now we’re both upside down

sam | she/they | marvel & hp writer | 20

[hpotterwhore]

about me

here is where you’ll learn a bit about the owner of this blog, me!

masterlist

this is where you’ll find all of my works!

who i write for

this is simply just a list of all the characters i write for!

requests: open!

if you have something specific you want me to write, go ahead and messsage me or send an ask!

writing prompts.

use these to fuel your requests if you want !

[metal-armed-muse]

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐊 | 18+

Dating a lawyer is bad. Dating Matt Murdock is worse. 

You wish it was for normal lawyer reasons, like oh no, he argues too well, or oh no, he remembers every single thing you've ever said, or oh no, you can't win a fight because he'll calmly ask one question and suddenly you're hearing yourself out loud and realising maybe the point was stupid. Which is already annoying, by the way. Very annoying. Nobody is saying that part is fine.

But let's face it, that's not even the worst part.

Matt actually knows you're annoyed before you know you're annoyed.

Like you'll be sitting there, perfectly fine, living your life. Maybe washing a mug a little harder than usual, and he'll be behind you going, "what happened?" You'll just say, "nothing happened," because nothing has happened yet. You haven't even decided if something happened. You are still in the browsing stage of being irritated. And he'll just stand there, all soft voice and stupid face and say, "your breathing changed."

Jail. Immediately jail.

Privacy is a concept other couples get to have. You? No. Your body betrays you for sport, and unfortunately Matt has the hearing, smell, and nerve to know every single time.

You didn't realise how often you get turned on until you started dating a man who can hear your pulse do a backflip because he rolled his sleeves up while making pasta. He was COOKING. That's all he did. Garlic, sauce, shirt slightly tight on his back, forearms out. Suddenly you're sitting there like a pervert with a glass of water.

The worst part? He doesn't even turn around at first. He'll keep stirring the sauce, head tilted, smiling to himself like an absolute bastard. Then he'll go, "you alright over there?" Like he doesn't already know. 

You'll say, "fine." Obviously, because you can't simply show your cards (even though he knows all your cards)

He'll hum. Just hum. Like he's heard enough.

Sometimes he lets it sit there too. He'll plate the food, pour wine, sit across from you like a normal boyfriend. But his ankle? It hooks around yours under the table. And you're already thinking, Matthew, don't do this near carbohydrates. 

And the cooking thing became a Thing, by the way. He'll be next to you on bed, hand between your legs because let's face it, that man cannot keep his hands to himself. When he feels how soaked you are around him, he'll press his mouth to your jaw and go, "this all from watching me cook?" You'd want to die. But his hand is between your legs and his cock is hard against your thigh, so death can wait.

Fighting is somehow worse, which is like betrayal from your own body.

Because you'll be genuinely mad. Like fully correct, in your opinion. Pacing around, saying things with evidence, maybe even pointing at him a little because sometimes a finger needs to be involved. And then his jaw gets tight and his voice goes low, and your body immediately forgets the cause.

Feminism? Where?

He'll notice mid-fight too. You'll be halfway through a sentence, something very valid about how he cannot just disappear into Hell's Kitchen bleeding and expect you to be normal about it. Then he'll stop listening. Like not stop stop, he's listening to something else. He's compartmentalising listening. Your pulse. Your breath. The way your thighs shifted. Whatever. Disgusting surveillance state of a man.

Then he'll come closer, and say, "you can keep arguing with me," while his fingers slip under your waistband like he isn't the worst person alive, "but this is making it very hard to believe you."

Sometimes you still try to argue, which is embarrassing for everyone involved. Mostly you. You'd be stuttering, trying to finish a point while he has two fingers sliding through your folds, and mouth near your ear, like he's waiting for you to confess. Absolute lawyer behavior.

Sometimes he makes you say it too. That's the thing. He'll have you right there, hips lifting into his hand, your whole argument dead on the floor, and he'll ask, "what got you like this?" Like he needs it entered into record. And when you refuse, he'll slow down. You wish he'd stop. But no, he's just slowing down. Enough to get you you desperate. Leaving all dignity on the floor along with your skirt, you'll mutter, "your stupid voice," and he kisses your temple like he's comforting you through a problem he caused.

The court thing was the worst one though. You still haven't emotionally recovered from that. 

You went to watch him because it seemed cute. Supportive girlfriend behavior. Very adult. You had coffee, you wore something decent, you sat there thinking this would be sweet, like look at him doing his job, look at my boyfriend being smart and competent.

No.

Bad idea.

He stood there in that suit, calm as anything, voice sharp but polite, sounding gentle while absolutely ruining someone's argument, and your body decided this was porn. Porn you hear me? You didn't even realise you were squeezing your thighs together, but he did. 

Like the perfect boyfriend, he kissed you outside the courthouse, and then paused like a maniac. "During closing arguments?" He asked so softly, like he was trying not to laugh. 

Traffic was right fucking there. You could have walked into it. 

He brought it up for three days. Three full days. "I thought my opening statement was stronger." "Was it the objection?" "Should I wear that tie more often?" Shut up, Matthew. Shut up before you make it worse.

Because he can tell when you're lying, surprises are nearly impossible. You once tried to hide a birthday gift in your closet and he walked in, paused, smiled a little, and said, "is that for me?" You nearly threw the gift at his head.

And he had the nerve to act innocent after. "What?" Like he hadn't just ruined the whole operation. You had wrapped it. You had hidden it under sweaters. There was a tote bag involved. Effort had been made. Did he actually sniff out wrapping paper?

Dating Matt is basically losing every normal human advantage. You can't lie. Can't hide gifts. Can't be horny in peace. Can't even fight without your body betraying the cause.

And the really annoying part is he's sweet about it after. Which almost makes it worse. He'll kiss your forehead after being unbearable. He'll pull you close after making you admit you got wet because he made pasta. He'll plant a soft kiss to your mouth like he didn't just read you fully. 

So yeah, dating a lawyer is bad. But dating Matt Murdock is worse.

and i wish this was my most worrying concern.

[maikorian]

HUNGRY - CLARK KENT

summary: clark's insatiable appetite for you rears its head at you once more

warning: SMUT! MDNI! 18+ p in v, mentions of cum eating, slight bondage? somewhat filthy ig? dirty talk, stomach bulge, breeding kink

authors note: the whore in me activated itself i swear

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @karolamurdock@mollymal@yesshewrites1

You weren't sure what's gotten into Clark's head to get him to act this way. He was fine this morning.

When you kissed him on the cheek before he rushed out the door he seemed perfectly fine. Sure, his tie was a little crooked and so were glasses but that's not beyond the norm. The way he's acting now is a complete turnaround from your Clark 10 hours ago. Your Clark was a little skittish and shy. This Clark has you bent over the bed and is pounding you from the back like his life depends on it.

His hand is placed firmly on the nape of your neck. You can't move a single muscle. All you can do is take it. And by it you mean– “N-Nh! C-Clark! Please- Fuck- S-Slow down!” You squealed. The squelching noise you make when Clark pulls out just slightly before slamming back in has your eyes rolling back in pleasure. He has your legs trembling, pathetically trying to shift away from him. Your hands are tied behind your back. The tie you used to tie around Clark's neck now tied around your wrists.

“I- I'm sorry, baby. I can't– Golly, you feel amazing.” He softly whined. His hips continue to snap against yours without a single hint of mercy. His words may sound polite but there is nothing polite about him with the way he's rearranging your guts. “Stay right there, baby. m'gonna treat this pussy of yours real nice.” He murmurs softly into your ear, sending a hot heat straight to your core. You can hear the hint of that Kansas accent of his slipping through.

Clark doesn't remember what started this insatiable hunger for you. Sure, he always craved for you but he could always control it. His desire for more. Maybe the sudden wave of deadlines needing to be met and articles that need to be reviewed pushed him over the edge. All that stress with no proper outlet. Now, he won't stop until every inch of your walls are covered white with him.

It's filthy. He's hitting you raw. No condom. No anything. You can feel the rough drag and pull of his cock. You're not on birth control right now and he knows this. Clark isn't the type of man to easily forget these sorts of things. “C-Clark, please–” You whine but he quickly shuts you up with a harsh kiss on your lips. His fingers tangles itself in your hair, yanking you back with a sharp tug. The slight act of roughness has your walls squeezing around him. And Clark can feel every single bit of it while he nips at your neck like some feral animal. Leaving shades of blues, reds and purples all over your skin.

Your walls are squeezing him tightly. Squeezing every thick vein and curve of his dick. If he makes you arch your back just a little bit more… “Ah! Clark– Oh fuck! Nh~ y-you're being m-mean~” He's somehow shoving his thick length deeper into you. The tip is tapping that certain spot in you that has your eyes rolling back and jaw dropping in pleasure.

The sight alone could make Clark combust right then and there. You're so pretty like this. He can't get enough of you. Your parted lips and eyes rolled back

 He knows he's treating you roughly. You have work tomorrow. He probably shouldn't be battering your insides but he can't help himself. Not with how tight your pussy is gripping onto him.

“m'not being mean on purpose. I swear, baby. You're just- ngh- can't help it. You're so tight. Gosh– You can barely take it.” A smile cracks onto Clark's face. The bliss he's feeling is immeasurable. If he could, he'd take a picture of your messed up state and keep it in his pocket all the time. For his eyes only of course.

His warm breath brushes along your skin. His lips peppering along your shoulders that are littered with lovebites from him. “Gonna pump you full of me. Wanna fill you up to the brim. Then I'm gonna eat you out real good.” He murmurs into your skin. The image he paints in your mind has your face turning a bright red.

You squealed in surprise as Clark flips you onto your back. Your body bouncing on the mattress. His hands travel to the back of your thighs and push your knees up to your chest. The change in position has you speechless in the best way. He's deep in your pussy, making a mess out of you on the sheets. “H-Hah~ Ah~ Clark… h-honey, you're so deep. I- I can feel it.” You whispered softly. Your throat is sore from how loud you've been crying out Clarks name.

The grin on Clark's face grows wider. His hair is a mess. There's strands of his curly hair sticking to his face because of the sweat that's dripping down his body. You've lost track of how long he's been fucking you. He came back an hour before the sunset went down. Now, the moon is high up in the sky.

Clark's gaze focuses on your stomach. His hand drifts towards the small bulge in your stomach. He's right there. “I can see how good you're taking me. You want it too, right? You want me to pump you full. I know we said that we'd wait but I really wanna come inside you, baby.” Clark softly pants. The way you're squeezing him is driving him wild. He can't even control the pace of his hips anymore.

The mix of juices cling to your thighs and slowly starts dripping down onto the bed. The sheets underneath you are soaked and most likely ruined at this point. Its fine. Clark doesn't care one bit. He could always replace the sheets. But this? The warmth of your tight pussy gripping onto his thick length? Yeah, nothing can replace this.

“Please say yes, baby. Ah- wanna come in you. It'll feel so good- God- please please please baby.” All you can muster up is a weak whimper. His hips are slamming into yours at an inhumane pace. He rolls his hips into yours when he's flushed against yours. “Y-Yes, h-hn~ please don't stop. want it- I- so big-” Your sentences are barely making senses but that's enough for Clark.

He easily parts your legs and tosses them over his broad shoulders. He's got you bent in half and spread wide open just for him. It's a miracle that you're still conscious right now. “you're almost there baby. can feel it. you're squeezin’ so tight.” Clark gasps, towering over your smaller frame. He pulls you in for a rough kiss.

It's almost laughable how easy he takes control over you. His tongue explores every inch of your tongue like its the first time. He takes it all in. Every whimper or moan that softly escapes from your lips he swallows it right up. The bed is already starting to creak from the weight of his thrusts. Every kiss from him whisks away the air from your lungs. It's dizzying and addictive. When he pulls away, only a thin thread of saliva is what connects you.

It's hot. It's messy. It's everything Clark needed right now.

You're too deep in that pleasurable haze to even realize that Clark slipped his hand between your legs. The rough pad of his thumb harshly pressing down on your sensitive nub. The action elicits a sharp cry from your lips. Clarks name is the first thing you say. He doesn't stop with at a simple press. No– Clark gets addicted to the sound of you. He won't stop. Not unless he hears you say his name again just like that.

Clark watches with hazy eyes as his fingers flick, tug and press down on your sensitive nub. It's mesmerizing to him– the way you move your body. Your tits bouncing with every harsh thrust. Hands gripping onto the headboard. It's your only form of support right now. You can't do anything while you're under him. The tightness fabric around your wrists ensures that and so does his heavy weight.

Clark is a big man after all. Standing at 6 foot too giant. He uses it to his advantage but at this point its so unfair. “c'mon baby… just one more push.” He murmurs. The strung out string in your stomach snaps and it leaves you screaming Clarks name. The neighbors probably know what you're doing by now. Hell– The entire neighborhood might now. You wouldn't be surprised if you got a noise complaint at your door tomorrow morning.

Clark leaves you gushing. Your come rushes out of you like waves. Coating Clark's cock with a sheen layer of white. And Clark can't stop watching it. He uses his x-ray vision in the most filthiest way possible, watching as your essence spills out and covers him. He forces more of it out with small thrusts of his hips. You whine every time he does but Clark couldn't help it.

It's enough to push Clark over the edge. His cock twitching with every bit of come he pumps out. Warm ropes of his thick cut spurting out of the tip and into your cervix. Gosh does that look wonderful to him. He makes sure to bury himself even deeper. Clark isn't a wasteful man. He doesn't want a single drop to flow out from your womb. His hips stutter to a stop once he finally drags himself back down from cloud 9. Clark tilts his head back, sweat glistening on his skin with one arm on the headboard to hold him up.

“atta girl, that felt real good didn't it, hun?” His accent is a lot thicker now. Clark holds your trembling legs still, pressing a soft kiss to your knee that's resting on his shoulders. The tender action is a complete 180 from his rough pace earlier.

You legitimately thought Clark was done with the sex by now. He should've gotten it out of his system. This was the most you've done it with him. Not even those special nights where you wore fancy lingerie or did your makeup nicely riled him up this badly. What in the world happened to him? You can't help but wonder it.

Clark hisses when he finally pulls out. The mix of come he's been plugging up in you slowly leaving your bruised and battered hole. Talk about being ruthless. It drips out from you, down your inner thighs and soaks into the ruined sheets. The cold night air greets his soft cock as he kneels there in between your legs. He holds your leg in place. He's worn himself out pretty good this time.

A shaky breath of relief comes from you as you relax. Ah, you'll deal with cleaning the mess tomorrow. Now you can curl up in bed and sleep happily in Clarks arms– Why the fuck was he shifting down the bed again?

Your eyes stare at him with surprise. Even after all that he's still not satisfied?

Clark doesn't give you the chance to speak before his lips are on your sweet cunt. He sucks your cunt harshly. His tongue dragging up your legs to savor the taste of you. The come he's pumped in and mixed in with yours  is slowly leaking out into his mouth. Your back arches against the bed as another cry echoes through the room. His hands holds your hips tightly. He was still hungry for more. A little dessert before bed won't hurt anyone.

“One more, baby. All you gotta do is lie there and look pretty for me.”

Oh fuck.

[houseofhyde]

manchild.

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader mcu timeline. tfatws. synopsis. bucky can't help but wonder why they always come running to you,, or your living fossil of a roommate disapproves of your taste in men and its totally not because he wants a taste of you. warnings. smut ( pwp, service dom!bucky, unprotected piv, oral sex - f receiving, clothed sex for like a sec, fingering, creampie, tummy bulge, dirty talk, dry humping, possessiveness, dumbification, praise, temperature play, food play, nipple play, pussy pronouns, hair pulling - m receiving, multiple orgasms, consent kink, implied competency kink and cum eating, bucky barnes begs agenda 2025™, both bucky and reader spend the whole fic towing the fine line between horny and pervy ), no use of y/n, angst, fluff, frenemies to lovers, roommate!bucky, cocky+flirty!bucky, also guard dog!bucky ( if that even makes sense ) ( it doesn't ), jealousy, pining, so much bickering, attachment issues, miscommunication bc these two combined have the emotional intelligence of a chihuahua, bucky's hobby is baking bc i said so. reader inclusivity. bucky can pick the reader up ( but he's literally a super soldier so 🧍‍♂️ ), one mention of bucky trying to grab the reader's hair, reader has a nut allergy and does not speak russian ( neither do i, so please forgive the very small amount of google translated russian ) word count. 16.3k hyde’s input. god bless sabrina for saving the summer again. also don't let this flop, it's my birthday tomorrow and i'm not above crying over poorly-received erotica ( i'm joking ) ( no i'm not )

Bucky Barnes is not someone you’d call a friend.

He’s more of a nuisance, really. A fossil, dropped off at your door by one Sam Wilson with a simple request: “Can he crash here for a few days?”

That was four months ago, and Bucky’s still living on your couch.

Which is exactly where he’s sat right now, head buried in a book you barely even remember owning. The pages, so full of neglect, give him hassle as he tries to turn them, catching on one another and refusing to be pried apart by vibranium fingers.

“How do I look?” You ask as you step out from your bedroom, hands fastening an earring into your right ear.

Unfazed by your appearance, he doesn’t bother glancing up from his book as he sardonically replies, “With your eyes, like the rest of us.”

You contemplate plucking one of your heels off and throwing it at his head. Knowing your luck, it will fly right past him and smash your coffee table into pieces. Just like your roommate, it’s vintage. Unlike your roommate, you willingly brought it into your home.

“Ha. Ha.” Rounding the couch, you swat his feet off the table before snapping his book closed. “Now if you’re done playing comedian, would you answer the fucking question?”

“That’s your generation's problem, you know? You swear more than you breathe.”

“Better than waging a world war every few years.”

“Considering the current state of the world, I wouldn’t rest too comfortably on that one,” Bucky rises from his seat and squeezes past you, irritatingly close in a way that makes sure you feel each defined muscle in his chest as it brushes against your shoulder. “Anyway, you look fine, as always.”

“I look fine?” You parrot his words and follow his footsteps over to the kitchen. “Careful Barnes, don’t get too excited, it’s not healthy for a senior citizen’s heart.”

“You know what I mean,” a heavy sigh slips out the soldier’s mouth as he busies himself filling the kettle, glancing back at you from over his shoulder as he continues speaking. “I don’t understand why you worry so much about all of… this.” He gestures at you, water splashing off the tips of his fingers.

“God forbid a woman cares about looking good on a date,” you’re becoming annoyingly aware of the pout on your lips and try your best to correct it, whilst prying open the fridge door and fishing out a bottle of beer. “Gee if only it were still the 40s, then I could slap some mercury on my lips and hit the town with a man ready to buy me off my daddy for the cheap, cheap price of two goats!”

The frustration within you only rises as you struggle with the bottle’s cap, the skin of your hand pinching as you put all your force behind removing it. Since when are twist-tops so damn hard to twist off?

Bucky’s by the kettle, pouring boiling hot water into a mug he’s wrongfully claimed as his and looking irritatingly fine surrounded by steam — which has your mind trailing back to a few weeks ago: an early morning, exiting your bedroom to find your lodger stepping out the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist and the remnant dew of a steaming hot shower trailing down his very naked, very defined biceps, and pectorals, and- He’s not even trying to mask the amusement on his face as he indulges in your failure.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little ridiculous?” He asks and pries the bottle out of your hold, effortlessly ripping the cap off with a twist of his left hand. A familiar warmth curls between your legs, awakening a response from you that you’ve sworn, under no circumstances, will happen due to Bucky Barnes. You barely want to exchange air with him, nevermind bodily fluids. “There’s no way you’re worth two goats.”

“Every day I wake up and resist the urge to smother you in your sleep.”

Your vitriol is met with a smirk taking over his lips. Watching as he brings the beer up to his mouth, you catch yourself forgetting to blink as the soldier engages you both in a staring contest, all the while he’s tilting the bottle up to steal the first sip. He presses the cold glass back into your hand. You try not to focus on his tongue, peeking out to swipe over his bottom lip and clean up a remnant drop of beer.

In a move that puts you even more on edge, Bucky shuffles closer to you. Delirium floods your mind as the smell of smoke, and musk, and a just a twinge of sweat floods your nose, a smell so masculine it has you debating setting feminism and your own self-preservation back hundreds of years by nuzzling your face into the pulse point of his neck, like you’re some damn animal being exposed to pheromones. Meanwhile, he appears none the wiser to the negative effect he’s having on you, too busy reaching his arm behind you and into the fridge.

“Those boys you entertain, do they ever pay you any compliments?” His voice is so gentle, you almost wonder if that’s how it would sound whispering in your ear. Luckily, you don’t actually wonder about that. Not at all, not even a little. “Or is that your job too, like the bill?”

As quickly as he caged you in against the fridge, he moves away and leaves the cool air to rush over your skin, dragging your mind back into reality and away from whatever thoughts it keeps trying to tempt you with. You track his movements towards the island counter as he sets down a glass bowl, marked by condensation and filled with a batter of some sorts.

It's becoming more and more common to catch Bucky pottering around in the kitchen, a recipe on his phone screen and a personalised ‘Kiss the Baker’ apron — which Sam bought as a joke for his birthday — tied around his waist. He’ll never admit it, but a part of you believes baking helps him relax, to shut off whatever thoughts are floating around in that disturbingly pretty head of his and let him focus solely on measuring, mixing, and making delicious sugary treats. You can hardly complain when he’s gifting you the privilege of an at-home bakery. Fortunately, he gives you plenty of other reasons to complain. 

“Boys I entertain? Way to make me sound like a stripper,” you huff, sneaking over to dunk a finger into the batter as he turns to grab his coffee. “And I’ll have you know, they do pay me compliments.”

Licking your finger clean, you can’t fight the humm of approval that creeps up your throat nor the way your eyes slip shut as you savour the cold, tangy sweetness of the cake mix. Something warm presses against your left side as Bucky returns to the island, setting down his mug and a cake tin.

“Really? What kinda things do they say?” Just as you go to double dip, he smacks the top of your hand with a wooden spoon, and you nearly freeze at the contact. For a few short seconds, the factory in your mind goes into lockdown as every single one of your brain cells scramble to not conjure up the image of him smacking that utensil on a very different part of you. “Hands off. It’s a lemon cake, not a lemon and your-dirty-fingers cake.”

You silence your thoughts with a swig of beer before putting a safety distance between Bucky and you, unsure whether to be relieved at his obliviousness to the less than ideal affect he’s having on you, or offended by his complete lack of reaction to being so close to you while you’re all dressed up and waiting for another man to take you out.

Not that you want him to be affected by that, or you in general, though.

Your phone lights up with a text from an unsaved number: im hear, r yu coming down or shuld i com up? You shut it off and stuff it into your purse, deciding it's best to keep a man waiting anyway; he’ll appreciate your presence even more once you finally give him it.

Besides, you’ve yet to answer Bucky’s question.

“I’d tell you but I’m too sober to stomach you yelling ‘Heaven to Betsy!’ and giving me a lecture on your medieval dating ethics.”

You earn a genuine laugh, in which his knees bend a little and his head is thrown back, while his vibranium hand winds up splayed across his midriff. The sun is setting beyond the window, lingering shades of orange warmth frame a heavenly glow around Bucky, highlighting a slight curl in his hair and the piercing blue of his eyes. The view is uncomfortably pleasant, so you bring the bottle back to your lips and turn your head away, suddenly utterly fascinated with the eggshell colouring of the kitchen cupboards.

“I think there’s a leak under the sink,” the comment is absentminded, a meager attempt at steering your mind away from the man and his mixing bowl.

Bucky ignores it and drags you right back to the actual topic at hand.

“That’s funny,” there’s a shuffle of tin behind you. You glance back around to find him smoothing batter into the cake mold, wooden spoon clasped in metal fingers spreading the mix evenly. You’ve never noticed how good Bucky is at spreading things. “Cause I swear I remember Sam mentioning something about the last guy moaning his own name in your ear.”

Beer shoots to the back of your throat.

In a spurt of coughing, amidst the burning pain of the carbonated liquid dripping out your nose, you hurry over to the sink. Mouth dropped open in a dry heave, you lean into the basin and try to minimize the mess you make in search of a breath. Heat envelops you from behind and a pair of sock-clad feet come into view next to your maroon heels. You briefly register the cool brush of metal against the back of your neck as he tries to tidy back your hair and, while you appreciate the action, you can’t help note how completely unnecessary it is. Too distracted to care, your attention shoots straight to the weight of his flesh hand pressing into your lower back. Heavy, warm, large, it pollutes your mind with the knowledge of how it feels to have him soothe your skin — even if there is a layer of silk in the way.

The moment air returns to your lungs, you shoot up straight and ache to step away from him and his wandering-to-all-the-wrong-places hands. The battle against his touch is mute, not even one percent of his strength is put behind the way he grips your forearms and turns you to face him.

Bucky’s eyes scan over you, studying your features. You swallow back whatever feeling brings salivation to your mouth. His thumb reaches towards his own and you watch, transfixed, as a pink tongue darts out to greet it, licking a stripe over the pad of it. A splash of cake batter stains his ring finger. You swallow back more saliva; confusingly, your mouth feels drier than ever. Only when he delicately presses his thumb beneath your eye and swipes over your waterline do you realise you’re teary-eyed.

“See how clumsy you are?” There’s a chastising lilt to his voice that sends blood rushing to your face, and then immediately back down to the overwhelmingly empty space between your legs. “Can’t even swallow properly without ruining your mascara.”

You need distance.

You need to move.

You need to leave.

“He’s here!” The words are almost a gasp as you turn out of his hold. The weight of his gaze trails over your legs as you rush around the kitchen island, fishing your keys out of your purse and rambling out the nerves he’s summoned. “Okay, there’s some leftover pasta in the fridge if you’re hungry, and you’re welcome to the beers if you get thirsty. Big remote turns on the TV, the little one changes the channel. Behave and take care of the place while I’m away, okay?”

“Quit talking to me like I’m some kind of guard dog,” he complains as you pull open the front door and cross one foot over the threshold to safety.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You cheer back, trailing the door behind you as you go. “I wasn’t aware you were going to start contributing rent, I’ll send you my bank details.”

With that, the apartment door slams shut and you head out for a date in which three things will happen: you’ll flirt, you’ll fuck, and you won’t think about your roommate.

Only one of those things ends up happening.

It’s not from lack of an offer that you wind up taking a cab back to your apartment. Your date had been nice… enough. He complimented your outfit, took a sufficient amount of interest in you, and he even bought you flowers — of course, he’d accidentally left them in his parent’s home. Where he lived. In the basement.

And the thing is, you’re not shallow. Time’s are tough, the economy sucks, and the world is still adjusting to the sudden return to half its population post-Blip. So you were more than game to play sneak-me-into-your-bed-without-waking-your-parents, but, as the pair of you waited on a taxi to arrive, his hand found your waist and your treacherous mind noticed something it shouldn’t.

Bucky’s hand was larger. And warmer. And more welcomed against your skin.

Sick to your stomach by your own thoughts, your night ended with you tip-toeing past the familiar figure sleeping on your couch — definitely not pausing to take in the sheer width of his naked shoulders dangling half-off the cushion — and crawling into bed alone, belly full of Thai and mind full of Winter.

When morning comes, the bedroom door creaks as you pry it open, a fist rubbing sleep out your eye and a yawn announcing your arrival.

“Did you eat my ice cream?” Bucky calls out from somewhere, voice muffled and full of accusation.

Despite barely finishing a glass of wine the night before, there’s a throbbing pain beginning in your temples and souring your already bitter mood.

“Wow, good morning to you too,” you stumble more than walk over to the kitchen, in search of the salvation of ice cold water.

That’s where you find him: laid out on his back, grey sweatpants clinging to bent knees, with everything from his shoulders up inside the open cabinet beneath the sink. His arms are inside too, tinkering away at something above his face.

“Good morning. Did you eat my ice cream?” If ever a thing such as a verbal eyeroll were to exist, Bucky would be doing it. From the lack of seeing his eyes, there’s every chance he is literally rolling them.

Your journey toward the fridge is interrupted by the troubling sight of a glass full of water, a plate hosting a slice of lemon sponge cake, and two miscellaneous white pills that anyone who suffers the unusually cruel punishment of a menstrual cycle is likely familiar with. A post-it note with your name written neatly across it sits next to the unexpected care package.

“So what if I did?” The painkillers go down effortlessly, though there’s a lingering chemical taste that has you gulping down an extra sip of water. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“I paid for it!” For all his outrage, he doesn’t care enough to poke his head out as he chastises you. “You said there was a leak, so I’m checking your pipes. I’m quite good with my hands, you know.”

Is he dense, or is he saying this shit on purpose? The double entendre in his words is glaring, yet you haven’t the confidence nor the will-power to address it, to poke the proverbial bear out of fear. Fear of him scolding your dirty mind, or fear of him doubling down on his suggestive wordplay, you’re not quite sure.

You choose to steer clear of the topic and, more importantly, the unexpected twinge in your chest in response to Bucky’s unrequested help.

“And I paid for the freezer you left it in, the electricity that kept it frozen, and the apartment you live in,” you don’t intend to sound so snappy, like a sulking child fighting against their own self-confessed crimes. “So I think you can spare me some goddamn ice cream.”

You’ve taken to joining Bucky on the floor, sitting across from him, cross-legged and back pressed against the cabinets that surround the kitchen island. In your lap lies the slice of cake, a mouthful already missing and melting its tangy sweetness onto your tongue. You almost moan, but it’s unclear whether the sugary treat just tastes that good or the visual of the soldier laid out on his back and tinkering away beneath your sink is just so stimulating.

If you mention the strange noise your car’s engine has been making recently, would he fix that too? You can already picture him slicked in sweat and oil, hands on his hips as he stands over the opened hood and assesses whatever the damage is. You’d have to watch over the whole thing, of course — not out of your own self-interest but on the off chance something goes wrong and Bucky needs help taking off his oil-stained shirt, or pants, or-

“Your date was that good, huh?” You almost jump out of your skin when he speaks.

“He bragged to me about how he and his college roommates used to play pool,” the pause in your sentences seems to capture Bucky’s attention, coaxing him out from beneath the sink. “Using a shotgun instead of cues.”

As he sits up, elbows finding rest upon his knees, you can’t help but note the five-o’clock shadow he’s sporting. For reasons that have nothing to do with the fraying seams of your sanity, you need him to shave.

To Bucky’s credit, he doesn’t laugh. Yes, his lips glitch somewhere between a cheeky grin and a serious frown, but he does not outright laugh like you expect him to. Instead, he nods down at the half-eaten cake and tilts his head — an unspoken question, is it good?, that only weakens his argument about not being a guard-dog. Between the puppy-dog blue eyes and the yearning for approval, you half expect him to sprout a tail and start panting.

Scratch that last thought, actually. Bucky and panting should not coexist in a sentence together, nevermind in your imagination.

“Mind feeding me a bite?” Yes, actually, you would mind, but one glance at his fingertips stained in whatever-the-hell is going on with your sink leaves you no choice but to tear off a corner.

Bringing the piece of cake to meet his awaiting mouth, you brace yourself for the tentative scrape of teeth stealing it out of your hold. The delicate brush of his lips enveloping your fingers throws you off your axis, and the challenge in his eyes as they hold contact with your own has your thighs involuntarily squeezing themselves together.

For a moment, you swear you catch him glance down at your lips.

Then you remember the health insurance your job provides does not cover the cost of being institutionalised, so you stop hallucinating and come back to reality where Bucky Barnes is not so much a flirt as he is a pest, a stray animal abandoned at your doorstep by a friend who decided to take advantage of your good-natured heart.

“Can you give me the exact phrasing your date used to describe this shotgun-pool?” The soldier is gone in the blink of an eye, flat on his back again and continuing his attempt to seal the leak.

“Why?”

“I’m making this list,” he says, and he must shift his hands higher above his head because suddenly the soft cotton of his white shirt has ridden up his torso, presenting your eyes with a golden platter of sun-warmed skin. “I’m calling it ‘the manchild files’.”

“That’s not even funny,” neither is the way he inches deeper into the cabinet, exposing not only the glaringly white tan-line delineating where the band of his boxers should be resting but also the beginning dark curls of a happy trail. 

“Well ‘the stupid files’ sounds so simple, I was worried you’d try to jump into bed with it.”

“Are you seriously about to slut-shame me in my own fucking kitchen?” Whilst slutting yourself out on my floor like your name is Mike and you’re about to show me some magic? is the quiet part you don’t say aloud.

“I’m critical but I’m not hypocritical,” there he does again with that verbal eye-roll. “I wasn’t exactly the image of celibacy when I was your age-”

“Yay, more grandpa lore!” Your interruption earns you a nudge from his leg, but you know it made him laugh because his shoulders gently shake.

“I’m not slut-shaming you, I’m taste-shaming. I swear, being useless must be the precursor to having a chance with you.”

“It is not!” You gasp, yet you’re hardly surprised — Bucky’s not exactly subtle in his disapproval of the men you date.

If there is anything to be thankful for, it’s the alleviation that comes with Bucky shimmying out from the sink again, happy trail redressed and a hand diving into the pocket of his sweatpants. With a dramatic clearing of his throat, he brings his phone up to his face and starts reciting.

“After being told you have a nut allergy, Carter B. said Wait, like, you’re allergic to cum?” You’d always known showing him how to use the notes app would come back to bite you in the ass somehow. “Tommy L. walked into a lampost because he got distracted… watching a squirrel run up a tree. You almost got stood up by Steve K. because he accidentally locked himself inside his own car. Lee B. asked you-”

“Bucky B. is about to lose his other arm if he doesn’t shut up.”

“I rest my case,” and he still has the nerve to open his mouth, awaiting another bite of cake.

You cave with no fight and give it to him.

Because you’re a nice person, not because you want to feel his mouth on you again.

Something cool drips onto the bottom of your naked thighs after Bucky reaches over you and grabs at the glass of water, stealing an obnoxiously large gulp; or is it just exaggerated by your stare zeroing in on the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks?

A thought pops into your mind.

“Did you leave these on the counter because you expected me to be hungover?” Your tone is inoffensive, and unoffended, a simple curiosity you need answered.

“You have a headache, right?”

“Uh-huh,” your eyes narrow skeptically.

“Yeah, I figured you would,” Bucky takes another sip, more condensation trickling down onto your legs. “You always have one after eating Thai food.”

Something inside of you stops.

Your heart, or your lungs, or your mind. Your goddamn liver, for all you know.

This is not supposed to be happening. Bucky is not supposed to fix things just because you mentioned it, once in passing and as a scapegoat from focusing too much on him. And he certainly isn’t supposed to notice things, useless little factoids that not even you know about yourself until he brings them to light. Hell, he’s not even supposed to still be here, sleeping on your couch and criticising your love life.

When the thing inside of you clicks back into place and starts again, a new weight rests atop your conscience.

Maybe it’s not so bad having a roommate, having Bucky be that roommate. Maybe you’re starting to get used to coming home to the smell of baked vanilla and the signature grouchy look he wears as he asks you about your day, about how your co-worker pissed you off, about why you’re home later than usual and not wearing a jacket out in the cold of winter.

“By the way,” he’s calling out from beneath the sink again. “You’ll be happy to know I’m touring an apartment next week.”

“Oh.” The bite you just took turns sour in your mouth. You struggle to swallow it down. “That’s great. Finally! You’re going, and I’m staying here, and I’ll have my apartment back to myself. That’s… Great. It’s great!”

No, really, it’s great.

“You’re joking,” a palm on your lower back guides you to the right, just in time to avoid being trampled beneath a cart.

“I wish,” you say, and saunter over to some colourful packaging that’s captured your eye.

After a moment of inspecting the product in hand from every angle, you put it back on the shelf.

“Let me get this straight,” Bucky pushes the cart along behind you, grabbing that same colourful packaging and dropping it in with the rest of the groceries. “You lean through his window, kiss him goodbye on the cheek and then he just… What, crashed his car?”

“Into a wall with street art of a cliff painted on it,” as you add the most important detail, laughter is already bubbling up your throat. “He literally crashed his car into a cliff without even getting to switch out of first gear!”

The pair of you make up quite the sight.

An entire morning of tiptoeing through the limbo of delirium, after an entire night spent trying to block out the relentless banging from the upstairs neighbours. The door to your bedroom crawled open some time past four and there was Bucky, head poking through the space and looking rather pleased to find you wide awake — despite his claims of just wanting to make sure you were asleep.

Seated on opposite ends of the couch, both of you found a quiet solace in the other’s inability to sleep. While a movie marathon played over the TV, the sex marathon above continued. When exhaustion took claim of your body, you drifted off with your arms resting on the armchair and your head resting on your arms. You awoke atop a pillow and beneath a blanket, legs stretched out over the couch and Bucky curled up on the floor by your feet — like any good guard dog would be.

After a botched attempt to sneak past the soldier, only to have him scare the living daylights out of you by grabbing your ankle as you tried to step over him, you both came to the shocking realisation that the fridge was void of any food.

Which brings you to here: standing in aisle 7, laughing an ache into your ribs over yet another one of your failed dates, with a half-filled cart and matching bags forming under your tired eyes.

“I think it’s time we had an intervention about where you’re finding these men,” Bucky says that last word like it's covered in poison, burning his tongue on the way out.

“They find me!” You say, as he reaches for the box of strawberries you just put down. “As generous as I am, do you want to maybe slow down on how much shit you load into our cart?”

His hand freezes, the box of red fruit clasped in a confusingly delicate grip of vibranium fingers

“You picked it up,” his tone is riddled with confusion. “Don’t you want them?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not made of money.”

“Okay?” He replies, like it’s the most irrelevant piece of information you’ve ever given him — and you once spent an hour ranting to him about the inefficiency of the ink cartridges in your office’s printer. “I’m paying, so do you want it or not?”

“Since when do you have money? Did your pension finally come through? I mean… You are old enough. Also, aren’t you literally a vet?”

 “You managed to say all that in one breath, yet you failed to answer a yes or no question.”

A bubble of silence surrounds you both. Bucky blinks, slowly, exaggeratedly. It’s the perfect opportunity to stare at his face and notice the five o'clock shadow has grown. A gruff ‘excuse me’, followed by a man shoving between you both to grab some strawberries, pops the bubble.

Without a word, you snatch the box and place it in the cart.

Half-way up the fruit aisle, Bucky gets the genius idea to open his mouth again: “You wanna know what my theory is?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the p and glancing back at him over your shoulder. “But you’re going to tell me anyway.”

He looks vexingly domestic like this, wearing a sweater and pushing your shopping around. Thoughts betray you, wandering off into dangerous territory as they begin to question how others perceive you from the outside.

What do strangers see: two roommates that quarrel like it’s a biological need, or a couple doing their weekly shop? Two strangers forced together by a circumstance named Sam Wilson, or two lovers unwilling to voice that the metal container between them is too much distance?

“I think you date idiots because they’re idiots.”

“Gee whiz, grandpa, that’s so insightful. I sure do hope I’m as wise as you when I’m your age, but I’ll probably just be dead.” You feel the cart meet your back in a gentle bump, a non-verbal warning to cut the teasing.

“Dating those incompetent men, it’s like…” he pauses, searching for the right words, and plucks a bunch of bananas from your hand, dropping them in with your mounting pile of fruit. “Jumping out of a plane! You get the thrill of falling but, the moment something a little too real and solid appears on the horizon, you pull out the parachute and, that’s it, you’re safe. No danger of falling flat on your face and getting your feelings hurt.”

“I don’t know when you last jumped out of a plane-”

“Remember that Karli situation a few months ago?”

“But not ejecting your parachute leads to a little more than just falling flat on your face.”

“So my metaphor isn't perfect,” Bucky trails off, eyes staring past you and mind lost in thought. You follow his line of sight and find a couple at the end of the aisle, hands intertwined and smiling at each other like they’re the only two people in the world. An unnamed emotion tugs at the soldier’s lips, but he won’t let it take over his stoic features. “But you get my point. If you were actually looking for something serious, you’d date someone better than those men.”

Unprompted and unwarranted, his words spear your heart.

Memories replay in your head, a kaleidoscope of the featureless faces you let take you out, dine you, wine you, kiss you. A handful of immeasurables: how many times you’ve brushed off mispronounced versions of your name, how many excuses you’ve made for the way they talk to you, how many times you’ve lowered your own standards to help a man feel desired. In your wake lies a graveyard of failed relationships, with no proper funeral nor mourning.

You swallow back the lump in your throat.

“Okay, psychoanalysing me aside, what’s left on the list?” You ask, making your way round to Bucky’s side of the cart.

“Well, I still need to write down Jeff G.’s cliff accident.”

“The other list.” You watch as he struggles to fish out the scrap of paper from his pocket.

“Eggs, pasta, feta, toilet roll,” his brows are furled, his eyes are glaring, and with each item he lists off, his words grow more unsure. “Grapefruit? Your handwriting is shit.”

“I was in a rush!”

“And sitting on a jack-hammer?”

“Gimme that,” you snatch the list, he yields it with no protest. As you scan over the scribbled ink, a frustrating truth comes to light. Bucky’s right, your handwriting is shit. “Is grapefruit even in season?”

“Huh,” it’s the sound of hollow amusement.

“What?”

“Just…” His presence looms over you, infecting your senses with the woodsy smell of his cologne and the arduous heat that radiates off of him. When he nods his head to the right, scoffing out a laugh and poking his tongue into his cheek, you find yourself wrestling between temptations of slapping him or pulling him closer. “You really don’t notice what’s right in front of you, do you?”

Lo and behold, on the right side of the aisle, grapefruits.

You make it through the rest of the shopping list in relative silence, with the occasional side-comment from the super soldier that either rouses a grin onto your lips or has your eyes rolling in faux disagreement. Little by little, you peruse the aisles and fill the cart; and, when Bucky picks out the only ice cream flavour void of nuts, you bite your tongue and choose to say nothing.

“I forgot to ask,” you finally speak, standing in the self-checkout zone and struggling to find something to do with your fidgety hands as Bucky scans each item — you insisted on helping and he insisted he’d get it done quicker alone. “How did the apartment viewing go?”

“Oh. Fine,” you grimace as he says your least favourite f word. “The current lease isn’t up yet, so you’re stuck with me a little longer.”

Are you supposed to feel this relieved?

In theory, you were never supposed to feel anything in regards to Bucky Barnes. In practice, it’s a lot more complicated, a pendulum that seems to swing in constant motion between red hot aggravation and red hot something else you refuse to give a name.

All you know is there are times where you wonder if his back is okay sleeping on the couch, and you contemplate asking him to come meet you during your lunch breaks, and you crave to have the anxious shake in your leg quelled by his daily check-in calls whenever he and Sam go off on another misadventure. Whatever reason lies behind your behaviour, the familiarity of ignorant bliss tempts you away from seeking the answer.

Besides, Bucky will be leaving soon. He’ll no longer be your roommate and you’ll both fall out of whatever routine convenience has forced upon you both.

A series of beeps capture your attention.

At the epicentre of the noise stands an elderly woman, grey hair pristinely curled and an outfit that screams Sunday-bests, struggling with the check-out machine. With no employee in sight and no do-gooder fellow customer stepping out of their way to help, the woman’s distress grows with each beep the machine makes at her.

Knuckles brush down your arm, and there’s Bucky at your side, waiting for you to pay him any mind.

“You mind handling the rest?” He asks, in that softly-spoken tone of his that would make anyone feel like swooning. Maybe that’s why it takes you a few moments to notice the wallet he’s holding out to you. “Cash is in the back pocket. I’ll be a few minutes, okay? Just finish bagging everything, leave the carrying to me.”

There’s no time to get a single word out before you’re staring at the back of his head and watching as he makes his way over to the elderly woman.

For every item you scan, you sneak a glance. The butter beeps onto the screen, and you peek how Bucky has effortlessly become the woman’s personal helper. You pass the strawberries through and reward yourself with the sight of Bucky’s cheeky grin — with the way the elderly lady laughs and swats at his arm, you can only assume he’s made some flirtatious comment. Clicking on the option to pay cash, you nearly give yourself whiplash as you turn to watch them again, Bucky’s just about finishing bagging her groceries while the woman opens her shopping-trolley bag.

Waiting on the receipt to print, your reflection stares back at you on the self-checkout screen: a hue of endearment glowing off your features. The smile quickly melts off your face when you realise that he… Oh no.

Bucky is charming.

Part of you has always known he was handsome — you’re stubborn, not blind — yet the sight of him now, all dashing smiles and twinkling eyes playing rescuer to a woman who, despite the difference in their physical ageing, is closer to his own age than you, it troubles you. The acid burn in your throat is not a manifestation of jealousy, no; it’s the queasy feeling of knowing you’ve never looked across at a date, caught him in a moment of content, and felt the unyielding desire to be the reason behind it.

Someone clears their throat beside you, a man with a wrinkle in his forehead and an agitated look upon his face, so you quickly excuse yourself and, with plastic handles digging into your fingers, you approach Bucky and the elderly lady.

Upon noticing you, Bucky’s quick to tug the bags out your grip, a scolding already falling off his tongue: “I told you to leave these to me.”

“Yeah, well, Mr. Frowny-Magoo over there didn’t appreciate me hogging up the cashier,” the comment is meant as nothing more than a lighthearted joke, yet you swear you see something shift in the soldier’s stance, his shoulders tensing and his jaw clenching as he glances back at the stranger.

Fortunately, the elderly woman interrupts whatever he’s contemplating doing to him.

“Она твоя жена?(Is she your wife?)” She’s looking between you both expectantly, speaking words you don’t understand. “У нее лицо ангела. (She has the face of an angel.)”

Whatever she says, it clearly has an effect on Bucky. His head turns to the side, to you, and a visible softness overcomes his gaze as it traces over your face. His shoulders are relaxing, his jaw is unclenching, and he’s switching the bags over to his metal hand, renewing his grip and freeing up the hand that now hangs right by yours, knuckles gracing over your own in a way that feels like a dare, a challenge, a temptation to lace your fingers together.

You clench your fist shut.

“Я знаю. (I know.)” He says, eyes lingering on you a few moments longer than necessary, before he’s back to smiling at the elderly woman.

Halfway home and doubling your pace to keep up with his effortless stroll, curiosity finally gets the better of you.

“What did she say back there, that lady you helped?”

A stranger rushes past you both, phone glued to their ear and stressing down the speaker. Bucky takes grip of your arm and tugs you closer to him.

“Do you spend your time getting bumped into when I’m not around?” His fingers give your arm a squeeze before releasing you. “And, if you must know, she said I was the most handsome man she’s ever seen.”

Little force is put behind the shove you give his shoulder.

You’re too busy agonising over how much you agree with her.

Bucky leaves.

Not forever, but three weeks away on some stealth mission with Sam sure begins to feel like it.

It happens on a Friday. After the week from hell at work, a friend’s mid-week engagement party, and the unexpected downpour of rain during the journey home, you walk into an unlit apartment and a note stuck to the fridge.

Sam needs me. Be safe, don’t bring strangers home. B. 

The batch of freshly baked cinnamon rolls sweeten your night up, at least.

There’s a quiet that always seems to blanket the house whenever you lose Bucky to missions.

Before he was dumped on your front door, you’d been used to living alone and the peaceful silence that came with it. Independence, the ability to need no one and want nothing, a trait of yours that once brought pride, now brings you nothing but the static sound of a muted television and the hum of the microwave spinning a meal fit for one.

Mornings become a ritual of waking later yet leaving earlier, no one is there to distract you from drinking your coffee. Though the workload is the same, somehow the slow drag of hours still finds a way to pass quicker than ever, the revolving doors of the office building spit you back out onto the streets of New York before you’re fully ready. Your evenings waste away, starved of noise and company, while you run out of shows to watch and books to read, and count the hours down until all that silence becomes necessary for your eyes to close and your mind to rest.

It’s when darkness rules over the sky and the hour is a single digit that the phone finally rings. A blocked number, untraceable, pulling you out the hands of sleep and filling your room with the noise of your ringtone. He never speaks first, not until there’s an echo down the line of your own sleep stained ‘hello?’.

“You can go back to sleep now.”

You never stay on the line long enough to find out how quickly he hangs up after he speaks. Because it’s only ever meant to be a way to let you know he’s safe, alive, somewhere out there doing who-knows-what and stopping who-knows-who. It’s just an unrequested favour he’s granted you, after the incident in which both he and Sam fell-off the grid for five days and you were nearly rounding up a search party. He’s not missed a call since, once a day while he’s away.

So, when he doesn’t call, it’s only natural that you worry.

The alarm bell rings when you wake up to birds chirping, sun spilling through the crack between the curtains, and not a single missed call nor voicemail awaiting you.

It’s Saturday and there’s no work to occupy your mind, so you force down a bagel, toss a tote bag onto your shoulder, and head out to the local market. But there’s no joy in perusing fruit stands without a six foot soldier trailing your heels and muttering to himself about how exotic fruit has gotten, and how ‘back in my day you had your apples, your oranges, and your pears.’

You wind up home by noon, and the dwelling begins to grow, still no call.

There’s a weight on your chest, and a balloon of anxiety that grows in your throat, and an unwarranted agitation burning at your skin as you read over his note again, still very much stuck to the fridge and taunting you — Be safe, says a man who clearly can’t take his own advice. 

Then, why should you?

You agree to go on a date, one you’ve been dancing around agreeing to for a few weeks yet reach for it the moment you decide you’re not pleased with the way Bucky’s lack of a call is ruining your well-earned free time.

And, hey, the guy’s not a complete loser this time. On paper, at least. He’s handsome, tall, and an athlete — ex-athlete, really, but you don’t bother to point that out while he talks about the gymnastic studio he runs. Most importantly, he’s eager to call a cab and get you home, screw Bucky’s warning. If you want to bring a stranger into your home, you’ll do it. 

Brooding, uncalling soldier be damned!

After stumbling through the dark of your apartment into your bedroom, and fumbling with your bra long enough for you to grow tired and just take it off yourself, you and Mister Gymnast tumble into the sheets for a performance so lacklustre, it warrants taking all his medals away. At least your date seems to enjoy himself, spilling onto your stomach and falling asleep the minute his head hits the pillows.

“I finished,” last you checked, he hadn't even started.

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and try to will the phone to ring. Encased by a stranger’s snoring and a guilty feeling, you let Lady Sleep whisk you away. When your eyes open next, morning has broken and you’re alone in bed with a remnant trace of warmth on the sheets. But the silence is finally gone.

Beyond your door you hear the faint thud of footsteps, the ding of the fridge being opened, the whistle of the kettle. You almost trip in your rush to get dressed, and nearly rip the hinges off the door as you tear it open. Then the smile falls from your face.

“You’re up!” Everyone’s favourite gymnast is there to greet you, a mug in hand as he goes to pull you in for a kiss. The way you swerve is automatic, unplanned, leaving his lips to land on your cheek. “Uhh, I was hoping you’d sleep a little longer, I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed but-”

“He couldn’t figure out how to boil the kettle.”

And there’s Bucky, leaning back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face. Aside from the butterfly stitches above his left brow, he looks unharmed. Fine, even. Dressed in all black, with a t-shirt that’s hugging his frame a little too tightly for your liking, the double-combo of his dog-tags and vibranium arm on display. Perfectly safe for a man who couldn’t call.

Your date laughs and sheepishly scratches the back of his head before you get the chance to speak.

“Your brother was kind enough to help me.” It’s unclear who laughs first: Bucky or you. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing, just…” Bucky says, shaking the laughter away with a nod of his head. “In what world do me and her look related?”

“Wait, if you’re not her brother then, are you-” Fifty shades of horror spill over the gymnast’s face, his head darting between looking over at Bucky and back at you. “Holy shit, is he your boyfriend?”

“Husband, actually,” the soldier’s all too quick-witted, pushing off the counter and reaching for a mug of brewing coffee. “But don’t worry, we’re open. What do you think of our kitchen lights, by the way? My wife here likes them dim.”

Dumb as he is, your date tilts his head up to inspect the light fixtures.

“Oh, they’re nice!”

That does it for you.

“Bucky, shut up!” You snap, finger pointed over at the menace who’s biting back a smirk and stirring away at his mug, face as innocent as sin. Is this some twisted version of revenge, a punishment for bringing a stranger home? You’d prefer the punishment to be a little more… hands on. Preferably in the form of your slapping that twinkle out of his eyes. “He is not my boyfriend, or my husband. He is the bum that lives on my couch.”

“You see how she treats me, Vince?”

“It’s Lance,” the gymna- Lance corrects him.

Moving towards the kitchen, your eyes check over your roommate once more, as though they expect some previously unseen injury to make an appearance on his skin. Come the end of your search, you’re left looking into a face that is sporting a split brow and a cruel level of entertainment from the situation at hand.

There’s a relief to having him back, and it’s wrestling with the exasperating emotions a single missed call conjured up.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Aren’t you and Sam still meant to be… I don’t know, on a homoerotic getaway, fighting crime?” The questions fire out of you as you slip into one of the island’s stools.

“We finished early,” Bucky appears by your side as though from thin air, hand clasping the back of your seat and pushing you in closer to the counter top.

“Aww, don’t worry, big boy, it happens to the best of you,” you tease, an empathetic pat against his shoulder.

The mockery backfires when you notice his brows shoot up and his stare shifts towards your date, who’s too busy trying to open the sugar jar to notice the dig at his own sexual inabilities.

Wait, when exactly did Bucky get home?

“How do you take your coffee?” One-Thrust-Lance asks you over his shoulder.

Before you can answer, a cup is nudged into your grasp and Bucky looks over you with triumph, metal fingers reaching out to drag over a plate of freshly-baked cookies. The smell of warm vanilla pairs well with the soft musk of his cologne, your eyes nearly roll back inhaling it.

“Mmm,” one sip of your coffee is all you need to know it’s perfect, made exactly to your taste. “Coffee and baked goods… I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

In lieu of any verbal response, the soldier takes to dunking one of the cookies into your mug before stealing a bite out of it. You watch as he chews on the sweet treat, head nodding in approval at his own skills. After he dips a second time, you expect him to take another bite, only to find him offering the chocolate chip goodness up to your mouth. Two eyes, blue as any winter, stare encouragingly while you sink your teeth into the cookie.

Heaven couldn’t taste any sweeter, you think, as the perfect blend of coffee stained dough and the sharpness of the dark chips flood your tastebuds. 

“So messy,” Bucky tuts quietly, his right hand grabbing a steady hold of your chin while his thumb swipes away the crumbs dusting the corner of your mouth.

That thing inside of you stops again as you watch him bring his hand up to his own mouth, a pink tongue poking out to lick his thumb clean.

Arousal thrums through your blood, a pulsing rhythm that spreads straight to your clit. A squeeze of your thighs brings momentary reprieve, yet the ache fights back with renewed force, drying up your throat and knocking the sense right out of you.

Squirming where you sit, your legs switch position until one foot finds itself tucked beneath the opposite thigh, the heel of it sitting perfectly against your clothed core. You find no mercy, no chance to roll your hips forward in search of the balm only friction will bring to your burning skin. Instead there’s simply Bucky, eyes trailing down the length of you and settling on your short-clad legs. As though his behaviour is not cruel enough, he wets his bottom lip with his tongue

“You like that?” More than you’ll ever know, you almost scream until the logical side of your brain takes the wheel again and you notice him pointing down at the half-eaten cookie. Of course he’s enquiring about his baking skills, what else would this scrambled-egg-for-brains senior citizen be talking about? “Are you gonna make me wait all day for an answer?”

Something smashes behind Bucky, just in time to startle away the racy thoughts from your mind.

“My bad!” Your date — who you damn near forgot was even here — is apologising, bending at the waist and trying his best to collect the fractured pieces of a mug off the floor. “Where do you guys keep your dustpan?” 

Bucky pushes away from the island counter, taking the smell of his cologne with him; if you weren’t fully back to your rational senses, you’d miss it.

“I’ll get it, Vince, you just stand there and look pretty.”

“Okay!” Lance, it seems, is just as eager to please the ex-assassin as you almost were a moment ago.

You decide you need to move, to stand up, to stretch your legs. This has nothing to do with the lingering effect of Bucky’s antics, nor the damp patch gathering against your panties.

Slipping off the kitchen stool, you work on chugging down gulps of coffee with every intention of dumping the empty mug into the sink, dashing to your bedroom, and conjuring up the best plan you can come up with to get not only yourself, but also the trash you brought in with you last night out of the apartment and away from an infuriating roommate.

Something on the floor derails you, however, dragging you away from the path to sanctuary. The tiniest red petal, lonesome and neglected upon the cold tile. Three steps over, and there’s another petal. One step until the next petal. You follow the breadcrumb trail all the way over to the garbage can where, with one gentle push of a button, the lid opens up to reveal the unexpected, thrown away like a dirty secret.

A crumpled bouquet of roses.

Everywhere you turn, there’s tension.

In your neck, from sleeping at an unfavourable angle. Within your stomach, where a queasy feeling keeps threatening to spew your guts out onto the bathroom floor. Between you and Bucky, a foreign energy that’s grown over the course of this last week, during which you’ve been avoiding eye contact and his stare is full of accusation.

Retracing your steps, they take you back to the moment Lance left the apartment and you found yourself drowning in Bucky’s company for the first time in weeks. He was barely half-way through poking fun at the choices you made in his absence — most of his focus being on the blubbering fool you brought into your bed — when your patience ran thin and snapped.

Now here you are, bearing the consequence of your own short temper, wiping lipstick off your teeth whilst mentally preparing yourself to go on a second date, planned sheerly out of spite and the need to prove a point.

Poor Lance is none the wiser to his role as pawn in your game of ‘Screw You, Barnes!’.

“Everything okay in there?” Think of the devil and he shall knock on the bathroom door, apparently. “Thought you had your big date at seven.”

The gymnast’s text thread stares back at you, a wall of grey bubbles. You have to swallow down the lump in your throat to speak, “He’s not answering my calls.”

“You’ve been stood up? By that loser?” There’s every chance your storm of emotions is impeding you from thinking straight, but you swear you almost hear a hint of disbelief in Bucky’s voice. Disgust, even.

There’s no point dwelling on the thought.

After a quick wash of your hands, you pry the door open and watch as the soldier leaning against it nearly topples forward before catching himself against the frame. He’s entirely too close for comfort, close enough for you to notice the different shades of blue in his eyes.

“Maybe he broke his phone?” The lack of assurance in your voice has you cringing, the fear of being called out suddenly doubling.

Bucky scoffs, arms crossing over his chest.

“More likely he forgot to charge it.”

Is that what happened to him? Is that why he left you to dwell in the dark over his whereabouts and wellbeing, rendering the usual distraction of a night-time companion useless? Only for you to find him the following morning, right as rain and as annoying as ever, standing in the kitchen and casting judgement-filled glances at your overnight guest?

Thinking about it, about him, brings on an onslaught of anger you’re not willing to address. Not right now.

“Shut up!” It comes across as less independent girlboss and more petulant child, but you’re too busy noticing how firm his chest feels under your palms as you push past him out of the bathroom to care.

Prying open the freezer, you hear the soft click of the toilet door closing. Good, you think, he’s gone away. Out of sight, out of mind. Even if it is only for the short time it takes him to do his business.

That time ends up being even shorter than expected, for only minutes after you’ve dug your spoon into the creamy, frozen goodness of vanilla fudge, the object of both your fascination and your torture is making his way towards the kitchen.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop eating my ice cream?”

“Didn’t I tell you to move out?” Mouth full of vanilla, you shoot him a toothy grin and relish in the grimace it earns you.

Satisfaction melts away when Bucky invades your personal space, metal arm reaching over head and pulling open a cupboard.

“Don’t do that,” you swat at the vibranium bicep, a futile fight that simply makes you all too aware of how smooth it feels beneath your fingertips.

“Do what?” Brain of a caveman, Bucky continues his rustling through the cabinet behind you, features as stoic as a rock as though he’s none the wiser to how your chests brush against one another with each exhale.

“That,” another swat at his arm, though this time he yields. The space between you doesn’t grow, however. It worsens, his attention fully falling onto you now. “Reaching over me like you can’t just ask me to move.”

“Fine, if it really bothers you that much,” are the last words you hear before you’re airborne, two hands squeezing at your hips and moving you two steps over and out of the way.

The soldier doesn’t struggle, not even for a moment, the serum that’s altered his DNA leaving him primed and ready to manoeuvre the most steadfast of objects. Manhandle them, too. Pick them up, turn them over, pin them down, make them scream… Objects, of course, or those big, bad guys he and Sam are always chasing after.

The anger in you is renewed, burning brighter than a star ready to die. You shove his hands off of you and secure another step of distance between you.

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine today.” With the rate he’s going at, one would think the soldier makes a living out of deepening the frown on your face. “Is this princess’ first time being stood up?”

You’d slap him, right here and now, if it didn’t mean moving closer and touching his skin; the current top two of your ‘Things To Not Do’ list.

Luckily, the tub of ice cream sits just within reach and your eager fingers take grip of it, sliding it over the counter towards yourself. A mouthful of coolness precedes the burning question on your tongue, “Why didn’t you call?”

“Are you serious?” Now he’s the one scowling and taking a step closer.

“Deadly,” you dig the spoon back into the carton. “Now answer the question.”

“You’re pissy with me for not calling, meanwhile I’m the one who came home to some asshole in your bed?”

He’s moving closer. You try to step backwards.

“Yeah, well, if you’d called like you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have ended up with said asshole.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, “Oh, so now it’s my fault that you date degenerates?”

The cackle that escapes you could break the soundbarrier.

“Wow! Everybody, give it up for another original dig at my love-life from James Buchanan Barnes!” Voice dripping with seven layers of venomous sarcasm, you give three slow claps of your hands. The cynical smile that overcomes your face feels borderline deranged, something plucked right out of a horror movie. “Okay, yeah, I date losers! Happy? Jesus Christ, Bucky, what do you expect me to do? It’s not exactly like there’s anyone else lining up to date me.”

“I am!” His voice is raised, his eyes are wide, his chest is heaving. “Maybe I’m the biggest idiot, rushing home last week to surprise you. Even brought you flowers.  I just… Fuck!”

You don’t move, don’t blink, don’t breathe.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, knuckles going white as he pulls on the tresses.

There it is again in his eyes, the accusation.

Even though he’s shaking his head, he steps closer.

The kitchen counter is right behind you, there’s nowhere for you to run.

The heels on your feet almost give out beneath you, you try to steady yourself with your hands.

Bucky has other plans and grips both your forearms.

“I am,” he repeats, softer. Slower. The icy exterior of accusation melts away to reveal vulnerability.

A hand meets your cheek and holds you like you are glass, breakable beneath his touch. Your heart’s in your throat, and there’s a current of electricity running down to your toes, and that neglected hunger in your loins creeps in again. His eyes search your face, while his thumb gently swipes over your bottom lip, prying it out an involuntary capture from your teeth.

It’s unclear who reaches for who first, whether he dips and takes possession of your mouth, or you grab him by the collar of his shirt and lay your claim over him. In a matter of seconds, a tentative press of lips against lips divulges into loss of breath, tongues in mouths, and fevered kisses.

The soldier kisses with starvation, like he has walked through the desert of loneliness and at last stumbled upon an oasis, like a bee seeking every last drop of nectar from a flower dying off with the spring, like a body clings to sleep in the throes of exhaustion. It’s a necessity, a human need, a matter of survival to keep your lips interlocked.

The hand on your face holds you steady as he tilts himself deeper into the kiss. Noses brush against the swells of cheeks, eyelids rest close, feet shuffle closer in search of eradicating the crevice of distance between you two. Metal fingers curl around the nape of your neck, a gesture you reciprocate while your spare hand lays flat-palmed against his beating chest. One of his legs winds up between yours and, as he shifts weight from one foot to another, there’s the faintest relief of friction against your cunt and a whine gets caught between your throat and Bucky’s eager mouth.

Despite how you chase his lips, he pulls back and grants you the sight of pure endearment.

“Look at you, whining already. Where’s all that fire gone?” It’s practically a whisper, spoken with fascination. “Or were you just needing Old Bucky to touch you, huh?”

Second-hand embarrassment burns the tips of your ears, while your own unspoken agreement to his question has your stomach twisting up. Survival instincts, that have never been much of a friend, scream at you to flee this feeling, to throw away Pandora’s box before you risk fully opening it and having it consume you.

Bucky intercepts your attempt to push out of his arms.

“Ah, ah, get back here. Not done kissing you,” his words divulge into a barely coherent mumble as he reconnects your lips.

Beneath the heat of his kiss, the discomfort in your chest turns to ashes. Because, while instinct tells you to run from danger, this is Bucky.

Bucky who fixes cupboard hinges, and sleeps with both eyes on the door. Bucky who carries all the shopping, and holds every door. Bucky who calls to hear your voice while he’s away endangering his life, and brings home the silliest trinkets he finds on missions. Bucky who wakes you when you miss your alarm, and knows if you’ve had a bad day simply from looking at your face.

How could you possibly be in danger when it comes to him?

While you’re overcome with epiphany, he’s taken to tracing his lips over the slope of your jaw and mouthing at the skin of your neck. It’s when he lifts you up onto the kitchen counter that your wandering mind is reeled back in, to the physical present where your legs rest on either side of the soldier and the prized possession of vanilla fudge once again sits within reaching distance.

“Are you stealing my ice cream right now?” His lips tickle your collarbone as he speaks, barely  a moment after you’ve scooped the spoon into your mouth.

“I’m warm, and it's melting,” his head pops up just in time to accept the spoonful of vanilla you deliver. There’s a glow in his eyes, one that has you questioning if it's been there all along or if it's a consequence of touching your skin. “Don’t want it to go to waste.”

His mouth is on yours again, a rush of three chaste kisses seared against you before he replies, “Then let’s cool you down.”

At a teasingly slow pace, you feel his fingers tug down your dress’ straps, leaving the silky fabric to slip down your frame and pool around your hips. Under the golden hue of the kitchen lights, his gaze studies your bare skin like it's a work of art, an eighth wonder of the world, the greatest poem never written woven into it. Yet it still manages to pale against the face that overcomes him as he removes a final layer of lace.

Unlike Vince, he has no trouble removing your bra.

“So responsive,” he talks as though only his ears are meant to hear it, his vibranium palm gently taking hold of your left breast and rolling the hardening nipple between two fingers. 

He’s studying your reaction, bewildered by the goosebumps spreading over your flesh.

When was the last time he truly touched another person? Weeks, months, years, decades? The thought of his hands on a faceless shape makes you sick. First with envy, and then with hypocrisy, an amalgamation of all the men you’ve taken to bed flashing before your eyes. But none of them ever touched you like you were porcelain, and none of them looked at you like you held the key to eternal pleasure. None of them were Bucky.

A chill runs down your spine and a gasp rips out your chest as Bucky swipes the spoon over your skin, leaving a trail of ice cream atop your right breast for his tongue to follow. He plants a garden of kisses along the swell of your chest before pulling away to give the left side equal treatment, another creamy river along your skin for him to clean up.

Moving at their own volition, your hips grind gently against his steady figure as Bucky coats your nipple in vanilla, moaning into your chest as he lays claim over you with his mouth. Spoiling you in his kisses, the soldier begins to yearn for friction, meeting the careful roll of your hips with his own.

Your hand finds his hair and his stare meets yours, intense and all-consuming as he releases your nipple with a scrape of his teeth. You want to soothe his kiss-swollen lips but they’re already wrapping themselves around your other breast, not even patient enough to lather you in the vanilla goodness this time.

Instead, the coldness on your skin stems from metal fingers, perched on your thigh and creeping up the length of it, inch by tormenting inch. A hesitant hand wraps around a vibranium wrist, tightening its grip before you begin guiding his touch inwards, upwards, to where you need it most. Bucky's stronger, more resistant, and holds off your interceptance, left hand continuing its intended path beneath the skirt of your dress and grabbing hold of your naked waist.

He’s everywhere, all over you. Mouthing at your chest, gripping at your hip, rutting into your pussy. The sweet drag of his bulge over your clothed core sires a wet patch against your thong and has your fingers tugging on the roots of his hair, winning you the hair-raising hum of a groan against your breast.

Desperate to feel more, you renew your efforts to lead his hand to the space between your legs and are met with a shake of his head.

“No,” he mutters, and robs you of a hand beneath your dress, using it instead to cradle your jaw while his lips skim over the shell of your ear. “Wanna feel you.”

The warmth of flesh brands your thigh, Bucky’s right arm now leading the charge beneath the silky fabric. With bated breath, you brace yourself against his strong chest and try not to squirm in anticipation of his touch. With one final squeeze at your inner thigh, the soldier’s hand engulfs your clothed cunt and his breath cracks in your ear, a strangled out, feral noise that has your toes curling.

“She’s so wet, darling,” his voice has you delirious, breathy against your ear. His fingers flex against your pussy and a moan catches in your throat. “You gonna let me touch her?”

Something about the way he’s speaking to you, the words he’s choosing, makes you want to fall apart. Your sex-life has always been liberal, you know what it is to have a man’s hands all over you, trying to take ownership of parts of you he thinks belong to him. Men who take, and take, and take, until there is nothing left of you to give, and not once do they care to win your favour, to plead for permission. But Bucky…

“Please, say I can touch her, wanna give her what she needs,” he’s pleading for it, begging for you — wrecked and desperate, breath run ragged from no more than the relief of rolling his groin against your thigh. “Promise I’ll be real sweat, make you feel good.”

Too caught up in his own head, he doesn’t notice you nodding, until you’re granting him salvation verbally, “Touch me, Bucky.”

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t waste time on taking off your underwear, just moves it to the side and drags the tip of his fingers down the inseam of your pussy. You hear it, more than you feel it, the moment he touches your opening, a sharp inhale at your ear telling you he’s exactly where he wants to be.

As his middle finger slips in, it’s hard to tell which of you reacts louder, both a mess of guttural moans. Once it's fully sheathed within you, he curls it and presses against your soaked walls, grinning against your skin at the reaction it coaxes out of you.

“Don’t hold back,” he chastises you as you bite back another pathetic whimper, a second finger slipping into you. “Let me hear what I’m doing to you.”

He must have a magic touch, you’re sure of it. Thick fingers that fuck into you at a steady pace, curling and teasing at that world-bending spot inside you, while his thumb makes itself useful against your clit, a firm force for your bucking hips to grind up into while you chase the pleasure he’s unleashing on you. In a matter of minutes, the room is alive with your melodic moans, Bucky’s endless hums of approval, and the damn-right embarrassingly loud squelch of him fingering your drooling cunt.

You make the mistake of letting your eyes slip shut, relinquishing yourself to the way he touches you with the rough hands of a soldier yet the delicate stroke of a musician playing his favourite instrument. He must feel the shift in you, for he’s instantly prying his face away from your neck and tightening the metal grip on your jaw, fingertips digging into squished cheeks.

“Look at me,” his words are both a command and a plea. An order you follow and a prayer you answer, eyelashes fluttering open to find his face in front of your own. His lips are a hard line, his brows furrowed in disapproval, and there’s a vein threatening to split down the middle of his forehead, but his eyes. His eyes are affection incarnate, two pools of lust and worship that pose no threat of drowning. “Do you want to cum?”

Never has a more needless question been asked. 

You nod into the force of his vibranium hand, but that’s not what he wants, frown deepening.

“Say it,” needy, helpless, spoken like he’s the one on the brink of ecstasy. “Please.”

“Bucky,” it feels good to say his name like this, brain melting into mush and heart racing in your chest. “I want you to let me cum.”

“Let you?” He’s offended by the word, fingers burying impossibly deeper inside of you while he continues to stare you down. “I beg of you.”

No warning precedes the coil in you snapping. The muscles in your core tense, your back arches into his broad figure, your pussy squeezes at Bucky’s fingers with a death grip. He guides you through it, ignoring the cramp in his wrist in favour of continuing to fuck his hand into you, a smile finally cracking over his face as he watches you fall apart atop the counter, nothing but Bucky, Bucky, Bucky surrounding you.

He tries to give you reprieve, a moment to breathe and savour the buzz in your veins, the hand around your jaw shifting to stroke at your cheek while the hand between your legs soothes you with featherlight touches.

You don’t let him, hand pawing down his torso and gripping at the belt of his jeans, delighting in the familiar clang of a buckle being undone, nimble digits that tear leather out its loop and tug down his zipper. Bucky’s bringing his lips back against yours just as you palm at his bulge, his tongue licking into your mouth when you finally release him from the confines of his boxers.

Fingers coated in your own slick grip at your thigh while the soldier makes it his mission to steal your breath, rendering you blind to the sight of his cock. But you can feel it. The weight of it in your hand, the burn of want ingrained in his skin. The width of it, and the length of it, and the perfectly mushroomed tip that has him keening into your touch as your pointer finger drags over the head.

“Is this what I do to you?” Still lost in the maze of your orgasm, you manage to gain back crumbs of your usual confidence watching Bucky fall mute. When he merely nods, you play him at his own game, fingers back in his hair and forcing him to look you in the eye. “Say it.”

He doesn’t.

He says something much better.

“D’you even realise how many nights I’ve laid on that fucking couch, hard as a rock and willing you to come out your room?”

“That’s your generation's problem, you know?” You whisper teasingly, incapable of fighting off your own laughter. “You swear more than you breathe.”

“C’mere,” he’s rolling his eyes and pulling you in, kissing you like it’s been a milenia and not a minute, hand nudging yours out the way to take a hold of himself.

Your teeth graze over his tongue as he drags the head of his cock through your folds, and he groans into your mouth before pulling back. Resting his forehead against yours, he’s teasing you both as his tip brushes over your hole before continuing its rutt up, bumping against your sensitive clit.

A wicked voice takes control of your mouth.

“Lance would have fucked me by now.”

“Vince would have cum by now, too,” he’s still rocking his hips, no sense of urgency behind the way he soaks himself in you.

Meanwhile, you’re a handful of seconds away from screaming at him to just stick it in already.

“You- Oh!” Prayers answered, hallelujah, his cock finally sinks into you. It’s a shallow thrust, barely more than the tip before he’s retreating, yet it's enough to mess with your head. “You heard us?”

“Unfortunately,” and he means it, the most subtle of pouts forming on his lips before he feeds himself a little deeper into your pussy. “I’m not great when it comes to timing.”

“I only slept with Lance because you-” Right on cue, he fucks into you even deeper and your words dissappear before they can reach your tongue.

“New rule,” a hand rests on your knee and encourages you to spread your legs wider. “No speaking another man’s name when you’re in bed with me.”

“Technically, this is the kitchen counter-” The bastard does it again, cuts you off with his dick — if it didn’t feel so damn good, you’d slap him.

He’s bottomed out at last, buried himself fully in your cunt. Hands snake around your waist, one palm flattening against your lower back while the other rests a little further up and guides your spine to arch into him, closer, like there’s anymore space left between you to devour.

His pace is still slow, teasing. A toe-curling drag of his cock out of you, letting you feel every ridge and vein before his hips promptly snap back into you and send your eyes rolling back, your head falling back — and smacking loudly against the cupboard door behind you.

Bucky freezes, one hand quick to cradle the back of your skull while his eyes scan over you.

“Jesus, doll, you okay?” 

“Please don’t stop,” you plead, ridiculously unfazed by the faint ache when you’ve got him inside of you.

Even though he rolls his eyes, he complies.

“Might have just given you a concussion and all you care about is getting fucked?” He asks, like you could possibly care about anything else when his arms are hooking themselves under your knees and rucking you up off the counter, away from any rogue cupboard that means you harm.

If anything, you’ll gladly shoulder the burden of any possible injury, if it means being granted the sight of his biceps tensing as he effortlessly stands there and fucks you down onto him. Were you in any sane state of mind, you wouldn’t think it, but god bless that super soldier serum.

“You can give me a cockcussion for all I care,” head perched on his shoulder, you watch your nails sink into the fabric of his shirt and wish it would disappear and gift you the naked view of his back.

“Adding that to the list,” he whispers against your forehead, pressing a kiss against it.

Legs bent at the knee, you watch how, with one particularly deep thrust, they bounce at either side of him and one of your heels clatters to the floor.

The room pivots as Bucky turns, you still in his arms and your ankles locked behind his back. At first, you believe he’s aiming to move things into the bedroom, where the only thing your head will be hitting is the mattress when he lays you down. He proves you wrong, however, the cold press of marble against you once more as he settles you down onto the kitchen island.

Much to your chagrin, he slips out of you, cock now sitting pretty against his clothed abdomen and glistening with the sheen of your essence. In the blink of an eye, the soldier is sinking to his knees, metal finger reaching back for your fallen shoe.

The scene plays out like something stripped right out of a morally dubious, low quality pornography retelling of Cinderella, in which Prince Charming has his dick out, Cinderella’s gown is half-way off, and the infamous glass slipper is just a pair of heels you bought on sale.

Bucky is delicate and slow, mouth tickling at your inner knee as he secures the shoe in place. He rests back on his haunches and fully takes in the sight of you, perched upon the counter, hands splayed out on marble, a tangle of silk around your waist, lips parted in search of steady breathing.

There’s an intensity to his gaze, burrowing itself beneath your skin and becoming part of your bloodstream, spreading throughout your body. It makes you want to hide, flee like you do best, but Bucky has other plans.

“The shoes stay on, but this,” Bucky’s fingertips tug lightly on the hem of your dress, exposing a sliver of new skin. “I need this gone. Am I allowed to take it off?”

There he goes again, face the model of innocence while he asks for permission to your body. If you weren’t already dripping against your panties, you would be now. Luckily, he doesn’t push you to verbalise your agreement this time, more than eager to comply the moment you nod your head.

You wiggle your hips as he pulls the fabric out from beneath you, his grip snagging on the waistband of your thong and dragging it away alongside the dress. When your ass cheeks press back down onto the cool of the counter, reality hits you like a freight-train: you’re completely nude, with Bucky on his knees before you, in the middle of the kitchen.

“Buck,” the y of his nickname disappears as you feel him peppering kisses of your leg, inching that little bit higher each press of his mouth. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to remember where your rational thoughts are stored, conjuring up images of friends, of Sam sitting at this very surface. “I don’t think we should… I mean, people eat off this counter!”

“Don’t worry,” reaching the threshold of your thigh, his kisses seem to speed up, that sauve and composed exterior chipping away to reveal a man who no longer wants to take his time with you. “I intend to eat.”

No sooner than the words reach your ears, Bucky swipes his tongue up your pussy and any fight left in you melts away as you turn to putty beneath his touch, soft and malleable, willing to sit there and take whatever he wants to give.

Give, he most certainly does. Lips latch onto your clit, hands hold your squirming hips in place, tongue dances over your most delicate areas before dipping into your entrance. He drinks from you like you’re the sweetest honey, the richest of red wines, the Holy Grail promising an eternal youth to a man whose time was stolen from him.

“You should see her, doll,” there’s a rasp in Bucky’s voice, a feral undertone to the growl that rests in the back of his throat. One hand tugs his shirt off while the other snakes between your legs, two fingers spreading your lips open in an obscene gesture that has you clamping down on your bottom lip. “She’s drooling for me, all pretty and wet.”

Dropping both your legs over his shoulders, he tugs you right to the edge of the counter and dives back in. You feel his nose bump against your clit and your hand grabs onto your thigh, nails piercing into flesh as your mouth sings a whined symphony.

Vibranium curls around your wrist, prying harm away from your own skin and silently imploring you to hurt him instead, nestling your fingers back into his hair. He’s renewing his effort, a touch that’s more determined than ever to make you fall apart, on his knees and worshipping the altar of your body — fealty and devotion seared into each lap of his tongue, each brush of his lips, each stroke of his fingers.

Who are you to reject his piety? You welcome it, with closed fist and glassy eyes. The soldier shudders — a full-body shiver that shakes down his spine — as the point of your heel digs into his back and your fingers squeeze at his scalp, no mercy shown as you lose yourself in the throes of lust.

When you cum, a silent scream rips through your chest and a burning-too-bright white light turns you blind. He doesn’t let up, tongue still buried in your convulsing walls as your thighs clamp around his head and your feet kick at his back, shoes flying elsewhere into the kitchen. He pays none of it any mind, content to prolong your orgasm for as long as you’ll allow him, slowly rising off his knees with two hands pinning you back against the counter while he continues to feast on your pleasure.

“Ja-mes,” a fractured call of his name is all it takes for him to stop, pupils more black than blue as they stare down at the picture you paint atop the counter: teary-eyes, swollen lips, heaving chest.

He’s hardly the image of composure either, red lines along the expanse of his back, hair a tousled mess, the scruff on his face covered in a sheen of your juices. And, yet, never have you wanted to kiss him so bad.

All you manage, after minutes of floating atop the cloud of your peak, is a cheeky grin and a comment that makes him roll his eyes: “For a fossil, you’re pretty kinky.”

“War camps aren’t exactly known for being fun,” as he speaks, he slowly lowers your legs off his shoulder. “You find ways to keep yourself entertained.”

“Bet you were quite the pleaser, huh?” Trying your best to play it cool, you lay your head fully back on the counter and stare up  at the ceiling, praying he doesn’t notice the hypocritical pit forming in your stomach as you listen to your own words. “Probably had all the prettiest nurses fighting over who gets to tend to your poor, aching, throbbing co-”

“Jealousy looks cute on you,” he interrupts, amused, as his hands soothe over your hips.

“I’m not jealous!” You exclaim, barely believing yourself.

One hand reaching out for him, you watch your fingers intertwine with the prosthetic digits and let him tug you back up, chest to chest when his hand finds your cheek.

“I was,” his confession is crooned whilst staring right into your eyes, the tiniest up-turn to his mouth. “Everytime you walked out the door to go date a new loser.”

“Who knew,” your voice is as gentle as his own, nonchalant as a finger dances down the well-defined muscles of his abdomen and elicits a groan out of him. “All along I had my own loser at home.”

Bucky opts for silence as your hand reaches his groin and pays no mind to his cock, red-tipped and leaking, flushed against his stomach. You’re more interested in his jeans — in removing them, to be exact. It doesn’t take much, a sharp tug at the hem before they’re slipping off, meeting restraint as they cling to his muscled thighs and implore him to finish the job on your behalf, shucking them off blindly to where the rest of your clothes lie.

You must have saved a village in a past life to be rewarded with the view of a completely nude Bucky Barnes, skin stained by lust and laced with gold beneath the kitchen light. You must have saved the rest of the world, too, to watch how his eyes roll back and his mouth falls slack when you take his length in hand and give one slow pump of your wrist, releasing it just to watch it slap back against his abdomen.

As you reach for his dick again, his hand secures itself around your own and guides it up and down the length of it. Once, twice, thrice, till he’s breathing heavily and dripping in pre-cum.

“You must be close,” a statement you make with his own bodily reaction as evidence to back it up, yet there’s still room for doubt — to what extent does that soldier serum interfere with him?

“Put me back down on my knees and I’ll cum to the taste of you,” the soldier certainly makes a tempting offer, one that it almost pains you to refuse.

Almost, if you hadn’t already felt the sweet stretch of him inside you.

“Pretty sure putting you back down on your knees might be considered elder abuse, ole buddy.”

“My age may be a hundred and six but-”

“Exactly my point.”

“But my body isn’t,” he’s using that stare of his, the one Sam always warns you about, while  you’re full-on cheesing, a rush of adrenaline shooting through your veins as you wind him up.

“Remind me, who threw their back out a few weeks ago pulling a tray of muffins out the oven?”

His flesh hand grips behind one of your knees and tugs you right to the edge of the counter, while his left one, still clasped over your own, drags his tip over your folds.

“I don’t remember hearing you complain when you drunkenly ate half the tray and then threw up over the rest,” admittedly, not one of your proudest moments.

“Shut up and fuck me, Barnes.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Just like that, you’re drowning in him again, gasping for breath as you lose yourself in a flood of lust. Bottomed out, stuffing you full, Bucky barely graces your pussy with the chance to adjust to his stretch once more before he’s moving, the sweet graze of every inch being dragged along your sensitive walls.

Your nerves are still reeling from his mouth, a quiet hum of electric pleasure reawakened by his throbbing cock and his vulgar mouth.

“She fits me like a fucking glove,” his hands are pawing at your waist, your breast, your face, never in one place for too long as he begins to settle into a rhythm of thrusts. “Doing so good for me, darling.”

The softness put into his term of endearment births an ache in your chest, one that will accept no medicine other than your arms around his neck and his lips on yours. Mouths tangled in kisses and sweat dripping down your skin, Bucky halts — your hips pressed together, the swell of his balls resting right against your swollen cunt, the head of his cock resting right against your sweet spot — and grinds.

Slow, deliberate, delicious. You whine into his mouth and feel how he swallows it, feasts on your ecstasy with a willing tongue, and a smiling mouth, and possessive teeth that tug at your lip as he pulls back. He stretches out the feeling, grinding a second time as your noses bump against one another.

“Bucky,” his name is an anchor, a paperweight, something to ground you amidst the floaty feeling of being two orgasms deep with a third approaching any time now.

“I know,” he says, and you believe him. Believe that he knows, that he’s known, that he always knows when it comes to you.

You lay your head to rest upon on his left shoulder when he returns to chasing a high between your thighs, a renewed vigor behind each thrust that has your hips rolling to meet his and your nails raking over the straining muscles of his back.

“I lied,” an unprompted confession stumbles out his mouth, fingers flexing into their grip on your waist. “About the apartment viewing. I didn’t go.”

“Bucky,” is all you can manage, branded into his skin with a kiss along his neck.

“Is that all you can say? Huh?” His voice carries a teasing lilt, paired to perfection with the pad of his thumb rubbing at your clit. “I’m giving pivotal revelations here, and you’re just gonna reply with that?”

Another echo of his name, walls fluttering around his dick.

“Bucky, Bucky,” he’s mocking you, a torturer’s laugh as he moans his name into your ear. “Keep going, you sound so pathetic it’s almost cute.”

Beyond words and beyond sense, you give in to the weight of his palm splaying against your stomach and guiding your back down onto the island. The soldier hooks your legs over his elbows, deepening the angle that his cock fucks into you, and you swear you see stars dance along the kitchen ceiling.

A hand smooths over your gut and you look back at Bucky to find adoration in his eyes.

“You see that?” You almost want to cry when his movement switches back to a slow drag — innnnn and outtttt — until you notice it: the smallest hint of movement beneath your flesh, a subtle visual of the outline of his tip bulging against your skin from inside you. “See how full she is, how good I’m making her feel?”

Pressing your hand against it, you can’t help but giggle as you feel him poke at your palm, only to fall back into a puddle of incoherent noises when he keeps pushing at that sweet spot, over and over. Harder and faster with each draw back of his hips, you feel rivulets of your own arousal roll down your ass and onto the marble, tainting the counter forevermore in the sins the soldier commits against you, the sins you welcome with open legs.

You’re near the edge again, and he feels it, pushing you closer and closer as he slowly spirals into a mess of phrases that barely begin before he’s cutting them off with something new.

“Don’t deserve this-” He catches himself, rips the insecurity in his voice out by the roots. “C’mon, let me see it one more time. Need to see you fall apart.”

“Want you to fall apart too,” you manage to beg, unwilling to watch him hold back or pull out before he finishes. “Please!”

Like any good soldier, he obeys.

Crashing over you like a wave, he’s doubled-over by the waist and sandwiching you between the counter and him. You feel him spill into you, hot ropes of cum painting your walls white as a third crescendo washes over your body.

Both of you seek out the other as his thrusts grow languid and your walls spasm, milking him for every last drop he’s got. When your mouths meet, it’s less of a kiss and more of you simply breathing into the other, exchanging air and body heat.

“So,” you croak eventually, exhausted and spent atop the counter yet completely unwilling to relinquish him from blanketing you. “Are you gonna do that every time I steal your ice cream?

Somewhere between jello-ed legs and cold compresses, you wind up in bed.

Skin clammy, lips swollen, lust satiated, you practically melt into the buttery softness of your bed sheets as Bucky lays you down. Despite how you’re still basking in the glow of your third and final orgasm, the soldier seems to think, for a second, you can handle another.

With gentle hands prying open your thighs and a curious tongue diving in for a second helping, licking up the dribble of his own cum spilling out your hole, he’s quick to be corrected when you roll away from his touch with a whine and a plea, “think I might actually die if you make me cum again, Buck.”

He’s unbothered by the rejection, wholly embracing it as he curls up behind you and snakes his arms over your naked skin. It’s you who drags the sheet up and over you both, turning in his arms to plant your head on his chest. His heart races beneath it, but you hold off on teasing — your own isn't any better.

“Sam’s going to kill me,” you whisper out into the room, when moonlight is peeking through your curtains and both of your heartbeats have calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” you feel him shift beneath your head and, though you can’t fully see him, you feel that blue gaze land on you. “Have I not made it clear enough what name you should be saying in bed?”

“There’s a serious chance I’ll die and you’re thinking with your dick,” he squirms as you pinch at his nipple. “You’re no better than the men on your list, Barnes.”

Silence floats back in between you for a moment, peaceful as the slow stroke of his fingers dancing up your spine.

“Why would Sam kill you?” He pauses, hand pressing a little harder down against a knot in your shoulder.  “He knows you have a crazy guard dog.”

Your crazy guard dog just pressed a kiss against your forehead, how frightening.

“He made me swear I wouldn’t get involved with you. He said you weren’t in the headspace for a relationship, that you needed to focus on inner peace first.”

“Turns out inner peace is being inside of you,” you pinch at his nipple again. This time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, you almost swear you hear a little moan creep up his throat. “So, Wilson’s to blame? I can get behind that.”

“To blame for what?”

His hand’s now running up and down the back of your arm, leaving goosebumps wherever its tender touch goes. 

“Why it took you so long to jump my bones.”

“You think I jumped your-” Your head rises off his chest and you stare into the navy darkness of the room, trying to make a concrete shape out where you see shadows of his face. “Wait, so these past few weeks, I’ve not been hallucinating? You’ve been… flirting?”

“It’s been more than a couple weeks, sweetheart,” Bucky seems to have no problem finding you in the dark, hand cupping your cheek and dragging you up to press a chaste kiss against your mouth. “You don’t seriously think I waited until morning to check that sink without hoping to be caught, do you?”

“So you were slutting yourself out on the kitchen floor!”

“Think the kitchen’s seen worse,” worse might be the understatement of the century.

Clothes still lay discarded, counters unwiped, ice cream completely melted. Cleaning you up had been the soldier’s only priority, and you weren’t in the mood or the mindstate to argue with him on that.

A fingertip tickles down the slope of your nose.

“Stop fighting it, you’re tired,” you hear him whisper.

“I want to hear more about your desperate efforts to get my attention,” it’s nothing but a weak protest.

“We have all the time in the world for that. Sleep,” you don’t hesitate to comply when Bucky’s hand presses you back down against the warmth of his chest. “You’re going to need it. Our upstairs neighbours still need a taste of their own medicine.”

+ extra hyde ! · 70% of this fic is just dialogue, these two losers would not stfu! · writing banter + sexual tension feels more exposing than writing literal porn. · lore accurate photo of me whenever bucky barnes exists:

[maroon-cardigan-deactivated2025]

THE ONLY EXCEPTION | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: hawkin’s loverboy steve harrington is known for always spoiling his dates on february 14th, yet this year his plans might not go as he expects when he finds out the new girl in town absolutely despises valentine’s day.

word count: 12.6k

early stages of dating, kinda situationship | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. smut. protected p in v, a bit of sub!steve but nothing crazy, lots of dirty talk and some angst with happy ending.

author’s note: hiiii <3 i found this unfinished thing on my drafts that i initially wanted to publish on valentine’s day as part of the valentine’s mailbox, but i was soooo busy i couldn’t really finish it back then. there were a lot of scenes that i loved in this so i thought i would write it and post it anyways, that’s why there are probably typos at the end but please ignore them <3 let me know what you think x

[dividers by @cafekitsune ]

You were unreal. The fun was unreal, the sex was unreal. It was about time until you got him whispering sweet nothings as he dived his nose on your hair.

‘Turn around.’ Steve said under his breath, and you were so blinded by the lust that you did exactly as he said. His hand was pulling aside the pretty red thong that barely covered your ass while he fucked you from behind. ‘Love this one.’

In other instances, you would’ve laughed or said something cheeky, but you were too busy letting out pretty moans and pressing your cheek against the pillow to say anything.

‘You hear that, babe?’ Steve said as he fucked you a bit harder, obscene noises echoed through his room as you bit your lip. ‘God, you’re so fucking wet. And this pretty thong’s so fucking filthy. What are you gonna do when you cum on my dick, huh? You’re gonna have to take ‘em off and go home with nothing under that little skirt. And it’s so cold outside, baby. What are you gonna do?’

His dirty talk seemed to be having the exact effect that he wanted, because you were panting helplessly as you fisted the bedsheets under your body.

‘Or should I drive you home all dirty, huh?’ A little smile was lifting his lips as you shut your eyes hard. ‘S that what you want? I’ve got a few ideas of how I could clean them for you.’

You let out a laugh then, a small thing that instantly turned into a moan at the way he kept fucking you.

‘You’re such a pig, Harrington.’ You said under your breath.

‘Oh, but I fuck you nicely, don’t I?’ His hips clashed against your ass firmly then, and he knew that you were rolling those perfect eyes under your eyelids in response. ‘Don’t I?’

‘Shit, yes.’ You finally said as you started to roll your hips deliciously. ‘You fuck me exactly how I like it, Steve. ‘S that what you wanna hear?’

He bit his lip at your tone, at your annoyance. Steve loved it way too much, when you acted like him being obsessed with you was an inconvenience when really, he could feel you, hear you, getting wetter and wetter around his dick.

‘Tell me more.’ He asked, sweating over your body as he could feel himself getting close. ‘Baby.’

Another amused sound left your mouth as you slowly fixed the rhythm with your hips, he had to let go of the thong for a second to brush his messy hair away from his face.

‘Such an attention whore.’ You said under your breath. He opened his eyes to find you smiling as he swallowed hard. Why was it that when other girls were mean he felt nothing but with you it was so hot? ‘Always looking for my praise, huh?’

‘Babe.’ He warned. That funny feeling was growing in his stomach as you bounced on him a little bit more. He was trying to match your pace, but he was too distracted, too mesmerized, too fucked to be able to.

‘What if I tell you I’m about to cum?’ You said in a dreamy voice that he’d be replaying in his head tonight when he showered before bed. ‘Is that nice enough to make you cum with me?’

‘I—’

‘Fuck.’ You moaned as you hid your face on the pillow. His grip on your hip was now strong, his thrusts messy and completely out of pace as you partly opened your mouth. ‘Shit.Your dick’s always so good to me, Steve. So good to me.’

That was it, the littlest crumb of filthy validation and he was already placing his forehead against your back as his dick filled the condom with his hot cum. You panted a little underneath, equally pleased by his reaction and the sex, until a final moan and a subtle spasm from your body let him know you had cum as nicely as usual.

‘You’re too pretty to be this fucking mean.’ Steve whispered against your skin before he kissed the back of your neck.

His dick fell out of your pussy, heavy and damp with your fluids, just to be replaced by his fingers, maliciously inspecting that warm heaven you hid between your legs. You whimpered in surprise for a second, while he sighed heavily, fingering you with no other purpose than his own perverse enjoyment.

‘Ow.’ He said against your skin as you squirmed a little. ‘Just look at how wet this greedy pussy is. And I just fucked her, can you believe it?’

‘Steve ‘m so— s-sensitive.’ You moaned as he kept fingering it. ‘Not gonna cum, but—’

‘What’s that?’ He said. ‘Don’t fucking test me.’

‘It feels good, I’m just scared that I might—’

‘Might what?’ Steve said amused. ‘You already made my sheets dirty, princess. This whole bed is stained by you.’

‘You know I don’t mean to.’ Your complaint was more like a begging moan as you arched your back.

‘I know, baby.’ He cooed. ‘I know ‘s not your fault you get so messy. That’s why I’m fucking you again, gotta make sure you go home well-fucked. Give me another one, will you? C’mon, be good for me.’

The noise that left your mouth then filled him with equal pride and fascination. You melted against his bed like a wild thing, humping the mattress a little as he felt the walls of your pussy clenching for a second time around his fingers.

‘There we go.’ He bit his smile, carefully taking his digits out of you as you recovered from the violent high. When you turned your head towards him, your tired eyes observed how he sucked your wetness off his fingers. ‘Want a taste?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ You said unamused as you let out a deep sigh.

Steve laughed as you laid on the bed. He stood up to get rid of the condom and clean himself a little as you stayed in the same position until he came back to bed.

His arrogance had melted quickly, looking back at you with that softness so proper of him that had drawn you more than any of his flirty charm. Steve laid on his side next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist in a needy snuggle.

‘Want you closer.’ He said softly as his nose brushed against yours.

You smiled subtly, placing a hand over his cheek before you pecked his mouth in that simple yet tender way that always managed to soothe him.

There was silence for a while, as the world outside his bed started to gain importance. You were both lost in your thoughts for a few minutes, enjoying the post-lust quietness, the tiredness, the simplicity of it all.

‘By the way,’ Steve said then ‘I got a reservation for next Sunday at that French restaurant Nancy mentioned the other day.’

You frowned softly when you opened your eyes, but he didn’t give it too much thought as you let out a yawn.

‘Isn’t that place a bit too fancy?’ You asked as you moved to lay on your back.

He shrugged. ‘So?’

‘So?’ You looked back at him. You poked his nose with yours, giving him a soft smile afterwards. ‘I know I like being spoiled, but I’m a simple girl, Steve. I like doing simple things with you.’

‘I know, I know.’ He shrugged shyly again as he pulled you closer towards him. ‘But you know, it’s a special occasion so I kinda wanted to do something nice. Don’t worry about the money.’

‘Is it?’ You looked back at him with a confused semblance. You opened your mouth partly, hesitating for a second before shaking your head softly. ‘Isn’t five weeks too early to have special occasions already?’

‘Oh, please.’ He rolled his eyes amusedly. ‘Don’t be silly, it’s just Valentine’s Day.’ 

Realisation fell on your eyes as you tensed a little under his embrace.

‘Oh.’

He observed you as your eyes got lost on something on the ceiling.

‘What?’

‘Huh. I just…’ You said tentatively before looking back at him. ‘I just don’t feel that’s kind of my thing, you know.’

It took Steve a few seconds to process your words before he moved purposefully, resting the side of his head on his hand as he flexed his elbow over the pillow. A thoughtful frown took over his face while his free hand stroked the skin next to your belly button, then it climbed subtly to start playing with one of your nipples absently.

‘You don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.’ It wasn’t a question, yet you were shaking your head softly in response. The statement felt bitter in his mouth. ‘Like at all?’

‘No.’ You murmured as you studied his face.

Steve didn’t like the condescending smile that was threatening to take over your face. Valentines was a very simple thing, a very couple thing. Most importantly, it was his thing. He didn’t understand. 

‘Well, why not?’ He said. ‘You don’t like flowers?’

‘They wilt.’

‘Heart-shaped chocolate?’

‘I’m lactose intolerant.’

‘Cards?’

‘Only on Christmas and Birthdays.’

‘Teddy bears?’

‘Oh, please.’ You seemed visibly annoyed now. ‘Don’t even get me started, what a waste of space.’

‘What?’ He leaned back. ‘What kind of girl doesn’t like Teddy Bears?’

‘Steve, I’m an adult.’

He seemed to be clearly upset by that answer, because suddenly he was starting to number things with his fingers as you moved to your side to face him.

‘They’re cute, they’re soft, they smell good, they’re huggable.’

‘Okay?’ You said. ‘So am I.’

‘That’s beside the point.’ He said as he felt the heat rush to his cheeks.

‘Look at me.’ You said with a new seriousness in your eyes. ‘If there’s going to be one rule here is no Teddy Bears.’

Steve looked away as he sighed. He felt severely immature, but more than that he felt stupid for feeling hurt by your attitude.

‘Listen babe,’ His hand was now finding yours over the space in between your bodies. In a different situation he would’ve simply pulled you in from your waist, but he could feel a pinch of annoyance piercing his chest. He could feel himself hiding from you. ‘I get that you’ve never felt like doing this before, but maybe this can be… a first.’

You looked down at your entwined hands, considering his words as uncertainty tinted your face in a way that twisted his guts. His heart broke a little bit inside as you bit the inside of your cheek before shaking your head.

‘I don’t think so, honey.’

Steve swallowed his hurt as an awkward silence fell in the space between you two. You were still not looking at him as he studied your face.

‘Can you at least tell me why?’

You were visibly uncomfortable, releasing a sigh while you detangled your hands to cuddle against him again. As if it was second nature, he opened his arm for you to find that warm place between his arms that, even though it had only been five weeks, belonged to you and only to you already.

‘Do you remember that day at the lake,’ you said when you were finally resting your head on his shoulder. ‘When we had sex for the first time?’

He kissed your scalp then, smiling sadly against it as his knuckles stroked your cheek.

‘Course I remember.’ He murmured.

‘Do you remember when I asked you about this?’ Your fingers slowly brushed the skin around his neck, the dark pink scar that had left you speechless when he had taken his shirt off that the cold night of New Year’s.

He nodded absently over your head, you had lifted yourself subtly to look back at him, but he couldn’t face you right now.

‘You said some things are hard to remember.’ You kept going softly. ‘That there are some things you couldn’t explain to me. And I understood. Well, this is my thing.’

‘I didn’t know you back then.’ He murmured. ‘I wasn’t ready to tell you.’

‘And are you now?’

Steve stayed silent for a while, pondering about his answer until he was finally able to shake his head.

‘S different.’

You moved then, so you could face him fully. He was only able to look back at you when your fingers stroked his hair, you were staring at him with the outmost sweetness, but there was something cold behind your eyes. Something unfamiliar. Something that he didn’t like.

‘You don’t get to decide if it’s different or not, Steve.’ You murmured. ‘I know you know that.’

‘What’s this?’

Your voice lifted Steve’s mood before he could even see you. When he turned back, you were standing in front of the counter where he had been checking out some tapes, and he couldn’t help but let the dumbest smile take over his face as he leaned in towards you.

‘What’s what?’

‘This.’ You said lifting your palm over the counter.

Steve could feel himself smiling a bit wider, but you were clearly annoyed and though he was enjoying it, he still concealed his amusement by casually placing a hand over his mouth as he inspected your palm for a few seconds.

‘A petal?’ He shrugged.

‘Not just a petal, a rose petal.’ The velvety thing still laid on the centre of your palm as you looked at him with an accusing stare. ‘Why was this inside my car?’

‘I don’t know?’ He laughed as he started piling the tapes next to you. ‘Have you bought any flowers lately?’

‘Steve.’

You observed him work with the same annoyed semblance, but he stayed focused on organising the tapes to avoid your stare. When he clumsily let one of them fall over the counter, you flinched almost instantly, keeping your cupped hands out of his reach.

‘You know, for someone who hates flowers that much, you seem to be taking a little too much care of that thing.’ He smiled at you as he stopped his movements.

‘I came to return it to you.’ You said after a while as you lingered on your place. Steve felt tendered by the way you still held on to it, unsure about what to do with it or how to even hold it.

‘You don’t have to, babe, it’ll wilt by itself.’

He placed his arms over the counter as he looked back at you.

‘I figured.’ You admitted as you took a step forwards, still looking at the red petal. ‘So, you didn’t put it there?’

He shook his head.

‘Maybe it was the wind.’ He said, ‘Or it got stuck to one of your coats.’

‘Hmm.’ You didn’t seem too convinced, but it didn’t matter. A smile was taking over his face as you ventured to stroke the petal with your other hand. He still had to keep his cool when you looked back at him. ‘What do I do with it?’

‘Just throw it away.’ He shrugged, but you seemed to frown at his suggestion for a second before he spoke again. ‘Or maybe put it inside a book.’

‘Oh.’

‘You like that idea?’ He asked tendered by the smile that was taking over your face.

You shrugged, looking down shyly as you partly closed your hand over the petal. Then you rested your arms over the counter in front of him, staring back with softened eyes as if the petal problem was now an afterthought.

‘Anyways, what are you doing tonight?’ You bit your lip in that irresistible way he couldn’t stand. ‘My parents are gonna have dinner at the Patel’s and they always get so drunk there I’m sure they won’t be able to drive back home until the morning.’

‘I thought you had class tomorrow.’

You shrugged. ‘I can skip it.’

He stood back for a second, inspecting your face with fascinated expectation. Steve hadn’t stepped inside your house yet, always looking at the wallpaper of your room from the driver’s seat when you turned the light on after he dropped you off. Always wondering what your pillow smelled like, wondering if you thought about him in your bed at night. He could feel his cheeks turning red as you kept smiling while biting your lower lip, lifting your eyebrow in a sweet question.

‘Again?’ He raised his eyebrows as you bit your lip cheekily, then rolled your beautiful eyes at him.

‘I have a doctor’s note, okay?’

He let out a chesty laugh to himself as he put the tapes away before his eyes fell on you again.

‘What time you want me there?’

‘Late.’ You pointed a finger at him. ‘Don’t come before nine, or I won’t be sure that they’re definitely staying there.’

Late was the perfect time for Steve to park his car on the other side of the street to avoid suspicion from any noisy neighbours. It was cold outside; he noticed when he closed the car’s door before he walked towards your deserted porch. It didn’t last long though, he turned warm as soon as you opened the door, wearing a knitted dress and fluffy socks. You had washed your hair recently, he could tell by the way he could smell your shampoo, but you hadn’t brushed it, and it looked beautifully messy under the warm light of your house’s entrance.

‘Hey stranger.’ You smiled widely at him before your eyes fell on the bags on his hands. ‘What’s this?’

‘Thought that I could cook for you.’ He shrugged before he leaned it to steal a quick peck from your lips. Your mouth was partly open in a sceptic smile as he did, walking into the warm safety of your home.

‘Cook?’ You said turning on your toes as you shut the door behind you. ‘You?’

Steve shrugged as he took his jacket off. He was trying not to let himself blush under your stare, but he was feeling suddenly intimidated at the idea of being inside your house.

‘I can cook a decent pasta.’ He defended himself, lifting an eyebrow as you bit your lip in that irresistible way that would soon make him forget he was hungry. ‘I brought wine too. Where’s the kitchen?’

He followed you as you turned on a few lights that lead to your kitchen. It took everything in him not linger on the little details of your life. The plant pots, the bookshelves, the family planner on the wall. There were dates where your name was written on red ink by two, maybe three different handwritings. He was about to make a joke about how busy you were going to be in the next few months when you called him.

‘Yes?’ He said as he turned around.

‘I said, there was no need to bring salt.’ You said with a mocking face as you held the white grinder he had stolen from his kitchen that night. ‘We got salt here, you know.’

He hummed in satisfaction for a second before he walked towards you.

‘Wasn’t sure.’ He shrugged as he stood next to you over the kitchen table ‘Can I borrow a pan?’

‘Do you wanna borrow some boiling water too?’

He rolled his eyes at you, pushing your hip with his softly as he rolled his sleeves up to start cooking.

An hour or so later you were both in your room, sitting on the floor, back resting against the side of the bed as the dirty plates laid not too far, while Steve refilled the wine glasses.

‘I think it was a success, if you ask me.’ He said.

‘Of course you do.’ You said sarcastically, but then your face seemed to be filled with an accidental tenderness that softened your semblance in a second. ‘Thank you for cooking for me.’

‘S nothing.’ He said as he leaned to his side to get closer to you, shoulders brushing and the warmth of your bodies floating in between you with electricity.

‘You know it’s not.’ You said softly. ‘Where did you learn how to cook?’

He put his glass aside before finding your hand over the carpet, shyly playing with your fingers as you observed him.

‘My grandma teaches me a few things every time I go see her.’ He admitted.

‘That’s cute.’ You smiled, putting your own glass aside as you sat closer to him. ‘Does she live here in Hawkins?’

He nodded softly. ‘She does. Molly’s got a big garden full of different plants and whenever I’m there she tests me to see if I know the difference between a basil leaf and parsley one.’

You lifted your eyebrows. ‘And you do?’

Steve leaned his head softly. ‘Meh…’

He laughed like a child right after, and you followed just like you always did in the instances when he acted like an absolute dork. Making you laugh for the sake of it, doing everything in his hands to hear that sound as often as possible.

‘Come here.’ He finally said when he couldn’t hold it in anymore. No protests left your pretty lips as you moved to sit on his lap. His hands found your hips as if it was second nature while yours were already playing with the collar of his sweater in that almost-casual way, as if he didn’t know what you wanted already.

You didn’t dare to look at him as he leaned in slowly, focused on the way you were closing your eyes in anticipation before he dared to cup your cheek. You leaned into the touch as his nose brushed yours; he could smell your sweet scent here and everywhere else in your room, and he loved it in the most pathetic of ways. He almost mentioned it there, he almost asked you once again. Deep down there was a part of him that felt your rejection for Valentine’s Day was just a way to back away from the possibility of making things official. But this was real already, wasn’t it?

The sigh you let out was slow and the same time so very deep he could still feel the warmth of your breath brushing his face when you opened your mouth. His hand dived inside your hair as your held onto his shirt and he thought, he thought, he thought. Back in school, a couple of years ago, would you have rejected him? Would you had said no if he had sent you a note in class, saying ‘would you be my Valentine, love steve’? A crumpled piece of paper signed in red ink like your name shone on the calendar, calling for him.

He didn’t dare to explore the possible answers to that question, because he wasn’t a High School boy anymore, and you hadn’t been to school together. You were an enigma still, he thought while carefully undressing you under the light of the lamp on your bedside table.

There was nothing under the dress but a pair of pink panties he had never seen before. He held onto them as you kissed his neck and grinded on his jeans, whispering a sweet nonsense that drove him crazy in comparation to the explicit dirty talk you so often indulged yourselves in.

‘…missed you…’ Was all he could grasp in between your hushed sentences. He still didn’t feel brave enough to ask what else you had said because all he could do was hold onto that little glimpse of neediness right there, and before he could do anything you were back at kissing his mouth. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

Steve did as you said, of course. He laid your perfect body over your patterned bedsheets and kissed your stomach with patience, he let you hold his head as your thumb brushed his forehead. Maybe this way he’d might be able to soften you, maybe he could ask you right after, but wasn’t that what he had done last time? And why did he always had to beg for love in the early stages of things? Why couldn’t he just wait?

Your gasp felt like a drug to him when he kissed your clothed pussy, eyes looking up at you waiting for your reassurance, because of course, this was how things had been from the beginning when you met on New Year’s Eve. He had fucked you pretty in the back of his car back in Lover’s Lake, begging inside that you’d give him your number right after. Always begging.

You nodded. That’s how he knew. In a swift movement he removed the bothersome piece of underwear to eat you properly, without inhibitions. A whine of surprise left your mouth when he pulled your hips unexpectedly, your lips lifting subtly before that attempt of a smile was erased by a frown of pleasure. His tongue made sure to wet every single inch of swollen skin in front of him, to move his head only when you applied that subtle pressure that maybe made you think that you had some control over your pleasure, over him. Maybe you did. Much more than he was willing to admit.

Panting heavily, you brushed his hair when he rested his head over your pelvis. He was breathing hard too, he was thinking. You hadn’t cum yet, but he could hear your fastened pulse because his ear that was pressing against your skin. His knuckles stroked the inner side of your thighs then, then he opened his eyes to have a look at your throbbing cunt. In a weird sense it tendered him, how ready you were for him. Would you always be this ready? Would you ever be ready for something more than this?

Steve almost said it then. He called your name, and you moved your head to the side lazily, lips puffy and eyes tired as you wished he kept going. Your hand entwined with his over your hip and you were pulling him upwards to you, making him forget it all. Absolutely besotted by everything you were and how it overwhelmed him before he swallowed hard. When he was finally hovering over you, he called your name again and you seemed more responsive.

‘Huh?’

Your pretty eyes studied his face as he thought about what to say. He let out a scoff-like laugh, an awkward thing that made him feel as if suddenly something pointy was piercing through his chest, something that was filling him with a sweet, demeaning drunkenness.

‘Nothing.’ He whispered as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. ‘M just gonna get a condom.’

Next morning your house was quiet as Steve climbed up the stairs. He had something resembling of a hangover drilling his temples, but he still had managed to take a shower in your bathroom without waking you up before changing into his work clothes.

It was almost instinct what finally awakened you when he walked inside your room with a humming cup of coffee. He had to look away from how adorably you looked stretching on the bed as he placed the little dish with the cup over your bedside table, otherwise if he thought too much about it, he would end up calling in sick.

‘Morning.’ You yawned softly.

‘Morning, sleepy thing.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed as you stretched again. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Hm.’ You reached for his hand on the bed. He had to fight the need to repeat everything you had done together last night when you kissed his fingers, hiding his hand under your neck as if it was a precious thing. ‘Very well.’

Then you lifted your head towards the cup resting on your table and you sat up to inspect it better.

‘What’s this?’ You said lifting the pretty plate where the cup rested

‘Those are sugar cubes.’ He said adorably as a matter of fact.

You took one of the heart-shaped pieces and inspected it closely with a cynical look.

‘They don’t look like cubes to me.’

Steve shrugged.

‘I didn’t make them.’ He licked the smile that threatened to take over his face as he sat closer to you on the bed. ‘Molly did.’

‘Your grandma makes sugar cubes?’ You lifted your eyebrows.

‘Sugar figures.’ He corrected before he laughed softly. ‘She’s into every single hobby you can possibly imagine.’

You stayed in stunned silence, still inspecting the sugary heart on your hand for a few seconds until you dared to throw it inside the humming brown liquid inside the cup.

‘I left a bag for you downstairs.’ He said shyly as you threw in the second. ‘You can use them for your coffee, or you can do what I used to do as a child and just suck on them.’

You laughed softly while you stirred the coffee. As he observed you, Steve felt more serene about your resolutions on Valentine’s Day. He found in himself a sort of peaceful resignation that allowed him to see things clearer, to take space from this thing between you if that meant his heart would make it in one piece. The problem though, was that he seemed certain of it here in the safety of your room, but he didn’t know how long this determination would last.

‘What are you doing today?’ Steve asked to try appeasing his worry.

‘Got a check-up appointment at the doctor’s’ You simply said as you put the empty cup back on the table. ‘What are you doing today?’

‘I’ve got the late shift so… that.’ He already felt exhausted, and he only started in about two hours. ‘Then I think I’m driving Robin to the mall for an express Valentine’s shopping.’

You made a face and looked away as you rubbed your hands over your legs. Steve couldn’t help but frown subtly at your reaction, shaking his head in confusion.

‘What?’ He said then.

‘Nothing.’ You shrugged.

‘Nothing?’ He made a pause. ‘I’m just driving her ‘cause she needs to get some stuff for Vicky.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’ You sat more comfortably in the bed, as if you were uneasy. Steve eyes studied you for a second while you avoided his stare.

‘I can’t even mention Valentine’s now?’ It was only then than he realised how absurd he found this whole situation, how annoyed he was by it, how it hurt him that you simply wouldn’t let him give you this little thing.

‘I didn’t say anything, Steve.’ You raised your voice just slightly as you looked back at him.

He stood up from the bed then, letting out a scoff that made you roll your eyes as you took the covers off your legs.

You were about to say something when you both heard it, the clinking of the keys, the sound of the door opening, steps echoing downstairs as the blood fell from your face.

‘Shit.’ You said under your breath as you stood up quickly.

‘I-I need to leave.’ He murmured as he took a step towards you, before none of you could register it, he was holding your face in his hands. He was brushing his fingers softly but anxiously against your cheeks. He was laughing. ‘How do I leave?’

‘Window?’ You asked apologetically as you looked back at his soft brown eyes.

‘Window.’ He said as if it was the most ridiculously logic idea. ‘Right, window.’

‘Honey?’ Your mom called downstairs. ‘Are you awake?’

You ran towards the bedroom’s window, calculating the height as you opened it for Steve while he gathered his things.

‘I’ll call you.’ He said eagerly then, cupping your face while he nodded reassuringly. ‘Tonight.’

‘Ok—’ But his mouth was already on yours, and you were smiling. He could hear your mom’s steps on the stairs, but it didn’t matter. He was smiling too. ‘Steve.’

He leaned back for a second to inspect your face before he kissed you again. Then he stole a couple more of kisses. Then your mom was knocking on the door.

Steve smiled at you as you felt him softly break your embrace. He was still looking at you as he started sneaking out through the window. It was quick. A smile. A wink. Then he was gone, and your mom was knocking on the door again.

‘What’s this?’ Your voice was barely a whisper when you asked, sitting on Steve’s lap inside the Wheeler’s basement as you held your book against your chest.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him you were quieter than usual that night. Not as in you were mad or shy, just more tired than usual. You had fallen asleep for a couple of hours while they all watched a horror movie, completely unbothered by the screams of the kids that he kept trying to shush as he covered you with a blanket over his lap, as he kissed your scalp and rubbed your arm fondly. 

‘So, when are you gonna tell her?’ Nancy had asked while she was sitting next to him. Robin had laughed softly from the armchair next to the couch, she didn’t dare to join in the conversation, but Steve knew that she was listening closely.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He had simply replied as his eyes focused on the disgusting skin of Freddy Krueger on the TV.

‘Steve.’ Nancy bumped her shoulder with his. It took him a few seconds and a deep breath so he could finally look back at her. ‘C’mon. You two are clearly heading that way.’

‘Don’t even bother, Nancy.’ Robin said as he rolled his eyes, rubbing your warm back in a self-soothing way to calm his nerves. His eyes fell down on you by instinct, knowing very well that you were fast asleep but still wanting to check that you weren’t hearing this conversation.

‘I guess that’s for us to decide.’ He finally said as he focused back on the movie.

Steve could still feel everyone’s eyes on him, on the way he was resting his cheek over your head, stroking your knee over your jeans before fixing the blanket. They could all see perfectly how calmly you looked in his arms, how easily you melted against his body. It was nice, but he also felt exposed. And a bit confused.

Now you were awake, but still a bit distracted as everyone played some sort of board game over the rug while you two remained on the couch. He could still tell you didn’t have a lot of energy to join the rest, so all he did was watch the game from his place as you attempted to read your novel.

‘S a card.’ Steve said then. ‘A poker card.’ 

You held the thin, varnished piece of paper in between your fingers as you inspected it with a soft frown, eyeing the printed figure of the queen of hearts. Steve couldn’t tell if you were thinking about the card or about something else. He thought he was being quite sly, perfectly concealing his attempts to reinvent his tactics with the purpose of… exactly what?

‘Where’s it from?’ You asked.

‘S mine.’ He simply said as he put a lock of hair behind your ear. He couldn’t dare to hold your stare, so he had to look down as he flipped the card for you. ‘From my old deck. See?’

Your eyes lingered on the initials stamped at the back, SH. His parents had given the deck to him as a birthday present when he was twelve, and he had carried them around during camping trips, sleepovers and summer evenings of dead leisure time when there was nothing to do. Most of them had gone lost or damaged by time.

‘Thought I’d give it to you so you could use it as a bookmark.’ He simply said. ‘Better than let them lie around my room loosely.’

You let out a subtle chuckle as you flipped the card in between your fingers. Steve thought that you were about to say something for a second, but you seemed to change your mind before placing it between the pages you had been reading before.

Steve insisted on leaving early that night. He could tell that you were fighting to stay awake, and he didn’t want to force you to stay longer that you wished. It had been a confusing week for him too, between his shifts and having to rethink his Valentine’s plans as he tried not to hold it against you, as he tried to avoid his anxiety get to the best of him.

‘Are you okay?’ He finally asked when he parked in front of your house. Only then he realised how worried he was, how concern overflowed from his chest as he looked back at your droopy eyes.

But you were smiling softly at him, shrugging as you undid the seatbelt under his stare.

‘I’m fine.’ You shook your head. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’

He gave you a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes, hoping that he wasn’t reading things wrong. That the weird vibe he was getting from you was just his mind playing tricks with him.

‘C’mon.’ He undid the seatbelt. ‘I’ll walk you to your door.’

‘Wait.’ You said resting the back of your head against the seat. He observed you as you smile turned slightly wider. ‘I wanna stay here a bit longer, spent so much of the day sleeping I feel like I didn’t even spent time with you.’

‘You did spent time with me, silly.’ He said as he turned the heating a bit higher. ‘You just were snoring during most of it.’

You seemed much livelier as your laugh echoed through his car, and in just a few seconds you were already climbing onto his lap.

‘I definitely don’t snore.’ You said as you adjusted yourself over him.

‘You kind of do.’ He joked. ‘It’s something like—’ Steve imitated the oinking noise of a pig as you hit his arm with your fist. ‘You can ask Robin, she was there.’

‘That’s so rude, Steve.’ You said as he hid his head on your neck to start showering it with kisses.

‘Mhm, what can I say?’ He said as you leaned your head to the side before whispering on your ear. ‘You make me behave kind of like a pig sometimes.’

Something small, something resembling a laugh and a moan left your pretty mouth then. Your hands started stroking his thighs as his hands wandered inside your sweater, thumbs sneaking under your bra so they could stroke your perky nipples.

‘You do have your moments.’ You said softly as his kisses climbed to your ear, laughing softly at how his nose tickled your skin.

‘S your fault, baby…’ His hands were squeezing your waist a bit tighter, and every single anxious thought that had uneased him before seemed to have disappeared. ‘Now why don’t you jump to the backseat so I can fuck you for a little while before you go to bed?’

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Your laughs echoed through the car as you got rid of your jeans in the backseat while he pulled his down, checking through the windows once or twice if there was anyone outside. But it was as if the street and this moment was only yours. Steve held you by your waist as you positioned yourself, as you sat on his dick, as you felt full by him in a matter of seconds. The sigh that left your mouths was full of relief and pleasure. You were so tight he couldn’t help but swear as he placed his forehead on your chest.

‘You’re so creamy.’ He was fixing his hips just so his dick could reach a bit deeper. ‘Shit. Stay here for a second, would you? Just right here.’

‘Okay.’ You panted softly, fisting the back of his sweater as you felt him turn a bit harder inside you.

‘There.’

He lifted his head from your chest, brushing his nose against you and feeling a drop of sweat run down his back.

‘There, you felt that?’ He asked as he grew fully inside you, and you were nodding enthusiastically as he guided your hands towards his shoulders. ‘Move for me, baby.’

You did so, sensually and slow in comparison with other times, maybe because you were more tired than usual. Steve’s hands squeezed your hips as they rolled in circles, the pretty sight of your belly button and your bare lower body on top of his was driving him insane. It took you a while to adjust and find a rhythm that pleased you, but when you did it was as if something had come back to you, something that he recognised. Something full of need.

Steve felt goosebumps overtaking every inch of his body when one of your hands snaked behind your back and wandered to touch his balls under your body. The little moan he repressed made you laugh against his mouth as you observed his reactions in silence, still moving, still sexy, still impossible to resist.

‘They feel so tense.’ You cooed him in a whisper. He shut his eyes hard as he released a heavy breath, enticed by the way you stroked his balls, thumb rubbing against the edge of the condom on top of them. ‘Tense and full for me.’

‘Fuck.’ He murmured between his teeth. Jaw tensing while you left a wet kiss on his neck, lifting yourself just enough so all that creamy wetness could run down until it stained his seats. He released another deep breath as he felt you rub all your fluids over his sensitive balls, speaking through helpless pants. ‘You can’t be this fucking mean, babe.’

‘Mean?’ You asked softly as you kept moving. ‘I’m just helping, Stevie. I wanna help you.’

Because you were still touching him, your back arched perfectly so he could sneak his hands inside your sweater once again. Steve’s head came to rest on your shoulder as you kept riding him, as you kept stroking him, cupping his wet, full balls while you softly moaned together.

Your skin was hot, you smelled dangerously good as your other hand came to rest over his head, stroking the hair next to his ear. He could hear your laborious breath, the little whimpers, the beat of your heart from here.

‘Let me help you.’ You whispered as he hugged you tighter. All the blood in his body seemed to be running twice as fast the moment you kissed his head. He’d let you. He’d let you help and do anything else you wanted. You were exuding a kind of heat that only made his situation worse whenever you whispered those sweet words. ‘Are you gonna let me? So we can cum together?’

‘Y-Yes.’ He said under his breath as he started to move his hips more enthusiastically, he was almost whimpering with need, begging as his jaw tensed. ‘Yes, baby. Yes, baby. Yes.’

‘There we go.’ You said in a trembling whisper, knees and hips shaking as you let out a moan of extasy that made him lose it just as quickly as you pussy started pulsing around his dick. His lower lip brushed the fibres of your sweater when he opened his mouth at the edging feeling of his orgasm. ‘There we go, baby— Uh. God. Fuck yes.’

He growled once he started to slowly come back to reality while you still clenched your legs around him, holding on to the feeling a bit longer.

‘Shit.’ He said under a laugh. When he finally leaned back, he put a few messy strands of your hair back on their place so he could look at you. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes.’ You said in between laboured breaths. ‘Just a bit… you know.’

He nodded softly as he looked back at your precious face.

‘Yeah. Same.’ He laughed nervously as he leaned back for a second. He was still inside you, but he couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t your fucked out face as he released a pleasant sigh. And just as quick he sat straight to kiss your mouth. ‘Come here.’

‘Steve.’ You panted heavily. ‘Wait.’

‘What?’ He said in between kisses. ‘I need you.’

‘Wait.’ You pushed him softly. ‘Please. Wait.’

He leaned back just as quickly, looking back at your eyes as he tried to find the source of your discomfort, but you were only trying to catch your breath.

‘You’re boiling.’ He said as his hand held your face.

‘We just had sex.’

‘No, I mean like fever kind of boiling.’ He said as his hand rested on your forehead. ‘Are you okay?’

You opened your mouth to say something before you shook your head, looking visibly better.

‘Maybe I’m just catching a cold.’ You said as he lifted your hands to kiss your knuckles.

‘Is there anything you want me to do?’ He asked softly. ‘I could bring you food.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Your mouth was lifting on a silly smile, and you leaned in to leave a soft peck on his lips. ‘My parents are home, I’m gonna ask my mom to make some soup or something.’

‘Good.’ His lips were a serious line, but his eyes were filled with cheekiness. ‘Just make sure to put your pants on first.’

Steve called you early on Saturday to see how you were feeling. He hadn’t even left the bed before he decided to check on you, dialling your number through the telephone on his bedside table.

‘I think I just got a terrible cold.’ You admitted weakly. ‘Sorry, I can’t go tonight.’

‘Don’t worry about it, babe.’ He made a pause as he bit his lips, thinking carefully about his words. ‘Do you want me to go see you later, maybe? Before I head to Robin’s?’

‘I’d love to, but my parents insisted on staying home today.’ You said then. ‘Don’t ask me why.’

He laughed softly for a second before a longing silence took over the line.

‘Why don’t you ask me what you wanna ask me, Steve?’

‘I…’ He took a deep breath as he moved to lay on his side. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about tomorrow.’

‘No.’ you said after a while. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Well…’ He started, feeling that bothersome arrow painfully twisting in his chest. ‘The reservation still there if you change your mind.’

‘I… thought you had cancelled that.’ You said then. ‘I thought you would.’

‘No.’ He said then. ‘I didn’t.’

‘I assumed you would.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I told you explicitly that I didn’t want to celebrate Valentine’s Day, Steve.’ You said. ‘And I thought that you would respect that.’

‘Babe.’

‘What?’ You said then. ‘I have a right to be mad.’

‘Well, yeah, but… is it really that important?’ He said then, feeling his pride sitting like a heavy rock on his chest. ‘I promise you; I didn’t lose any money. I was hoping— I still hope that maybe you feel like going on a date with me.’

‘But I don’t want to.’ You snapped then. He frowned as he sat better on the bed, trying to understand what you meant. ‘I can’t, either. I’m sick.’

You took a deep breath on the other side of the line while Steve tried to find his words.

‘Hey…’ Was all he could say.

‘The problem’s not if it’s important or not, Steve.’ You said then. ‘It’s the fact that I was so straightforward with you and still you tried to change my mind.’

‘I was just hoping—’

‘Oh my god.’ You said under your breath. ‘You tried to change my mind.’

‘I just wanted to maybe find an alternative way to celebrate with you.’

He hated how small it sounded when it came out of his mouth, but he was unsure, so unsure of things. Of what you felt, of why this was such a big deal to him.

‘The petals, the sugar hearts, the card…’ You paused as Steve shut his eyes hard, back falling on the bed as he took his hand to the bridge of his nose. ‘You were trying to convince me. The whole time.’

‘Babe.’ He said calmly. ‘Those were small things. They were so small, actually… I was just trying to show you, that— I don’t know, that we can just do things our own way.’

He heard you sigh hard on the other side of the line. A long, deep sound that hid some frustration behind, some kind of annoyance that almost brought tears to his eyes.

‘This is ridiculous.’ He heard himself say then, and your scoff followed right after.

‘I’ve been so stupid.’

‘Babe.’

‘I don’t care that they were small things. I care about the fact that you couldn’t simply let this go.’

‘Babe.’ He repeated. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how delicate this subject really was; I thought it wasn’t that deep.’

‘I told you, Steve.’ You said in between your teeth, before your stern tone turned into a distant sob finally fading into a whisper. ‘Why couldn’t you just let it go.’

‘Because I like you. Because I care about you.’ He made a pause, hearing the beating of his heart loud against his chest. ‘I’m sorry.’

Steve held onto the silence on the other side of the line. He swallowed hard at the absence of your voice, of your breath. Until all he could hear was the beeping of the hanging line.

‘It was so dramatic, Robin.’ Steve drunkenly said outside Robin’s house later that night. They were sitting on her porch, drinking a few beers after everyone had gone home. ‘I’ve dated all types of girls, okay? Ones ‘ve been a bit clingy and others cold— whatever, everyone’s different, right? But I had never seen anyone so fucking determined to avoid affection this much.’

‘Hm.’ Robin simply said in the quiet of the night. Steve looked back at her with confused eyes, but her own gaze was lost in the deserted street as she tried to find the right words in the middle of her own drunken state. ‘It does sound a bit dramatic, but like— ‘s not really the end of the world if she doesn’t like Valentine’s, Steve. You’ve been seein’ the girl only for a few weeks.’

Steve stayed quiet for a few seconds before his eyebrows arched, mortified of what he was realising.

‘Do you think I scared her away?’

Robin didn’t say much, instead she just shrugged. Steve felt the anxiety rise on his chest before he saw her best friend hesitate for a second.

‘Fuck, I think I need to burp.’ She finally said.

Steve let out a sigh of frustration before he shook his head. He could perceive a distant part of himself that was trying to sober up, and he was trying to hold on to it as he rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

‘What did I do.’ He whispered under his breath.

‘Steve, it’ll be fine.’ Robin assured as she rubbed his shoulder with her hand.

‘What did I do. What did I do. What did I do.’ He repeated. ‘I should’ve just told her about the scars instead of trying to play mysterious.’

‘Right,’ Robin let out a snorty laugh. ‘Just tell her about the whole other dimension existing under Hawkins, pretty sure that won’t scare her away.’

Steve let out another frustrated sigh as he pondered about what to do.

‘I’m gonna go see her.’ He finally said.

‘Steve, it’s like, two in the morning.’

‘S fine.’ He stood up. ‘I can’t drive so I have to walk home anyways.’

‘Just crash on the couch.’ She said then.

He shook his head softly as he pulled the zip of his jacket up.

‘I need to sober up.’

‘So, you’re gonna walk in the cold?’

‘Robin, I need to think.’ He could already feel the freezing wind helping to clear his mind. ‘I need to find some way to fix this mess. I’m— I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I let her hang up the phone on me like that.’

‘Okay.’ Robin said standing up clumsily, he had to help her climb the little step on the porch before she gave her a sleepy smile. ‘Call me tomorrow to let me know how it went, Romeo.’

Steve stood outside Robin’s house until she closed the door behind her. He thought about her offer for a second, wondering if maybe it wouldn’t be better to just get some good sleep before showing up like this outside your house— but no. He needed to fix this thing now; he’d do the most stupid thing ever if it’d meant he’d get to start again with you. Things could be different; they could be better. You just had to give him a second chance.

He held onto that thought as he walked in the direction of your street. He rehearsed a million speeches inside his head, that at first were quickly forgotten by the alcohol’s effect, but eventually he had managed to scheme a fair argument in his head. It took him a few seconds to realise the truth when he finally stood in front of your house, with its dark windows and dew-sprinkled steps. He was falling in love with you.

Steve had to savour such a revelation for a second as his brown eyes lifted to find your bedroom’s window. He bit his lip as he paced around your front yard. He asked himself once, twice, three times if he was sure, because if he had managed to scare you away with petals, sugar cubes and poker cards then you were about to slip through his fingers like a shapeless sigh.

As he collected pebbles, he bit the inside of his mouth in thoughtful concentration, trying to come up with what to say now that he was aware of this inconvenient detail. He couldn’t tell you yet, of course. Not after what had happened. He’d say he was sorry, he’d shower you in drunken apologetical whispers and sweet nothings and you’d shush him desperately in the darkness of your room. He’d kiss forgiveness out of you. Shit, he though, he’d fuck you softly until you had no other choice but to let yourself be loved. And he’d do it in secret. Yes. Until you were ready.

Assured that he was now confident enough to go on with his plan, Steve calculated the distance between the floor and your window just like he had the day he had to jump out. He threw the first pebble almost unsure, but it did hit the glass like he expected it to. A little smile lifted his mouth as he threw the next one, hoping that you’d wake up sooner or later. He threw another one. And another one. He had to find a couple of more to throw again.

Nothing happened.

The sun started rising at some point. Birds were chirping and the sky turned lilac blue, and Steve was fucking shivering on your porch as he waited for it to be early enough to ring your bell. The drunkenness was now gone, and he was starting to realise what a stupid dumbass he had been by thinking that you’d even wake up. Not only that but his mood and his tiredness was started to mess with his mood too. He had made a fool of himself this whole week. It was obvious that you two weren’t compatible, that you had a different way of looking at relationships. He needed someone who needed him as much as he needed you.

‘Good morning.’ A female voice made him lifted his eyes as he rushed to stand up from the steps of your house’s porch. An old lady was walking into your porch as she observed him quietly. ‘Can I help you?’

Steve swallowed hard before shaking his hand.

‘Sorry, I, uh…’ He hesitated before his foot kicked the floor nervously. ‘I just— My friend lives here, and I needed to talk to her, so… But it’s not urgent so, I think I’m gonna go home.’

‘You mean the young girl, huh.’ The old lady said as she took a good look at Steve.

‘Yeah.’ He said. ‘I guess. I don’t— She doesn’t have any siblings, that I know of.’

‘No, she doesn’t.’ The old lady admitted thoughtfully before her eyes lighted up. ‘Wait a minute, aren’t you Molly Harrington’s grandson?’

‘I, uh…’ Steve hesitated, scratching the back of his head as he felt the tiredness and this woman’s interest making him more annoyed. ‘I— Yeah. I’m Steve.’

‘Steve!’ She pointed at him. ‘Of course, Steve. I’m a friend of your grandmother. We do pottery together. I’m Sally Holland. I live next door.’

‘Right.’ He nodded. ‘Sounds like something she would do. Nice to meet your Mrs. Holland.’

‘Oh, aren’t you charming.’ She giggled as she walked up the steps to your porch. ‘Come in, honey. I’ll make you a cup of coffee while I water the plants.’

Steve stood on the porch, speechless and puzzled as Sally let herself inside your house. Maybe it was his curiosity what made him follow her, or maybe it was just the fact that a cup of coffee sounded like a goddamn dream after all those hours sitting in the cold.

Everything was the same as it had been a few nights ago when you let him inside. He looked around the entrance as Mrs Holland placed the keys on the table, as if he was going to find any clues in the air, as if you were about to walk down the stairs in your knitted dress and fluffy socks. Or as if Mrs Holland was about to tell him that this house had been empty for the last two months and he had imagined you.

‘How many spoons of sugar, hon?’

When Steve lifted his eyes, Sally was holding the bag of sugar hearts he had given you, and that’s when he felt he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Holland. I really— I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m confused.’

The old lady seemed to have been caught off guard by Steve’s words. He had to take a few steps inside as he took a deep breath, feeling uncomfortable every passing second that he didn’t know where you were.

‘Why are you watering the plants this morning? Where’s uh, everybody?’

‘Oh, honey.’ Mrs Holland put the sugar cubes back on the counter as she looked at him. ‘I’m so sorry, I’ve been so careless. I thought you knew. Little— Well, your friend. She’s very delicate, the poor girl. Gets sick easily since she was a child. Apparently, she had seizures last night which ‘s not that unusual, really. So, when the family spends the day at the hospital, I just come here to collect the mail, water the plants, that sorta stuff.’

Steve had to swallow hard for a second as he blinked a couple of times.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

Mrs Holland tsked.

‘Oh, honey.’ She hit her foot against the floor as she shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry. I feel so bad you found out like this. I—’ Mrs Holland pondered for a second as she took her fingers to her mouth. ‘I’d just assumed you’d know.’

Steve stood in your living room for a second before he scoffed softly.

‘I— no,’ He laughed nervously. ‘It’s okay, Mrs Holland. We don’t know each other that well, anyways. I was just— you know, drunk and… kind of in an… honest mood. I guess.’

The old lady stared at him, mortifying silence opening between them before she shook her head and grabbed the keys.

‘Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.’ Mrs Holland said as she walked towards him.

‘I don’t think—’

‘Come on, now.’ She hit Steve’s arm with her hand. ‘I insist.’

Steve took a deep breath as he hid his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. He couldn’t help but steal a look at your family calendar, hanging on the kitchen like a proof of what you’d hidden from him so well for the last two months. All those appointments right in front of him, written in red ink. He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked down at his shoes, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

‘Why don’t you go inside the gift shop while I ask where she is, huh?’ Mrs Holland suggested once they made it to the hospital’s lobby.

That wasn’t such a bad idea, was it? You and Steve were in weird terms, he was showing up here unannounced, and maybe the best thing he could do was getting you a little something as a peace offering or a forgiveness gift. Except that it was Valentine’s Day.

And yet the gift shop didn’t stock any red-and-pink themed presents, but it was full of everything you despised. Flowers, chocolates, balloons, cards, teddy bears.There was not be mine or love you nonsense to be seen, but all those senseless slogans were instead replaced by sadder statements of get well soon and sorry for your loss blended into the usual it’s a boy! Or it’s a girl! pink and blue ornaments. If you hated it, it was here in three different colours and six different sizes. It would be impossible for him to regain your trust like this.

And it was only then than it clicked.

He didn’t have enough sleep to deal with such a delicate truth, and he was just about to turn on his feet and tell Mrs. Holland to forget it all when his eyes fell on the only silly thing inside the shop that might not cause you another burst of anger.

Steve knew that he was probably taking a big risk, but who gave a shit at this point? Maybe you had already set your mind not to see him again. He had to try.  

A few minutes later he walked out with a small bag, terrified and unsure as he gave Mrs Holland a small smile, and they walked together towards the elevator.

The doors opened seconds later, in a white and cold hallway with an endless number of rooms, he could hear the echo of his steps on the floor, the white sneakers of the nurses making him lightheaded, and the tiredness of a sleepless night mixing with his anxiety.

‘Here it is.’ Sally finally said when they made it to your door. ‘Room 507.’

Steve stood in silence for a second, staring at the white door in front of him before looking at the old woman.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Holland.’

She gave him a small nod, and a sweet smile before walking towards a set of chairs. Steve could still feel her eyes on him when he knocked on the door.

 ‘Oh.’ A woman he had seen in framed pictures inside your room opened the door with a kind confused smile. ‘Can I help you?’

‘H-Hi, Mrs –’ He could feel the back of his neck sweating as he looked at your mother. ‘I’m Steve Harrington. So sorry to intrude, I’m just a friend of your daughter’s.’

Your mom seemed to be amused by this idea, by the way she was shifting the weight of her body as she took a small step back to have a better look at Steve.

‘Huh.’ She said. ‘Nice to meet you, Steve.’

‘Nice to meet you too.’ He said with a shy smile, knowing very well that she could see through him. ‘I, uh— I was just kind of hoping I could— I-Is she okay?’

Her semblance changed just subtly, his heart dropping as resignation took over her and she gave Steve a pitiful smile before stepping outside and closing the door behind her.

‘She’s fine, honey.’ She said touching his arm for a second. ‘We just like to keep an eye on her, you know? There’s been a lot going on. She’s just started a new medication, and it didn’t agree with her. And… well, other things. It’s hard for her, you know? School and everything else. But she had been a bit happier lately.’ She said as she stared at him. ‘I think I know why now.’

The heat rushed to Steve’s cheeks at the way you mother was looking at him, eyes full of satisfaction at this new discovery, until before they fell on something behind his shoulder.

‘Just come in. It’ll cheer her up.’ She squeezed his shoulder with assurance. ‘I’m going to say hi to Sally.’

Steve followed her silhouette with his eyes as she walked away, feeling all the blood in his body running behind his ears, before he got the courage to open the door.

You were dozing off in the bed, eyes lost in something behind the window. Bare face and dry lips lost in an absent semblance until your eyes fell on him.

‘Hi.’ He said after he closed the door.

‘What’s this?’ Your voice was barely above a whisper before you sat down properly on the bed. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Mrs Holland drove me.’

You didn’t seem to like the mention of her name by the way you were biting the inside of your cheek, nodding twice before looking down at the insipid blue hospital sheets.

‘I see you bought me something for the giftshop.’ You said bitterly, looking down at the bag he was holding before letting out a scoff. ‘How thoughtful.’

‘Not really.’ He snapped. ‘This is for the other sick girl I’m seeing, actually—’

‘Oh, really? Is she staying in this same floor?’

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, your eyes filled with tears that you tried to hide with several blinks as you looked away, swallowing the knot on your throat.

‘Asshole.’ You whispered as you cleaned your eyes with the palm of your hand. All he could do was stand in silence as he felt like an idiot for saying that, for coming here, for expecting so much of this, so much of you. It took one glance at you to realise you weren’t okay at all, your lips dry and cracking, your skin colourless and dull. The way you had been sleepy and so tired lately, how you missed school regularly, all of it was in front of him, and he hadn’t noticed.

He took a few steps towards you, grabbing a chair and sitting next to the bed as you started sobbing softly, but still so inconsolably.

‘Talk to me.’ He murmured.

You clenched your jaw as your stare was still fixed on some other spot in the room that wasn’t him until you finally shook your head.

‘I don’t know what to tell you.’ You said in a broken voice. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here.’

He scoffed, this time unable to hold on to his patience and compassion.

‘You don’t know what I’m doing here?’ He laughed in disbelief. ‘I slept outside your house the whole night.’

Your eyes fell on him unintentionally before they fell back on the bedsheets, hugging your knees against your chest as you bit the inside of your mouth.

‘Why couldn’t you just fucking tell me.’ He said in a tired whisper.

‘Because it had nothing to do with you, Steve—’

‘Something could’ve happened to you!’ He stood up, fingers pulling his hair as he raised his voice and paced around the room. ‘Sneaking into my house at night or letting me stay at yours without me knowing that you had a condition—'

‘Don’t call it that.’ You said in the same urging tone.

‘You’re so fucking stubborn, you don’t even realise how irresponsible you were being—’

‘Stop fucking lecturing me,’ you said with a voice that tried to be firm but kept breaking at the end. ‘You don’t know anything about me—’

‘You scared me.’

‘You’ve only known me for five weeks, Steve.’

‘I’m your fucking boyfriend!’ He shouted. ‘Didn’t I deserve to know?’

The illicit word silenced you, making you look away almost instantly as you hugged yourself a bit tighter and your eyebrows arched the more you tried to stop your tears.

‘Am I not your boyfriend?’ You could see him kneel next to the bed, placing his crossed arms over the mattress and searching for your eyes with his as he waited for your answer.

Your mouth opened just slightly as you searched for the right words to say, but nothing came out of them as you seemed more lost than before this whole argument stared.

‘I- I don’t know.’ You finally said in a broken voice. And then, a hopeful whisper as you looked at him. ‘Are you?’

Steve let out a soft breathy sound, as if that question was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his life. The shadow of a smile trying to lift his mouth, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was terrified, absolutely scared of losing you.

‘Of course I am.’ He said tenderly. You didn’t move as he stood up and sat on the mattress, your limbs so weak he didn’t have to put any effort at all to pull you into his lap, as you hid your face under his neck.

‘I’m not graduating.’ You admitted in a sobby whisper. ‘And I’m already a year behind.’

He kissed your scalp as you cried a bit more, holding onto his shirt while his patient fingertips stroked your arms.

‘S okay.’ His sweet, soft voice vibrated inside his chest as he held you closer. ‘Everyone’s got different timings, babe. Look at me, I still haven’t made it to college.’

‘I don’t even know if I’ll make it that far.’ You sobbed a bit more. ‘I can’t even take care of myself. I can’t find the energy to. The meds don’t work; I’m tired all the damn time.’ His heart broke at the sight of this version of you that was so broken and angry. ‘I’m so exhausted.’

He stroked your hair as you sobbed a bit more, kissing your scalp and soothing you with I knows and its okays and shhhs that sounded like the sweetest nonsense coming from his mouth. Then he cupped your face when your sobs seemed to have subsided, so you’d look back at him.

‘S just bad times, baby.’ He whispered as he rested his forehead on yours. ‘But you’re going to get through them. At your own pace.’

‘What if I don’t?’ You said anxiously as you sobbed a bit more again. ‘What if I can never take care of myself or become independent, or…? I can’t even think— I’m going to slow you down, Steve.’

‘Nononono.’ He whispered as you stared spiralling again, stroking your nose with his before you tried to look away. ‘Hey, look at me.’

You finally did when he lifted your hands to kiss them as he looked into your eyes, the outmost sincerity overflowing from them as he stared at you.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’ He admitted in a sweet murmur. Arched eyebrows and pupils full of fear as he poured his heart out. ‘Did you know that? It’s kind of pathetic how much I like you.’

You laughed softly at his words, growing a bit shy under his stare as you looked up at him.

‘I like you too.’ You said softly, sadly. ‘Very much. But I don’t want to interfere with any of your plans, Steve. I’ve seen you, you’re always taking care of everyone. Of Robin, and Nancy, and the kids and…’ Your voice broke softly when you started crying again, ‘I don’t want to add another unnecessary burden—’

‘Shhh.’ He said brushing away the few tears that fell down your cheeks with his thumbs, kissing your pretty face one, two, three times. And as many times as he’d need to so he could take those awful thoughts off your head, because there was nothing he wanted more than taking care of you. Because no plan seemed worth it if you weren’t part of it. ‘Don’t do this, okay? I wanna see where this goes, don’t you wanna see where this goes?’

Sadness was still taking over those beautiful eyes as you looked back at him, but you finally nodded, giving in to the sickly sweetness of his words. You stayed silent for a few seconds, as Steve got lost in the purity behind your terrified eyes as he stroked your nose with his, until his mouth found what it was looking for, your needy lips and pretty tongue that melted under his. A little smile on his mouth, contagious, making you smile too, something that you had almost forgotten how to do in the last few hours between the visits of nurses and doctors.

‘Hey.’ You said as you kissed that smile again. ‘What’s on the bag?’

The heat rushed to his cheeks as he remembered the bag, swallowing hard at your curious stare.

‘Uh, nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘I mean,’ He cleared his voice. ‘I bought something downstairs. I just— You’re not going to like it.’

You looked around the room biting your smile, equally intrigued and amused by his awkwardness.

‘Can I at least open it?’

‘Uh… I don’t— Okay, uh, sure.’

You observed his movements carefully as he grabbed for the bag on the floor, before placing it on your lap. You took your time to eye the pink and red bag, Valentine’s themed of course, because there was nothing else in the giftshop.

‘Pretty.’ You said sarcastically.

‘Can you just open it?’ He said nervously. ‘I feel you’re enjoying how much you hate this.’

You let out a snorty laugh before shrugging.

‘I just lived my life surrounded by this, you know?’ You finally said after a while. ‘Cards, and ballons and… everything else.’

Steve swallowed hard as he stared at the bag, the back of his neck sweating again as you contemplated the idea of opening his gift.

‘I figured.’ He said. ‘I’m sorry.’

You didn’t say anything else, the silence of the room disrupted by your fingers finally opening the bag. His eyes stared on your face for a second, heart beating hard against your chest as you took the little thing out of the bag. Were you happy, amused at least?

‘Well, at least is not a bear.’ You said as you lifted the plush piglet, amused at its little nose and curly tail.

‘Does that mean you like it?’ His innocence stole a laugh from you, and he was suddenly so, so confused.

‘Well, it reminds me of you.’ You said squeezing the stuffed animal in your hand. ‘And I like you.’

He laughed now, looking down as he felt the heat rushing to his cheeks while that mischievous cheekiness that made you so beautiful took over your face. He still hid his eyes from you a bit longer, until he got the courage to look at you once again, biting his lip. Thinking about how good things were about to get now that you were his. You looked back at him, probably thinking the same thing, licking your lips briefly, hiding the smile behind them. A few seconds of tension, his arched brow and suggestive smile that earned him a harmless push on his arm with your fist. Your beautiful laugh echoing through the hospital room.

‘You’re such a pig, Harrington.’

i do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written work anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[mostly-imagines]

Doghouse

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka dick’s in trouble…

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, implied smut, discussion of sex

“Baby…”

You don’t look up from your book as you hum, “Hm?”

“You’re being mean,” he pouts from the end of the couch.

You purse your lips. “If I am, you deserve it.”

His head lulls backwards pathetically, “I don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

You ignore him, scanning over the words littering the page with little thought.

He takes your lack of response as an invitation to climb up the couch a bit, just close enough that he can nibble kisses at your neck.

“Come on, I’ll make it up to you,” he promises.

You roll your eyes, flipping to the next page in your book as his hands feel up your waist. He’s apologized a few times already, but you’re not ready to let it go. He’d bailed last minute on your date nights one too many times and you’ve had enough. So if no sex is the only thing that seems to get his attention, no sex it is. You’re not mad, not really, but if you can give him a taste of the neglect you’ve been feeling, well…

He continues despite the lack of acknowledgement, pestering on. “This is deprivation of nourishment.”

All in all, he’s really not putting up his best argument. He could be doing better work, much better work, and you’re certainly not going to let him off so easily.

“I don’t care.” You move the book you’re not really reading up higher, removing him from your line of sight.

Sensing the challenge, he takes the book from your hands, tossing it blindly out of reach. It lands with an unflattering thump on the hardwood. You gawk at him, but he doesn’t notice, too busy minding his own motivating force.

He pulls you further down the couch, so he’s face level with your stomach. The top of his hair tickles you as he kisses below your navel, hands holding you in place firmly by your waist.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your skin, dragging his lips over. “Please, please let me eat you out.”

You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at the wall.

He rests his chin gently over your stomach, peering up at you with puppy dog eyes. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

This pushes him to borderline pouting, huffing, “Come on, you’re not having any fun like this either.”

Yeah, but it’s more torturous for him than it is for you.

His lips edge at the seam of your underwear, and his fingers hook under the elastic as he looks up at you expectantly.

You take a deep breath upon the sight, steeling yourself.

“No.”

He lets out an honest to God groan and drops his forehead against your stomach, whining.

You push him off of you, though he does most of the work of shifting his weight for you. You stand up from the couch and retrieve your book from its place on the floor, flipping through it to refind your page as you move for the bedroom door.

“You’re gonna leave me like this?” he calls out at you, watching you leave.

You shrug, “Take care of it yourself.”

“Myself?” He gapes, like he’s shocked at the audacity of the suggestion.

He stands up quickly, scrambling after you into your room.

He watches as you plop down onto the bed, pretending like you’ve got the concentration to keep on reading.

He pouts in the doorway, both surprised and annoyed with your commitment to making him suffer.

At this point he can take care of you better than he can take care of himself, and God knows he prefers to. So it’s bordering on inconceivable that you could have gotten so mad at him as to take away his privileges to do his very favorite thing in the world.

So he snatches your book straight from your hands again—just as you’d found the right page, too—and holds it up high.

“Dick Grayson!”

You swat at him and try to grab it back, but he’s too quick and too tall.

You kneel on the bed, reaching up in a fruitless effort before you drop your arm at your side, glaring.

He raises his chin, silently imploring you.

“Talk to me.”

You roll your eyes, “I am talking to you. I’m not sleeping with you—”

He shakes his head, “No, you’re still mad.”

“And you think this is what’s gonna help?”

He throws his head back. “You’re killing me,” he whines.

“Good.”

“What’s the plan here? Neither of us get to come ever again?”

You all but throw your head back, “I think it’s pretty fucking bold of you to assume that I rely exclusively on you to come.”

He levels you with a look.

“You do though.”

You gape at him. He says it with such self-assurance, so matter-of-fact that it’s not even a joke. And you know what? Yeah, he’s right you do, but you are nowhere near ready to give him the satisfaction.

So, you did something that you knew would piss him off.

“I—” you pause. “Fine.”

You dip your hand underneath your waistband, prepared to prove your fucking point.

“Don’t—” he bats your hand away. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He gawks at you, keeping an arm between your hand and your body. “That’s my job.”

You push his arm, with minimal real effort. “It’s my body!”

“You really don’t want me to touch you? Really?”

He levels you with that look he knows you can’t rebound from, giving you no room to squirm away.

Your chin lowers out of pure habit and your mouth shuts. He takes the opportunity to drop the book on the bed, scooping up both your wrists in one go. He pulls them up above your head and holds you against the bedroom wall.

“What can I do?” he asks lowly, face only inches from yours.

You glare at him, not trying to escape his hold.

“You can fuck off.”

“I’m serious,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

You raise your eyebrows as to say, ‘yeah, I am too, buddy.’

“I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me have my girl.”

You tug your hands out of his grasp, and he lets you without complaint.

You huff, looking at him.

“You have to take me out on a date tom—a real date—tomorrow night, the whole night, flowers and everything.”

He’s nodding along with your words eagerly, terms he couldn’t be happier to agree to.

“Even if some vigilante shit comes up—”

“Of course, of course.”

“…and do what you said before,” you say, quieter.

“What did I say before?” he asks, like he truly can’t remember.

“Dick,” you warn.

He smiles, perfectly content to let you off easy.

He leans forward, kissing you deeply but with an air of sweetness.

“I’m sorry I missed our date, pretty girl. I’m so sorry.”

Your shoulders noticeably relax and you take a deep breath, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says as he kneels down on the ground. He grins up at you as he hooks your leg over his shoulder. “I’ll take care of my baby, of course I will.”

☀️ i’m worried the sun will go out soon if you don’t start reblogging fics ☀️

[basicrese]

Bucky Barnes fic recs pt.4

back to main navigation

fic recs (pt.1)

fic recs (pt.2)

fic recs (pt.3)

one-shots

A Day in the Life by @ofstarsandvibranium

Doggone It by @skaye44

Gym Buddy by @delusionalwriterr

Had to be You by @jobean12-blog

It’s a Wrap! by @jobean12-blog

Mommy Hurt by @sergeantbarnessdoll

One Night by @buckyalpine

Please can I hold you? by @itsthewritergal

Shoot Your Shot, Cupid by @sagechanoafterdark

Sweet by @heli0s-writes

the sun by @yourmidnightlover

The Truth is: I’m a Liar by @imtryingmyfuckingbe

You Have a Girlfriend? by @antiquarianfics

series & multi-parts

My Roommates Boyfriend by @angstysebfan

Reconnect by @navybrat817

to build a home by @ussgallifrey

social media AUs

this must be fake by @morsmordre-writes

[ellemj]

Look At Me

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Request by @daddy-bucky: one bed trope "with a bit (LOTS & LOTS) of breeding kink."

Summary: Bucky gets exposed to a chemical compound that heightens his already above-average sense of smell. Then he's stuck sharing a bed with the girl he's nearly fucked on more than one occasion.

Warnings: profanity, dubcon (noncon? if you look too close?), slight thigh fucking, unprotected sex, somnophilia, heavy breeding kink, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 7.5k

A/N: This one took me a few days because I got a bit of writer's block around the time the smut started. Thanks to @daddy-bucky for this unhinged request, specifically for the part where you requested that he be feral, apologizing but can't stop himself, and for mentioning that he can smell her ovulating. You are unhinged and I love it.

            There are worse things than a mission going sideways. There are worse things than being stuck in a safehouse overnight. There are even worse things than being hunted down by a few thugs from a HYDRA offshoot. But you’re sure that there isn’t anything worse than being shut in with a man that you’ve nearly slept with on more than one occasion.  

            You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, splashing cold water on your face as you try to come up with a way to make it through the night. You’re a four-hour drive away from the compound, and a five-hour drive away from the nearest SHIELD base. The safest option you had was to head to the closest safehouse and tuck in until morning, with a handful of modern-day HYDRA operatives hot on your heels. You start toweling your face dry and running through all of the mistakes that were made today.

            The first mistake was believing that the intel you received about the new HYDRA facility was accurate, without doing the recon yourself. You were told that the facility is empty three days a week, only in operation from Monday through Thursday. That’s why you and Bucky staged your break-in for today, a Friday. Your second mistake was letting Bucky follow you into the lab, instead of having him stay at the door and keep watch. You don’t know what possessed him to take his own look around, to start reading the labels on the various vials located in glass refrigeration units and on benchtops throughout the room. Your third mistake was tucking your gun into your thigh holster while you searched through the lab’s computer, looking for the identification number of one specific compound that you were sent to retrieve. If you hadn’t holstered your gun, you wouldn’t have been caught off guard when a night guard came bursting through the door, pointing his weapon right between your eyes. If you hadn’t holstered your gun, you would’ve been able to shoot the guy yourself. Bucky wouldn’t have shoved you hard enough to send you crashing into one of the little glass refrigeration units in an attempt to get you out of the line of fire, before killing the guy himself. The shot leaving Bucky’s gun didn’t even register in your mind as you watched the glass door shatter and the vials inside shake around on the shelves. As you steadied yourself and shot Bucky an annoyed look, you didn’t notice the vial full of pale pink liquid was the only one that had broken and spilled.

            “Are you okay?” Bucky asked gruffly, grabbing you by the forearm and pulling you away from the broken glass. You nodded quickly, feeling perfectly fine after being seconds away from having either a bullet in your head or shards of glass in your skin.

            “I’m fine, just help me find the vial labeled 012-6A, so we can get out of here.” You double-checked the ID number on the computer screen one last time as Bucky stepped around you and began rifling through the refrigeration unit that you’d just been shoved into.

            Bucky wouldn’t have known that he inhaled enough manganese to cause hyperosmia. He noticed the pink liquid spread over the surface of one of the shelves as he stepped in close and read over the various labels on the vials that were still intact, but he assumed you’d already seen the spill and since you didn’t mention it, it must not have been a big deal. In truth, even if you’d seen it and been able to properly identify it as a manganese compound, you would’ve written it off as being a minor incident. You’d have to be continuously exposed to it, inhaling large quantities of it over time to really be in any sort of major danger. A little sniff in a lab accident wouldn’t send either one of you to the hospital.

            However, one of the known side effects of inhaling manganese is significantly increased olfactory perception, or to put it plainly: a heightened sense of smell. You might be able to smell the cleaners used on the lab floors or the wet dirt stuck in the treads of your tactical boots, if you’d inhaled the manganese. But Bucky, already having a heightened sense of smell from the super soldier serum coursing through his veins, would soon be able to smell everything.

            After finding vial 012-6A, the two of you were tailed from the moment you left the compound until Bucky started weaving in and out of traffic, doing everything he could to shake the tail. You notified Fury and Sam of the situation and within minutes, you had an address to a safehouse and were on your way.

            Bucky carefully folds out the couch bed, watching the thin mattress unfurl before him. It might just be the most uncomfortable looking bed he’s ever seen, but it’s not like he ever sleeps much anyway. You, however, are in for a rough night. Before you went to shower, you found a set of sheets and a quilt tucked away in a closet and set them out. Bucky begins making the bed but something isn’t quite right. As he lays the flat sheet over the fitted one and begins tucking the corners at the foot of the mattress, he starts to wonder why the he can smell the metal springs beneath. The metallic scent is strong, as if he’s pressed his nose right against the springs and inhaled as hard as he could. He stands up straight and sniffs the air, instantly overwhelmed by the plethora of smells circulating in the air. What the hell is going on?

            When you emerge from the bathroom a moment later, you find Bucky standing in the middle of the tiny house, running a hand through his hair and looking a bit bewildered.

            “Bucky?” You call his name softly, slowly crossing the room and eyeing the bed that he’s made up for you both. He keeps his gaze trained on the floor, not even acknowledging your presence. “Bucky, what’s going on?” You try again.

            “Everything smells really strong.” He answers dryly, still not looking up at you. You narrow your eyes at him and start scanning his features, looking for any clues as to what might be going on.

            “What do you mean? Don’t things always smell really strong to you?”

            “Not like this, this is…I can smell your shampoo.” He says. His blue eyes flit up, meeting your gaze and holding it.

            “What did you touch in the lab?” You ask suddenly, already leaping into action. You sit on the side of the couch bed and reach for your bag that sits on the floor, dragging it over to your feet. You rummage around for your laptop, fishing it out as soon as it hits your fingertips.

            “I didn’t touch anything.” Bucky promises, shaking his head. He takes a couple of steps back, away from the bed, as if he can’t stand the smell of your shampoo or whatever else he smells on you. You begin typing quickly, working to open a secure video call line to Bruce Banner. “There was a spill, in that fridge I pushed you into.” He remembers, recalling the liquid that was spread over the shelf.

            “Did you breathe it in?” You cast him a glance over your shoulder as you sit and wait for Bruce to join the video call.

            “No, I mean, I don’t know. There wasn’t an odor, it didn’t feel like I breathed anything in.”

            “What color was it?” You ask, already narrowing down the list of chemicals in your head based on the fact that it was odorless.

            “Pink, clear.” Bucky answers. He’s rubbing the back of his neck as you wrack your brain. Pink, clear, odorless, hyperosmia-inducing. You have a theory, but you need Bruce to confirm. Your shoulders relax as your mind begins to realize that the chances of the chemical having been life-threatening are very low. There aren’t very many chemicals out there that are known to cause hyperosmia, and the ones that do are really only dangerous in large amounts. Bruce’s face appears on your laptop screen and relief washes over you.

            “Hey, I have a few questions for you.” You say kindly, smiling at the scientist that you’ve grown familiar with. Bruce smiles back at you and Bucky catches himself narrowing his eyes and wondering how close the two of you actually are.

            “Shoot.”

            “There was a spill in the lab, Bucky may have inhaled something odorless, a pink aqueous solution. It’s causing hyperosmia, he says he can smell my shampoo from across the room.”

            “More than his usual hyperosmia?” Bruce questions thoughtfully.

            “Yes.” You and Bucky both respond in unison. You look over your shoulder at him again and notice how uneasy he looks, how he’s being sure to keep his distance from you. “I’m thinking it’s some sort of manganese compound.” You guess, turning your attention back to Bruce.

            “You’re probably right. Just be on the lookout for any symptoms that would suggest otherwise, but if it was a small spill and he only inhaled a minimal amount of vapor from it, I wouldn’t be too concerned. The only worry I would have would be not knowing how manganese might react with the serum, but I can do some research on it and let you know what I find.” Bruce pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and crosses his arms over his chest.

            “That’s what I was thinking. We’ll let you know if anything else develops, just send me whatever you find.” After a few more exchanges between the two of you, you end the call and shove your laptop back into your bag. Bucky remains across the room, watching you carefully, like he’s afraid to get too close.

            What you don’t know, is that Bucky can’t just smell your shampoo. He can smell you. Your hair, your skin, your everything. You leave him be and head to the tiny kitchen connected to the living room, in search of a glass of water. Bucky inhales deeply through his mouth, trying to avoid smelling anything, but your scent lingers in the air and it’s suffocating. He’s going to have to sleep in the car just to get away from it.

---

            “Bucky, you’re not sleeping in the damn car and neither am I. There’s a reason we’re stuck in this safehouse, we’re staying put.” Your tone is stern as you stand blocking the door. Bucky sighs heavily. He knows he could easily move you out of his way, but he also knows he’s treading dangerous waters already. The two of you have always had an indescribable tension, a palpable energy between you. One drunken night a month ago, you nearly fucked. You were drunk, he wasn’t, but he might as well have been with the way he lost his self-control when you leaned into him and rested your hands against his abs. The heated makeout session that ensued was electric, with your back pushed up against a wall in whatever bar the team had been hanging out in that night. The only reason you didn’t go through with it was because the grating sound of John Walker’s voice echoed down the dimly lit back hall right before he turned the corner and saw you pushing Bucky away. Only a week after that, Bucky caught you staring him down in the gym, clearly enjoying the sight of him shirtless and sweating as he threw punches at the bag. An hour later he had your lips against his in the elevator, desperately kissing and licking as much of the skin of your jaw and neck as he could before the elevator reached the main living floor. He would’ve taken you right there if the elevator was any slower. The third and final time was a week and a half ago, when, during an undercover mission, you both seemed to have trouble keeping your hands off of each other. Your covers gave you an excuse to be a little handsy, but continuing to be handsy the entire drive back to the compound wasn’t quite so excused. You were so distracted that you didn’t notice the car following you, not until Redwing picked up on it and Sam alerted you both. That was the night you both decided to stop whatever it was that was going on between you. It was dangerous and addictive and it only served as a distraction in the field. So, you stopped it before it ever truly began.

            Bucky moves around to the opposite side of the bed, shooting you a moody look before tugging his shirt off and baring his chest. Your eyes drift down to the dog tags that hang around his neck as he starts pushing his pants down his legs. Suddenly he’s standing there wearing nothing but boxers and dog tags, and your mouth is damn near watering.

            “You’re sleeping in that?” You ask incredulously, gesturing at his distinct lack of clothing. Bucky chuckles and pulls the sheet and quilt back, sliding under the covers with ease. The thin mattress curves down to support his weight and the springs creak loudly.

            “You’re sleeping in that, so you can’t complain.” He mimics your gesture as he refers to your oversized t-shirt and lack of pants. It isn’t your fault. You didn’t have much in your bag, this was never supposed to be an overnight trip. You sigh as you sit on your own side of the bed, turning your back to Bucky. He turns off the lamp beside the couch and the room is cast into darkness.

            While you’re sitting on the side of the bed, reminding yourself why the two of you decided to leave each other alone, Bucky’s lying on his back, breathing through his mouth. He can still smell you. The vanilla scent of your shampoo makes him want to bury his face in your hair and inhale as deeply as he possibly can, it smells so fucking sweet.

            An hour later, you’re sound asleep next to Bucky, with your back facing him and the sound of your soft, steady breathing filling the quiet space. Every single minute that’s gone by since you slid under the covers next to him has be spent actively trying to ignore the smells in the air. First, all he really noticed was your shampoo. After fifteen minutes of lying next to you, he could smell the lotion you put on your legs that morning. Ten minutes later, he was ready to bust down the damn door to get to the car. He could smell you. Something so distinctive, something that was sending his entire body into overdrive with every breath he inhaled.

            Now Bucky lies there, clenching his jaw and covering his face with both hands in an attempt to stifle the scent that he’s trying to pretend isn’t there. He’d have already gotten out of the bed and locked himself in the bathroom, the closet, or even a fucking kitchen cupboard if the bed springs weren’t so damn loud. He can’t make a move that big without waking you up, so he remains frozen. It’s not until Bucky hears you whimper in your sleep that he pulls his hands away from his face and turns his head to look in your direction. Though the scent of your unconscious arousal is affecting him so strongly, the sound you made momentarily redirects some of the bloodflow away from his cock, toward his head. The tone to your whimper was fearful. It escapes your lips again and Bucky watches as you begin to shake beside him. Fuck. Of course you have nightmares. You’re so similar in so many other ways, he should’ve assumed you were plagued the same way that he is.

            As your eyes dart back and forth rapidly beneath your closed eyelids, your breathing quickens more and more until your body begins to feel deprived of oxygen. That’s when you wake up, gasping for air, in full fight-or-flight mode. You’re on your side, grasping the quilt in your left hand and desperately searching the darkness around you for anything familiar.

            Without thinking, Bucky rolls onto his side and slides his vibranium hand over your hip. Though he can’t feel it, your shirt has ridden up above your thighs and his hand lands partially on the waistband of your panties and partially on your skin. You tense at his touch initially, still trying to figure out where the hell you are, but that touch is something familiar. Your mind latches onto it, and suddenly you’re remembering the last three times you felt it. Vibranium against your skin, his lips on yours, every nerve ending in your body firing at the same time. It’s familiar, so familiar that you relax after a couple of seconds and lean back. Your back brushes against his chest and his grip on your hip tightens a barely noticeable amount as he realizes you’re moving. He doesn’t want you to move back too far and find out that he has a full-blown erection while you’re recovering from a nightmare, but he also doesn’t want to stop you from finding comfort.

            “You’re safe.” He whispers close to your ear, taking in the scent of your shampoo once again. His eyes close as the vanilla temporarily covers up the smell that’s been driving him insane for the past hour. “We’re in a safehouse.” He assures you. Your breathing begins to slow and your shaking limbs calm as you move your left hand. You release your grip on the sheets and slide it beneath the covers, running your palm over the crevices of his vibranium hand. So familiar.

            “I’m sorry I woke you.” You apologize softly, taking in a shaky breath and flattening your hand over his metal one.

            “I wasn’t asleep.” Though you know how he operates in the field, how he likes to be kissed, how infuriating he can be when he insists on doing things his way, you don’t know much about his sleeping habits…or lack thereof. Suddenly, the evening’s mission comes flooding back into your mind. You remember him being exposed to something and experiencing hyperosmia, with you and Bruce only being able to speculate about the chemical he inhaled. You make a move to look over your shoulder at him and when you do, your body almost enough to let your ass make contact with his crotch. He squeezes your hip so hard that you almost peel his vibranium fingers off of you.

            “Shit, Bucky.” You speak through clenched teeth as he holds you firmly in place against the mattress. “What are you—”

            “Don’t move.” He groans. The tone of his voice is one you’ve heard once before, when you were licking and sucking the skin along the column of his throat in the elevator that day. Instead of listening to his clear command, you try to wiggle an inch or two away from him, as if that would help the situation, but it only makes Bucky’s problem more obvious. His hard cock is straining against the fabric of his black boxers, and as you move your hips once again, it brushes against your ass and you feel it. You feel it and you freeze. “Fuck.” Another groan leaves his lips and you feel your cheeks heat up. Your nightmare from moments ago is forgotten.

            “Is it…is it from what you inhaled earlier? Tell me what you’re feeling.” The words come tumbling out of you with urgency as you grow more and more worried.

            “Yeah. No. It’s just—fuck.” Bucky swears again, exhaling quickly and then inhaling through his mouth. “You smell so goddamn good, I don’t know what to do with myself.” You’re both silent, so silent that you can hear the way he’s mouth-breathing just so he doesn’t have to overwhelm himself with your scent.

            “Bucky—”

            “You saying my name only makes this worse.” His grip on your hip tightens slightly and you try to keep your own breathing shallow, so you won’t be moving even a centimeter more than necessary.

            “What can I do to help?” You ask quietly. What can you do to help? Bucky bites his lip. Your question is so innocent, so kind, and yet all he can think about is actually letting you do the one thing that would help him right now.

            “Let me sleep in the car.” He sighs. You can tell he’s struggling, you can tell he’s in need, and as much as you hate that he’s in that kind of position, you can’t help but feel a little excited about the fact that he’s in it with you.

            “You know why that’s a stupid idea. What else can I do?” While you’re lying there in front of him, offering your help, Bucky’s squeezing his eyes shut as he remembers the taste of your lips and the skillful way that you ran your hand along his thigh in the car after that one mission, letting your fingertips just barely skim over his bulge. He remembers every fucking detail of the way you kiss and the memories paired with the fact that your ass is still pressed against him make him feel as though all control is slipping away from him.

            “Remind me why I can’t have you.” His request takes you by surprise. It takes a moment for your mind to gather the words that will give him what he wants.

            “We work together.” Three words? That’s all you can come up with? With his cock pressing against your ass, your mind is going on strike.

            “We work together.” Bucky repeats. That’s a shit reason, sure as hell not a good enough reason to get him to let go of your hip.

            “It’d ruin our working relationship.” You try again, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in.

            “It would.” Bucky agrees. Your reasons really aren’t even registering in his mind. He’s loosening his hold on your hip but instead of letting go completely, he starts dragging a vibranium fingertip along the waistband of your panties, almost absentmindedly. Your breath hitches in your throat when his fingertip ghosts over your lower stomach, but he slowly drags it back to your hip. He loves the way your body responds to even the slightest of touches.

            “It could end horribly.” You point out, trying to keep your breathing steady as he continues tracing the waistband of your panties.

            “It could.” He says with a small nod. Bucky doesn’t think as he leans in and presses his lips against the side of your neck. One kiss. One deep inhale. Another kiss. Another deep inhale. You catch yourself arching your back the tiniest bit, pressing your ass against him more.

            “There isn’t a single good reason for us to do this.” It’s the last thing you can think of. Bucky pulls his lips away from your neck and his hand stills on your hip.

            “There isn’t. It would be a pretty bad decision.” He acknowledges. That’s when you feel him adjust his legs and grind into you. “We might end up hating each other.”

            “We can’t have that.” You tsk, biting into your bottom lip after the words leave your mouth. Neither one of you has enough self-control to separate at this point.

            “You can have whatever the fuck you want.”

            The soft whimper that leaves your lips at the undeniably filthy sentence he’s just spoken against your ear makes him grind into you harder. He can’t think straight when you make noises like that, when you smell like you do. Fuck. You don’t say a word, so he slides his vibranium hand down your thigh and wraps it around your knee, hitching your leg back and over his own. Once he has you a little more spread and leaning even more into his space, he grinds against you from the new angle. You feel his erection against your clothed cunt and the already wet fabric between your legs gets a little more soaked.

            “I thought you just agreed that this would ruin our working relationship.” You whine. Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, please don’t stop. Though you sound like you’re being reasonable, your mind is anything but.

            “I’m thinking about ruining something right now.” He grumbles against the side of your neck, nipping at your skin.

            “We can’t do this.” You say firmly, reaching your left hand down to pull his vibranium one away from your leg that’s still hitched over his thigh. When your palm glides over the now warm metal, you can’t seem to push his hand away. Instead, you intertwine your fingers with his and fight to hold in the moans that are threatening to spill from your lips if he keeps grinding against you the way that he is.

            “I know, baby, we can’t.” Bucky groans, rutting into you a little harder and faster, as if he’s trying to get just a little more pleasure out of this before it ends.

            “We can’t.” You repeat. Why your hand lets go of his and moves to reach over your shoulder and tangle in his hair is beyond you. Why you pull him further against your neck, encouraging him to kiss and lick you even more is lost on you. Why you don’t do a damn thing to stop what’s currently happening can only be chalked up to how badly you’ve wanted him to fuck you since the first time you kissed him in that bar. Bucky doesn’t dare to say a single word more. He isn’t going to risk talking a little too much sense into you. So, he starts sucking on your neck, leaving obvious marks as you whimper and moan out those sweet, irresistible little noises that have him wanting to fuck you ten different ways.

            Bucky’s holding onto the tiniest thread of self-control, it’s all he has left, a damn thread. Every single one of his senses is overwhelmed as he grinds himself against your barely clothed body and tastes the skin of your neck.

            “We’re not doing this.” Bucky sounds so resolved, but even as he speaks the claim, he’s pushing your leg off of where it was hitched over his own and guiding you onto your stomach. He doesn’t want you on your stomach, fuck no. He wants you in any position where he can see the faces you make when he buries himself inside of you for the first time, when he starts fucking you the way you’ve needed to be fucked for weeks now, when he cums inside of you. But Bucky knows if he has the privilege of seeing your face through all of that, he won’t ever be able to look at you the same way. He won’t ever be able to go back to working with you in the field. It would ruin your working relationship just like you said. So, he makes sure you’re on your stomach when he starts pushing your shirt up and running his palms along the skin of your back. There isn’t a hint of protest from you as your back arches against his hands and your ass raises up ever so slightly. Even as Bucky begins tugging your panties down your thighs, not a damn word.

            Your scent. Your fucking scent. As soon as he has your panties halfway down your thighs, he knows why he couldn’t resist you. You’re ovulating, and he can smell it, the pheromones, just radiating off of you.

            “Fuck.” Bucky groans headily. He completely abandons his effort to tug your panties any further than your knees as he rolls on top of you and gets his cock in just the right position to slide between your legs. His hard shaft presses against your wet cunt as he lowers himself onto you and lets his length move between your upper thighs. “You’re already so wet, fuck.”

            It only takes a second for you to have Bucky’s entire cock soaked with your arousal, and he hasn’t even been inside you yet. You can’t stop yourself from arching your back and pressing your ass up and into him as he teases you, dragging his length back and forth along your cunt but never giving himself the chance to slide in.

            “Bucky…” His name leaves your lips as a needy moan and you don’t have to say another word. You don’t have to ask him to do it. He braces himself with his forearms on either side of your head, his knees on either side of your legs, and lets you shuffle your own knees until they’re underneath you enough to raise your ass off of the bed. A breathy whimper escapes you as a shiver runs down your spine.

            “If you keep saying my name, I won’t be able to pull out when I need to.” Bucky warns you, just as you feel the head of his cock teasing your entrance. You think he’s about to push in, when he lets his cock slip away from your entrance and run lazily through your folds. He does it repeatedly, letting it rub against your clit over and over again, listening as your breaths come in more and more ragged at the stimulation.

            “Shit, you’re right. You’re not wearing a condom.” You point out in a rare moment of clarity. Bucky chuckles and uses one hand to move your hair away from your neck, before leaning down as pressing a kiss there. You push your forehead into the pillow, muffling the soft moan that you can’t hold back.

            “I’m not wearing a condom.” Bucky repeats, as if he means to say that he wouldn’t wear one even if he happened to have one.

            “You’re not wearing a—” You’re cut off by Bucky thrusting half of his length into you so suddenly and forcefully that the rest of your sentence disappears from your mind entirely and your hands move to grip his wrists beside your head. You dig your nails into him without realizing as your muscles tense and you press your face into the pillow once again.

            “That’s it, get used to it.” Bucky encourages you. It’s such a simple thing to say yet it sounds so filthy coming from him in this moment. It is filthy. He takes a moment for himself, focusing on how tightly your pussy is gripping the first few inches of his cock, how your arousal is basically dripping down his shaft as he lets you adjust to him. That little thread of self-control he was holding onto earlier has frayed more and more and he can’t stop himself from forcing the rest of himself inside of you, until his balls are pressing against you and you’re screaming into the pillow.

            “It’s too much, oh my god, it’s too much.” You moan out as you lift your face from the pillow and rest your chin on it instead. You don’t dare to try and look over your shoulder at him, you can barely move without feeling the sting of his cock stretching your entrance.

            “No, no it’s just an adjustment.” Bucky coos, pressing another kiss to the back of your neck and inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of your hair. “You’re taking it so well already, just relax for me.”

            Your body listens to him. You feel yourself relaxing. First, your hold on his wrists eases until you’re no longer leaving nail marks in his skin. Then, you let out a deep exhale and sink into the mattress beneath him. Bucky’s in awe of you. He knows he’s big, and he knows it’s probably been a while since you’ve slept with anyone with the way work keeps you busy near 24/7. You really are taking him so well. He starts dragging his length out of you slowly, but only a third of the way before he’s pushing it back into you again. The wet sound that results makes him fucking feral. He does it again. Then again. And again. The next thing he knows, he’s holding your hips with your ass up in the air and your face down on your folded forearms as he fucks you so hard that the springs of the couch bed are threatening to snap. With every loud creak of the springs, there’s an equally loud sound of skin smacking against skin. It’s animalistic, the way he’s fucking you.

            “Fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper. You bite into your forearm, surely leaving a mark, as he sets a tortuously pleasuring pace. You can feel him reaching a spot inside you no one has ever reached before and it has your eyes rolling back in your head.

            “I know, fuck.” Bucky says breathlessly. He pounds into you over and over again, chasing his own release as he feels the walls of your pussy fluttering around him. You’re right there and he can tell. “Cum on my cock, so I can pull out and cum all over your fucking back.” He groans, sounding so damn needy. You can’t think straight. You’re definitely not thinking straight. That’s the only reason you say what you say next.

            “No, I’m not cumming if you’re going to pull out.” You say defiantly, actively fighting to hold back your orgasm. Bucky thrusts into you even harder, letting you know that he most definitely likes the sound of not pulling out. He leans down until his chest is pressed against your back and he’s close enough to whisper against your ear.

            “You’re going to make me cum inside you when you’re fucking ovulating?”

            “How do you—”

            “I can fucking smell you.” He rasps against your ear. “Answer me. You really want me to do this?”

            You don’t even take a moment to think about it, not a single moment to consider the possible consequence.

            “Please.”

            It’s only a few hard, deep thrusts later when Bucky’s rhythm grows sloppy and he gives you every single drop of cum he has, fucking it all into you almost recklessly. With every last thrust into your cunt, he’s fully aware that he could be getting you pregnant. He’s fully aware, and yet, he doesn’t have a single fuck to give.

---

            It’s the smell of your arousal mixed with his cum, dripping out of you and into your panties, that wakes Bucky around midnight. It’s only been a couple of hours since he was buried deep inside of you but it feels like it could’ve been days ago with how hard his cock is right now. He reaches beneath the covers, palming his erection through the fabric of his boxers as he listens to your steady breaths. You’re sleeping so soundly beside him, with your back turned to him and the covers pulled up just past your waist.

            A few key thoughts run through Bucky’s head as he lets his hand run along his clothed length. How serious is this to you? Have you wanted him as badly as he’s wanted you since that night in the bar? Is it just physical for you? A surface level attraction that you momentarily gave into because he was horny and shoving his cock against your ass in a shared bed? But you let him cum inside of you, while you’re ovulating. When your body is fully ready and capable of beginning a pregnancy, you let him pump an entire load into you without a hint of hesitation. You didn’t just let him, you said please. Bucky’s suddenly pushing his boxers down his thighs for the second time tonight, wrapping his fist around his length, and rolling over to face you.

            He doesn’t think there’s ever been a better scent than the one emanating from between your legs right now. He can picture the way his cum is swirled together with your arousal right now, probably threatening to soak through the thin fabric of your panties and drip down the soft skin of your thighs until it reaches the bedsheets beneath you. It’s that thought that spurs Bucky on, that makes him tug your panties to the side and press a gentle kiss to the side of your neck as he guides his cock between your legs. The moment he feels the warmth of his own cum from earlier drip from your folds to coat his shaft, he starts mumbling against your skin.

            “I need you.” He whispers into your neck, fighting the urge to bite into your skin as the head of his cock notches inside of you and begins to slide in. “Wake up.”  Your eyes flutter open just as the head of his cock has fully entered you and the rest of his shaft is following. A raspy swear escapes your lips as your back arches and you start to tense up at the sudden intrusion. Bucky’s vibranium hand flies to your hip, stilling you as he continues pushing in.

            “Oh my god.” It’s all you can say as he bottoms out inside you and immediately starts pulling his hips back. He sets a much slower pace than last time, rhythmically fucking you sideways. “I’m sore.” You whimper, turning your head slightly to muffle your moans in your pillow, just like you did earlier.

            “I’m sorry, I know.” Bucky groans against your neck, continuing to thrust in and out of you. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He can’t stop. He can’t make his hips still, he can’t pull out of you and let you recover. He just fucking can’t. He fucks you as gently as he can, using his own cum from earlier as lube. With every slow thrust, your soreness dissipates more and more and pleasure begins to replace it. When he cums inside you the second time, it’s without warning, without one single worry about pulling out. He just does it and expects you to take it…which of course, you do.

---

            You wake up two hours later, with aching thighs and the slightest hint of a burn on your neck from Bucky’s scruff. As you lie there in the darkness, listening to the sound of Bucky breathing softly mere inches behind you, feeling the excessive amount of cum pooling in your panties, you only seem to be able to think about one thing. Both times that he’s fucked you, he did it from behind. You didn’t get to see his face once. Not once did you get to see how he reacted when he felt the walls of your pussy clenching around him, the face he made when you told him you didn’t want him to pull out, or the way his eyes screwed shut and his mouth fell open when he was cumming. You’ve been deprived of it.

            Why does it bother you so much that he hasn’t looked in your eyes either of the two times he’s fucked you? Is he trying to pretend you’re someone else? As tears begin to rim the edges of your eyes, you tell yourself that you’re just being emotional because you’re ovulating. God. You wouldn’t have even known you were ovulating if he hadn’t told you himself.

Truthfully, you’re not even horny. Yet, you find yourself rolling over as quietly as possible, making sure the bed springs don’t creak beneath you. You’re silent as you tug your panties down your legs and toss them onto the floor. You’re even more quiet as you pull the covers back just enough to let you stealthily straddle Bucky’s hips, making sure you don’t touch him yet. Who knew this is what you’d be using all of your professional training for?

            He begins to stir when your fingertips graze over his lower stomach. He draws in a deep breath as you tug his waistband down and free his already hard cock from the confines of his boxers. His eyes are blinking open, studying the sight before him as you wrap your hand around his shaft and stroke it firmly. That’s when he comes to his senses and his gaze lands on your face.

            “Shit.” He breathes out as you sink down onto his length with determination. Your face. He can see your face. The way your features contort as you try to fit all of him in at this new angle is ruining him. This is exactly what he didn’t need to see, so he tries to talk some sense into you. “You’ll be too sore if we do this again, three times is too many.” Bucky says quietly, running his hands up your thighs to grab onto your hips. You’re only an inch from being fully seated on his cock when he holds you still, not letting you slide down any further. He doesn’t want it, you think. What man tries to stop a girl when she’s already sitting on his dick? He just wanted to fuck you in the dark, with your face invisible to him, and then he wanted to be done with you. Tears well up in your eyes a little more and you dare to look down at him. His gaze coasts from where you’re both connected, up the front of your t-shirt, to your face. That’s when he sees the watery layer over your pretty irises.

            “Just let me do this.” You plead, pushing his hands away from your hips and taking in the last inch of his length. Bucky inhales sharply and screws his eyes shut as your tight, wet cunt envelopes his cock completely. He can’t deny you. He can’t deny you, so it’s his turn to fist the sheets as you start moving your hips. You alternate between sliding up and down the entirety of his length and grinding in deep, slow circles when he’s fully sheathed inside you. Even as a tear falls from your face and lands on his bare chest, he doesn’t open his eyes.

            “Fuck, fuck, I’m already so close.” He groans, lifting his hands and covering his face with them. He wants nothing more than to roll you over and fuck you missionary. He wants to rail you into the mattress until its deformed and concaved to fit your body. He wants to pin you down and look into your eyes as he fills you for the third time.

            “Look at me.” You whisper, moving your hips a little faster. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Bucky groans beneath his hands, and reluctantly removes them from his face, resting them on your thighs once more. His eyes focus between your legs again, but after a couple of seconds his lifts his gaze to meet yours.

            “How do you still look so damn pretty after taking my cock the first two times?” He asks with a pained groan. You know he can’t possibly have much to give you after the first two times, but you’ll be damned if you’re not going to take what you can get. You start bouncing on his cock with increasing desperation, chasing your own orgasm. “You even look pretty with tears in your eyes.” He says with a softer tone.

            Right as Bucky nears the edge, you feel his cock twitching, you feel his abs tighten beneath your hands, and you lean down. Your nose brushes against his and for a second, you think about kissing him.

            “You know why I didn’t want to see your face?” He asks, his ability to form a complete sentence surprising even him. He pushes your hair back, cupping your cheeks in his hands as you continue riding his cock. “Because I knew I’d memorize the way you look when you’re stuffed full of my cock, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look at you the same way again.”

            “So you were okay with potentially getting me pregnant but not with looking me in the eye?” You ask incredulously, your hips slowing. Bucky groans and thrusts up into you impatiently.

            “Don’t talk about being pregnant, fuck.” He thrusts up again and a smile plays on your lips. His hands move from your face down to your waist as he starts setting a pace.

            “Bucky, you fucked me raw. You came inside me twice. I’m probably halfway to pregnant right now and you’re about to do it all over again. We can’t talk about it?”

            In the blink of an eye, Bucky’s rolling you over, making sure his cock stays inside of you as he lays you on your back and immediately starts thrusting into you.

            “Fine.” He grunts, pushing your thighs up to your chest and draping your legs over his shoulders. He buries himself in you deeper and deeper with every snap of his hips. “I’ll look you in the eye right now while I make sure you’re so full of my cum that there’s no fucking way you aren’t pregnant. Is that what you want?”

            “Fuck yes.” You moan out as he pounds into you. Within seconds, you’re a panting mess on the couch bed and Bucky’s staring down at you with a passionate, determined look in his eye.

            “Look at me when I’m cumming inside you.” He commands. “Look at me when I’m getting you fucking pregnant.”

TAG LIST:

@sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze @nyashonality @h2oaffirmations @sadeyes61 @lulawantmula @i-l-y-3000 @armystay89 @fandomsfeminismandme

[hpotterwhore]

when i get the most random urge to start writing again after not writing in.. how long? we’ll see

[murdrdocs]

I need to get laid. fr fr.

[fantasylandloser]

marriage pact pt.2

summary: the besties are getting used to their new relationship

Warnings: smut, mdni, oral (fem recieving), mentions of dry humping, mentions of implied bi!reader, Stevie's happy trail makes another appearance, public sex?? (not actually penetration), lmk if i missed anything

pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

A/N: thank you to all the people who showed part one so much love, especially everyone who had v unhinged things to say (i love you the most) also i gave us a cool ass, loving mom

part 1

*****

“I’m just saying, we should talk about it eventually.” Steve tells you, unable to conceal the smirk on his face. He stood in the doorway of your bathroom watching you evade questions he threw at you about your past hookups. Essentially he didn’t really care, he was the last person in Hawkins who should have the privilege of caring about who other people hookup with. But he was a little curious, considering your face went up in flames as soon as he brought it up. Also maybe slightly jealous.

You huff at Steve’s persistence, dropping your mascara back into the bag. “Are we going to talk about all the people you’ve hooked up with Steve?” Annoyance laced your tone at his line of questioning, but he knew your annoyance was just poorly concealed embarrassment. 

The two of you were supposed to be getting ready to meet up with Robin, Eddie, Nancy, and Jonathan when he randomly asked you about the past guys you’ve been with. He was already dressed and now he was waiting for you to be, curiously watching your every step. 

“We’ve talked about me for years. Everyone in Hawkins has talked about me.” He laughs, a little self deprecating. “We’ve never talked about you, and we don’t have to.” He’s moving in on you arms, caging you into the counter, shaggy hair sweeping from his forehead. “I’m just curious, not judging you.” Your eyes meet his sincere ones in the mirror, the kicked puppy look he’s been giving you since you were kids working like a charm.

“Billy Hargrove fingered me in our Anatomy class, junior year.” You start, your face red as you shift your eyes, from Steve’s shocked ones. “That was before he..”You trail off not knowing exactly how to word your next thoughts.

“Beat me to a pulp?” Steve offers, with a sardonic grin.

You nod with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.” You really mean it, too. You felt so bad after you saw Steve like that, bruised up by a guy that had been touching you.

“Not judging, remember.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and despite the ugly feeling of jealousy sitting in the pit of his stomach he really wanted you to continue.

“I always knew he had a thing for you.” He says, thinking of all the times he’d catch Billy staring at you. He’s pretty sure that’s half the reason he beat his ass. Steve would always have an arm around your shoulder or one of your legs in his lap. 

You go back to distracting yourself as you put your eyeliner on. “And don’t be weird about this later,” You say, which gives him warning to brace himself. “Eddie took my virginity in the back of his van senior year.” You say it so casually that Steve’s sure he didn’t hear you correctly. 

“Eddie?” Steve says, his face wearing his shock. “You mean like Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?” You slap his arm at that.

“Don’t call him that.” You defend, which Steve rolls his eyes at, knowing Eddie loved the nickname.

“Our friend, Eddie? Who, we happen to be seeing tonight?” Obviously too flabbergasted to remember his no judgment rule, you quickly remind him. 

“I thought this was a judgment free zone.” You murmur, too mortified to even look at him. This brings Steve back to himself.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m just surprised. Didn’t see that coming.” Steve’s hands are on his hips and you know he’s about two seconds from pacing a hole through a floor to wrap his head around it. You can’t help but think he’s adorable for stressing himself out about a question he asked you to answer.

“Yeah we hooked up for a while I guess, but then-” You’re cut off by your own thoughts, sheepish at the thought of your next words until you look at Steve’s puzzled expression. “Then Tommy threw that huge party and you got drunk off your ass and told me we were gonna get married and I just-” You shrug, pretending to be oh so busy with your eyelash curler. “Broke it off with him the next day. Didn’t wanna lead him on, when my head was… elsewhere.” Thinking of you. You tell Steve all this without making a morsel or eye contact. It should really scare Steve how good you are at playing casual with your feelings. 

“Oh, honey.” The kiss he plants on your shoulder is sweet, as he secures his arms around you. “I really love you.” Steve whispers, and it’s not the first time he’s said it, but in this context it is. The words are so much heavier after the shift in dynamic between the two of you.

“I love you too.” Again you say it so unbothered, so naturally, that Steve would think you didn’t mean it if he couldn’t feel the way your pulse quickened. 

“So, after Eddie?” He prods. You take a second like you’re contemplating telling him. 

“If I tell you, you can’t tell Robin.” Steve looks confused but agrees regardless. “You can’t tell anyone.” You reiterate. 

“Okayy, based on what you’ve already told me I’m not sure how it could get worse.” Steve says. “But I’m not judging.’ He adds after his little sentence. 

“Last year, Tammy Thompson, once.” It’s all you say before Steve understands and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. 

“I don’t know you at all.” He states dramatically. 

“In my defense..” you began, “The only reason I didn’t tell you was because like right after I had been talking to Robin and told her that I went to the mall with her and then, she randomly mentioned that she used to have the hugest crush on her. And then she told me that the two of you hooked up before and it was weird. Because I never in a million years thought we would have any overlap.” By the time you’re done with your explanation, Steve is still looking at you in shock.

“You don’t tell me anything.” He lies, unaware of the pout that’s formed on his face.

“I tell you everything important.” You counter. You look like you’re thinking, biting your bottom lip nervously. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal for you.”

Steve is all over you before you can overthink any further, and he’d never tell you but you look like you’re about to launch into tears. “Baby it’s not a big deal… I’m just surprised I didn’t know this about you.” He finally understands some of your hesitancy about opening up about your sex life. You were scared to be judged, by him of all people. 

“That was the shortest list ever, if it was me we would have been standing here for hours.” He jokes, it's another self deprecating jab and it’s one you can’t ignore. 

“Stop doing that. Be nice to yourself.” You scold lightly. 

“It’s true.” You knew Steve was no longer a fan of his own promiscuity. You know that he had some regrets about it, but you couldn’t for the life of you understand why.

“It’s hot.” When the words leave your lips, you find yourself turning around in his arms, tilting your head up to get a better look at him. You meet his eyes, watching the bewildered expression on his face.

“It’s really hot for me, that my boyfriend is more experienced than me. Now.. you can teach me what you know.” You elaborate. Steve’s eyes are watching your lips intently.

“Call me that again.” He requests, his voice gruff. You hold his gaze even though your entire body is on fire from the sudden intensity.

“My boyfriend.” You say softly. The first time you acknowledge him as such. He’s leaning in to kiss you when you duck under his arm, not allowing him to smudge your newly done make up or make you any later than you know you are.

“We’re late.” You remind him, grabbing your shoes. 

“Fucking tease.”

*****

Your night out with Steve and your friends, paled in comparison to waking up to him. He’s holding you tightly against him. No shirt on his chest, per usual. A large hand splayed under your shirt and against your stomach. His heat is almost too much for you and you consider rolling away briefly but that’s the last thing you want. 

Without ever opening your eyes or moving, you flail your legs to kick the blanket off you, only pausing when you hear a throaty chuckle vibrating beneath you. You freeze realizing you’d been caught looking silly.

“You hot?” He asks, ever so attentive. Usually when the two of you slept in bed together, there was a respectful amount of space between you, now your limbs were intertwined and your heart beats synced. 

“Mhm.” You hum, still half sleep. You wouldn’t know it but Steve woke up about thirty minutes before you and he was also feeling like the bed had turned into a sauna overnight, but he’d rather burn to death than wake you up. 

Still groggy from sleep, you whine when Steve removes himself from you to turn on the fan and remove the covers the rest of the way off of you. Much to your relief. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower.” He tells you, letting you know he wasn’t coming back to bed. You were unsure of how he did that. Getting up as soon as he woke up. You were more of a wake up and rot in bed for two more hours kind  of girl.

You hadn’t realized, you’d drifted back off to sleep until Steve’s waking you up. “Wanna get up for me, so we can spend some time together?” He offers.

“We could go play basketball at the gym.” He tries again when you don’t budge. This has you perking up slightly. For a reason unknown to him, every time, even in high school, if he mentioned anything to do with basketball you would be there. At first he thought you wanted to play, especially since you proved yourself to be useful on the court, but when he mentioned it to you, you looked disturbed at the idea. 

You’re rolling out of bed without answering, but he knows that is your answer and you’re just adjusting to the morning again. So he goes on making sure to cook you a good breakfast. 

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, freshly showered you find Steve behind the stove looking very boyfriendish. You can’t help circling your arms around his waist as you inhale his scent.

“Morning’” There’s soft music playing from his phone but other than that the house is quiet. 

“Good Morning. Baby.” You grin into his shoulder, feeling oddly domestic..

After eating breakfast with Steve, you made your way to the gym. You’re stopped a million times because this is Hawkins and everyone knows Steve, the once golden boy basketball star, and you who graduated top of your class with a long list of extracurriculars. But most people still only referred to you when speaking about Steve and that was okay with you.

Playing with Steve is never actually about winning for you. The win is seeing Steve like this. Sweaty. In his zone. So fucking focused. You were competitive everywhere else, but on the basketball court, you were all about Steve. He played less now that you were older, so when he offered you couldn’t help but jump at the chance.

You’re barely paying attention to the game because Steve is everywhere. You’re losing really badly even though he’s taking it easy on you. You don’t care.

“Where’s your mind at, honey?” He asks, dribbling the ball he just stole from you and shooting it. You pretend to be frustrated, pretend like you actually care if you lose, like you’re actually giving your best. Steve knows better, but he doesn’t push it, figuring you were just tired still. 

When a group of guys Steve played basketball with came into the gym, begging ‘king’ steve to join a game with them, Steve almost declined until you made some comment about being tired and going to sit on the bleachers for a break.

You knew the real show was about to start, and that he’d love a chance to show the guys from high school how he’s still got it. Steve’s gearing all the way up when they start picking teams, and you know based on the line up it’s going to be an aggressive game.

You’re dazed while you watch him play for the next hour. He’s concentrating hard, yelling out an instruction to his other teammates, in charge, sweating so hard that he keeps lifting up his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead and revealing that happy trail. Your composure is crumbling quickly. 

And you don’t realize the way you’re looking at him even though you know you’re thirsting hard. He sees though. About halfway through the game when he’s checking on you during a time out. You give him your water bottle to drink out of even though you hate sharing germs, run your fingers through his sweaty hair, and give him two kisses despite the fact that he knows he tastes like sweat, and that you have an audience. 

After that he realizes how hard you’re watching him and he knows he has to show out for the end of the game. Everytime he glances at you, you look so invested. Like you used to in high school when you suddenly became interested in basketball again after a long hiatus during your pre teen years. Except now there’s a new detail that Steve has noticed. You’re squeezing your thighs together so hard, he thinks you’re about to burst. He can’t help but wonder how long you’ve been that way and if that was the reason you’re so intrigued with basketball, with no interest in playing. 

Steve made sure to win. Made sure he earned every filthy thing he was going to do to you. When he walks up to you, you don’t realize that you’ve been caught. Not when he’s dragging you behind him, not even when he opens the door to the men’s locker room, ushering you inside. It’s when he locks the door with you against it that your brain finally kickstarts into realizing what’s happening. 

“Steve we’re gonna get caught-” You start but your voice is lodged in your throat when his fingers dip into your shorts. You know what he finds when he does, and if you didn’t the smirk on his face would have told you. 

“All this from watching me play, honey.” The condescending lilt to his voice, has your brain turning to mush in the best way. That mixed with the way he’s running his knuckles over your  folds. 

“Steve”  You try again, more firm when you hear voices passing from outside the door, but your voice just turns into a whimper, as you try to cope with the way he’s touching you. 

“Shut up for me, so I can focus.” He shushes, yanking your shorts down. You gasp when he does so, but step out of them nonetheless when he gestures for you to do so. This is his first time touching you like this since you dry humped him for all he was worth in the family video parking lot and you’re curious about where he’s going with this. 

He grabs your panties, balling them up in his hand before coming back up to you. “Open your mouth.” You do without a second thought, letting him stuff the underwear into your mouth.

“Fuck you’re a good girl.” He notes before dropping to his knees. “Prettiest pussy, I’ve ever seen.” And he’s not talking to you really but to your pussy. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder before going in, licking and slurping at you like a starved man.

You’re pretty sure it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s so sloppy about it and you love every second.

When he leans down a bit to fuck your hole open with his tongue, his nose nudges your clit. Your moans and whimpers are concealed by the makeshift gag, but the way your hand flys to Steve’s hair to hold him in place lets him know exactly the effect he’s having on you.

He chuckles when he feels you clenching up on his tongue, already so close and he’s just barely touched you. He presses you deeper into the door when he feels your knees buckling, moaning into your cunt at the feeling of you tugging his hair. 

Steve wishes he didn’t need you to be quiet. He wishes he could hear every single one of your whimpers and moans. Hear you calling him ‘Stevie’ in that whiny little voice, but he also knows he doesn’t want anyone else to hear you. Not when you’re all his.

You tumble over the edge pretty quickly, tears cascading down your face, which is the first thing Steve sees when he stands back up, licking his lips. He’s rubbing your overstimulated clit, when he pulls the damp panties out your mouth, releasing all the built up sounds from you. 

“Aw, honey.” He coos, wiping away the tears with your panties. He’s fucking filthy. He kisses you after that, so tenderly that you almost forget how he’s toying with you.

“Stevie..” There it is. Steve thinks to himself. He kisses you again trying to hush your moans.

“You like watching me play, sweetheart? That turns you on?” He asks, still massaging your clit.

“So much.” You admit. Steve wants to laugh at how gone you are, but he’s affected just as much as you.

“Not very nice, that you didn’t tell me.” He says. 

“M’sorry, Stevie.” You’re getting too loud and Steve has to shush you as he hears voices in the hallway, suddenly remembering where you are.

“It’s okay baby, you gonna cum for me?” As soon as he suggests it, he knows it's coming and his lips are back on yours, silencing your moans.

******

“Dude, why are you staring at me?”  Steve asks you, his face red. You stared at him all the way home from the gym. You stared at him when you got home and it had been an hour later, both of you showered and supposed to watch a movie, and you were still staring. 

“I just think you’re kinda rude.” You say.

“I’m rude?” Steve asks, flabbergasted wondering what he could have possibly done in such a short period of time. His mouth hanging open.

‘“Yes because I have had, I want to say maybe like three- four orgasms with other people, in the span of multiple years and you’re telling me this whole time you knew how to do that twice in the span of not even like ten minutes.” Steve’s once red face was now taken over by a cocky grin. 

“Like dude. How did you do that? I’ve never done that before.” You can’t even bring yourself to care that you’re inflating his huge ego. You’re genuinely confused and you’re thinking it has to be witchcraft.

“It’s easy when you’re that turned on.” He tells you, but you shake your head.

“I’m always that turned on.” You dismiss, making him laugh at how genuine you sound when you say it. 

“Always?” He asked, to which you nod. 

“You walk around here shirtless every morning. Of course I am.” You say simply, and Steve can’t help but be surprised at your sudden frankness.  “And even then I can’t even make myself cum twice. Especially not that fast.”

“So, let me get this right.” Steve starts with a mischievous grin. “You’re saying when you play with yourself, after seeing me shirtless you can’t make yourself cum twice?” He’s teasing you for your slip up and you know it. You can’t help rolling your eyes.

“That’s what I said, Steven.” You say playfully, your eyes narrowed. 

His eyes narrow back at you before he’s tackling you to the couch, tickling you. Laughing at your shrieks, and the sight of you trying to wriggle away from him.

“I’m sorry!” You let out in between gasps for air and laughter. When Steve finally lets up you pinch him for being unfair. 

When you finally catch your breath, you realize Steve is staring at you with a look that can only be described as adoring. 

“Here you go, again.” You say with pretend exasperation, and shaking your head. You’re only teasing him, so that you yourself don’t turn into a pile of mush like always. Steve rolls his eyes at you, realizing just how much he’s missed your banter, these last couple days. You’d gone shy on him, when getting used to the changes in your relationship and he was glad to see that your sass was back in full swing.

“Come give me a kiss.” He insists, gesturing to his lap. 

“Why are you always trying to get me into your lap?’ You ask before settling down on top of him anyway. Nothing sexual about it, as you press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips before trying to move again. 

“I like you here.” He says before pulling you back down on top of him to get another one. “If that’s how you rush touching yourself, no wonder you can’t make yourself cum.” He jabs, even though that’s not what you said. 

You’re about to respond, when you hear someone clear their throat. “Mom!” you yelp in surprise, practically flying off of Steve’s lap.

“Well this is an interesting way to be welcomed home.” Your mom looks almost amused at the display in front of her. The other part is as shocked as you feel, knowing she was home way earlier than she was supposed to be.

“How long were you standing there?” You ask, mortified, You’re seconds away from having the worst meltdown of your life. 

“Long enough to know that you should invest in a vibrator. “ She goads, sending Steve a look. He’s redder than a tomato, knowing that the woman who’s known him since before he was ten heard him say that. 

Your mom is way chiller than she should be, considering the circumstances, but she’s always been that way. Unbothered and entertained.  If that was your dad standing there, you both know this would be an entirely different story. 

‘Oh my goodness. Kill me now.” You mutter dramatically.

“No need for theatrics. I knew last week when you came home with that hickey on your neck. You didn’t even bother to try to cover it up either. Where’s the respect?” She jokes , as you hide your face behind your hands at your carelessness. 

You’re sure that life cannot get much worse than this.

“Good for you guys. But no and I mean it..” she started seriously “no funny business at all, on my couch.” When you groan she doubles downs. “I’m serious that couch was expensive.”

“Okay mom, we got it, thank you.” You say pulling Steve up from the couch and towards your room, too mortified to make eye contact with her.

Once you and Steve make it to your room both of your horrified faces meet… and you’re doubling over in deranged laughter. 

*****

tags: @smilesworldsposts @livsters @ali-r3n @em-guitar-pick @wolflover1005 @lexingtoon @eds1986

p.s. some of these didn't work and idk why

[doyelikehaggis]

comfort character tag

tagged by @multifandomlover121 ❤️

rules: list five comfort characters then tag five people

1. Pietro Maximoff (MCU)

2. Jody Jackson (The Dumping Ground)

3. Remus Lupin (Harry Potter)

4. Malia Tate (Teen Wolf)

5. Frank Castle (The Punisher)

Bonus + Robbie Jennings from Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging

Tagging: (no pressure!) @pad-foots @ds-umbrella-manufacturing-co @cescalr @nbvethbrenatto @gracelesslady23 + anyone who wants to do it!

[jormundisaster]

interesting.

Let's do this

❀~✿ .═ My comfort characters  ❀~✿ .═

1. Jormi (God of war)

2. Jorm (Smite)

3. Hel (Smite)

4. Sigyn (Norse mythology)

5. Thor (Record of ragnarok)

Tag: (no hurry) @doodle-mochi​ @superstjarnasvass2171​ @notodysseus​ @otrocharlydemas @afoolandathief​ 

[rosssiuuu]

HEY THANK YOU

1- Helen of Troy (greek mythology)

2- Henry Clerval (Frankenstein, Mary Shelley)

3- Jonathan Harker (Dracula Daily)

4- Apollo (greek mythology)

5- Dionysus (greek mythology)

Tagging uhh @thebluearcher @frogs-are-cool-but-so-is-medea @mythology-loving-lesbian @ppasta-cattand and @dante-was-a-simp (hello 😃)

[tisiphonon]

OMFG YOU TAGGED ME THANKS THANKS THANKS

1- Nico di Angelo (basic I know) (Percy Jackson)

2- Victor Frankenstein (Frankenstein, Mary Shelley)

3- Bucky Barnes (ok I am not original At All) (MCU)

4- Medea (Greek Mythology)

5- Basil Hallward (my beautiful son) (the picture of Dorian Gray)

um well @happyjoe-mama @roathena @moonlvr69 @ketterdam-snack-bar and @gabriel-shutterson

[disenchanteds]

Ooooh thank youuuu

Kaz brekker (six of crows)

Nico di angelo (pjo)

Betty (taylor swift cinematic universe and yes she counts shhh)

Wylan van eck (also six of crows)

Inej ghafa (also also six of crows)

No pressure tags: @sleepless-crows @margolovescoffeeandbooks @faeeclipseruine @oracle-cookies @readyforcombatt @tisthedamnseasns

[songofthestarrs]

thank you for taggingg

nikolai lantsov (grishaverse)

zoya nazyalensky (grishaverse)

inej ghafa (grishaverse)

genya safin (grishaverse)

kaz brekker (grishaverse)

i would give from other fandoms but the grishaverse is my main fandom so all of my actual comfory characters are on there

no pressure tags: @aro-manita-muscaria @vamp-rom-stuff @loverswillowed @good-riddances @sparklezfallsinlovewithbooks

[madetragic-deactivated20231013]

thank you so much for the tag!<3

1. nikolai lanstov (grishaverse)

2. kaz brekker/zoya nazyalensky (grishaverse)

3. roma montagov (these violent delights)

4. jesper fahey (grishaverse)

5. anthony lockwood (lockwood & co.)

no pressure tags: @neigefairy @nutellas-ni @herongraystairs03 @margolovescoffeeandbooks @ifthiswasamovie1989​ + anyone else who’d like to join!

[fairyofthehollow-deactivated202]

thank you for the tag!! 💓💓

♡ evangeline fox (once upon a broken heart)

♡ agatha of woods beyond (the school for good and evil)

♡ peter parker (mcu)

♡ wren (the stolen heir)

♡ thena (mcu, the eternals)

tagging ♡ no pressure ofc! @nutellas-ni @moonstonemidnights @margolovescoffeeandbooks @starlit-epiphany @diorgirl444 @goodoldfashionedluvergirl

[faerieroyal]

Thanks a bunch for the tag, Vivi!!

— Dana Cardinal (Welcome to Night Vale).

— Bruce Banner (Marvel Cinematic Universe).

— Stephanie Brown (DC Comics).

— Marlene McKinnon (Marauders Era).

— Hestia (Greek mythology).

NO PRESSURE TAGS: @teddy06, @dancingwith-sunflowers, @i-live-you-die-i-tell-your-story, @thebestieyoureinlovewith, @winterxisxcomingx.

[thebestieyoureinlovewith]

Thanks for the tag!

-Inej Ghafa (six of Crows)

-Hanne Brum (rule of Wolves)

-Draco Malfoy (harry potter)

-Anthony Lockwood (Lockwood and co) just started watching and I think he's awesome

- Lafayette (Hamilton)

Tagging:

@goodoldfashionedluvergirl @bibliophile-dendrophile @romanticvampire @alwayswearingpurpleheadphones @lilisouless

And ofc anyone else who feels like it!

[corp0real-deactivated20230709]

ty for the tag!! ily <3

♡ juno mac guff - juno

♡ sirius black - the marauders era

♡ chandler bing - friends

♡ peter pevensie - narnia (my favourite character when i was a kid lol)

♡ jo/meg march - little women

tagging - @nyxxxxxxxx @diorgirl444 @masivechaos @starlit-epiphany <3 and anyone else who wants to!

[masivechaos]

thank you for the tag &lt;3

♡ remus lupin (marauders era)

♡ kenji kishimoto (shatter me series)

♡ gerard pitts (dead poets society)

♡ spencer reid (criminal minds)

♡ ash lynx (banana fish)

tagging: @starstruckmoony @ell0ra-br3kk3r @arachidenitida @vancitycharlie @sp1rit-realm

[starstruckmoony]

thank you for tagging me! <3

jesper fahey (grishaverse)

nina zenik (grishaverse)

sam gamgee (lord of the rings)

roma montagov (these violent delights)

amy march - or any of the march sisters tbh (little women)

no pressure tags: @innerloverpainter @rosekillervariant @sw34terw34ther @forourmoons @hpotterwhore and anyone else who wants to :)

[hpotterwhore]

I HAVÉ SO MANY ummm

1. ellie williams (tlou)

2. caroline forbes (tvdu)

3. peter parker (tasm + mcu)

4. hope mikaelson (tvdu)

5. bucky barnes (mcu)

THESE R NOT IN ORDER I LOVE ALMOST ALL OF THEME EQUALLY

tags :) @ptergwen @acosmis-t @elliewlums @scarleart @exilelines

[morwap]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝟓𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍 | 𝐍𝐀𝐕 | 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 | 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗

thank you so much for 5k i honestly cant thank you enough, i feel so attached to my blog and everyone that has supported me even if i didnt post something that day, all my moots are so sweet and caring and it really feels like one big happy family . thank you to whoever has reblogged, followed, liked, commented pm’d me, and sent things into my inbox im truly thankful for all of you <3

since my love life is lowkey popping rn yall already know this is gonna be love themed

make sure you add characters! and if you need examples look at the ones i have on this celebration | send as many as you want just one per ask! everyone is free to send stuff in

starts feb 27th — ends march 27th

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 🕯️— SMUT! send this with a smutty concept/scenario + an au! and i’ll write a blurb for it!

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐈𝐕𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 🪷 — FLUFF! send this with a fluffy concept/scenario + an au! and i’ll write blurb for it!

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐄 🩹 — ANGSTY! send this with an angsty concept/scenario + an au! and i’ll write a blurb for it!

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄, 𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐓 🧴— DARK! send this with a dark concept/scenario + an au! and i’ll write a blurb for it!

𝐇𝐄𝐘, 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 🎧 — ANON AND NON ANON! send this OFF ANON and i’ll make a moodboard and give a song that makes me think of your blog | send this ON ANON and tell me about yourself and i’ll give a song and a character that i think fits you!

𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐍𝐎 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 🫖 — GAMES! send this in with cym or fmk

[morwap]

moots tag: @jamespottersmommy @beaucherie @bellatrixscurls @phantomofthelibrary @iloveuhjp @i-cant-stfu @imabee-oralizard @evermoreal @envirobliss @elysian-chaos @eddiesbug @dylwrites @lilbisexual @lazydreamer19 @y4ksh42 @claireunoia @cauliflowertree @mr-bas00nist @natti-ice @nevillescomslut @nyxxxxxxxx @nevsluvr @rafesmuse @rottingkisses @randomwriter14 @finns-arm-is-mint @fallinggstarss @katsuniverse @sxriusblxck @sliver-widow @swishswishbxsh @exilelines @zmxchs @positivitylane112 @padf00ts-l0ver @hpotterwhore @amourrs @one-direction-harry-potter1 @ohwowimlonley @meadowscarlet @milkiangl @my-my-only-angel @gilmore-angel @garfieldsladybird @thesunsetsonthehorizon @lovfolish @bambimunson @bisousbabie @bisoussoiree

i’m so sorry if i forgot anyone 😭

[starstruckmoony]

call it what you want.

masterlist

pairing - remus lupin x fem!reader

summary - part two of the social media concoction i came up with. it gets pretty tooth-rottingly fluffy in some parts but this wouldn't be a fic of mine if it weren't for the tooth-rooting fluff.

trope/tags - band/celeb!au, instagram/social media!au, modern!au, fluff, terrible humour

word count - 993

warnings - language

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

yourusername added to their story

rjlupin

❤ liked by mmmckinnon, vance_emm, xeno_lovegood and 1,930,392 others

rjlupin never felt more appreciated

tagged yourusername

29,067 comments

yourusername did you like it?

rjlupin it was so good i almost vomited

starmanblack i'm still mad bc we didn't make the furry one 😐

rjlupin you took part in this? starmanblack IT'S Y/N'S FAULT

pete__ why does it look like it was written with ummmm 👀👀

yourusername what if it was? 😳 bartyyy WHOSE yourusername fym whose? it's just white icing 🤨

lily_evans kids these days

yourusername weren't you the one who suggested to write "deez nuts" on it? prongsyboy you just got exposed for having bad humour lily_evans we're breaking up

user3835292 LMFAOO

user7382380 this is what i call poetry

yourusername

❤ liked by pandorasbox, bartyyy, prongsyboy and 1,999,738 others

yourusername the cutest

22,044 comments

rjlupin i miss you two

yourusername awwee we miss you too

lily_evans CUTEST BOY EVER

prongsyboy what about me? lily_evans you're of your own sort

r.a.black cats are superior

yourusername is that why the only posts of mine you ever interact with are the ones of my cats? r.a.black correct

user709990 WHERE'S TAYLOR?

yourusername she was napping in the kitchen 😭😭 user709990 HSHDJAHDJQNSNQNDNWB

user020994 everybody's favourite cat

user372838 REMUS' COMMENT??????

user139299 IS THAT REMUS' SWEATER?

user300011 THE SWEATER HELLO??????

yourusername

❤ liked by lily_evans, ev.rosier, marymacdonald and 1,999,738 others

yourusername can't believe i spent the whole day with this idiot

tagged rjlupin

22,044 comments

starmanblack i would literally rather die

rjlupin love you too sirius

casmeadowes write us some music please 🙏🙏 i'm craving for a new album

mmmckinnon soon soon soon

maraudersofficial wow and you rejected my offer to go watch puss in boots 🙄 so rude

yourusername sorry james but remus was being a baby and i didn't want him to cry rjlupin i'm gonna sue you for slander

user372838 you two have been spending lots of time together lately 🤨

user020994 HEIQJAJ WHEN IS IT MY TURN TO BE HAPPY

user709990 i'm sleeping on the highway tonight

user139299 wake me up when they start dating bc i can't put up with this no longer

user82111 NAH BUT THEY'RE BEING OBVIOUS

rjlupin

❤ liked by yourusername, r.a.black, lily_evans and 2,188,033 others

rjlupin i think y/n loves her cats more than me

tagged yourusername

23,901 likes

yourusername suck it up

rjlupin where's the empathy you were on about? yourusername i left it at home

r.a.black cats>people

yourusername exactly reggie

marymacdonald i love you equally if that helps

rjlupin thank you mary

user738881 OFC SHE DOES IT'S CATS

user272771 i can love you more than my cat

user323276 but cats remus

user001231 CAN SOMEONE BE THE Y/N TO MY REMUS I WANT THIS FRIENDSHIP SO BAD

user734444 bro u mad delusional if u think this is friendship 💀 user001231 are you volunteering?

yourusername

❤ liked by pete__, prongsyboy, starmanblack and 2,022,704 others

yourusername moonlight out may 15 🤍

37,898 comments

rjlupin when can i preorder?

yourusername very soon my love

prongsyboy feeling excited

starmanblack something tells me it's gonna be your best one to date

yourusername egomaniac

user738277 OH MY HOD IT'S HAPOENING

user229994 HOLY FCJING SHIT THERES JO WAYQUDBQHDHQHDNQJDBBW

user737470 DID SHE JUST CALL REMUS "MY LOVE"?????

user829384 THE NAME??? MOONLIGHT? REMUS? MOONY? IS THIS PR? IT BETTER NOT BE PR

user300111 I'M SOBBING SHDJAJXNSBS

user383838 TAKE MY MONEY

user001213 PLS TELL ME THERE'S A COLLAB ALL 4 MARAUDERS LIKED THE PHOTO

user030390 STFU LET'S NOT CLOWN AGAIN

celeb_gossip

❤ liked by yourusername, rjlupin and 56,086 others

celeb_gossip rumour has it that rjlupin and yourusername have been in a happy relationship since summer '21. the two young stars have been spotted together once again! they must really enjoy spending time together, as they've been captured on several occasions since their friendship has become public and their interactions don't exactly seem "platonic", if you get what we mean 😉 despite of these obvious receipts, many are skeptical and think the relationship is purely just another pr stunt, especially since yourusername just announced her new album that is very likely to involve a collaboration with maraudersofficial 🤔 what do you guys think? 👀 let us know in the comments 😘

7,770 comments

user556464 i think you should leave them tf alone <3

user182828 tea pages are so weird like get a life bro

user262626 I KNEW IT

user677747 omgg i hope it's true i've been shipping these two for so long

user555668 y'all ever heard of privacy? 🤨

user075222 WHAT.

user333933 you can't even tell who it is 😭

user086443 GUYS THEY LIKED THE POST SJOQHYIQHSJ

user285551 WHAT TGE HELL

user124000 LMFAO NOT THEM BOTH LIKING IT

rjlupin

❤ liked by vance_emm, starmanblack, casmeadowes and 2,798,929 others

rjlupin it was in fact never pr

tagged yourusername

42,990 comments

yourusername can't believe someone would even think that

rjlupin maybe we weren't lovey dovey enough

yourusername we should step up our game

rjlupin wanna kiss in the rain?

yourusername you don't even have to ask

mmmckinnon i knew HEHEHEHEHE

lily_evans AWWWWW

bartyyy about time

pandorasbox CUTIES

starmanblack not the tea page being right

user003021 WAIT A DAMN MINUTE

user285554 IT WASN'T PR IT WASN'T PR AHSHAHSHAHSNABS

user222399 HOW LONG HAVE YOU TWO BEEN PLAYING WITH US 😭😭

user356456 MY PARENTS DJQJDJQJSQ

user422222 OH NY JEUSUSUSHDQUXHHQS

user532111 FIQODI1USH IS THIS FOR REAL

user106626 IM LIETRALU CRUING

yourusername

❤ liked by lily_evans, xeno_lovegood, ev.rosier and 2,782,53 others

yourusername i love my silly little boyfriend

tagged rjlupin

39,843 comments

rjlupin i love you too

yourusername it will unfortunately not pass rjlupin *fortunately

marymacdonald YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE EHEHEH

mmmckinnon i knew about them long before all of you TAKE THAT

r.a.black isn't he taller than you lolol

starmanblack REG SHUT UP LET THEM BE CUTE

vance_emm so happy for you two ❤

user002931 IM SHITTING TEARS

user362678 ok now marry him

user777771 MY PRAYERS HAVE WORKED AT LAST

user322256 i feel like world peace has been restored

user988211 whatever you do, don't break up

user300102 SOULMATES

rjlupin added to their story

tagging moots again :D

@littlemissscarlettwitch @innerloverpainter @goodoldfashionedluvergirl @withastrangerheart @forourmoons @forsiriussake @sw34terw34ther @nyxxxxxxxx @laluna0 @incorrectwolfstar

[xxhispieceofheavenxx]

can i pls request remus being jealous and (non-toxically lol) possessive when seeing reader with someone else 🫣

Hello!!! I'm so sorry this took so long to get out, this week has been completely out of control for some reason. But here it is! I hope you enjoy! Thank you for requesting. My ask box is open.

Wc: 1k

Cw: It's just fluff, a few swear words

He was already having a bad day, the full moon looming close, only two days away. His day started at 5:30, with James throwing around his quidditch equipment, claiming he was late for his daily training. Then when he finally managed to fall back asleep, he didn't hear his alarm go off, making him late for potions, his least favourite subject. Thankfully Slughorn didn't give him a hard time, unlike Snape, who had made fun of his brewing abilities. And no matter how much Lily had helped him to finish and pass the assignment, his mood hadn't improved; it actually soured, thinking he was useless at potions kept distracting him from his other classes. So when lunchtime came, he was in an even worst mood than before.

Remus sits next to Sirius, who is excitedly talking with James, Marlene and Peter. He pinches his nose, feeling a headache growing at his temples. His eyes open to see his girlfriend talking with Adam, a Ravenclaw he is sure has had a crush on the sweet girl since first year. His brow furrows as he watches the boy touch her arm in what appears to be more than a friendly gesture.

He stands up, ready to stomp his way over there and give the blonde boy a piece of his mind. Before he can take a step, James' voice interrupts him.

"Where are you going, Moony?"

The curly-haired boy turns around to see where his friend's eyes were directed.

"Moons," James turns back to him "You're going to be upset if you go over there and cause a scene."

"No, I'm not."

"The full moon is in two days." James gives him a knowing look that makes him sit back down. Remus knows that in the days before the full moon, he becomes irritable and explosive when pushed.

"I hate that guy." His eyes roll as an unpleasant look forms on his face. "He is always all over her, and she is too fucking nice to tell him to sod off."

"I know." James' voice is gentle in understanding. "If it makes you feel better, I'll knock off his broom next week when we play against Ravenclaw." A mischievous smile forms on his face.

Remus can't help his own smile at his friend's attempt at making him feel better; and at the image of Adam falling off his broom too.

"Sure, just make it look like an accident."

"I'm the best at making things seem like accidents." The boy gives him a wink before he takes a sip of his juice.

His eyes divert back to the pair, who are still talking by the entrance of the Great Hall. Remus' patience seems to wear out even faster when he sees the stiffness of her body. She's still smiling, but as time goes on, it seems more forced; she keeps moving her body to the Gryffindor table, clearly trying to end the conversation. But as the blonde keeps talking, she returns to her previous place just to do this awkward dance again. Deciding he's had enough, Remus gets up and stomps to them.

"Hey, love." His voice is sweet, unlike his eyes that send a murderous glance to Adam.

"Remus!" She turns to him, a smile plastered on her face. She opens her arms and hugs his neck, pulling him down to her height. "Get me out of here." She whispers in his ear.

Remus breaks the hug and smiles down at her as he tucks a rouge strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yes, hello, Remus." Says Adam through tight lips.

"Yes. Hi. I'm going to take my girlfriend away now, goodbye." He quickly turns on his heels, pulling her with him.

"Remus! That was rude!" She chastises him in a low voice when they are far away from the boy who is standing in his spot, mouth agape.

"I don't care." He grunts. "Come on, I know you're hungry. I saved you a spot." He turns to her with a smile.

With a sigh and shake of her head, they arrive at the table. Remus pulls out her chair so she can sit and then takes his own sit.

"Stop being cute, I'm trying to be upset with you."

"I'm not being cute, I'm just trying to take care of you." He grabs her hand and kisses it, making her grunt and hide her face with her other hand.

"This is being cute, Lupin." Accusing eyes stare at him. "You were rude to Adam."

"The bastard was making you uncomfortable."

"He wasn't making me uncomfortable."

"He wasn't letting you leave." He says in a knowing voice.

"Okay, he wasn't." She concedes. "But, he was just being friendly." Her statement is met with a snort and a roll of Remus' eyes. "You're just jealous."

"I am." He says easily as he leans on her shoulder, letting his nose tangle in her hair. "You'd be jealous too if you had the most amazing woman all to yourself." She giggles, making him smile.

"I have the most amazing guy, though." Her hand finds the back of his head.

"I'm sorry I was mean, I get possessive sometimes." His soft voice reaches her ears.

"I like how possessive you are, but maybe next time be a little bit nicer." He takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent, allowing it to calm him.

"I'll try when it's not so close to the full moon." He pulls back just enough to kiss her lips.

"Are you guys going to eat each other instead of the food, or what?" Sirius' voice makes them pull apart.

"Shut up, pads. They're having a moment." James interrupts his teasing, making her laugh. Everything seems to be better now, maybe he just needed her to turn his bad day good.

[luveline]

would you ever consider writing poly!marauders? or even more of the luna reader with platonic (or romantic) marauders?

if u have more poly!m requests please send them (to clarify this is romantic) fem!reader tw cut

"You should be more careful," Remus says, "really, dove." 

You lean back against the kitchen counter and try not to wince as he finishes with the dressing on your arm. 

"I am careful," you say. 

He laughs softly. It's a rare sound, kind that has you smiling immediately. You wrap your arms around his neck, careful not to press down on your injury, and kiss his neck quickly. 

"Thanks for fixing me, handsome," you say. 

Remus pats your back. "That's never something you have to thank me for… You might like me less when the boys come home." 

You pull away. "You texted them?" you ask, already resigned to your fate. 

He looks gorgeous even when you're mad at him, pale skinned but dark in his way, dark eyes and dark brows and his amazingly handsome nose that makes you wanna lean over and kiss him. 

"Afraid so." Remus squeezes a path up your arm to your shoulder. "You know the lashing they'd give me if I didn't." 

"Well," you murmur, "I suppose you did patch me up." 

He kissed your forehead as the sound of the front door opening echoes down the hall. "That's the spirit." 

"Angel?" 

You relax. It's James, which means you aren't in for a loving telling off, just a loving. You stay by Remus' side until James is in view, a shock of green rugby uniform stark against brown skin. He sheds his bag and you practically throw yourself into his open arms, 'cause usually that's exactly what he wants. 

"Wait wait wait!" he says, holding out his hand, his wrist brace scratchy against your arm. "Don't hurt yourself worse! What happened?" 

You fight him, trying to hug him and laughing when he holds you back like you're nothing. He's strong. "James, come on. I cut it on the garden fence." 

He makes a sound like he feels super sorry for you and finally lets you hug him, your face in his solid chest, your hands at the small of his back. You settle in for as long as you want, James and you both suckers for a good hug, and sigh as his cheek kisses the top of your head. 

"You okay, Moons? You look tired." James voice rumbles through your hear, low and warm. 

"Fine. She just shocked me, running in the house with blood dripping down to her elbow." 

"Give us a hug." 

"I'll make tea." 

James turns his lips to your forehead, "How come he'll hug me when we're alone, and he'll hug you all day long when you're together, but he's totally allergic to affection when we're together?" 

"He's shy," you mumble, "ask him again in an hour and he'll say yes." 

The door opens a second time and you'd hide your face pretty much in James' armpit, laughing through the horror. "Hide me." 

"No, I don't think so." 

James works your face away from his chest, hands held over the soft slopes of your shoulders. He looks you in the eye, all melty brown and sweetness. "Sure you're okay?" he asks. 

You hum. He kisses your cheek. 

"Okay, I'm gonna go harass Remus for a hug then, before he boils the kettle and threatens me with a scalding. Love you." 

"I don't love you, you're leaving me for the wolves." 

"I'm hardly a wolf," comes Sirius' amused drawl. 

James raises his eyebrows at you in a silent gesture for Good luck, angel, and disappears around the corner to the kitchen. 

You sigh and spin on your heel, finding your arch nemesis (concerned boyfriend) propped against the wall. He's in casual work attire, which for Sirius is a smart pair of trousers and a dark button down with the sleeves rolled up. His tan seems to have waned in the winter, leaving him pale. Though he often claims in a joking manner that it's a consequence of loving you, he's always so worried it steals the colour from his skin. 

I like to worry, he'd assured you once. 

"You might not believe me, but you look very handsome today," you say. 

He raises a dark brow. "You say that every day." 

"Emphasis on 'very,'" you say. 

He pulls his weight off of the wall and holds out his hand as he approaches. You let him take your arm, let him assess the small dressing bandage Remus has applied over your cut. 

"It was deep," you admit, "but not very long." 

"Mm, Remus said," Sirius says, near murmuring as his thumb works into your wrist. He rubs over unbroken skin gently. "Does it hurt?" 

You shake your head vehemently. 

"Swear?" 

"Why would I lie?" you ask. You smile at him. "You really do look handsome. And you didn't need to come home from work." 

"It's my lunch break." 

"Oh, good! Let me make you something, while everybody's home." 

"Or I can make you something," he suggests. 

You enter into a stare off. He faces you with little expression, a blank slate. A pretty blank slate. His lashes don't so much as flicker, while you struggle to keep a straight face under so much seriousness. Your lips twitch with a laugh and something about it must break him, because he takes your face into his two hands and presses your noses together. 

"You make it very hard to be sensible about things," he says, and gives you a chaste kiss. 

His lips are a warmth you savour, and he steals them back much too swiftly for your liking. 

"Remus is the sensible one," you deny. "You're the overprotective one. And James is… James." You sigh, lovelorn. "And I'm the stupid one who cuts herself on chicken wire. You really didn't have to come home." 

"I wanted to." 

He leads you by the hand into the kitchen, where James and Remus stand in front of an unboiled kettle, Remus face smushed into James broad shoulder, a muscled arm locking him into place. He looks quite happy. 

"Sorry, I'm still making tea," he says into James' sleeve.

"No, I'm gonna make dinner," you say, yanking Sirius to the lovefest. 

You worm under James' other arm and Sirius strokes at the hair curling over Remus' forehead, mumbling, "Oh, god, she's killed you." 

"Worse ways to go," Remus says. 

[choreosmania-deactivated2023020]

I Never Find Out (‘Till I’m Head Over Heels)

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Summary: Steve says ‘I love you’ and panics; it’s a good thing you love him back. (1.8k words — Fluff: Mentions of driving over curbs/on icy roads, Steve almost swallows his gum, reader and Steve engage in banter, reader and Steve are so in love it’s sick.)

“You know I drove over two curbs because of you?” 

Steve Harrington arched an eyebrow at the odd greeting. He was facing one of the computers; his Family Video vest was still draped over his frame. You marched towards him and stood on the opposite side of the counter. You threw your coat-clad arms over the countertop and leaned forward, trying to get a look at the computer screen.

It was after closing time. Half the lights in the store were shut off and Steve was the only person left. He forgot to lock the door; good thing you were the one who walked in.

You had asked if you could pick him up from a shift. It was a pretty cute request, he thought. Despite the fact that he had a car, he didn’t want to deny his girlfriend — who had been his friend before that — the opportunity to do something nice.

Even though you were together now, and had officially been going out for a month, Steve still felt all those silly, romantic comedy-esque things around you. 

You had been friends for years, but being together was still a new thing. Boyfriend, girlfriend. You two had only tasted the words on the tips of your tongues. He couldn’t suppress the way you made him feel. He tried to deny it, he really did, only because he wanted to be suave Steve, but really he was lovesick. Infatuation covered him head to toe.

It’s not like the bell ringing at the door, to introduce you, made his heart hammer or the fact that you’d greet him with that oh, so pretty smile of yours would make his cheeks feel far too warm for an autumn’s night. Obsessed, enamoured. He had been in love with you for far too long, he didn’t want to scare you by expressing it all at once; he thought he might explode, if he did. But you, on the other hand, didn’t hold back. You were sweet to him, sugary; but history of friendship could not be ignored: when banter was necessary, you’d play along.

“Well I’m sure it was the curb’s fault. It could’ve moved out of the way.” Steve commented, removing his eyes from the bright screen to give you his attention. He reached his hand out to one of yours that hung limply on the edge of the counter. His thumb brushed over your bony hills. 

“Stop.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his remark. “No, seriously. At some point we have to start asking questions. Why would a curb want to be driven over?” He wondered aloud.

“You're funny, Harrington.” The tip of his nose was pink and you couldn’t refrain from tapping at it. Steve gave a bashful smile. 

“I said sorry to the curbs, after I drove over them.” You admitted. “You did?” Steve asked, almost in shock, as he guffawed. “I did.” You nodded, slightly embarrassed. 

Your brows furrowed. “Hey, wait! I’m mad at you, don’t try to make me feel better by blaming curbs.”

“Mad at me? What’d I do?” He asked. His thumb was still brushing across the back of your hand. “I thought I was late to pick you up, so I sped over here. The roads are icy, you put me in peril.” You slid your hand out of his grasp to point at him in an accusatory way. 

“I’m sorry,” he replied, a little sheepish. “Good thing you’re pretty.” You sighed. “You think I’m pretty?” He raised his brown brows and gestured towards himself. “I think you’re gorgeous.” You beamed, leaning back to straighten up. Your back made a popping noise. “Gettin’ old?” Steve jested. 

“I compliment you and this is how you respond? What kind of man…” You shook your head at him. “Get your own ride, Harrington.”

“You are my ride!” He argued. You waved a hand at him and reached into your purse for a stick of gum: strawberry flavoured. 

Steve watched you and extended his palm out to obtain his own piece. “Where are your manners?” You gasped at him. He rolled his eyes. “Can I please get a stick of gum?”

“I don’t know, can you?” “Jeez.” Steve sighed, you giggled. 

“Here.” You opened up the packet and handed him the gum. “What are you doing? And more importantly, how long will it take?” You vaguely gestured towards the computer.

“I was almost done until you barged in here.” He chewed on the gum, a burst of flavour drowning his taste buds.

You tilted your head at him, an expression of subtle shock painted your face. “You’re such a dingus, do you know that?” 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin. She’s a bad influence.” Steve hurried to type in the last few names of movies that were back in stock. The thick keys of the keyboard clicked below the pressure of his quick typing.

“How so?” You inquired as you shifted forward again to watch the screen, neck tilted at a slightly awkward angle. “Calling me names now. Dingus? Pathetic attempt to hurt my feelings.” You circled your head away from the computer and towards his face. The light of the screen illuminated him in a blue hue: he looked marvelous. 

“She’s an inspiration to me. I wanna be just like Robin when I grow up.” You responded. “You’re older than her!” Steve’s shout had a hint of whininess attached to it; you could’ve cried. Something about Steve’s whines was so distinct, so him. It didn’t matter if whining was often annoying, for some reason you adored it when he did it.

“And your point is?” You persisted in annoying him, but no matter what you did, Steve found you to be endearing. When you accidentally stepped on the heel of his shoe, when you put a little too much sugar in the brownies you made for him, when you ganged up on him with the kids: he loved you through it all; because you were his dream girl and he finally had you.

“Why did I even let you pick me up?” He muttered to himself. “Because I’m a really great girlfriend.” You replied. He hummed in thought. “Doesn’t seem like a good enough reason.” 

“Steve.” You falsely gasped. If Dustin was around he would’ve been feigning nausea. The kids always claimed that “you two are like an old married couple.” Max was the first to point it out, when you and Steve were just friends.

“How was work today?” You switched the subject. Steve relaxed further into the seat as he began to shut off the program. 

“Wednesday’s are pretty slow.” “Good slow or bad slow?”

“Depends on the kind of Wednesday. It’s usually a bad kind of slow when you show up. See how long it took me to finish?” He pointed at the computer and raised his head to grin at you, the gum was squashed between the left side of his pearly whites. He thought he was hilarious. “Like I get that you like my company, but jeez… let a guy do his job, ya know?” 

Steve shuffled out of the chair he was on. He stripped off his vest and grabbed his bag from under the counter.

“Hey, Steve,” you cooed as he raised back up. Your voice was soft and it sounded oddly sincere. He gave you his undivided attention.

“Will you marry me?” Steve’s Adam’s Apple bobbed. “What?” The question was breathy. No way you were being serious.

Then, you tilted your head with a gentle smile and reached a hand out to grab his. You lifted his hand upward and pressed a short, sweet kiss to his knuckles. Keeping up that facade, you said: “just looking for something to shut you up.” 

You giggled at the look that washed over his face. Half dejection, half relief.

Your laugh was harmonious, it made him dizzy. He felt that he needed to sit down again.

“Hey, I’d marry you if you wanted me to.” He shrugged, looking at you intently.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” You squeezed his veiny hand and pressed a chaste kiss to his palm. Lightheaded, he felt. His eyelashes fluttered. Was he on fire? It certainly felt like he was.

“I like it when you come in on Wednesdays.” He admitted and you pressed another kiss to his warm palm. His heart raced. He had dreams and daydreams about this, but nothing compared to the real thing.

“I like it, too.” You admitted. 

He felt foolish, and adored, and every single thing a person should feel when they’re in love. He liked you and he liked that you were here, doing something nice for him.

“Y/N?” Steve called. “Hm?” 

“I like it when you pick me up from work.” 

You smiled at him. “Yeah?” You wondered. “Yeah.” 

“Want me to do it more often?” You lifted your hands up, still linked, and arms extended. You walked on the outside of the counter, and Steve on the inside, until you reached the end so he could get around and out from the counter.

“Yeah.” He replied. “Okay, Stevie.” You nodded.

You two stood before one another. He looked down towards your joined hands.

Without thinking, Steve said: “I love you.” 

The sentiment was spoken so kindly. His declaration was delicate. Even as friends, you said things akin to the L-word, but never exactly that. A nonchalant, teasing “love you, Stevie!” / “love ya, too, dork.” But never I love you. Steve almost swallowed his gum.

Was it too early? Probably. You were only in shallow waters of a romantic relationship, some people didn’t even profess this kind of devotion in the deep end. 

The way your eyes glimmered and smile stretched could not be mistaken for anything except pure elation, but Steve was too nervous to completely comprehend your positive response.

“Really?” You questioned. “Yeah, I mean… if you want me to?” He questioned back, cringing  internally. You held back a laugh; it was such a nice moment, you didn’t want him to feel bad. 

“Do you want to?” You countered. “I mean, yeah. I can’t take it back now. Not that I want to!” His eyes went wide and you shook your head. You’d never seen Steve like this before. 

“Would it help if I told you that I love you, too?” 

His eyes widened, hope could be felt within him.

“You mean it?” “I mean it.”

Steve expelled a deep breath in contentment. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours. Flesh sticking, uniting you two. 

“That’s a relief,” he jested, making you laugh. “Would’ve been really awkward if it wasn’t reciprocated.” 

“Shakespearean tragedy.” He murmured and your shoulders shook with laughter.

“I love you, Stevie.” You whispered and he grinned from ear to ear. 

That night, Steve Harrington declared his love for you in the middle of a quiet and dim Family Video, and neither of you would have it any other way, because Steve loved you and you loved Steve, and that’s all you two would ever need.