly. “I’ll carry her up,” he whispers. 
You gently work Holly’s stubborn fingers from the blanket as Steve stands. He pushes the rest of the fabric into your lap before bending to scoop Holly up. 
“Be right back,” he says, starting toward the stairs. 
You tug the blanket higher, seeking lost comfort in its folds, though it doesn’t compare to the warmth Holly provided. 
Steve pads back down not a minute later. He stops on the last step, hanging over the railing. “You awake?” 
“Barely,” you mumble. 
Steve plods up to the front door to check the locks. He orbits into the kitchen and then back around to the living room to turn the TV off. He’s being the responsible one. You aren’t sure why this surprises you. 
“Come on,” he opens his hand toward you. 
Your arm snakes out from under the blanket, and he lifts you effortlessly. You’ve seen how strong he is, how he fights, but it still surprises you. 
“I was gonna suggest another movie but I don’t think either of us’ll make it.” 
You catch a yawn from Steve. “I know. I’m so tired. It’s not even late.” 
He hums from behind you on the stairs. “Yeah. Who knew this’d be so exhausting.” He’s only being slightly sarcastic. There’s an obvious truth to what he implied, but at the same time, it is so much harder than you realized it would be. 
You stop at the landing, sluggishly turning to face Steve. “Well, goodnight, I guess.” 
“Goodnight.” 
You splinter into opposite ends of the hall. Steve let you have Nancy’s room for obvious reasons, though he wasn’t thrilled about crashing in Mike’s bed. He’s probably better off on the couch after seeing the kid’s closet. 
You change into cozier clothes and untuck Nancy’s quilt. Like with Steve, you and Nancy aren’t really friends. It’s strange being in her room, settling into her bed. And it’s almost stranger that Steve is sleeping across the hall. Yet, there’s an odd comfort in it— being surrounded by people who went through the same thing you did. 
ᯓ★
There’s thumping in the hall– footsteps, too light to be Steve’s. You fight the urge to go back to sleep. Holly needs a babysitter. But it’s not an easy feat, not when you’re swaddled like a baby in blankets much softer than the ones you have at home. You’re warm and it’s so quiet it feels like a gift; that is, until you remind yourself that kids and quiet don’t usually go hand and hand. She could be answering the door to a stranger, scaling the counters, setting the kitchen on fire, the possibilities are endless. 
You force your heavy eyes open and flinch as a much brighter pair come into focus. 
Holly bends over you with this innocent endearment you cannot possibly be mad to be woken by. “Told you, Stevie,” she says. 
“No, you woke ‘em up, goofball.” Steve lingers at the foot of the bed in a pair of striped pajama pants and a faded Olympics tee. You’ve never seen him in pajamas before, or anything quite like it. 
You prop yourself up on your elbows and rub your eyes for a better look. 
“Sorry,” he supplies. His voice is still raspy with sleep and his oh-so-perfect hair shoots up in wild peaks. The sight makes your chest buzz. “She said you had to get up to.” 
You redirect your attention to Holly, pinching the neckline of your shirt back over your shoulder as you sit up. 
“Can we have eggs?” she asks you. 
“Sure.” 
She traps her lip between her two frontmost baby teeth. “Five?” 
“Five eggs!” Steve chides. “Just for you?” 
She turns to nod at him, smile blooming. 
He wears the same joy, ruffling her already unruly bed-head. “What are you a linebacker?” 
She giggles, clueless as to what he’s talking about. 
“Let’s start with two and if you’re still hungry you can have more,” you compromise. 
You are undeniably a better cook than Steve, but the bar is low after yesterday. You serve scrambled eggs and unburnt toast. Holly looks at her plate like she hasn’t been fed a day in her life and she shovels spoonfuls of it in her mouth like it’s her last meal. 
Steve watches her with an anxious frown. “Smaller bites, Holl.” 
She nods but doesn’t exactly slow her pace. Steve chases your eyes, knocking your ankle with his when you don’t look. He gives you that funny face parents make. Help me out. 
You shrug. “It’s just eggs. Babies eat eggs.” 
He cycles through several emotions—frustration that you won’t back him up, disbelief that babies eat eggs, and a lingering fear that she might choke. But he stops himself from asking all the what-ifs, he trusts you. 
Holly swallows half of her glass of chocolate milk in one go. Steve looks mildly horrified. 
“My God. She’s like a little human vacuum,” he mumbles through a mouthful of toast. 
You snort into your glass. If Holly heard him, she’s too preoccupied to care. 
After breakfast, Steve sets her up in front of the TV to watch cartoons while you clear the table. He disappears into the basement in search of a board game but comes back with some deflated, plastic thing. 
“What happened to the board game?” you ask. “What even is that?” 
“It’s a kiddie pool. Let’s go outside. It’s nice out.” 
“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.” 
“Me neither. Just wear that.” 
You wrinkle your nose down at your pajamas. “Go see if she wants to.” 
He smiles, retreating back into the living room. Shortly after, he shouts, “She said yes!” Footsteps pound up the stairs, followed by a second shout, “Don’t run!” 
Mrs. Wheeler calls the house phone and is pleased to hear your good report. She reminds you several times to apply sunscreen to Holly’s ears and that there’s an extra can in the upstairs bathroom. You wrangle Holly over to put her on and promise to call back before bedtime when she refuses to hang up. 
You sift through your bag, changing into the closest thing to swimwear. Steve takes forever in the bathroom, which doesn’t surprise you one bit. He comes out in a crisp white tee, way too expensive-looking for a pool day, and a pair of red gym shorts. 
“What are you, the lifeguard?” you joke. 
His hands snap to his hips. “Uhh, I’ll have you know I’ve been a certified lifeguard for two years, so yeah, actually.” 
You roll your eyes, brushing past him for the extra can of sunscreen. “Are you ready? Holly’s waiting.” 
“Yeah. Let me go blow up the pool. I’ll be outside.” 
You fix your hair in the mirror and tuck a few towels under your arm before heading downstairs. Holly’s already outside, criss-crossed in a big lawn chair and watching Steve with incredible boredom. He stands barefoot in the grass, the deflated pool pressed against his chest. He pulls away from the air valve when he notices you, quickly capping it with his thumb. 
“You okay?” you ask, laughing lightly. 
He nods, red-cheeked and breathless. “Think there’s a hole in it. Been blowin’ for like five minutes.” 
“Huh,” you drop the towels and take one end of the limp plastic. “Try again.” 
He funnels more air inside, it dispurses evenly underneath your palm. You don’t hear any air wheezing out so you turn it over for further inspection. 
“Oh, Steve. Here, look.” 
He pops his mouth off and follows your pointer finger. A second valve at the bottom, unhinged and releasing his hard work steadily. 
“Oh, you’re kidding me. Why’d they put one under there?”
You shrug, plugging it back up. “Holly, let’s get some sunscreen on so your mom doesn’t kill us.” 
Holly hops off the chair and skips to your side. You mist her skin in several layers, lathering a generous amount over her ears. When you move onto yourself, she grabs her basket of toys and climbs into the dry inflatable. Steve retrieves the hose and releases a cool stream into the pool, splashing Holly’s feet.
She squeals and scoots back. “Cold!” 
Steve’s thumb eclipses the opening so the water bursts out in wide a fan. He trains it at Holly, spraying her until she’s soaked and screaming. 
He’s giggling in a way you’ve never heard. Genuine, open-mouthed reels of laughter. You hate to admit it, but it’s really cute. So infectious you can’t help but join. 
He glances back for your reaction, pleasantly satisfied. And your smile incites a great idea. He swings the hose around, aiming it straight at you. 
“Steve!” Your arms shoot out to block the attack but it’s no use. 
“What?” he says, the epitome of innocence. 
Your eyes narrow but a smirk prevails. “Oh, you–” 
Holly tackles the back of his thigh with a scream. Steve stumbles forward and the hose slips from his grasp. 
You lunge for it before he even realizes what happened. And by the time he does, he’s already drenched. “Payback!” You laugh maniacally as he combs his hair out of his eyes. 
He’s laughing too, bent at the waist, still shaking his surprise. But only until he catches your gaze– then comes the glint of something playful, almost daring.
Steve barrels straight through the spray like a bull. He chokes your fingers over the nozzle, bending and bending the line until the water pours straight down your head. 
Holly dashes behind you to wrangle the wiggly tail of the hose, squealing at every layer of mist she catches. 
You and Steve wrestle with it, his hand on your hip, yours pushing his shoulder. He’s gentle but still strong. And his touch sears through the cold water, your skin tingling in his wake. 
The second he sticks the end down the back of your shirt you scream. “Okay, okay! I surrender!” 
He crimps the hose with one hand, smirking deviously. 
“I surrender,” you repeat, heaving through your laughter. 
Holly drops her end of the hose, backing up one slow step at a time. 
“Truce?” 
“Truce,” you nod, stepping up cautiously to shake his hand. 
He accepts your hand, using it to yank you closer and blast you again. You chase and dodge and tackle each other under the blazing sun until your legs feel like jelly. But the game eventually slows as exhaustion creeps in. 
You and Steve collapse in the lawn chairs while Holly lays belly-down in the pool. Water sloshes over the rim onto your toes as she kicks, a brief reprieve from the sticky heat. You're relaxed, but your mind wanders. You keep hoping the Wheelers won’t notice the sudden increase in their water bill. 
“Dustin talks about you all the time.”
You tear your eyes away from Holly, blinking back into reality as you face Steve. “What?”
“Dustin, he talks about you all the time. Kid loves you.” 
“Oh. He’s a sweet kid. Talks about you too. Keeps telling me to come see you at Scoops.”
Steve chuckles, more of a half-hearted puff of amusement than a real one. 
“Which, I’m sorry I haven’t, by the way,” you confess. 
His eyebrows jump, lips parting in soft surprise. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. He’s just being Dustin.” 
You press a blade of grass flat under your heel, as if the right words might sprout from the dirt. “I dunno. I mean, don’t you think it’s kinda weird that we don’t like talk? After everything?” 
The words bounce around Steve’s head for a minute. He fixates on your choice of weird. Weird, like bad? Weird like you want to talk? He can’t decide. And he’s afraid if he opens his mouth, the wrong words will tumble out. 
But he tries anyway, “Honestly, I thought you didn’t want to be friends. You were just so… distant after.” 
You rub the length of your arm, lips creasing into a frown. “Sorry, I was just. I don’t even know. Rattled, I guess.” 
“Yeah, rabid dogs with faces that split open and try to eat you tend to have that effect.” 
Your frown melts, little by little. 
“But we should’ve been there for you more. It was a hard time for everybody.” 
His apology echoes in your mind, the ache like a weight on your chest. 
“You could visit if you wanted to. At scoops. I could get you ice cream for free.” 
But the ache doesn’t stand a chance against the way he makes you feel. 
“Okay.” Your cheeks round with a sincere smile. “I’d like that.” 
He turns his head, as if to hide, but you still catch an echo of your own expression. Your eyes flicker across the contours of his profile, following the graceful line from his ear to his collar, before drifting over the sculpted shape of his arms and the long expanse of his thighs. Steve Harrington is objectively attractive. This isn’t the first time you’ve thought so. But it is the first time that fact makes your head spin. 
Maybe it’s the heat. The sun feels like it's roasting you alive, and Steve’s attractiveness certainly isn't helping. You’re feeling strange, thinking crazy things– the kind of thoughts that only come when you’re on the verge of heat stroke certainly. 
You stand abruptly and the grass sways underneath your feet. But you get your bearings before anyone notices. “Holly, can I come sit in the pool?”
Her eyes pop up, grin distorted underneath the water. She props her elbow up and rests her cheek in the palm of her hand. “What’s the password?”
“Umm, can you give me a hint?” 
A high-pitched hum. “Okay. She’s my favorite character.” 
“Uhh, Barbie?” 
“Nooo.” 
“Strawberry Shortcake?”
“Nooo.” 
“Hello Kitty?” 
“You’re really bad at this,” she giggles. It would be really cute if you weren’t possibly dying right now. 
“It’s Care Bears,” Steve interjects, snapping his fingers. “Uhh, the yellow one. Umm, Funshine!” 
“Yes!” Holly glows like the sun on Funshine herself. “Stevie can come in.”
Steve stands but he doesn’t get in. “Come on, Holl. It’s hot.”
“There’s a new password.”
“Okay, okay. Can I have another hint?” you ask. 
Her tongue curls out to lick the sweat off her lip. “My favorite color.” 
“Purple?” 
“Yes,” she nods and sits up. “But I really like yellow and blue and pink too.” 
You sink into the water, unsure if there was ever a wrong answer. It’s shallow and lukewarm, barely grazing the tops of your thighs, but it’s enough to cool the sun off your skin. Steve follows, and the space tightens awkwardly— the inflatable wasn’t built for three. His knee brushes yours while Holly’s toes nudge your foot, but neither of them seems to mind. 
You cup water up to your cheeks and pour it down your arms. 
“Better?” Steve asks, a droll little pinch to his features. 
He’s staring at you which is definitely not helping but you nod anyway. 
“Why don’t we move to the shade?” He stands before you or Holly agrees, offering his hand to pull you up. 
She races Steve to the nearest tree, though he doesn't stand much of a chance dragging the pool behind him. He refills it with fresh water and encourages Holly to splash you gently while he runs inside to make lunch. By the time he returns, you’re feeling much more yourself. 
“Bon Appétit,” Steve announces, lowering himself slowly onto a towel. He carries three animal-shaped plates stocked with fruit and PB&Js, one in each hand, another balanced on his forearm. 
Holly scrambles out of the water, plopping onto the other end of his towel. You get out too, shaking a second one out to lay beside theirs. 
“Lion or hippo?” he asks Holly. 
She hums for a long time, inspecting each plate meticulously before pointing to the lion.
“Good choice.” He sets the plate in front of her crossed legs and passes you the hippo. Steve takes the polar bear for himself, which notably only has half a sandwich. 
“Where’s the other half?” you ask. 
He takes a large bite, pressing his hand to his mouth to reply, “Ran out of bread.” 
“Here.” You rip one of your halves in half. 
“Thanks,” he says, syllables tangling as he chews. 
Holly watches the interaction fondly before pulling apart her own sandwich. It splits in a jagged line, mostly crust on one half. But happily, she thrusts the bigger piece toward Steve, jelly dribbling down her little fist. 
He tilts his head, a growing smile mirroring yours. “You eat it. I have enough now.” 
She crinkles her nose. “You eat it!” 
“No, you!” He squeezes her slim bicep. “You need to get big and strong.” 
“What about you?” 
“I’m already big and strong.” 
She considers this, giving him an obvious once-over that makes you laugh. “Trade?” 
“Okay, trade.” Steve chuckles, exchanging one of his halves for hers. He licks a stripe across his knuckle where her sticky fingers brushed his. It’s as innocent as the gesture can be but something about it has your cheeks burning in a way the sun couldn’t. 
Conversation tapers off, replaced with an easy quiet. Your stomach is satisfied with the food, but it’s your heart that feels the most nourished, steeped in the comfort of good company. You hadn’t expected to enjoy hanging out with Steve or Holly this much. 
Holly slouches into your arm, stretching her legs across the grass like a bridge between the towels. Her heels push into the pudge of Steve’s thigh, the faintest smirk crossing her lips. 
He squeezes her ankle until it darts away. 
Gradually, she presses again and in turn, he squeezes, but this time he doesn’t let go. She squeals as he drags her down your side. But all hell breaks loose when he starts tickling the bottom of her foot. 
She shrieks, thrashing and squirming against his hold, giggling in between gasps. “Ste–vie!” she cries.
Her laugh is too pure of a sound to be real, Steve thinks. His resolve crumbles, grip faltering. And Holly’s heel slams smack into his jaw. Steve winces, bending away to cradle his cheek. 
You straighten up. “You okay? Let me see.” 
Holly’s legs go limp in the grass, her shoulders tense in your lap. 
Steve’s hand slackens unveiling a red splotch not much darker than his sunburnt cheeks. He meets your eyes with a dismissive shake, “It’s okay.” 
You believe him. It doesn’t look nearly awful enough to make your concern stick. And his face has been through worse. Billy Hargrove painting his fists red with Steve’s blood is one of the things you remember most about that night. 
His attention dips down to Holly. She sniffles, eyes glistening in the sunlight with a frown nearly reaching her chin. 
“It’s okay. I’m okay, Holl.” 
Holly putters, whimpers drowning the edges of her words. “I’m sorry.” 
“It’s okay! I promise! It doesn’t even hurt,” he reassures, cupping her kneecap. 
You tug her off the ground and she sinks into your arms naturally. Hot tears pave a path down your neck only to dissolve in the fabric of your shirt. You coax her sobs out, one back rub at a time. 
Steve waits until she settles with this pitiful look on his face. “I know you didn’t mean to Hollybear. Just an accident. Hmm?” 
She nods against your chin. 
He strokes the back of her arm, fingers grazing yours where they work. “Please don’t cry.” 
Holly sniffles. 
“You know what might help me feel better?” She lifts a sweaty cheek off your chest as Steve opens his arms. “A hug.” 
She pushes out of your hands into his. He holds her tight, providing one loving squeeze after another. 
This is not how you pictured Steve to be under normal babysitting circumstances. A voice like sweet honey, eyes warm like the sun. He’s very soft, and so undeniably kind. And not just to Holly, but also you. 
Steve hooks the spare towel closer, draping it across her back. “Lean back,” he tells her. 
She avoids his gaze as she does, tears melting away under his touch. 
“You know what I think?” He cinches the towel at her collar like a cloak. 
She hums. 
“I think we should have popsicles for dessert.” 
Holly meets his eyes then, excitement glimmering underneath the droop of lingering guilt. 
“How does that sound?”
“Good,” she admits meekly. 
A smirk thins his lips. “I dunno though. What if we get a tummy ache?” He pokes her belly through the towel. “Maybe it’s not–”
“No– I want one!”
“I dunnooo,” he sings.
“Please, Stevie! You already said.”
“How bad do you want it? Like this much?” He pinches his fingers together, leaving the slightest gap between them. 
“No, no!” She shakes her head, casting her arms out as far as they’ll go. “This much!” 
He sighs loudly, shoulders sagging for the dramatic touch. “Okay.” 
Holly’s arms curl around his neck as he stands. He’s more than happy to carry her, but the added weight makes him groan. 
You trail behind automatically, half enjoying the show and just as excited for a treat. Steve pins the back door open with his foot, returning a smile you hadn’t realized you were sharing. Your cheeks are starting to protest, sore with overwhelming happiness. 
“What color do you want?” 
“Pink! Pink!” Holly shouts in his ear, loud enough to make you wince. But Steve doesn’t react in the slightest to her volume. You’d all taken a piece of the Upside Down with you after El sealed it up. And just when you seemed to forget it, you’d be reminded in the form of scars, nightmares, headaches, and in Steve’s case, hearing loss. 
He opens the freezer, Holly propped on his hip. She’s far too big to be carried like that comfortably but he does it anyway. 
“Pink for Holly. Red for Steve.” He leans back to find your face. “For you?” 
You purse your lips, “Surprise me.” 
Steve stows Holly on the countertop so he can snip the plastic tips. She receives her popsicle first, then you, and finally Steve. 
“Matching,” Holly observes as you sit beside them on the couch. 
Steve crosses his popsicle over your identically red one when you raise an eyebrow. “Look at that,” he says. 
She hums, gnawing on the plastic wrapper. Steve pushes the ice up for her and thumbs away the dribble at the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t seem to notice, but it catches you off guard. Steve’s such a natural at this you almost can’t believe he’s an only child. 
You turn the TV on to an episode of Care Bears as Holly slumps into Steve’s chest, slurping the last of her slush loudly. 
“Sleepy?” you ask when she kneads her eyes. 
“No.”
You chuckle, combing her frizz back. “Okay.” 
“You know, it’s okay if you are sleepy,” Steve mentions, equally amused. 
“I know. I’m not.” Her tone is casual, a portrait of nonchalance, despite the yawn that slips out afterward. 
You and Steve exchange a look of mutual fondness. 
“I’m pretty tired,” Steve declares, reclining into the cushions with a fake yawn. “I think I’ll take a nap.” 
Holly twists against him to watch. It doesn’t take long for her little fingers to poke and prod his lashline.
He peels one eye open, playfully cocking an eyebrow. 
She giggles and pinches the skin closed. 
You’re trapped between nervously supervising she doesn’t poke his eye out and leaving to get a baby wipe for her hands which you imagine are very sticky with popsicle juice. Either way, you’ll be surprised if Steve doesn’t have pink eye by morning. 
“I’m sleeping,” he whines and headbutts her palm gently. 
“Nooo,” she whines back, wedging her hand across his mouth. Delirium is setting in, a nap is imminent. 
Steve opens his eyes, giddy just the same. “Okay. You got me.” 
Holly frees his mouth to swipe a streak of red from his chin. Her tongue pokes out in prime concentration. 
A staggered laugh of disbelief is shaken from Steve’s chest. He hadn’t expected Holly to be difficult, but she’s been nothing short of delightful. She’s sweeter than Mike and Nancy combined and smarter than he thought kids her age could be. For a self-indulgent second, he hopes that his kids will turn out something like her. 
Holly reels back around to lay on her side, eyelids sagging with an inevitable heaviness. Steve draws the towel up to her chin, fixing his palm to her back. You watch her drift off, eyes slipping up every so often. 
When you’re positive she’s out, you cautiously dislodge the popsicle wrapper from her fingers. Steve passes his as you stand. 
One of the many hard things about kids is all the cleaning. Holly’s as neat as a five-year-old gets, and still, every moment of peace is an opportunity spent putting things back where they belong. You head outside to tip the pool over and collect stray towels and toys that didn’t make it back in. 
By the time you return, Steve’s passed out, mouth ajar, head craned back against the couch. It’s not a particularly attractive expression– he’d probably be embarrassed to wake to your staring– but you can’t find anything other than endearment in yourself.  
You shower and change into fresh clothes and end up on the opposite couch to watch TV. But Care Bears isn’t all that entertaining anymore so you rest your eyes for just a second. 
A second turns to several and when you reopen your eyes you discover the clock is two hours ahead of where it was before. 
The silence is only comforting for a fleeting moment before anxiety creeps in. Your eyes flick from the TV, now powered off, to the other couch where Steve and Holly are not where you left them. Nor are they in the dining room, kitchen, basement, or backyard. You take the stairs two steps at a time and nearly trip over a blanket strewn across the banister when Holly screams. 
You’d have kicked her door off the hinges if it came to it but are thankful it’s already open. Holly is perfectly safe, bent over the remnants of what you assume was a pillow fort. 
You release a breath caught in your throat and sag against the doorframe. Steve offers an apologetic smile when he notices. 
Holly glances over but quickly returns to their game. “You’ve destroyed my kingdom!” she shouts, drilling a finger into Steve’s chest. “Off with your head!” 
You’re too stunned to laugh, but a noise of confusion skips out. Steve gawks at Holly in pretend despair, scrubbing any seeping amusement off his lips with the back of his hand. He’s dressed in sweats, Holly in a princess dress. But more importantly, his face has been caked in makeup and his hair twisted into two fluffy knots. 
“You!” Holly yells with a scowl aimed at you. “Hold him down!” 
Steve pleads at your ankles, pressing his forehead to the carpet in prayer. It takes every ounce of you not to break character and laugh. There’s something so surreal about Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, in sparkly eyeshadow, kneeling before a little girl to beg for his life. It’s hilarious as it is heartwarming. 
“If I may propose a suggestion!” You counter, equally dramatic. “A trade! For this silly man’s life, we will help rebuild your kingdom twice as big! Princess I–” 
“Queen!”
Steve snorts but she must miss it. 
“My apologies. Queen Holly, I can assure you this new Kingdom will have all of the finest luxuries that royalty like yourself might desire.” 
She takes a second to process the big words. “Fine!” She sneers, diving onto her mattress which is absent of all its sheets and blankets. “Chop! Chop!”
You bite your lip, chasing the fervent smile away. Steve gets right to work, sorting pillows from most to least sturdy. You steal another chair from Nancy’s desk and help Steve double-knot the roof to it. It’s no mansion, but it is long enough for Steve to lie down in, which is a job well done in your book. Especially when you’re under strict supervision and listening to a thread of loud critiques. 
You lift the door flap for Holly to crawl through. “Your quarters, Your Grace.” 
She glances over her shoulder with a wicked, but mostly adorable, expression. “My name is not Grace! It’s Holly! Queen Holly to you!” 
The explanation dies on your tongue because how can you possibly argue with that? You’re just grateful to still have your head. 
After the grand tour, Queen Holly disappears into one of the tent’s offshoots with a handful of stuffed animals she's referring to as her royal guards. 
Steve scoots closer, whispering behind his hand, “I think we need to stage a coup.” 
You lean into his good ear, affection spilling off your tone, “I didn’t know she could be so mean.” 
“Me neither! She must be hanging out with Mike.” 
“Must be.” You grin for what feels like the millionth time today. 
You’re sitting knee to knee, close enough to catch the heat of Steve’s breath on your cheek. You drag the pad of your finger across his cheekbone where teal eyeshadow has been caked on in several layers. “I like this,” you compliment. 
I kinda forgot she put that on.” He ducks his head bashfully, peeking up through his eyelashes. “Do I look pretty?” 
“The prettiest.” 
He receives it as teasing, but it’s true, you do think Steve is pretty. A strong nose, kind eyes, and sure, maybe the hair. But now that you’re inches apart, you notice twin smile lines, a series of freckles down his cheek, and a faded scar across his forehead. You linger there more than anywhere else, under the guise of judging Holly’s makeup job, of course. 
But the silence twists into something less comfortable with each passing second. A brief twitch of emotion flickers across Steve’s face, gone before you can name it. “So… pizza for dinner?” he blurts out. 
Before you’ve processed what happened, Holly shouts, “Cheese please!” 
Steve splinters from your gaze, calling back, “Yes, My Queen.” 
Dinner is pleasantly easy. The pizza’s delivered and paper plates save you from the hassle of dishes after. You eat at the kitchen table, sharing stories and smiles, strangely like a family. 
And after dinner, Holly has a bath; and after bath, Steve whisks her off to bed. You’re left to your own devices for once, a benevolent bout of peace, but still, you can’t seem to relax. 
The spray of the bathroom light paves the hall leading to Holly’s room. You tiptoe up to the door and peek inside. 
Steve’s on the floor, slouched against the side of the bed cradling Holly to his chest. He flinches as your shadow veers across the moonlit wall.  
“Sorry,” you whisper, dropping onto your knees beside them. 
Holly picks her head up, tear tracks shimmering as she turns. Her lip wobbles through a whimper. 
You soften like wax near a flame, eyes flitting to Steve who looks equally at a loss. 
She curls her knees into his tummy in a way that probably hurts. The poor thing dissolves into fresh tears, spilling out faster than Steve can chase away. 
“Holls, it’s okay, honey. Me and Stevie are here, okay?” 
She strains to speak through a chain of gasps, “I want my Mommy!” 
“I know, I know. She’ll be back before you know it, I promise,” you steer sweat-slick hair behind her ear. 
“I want her now.” 
“We’ve got ya, Holl,” Steve chimes in. 
“We’re right here.” 
“No– Mommy!” 
It goes like this for a while, soothing reassurances met with unyielding resolve. Holly’s not one to be stubborn for no reason. She’s so exhausted and upset it breaks your heart. You try reading and music and back rubs but there seems to be no end to her sobbing. 
Steve strokes her ankle where it’s now tucked underneath her in your lap. He looks exhausted– hair draped over his forehead like a claw, extra weight embedded in each of his eyelids. You’re both at your breaking point. “You wanna sleep with me tonight Hollybear?” he says in a tone gentler than you’ve ever heard. 
“No. Mommy,” she persists. 
“You can sleep with her when she gets back. But tonight you get to have a sleepover with Steve. Or you can even sleep with me in Nancy’s bed, okay?” 
Red-rimmed eyes flick between you and Steve. Neither option is as good as Mom. 
“Both,” Holly whines. 
“Wanna lay with both of us?” 
She nods. “In the middle.” 
“Okay,” you turn to Steve. “We can do that.” Your words are colored like a question but he’s already nodding his answer. 
He shovels Holly from your lap, cheek pressing into hers in an unspoken exchange of relief. “Alright, munchkin. Let’s go steal Nancy’s big bed. Sound good?” 
She hums her approval into his ear. 
Steve pokes Nancy’s door open with his foot, swinging around to the tucked side of the bed. You crawl across your end as Holly slides off his chest. She molds herself against your shoulder, tugging Steve closer when he settles. 
“Goodnight, Hollybear,” he says. 
She steals your hand from underneath the comforter, then his where it lies on the sheet. Your knuckles brush Steve’s where they are stapled to her chest. “Goodnight,” she sighs. 
Steve strokes up and down the back of her hand, his touch a quiet catalyst. She’s asleep in mere minutes, snoring softly, fingers limp against yours. 
Steve nudges your hand where it’s already pressed to his, whispering when you turn, “Am I crazy that I find all of this kinda fun?” 
You shake your head, a smile working its way across your lips. “Guess that would make me crazy too.” 
“I know I always complain about driving those little shits around but Holly’s actually really fun to babysit.” 
“Yeah, she is. At least it’s not the end of the world this time, right?”
“Yeah, that probably helps, huh?” Amusement ebbs into a sigh. “I’m kinda dreading going home, to be honest.”
“Why don’t we put Mike in a wig? Kidnap Holly for ourselves.” 
He snorts into his pillow. “Oh, yeah. That’ll work. ‘Yeah, I dunno Mrs. Wheeler, she had a crazy growth spurt while you were gone.’”
“We’d take good care of her.”
“We would,” he nods. “You’re really good with her.” 
“So are you. Kinda surprised me actually.”
“Really? Cause Dustin tells me weekly I’d make a good mother.” 
“Yeah, but they’re different. Older. And don’t get me wrong, you’re great with them and they love hanging out with you. Holly’s just little. You’re so much gentler with her, and like, you always seem to know what to do.” 
“For the record, I have no clue what I’m doing.”
“Me neither. I don't know what Mrs. Wheeler was thinking asking us to do this.”
Intertwined laughter fades, but something else— something similar— lingers. An almost tangible buzz of energy, as if the silence itself is alive with unspoken words. You entertain the idea that the feeling’s not exclusive to just you. That Steve hears the same jitter in his pulse and feels the same flutter against his ribs. That you aren’t alone to be feeling such a way.    
“Is it–” 
“Are we–”
“Sorry, you go,” he jabbers out. 
The words trickle back down your throat, too thick to cross your tongue again. “You can probably go now,” you decide. 
His gaze jumps to Holly’s chest where his hand is still coupled with one of hers. 
“If you want,” you amend. “You don’t have to.” 
“You don't mind? If I stayed?”
You shake your head.
“Just worried she’ll wake up if I move.” 
You try to flatten your excitement as you reply, “You can stay.” 
His gaze swims with yours across Nancy's room, skimming over the cluttered dresser, the desk strewn with books and pens, to the shuttered closet doors.
“Sorry about– you know– I heard Nancy… dumped you,” you say, immediately regretting the awkward phrasing.
“Harsh,” he squints and casts you a bittersweet grin. “But true.”
“Is it… weird? To be in here?” 
“A little. But not as much as I thought it would be. Hell of a lot better than Mike’s room.” 
You hum, watching the gentle shift in his brows. 
“Is it weird for you?” 
“Me?” you ask. “In what way?” 
“You and Nance. You don’t always see eye to eye.” 
“I mean, yeah. When our decisions involve risking our lives– or the kids– she’s pretty damn impulsive. And she can be real stubborn and selfish sometimes too. But I dunno, I still love her. She’s been sort of like a sister since everything started. I think that’s why we argue.” 
“What does that make me? Your brother?” 
You roll your eyes. “No, you’re the stray dog we adopted.” 
“Okay. That’s just mean.”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Your laugh laps out louder than you intend, but Holly remains still. “I dunno who you’d be. The love interest?”
“I can work with that, sexy love interest–”
You scoff. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Harrington.” 
“Okay, okay. But love interest because…”
“Cause you dated Nance.”
“Oh,” he exhales. 
“You don’t agree? Should we go back to stray dog?” 
“Oh, shut up. I’m going to bed.” Steve rolls onto his side with a sigh. 
“Keep your snoring to a minimum, please.” 
He grumbles, narrowing his eyes at your smirk. “I don’t snore.”
“You do. I could hear it from here last night.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did,” you argue. “It definitely wasn’t Holly.” 
“Whatever. Goodnight.” 
“Night.” 
Only when your eyes are closed does his smile finally emerge. It’s silly how quickly you can pull it out of him. It throws him for a loop every time. But with you at his side, maybe he’ll dream of happier things for once. Either way, it’s easier to fall asleep, just knowing you’re there falling asleep too. 
ᯓ★
“Shhhh!” 
“No, you shhhh,” a lighter voice giggles. 
“Holly,” Steve scolds, mirth buttering his tone. You know he’s smiling by the sound alone. 
Holly’s laughter triples in volume but then is abruptly muffled. 
“Ew– did you just lick me?” 
And this all just sounds way too cute to miss out on. You pry your lashes apart, still sticky with sleep, and flip on your side to face them. 
They freeze, eyes widening adorably in sync. Steve is reclined against the headboard, an arm bent behind his neck. Holly is sprawled halfway across his tummy, toes tickling your side. 
“Sorry,” he offers like you’d be mad. But how could you possibly be anything but enamored waking up to their giggly little voices? If you could be woken up like this every day, you would. 
You shake your head, scratching underneath your eyes. The walls are bathed in muted colors, waiting to be warmed by the sunrise. It’s still early. 
Holly rolls off of Steve onto the floor and barrels out of the room. 
“Where are you going?” he shouts. 
“Potty!” 
Steve turns to you, eyes roving across your bedhead for an embarrassingly long amount of time. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“Did she kick you last night?” 
You rake your fingers through your hair, quickly moving them to your lips to stifle a yawn. “Not that I remember.” 
“Oh, you’d remember. Trust me. She was on top of me the whole night.” He’s smiling like an idiot. He couldn’t sound annoyed about it if he tried. 
“Aww, she loves you,” you coo. 
“Yeah,” he agrees, pink dusting his cheeks, “I can’t wait to do this.”
“Hmm?”
“Settle down. Have a family. I wasn’t, like, a hundred percent sure before, but I am now.” 
“You’ll be a good dad.”
He beams at you like he’s just won the lottery. “You think?” 
“For sure.” And he really would. You’re sure of it after last night. 
He opens his mouth to speak but your stomach cuts him off with an obnoxious growl. “Hungry?” Steve chuckles. 
“Shut up.” You swipe your pillow and smack him. 
He smacks you back, pulling it to his chest before you can steal it. “Wanna go out for breakfast?” 
Your brain short circuits. You forget you’re babysitting and not just laying in bed with Steve Harrington for fun. He is not asking you on a date like your heart assumes. 
“Oh, yeah. Sure. For sure,” you sputter out, heat licking up the back of your neck. 
“I’ll go see what she wants,” he slides onto the floor and shakes his legs awake. 
Steve’s tall, even sluggishly slumped over. But even more so as he stretches– arms rising with his shirt, revealing a fraction of golden skin above his waistband. A long, lazy moan climbs out of his chest. 
You push the comforter off before you burst into flames. 
Holly determines she wants IHOP because they put chocolate chips and sprinkles on the pancakes. Steve supplies her with an outfit and wrestles her hair into pigtails with bows to match her skirt. It’s surprisingly coordinated and admittedly cute, but maybe you’re wrong to be so surprised– he knows his way around a comb and a closet. 
“Can I get pancakes?” she asks Steve, perched on the bottom step of the stairs. 
He’s cross-legged on the floor, hunched over to lace her sneakers. “I already told you yes, silly goose.”
“Can I get extra sprinkles?”
“Uhh, does your mom let you?”
She thinks about it before answering. “Yes, I think so.” 
“Sure, then.” He grins, clapping her tied shoes together before standing. 
You shoulder Holly’s bag, stuffed with books and toys and a jacket in case it rains, courtesy of Steve who insisted she might need it. “Ready?” you ask him.
Steve races Holly to the car while you lock up. Mrs. Wheeler installed Holly’s car seat in Steve’s beamer before she left but you’ve yet to use it. 
“It’s too tight,” Holly whines from the car, loud enough to hear from the top of the driveway. 
“I know, ‘m working on it,” Steve assures, working his fingers under the straps. “Just gotta figure it out.”
“Hurry!” 
“I’m hurrying, Holl. Give me a sec’.” 
You open the passenger door and peek around the headrest to view her. The belts are buckled but not tight enough to spark concern. “He’s going as fast as he can, Holly. Be patient.” 
She squirms under his hands, exhaling sharply. And like her, Steve’s frustration mounts, jaw tightening, brow furrowing. His fingers keep slipping and he’s not totally sure which button or strap is for loosening. 
You swing around to Holly’s door and cup Steve’s shoulder. “Let me try.”
He knocks his head on the roof as he pulls out. 
You wince, “Okay?” 
He softens as you reach for his neck, though your fingers never land. Still, the tender look you offer is enough to cure any bumps or bruises he might’ve gotten. 
It’s an unfortunate amount of trial and error before Holly is fastened in properly. Steve cranks the AC on full blast when you finally settle into your seats and circles through radio stations after he backs out. He finds the kid’s station, playing a Muppet’s song that Steve apparently knows every word to. He sings unapologetically loud, a stupid grin sewn to his face. 
When you arrive, Holly happily holds your hand through the parking lot, still clutching tightly as you wait to be seated. She climbs onto your lap to make room on the waiting bench for a woman looking ready to pop out a baby any minute. Steve stands at your other side, arm braced behind your neck. 
“How old is she?” the woman asks you fondly. 
“She’s five,” you return her smile, bouncing your knee. “Right, Holly?”
Holly twists to hide in your neck, nodding. 
“She’s very cute,” she says with such love you already believe her baby is in good hands. “Your sister?” Her eyes flick from yours to Steve who is mostly oblivious to the conversation. 
“No, just babysitting.” 
“Oh, well, you’ll make good parents one day.” 
The comment renders you speechless. It’s not that you hadn’t considered children before, but you hadn’t pictured them with Steve. With his smile, his eyes, his nose. It’s that this woman who doesn’t even know you imagined it before you had. You blink at her stupidly through a forced smile.
Steve squeezes your shoulder, ripping you from your thoughts. “You okay? Table’s ready.” 
You get seated in a booth overlooking the parking lot. 
Holly bends across Steve’s lap to point through the window. “I see our car!” 
“Yeah, that’s her.” 
Holly’s face contorts with confusion. “Her? Your car’s a girl?” 
“Yep–”
The waitress swings over with a handful of menus and a hasty introduction. Steve already knows what he wants and he places Holly’s order after his, making sure to clarify the extra sprinkles when she calls his name repeatedly to remind him. As soon as you decide, the waitress bustles off with the pair of menus to another table. 
Holly slides her paper menu closer, examining each activity. 
Steve picks open the box of crayons, revealing a stingy three– red, green, and blue. “You know, for a multi-million dollar company, you’d think they could afford more than three crayons.”
“And more staff,” you add, eyes tailing another waitress zipping from one table to another. 
Holly points at herself, Steve, and then you, counting, “One, two three. Three crayons for three people.” 
“Yeah, good point,” Steve pats her thigh. “Always the optimist.” 
“Op-ta-nist?”
“Op-ta-mist,” he clarifies. 
She snags the green crayon and presses it to the paper. “What’s that?”
Steve opens and closes his mouth. “Well, it’s like– it’s when you– you’re happy a lot. Grass is always greener on the other side, you know?” 
Steve lost her at the metaphor but she’s too focused on staying inside the lines to care about the definition of optimist anymore. 
“You got there eventually. Sort of,” you tease. 
His foot stabs your ankle under the table. “Shut up.” 
Steve lets Holly win every single round of tic-tac-toe while showering her with praise, convincing her she's a tactical mastermind. You can’t quite tell if she’s onto him, but she’s too busy grinning to say otherwise.
The waitress plants your and Steve’s plates on the table first, reaching behind to scoop Holly’s off her tray next. “And, chocolate chip pancakes with extra sprinkles for the little one.” 
“Thank you,” you manage to say before she leaves to tend to another table flagging her down. “Holly, want syrup?”
“Yes, please.” 
You pour a spiral of maple syrup over Holly’s pancakes. The amount of sugar on her plate might qualify it more as candy than breakfast. And she’s ogling the food like it’ll grow legs and run away. 
“Steve, will you cut them up for her?”
He nods, swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs and trading his fork for a knife. As soon as he slides her meal back over, Holly ravages the pancakes, spooning another bite in her mouth before she’s swallowed the last.
The waitress whisks by with drink refills, joy driving her to a smile at the sight of Holly and her half-empty plate. 
“I swear we feed her at home,” Steve chuckles through his own joke. What a dad thing to say. “Can we get some more napkins?” 
And it’s like he knows what’s going to happen. Holly stretches across the table for the syrup bottle, drawing back with an open-mouthed grimace. 
“Uh-oh.” She presses her chin to her chest. There’s a patch of syrup turning the hem of her pink shirt brown. 
“What?” Steve throws a pigtail behind her shoulder so he can see. “Oh. It’s okay.” 
“It was an accident,” Holly explains. 
“I know. It’s okay.” 
“It’s sticky.”
“It’ll wash off.” Steve dunks a clean napkin in his cup of water and dabs it across the stain. 
“It’s too cold,” she complains, pinching the fabric away from her skin. 
“Sorry. It’ll dry. Have to get the syrup out, though.” 
You deliver another wad of napkins to Steve’s hand. He pushes them against her belly, soaking up any excess water. His patience never frays.
Holly looks up, worry etched into her voice, “Will it stain?” 
“I dunno,” you supply truthfully. “We’ll throw it in the wash when we get home.” 
Steve pays the bill with the cash the Wheelers left and scrapes his wallet for change, stacking two quarters on the table when he finds them. “Since you’ve been such a good listener. There’s a sticker machine up front,” he tells Holly. 
Steve might as well have slapped a ticket to Disney World on the table. Holly literally jumps for joy, right out of her seat. She buys a random Lisa Frank sticker and pockets the second coin for her piggy bank. 
It’s Steve’s idea to go to the playground afterward. The park is teeming with life, the kind of chaos that only a weekend morning can bring. Swings creak under the weight of eager kids, and the monkey bars have their own traffic jam. Parents wrap the playground like a barricade, their chatter drowned out by laughter and shouts. But the heat presses down ruthlessly, making every step feel like you’re wading through a sauna.
Holly tears away from Steve’s hand as soon as her shoes hit the mulch, rejoicing in her newfound freedom with a little skip. She races up a set of stairs to wait for a turn on the tallest slide. 
“Should’ve brought sunscreen,” Steve says, eyes following Holly down the slide. She flashes you both a prideful smile from the bottom. 
“She’ll survive. We won’t stay long. It’s too hot.” You pull your shirt out to fan your chest, dabbing the sweat beading at your sternum. 
“Careful!” he shouts as she hops from one platform to the next. She continues to bounce along the path, one wobbly leap at a time. A particularly long jump has Steve cringing. He’s trying really hard not to be overanxious and it’s as sweet as it is amusing. 
He side-eyes your grin with an opposing frown. You don’t even have to say anything for him to know you’re teasing him. “What?” 
You shrug, smile doubling. “You.”
“What about me?” 
“You’re just funny.” 
“My concern is funny to you?” he accuses. 
“She’s fine, Steve.” 
He makes a noise of disagreement, arms crossed and a hip popped out dramatically far. You see why Dustin teases him for being motherly. 
Holly struggles with the monkey bars. She makes it halfway across before her arms start to shake and her hands slip. Steve lunges forward as he watches her plummet to the ground. But before he can swoop in, Holly pops up, dusts the dirt from her skirt with a nonchalant shrug, and marches on, completely unfazed. 
“See. She’s fine,” you reassure.
“Whatever,” Steve grumbles, strolling away to sulk in private. 
He makes a slow lap around the playground, hands planted firmly on his hips, casting a critical eye over the chaos. Meanwhile, you snag a spot on a bench, where most parents are engrossed in magazines or gossip, blissfully detached. You watch Steve get roped into playing a monster, though you can tell he secretly loves it. 
It doesn’t take long for him to start stomping around, roaring and growling, chasing the kids as they shriek and scatter. And when they finally tire him out, he collapses beside you, his shirt clinging to his sweaty back, and his breath coming in ragged bursts. 
“I told her five more minutes,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the bench behind you. His curls shine honeycomb gold in the spray of sunlight and his skin echoes the warmth of desert sand, softened pink like the blush of sunset. He looks strikingly gorgeous sprawled out beside you. 
Holly trots over not much later, alarmingly upset. 
You sit up, urgently shaking Steve’s thigh to grab his attention. “What happened, honey?” 
“I– I was,” she sucks in a staggered breath, “I was climbing the stairs and– and a boy, he pushed me.” Twin rivulets of tears are unleashed with a blink, converging at the curve of her chin. 
You scan her from head to toe. Nothing looks broken or bloody. “Are you hurt?” 
“No,” she strains. 
You drag her into your chest, pressing a loving cheek to her ear. “Did it scare you?” 
She nods, hiccuping into your neck. 
“I’m sorry, Holly. That wasn’t nice at all.” 
Steve’s gaze shifts between Holly and the playground to search for guilty suspects. He finds none, thankfully, though he’s still itching to wring out whatever parent it is not watching their kid– which is unfortunately most of them.
“Let me see,” he coaxes Holly over for his own checkup. He picks a piece of mulch from her hair and flicks off another stamped into her calf. “Think you’ll make it? Should we call an ambulance?” 
She doesn’t smile at his joke like you hope. 
“Ready to go home?” you ask.
She sniffs into her sleeve. “Yeah.” 
“Alright.” Steve hoists her up as he stands. Holly's long legs wrap around his waist, feet swaying against his thighs as he walks. 
Holly naps on the way home, not by choice but by sheer exhaustion. She convinces herself she didn’t actually fall asleep when she wakes up in the driveway, swearing, “I just closed my eyes.” 
But it’s quickly apparent that twenty minutes was not enough. She cries because her leftover pizza for lunch is cold in the middle and again when she rubs the sauce in her eye. You turn on a movie, hoping to induce another nap, but The Aristocats is just too good to sleep through. Thankfully, her grumpiness wanes into a more manageable pout, her arms uncrossing to snuggle closer to you on the couch.
When the movie ends, she slinks up, her departure leaving your lap cold. After a long-winded debate about what to do, you all finally agree on playing a board game. Steve steers Holly downstairs to pick one out and she returns with a rekindled excitement, dropping the game Twister at your feet. 
There’s nothing inherently wrong with Twister, but you were expecting something easier. Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders. So you let Steve and Holly go first. The round ends in a heap of tangled limbs and giggles, a winner unclear. But Holly wins the match against you, admittedly fair and square. And it’s all fun and games until she insists you and Steve must compete. 
“Ehh, Holly. My arms are tired,” you reason. 
“But I wanna be the referee too,” she whines. “Pleaseee!” 
Steve shrugs at you, a playful little curve to his lips. If you say no, that makes only you the bad guy. And you just can’t bring yourself to break Holly’s heart over something so simple. 
“Okay,” you sigh, ignoring the nervous tick in your chest. 
Holly pushes you by the hips onto the mat to stand opposite Steve. She gets situated on the floor and excitedly flicks the spinner, calling, “Left foot. Blue!” 
You each step toward a blue dot. Easy. 
“Right foot on green.” 
Right foot, green. You’re shoulder to shoulder now, hips angled toward his. 
“Right hand… yellow!” 
“Here we go,” you mumble, bending down to reach yellow. “Okay.” 
Steve chuckles and follows suit, free hand hovering awkwardly behind your shoulder. 
You twist your head until you can’t, just to see the stupid look on his face. “You know, your long legs really give you an unfair advantage here.” 
“Don’t be a sore loser,” he chides, hot breath fanning the back of your already hot neck. 
“Don’t speak so soon, Harrington. You’re the one who’s gonna lose.” 
“Right hand, red,” Holly announces. 
You lean back toward red, headbutting Steve’s side so you don’t fall. He curls into position next, swaying until his back pocket is inches from your nose. 
“Oh my God, Steve. Get your butt out of my face!” You’d shove him if you had an extra hand. 
Holly giggles in that contagious way kids laugh, automatically pulling one from Steve. 
“Don’t make me laugh. If I go down, so are you,” he reminds you. 
“Umm, left foot green,” Holly says. 
Steve groans dramatically, whining. “What! Holly, that’s impossible. Spin again.” 
She cackles, reminiscent of Queen Holly. “Nope, you have to! That’s the rules!”
And somehow, you both make it to green without knocking each other over. But you’re getting distracted– Steve’s hand has brushed your calf three times now and his shirt is loose, hanging off his chest in a way that gives you a clear view of his tummy. This might as well be sabotage. You tear your eyes away. You must focus. You didn’t care much for winning before, but something about Steve brings out your competitive side. 
“Right hand, green.” 
You bow your knee until it’s wedged uncomfortably into your ribcage so you can reach the green. Your thighs quickly begin to ache. You won’t last much longer in this position. Especially not when Steve arches over you like a human bridge, the zipper of his jeans tickling your back where your shirt has scrunched up. 
He shakes his hair out of the way so he can see you, albeit upside down. His smile stretches wide, radiating pure, unfiltered joy. He’s having the time of his life, and admittedly, so are you. 
Your elbow juts out, nearly giving under the weight of his gaze alone. But you snap it back in place and practically beg Holly, “Spin.” 
“Left foot blue!”
You and Steve lunge for the same blue circle. His sock slides against the tarp, leg extending much farther than he’s prepared for. His arm buckles, chest slamming down against your back. Your elbows give out immediately under the force of his weight, jaw slamming into the floor. 
“Shit, sorry! You okay?” 
A burst of laughter tumbles out of your mouth before you can answer. But maybe it’s an answer in itself. Your chin stings but you're fine. Better than fine, even. 
As soon as Steve scrambles off of you, you flip onto your back. His eyes trickle down you in assessment, eyebrows knitting together, mouth twitching like it can’t decide whether to frown or smile. 
“I’m okay,” you manage, smiley and breathless. 
“Did you hit your face?”
“Just my chin.” 
He reaches for your face with hesitant fingers. “Sorry.”
You shake your head, bolstering his wrist as he cups your chin. “I definitely won.” 
And just like that, all his worry washes away. He pries your hand from his wrist, wrenching you up to sit. “Technically, you hit the floor first.” 
You glance over to Holly for her professional referee’s opinion but find she’s no longer there. “Where’s–”
“I found it!” she yells from the upstairs. What exactly she found, you’ve no idea. But she comes stomping down the stairs not a minute later with a little box in her hands. Bandaids, you realize, as she dumps the contents on the twister mat beside you. “They’re Hello Kitty,” she says, stripping the paper backing off of one. 
You let her little fingers stamp it to the curve of your chin. It’s not bleeding, nor does it really hurt that bad, but the gesture is sweet enough to melt your heart. “Thank you, Holly. You’re so gentle. You should be a candy striper.” 
“I don’t think I’m old enough.”
“When you’re older then.”
Steve decides Twister is far too dangerous to keep playing, but Holly demands a game of Mouse Trap so it works out. Steve wins, despite you and Holly’s strategic alliance halfway through. And by then, she’s asked about dinner twice so you shelve the rest of the games and head up to the kitchen to decide together. 
Holly hums into the freezer, “Chicken nuggets… pizza rolls– oh! Eggos, can we have Eggos?” 
Steve bites the inside of his cheek, peering over her, “Why don’t we cook something? We could have a fancy dinner. Like a dinner party.”
“Can we dress up?”
“Sure,” he shrugs, flipping a pack of ground beef over. 
“Pasta?” you call from the pantry.
“Ooh, yeah. Let’s do that.”
Holly sprints upstairs for a costume, much more interested in the party than the dinner. You pull a box of noodles and an unopened jar of sauce from the shelf while Steve grabs a pot from the cabinet and sticks it under the faucet. 
“Careful. Stove’s on,” you announce, flicking the dial on high. 
Steve backs up from the sink slowly, water sloshing over the side of the pot when he bumps the table. 
“Steve,” you chuckle, pulling a dish towel from the oven handle, “It doesn’t need to be that full.” 
“No?” 
“No, dump like, half of that out.” 
He nods, pouring some out and depositing the rest over the stove. “I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never made pasta before.”
“Yeah, I could’ve guessed,” you quip, elbowing his side with the box of noodles in hand. “Pour these in?”
He takes the box and gives it a good shake. “How much?” 
“Maybe half? Little more?” 
He tips it over the water, snapping it back up when much more than half slides out. “Oops.” 
“It’s okay.” You chuck a few stray pieces from the counter into the pot. “Everyone’s getting seconds tonight. What do you like in your pasta?” 
“Sauce?” 
The laugh fizzles out in your throat as you realize he’s not making a joke. “Besides sauce. Cheese? Meat? Spices?” 
“Oh, uhh, I’m not sure.” Steve scratches the back of his neck, hand retracting to fidget with the hem of his shirt. He’s antsy, clearly nervous. Maybe embarrassed of his cooking knowledge, or rather, lack of it. Or perhaps afraid the pasta will end up something like the first set of grilled cheeses. 
“We’ll keep it simple then. Holly probably won’t like it too fancy anyway.” 
Steve nervously watches the water bubble, foam climbing up the sides. “Do you like garlic bread? Saw some in the freezer.” 
You fish the box out and line a pan with three pieces. And with bread in the oven and the pasta starting to boil, you hop on the counter to wait.  
“How long does it take?” Steve asks.
“Not long.” 
You open the drawer beside your legs and find a big wooden spoon. Lucky guess. “Here. Stir.” 
His eyes follow the ladle, stirring with steady hands. It’s a peaceful quiet, his focus unusually soft. Not the urgent, fate of his life kind of determination you’re used to seeing. 
When it’s ready, you pinch the spoon’s neck, fingertips sweeping his for the half a second before he lets go. “Now we strain the water. Then we can add the sauce.” 
You find a strainer and plant it in the sink while Steve carries the pot over and pours. He sets it back on the stove, per your orders, and offers a hand when you struggle with the sauce lid. 
He pins the jar against his chest, knuckles straining white in several attempts to twist the cap. But it pops off after a good shake, spraying sauce across your cheek, and spinning to the floor like a frisbee. 
Steve freezes, gawking at your face with a stupid smile. 
“Steve!” You scoop up a dish towel and smack his arm. 
He throws his hands up and turns a shoulder to you. “I didn’t mean to,” he snickers. 
“Don’t laugh! I’ll pour that whole jar over your head.” 
He doesn’t buy your threat one bit, still laughing as he sets the jar down and steals the towel from your hands. “I’ll get it. Sit still.” 
You summon the most menacing glare you can manage while suppressing a smile. He presses the towel to your cheek, thumb gliding across your skin as he wipes the sauce in one languid motion. His eyes flick down to your lips and you’re positive you aren’t imagining it. 
But you’re sweating and your stomach is churning and– “The pasta!” You ram into Steve’s shoulder trying to get by, rushing to turn the stove temperature down. 
Steve whisks up behind you to see the food. “Is it burnt?” 
“No, no. It should be fine.” You scrape the ladle under the bottom layer of noodles. “Pass me the sauce?”
You avoid his eyes as you take it. Was he going to kiss you? Maybe just thinking about it? Or perhaps there was just sauce near your mouth and you’re spiraling over absolutely nothing. 
You toss the food in sauce and divide it into three plates silently. 
“Holly! Food’s ready,” Steve shouts as he fixes the table with napkins and silverware. 
She clambers down the steps in a tutu and a cardigan that you’re pretty sure is Nancy’s. Her smile drops. “Where are your clothes?” 
Steve looks down at his sweats. “Holly, I think we’ll just–”
“Please, Stevie. It’s a dinner party, remember?” 
His eyes dart to you, though you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “One sec.”
He swings back into the kitchen wearing a tweed suit jacket, a silky, black one draped over his arm. His is a few sizes too big, shoulder pads drooping down his biceps, and the sleeves swallowing his hands. He pushes the fabric up his elbows to hand you the other jacket. “For you.” 
“Thanks,” you deadpan. It comes off less sarcastic than you aim for. 
Holly and Steve adopt similar grins as you slip the jacket on. “You look dashing,” she compliments. 
“Very,” Steve agrees, taking a seat beside you. 
You spend the rest of dinner internally debating whether he’s flirting or just indulging in Holly’s playful antics. The uncertainty makes your stomach flip, and suddenly you aren’t so hungry anymore. 
After the dinner party concludes, it’s Holly’s suggestion to go for a walk. She wheels her bike out of the garage, fitted with a set of training wheels and a handlebar bursting with tinsel. A yawn rolls off her tongue as she launches down the driveway. It raises your hopes for a smoother bedtime tonight. 
Even as the horizon melts into the Earth, the summer heat clings like a heavy hand. Trees project long shadows along the road, eating what’s left of the sunlight. Bugs buzz and birds chirp, but a sleepy stillness is ubiquitous. 
“What?” you ask suddenly, whipping your head to face Steve. He’s drenched in gold, pale wisps of hair riding the breeze as he strolls. 
“I didn’t say anything.” 
“You’re staring at me. I feel it.” 
“I wasn’t,” he assures. 
You blink at him. You can’t decide whether to be annoyed at such an obvious lie or embarrassed by the truth. 
He jogs ahead before you’ve come up with something to say. Halfway to Holly, he shouts, “Come on, slowpoke!” 
It only takes one loop around the block for the heat to catch up. Holly complains incessantly about her helmet strap being too tight even after Steve fixes it and you’re itchy from sweat and mosquito bites. Steve’s, well, he might be the only content one. Happy even, guiding you home with a subtle bend to his lips and a soft glow tinting his cheeks. 
Holly whines about having to take a bath, and while you might negotiate it another night, you can see the damp line down her back. But like you suspect, all grievances are forgotten the second she gets in. She likes playing in the bath, even if she forgets it. It’s where she keeps her mermaid Barbie and her collection of rubber ducks, coincidentally all named Bob. 
And while bath time might tend to feel like more of a chore as a babysitter, tonight is different. It’s your last night at the Wheelers, and while that’s not new information, it is startlingly sad. You aren’t irritated when she splashes water in your eye or when she leaves a trail of it down the hall for you to clean. You can’t be, not when you know you’ll miss it. 
Steve helps you tuck Holly into Nancy’s bed. After pinky swearing that you’ll both return at your own bedtime, she drifts off easily. You’re thankful, of course, but a piece of you secretly hoped to be needed longer.  
“Must’ve been tired,” Steve whispers, pushing slowly off the bed. “You okay?” 
You nod, tearing your eyes from Holly to meet Steve’s. “Kinda sad.” You shrug, murmuring, “Stupid.” 
“It’s not.” He cups your shoulder and runs a warm hand up and down your arm. “Come on.” 
You take his hand and let him lead you across the hall and down the stairs. He pulls you onto the couch so you land pressed into the same cushion he’s on. “Y’know, babysitting Holly’s a breeze compared to the usual shitheads. We don’t have to worry about her taking my car keys or fighting interdimensional monsters or summoning a gate to hell,” he says. 
A soft laugh parts your lips. “Think Holly will put in a good word for us with her parents?” 
“You kidding? She loves us. Especially me,” he jokes. “Hate to break it to you but I’m definitely her favorite.” 
“No, you are not. Shut up.” 
He catches your fist mid-punch, cradling your hand like it’s made of wet sand. His thumb crosses each divot between your fingers, stroking up and down your knuckle slowly. “I’m sure they’ll ask us to babysit her again at some point.”
You hum in agreement. 
“Besides, we could expand our horizons. There’s like a million other children in Hawkins that need babysitting.” 
Your smile spills into your cheeks. “We?” 
“Yeah, I think we make a pretty damn good team. Don’t you?” 
“I do, but… we don’t have to limit our interactions to just babysitting, you know?” 
“What are you thinking? Dinner and a movie? Next weekend?” His eyes flick from your fingers to your face– to each eye, sweeping down the center of your nose, stopping right at your lips. 
You turn away in an attempt to soothe your heart as it pounds up to your ears. “Smooth, Harrington.” 
He reels you back in gently by the arm, confidence shining through his smile.“What? Did I read this wrong?” He knows he didn’t, he’s teasing you. 
“No,” you mumble, “You didn’t.” 
He leans in to whisper, “Can I kiss you then?” 
You nod, pushing into the soft press of his lips with your own. He’s not hesitant, nor is he harsh. Steve knows how to kiss, that much is clear. He trades your hand for your cheek, gently tilting your face to the side as he pulls away. 
Your eyes flutter open to a doting gaze. One that travels down the lines and slopes of your neck like they’re made of candy. Steve plants a second kiss on your lips, though fleeting in comparison to the first. But he plants several more to make up for it, working his way in a Z down your cheek, across your jaw, and back down your neck. They’re quick, ticklish little pecks of affection. A sweetness if you ever knew it. 
“Steve,” you admonish, though giggles betray your tone. The hands that frame his face glide gently down to his throat, your thumbs meeting at his Adam's apple. “We’re babysitting.” 
“I know,” he says, kissing your lips for a third time. “Just had to get a few extra in there. For all the times I thought about kissing you this weekend.” 
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?” He laughs, bubbly like you’ve surprised him. “It’s true. I thought about it all weekend.” 
You don’t know why you ask– why you even thought of it at a time like this– but you question him, “What about Nance?” 
“What about her?” 
“You don’t…” you trail off, afraid to even speak the possibility into existence. 
“We’re done. We have been. For a lot longer than I was willing to admit,” he admits honestly. 
“Yeah, but do you–”
“I don’t. Still have feelings for her. Not like that, anyway.” 
You meet his eyes, feeling a strange blend of emotions you can’t quite name.
“If you don’t believe me, you’ll just have to let me prove it to you,” he holds your gaze, warm with a sincerity that makes it hard to doubt him. 
“I believe you.” 
You let Steve kiss you several more times on that couch. He’s patient, deliberate, and more kind than you ever imagined he’d be. It’s hard to understand why Nancy would ever let someone like that go. 
ᯓ★
On Monday morning, you blink awake first, the comforting weight of a hand that’s not yours across your hip and another, much lighter one, at your belly. You turn over slowly, finding Steve and Holly wrapped around each other like ivy on trellis. You don’t imagine many people look this pretty asleep. The comb of long lashes kissing the soft flush in his cheeks. The golden lather of sunrise in each wild swoop of hair. The way his lips part for a sigh cuter than you knew one could be. 
He mumbles something unintelligible, sleep talk perhaps. 
You whisper back anyway, “What?” 
Steve sighs, smearing his cheek against the pillow. “Being a creeper.” 
“Me?” 
“Mhmm.” One eye slowly unbinds itself from sleep. Steve adores the tight-lipped smile on your face, broad with an infatuation he forgot could be aimed at him. His hand twitches at your side. 
“You just look so pretty when you sleep,” you admit. Is it too soon to say such things? 
His eye closes as he smiles, nosing into Holly’s hair, selfishly keeping it to himself. You reach across her body to find it, swiping a loving finger across his lips when you do. 
You stay in bed for as long as Holly will allow– which is not very long after she wakes up– but you don’t mind. You watch fondly as Steve helps her brush her teeth and as she helps Steve toast and butter the Eggos. Like Steve, Holly’s a good kid. They’re both helpers at heart. 
And you’re sure to remind Mrs. Wheeler of that when she rings the house to let you know they’re almost home. Holly’s excitement quickly dwindles into sadness the moment she realizes you won’t be staying. But she uses it to bargain one final game of hide and seek before you go. 
“Come on.” Steve drags you by the wrist, bustling upstairs to the bathroom. He throws the shower curtain aside and jumps in, offering his hand to help you after. You sit scrunched together, knee to knee on the porcelain floor, giggling like children. 
“Shhh,” you squeeze his kneecap. “You’re gonna get us found.” 
He jostles your shoulder, mouth agape. “You’re the one who’s laughing!” 
“No,” you insist, though the light in your eyes suggests otherwise. Curiosity sparks and the irrepressible urge to act on it wins. You lean in for a kiss, confirming that’s all it takes to shut Steve up. 
He tastes like maple syrup, loving with his lips as much as his hands. He pulls back for breath and returns for another peck, pressing into the corner of your mouth where your smile keeps drawing higher and higher. 
“Hard to kiss you when you're smiling.” 
“Can’t help it,” you defend. “Never been so happy.” 
He softens like warm icing, a sweet and gooey mess in your arms. But the shake of the front door closing stiffens him. 
“Mommy!” you hear quickly after. 
Steve scrambles up and over the lip of the tub, tugging you out with him. You follow him downstairs where Mrs. Wheeler swings Holly in her arms like she’s much smaller than she really is. Mr. Wheeler steers a suitcase silently through the entryway. 
“Did you have so much fun?” she asks Holly, peppering kisses across her temple. “Ohh, I missed you!” 
Holly revels in the affection overload, bending backward to giggle at you and Steve. 
Mrs. Wheeler grins. “How was she?” 
“Great, as always,” Steve assures. His cheeks are flushed, his hair mussed— though you could chalk that up to bedhead, not the aftermath of your short-lived makeout session.
You nod, adding, “We went swimming and to the park and–”
“IHOP!” Holly yells. “I got pancakes with chocolate chips and extra sprinkles!” 
“Did you? Sounds like you had a lot of fun.” Mrs. Wheeler plants Holly on her feet. “Can you give hugs? Say thank you for being such good babysitters?” 
Holly launches herself at Steve. He sends you a smirk over her shoulder, rocking her side to side in his embrace. You can just hear him say, I told you so. 
But she offers the same enthusiasm and more for you, dragging you onto the floor for a proper goodbye hug. “I don’t want you to go,” she pouts in your ear. 
“We’ll come back. We can have playdates?” 
“Can’t you just live in Nancy’s room? She’s never here anyway.” 
You can’t help but laugh. “I wish I could,” you admit honestly. 
She reluctantly loosens her grip on your shirt when you peel away. 
Mrs. Wheeler sees you and Steve off with a warm smile. Holly darts through her mother’s legs for one final hug on the porch. You wave goodbye, the moment slipping into something bittersweet before Steve bumps his shoulder into yours, a playful grin softening the farewell.
You dawdle up to your car, wringing your hands together when you reach the door. “So.”
“So,” he parrots. 
“This weekend, right?” 
His smirk blooms into a full smile. “Friday? Pick you up at seven?” 
“Okay,” you nod. 
“Okay,” he chuckles, clipping a hand around your jaw and leaning in. 
You turn away so the kiss skips across the softest stretch of your cheek. “Steve.” 
His eyes never leave your face as he assures you, “They’re not looking.” 
“Don’t be so sure.” 
Holly waves at you through the living room window, a smile as wide as her face. Steve’s hand falls down to his side and he takes a platonic step back. You both return her goodbye, but Holly stays, her little hand pressed to the glass. 
“Think she’ll tell?” Steve asks, not an ounce of worry in his tone. 
You shrug, tugging him back in by the waist for a proper kiss. “I guess it wouldn't be the end of the world.” 
1K notes · View notes
thevillainswhore · 1 year ago
Text
New Tricks
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Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Word Count: 9.5k
Summary: After your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him, instead
What unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular. 
Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin.
Warnings: first kisses, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, big brother!steve, college!bucky, shy bby bucky, mutual pining, swearing, pet names, huge ton of reassurances, lots of praise, big hints of subby bucky
Author’s Note: beta’d by my baby @rookthorne
Okay, so where to start with this… the idea for this fic sprung from a certain someone 👀 and I just had to write it. Thank you to my girl for being a huge support through this, I love you 💗
These two have my whole heart and who knows? Maybe more will come of them 😌 for all my playlist lovers, you’re welcome - new tricks playlist ❤️
New Tricks Masterlist
I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve loved creating it 🥹
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Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, your impatience starts to wane thin. For ten whole minutes, you have been waiting for Steve to open up. And knocking like a crazed woman is beginning to get old; so is waiting on the doorstep to his front door. 
“Oh, for–” You grumble, and you lift your arm up to bang against the door for the umpteenth time,  when your hand misses it entirely, owing to the fact it swings open to admit you with such enthusiasm, it creaks and threatens to bounce back off of the wall.  
Bucky — your brother’s roommate, best friend, and your crush — sheepishly smiles and scratches the back of his neck. 
The line of his shoulders slump when he lowers his arm, and you notice (and appreciate) just how broad and muscled he is. He must have just been working out, or you interrupted him — nonetheless, you’re thankful for the sight before you, and how it makes the crush you harboured for the brunette for years roar to life all over again. 
Excellent, you inwardly sigh.
“Buttercup,” Bucky says — the affectionate nickname born from his sappy personality always makes you swoon, and his hesitant smile morphs into a wide one. You’re left fighting  internally to keep your giddiness at the sight of him to a respectable level.  “Hey, you. Sorry I didn’t hear you; I was listening to music.” 
Your gaze continues up to his hair, finding it tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck.  Oh, how you wished you could run your hands through–
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows. 
Embarrassment floods you and you realise far too late that he probably has asked you a question, or several, while you were daydreaming. “Sorry, Buck,” you squeak, praying that the heat crawling up your neck was not as obvious as it felt. “What was that?”
His soft, puppy-eyed expression brightens when you meet his gaze. “It’s fine, doll. Everything okay?” 
No matter how badly you want to stand and unashamedly stare at your brother’s best friend and roommate, your true intention behind your visit comes to mind. 
“Can I come in?” you ask, lifting the bag of snacks you brought up higher. Bucky’s eyes glance down at the bag, and then back up to your face. “Stevie planned our movie night and he isn’t answering his phone — I told him I was on my way and I asked him if he wanted anything else.” 
The confusion that creases Bucky's brows and downturns his lips in a small frown makes you narrow your eyes. 
“Surely he didn’t forget,” you accuse, still staring into Bucky’s face. “I make the trip down from campus every two weeks. It’s been two weeks.” A sudden, encompassing guilt fills Bucky’s eyes, and he starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth — a sight far too hard to ignore. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 
“Um– I just–” Bucky stutters, and you watch as his fingers twitch and fidget — a nervous tic. If he didn’t look cute while stumbling over his words, you would feel sorry for being so blunt. “I just thought that– Uh, I thought it was cancelled. The movie night, I mean.” 
You step forward slightly, and Bucky opens the door wider. A wordless invitation. 
Bucky rushes to clear a space on the entryway coat rack for you, when he suddenly says, “You know, because of his date, an’ all.” His words falter at the look you shoot him. You stop taking off your coat, and you drop the bag of snacks to the floor, ignoring the crinkle and rustle of plastic. 
“What do you mean date, Barnes?” The use of his last name causes a flush of deep red to pattern his cheeks, but you don’t let up. There’s music playing from down the hall of the apartment – right where Steve’s bedroom is. “What’s going on?” 
Bucky skittishly fidgets and glances around the apartment, before meeting your heated gaze. “I– Look, I didn’t know–” 
You silently mouth a curse, beyond frustrated with your older brother, and with yourself for taking just a second to indulge and admire just how sweet Bucky is when he is unsure. “Fine,” you huff, and you turn to walk straight towards the source and to investigate it yourself.
Bucky’s frantic footsteps behind you don’t deter your haste. “Wait, stop — Buttercup, wait!”
Forgoing a courtesy knock — having had enough of banging on his front door — you barge straight into the room with as little as a greeting call or warning. 
“What the shit–“ 
The door to Steve’s bedroom slams against the wall, and you come face to face with the blond in the middle of a dance off with himself in the mirror. “Sis! Hey,” he gasps, holding his hand over his heart in fright. “What’re you doing–?” 
In lieu of an answer, you cross your arms and stare at him, unimpressed and exasperated with his antics. “Don’t you hey sis me.” The fear in Steve’s eyes as you stomp towards him almost vindicates your indignation of being uninformed. “What do you mean you’re going on a date? It’s movie night!” 
Steve has the decency to look ashamed. “Flower, I swear, I’m sorry,” he rambles, and he takes your hand, directing you to sit down on his bed. “I would’ve called to let you know but everything was so last minute.” 
The grip he has on your hand is firm, assuring you of his true intentions, even when he turns the Roger’s charm up to an eleven to worm his way back onto your good side. “I swear sis, I wouldn’t bail on you without a good reason.”
“Okay,” you say, staring into his face — still not wholeheartedly convinced of his graces. A line of questioning is in order, you decide. “So, who is this good enough reason?”
“Natasha Romanoff.” The dreamy, love-struck sigh that leaves Steve’s lips after her name is uttered has you reluctantly trying to hide your giggle; the righteous anger and frustration slowly leaves your body in his admittance.  
The fact that he has been obsessed with the college’s most popular redhead since forever, was a balm to the annoyance. You truly did feel happy for him underneath it all. 
And, in the end, it’s how you decide to let him off the hook — though not without teasing him, first. “No way, the Natasha Romanoff? How the hell have you managed that one?” 
Steve pushes your shoulder, and the force of his shove knocks you sideways onto the covers of his bed. “Fine,” you grouse, sighing heavily and resigning yourself to a night on your own. “I’ll let you off this time.”
“I’ll make it up to you, Flower,” Steve promises. And you believe him. He has always kept his word; ever since the two of you were kids. 
“Good,” you say, smiling softly. “I expect an apology at my door in the next few days, though.”
Laughing, Steve nods, and then he stands from his bed. 
“I’ll leave you to it then, I hope you have fun, bro.” 
It is an impossible task for you to hide your dejected hurt from Steve, though. Clever and perceptive as he is, he detects the subtle sombre undertones underlying your reassurances, narrowing in on them like a dog to a bone. 
You get to your feet with a quiet sigh, and as you move, you miss the thoughtful expression on his face; the perk of his ears at the almost indistinguishable shuffling of feet just outside of his bedroom. “How about you have a movie night with Bucky, instead?” 
You stop in your tracks, frozen in shock at the sudden and downright surprising suggestion. “Stevie,” you admonish, “Bucky does not want to waste a Friday night with me–“
“I don’t mind!” Bucky shouts eagerly from the doorway, and you spin around to face him. The nervous fidget of his curls his fingers and hands around one another, over and over. 
Had he been listening that whole time? 
Guilt begins to flood you. Imposing on any plans Bucky  may have made was a burden you did not want to bear,  and you couldn’t fathom who would want to spend the night with their best friend’s little sister. “Thank you, Bucky, that’s really sweet of you,” you placate, smiling at him. “But I know you’ve probably got better things to do on a Friday night than be with me.”
Bucky seems to swell in the doorway, his chest puffing up and he sets his jaw, a determined glint in his eyes. “Actually, Buttercup,” he retorts, crossing his arms in a decisive move. “A movie night with you sounds perfect.” 
The confidence in his tone takes you by surprise, and you flounder for a second while you stare into his steel blue eyes. “Really?”
“‘Course,” he replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”
His words, and charming smile, ultimately win you over.  
With your attention wholly focused on Bucky as he begins to talk about what movies to watch, you miss the knowing, victorious smirk that curls Steve’s lips.  
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“Okay,” Steve calls from the doorway, looking back at the two of you, and you can’t help but be frustrated by his stalling. “Be good and behave while I’m gone. Oh, and, no staying up past your bedtimes — Bucky, her bedtime is ten o’clock sharp.”
The scowl on your face only serves to make him laugh, and you huff your exasperation before your hands grip his biceps; the only way to get him out the door is brute force. “Get out, Stevie,” you grunt, pushing with all your might, but it is to no avail. Steve is as immovable as a statue made of marble. “Don’t you have to go see Natasha?”
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and you hear the rustling sound of fabric. “Don’t you?”
Instinct tells you to duck, and you do so, just in the nick of time to avoid the pillow Bucky launches across the room from his place next to the couch. The pillow hits Steve square in the face with a comical thump. 
You burst into laughter at the stunned look of disbelief on Steve’s face, and you look over at Bucky, who is leaning against the sofa; a smug grin pulls his lips up and scrunches his nose.  “Get the hell outta here already, punk.”
With Steve distracted by Bucky’s betrayal, you take the chance to shove him out of the front door and watch delightedly as he stumbles in the hallway. “Hey–!” The door slams shut behind him, cutting him off. 
Giggles shake your shoulders as you put your back to the door, leaning against it with all of your strength as Steve turns the handle — evidently not finished in the war of quips. 
Bucky’s laughter from his place by the sofa makes your stomach flutter, and he walks closer, just as Steve stops attempting to break down the door. 
With the end of Steve’s attempts to forcefully open the door, you turn and face the wood and peer out of the peephole. A blond mop of hair is just within view. “Bye Stevie!” you call through the door, “Have fun, wear protection!”
Steve’s reply is muffled by the wood, and he flips you off before walking away.  
Shaking your head, you turn back to face the living room, and you see Bucky fussing around the sofa and coffee table. The strong aroma of a sweet, spicy scent fills your senses and you inhale deeply, letting the tantalising smell fill your lungs, before you ask, “Bucky, what are you doing?”
He sends you a furtive glance before looking back down at the snacks laid out on the coffee table, neatly placed next to two already filled glasses of drink. A bag of popcorn threatens to spill from his arms. “I’m, uh– I’m setting up? For the movie–?”
You could not help but notice how fast the bravado and confidence he displayed in the presence of Steve vanishes when he was with you, and you alone.  
“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, walking closer. “I thought we could watch the movie in your room, instead of out here. It’ll be more comfortable, at least, and we can spread out. Is that okay?” 
The popcorn bag that threatened to spill from his arms bursts instead, scattering the popped kernels all over the floor, making him yelp. “Ah! Uh– Okay, we… We can if you want?”
You nod once. “Absolutely. I’d rather be in your bed any day, then out here,” you tease, amused by the way Bucky’s eyes bulge and his cheeks flush. Then you look down at the popcorn all over the floor, and add, “But first, let’s clean this up.” 
Bucky starts to clean up the mess, and he tells you to grab the movies you agreed upon from the collection in the bookshelf. 
The selection to choose from is packed, as it always is. “Why don’t I grab a couple?” 
“Sure,” Bucky answers, sweeping the popcorn into a dustpan. “I mean, why not? May as well go all out.”
You grin and grab a couple of cases. “Do you need some help–”
“No, I’ve got it, Bubs,” Bucky interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him to see the blankets bundled high in his arms, and before you could protest and insist you help carry them, he shuffles off in the direction of his bedroom. 
Then, you glance down at the coffee table to see that the snacks and drinks are missing. “Did you grab the snacks?”
“Yeah!” Bucky calls back, muffled by the walls between the two of you. 
A fond sigh falls from your lips and you follow after him, DVD cases in hand.  
The tension in the air of his bedroom is charged with something you could not quite describe, and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life for it. You square your shoulders, and smile through it. “It’s no different, it’s no different,” you mutter under your breath; a mantra for confidence. 
Though, it is short lived. 
Bucky throws the blankets onto his bed with a grunt, and both the TV and DVD player switch on, ready to accept one of the disks you held in your hand. 
A shuddery breath falls from your lips, and you make your way to the player to place the first disc in. It whirrs to life as you turn to look at Bucky, who is placing the snacks on a tray table, his tongue between his teeth as he works. 
“Okay,” he hums, turning to face you, a shy smile on his face. “You ready, Bubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he walks past you to the light switch, his index finger poised to flip it off. 
You look down at your body, the warm outerwear you had thrown on to get to Steve’s apartment suddenly becomes scorching hot against your skin, and an idea comes to mind — flustering him has given you a rush of confidence before… 
“Almost,” you say, a hidden smirk on your lips. The layers of warmth are soft in your hands while you take them off, and you’re left in a thin tank top and soft, cotton shorts. “Now I am.”
A faint choking noise comes from the doorway behind you when you place the warmer clothes on Bucky’s desk chair. Inwardly, a coy smirk lifts the corner of your lips; outwardly, you look over to him, concerned and ever curious. 
His face, normally soft and kind whenever he looked at you, is taut with embarrassment; blotchy and red. His eyes are frantically looking anywhere, and everywhere around the room but at you. 
“Buck?” you say, getting his attention. His eyes meet yours. “You okay?”
The fidgeting is your first clue that he is struggling with something, and it is a battle to keep the teasing smile off your lips when his hands run constantly through his long hair and or come to a stop in the pockets of his grey sweats. 
Patiently, you watch while he repeats the same actions several times, each pass of his hands only serving to make him even more flushed. “Yeah. Yep,” Bucky coughs. “Mhm. Just great, thanks.” He looks up to the ceiling and gulps loudly. “You’re really wearing those? Uh– Just those, I mean?” 
You thin your lips to try and hurriedly fight off a smile as you grab your warm, fluffy socks from your bag. “Of course, silly,” you tease, shaking your head once. “I always wear my comfy clothes on movie night.”
The room turns deathly silent when you bend at the hip to pull the socks up your feet. 
Peering up from your task, you see Bucky staring at your legs, evidently thinking he hadn’t been caught and his eyes begin to trail upwards, towards your chest. The slackjawed expression amuses you, though you feel the beginning sparks of your own shyness come to life.
“Buck?” A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest, and you play with the hem of your tank top at the heat in his gaze. “Bucky?” you try again, “Are you ready?”
“Uh– Yeah, yes,” he rushes, quickly flicking the light off so his face is cast into shadow. You could have sworn he looked like a kid getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar — wide eyes and a deepening blush that spread down his neck.  
Bucky had always been a little shy in your presence, this you knew. Whenever you come over to visit Steve, or you bump into Bucky on campus, you always notice a remarkable difference in his normal, unwavering charm that he had in familiar company. 
This lack of swagger gives you the impression that you unfasten the young, boyish version of him; the one ruled by nerves, and hindered by a severe lack of confidence. 
Sure, you enjoy spending time with him here and there when you hang out at your brother’s apartment, but never before have you been this close to him, and alone. 
“Why don’t we–?” You gesture towards Bucky’s bed, and before he could either protest or agree, you jog to the edge and jump onto the plush mattress with a squeal of laughter. The blankets cover you easily as you roll yourself in them. “This is perfect,” you sigh, happy and content. 
“And where am I meant to sit?” Bucky laughs, appearing in your eye line with a bright, amused expression. “You blanket hog.”
“Fine,” you drawl, and you disentangle yourself from the cocoon of blankets. 
“Why, thank you, madame,” Bucky says, extending his hand in a mock salute, and he sits down in the now available spot, before sidling up the mattress, to rest his back on the headboard.
The broadness of his shoulders don’t leave much room between the two of you, and you decide to snuggle up to his side in a bid to get comfortable. You feel him tense with the proximity, but he doesn’t push you away or say anything.
“Are you ready now?” you ask, reaching for the remote. “For the movie?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” he rasps, nodding quickly.
Despite his initial nerves, Bucky settles comfortably in your presence — half of the movie goes by undisturbed with only the occasional shuffling to get comfortable after getting a snack, or a drink.  
That all changes the moment Bucky becomes restless,his leg twitching against yours constantly, and he repositions himself every couple of minutes. From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth opening and closing; the courage building within him to speak up. You bite your tongue against the urge — let him speak first, you chided yourself. 
“So,” Bucky eventually says, his voice quiet. “How are your classes going, Buttercup?” 
You take your eyes off the screen and face Bucky, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes bright from the glow of the TV. 
“They’re going good,” you reply, just as quietly. “Yeah, they’re busy — hectic, even, but good.” 
The fabric of the comforter ruffles as you turn your body towards him — your shorts ride up with the movement, and your bare thighs brush against his sweats. Bucky tenses while you settle in and only relaxes when you stop shifting in place. “This time of year is always busy, the coursework and exams,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “But I’m managing okay, thanks.” 
Bucky nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, all those art projects you’ve gotta finish, it must be tiring.” 
Shock slackens your features and you reel back — you could not recall telling him what you studied. “How do you know what major I’m taking?”
“I– um,” Bucky stutters, suddenly overwhelmingly shy. “I hear you talking to Steve about it. Y’know, when– When you come over, on movie nights, and other nights.” 
You can sense Bucky is not done explaining; he licks his lips and stares at his lap, where he fidgets, again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, he continues, “I see you lugging your big canvases across campus sometimes, too. From class, and– And from the window, when I’m actually studying.”
Warmth creeps up your neck again and you blink rapidly. You hadn’t noticed that he took so much notice of you before now, and you couldn’t help but feel endeared over it. 
Desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, you blurt, “How’s, uh– How’s training going for football season this year?”  
Bucky freezes for a second, then trips over his words, “Oh, it’s good– Yeah, it’s great. Coach says I’m progressing well, so I’m doing alright, I guess.”
“So modest, Buck,” you tease. It was common knowledge on campus that Bucky is the star player of the college football team, while also being scouted to join the professional leagues. You place your hand on his arm and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, lending him a bit of your confidence. “Don’t you sell yourself short, I’ve seen you play — you’re amazing!” 
He inhales sharply and grimaces, an expression that contorts his handsome face. “You really think so?” 
“Bucky,” you say slowly. The tense line of his body is obvious as you shuffle closer, but you are determined to prove your point; assure him of his talent and abilities, for all of a shy puppy that he is.  
“Listen to me, honey,” you continue, and Bucky refuses to meet your gaze, instead focusing on his hands. “Everyone can see it, all of us — all of the women in the crowds, all of the kids that watch you from the sidelines. We’re all screaming for you.”
His skin is warm under your palm, but you don’t remove your hand. Instead, you grip his arm and shake it a little. “You’re amazing.”
Bucky stays silent — contemplative of your words, and you take the opportunity to think over the reason why Bucky chooses to stay in on a Friday night. 
There is no questioning the fact that Bucky Barnes could pull anyone he wanted, whether it was to party, or to fuck, but to your recollection — and from what Steve had slipped in the past — no one has ever witnessed Bucky bringing anyone home, drunk or otherwise. No partner he could call his own, either, and he didn’t brag about the obvious charm he held over the many women on or off campus. 
Cautiously, you venture towards the subject of your curiosity. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be going out on dates on a Friday night, like Stevie? Surely you’ve got tons of girls lined up for you.”  
Bucky’s silence turns deafening, unnatural. His body becomes stiff and he looks to be barely breathing. 
“Buck?” You sit up and look into his face. It’s pulled taut with what you could only guess as shame, but that made no sense, and with a mounting, swelling horror, you realise you may have pushed him too far; teased beyond the point of what is acceptable between friends. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry–”
“No! No– I… fuck.” Bucky throws his head back against the headboard and covers his face. “Oh, God,” he groans, muffled by his hands. “Shit.”
“Bucky–” You hesitate, unsure of what to do or what to say. You’ve never seen Bucky behave like this, so anxious and uneasy. “I– I’ll go, it’s alright, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, and you start to shuffle off of the bed when you hear his muffled voice say something behind his hands. “What was that, I didn’t–?”
A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders, and they slump back down as he exhales. “Ihaventevenhadmyfirstkissyet.”
“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, and you shift back towards him. The curtain of hair he’s so fond of covers and conceals his eyes from view, but you refrain from tucking it behind his ear. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.” 
Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, looking up at you with a great effort. “I– uh.” His hands land on his thighs with a finality not unlike the final siren at his football games, and he utters a reluctant, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” 
His bedroom is quiet enough you would hear a pin drop. The TV had long powered off, since the movie finished while you talked, and the tension was palpable; a living, breathing encumberment that could not be cut with a knife. The flickering light from the still burning candle on his bedside drawers makes shadows dance across Bucky’s face. 
Okay, you think privately, so what? 
Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone before. It was justifiable — too busy with life, training and keeping up his GPA. You didn’t have to make a big deal out of this. “That’s okay–” Then the reality of the situation hits you, and your mind screeches to a halt. 
If Bucky hasn’t had his first kiss… “Does– Wait, does that mean–?”
“Yes.” Bucky squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to look at you — it is obviously a painful confession, yet he still forces himself to spit it out, putting voice to the doubt in your mind. “I’m a virgin.”
Now that catches you off guard. 
Bucky… is a virgin? 
Bucky, the star football player; built like a Greek god with the charisma to match. 
Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks like he is about to bolt from the room in his fear, and you realise all of your thoughts had shown in your expression. 
“Oh,” you manage, blinking slowly. The hand that was gripping his arm had moved without you realising, and you hastily place it back on his bicep. “Oh, Bucky.”
No other words come to mind. 
When you came to visit Steve for movie night, a calm, easy tradition in your routine, you never expected to end up in this kind of situation; on the other side of a confession that has left you speechless with shock, all while a strange confliction brews deep within your guts. 
You had been there once, and what you wouldn’t have given to have the opportunity to experience it with someone you trusted wholeheartedly — like you did Bucky, your mind supplies not-so-helpfully. 
The realisation hits you harder than you expect, and you gasp quietly, still gripping his arm to reassure him. 
Bucky moves his hands to cover his face again, and his chest rises and falls with a sharp hitch. The nervous pants for air that part his lips bring you back down to earth and away from that revelation. You know he’s embarrassed; ducking his head to his chest and glancing up as though you had scolded him. The entirety of his toned body is rigid with fear, each muscle clenching and poised to run, to save what dignity he feels he has left after such a confession. 
It’s difficult not to stare at the veins that line and bulge from his forearms down to his deft hands,  and you almost feel guilty for it; he’s in distress, fretting over the reveal of his lack of sexual prowess, but you cannot help the lingering gaze over his body. He just looks so pretty. 
From the get go, ever since you had met the star football player, you have always fantasised about him. The silent crush on Bucky had developed into such a deep attraction you almost couldn’t bear it any longer. 
Having convinced yourself of the non-existent reciprocation kept your tongue at bay, in the past.  And while Bucky’s virginity is a surprise, it did not hinder or lessen your feelings for him, quite the opposite; the heady weight of it settling over your mind like a blanket. 
What was stopping you now? What would be the harm in testing the waters?
To hell with it, you decide. The springs of the mattress creak as you move to shuck the blanket off of your body, then your legs. 
Bucky audibly gulps behind his hands when you move closer, and he positively freezes, like a deer in headlights, as you lift your leg up and over his thighs to straddle him. The soft brush of his sweatpants over your legs sends a shiver up your spine, and you sit down, settling your body comfortably on his thighs, just above his knees. 
“What– What are you doing–?” Bucky whispers, and his words are muffled behind his palms. You grin, unseen by your quarry, and you shuffle up his thighs to his hips, your clothed cunt just below the seam at his crotch.  
The sound of Bucky choking on his own spit is comical. 
You pull his hands away from his face, the urge to kiss each palm overwhelming; feather-soft brushes of your lips against the soft skin sends the pulse in his throat racing. “Buttercup, please– This is embarrassing enough–”
“Bucky,” you whisper, cutting him off. “Look at me.”
Blue eyes meet yours, and you pour all of the unspoken words between you both in your soft gaze, willing him to feel the yearning. “Kiss me.” 
“But–” He hesitates, a fish out of water again. His mouth hangs slack from the shock of such a bold request, and you place your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him before he can carry on protesting. 
You pout, placing a hint of pleading in your tone, “Please?”
He looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “I– What, I mean,” he flounders, arms hovering at his sides, hesitant to touch you — terrified of taking it a step too far. “I don’t know–“
“Aw, Buck,” you coo, smiling softly. Carefully, you shuffle further up his lap until your knees brush against the headboard of his bed. Gently, you place your palms on Bucky’s toned chest, just above his beating heart hammering away — not wanting to frighten him. “I’ll show you, okay?”
“Yeah.” The tremble in his voice makes your heart ache, but you smile encouragingly.
“Here we go,” you soothe. He smiles weakly back, eyes still wide with shock. “I’ve got you.”
You slowly and steadily move closer to Bucky’s face. A shudder racks through his whole body when he feels your breath against his neck, and you peck his stubbled cheek before sitting back upright to face him.
“Okay,” Bucky shakily says, fisting the blankets in his hands. “Okay. That was okay.”
“See? It’s not so bad,” you tease, and you tilt your head to the side, sticking out your cheek. “Your turn.” From the corner of your eyes, you watch his eyes sweep across your face, still hesitant and nervous, but a slither of curiosity now shining through. 
Broad, strong shoulders lift in tandem with his deep, grounding breath, and he steadily leans in before he second guesses himself. He resolutely does not touch your body, but he manages to find the confidence to gently press his lips against your skin, kissing your cheek. 
This time, he sits back and looks up at you for direction and reassurance. 
You consider it, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. His touch was sweet, but polite; a kiss on the cheek that you would give a friend after such a long time apart. And, in the end, you want Bucky to gain more confidence and actually enjoy kissing — he shouldn’t have to be ashamed to want it. “Good, that was good,” you say, keeping your tone mellow so as to not spook him.
He is making good progress, and gentle encouragement is the way to ensure it continues, you reason with yourself. “Now, I want you to do the exact same thing, but start gradually moving towards my lips.”
“Oh– Okay, okay,” he breathes, and his eyes widen slightly before they dart down towards his lap. 
That needs to be rectified immediately, before he shuts down, you hastily think, and you react swifty, your hands roaming from his chest and up to the sides of his neck, adding a little pressure to bring him back down to earth. 
There was an innate need for him to know that he could trust you; that you would treat him with the respect he deserves. 
Gently, you lift his head up, forcing him to look at you, and the downturn of his lips makes your heart ache. All you want to do is soothe the fear and rid the worry from his pretty eyes that pierce you, even through the strands of hair that have fallen in his face. 
“You’re okay, Buck,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his warm, rosy cheeks. The movement and assurance seem to do the trick. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
A minute passes, and you watch as the confliction flitters across his face; an inward battle to assemble his courage to bridge the gap between you both.
There is another minute of silence, when he slowly advances, leaving his palms flat on the covers of his bed as he kisses you on the cheek. 
“That’s it,” you praise, sitting still in his lap, but smiling softly in encouragement.
Bucky hesitantly returns the smile, and he doesn’t move away, rather, he decides to stay close. “You did good,” you say, still smiling, and he takes you by surprise when he moves forwards again to place another tiny kiss even closer to your lips. “Oh–”
The soft brush of his lips makes you freeze, and he takes his time, building his confidence with each peck he makes. 
Finally, he reaches the corner of your lips, and he stalls; confidence wavering and faltering with the daunting task. You go to part your lips to speak on instinct, to encourage him, when he suddenly moves even closer to your face, making you hastily shut your mouth and brace for what was to come; willing for your heart to slow down the tattoo it beats against your throat.  
“Okay,” Bucky whispers more to himself, and he clears his throat before licking his lips. “Okay, okay. Just–” His lips connect with the curve of you own, the brief and fleeting connection enough to tell you that his lips are plump; ripe to swell and redden with a passionate make out session. 
Hastily, Bucky withdraws, but not all the way back — he lingers and only allows the tiniest space between your faces.
“You did it, sweetheart,” you coo, keeping your voice low. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Th– Thanks,” he stutters, and the rosy blush he sported turns a splotchy crimson. Interesting, you think.  
You turn your head to look at him, and the proximity of his face makes both of your lips brush against each other. The intoxicating softness consumes you, and you cannot deny the reality that Bucky is there, he is right there. A torture that intensifies in the billowing silence, while a burning, reckless spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins.
“Do you want more?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence and shattering the tension. 
A harsh breath falls from Bucky’s lips, and he presses forward to kiss you properly for the first time. 
Whatever you had been expecting for a first kiss from the inexperienced, sweet, charming man beneath you, flew out the window. Your lips slot perfectly over his, a chaste kiss that held enough need and want to be something far more; it could not hold a candle to the sex you had with past flings.  
The kiss, unexpected as it was, lasts only for a couple seconds longer before Bucky pulls back from it, panting lightly — puffs of air fanning over your slightly parted lips. He lingers, bumping his nose into yours to keep close. 
But eventually, Bucky pulls all the way back to rest against the headboard. 
The silence is not deafening — not like it was before, and you open your eyes, blinking slowly. 
Bucky is already staring at you. His eyes are glazed over with hunger, and he's out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest faster than before. 
You fare no better. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but it still feels like it’s lodged in your throat. No words are spoken between the two of you; just an invisible string that keeps you entwined to one another. 
It’s difficult to find the words to say, especially after something so raw and vulnerable; so new and budding. You want him to feel safe, like he had done good, though; you want to tell him he has nothing to worry about, not with you. 
And just as you open your mouth to speak, to praise him for how well he had done, Bucky slides his hands up your thighs, over your waist, and up to your neck, cupping the back of it in his large palm. “I want–” 
To your utter shock, he drags you closer, his lips greedily slotting over yours for a far deeper kiss.  
Bucky can’t get enough of you; already addicted and demanding more. You can’t be mad for it, not when he’s a sensational kisser — he’s good, far too good. The basics have you dizzy with want, and you decide on a whim to challenge him, to push him a little further and test the boundaries. 
You part your lips as Bucky pulls back, and before he could kiss you again, you tentatively tease your tongue against his lips. The sensation makes him sit rigid again beneath you, and he chases your tongue, the surprised moan he lets slip vibrates into your mouth.
The power of such a move has you smirking into the kiss. 
You only plan to stoke the fire by pushing him into the deep end a little — the prospect of overwhelming him too risky, but when you feel the effortless slide of Bucky’s tongue entering your parted lips to dance with your own, it leaves you physically stunned and unable to move. 
Bucky compliments you perfectly, as though he is a natural, and someone so timid should not be capable of that — it’s dangerous. 
It escalates — tongues dance and lips clash, and Bucky’s breath is heavy on your lips, as yours is on his, when he pulls back for air. There’s a pull that you can’t ignore, not any longer, and you bring your hands up from his neck to his hair, threading your fingers through it, making him moan quietly against your lips, “Bu–”
Your nails scrape against his scalp while he speaks, and you squeak in shock as Bucky’s hips surge upwards, forcing his hard cock against your clothed cunt. “Oh, fuck–” he gasps, and his body turns rigid with fear again while he pleads for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Bubs– I–”
Quickly, you place your index finger over his lips. “Hush, you. It’s alright. I loved it,” you reassure, and suddenly, it turns into a game for you — you are desperate to see how Bucky plays along, how close to the edge you can get him. “Let it go, it’s okay.”
Bucky’s breath hitches as you grind down hard against him, and his hands rush down from your neck to grip your waist. The unabashed moan he lets slip is sinful; a delight to be the cause of, and a Cheshire Cat grin splits your lips. You’ll be damned if you don’t get more from him, you decide.
“Fuck,” he grits out, the grip of his hands on your waist turning painful. “Fuck, yes.” 
You moan and allow him to move your body where he wants it — predictably, he perches you straight on his crotch and his hands wander, slipping beneath the tank top you wear to brush against your skin. 
The resolve he had held onto so strongly is starting to slip, and you inwardly scream with joy at the dilation of his pupils, the heavy pants of his breath — a poor, virtuous man is melting into a puddle at your feet. 
The position of your body gives you an impression of just how big Bucky is, and with his cock hard, you can feel the girth and the size of him against your cunt  — a crime, you think, that it wasn’t inside you.
Your motions of grinding down into him have the tip of his cock catching on your clit through your shorts, and the thin material has no pretence of protectiveness, and you greedily lap every single, last sensation up while shamelessly taking more.  
“Bucky,” you whine against his mouth, and in turn, he nips at your swollen bottom lip before sucking on it. “Fuck– S’good.”
“Buttercup, baby,” Bucky slurs, and his fingertips dig into your skin, unknowingly marking you in his lust-fuelled haze. “Fuckin’ feel good, please,” he whimpers, unable to keep kissing you with the way his moans and litany of quiet cries fall from his lips, longing for more; too far gone, he can’t help himself anymore. “Need more, please.”
You’re all too pleased to listen to his cries for you; begging would taste so much sweeter, though. Next time. “Okay,” you soothe, pecking him on the nose. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart.”
The bed creaks as you shuffle up Bucky’s lap, and you move your hands to grip the headboard. “Don’t keep quiet on me,” you warn. 
“Wha– Fuck!”
You pant as you grind down on Bucky’s cock, the effort of making your hips work this hard and fast steals your breath, but the sounds — oh, the sounds falling from his pretty lips make it all worth it. 
The added friction of your lace panties against your soaked clit only amplifies the pleasure for you, and it’s all you can do to keep going.
Bucky throws his head back and groans to the ceiling, but you follow him, leaning over and panting into each other's mouths and kissing messily, barely able to put anything behind them as you work the both of you closer to release. 
You pull back to look at him, and the slope of his neck is too tempting to leave alone — the  loose strands from his hair are sticking to the sweat gathering on his skin, and you watch a bead of it roll down a curve of corded muscle. 
Of course, you weren’t going to let it go — you want him to crack.
Bucky moans, his breath stuttering as your tongue chases the bead of sweat, and you latch onto his skin, sucking steadily at his pulse point. “Baby– Baby, please, fuck,” he babbles, forcing his head back further to expose more of his neck. 
You oblige, all too willingly and with a giddy enthusiasm; the bow of your lips trace over his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone, where you bite down gently. 
“Shit, shit,” Bucky suddenly exclaims, his words slurring together. “No– No, please, I ca– Can’t,” he begs, and you pull away from his neck, brows furrowing in concern. “Please, I don’t want to– To, shit–”
Words seem to be out of his grasp, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts while you watch the thread of his restraint wearing thin, so close to snapping when he’s this overwhelmed with the pleasure you are giving him. 
You can’t have that, though. 
Bucky was torturing himself, not allowing himself the pleasure of giving into his base desires - what he needs. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” you ask. “You can’t cum?”
Bucky nods his head frantically, his eyes widening. You consider him, the sweat on his brow and upper lip, the way his eyes plead for something more; he’s so desperate to not cum, to let go. 
It’s plain as day that he is holding himself back, when you knew deep down that he is itching to relinquish control and give in. 
You decide then to push, to throw caution to the wind and make him take it. “Why not?” you whine, grinding back and forth, back and forth, over his painfully hard cock. “Doesn’t my pussy feel good, baby?” 
Bucky whimpers and scrunches his face up, cock throbbing as he grows closer to finishing. You don’t think he realises how he rambles to himself, “Fuck, yes! It does—fuck, it does baby.” 
“Think for me, sweetheart,” you say, leaning close to his face. “Just think for me, how good being inside my pussy would be.” The lure of being inside your cunt cracks the last of his resolve; control slipping through his fingers before he can grasp hold of it.  
You smirk, watching how his brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. “Just think, Bucky,” you repeat, “How wet and tight I’d be for you. How I would scream for more; beg for more of your cock and what you give me.” 
The sound Bucky makes is close to a wounded animal, and his grip on your waist is sure to leave bruises. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, mouthing softly up his neck until your lips brush over the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”
Something snaps within him. 
The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall as Bucky tumbles over the cliff, his restraint long gone, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, curling them around your waist to hold you impossibly close. You feel something wet on your neck, and you realise belatedly that Bucky is crying silently, overwhelmed with the pleasure. 
To reassure him, you thread your fingers through his hair again to scratch at his scalp. You feel his lips move up and down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin “Are you okay?” you ask softly, careful to not move in his hold. “Bucky, baby?”
“Mhm,” Bucky hums, and he buries his face further into your neck, nodding frantically. “Pleasepleaseplease.”
A victorious smirk pulls the corner of your lips up. You know you have him — Bucky’s too far gone to come back down now, and he won’t be able to stop. 
“Go on,” you purr. Bucky hungrily grinds up into your heat, seeking it out and forcing a gasp from your lips with the pressure. “That’s it,” you push, and your last deadly blow has the dam breaking, once and for all: “Cum for me then, pretty boy.”
“Oh, oh, fuck– Baby–” Bucky moaned, but you keep steady pressure over his cock, and his hips start to stutter in rhythm. “Shit!” 
“That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart,” you coax, just as a damp patch stains the crotch of his sweats, and his legs tremble under your thighs. There’s a loud thump as his head hits the headboard of his bed. 
“Fuck–” Your own climax begins to mount, the tension of it unbearable, and just the band snaps, you cry out to the ceiling, “Bucky!”
The room is full of pants for air, the synchronised rise and fall of your chests in tandem with the twitching muscles of your body; the rushed gasps for breath a symphony to your ears.
“Holy shit,” you murmur, and you finally look at Bucky — only to be taken aback with the awestruck expression on his handsome face. His lips are stretched wide in a dopey grin, and his eyes, while normally so bright and soft, are glazed over with post-orgasm bliss. 
“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers. You feel the brush of his fingers over your waist and thighs, a soothing touch that in combination with his words sends another wave of heat up your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”
You smile nervously, suddenly speechless with the earnestness and fondness in his voice. Instead, you shuffle down his thighs to rest your arms on his shoulders more comfortably, and you play with the hair on the nape of his neck — the soft locks damp with sweat. 
The two of you stare into one another’s eyes, then, you rest your forehead on his to whisper, “Well, handsome, not so bad for your first kiss.”
Bucky starts to laugh, then giggles take over as he faceplants into your chest, nuzzling himself against your tits in shyness. 
After a while, Bucky starts to shift in place, and you start to rise up off of his lap, when his sudden stiffness alarms you. “Bucky? What’s the matter?”
“I— I don’t, I didn’t mean to—“ He stutters, looking down at his crotch. You follow his gaze, utterly confused — there is nothing abnormal, only the wet patch of cum staining the material. 
Your confusion only increases, and you look back to Bucky’s face. It’s blotchy and red from embarrassment. “Bucky?”
“I– Oh, goddamnit,” he mutters, and he looks down at his lap again pointedly.
The realisation washes over you; a lightbulb suddenly going off in your head. He was embarrassed over coming in his pants. “Bucky, sweetheart,” you say, moving to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. “Listen to me, okay?”
Blue eyes meet yours, his gaze pensive. You muster the warmest, kindest smile; no judgement apparent in your own eyes as you stare at him. “There is no need to feel ashamed.”
“But–” Bucky tries. 
“No, listen to me,” you interrupt, and you lean in closer, bumping his nose with yours before reassuring him, “There's no need to feel ashamed, sweetheart.”
His pure, innocent gaze doesn’t fail to make you swoon even more over him. “It doesn’t?”
“Of course not, you know why?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide and intent to listen to anything you have to say. Your lips hover over his as you whisper, “Because I love you making a mess for me, baby.”
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The weekend passes by swiftly, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs; kisses and fleeting touches that turn into passionate embraces. 
It was only when Steve came home on the Saturday night did he kick both you and Bucky out of the apartment with a yell of, “Bye! Have fun, kids!”
You decided to take Bucky back to your dorm-room — an easy decision when you get to watch how his eyes trail over your body as you walk down the halls holding hands. 
And on Sunday morning, bright and early, a series of knocks on your dorm-room door wakes you out of your slumber. “Damn,” you grumble, blinking slowly into the dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn, but a slither of gold peeks from behind the fabric; right over Bucky’s face and the mess of his hair. 
You sigh and tiredly throw the covers off you, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed, but before you can get up, two arms curl around your waist and tug you backwards into a muscled chest. The warmth of the embrace makes you sigh contentedly.
“No,” Bucky groans before burying his face into your neck and smothering you with his body; trapping you with his arms and winding his legs around yours. “Dun’ get up.” 
You giggle as he starts kissing your shoulders and nibbling at your neck — the stubble of his jaw tickling the soft skin while his lips soothed over it. “I have to,” you say quietly, and you grab his arm to pull it off, only– 
“Nuh-uh. Where y’think you're goin’, Buttercup?” The deep rumble of his morning voice has you inner self trembling, memorising your antics of your weekend together. “Can’t leave me.” And to solidify his claim, Bucky clings onto you like a koala. 
“Bucky, you big goof.” You slap his arm, but he just grunts his protest, clinging to your body tighter. “Come on,” you say, wriggling — it’s met with no success of him releasing you. “Get off of me so I can answer the door.”
But you should have known that he is far too stubborn to let up that easily — a stubborn puppy that refused to give up his treat. “No. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”
“Fine.” Your only hope is an attempt to bribe him, you decide, and you look at him to find he’s staring at you through a half-lidded eye, the other eye obscured by his pillow. “How about you let me go, and I promise to give you unlimited cuddles for the rest of the day, no moving whatsoever?” 
That gets his attention, and he perks his head up to lean closer to yours. “I wan’ unlimited kisses, too,” he negotiates, pouting his lips and narrowing his eyes. 
You cannot help but chuckle. “Deal, handsome.”
Bucky plonks backwards onto the bed, star fishing in his sulking — the treat now successfully taken away. 
With your newfound freedom, you sit up and stretch, ignoring the grumbles and quiet whines of, “Bein’ left alone ain’t right,” and, “Tell whoever it is to fuck off, I mean it.”
The bedsheets rustle under you when you scoot to the edge, the warmth of Bucky’s body and the softness of the covers already sorely missed, especially when you stand up and slip into your fluffy, warm gown and slippers. The brush of Bucky’s shirt over your skin makes you smile, the fabric soft and worn but oh so perfectly Bucky. 
“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he calls after you as you walk slowly out of the room. “Please—don’ leave me too long.”
“Drama queen,” you whisper, quiet enough he wouldn’t hear. The knocking comes again and you curse the cause — if it’s your friend from class asking to borrow your notes again, you were going to slam the door straight back in their face. Aloud, you say, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t bust the hinges.”
You prepare the speech to scold your friend as you walk to the door, and you grab the hand;e — the metal of it cold from the chill overnight. The door swings open with a loud creak, and you start saying, “What are you–”
The lack of a presence, or anyone at the door, stops you short — not even a shadow of someone running away down the hall.  “Fucking door dashers,” you groan, and you turn on your heel to go back inside when the toe of your slipper bumps into something on the ground. “What–?”
A gift basket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates and scattered gift cards to your favourite stores, is innocuously sitting there. In the middle of the basket, poking its head out next to a bouquet of your favourite flowers, is the head of a stuffie Golden Retriever, the fur irresistibly soft and the eyes bright — much like Bucky’s. Its mouth held a note scrawled in messy cursive. 
“Okay,” you mumble, and you kneel down to look at it closer, worried that there had been a mix up or confusion of a dorm number. As you near the letter, you realise that the messy scrawl spells out Flower. “Wait.” 
That meant only one person was responsible. 
Your fingers tore open the letter and unfold it; the messy scrawl continues on the inside, too.  
Flower, I’m sorry for bailing on our movie night. 
I know you’re pissed, but I hope this and the beefcake attached to your back makes up for my mistake. 
Love ya squirt, 
Your big bro.
“Stevie,” you say, eyes darting over the lines of script. “You sneaky bastard.” There is a post script just below his sign off, and you continue to read.
P.S. Date went well, tell you all about it on movie night next week? I’m sure we’ll have guests joining us x 
Shaking your head in amusement, you place the note back with the stuffie, and pick up the rest of your basket. “What am I going to do with you,” you mumble, stepping back into your dorm to place the basket on the entry table to admire it again. 
“Wha’s happenin’?” a voice rasps behind you, and sure enough, the aforementioned beefcake in the letter from Steve plasters himself to your back; arms around your waist and his face tucked into your neck again. “Back to bed, c’mon.”
Bucky drags you backwards, chuckling deeply at your squeal of laughter that echoes down the hallway to your bedroom. “You made me a promise,” he grunts, and he pulls you back into bed and underneath the covers, intent on making sure you fulfil your end of the bargain. 
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Part Two, Part Three
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hairmetal666 · 5 months ago
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"I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington," he declares to all and sundry (Steve and Robin) in Family Video.
Steve laughs, ducks his head, hair a bountiful cascade that doesn't move an inch. He's blushing but it's not, like, a reaction to the sentiment of marriage. Steve knows Eddie is just like that, flirtatious and over-the-top and incapable of not speaking his thoughts as soon as they enter his head.
Robin roles her eyes, goes back to flipping through her magazine, something about cinema, and Eddie swipes his just rented movies off the counter.
"You think I'm joking," he twists so he's facing them, walking backwards to the door. "But I swear it, oh, beloved purveyor of movies and deleter of late fees."
"Yeah, yeah." Steve's face is pinker than before and Eddie recognizes and immediately forces himself to forget how cute it is. "But get out of here before I change my mind."
And Eddie, he loves to push his luck and also has very little filter between his brain and his mouth, so he says, "aw, don't be that way, Stevie, you love me."
Robin looks up, then, mouth a pursed twist as she tries not to laugh. "Gross, Eddie." She throws a Sour Patch at him. "Keep all that mushy stuff to when you two are alone."
It's his turn to blush, fierce and raging, and Steve whirls, squeaking, to whack Robin with a Twizzler.
Eddie points at her. "Rude, Buckley. You know I love you too."
"Again, gross." She sticks out her tongue, tinged blue from the Sour Patch.
"We really need to work on your ability to accept affection," Steve tells her.
She scowls, kicks him, makes Eddie laugh.
"I think that's my cue to leave, children." He says. He, quite literally, bows out of the store, just missing the barrage of candy thrown his way.
---
Three Months Later
Eddie stumbles into the Harrington house, kicking his boots off by the door. Steve's in the kitchen, fussing around the stove. His hair's askew and he's--
"Harrington, are you wearing an apron?" He ignores the kick in his chest at the sight. "You'll make a sweet little housewife one day."
"Shut-up," Steve says without any heat. "Try this."
He brandishes a spoon filled with red sauce in Eddie's direction, and Eddie--heart always on his sleeve--eagerly leans in to taste. He closes his eyes, savors, and it's good, truly. Perfect fresh acidity with just a burst of sweetness.
"It's amazing, baby," he says without thinking. He opens his eyes right in time to see Steve turning back to the sauce, blush high on his cheekbones.
"Thanks. You're making me nervous though, hovering." Steve hip checks him. "Go sit somewhere."
And Eddie does, jumps onto the island--the Harrington's are the kind of people who have an island--and chatters to Steve about his day, about his new campaign, about the new song he's trying to learn.
All the while, he's watching Steve cook, in his apron, with such care and thoughtfulness, with true command. Maybe it's the domesticity of the scene, maybe his raging crush, but he has this flash of the two of them in the future. In their kitchen, Steve cooking dinner, and Eddie's arms are wrapped around his waist, he's pressing kisses to his temple, complimenting all his hard work and--
Steve feeds him a bite of the finished pasta, and it's so good that he groans, full-throated, unembarrassed, and says--he says, "I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington."
He laughs, face pink, batting Eddie's shoulder. "Go sit down, man. It's time to eat."
---
Two Months After That
Eddie's working on a new campaign when the storm rolls in, wind rocking the trailer, thunder and lightning crackling in the sky. The power doesn't go out, but only just barely, the flickers making his heart pound for reasons that have nothing to do with weather.
There's a knock on the trailer door, and he opens it to find Steve Harrington standing on the porch, hair plastered to his head, clothes soaked. Robin's bike is propped against one of the awning supports. Familiar panic snaps to life in his gut.
"God, Steve, are you okay? Did something happen? That's Robin's bike, where's the Beamer? Is it--is it Vecna? Is--" He's blabbering can't stop, so he shoves his palm against his lips.
"It's not--not Upside Down stuff." He runs a hand through his soggy hair. "Can I come in, man? I--I want to tell you something."
This snaps Eddie out of his panic, and he's moving aside, saying, "Oh my god, get in here, you're soaked. Let me get towels. Do you want a change of clothes, I can--"
Steve catches him by the elbow and he full stops at the look in those big hazel eyes, fearful and sad and he doesn't know what, but his anxiety amps back up.
"I was with Robin and we were--we were talking, you know? And I told her that I like somebody, like really like them, but it was unexpected and--and--it's a guy. He's a guy but I still like girls? Robin said--she said that I'm probably bisexual. That I like guys and girls and--and everyone, I think."
It sends shockwaves through him, and he hopes it doesn't show, doesn't think it shows, but he's having trouble processing. Steve is bi and he likes someone and--Eddie stuffs down the jealousy that claws at him, knows it's more important that he's here for his friend.
"Thank you for telling me, sweetheart." He reaches out, slow in case Steve doesn't want to be hugged, but he launches himself into Eddie's arms.
Eddie holds him tight, heedless of his wet clothes, can feel his shoulders shake, and it tears Eddie's heart in two. All he can do is hold Steve and offer comfort, jealousy be damned.
"You're so brave, honey," he says once the tears taper off.
Steve gives a wet chuckle, face still buried against Eddie's neck. "I don't know about that. I think I got snot in your hair."
"It'll wash out." He laughs. "Is now the time to welcome you to the family? Apparently, we're growing exponentially."
"Does the welcome include a cake or something? I could really use cake."
And God, Steve, is so fucking cute, so sweet, so--everything Eddie has always wanted, and he--it's an accident, or at least, thoughtless--he presses a kiss to Steve's temple. More than one.
Steve pulls back fast, and Eddie lets go immediately. "Sorry, sorry. I--that was stupid. You like someone already, and I--"
His words are cut off as Steve kisses him. Steve kisses him? His brain can't process, but he kisses back. Can't not, not with Steve. Like, he doesn't know anything, head empty, but his body is with the program.
They break apart, he's breathing hard. Steve is beautifully flushed, mouth red and swollen. "You like someone," is what Eddie says.
Steve laughs. "I like you, Munson. Fucking crazy about you."
He smiles, so big it hurts, so big it grows into a delight laugh. "I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington," he says.
---
Six Years Later
They're in bed, Saturday morning, rain pattering softly on the window.
Steve places slow kisses against his naked tummy, makes him tremble, shiver with overstimulation.
"Baby," he whines. "Sweetheart."
Steve smiles up at him, something cold pressing against his ribs, then into his hand.
It's a ring, black metal, shiny and iridescent as he turns it in the light. "What--Steve?"
With one last kiss to his hip bone, Steve sits up, slips the ring onto Eddie's finger. "I'm going to marry you one day, Eddie Munson."
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starkwlkr · 6 months ago
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Oh my, imagine you and Hugh have a teen daughter who is like 16 or something, and she goes live and just keeps talking in brainrot terms while you don’t understand what she’s saying.😭😂
ps: love your writing💗
HOT TO GO! | hugh jackman
an: thank you anon for this request, it was so fun to write!! love youuuu
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“And there’s my mom . . .” Olivia had walked into your room where you were doing your makeup at your vanity. She held her phone in her hand pointing it at you. “‘Mother is mothering’ I know right? She’s out here serving cunt on a Tuesday afternoon.”
Serving cunt? Did you hear that right?
You stopped applying the red lipstick on your lips and looked at your daughter. “I’m a cunt?”
Immediately the teen bursted out laughing. “No, oh my god! I didn’t mean you. You look great, that’s what I meant.”
The comments on Olivia’s instagram live were going crazy. They found it funny that their favorite actress was clueless.
natsyelena y/n is so adorable 😭
y/nupdates please tell her she’s mother
“The comments are telling you that you’re mother.” Olivia said to you. Again, you were confused.
“I know.” You reply. “I have three kids.”
Olivia chuckled. She then set her phone against the vanity mirror and posed while you continued doing your makeup. It was date night and Hugh had gotten you tickets to see Stevie Nicks perform. Olivia was heartbroken she wouldn’t be able to see her favorite singer, but Hugh promised her they would go see her at her next show as a family.
“What does that mean?” You pointed at a comment that caught your eye.
y/nstyle donatella VERSACE 💜
Olivia looked at the comment and laughed. “It’s a meme, mom. Donatella commented that on Bella Hadid’s post.”
Another comment caught Olivia’s attention.
xmenarchive SHOW HER THE JOSH HUTCHERSON EDIT
Olivia gasped then grabbed your phone since hers was on live. She searched on YouTube for the specific video and showed it to her mom eager to see her reaction. As whistle played and pictures of Josh Hutcherson appeared, a smile formed on your face.
“It’s Josh! I haven’t seen him in so long.”
“Wait what?” Olivia paused the video.
“He visited Jennifer on the set of X-men when I was visiting your dad and we hung out. Your brothers were also there too.”
“And you never told me?!” Olivia yelled. “The mom lore is insane.”
After learning more about you, the comments wanted you to react to THE Pedro Pascal, Steve Harrington, and other specific edits. Olivia gladly showed them to you.
Once you saw the Pedro edit, you giggled. “I’m going to send that to Pedro.”
“Guys, hide the fanfics!” Olivia shouted at her phone.
After coming back from the corner store with snacks, Hugh walked into your room where Olivia was teaching you the HOT TO GO! dance. He looked so interested in what you two were doing.
“You can take me hot to go!” Olivia finished the dance. “Look, the comments are saying you ate that up.”
“What the fuck?” Hugh said when he heard that.
“Guys, don’t worry I’ll teach her everything,” Olivia took the phone from the vanity and saw her dad with snacks. Some comments had recognized Hugh’s voice so they demanded Olivia to show him. “After this I better be everyone’s favorite nepo baby.”
“You’re not even my favorite nepo baby.” Hugh teased. Olivia then showed Hugh waving hello to the live.
“The viewers want me to teach you the hot to go dance.” She read some of the comments.
“No.”
“Oh ok so you hate happiness in others? I see the type of person that you are, Huge Ackman!” Olivia left her parents’ room to go continue her instagram live in her room.
Hugh stood beside you confused. “How did we raise completely different kids?”
You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know, but I learned so many things today.”
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shushmal · 5 months ago
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Eddie sits and watches Steve’s kitchen clock slowly count closer and closer to their movie time—closer, then past. It’s 30 minutes gone from showtime when he hears the bathroom door upstairs close and shut, and Steve’s bedroom door quietly doing the same.
Wincing, Eddie counts down slowly from 100, lets Steve wallow for a bit, before he gets down from his stool to head up.
“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, sitting beside the lump under Steve’s blankets. The lump does not reply. “Baby, you okay?”
“No,” it whines, and Eddie’s glad Steve has shoved his head under his pillow because Eddie can’t help cracking a smile. “I’m dying, and I’m a shitty boyfriend, and you’re going to dump me.”
Eddie scoffs. “The day I dump you is the day you send me to the funny farm,” he says, mock serious. “You do shit a lot though, babydoll.”
Steve whines louder. “It’s not fair! You eat expired hotdogs! Raw! Straight from the fridge!!”
“Guts of steel, Stevie! Your upper middle class suburban tummy would shrivel and die in the face of things I’ve eaten.”
“It’s shriveled and died already, thanks.”
Eddie laughs, and rubs his hand along Steve’s arm. He knows better than touching him anywhere else when Steve’s stomach is upset. But the fact that he’s in bed, under the covers, must mean the worst is over.
“You want me to get you anything?”
“New organs and a surgeon to put them in.”
“I was thinking more like water? Toast? Pepto?”
“A quick and painless death?”
“I’m afraid I can only offer you kisses and cuddles when you feel up for it. And the aforementioned consumable items.”
Steve’s head comes out from under the pillow and he squints at Eddie. His hair is standing up in wild spikes, and Eddie chews his lip to keep himself from laughing.
“Who the fuck says shit like aforementioned, you absolute dork.”
“You love me,” Eddie says, grinning.
Wrinkling his nose, Steve sighs, flopping back down on the bed. “I guess,” he admits, looking up at Eddie through his lashes with a little, miserable smile, and taking Eddie’s breath away. Even when he’s miserable and whiny, Steve remains the prettiest person Eddie’s ever had the luck to lay eyes on. “I guess I’ll take a water. And a kiss, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Eddie grins, leaning down. “Anything for you, princess.”
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buckyalpine · 1 year ago
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40's baby Bucky & baby Reader, Present Bucky x Reader, all the flufff, a lil angst but it just adds to the fluff, promise
Bucky sat under the tree with a very prominent pout on his chubby face, his arms crossed against his chest with his brows pulled together. He wasn't happy. Not one bit. Not after his favorite ball was kicked over a fence by the other neighborhood boys.
"Bucky, do you want to play with me?" You toddled over to your best friend hoping to lift his spirits after seeing him so grumpy only to be met with a huff.
"No! Go play with Stevie instead. Leave me alone!" He frowned, brushing you off and turning his back at you to sulk facing the tree instead.
"But-
"I don't want to play with you" Bucky grumbled. Your bottom lip wobbled, dropping your shoulders as you walked off and sat by yourself under some shade on your porch. You didn't have many friends being the youngest and only little girl on your street; Bucky and Steve being the only two who included you in their games.
"Bucky's mean" You picked up one of your dolls, setting her up beside you while you toyed with a wild flowers, doing your best to keep from sniffling after he shooed you away. You knew he was upset but you wanted to make him feel better!
Of course it didn't take long for Bucky to feel bad, peeking over to see your fallen face sitting all alone on the steps of your house, eyes wet with tears which you were desperately blinking back. He got a bad feeling in his little pudgy belly, knowing he wasn't very nice to you. He knew his ma wouldn't be very happy if she heard how he'd spoken to you, especially after you were just trying to brighten his mood. He got up from his place on the grass, nicking a few flowers from his garden before shuffling over to you only to be met with your now grumpy face, crossing your arms and turning away just like he did.
"I'm sorry y/n" Bucky came and plopped beside you, moving the doll away, while clutching onto a few pink tulips. You didn't respond, still mad at him for being mean to you when you'd done nothing wrong. "C'mon jellybean, pwease?"
His baby blues were shining bright as he gave you his best puppy eyes, hoping you'd forgive him. You felt a giddy at the name he called you, one he'd given you because he thought you were sweet like one. You turned to face him while he gave you a shy little smile, placing the flowers onto your lap.
"I brought you flowers" He stated proudly, happy at the giggle you let out, setting them aside before tugging at his hand to run off and play.
-
"Y'promise you'll come back?" your eyes were wet with tears again although you were now 20 years older and the chubby boy you grew up with had grown into a very handsome soldier. He stood before you in his clean and pressed uniform, his face shaven, hair neatly cropped.
"Of course doll" He whispered affectionately, letting his thumbs swipe across your cheeks, kissing away the tears that fell. "I'll always come back to you jellybean"
"You better" You sniffled, standing on your toes to chase more of his lips as he pressed them to yours, his hands wrapping around your waist, picking you up with ease.
"M'gonna come right back to you, safe n'sound" He held you for as long as he could, rocking you close to his chest while you fought back a sob, giving him a brave smile instead.
"I love you Jamie"
"I love you jellybean"
That was the last time you saw him.
-
"This is a bad idea"
"When have I ever had a bad idea" Tony scoffed, continuing to tinker with his quantum portal while Bruce looked over numbers.
"It's not stable enough Tony, if we send someone through this, they could get stuck in an alternate timeline or we could end up changing the future-
"Yea, yea, stop worrying, hand me that spanner"
Bruce sighed, handing over the tool while contemplating on the safest way to test the machine. It wasn't ready to handle anyone actually travelling through time but at the very least they could potentially open portals to the past.
"We gotta put in a location to see if this works-how about-" Tony contemplated on a location, his eyes growing wide with excitement when he spotted Steve's diary that he'd left behind in the lab, "Let's see if Captain has any interesting places from the 40's"
"Why wouldn't you just see if we could get to the compound garden" Bruce groaned while Tony flipped through the pages, typing in an address that had been scribbled in. It was from a list of places Steve wanted to visit again from when he was a child, the address of the person listed under friends. There was only one other person listed there other than Bucky.
"Alright, call the others, let's see if this baby works"
"You're going to get us all killed" Bruce shook his head while calling for everyone to come to the lab. By now everyone was used to Tony's antics; the only one who was genuinely giddy with excitement was surprisingly Bucky. One thing he'd always loved was science; even his stoic expression couldn't hide the twinkle in his eye every time he got to see another Stark experiment.
"Glad you all made it. Now, thanks to Cap, we're going to see if we can open a portal that travels back to the 1940's. I suggest you all stand back since I haven't actually tested this before"
"Why are you like this" Nat snorted while Tony waved her off, pushing a few more buttons before hitting start. Bucky watched from the safe sidelines of the lab as the machine began to vibrate, a low buzz growing louder until a portal roared to life that lead to the inside of someone's home. Bucky and Steve were both stunned from shock seeing a flash of a very familiar living room for no longer than a second before the whole thing closed with a bang and a large puff of smoke in its place.
"Well done Mr. Playboy billionaire dumbass" Sam wheezed while the team was left coughing, the room cloudy as the loud buzz began to dull. "What was the location you even put in-
Sam stopped talking midway when he heard another voice coughing followed by mumbling coming from the place where the portal closed. The smoke hadn't yet dissipated but the shadow of a person was slowly becoming visible. Everyone froze when they realized there was someone on the platform, wondering who could've been sucked through.
"Bruce, turn on the fan-" Bruce hit the lab fan which pulled helped with the smoke revealing a young woman in a flower printed dress. An apron was still tied around her waist, flour streaked across her cheeks, a rolling pin still in her hand. "What the-
"JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES"
Bucky thought he was going to collapse as soon as he saw who was on the platform, his heart fluttering madly in his chest. He couldn't control the blush that crept up on his cheeks, butterflies bursting in his tummy, just as they did all those years ago. The young woman stormed up to the soldier, face full of fury as her palm smacked his cheek (Not hard enough to actually hurt him of course).
"HOW DARE YOU"
Everyone else in the lab silently congregated to one side watching curiously though Steve was still utterly frozen seeing-
"Y-y/n? Doll?"
"Don't you doll me" you whacked his arm with your rolling pin, huffing when it clanged back after hitting metal. That didn't seem to faze you as you switched and hit the other arm instead, making Bucky yelp. "You lied!"
You dropped your makeshift weapon to the floor, moving your hands to your hips instead, looking up and down at the man you loved with your entire heart, the man who you mourned for years after you were told he was dead. He looked much different from when you'd last seen him, the most obvious difference being an entirely new arm. His cheeks were scruffy and it was clear some form of time travel had taken place but none of that mattered. None of that mattered when the love of your life was standing right there, alive and well.
"Oh baby, no-
"Absolutely not Barnes" you huffed at the pet name he gave you, crossing your arms over your chest and Bucky thought he'd melt into an absolute puddle at the sight. He was thrown back to when you were both no more than 4 years old, with a cute little frown on your face whenever you'd get upset. "You left! I thought you-I thought you died!"
The sound of your voice cracking broke Bucky's heart, his hands itching to wrap you up and pull you close to his chest the way you loved. He could see your eyes twinkle with tears threatening to spill out while you rapidly tried to blink them away. You chewed on your bottom lip to keep from wobbling and it only made Bucky yearn to hold you and never let go.
"Sweetheart please, I didn't mean to leave you doll, I promise" He stepped closer to you, hesitantly reaching out to take your hand in his, not feeling the slightest bit conscious about his metal arm. The coolness of his hand calmed your racing heart while you sniffled, still refusing to meet his eyes as you stared down at your feet instead.
The day you'd been told he'd never come back had been the worst day of your life. You wept for months on end, losing the man you were waiting to marry. The only person you'd been in love with since you were 4 years old.
Seeing you standing there before him stirred feelings in Bucky h never thought he'd feel again. Having a home. A beautiful wife. Little chubby babies. All with his dream girl he'd loved all his life. There wasn't a day that had gone by where he didn't think about her. He didn't think he'd ever get the chance again but here you were, dusted in flour like you always were whenever you were in the kitchen, in a pretty dress he loved so much, fighting your cries after desperately missing him. He softly cupped your cheeks, swiping away at your tears, his forehead coming down to softly rest against yours. He smiled through watery eyes at your stubborn nature, still keeping your arms crossed while his nose bumped with yours.
"Jellybean" Bucky whispered, your heart melting at the name, swallowing the lump in your throat, "Please? I-I'll- I'll bring you flowers" He said with a shaky voice, nearly toppling over when you flung yourself into his arms. He caught you, squeezing you right back and lifting you off the floor to cradle you nice and tight before pulling back to smash his lips against yours. The collective sniffles and whistles from the team were drowned out by your soft giggles and warm lips.
"I missed you so much" you buried your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the one that comforted yo the most.
"You have no idea how much I missed you jellybean, never letting you go again"
"Terminator, you wanna introduce us?" Tony was the first to speak up, not so subtly wiping away at his eyes while Bucky continued to look at you with heard eyes, introducing you to everyone. You could only wrap your head around so much at a time but nothing truly mattered now that you were back with your soldier.
And of course your other best friend.
"Steve" You giggled as Steve lifted you up with ease into a tight hug, grinning at his two friends finally getting the life they deserved together.
Seriously imagine how sickeningly cute these two would be. Bucky is so excited to teach you all about the future. He gets to show you how to use all the new technology around the compound. He's so naughty about it too, teasingly telling you he'd be happy to help you in the shower if there's any questions you has about water temperature.
He doesn't waste any time with asking to marry you. Its everything you've ever dreamed of and more considering Tony took the bill and ran. Bucky can't put into words how happy he is finally getting the life he thought was ripped from his hands.
On your wedding night, Bucky spends hours loving on you like there's no tomorrow which is why a few months later, your belly is swollen with your first baby. Bucky is thankful for the future because as excited as he is to start a family, he's scared shitless something could happen to his jellybean.
"Bucky, I'm fine-
"Absolutely not, why are you up Jellybean, go sit down, I'll bring breakfast to you"
"I can still walk y'know-
"Nope. You stay right there, don't move mama, just rest"
When you do have to move around, he's there holding your baby bump, feeling giddy over becoming a dad. He can't wait to meet his little baby that he's made with his dream girl.
After his son is born, he waits for your body to heal but no ones surprised to see you with a new bump not too long after.
Two baby boys are no match for all the avengers but they all happily share their god father and god mother duties.
Your third is a little girl and she's going to be spoiled by everyone.
Somewhere along the way, you get a white fluffy cat.
Bucky's life has never been better.
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