🍯 hello! my name is jasmine and welcome to moonstone recommends!
this is my blog for fic recs. my fic account is @moonstoneandmoonlight where i post all of my fics. you will find my masterlists there and any requests you might have for me! (requests are currently CLOSED so please bare that in mind!)
this account is purely for fic recs and a place to keep track of what i am currently reading
⏾ favourite fics ⏾ favourite writers ⏾
i primarily read steve harrington fics but also indulge in any joe keery characters (gator, kurt, teacake and keys to be exact!) and bucky barnes fics so you will mainly be seeing those being shared!
𓇼 my tbr list 𓇼 current library 𓇼 full list of moonstone recs 𓇼
cw: smut (mdni. this series is 18+) , ANGST, fem!reader, HENDERSON!READER, university au, modern au (kinda!?!), dustin x reader sibling stuff, mean/king steve, pet names, platonic stobin, billy x reader, platonic robin x reader, character mentions such as: max, lucas, dustin, nancy, eddie, jonathon, el, will, mike (ig),, mentions of stancy, robin + vickie! legally drinking, mentions of grief, drug use (alcohol, vape + weed usage), mutual pining, steve suppressing his feelings to seem cool, idiot!steve, idiot!reader, sloooooooow buuuuuurn, “life coach” robin, idiot behaviour, feeling denial, fwb trope, eventual comfort, hopeful ending?!
heads up: in this series, billy + eddie are alive in this au! (sorry barb.. you’re kinda dead in this one..)
summary: you and steve have always been super close. like day ones - well.. day ones being the day you, steve and the kids fought demos for the first time..
..or when you went out with steve and nancy for their first date because your best friend (nancy) was too nervous to go by herself..
..or the time steve cried in your arms because nancy stupidly broke up with him..
you both even decided to go to the same college (with all your other friends..). from what starts off as an “innocent friendship”, blooms into a causal ‘friends with benefits’ relationship (which is just labelled casual to protect both of their feelings) that turns downhill when a cute guy with a big ego called billy joins your college..
a/n: hi everyone :) this series is for @moonstoneandmoonlight ‘s and @graywrenhart ‘s “steve harrington summer sleepover”. i hope you all enjoy! i had so so so much fun planning and writing this! suuuper suuper excited to post this!
THIS IS BASED ON MY INTERPRETATION OF SOME LYRICS FROM ‘try me’ by djo :)
also just want to say that i’m from the uk and to my knowledge, we don’t have any frats or sororities so the college/uni parties may be different. IN THE UK THE AGE TO LEGALLY DRINK IS 18+ however all in this fic (unless stated otherwise) are in their 2nd year of uni/college - therefore are 19-20.
if you engage in any of the themes in this series, please do so responsibly and safely. as well as, if any of these themes are uncomfortable for you in any way, shape or form, please do not read for your own wellbeing. my messages are always open to talk, you are not alone 🩷
please comment or message me to be added to a taglist if thats someone you’re interested in <3
just a heads up: each chapter will have warnings of their own!
bucky makes you think about having a child all the time. but the funny thing about time is it always, always runs out.
TAGS➝ inspired by i think about it all the time (charli xcx); songfic but not really?; vaguely TFATWS; fwb to lovers; pregnancy themes; soft/slight angst? idk; nicknames (sweetheart, baby); SMUT MDNI (breeding kink, creampie)
READER NOTES➝ afab!reader, reader wears a nondescript dress at one point
AUTHOR NOTES➝ to be honest, i didn’t mean to join this collab (work sucks and i can’t seem to write </3) but the only song that wasn’t claimed was this, so i took it as a personal sign from the universe. i think about it all the time punched me in the gut the first time i heard it on the album. i really hope i did it justice 💚
thank you to @superbassbuck and @heldbybarnes who read the baby (ha) version of this fic and for the ideas—i hope it’s still enjoyable after some changes! and thank you @barnesonly and @iamthatonefangirl for letting me join in on the fun <3
There’s a reason why most companies have at least one line in their contract about disclosing workplace romances.
Mixing work and romantic relationships is like setting a piece of paper on fire in a paper company: a disaster waiting to happen. Productivity dips, you become less objective, colleagues doubt your capacity to show up. Nevermind the fact that it’ll be a big, messy fucking thing if the relationship ends—some might even argue when is the better word choice.
But you and Bucky found it to be the most convenient thing in the world.
As unfortunate employees of S.H.I.E.L.D., you shared the same schedule (most of the time), the same stressors (lookout missions that’s just sitting in a humid car for hours), and the same need to throw that stress somewhere and let it explode.
Some call it horniness. You and Bucky called it biological function.
So really, it wasn’t ‘workplace romance’. It was casual sex.
Except there was nothing casual about how good it was: with the amount of fireworks you’d be guaranteed to see at the crest of every crash, one would call it spectacular, instead.
Because it is a spectacle.
James Buchanan Barnes had been pent-up for far too long and your mouth makes him forget to be shy. You, on the other hand, had forgotten what shy meant the moment you saw him naked.
While the commitment started out non-committal, time had a funny way of bringing about change.
Actually, maybe it wasn’t so much time’s fault. Maybe the whole no-strings-attached approach was a ruse—because despite your equal eloquence in spy work, the two of you are shit at figuring out what you actually want, and even shittier at admitting it. Maybe you’d wanted to get to know each other better, deeper, more, and sex was one way to do exactly that. The obvious way.
The convenient way.
And you do get to know each other better over time. You know kissing his ears make him weak, and the words to say to tear a long moan out of him. He knows how to curl his fingers just right, and the ways you’d like to be turned into a begging mess.
But sleeping together isn’t the only way you get to know each other. You learn a lot of things falling asleep together, too.
Because that slowly turns into waking up together, which then becomes showering together. “Save the planet,” you moan as he pushes you against the wall and drives in, hot water down your backs. Other times are less charged: he complains about the number of your bath products you have but use them anyway.
After a night of long, hard, dirty work in the bedroom, it’s only natural to crave breakfast. You share it with him. He likes his eggs sunny-side-up, he knows you like your scrambled. He clarifies that it’s a sex joke, and only then, you laugh.
You learn that he takes his coffee black (predictably), and he learns that you add a bit of milk to yours. Eventually, like the bed you sleep in and the bathroom you shower in, you drink from the same glass. Eat from the same plate.
Less dishes to do. It only makes logical sense.
It takes a couple of months until the question gets asked: why be burdened with two places of residence when you end up piled in one bed for weeks, anyway?
You begin to share the same front door on a dry April afternoon.
It only makes logical sense.
Just like the agreement you had with sex (in which you cum at least three times before his poor cock can even think about busting—a rule imposed by Bucky himself), the two of you become a couple because it only makes logical sense.
But that’s a lie. A relationship that made logical sense doesn’t look into each other’s eyes the way you do in yours.
The lie shows in the smallest, darndest things.
He sits next to you in briefings. Or across you, if he feels mischievous enough to play footsie under the table, shooting a dirty look at you whenever someone says entry point. Whenever you smile at him, it’s different: a completely understated movement in your nasolabial fold that only Natasha can clock.
And she does.
“Why are you smiling at him like that?” she asks, an amused lilt in her voice.
“Like what?”
She smirks instead before executing the ever-convenient move called Walking Away From the Conversation. You don’t even need to think to come up with the answer yourself:
Lovingly. That’s how you smile at him.
That word is like an elephant you and Bucky neglect to acknowledge for the longest time.
Until you can no longer ignore it, because all nine inches of him are inside of you, his big arms holding your frame as he pummels deep into your noisy cunt, squelching, leaking with everything he’s given you from before. You don’t even realize when you gasp those three words out loud.
Bucky stops then, figuring out if what he heard was real—while you whine at the loss of friction. Your voice wrapped around those syllables sounds too perfect to be a dream, too clear to be a fantasy. World-ending and right at the same time.
So he whispers a realization in your mouth, filling you with so much warmth while his cock slides in once more and does the same.
“I love you, too, sweetheart. So. Fucking. Much.”
As if to curb your disbelief, he punctuates each word with a thrust.
There’s no ‘what are we’ talk. You’re two people who love each other, simple as that.
But there is a discussion. It happens on a beautiful day: the sun spills into the kitchen, painting shadows on the floor so interesting you’d rather stay in and watch them. He sits next to you in front of the island, a cup of black coffee in hand, and you talk. About what you want—from life, from each other.
It’s a dialogue with no real conclusion except for the quiet truth: that the two of you are soldiers for freedom. An irony in and of itself, fighting for a thing you haven’t tasted in a while. But there’s comfort in knowing your dreams are the same—the fighting needs to stop first.
“If only the world could fix itself,” you muse.
He looks at you. “What would you do if it did?”
You shrug. “I don’t know. Fuck off to a house in the middle of nowhere. Adopt a cat. Garden. Count my gray hairs. You?”
Bucky looks at the floor, deep in thought that threatened to drown him above linoleum tiles.
“Not sure,” he murmurs. “I just—after everything... peace is not something I deserve.”
It’s your turn to stare at him: not just the Bucky Barnes sitting in your kitchen, but all his past lives. The young sergeant that loved dancing. The Winter Soldier.
“But you still fight for it,” you reply.
He smiles wryly at that. “For a chance at seeing your hair change color? I’d do that and more.”
You blush, but you understand—you already don’t mind the soft wrinkles gracing his face. Getting to watch him grow old would be a privilege more than anything, not to mention growing old together.
The conversation is about as grounded as a cloud, but you let it float, dream-like, dotted with your quiet chuckles and his words reverberating in your chest. The two of you sit there in the kitchen, watching sun rays move between the blinds, smelling like each other, talking about a future as if you hold it in the palm of your hand.
You don’t remember how the conversation got here, but you ask first.
“No kids, then?”
There was no flirtation. No playful deflection. No ‘but sweetheart, I want you all to myself forever.’
He just nods.
You ask but you already knew the answer.
A child is out of the question. It’s simply impossible while the two of you fight around the clock and against it, saving lives by putting your own at risk, giving people more time while potentially cutting yours short.
So you nod back. Say a joke about the Plan B pills you bulk-bought at a discount.
He looks at you then as your soft laugh dies into an exhale—and in that moment, you can’t really tell what those blue eyes say. A lapse in the fluency with which you’ve learned to read him.
Then he takes his time leaning down to cover his mouth with yours.
Time’s job is to make space for change.
There are days when you wake up wondering if you chose wrong. It’s not a feeling alien to you. Growing up means killing alternate paths, snuffing out your own dreams while at the same time grieving each of them, until you finally grow numb to the death of potential.
But the more you love, the more fogged up your faith gets. Suddenly you question everything: who you are, the color of hair, how you spend your time, and why you made the decisions you made.
Including the thing about not wanting kids.
Conviction shakes like a leaf a the slightest breeze of that thought.
Was it really a choice you made, or was it one the circumstances dictated for you? Was it right for you to have yielded to the state of the world? Should you have been more optimistic, as silly as that sounds—oh, yes, we’re planning for a baby! while the Quinjet arrives on foreign soil and guns are about to be fired?
Will there ever be a time for you to put down your weapon in the first place?
You see a young family at a park and wonder if you chose wrong.
Another part of you—the one that’s darker and meaner with her words—always pulls you back from that daydream by saying: you won’t even be a good parent.
Then the world drags you back with its claws. There’s work to be done, and everything in between is just enough for the two of you. For you and Bucky.
You, him, and a decision that gnaws at you in the dark.
You think about it all the damn time.
Attending a Wilson family barbecue is a rite of passage. You step into your first one with bravery.
Bucky witnesses you survive a barrage of introductions: names and faces, too many to remember despite your training, like the hurricanes Delacroix is vulnerable to.
You were nervous. Bucky knows because you told him as much: when the invite first arrived; last week as you stressed about what to bring to the potluck; and moments earlier, in the car, right before the sole of your boots kissed Sarah Wilson’s porch.
Pride isn’t the only thing he feels when he sees you settle in with one of the older neighbors, chatting easily despite your trepidations. Something else bubbles over when he catches you playing with AJ and Cass—a game of tag, he deduces from afar.
It’s not a secret that everyone related to Sam Wilson is interested to meet the woman that’s managed to wrest Bucky fucking Barnes out of his squirmy attachment style. Sam’s nephews are a part of that group.
To see them be so comfortable around you sends pangs echoing in Bucky’s ribcage. For someone who doesn’t want children, you sure are having a good time. You sure are good with them.
Then, while dessert is served, Sarah’s friend shoves her baby into your arms. You accept, likely to give the mother a chance to breathe, but only to realize someone’s watching you from across the room.
It’s Bucky, a dumbstruck look on his face, too soft for the edges of him.
That’s what tips him over: the baby gurgling happily as you cradle her, staring up at your face like she’s hypnotized.
Meanwhile, your eyes meet his, equally ensnared, for reasons entirely void of the innocence of the creature whose cheek you’re touching.
It’s not innocent because he can’t lie to himself about the heat that just took over his chest. Innocence means gullibly walking past this revelation, while the voice in his head that begs him to stop is wisdom.
Wisdom that life is lived in the present.
For all the two of you have spoken about a better future, for all the things you did to make it real, the future is not where you live in.
It’s now.
The perfect time is a myth crafted by the fearful.
It never arrives, no matter how much you wait for it.
Not three seconds after the keys land in the bowl by the doorway, Bucky drags you to the kitchen counter and bends you over.
The car ride back was devoid of anything but a shared understanding, so clear it didn’t need to be voiced. Two people sitting in the dark, watching the road ahead: complete darkness after the high-beam headlights, a perfect metaphor for the kind of life you’re living.
Seeing you today is the final symptom to a thing that’s consumed him for a while. He doesn’t know when or how it started. Not that it matters.
Because now, he’s yanking your underwear down before hiking the skirt of your dress in a grip that’s sure to crumple the fabric. Because now, he sees how wet you are for him, the glisten of your folds in the dim light.
Because now, he wants to put a baby inside of you.
And he knows you want it too.
“Bucky,” your shuddered breath steals his from his very lungs, “put it in.”
That kind of ask would usually earn you a scolding. He’d take pleasure in clicking his tongue and calling you impatient—“Need to make this pussy cum first, sweetheart”—before ruining you with his hands or his mouth or both. Then, as if everything wasn’t part of his grand plan of making you lose your mind, he’d tease you for being so easy and so sensitive when he finally put his cock in you.
Tonight, however.
Tonight, he unbuckles his belt and presses his chest against your back, pinning you on the stone counter. One hand reaches up your front, groping your tit.
The other guides himself in.
His thick head prods your hole before pushing past it. You swallow.
Then he rams himself in, rocking your body forward.
“Fuck,” he moans.
There’s no build-up. No need for one when you’re already so wet.
His hips begin to fuck into you, and you scream at the pace. The mess between your legs punctuates each snap with a sound. The air is quickly tainted with sin: he feels you all around him, smells you, takes you with the same desperation that’s taking over him. You’re more than a territory to claim, more than a thing to own—because while sinking his cock into your cunt, his body is not the only thing he gives.
Every drag out makes you whimper. Every thrust in steals a grunt from his throat.
You cry out when his blunt tip scrapes at a spot he knows all too well. He moves like he’s fusing himself with you, chasing a high so familiar he can almost taste.
Bucky remembers the first time he came inside of you with startling clarity. The memory replays in his head often, like a favorite movie.
It was a relief. A glorious one that had him burying his face in your neck, arms on the sides of your head, babbling nonsense like “you feel so good, so fucking good, baby, fu-u-ck,” while his cock shoots rope after rope of hot cum inside of you.
He watched it trickle out after. Fed it back into your cunt with two fingers, then tasted himself mixed with you, getting him hard again. His back was red the next day, marred with drag paths from your nails.
It used to be such a relief whenever he came inside. He’s everything you wanted, that’s what you’d moan at him, that beautiful, slurred out “fuck, Bucky, please cum inside me, want everything,” and he wanted you back, just as much.
He wants you all the time—not just while he’s like this, so far up in you he’s sure can feel him in your guts, your lungs, your throat, caging you on the counter with his arms, his eyes boring into your body almost as deep as his cock is. Why would he not want to fill you up, stuff you full, paint your inner thighs sticky with him?
Tonight, however, there’s a feeling that bothers him, souring what was otherwise an addiction.
Tonight, it doesn’t feel as good.
Because he knows it won’t take.
The pills the two of you used to be grateful for, now a source of a strange ire—because he has every part of him spilled into you, yet never to stay.
And now he wants every part of him to stay. To grow. To be in you.
“You want it? Want your Bucky to fill you up?” he husks in your ear, hungry for any indication that you want the same thing.
Your voice forms a pathetic moan in response, but your walls clutch him like velvet greed, and the answer is clear.
Still, he isn’t satisfied.
“Say it, pretty.”
“Want you,” you choke in-between thrusts.
“Want me to what?” he chases.
His thrusts grow wild the moment you clench tighter around him, squirming under his chest while a moan is dragged out of you, long and weak and shaking to the beat of his thick cock, whose angry veins you can feel as he pounds into your pussy, painting his shaft with your slick that makes him dizzy at the glistening sight.
Your toes are off the floor. There’s nothing grounding you now except for him.
“Want you to—gh—fill me up!”
He grunts. “Oh, I’m going to. Tell me what it’s like when I stuff you full, sweetheart.”
“It’s so much, so t-thick—”
He can’t think, so he spits out next to your ear.
“Gonna make you a mom, you want that?”
There’s no room for repulsion or fear. The silence in the car is confirmed through another whine out your lips, one that says yes, garbled and quiet enough for him to demand clarity.
“Louder for me. Want me to make you a mommy, sweetheart?”
“Yes—!”
“Good girl, good fucking girl,” Bucky rasps, but your permission hits his head with chemicals so potent he starts seeing things. Things like a home in the middle of nowhere, maybe a tire swing, and blue plaid tablecloths dirtied by clumsy little hands—
The image loosens his lips and hardens his cock.
“Gonna fuck you so hard your pills stop working,” he murmurs above filthy squelches—God, you feel so fucking good, he’d be a fool to stop fucking you even when you’re pregnant—“fill you up over and over, make your pretty little womb drink so much of my cum, she has no choice but to fucking take it—”
You let out a cry, spasming and twitching into an orgasm that triggers his.
He cums with a roar of your name, eyes rolled back while his cock plugs itself deep in you, pumping you full.
Sweat drips down heated skin. The air begins to thin. Breaths are caught.
In the haze after, Bucky’s errant mind smears shadows of an ending.
A time when he won’t get to hold you this way, or the other way around. An end that’s brought not just by the cruel nature of your jobs, but by the mandate of life itself.
Something clicks then. Something holy.
It’s a countdown.
Time is running out: this is the fightless fight, a battleground he can’t win. There is no weapon to slow it down, no grapple to contain it. Its sands fall with surety. Every minute is a past life, every moment with you is a thing to live and let live, the way breathing means inhaling and letting air go.
Now, in this kitchen, you underneath him with your hair all messy as you twist to look back at him, he learns something new.
He pulls you up, saying it wordless to you with a kiss. You kiss him back, let his hands lift and move you until you’re seated on the counter in front of him, his body between your legs. He traces your sides and expanses, touching all over your body like his palm lines need to memorize you; and all he can think of at the plush of your lips are the regrets he’d live with when he can’t kiss you anymore.
When you’re gone.
It’s a when, not an if.
Regrets are fruits rotten from seasons of waiting. Waiting means that one day he’ll blink, and the home he wants to build with you isn’t there. Because he never built it. Because the two of you chose not to. To be safe.
Funny how that works: sometimes doom grows from the roots of safety.
His stomach sinks, but the heat in him signals the opposite of despair.
The only way to fight time’s passing is to cherish it. Cherish you.
His forehead touches yours when the kiss ends, eyes staring softly. Breaths tangle.
You don’t need to search. The thought is so plain on his face, but hearing him voice it brings relief all the same:
“Can we try?”
you made it till the end. it’s probably buns. but hey i was going to kill one of them off yet i did not so! woo hoo!
summary: witness protection has treated you well, all in all. you've settled in to your life in new england, but it's not without it's struggles. as much as he tries, gator can't stop himself from being haunted by his ghosts. like there are eyes always on him. and maybe...he's not wrong.
tags: 18+ mdni, established relationship, ANGST, cute domestic fluff too, explorations of grief, finding a body, sibling tension, very lightly suggestive content, car crash
a/n: oh my goodness!!! i'm so excited to share with you guys the visions that have been haunting my mind. just a warning: this series gets QUITE dark, but it's all worth it in the end. thank you to anyone who reads :))
*.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
For a long time, your life had been built of maybes. Maybe you wouldn’t have enough money for rent this month, maybe your job would get sick of your attitude and fire you, maybe the next person you met would break your heart.
You’d built your walls so tall and decided those maybes would turn into whens. If pain was inevitable, you might as well act like it had already happened.
But time, and people — one person in particular — had managed to break that entirely. Your days were no longer spent trying to find the maybe’s or the when’s, waiting for a past you thought was doomed to repeat. Far away from those stories and places, you could look to the now. You could hope for the future.
That’s why this evening, as you pulled up to the farm, you could stare at the sunset in awe — pinks and oranges streaking across the sky in a sight that made your jaw drop. Back when you lived in Lehigh, you never had the time to stop and enjoy the little things like that, but now, the sunsets were your favorite part of the day. Still, though, you were ready to go home, and the person you were waiting for was still nowhere in sight.
But you had a sneaking suspicion of where he was, so you stepped out of the car and headed for the now-familiar barn at the edge of the property.
Sure enough, was crouched in front of the red doors, feeding pieces of chicken to a border collie that sat at his feet. Little chuckles fell from his lips as the dog pounced up, gobbling up each piece of meat. Ok, maybe you couldn’t be mad at him for being late. “I know my cooking is bad, but you don’t have to give it all to the dog.” You smirked, placing a hand on your hip. At the sound of your voice, Gator’s head snapped up, the guilty smile on his face all too obvious. “You’ll be done work by five, huh?”
“Hey, I did finish working at five. But Buck here was hungry.” He scratched under the chin of the dog, the pants of satisfaction from the creature making him smile. “The asshole kid didn’t even feed ya all day, huh, bud?”
Gator had told you about his boss. He was a young kid actually, who only bought the farm as an “investment” for his internet career. He’d spend his days filming the place and acting like he was a dedicated farm owner while the farm hands worked their asses off trying to keep the animals alive.
It pissed Gator off to no end, especially when it came to Buck.
You crouched down next to the two, and immediately the dog was jumping up, sniffing at your face. “Ok, ok.” You chuckled, leaning back to avoid the licks to your face. Gator finally managed to tempt him away with another piece of meat and the dog eagerly jumped back into his lap.
“Now I ain’t even gonna see you for two whole weeks.” He sighed, giving the pet more sweet chin scratches. You never saw him smile as big as he did when he was with this dog.
Just seeing it made you wonder… “Hey, what would you do if we had our own?”
“What?” He snorted. “Like a dog?” You couldn’t stop the way your lips curled a little. He shifted when he noticed your face. “You mean it?” His voice immediately went soft as he asked it, like a little kid who was too scared his toy would be taken away.
“Ok, ok. I said if.” You laughed, though recently, the thought did make you just as excited as Gator. “But I mean, it’d be nice, right?” You bit your lip before you said the next thing. “Might fill some empty space.” That's when the silence fell over the two of you, and you felt Gator's pitying eyes on you. He reached over, lightly squeezing your thigh because he knew you wouldn’t give him your hand.
All you could do was give him a small smile back.
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The house was quiet when you two got home. It kind of always was now. No TV droning from the back room, not a conversation being had. Tyler was draped over the couch, headphones on and eyes glazing over as he stared at something on his phone. Gator got that mischievous smirk on his face at the sigh, slamming the door just to see if it would scare him. But Tyler didn’t even flinch.
“Tyler.” You called, but again, he didn’t move. You let out a short, sharp breath and Gator could see you trying to hold back the eye roll as you pulled the headphones off his ears.
“Join us for dinner. Got the sweet potatoes fries you like.” You dangled the greasy takeout in your hand, a desperate smile on your face.
“No thanks.” Tyler said, already looking back to his phone before he even finished the sentence.
“Did you eat yet?” You tried, only to get a dismissive wave back as Tyler's eyes stayed fixed far away from you. Gator had had just about enough of this, reaching over and snatching the phone out of his hands.
“Hey!” Tyler pounced off the couch. “What the hell man?”
“Your sister’s talkin’ to you.”
Tyler gave him a knowing face back. One that said, “You know I don’t care.” One that Gator knew you saw too.
“Y’know what? It’s fine.” You shook your head, beginning to unpack the food on your small dining table. “More for us, I guess.” The boxes hit the table with far too much force, the grease of the takeout flying across the tablecloth.
Gator crossed his arms in challenge. “No, he doesn’t wanna eat, that’s fine, but he should sit with his family at the table. It’s only right.”
“What the hell did I do to you?” Tyler cried out.
"Go sit-"
“Gator.” You snapped, a warning. That was the tone you got when he was acting too much like Roy. The one he dreaded the most. Biting his tongue, Gator handed the phone back to Tyler. He took it and spun on his heel with a grunt. Not a second later, the sound of his room door slamming reverberated through the house.
The boards of your home creaked out alongside your heavy sigh. And then it was back to the electric silence your house became so familiar with recently. The one that Gator wasn’t sure would ever leave again.
He had spent most of his life without knowing what a family really was. Every day in his house was spent looking over his shoulder, a silent prayer not to be hurt in one way or another. The last few years had felt pretty darn close to that dream he once had as a little kid watching those sitcoms.
But in your mother’s absence, everything had changed.
*.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Gator could always hear it when you were worrying. It was in the the slightly stilted breaths that slipped past your lips, the way you blinked a little faster to keep up with the speed of your stresses, the wet squelch of you biting the inside of your cheek again and again till it hurt too much to do so. The sound of your thoughts were deafening in the quiet bedroom, as you lay staring up at the ceiling. He knew this look. Knew the way that you were lost in your mind, beating yourself up over things that weren’t your fault.
And luckily, he knew exactly how to fix it too.
“Hey.” He whispered, voice low as he leaned into your neck. The taste of your sweet skin greeted his lips after what felt like a century of thirst. You let out a shaky breath at the contact. The past few weeks hadn't exactly left any room for romance. It’s not like he was upset about it, not really, but god, did he miss you like this.
Then he felt you squirm.
“Gator.” You turned away slightly, but your voice sounded as disappointed as he felt. “Not tonight.” With a small, apologetic smile, you leaned over to switch off the lamp on your nightstand. And you didn’t turn back.
Quietly, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Neither of you were good with words. This was the only way he knew how to stop your brain, so what the hell was he meant to do now? He stared at your silhouette in the dark. Truthfully, he couldn’t stop thinking about it either. That day.
Gator was in the gym, sweat beading down his forehead, pushing all his frustrations in to the weights. He didn’t wanna be mad. Goddamnit, he didn’t want to. But after a driving lesson with Tyler, the car was left with a shiny, new dent on the side of the door. And there was no trusty rifle to take his anger out on. Still, he’d managed to bite his tongue, head spinning with the hundreds of dollars he would have to pay for that dent. And worse...with his reaction. One more second and he might just have blown up at Tyler, just like Roy.
That’s when the phone call came.
Tyler made a sound that Gator had never heard before, and would never forget. Gator rushed home, where the ambulance was already sitting in the driveway. Then it was sirens, paramedics. Having to call and tell you. You whispered that it should’ve been you, not Tyler. That car kept the dent for the past month, he was more worried about fixing the wreckage of the two of you.
Only, the damage seemed utterly irreparable.
No matter how many times he tried to piece the two of you back together, it felt like he was stuck in a burning crash. One caused entirely by his family. A few years ago, Gator was watching that man he dared to call a father destroy everything in his path with stars in his eyes. He was, however much he tried to deny it, an eager foot soldier in the war against your family.
You breathed heavily, and even with your eyes closed, he could see the spiral unfolding in your mind. And he wondered…what if you were thinking it too? That this was all Gator’s fault?
He pulled you a little closer, tucking his head into the crook of your neck so he could inhale the scent on you. Soft lavender, still. It was the now familiar smell and your slow breaths that reminded him of the ground that still remained below him. You picking him up from work, nights of greasy takeout where you had each other’s orders memorized, the quiet weekends that you actually got to yourself now.
It was shaky for now, but it was there.
He could make it steady again.
*.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
For most people, sleep was a quiet escape. A moment to slip away from the worries of the world, to forget. But some nights, for Gator, sleep was the thing he looked forward to the least. Hour by hour he was plagued with memories — guns, blood, flashes of Roy, pacing footsteps. Footsteps that went back and forth, back and forth. They didn’t sound like they were in his brain. They sounded like…
Gator rubbed his eyes, trying to bring himself to reality. Steady ground. He glanced to the door and saw exactly where the sounds was coming from, his chest squeezing. You were sound asleep beside him and he silently prayed it would stay that way as he slipped out of bed. He held his breath as he tiptoed down the hallway, already terrified of what he was going to see.
There, in the room — the one none of you had dared to go into for the past few weeks — Tyler was moving around, stuffing clothes and books and everything else he could into a random cardboard box. Gator lingered at the doorway. “What’re you doin’ kid?”
“Cleaning.” Tyler responded through gritted teeth.
“It’s midnight.” Gator took a cautious step into the room.
“Well, someone’s got to.”
Gator sighed, “She just needs some time.” And so do you, he thought.
“It’s been a month.” Tyler spat back, ripping another top off its hanger. “What, does she think Mom’s coming back? She’s not. I saw her with my own two eyes.” Gator sighed, that sound playing in his head yet again. “Gator she’s- Mom! Mom, please- I think she’s…” You wouldn’t have guessed the rosy cheeks or teary eyes if you looked at Tyler now — face flat as he stormed around the room, pulling tops of hangers aggressively.
“Sit.” Gator commanded, and to his surprise, Tyler joined him on the bed, shoulders slumped. Gator sucked his teeth, trying to figure out what to say. What did an actual pep talk even sound like? He sighed. “Why you tryin’ to throw this shit away?” Tyler’s jaw tensed. “Forgetting isn’t gonna make you miss her any less.” He could’ve told Tyler that all it would do was build a rainy tornado of anger inside him. That he would be left with an embarrassingly big hole in his heart and no way to fill it. That forever, he would be left missing the memories he chose to let go of and would hate himself for doing it. Instead, Gator just said, “Think she’d want you two fighting like this?”
“She’s dead. What does it matter what she wants?” Tyler retorted instantly, sounding much more like you than he’d ever care to admit.
“What if she’s watching you, hm?”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “You and I both know that stuff’s not real.” Gator, truly, wasn’t sure. His whole childhood he’d been told it was true. But then, he’d also been told that the very man that sent your mother into an early grave was on a fast track to join her up there in heaven.
“Hit the hay, huh?” He gave Tyler a soft pat on the back. “We’ll figure this out when we get back.”
The two of you were going on a long overdue vacation. Three years living in New England, and you’d just earned enough to get away. You were still terrified of leaving Tyler alone for this long. He, on the other hand couldn't wait for you to leave. And Gator? Well, Gator just wanted it all to be over. Maybe the space would do you some good in the end.
There was one thing you had now, that you never did before — time.
*.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
The next morning, you and Gator managed to drag yourselves out of bed early in the morning, and to your surprise, Tyler was even waiting to see you guys off. Bags stuffed in the truck, snacks filled to the brim, and you were ready to go.
Well, almost…
“I made enough food for a few more days, but if you need any money, just tell me.” You were barely halfway through your list of instructions for Tyler and he was already done with you. “No parties, ok? And I know football’s important but you better get all your homework done and- “
“Alright, alright baby, he gets it.” Gator pulled you back towards him. “Relax. ‘Member we’re meant to be on vacation?”
“‘Scuse me for not wantin’ to return to a burned down house.” You tutted your tongue with a small smile on your face. Tyler didn't smile back. Or playfully roll his eyes. He was completely checked out, like always now, so you left him with a weak, “Call me if you need anything, ok?” He gave you a half-hearted nod that made your stomach twist. But just as quickly, Gator was taking your hand into a reassuring squeeze.
Reluctantly, you sunk back to the car, stepping into the driver’s seat. You watched as Gator ruffled Tyler’s hair playfully. “Be good, kid.”
“Not a fucking kid.” Tyler lightly swatted his arm away with a little smirk.
“Hey! Swear jar.”
You bit down on your cheek, trying to ignore the sting in your chest watching the two of them. You weren’t used to it — letting yourself feel the loss for as long as you had with your mom — but Tyler seemed to resent you for it, and you had no idea what to do.
*.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
“Alright, what is it?” Gator sighed, forcing you to turn towards him for the first time in an hour. “Did you guys do all your road trips in dead silence when you were little too?” You swallowed, knowing he was right. “So, are you gonna avoid my pretty face the whole way there or tell me what you’re thinkin’ about?” He asked, as you pulled to a stop at a traffic light. You were in the middle of nowhere, you had no idea why they even put these up here. Maybe the universe knew just the perfect ways to torment you. Because the few seconds you stayed there, all you could feel was Gator's gaze fixed on you.
You never would have told anyone else — God, it was one of the pettiest thoughts you’d had in a while — but he had that stupid look in his eyes. The one that made your tongue slip of it’s own volition and admit things you probably shouldn’t have. “That day…” You breathed as you drove through the green light. “He called you, Gator. He called you and not me.” As much as you loved him, to hear the news from Gator’s mouth and not your brother’s, to only get back once the body bag had long been carted away…it made you miserable. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. And worst, it was all your fault that Tyler saw that. “I shouldn’t have taken that overtime.” You shook your head. “If I had just-“
“What?” Gator snapped, his volume making you pause. “If you had just what? Cause Tyler could’ve still made it home before you. And so what if you found her instead? You think that’s gonna make him any less mad that she died in the first place?”
You shook your head. “He didn’t deserve to see that though-”
“And you do?” He snorted. “You drive me nuts y’know? Make no damn sense, sometimes.” He dramatically crossed his arms like a little kid, genuinely frustrated at the thoughts that tormented you. Only Gator could bring the sunshine to your self-pitying rainstorm, and make you smile right now.
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Don’t need to make sense to you.” He reached over with a chuckle, his hand finding it’s familiar place on your thigh. Something that had now become a comfort for both him and you.
Yeah, shit was tense in your house right now, but that’s exactly why you were getting this — some time away for just him and you. To breathe. And Gator was right there, always proving that you weren’t alone, and never would be again. If you closed your eyes, you could actually imagine the other side. The three of you becoming a family again.
“So, were you serious about getting that dog?” Gator smiled, knowing exactly how to pull you out of your dread.
“Depends. What breed d’you want?” You didn’t get a response, just silence, and when you glanced over you could see just how hard Gator was thinking about it, his eyes sparkling at the thought.
The answer left you stunned. “How ‘bout a shelter dog?”
You glanced to him with a laugh. “Since when’d you get so charitable?”
He shrugged. “I like those little mutts.”
“The purebred Tillman wants a mutt?” You gasped dramatically. “What has the world come to?”
“Oh yeah, y’ think you’re real funny, don’t ya?” He shared in your smile though his grip got tighter on your thigh just slightly. “Just wait till we get to that hotel room.” You shook your head in offence, though your smile had only grown bigger along with the butterflies in your stomach. Not just at the thought of that hotel room in a few hours, but at the thought of the future you had waiting when you came back.
“Should we check some shelters when we get back then?”
You expected him to meet you with the glee, but as you turned back to him, you didn’t see a smile at all. His eyes were blown wide, and he screamed, “Angel!”
But it was too late.
Something hard was slamming into your body. You flew forward. Tires screeched, your body throbbed and then…
Nothing.
*.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
When Gator opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was blood. He couldn’t tell if it was his or yours. His vision was cutting in and out, head pulsing with pain. Car doors flung open. A man pulled your unconscious body out of the car. Hands were grabbing at his own. He screamed. These weren’t paramedics. He tried to wrestle out of the hold he was in. A man pushed back and his face met the gravel. Something fell to the ground in front of him. Through his blurred vision, he made out a cap, and three simple words.
Stark County Sheriff.
*.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
taglist (comment on masterlist to be added): @thesecretoftheswan,
summary: it's been three years since you and gator made it out of lehigh. three years free of roy tillman's iron fist. both of you relearning what it means to be a family. but no matter how far he runs, gator will never be able to wash away the sins of his past life. and you? you may have escaped the cage, but you're still handcuffed to him.
tags: 18+ mdni, established relationship, BIG BIG BIG ANGST, kidnapping, held hostage, manipulation and blackmail, graphic depictions violence, generational trauma and cycles of abuse, grief, themes of religion/religious trauma
status: ongoing
*.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ chapters
ch1: ghosts in the walls
taglist (comment on masterlist to be added): @thesecretoftheswan, @lacyiris
summary: while he was in jail, teacake made a bucket list of things he wanted to do when he got out. you were expecting some insane but harmless things on there. what you weren't expecting was one of the items to be 'crash a wedding'. and you certainly weren't expecting to be dragged into it and having to face your less than ideal feelings for your best friend.
warnings: none. fluff fluff flufffff. this is literally cliché town, a bit of fake dating (it's me), friends to lovers and i hope i did teacake's rambling justice because writing is no joke.
note: i don't even know guys... you can thank @keer-y and @graywrenhart. endless thanks to them and @harringtonsdiary for being there every step of the way and encouraging me every day to actually write this. this started as a fun idea and i literally did this just for fun. i can't stress enough how this has elevated my admiration for writers even more. you guys are rockstars.
wc: 6k
You were going to kill him. And then you were going to kill yourself, but first you were going to kill him.
It’s your own fault, really.
Last week you were in Teacake’s apartment, having some takeout and watching a movie because by some miracle you both had a Friday off and no social life. The TV was playing some action movie neither of you had been paying attention to because Teacake kept making comments about every single thing that happened on the screen and then going on a tangent about how this or that character reminded him of someone that had walked into the facility that day.
Your feet were resting on his lap, your legs stretched out across the couch between you, while both of you ate straight from the containers. Well, while you ate, Teacake had already inhaled his food and was now absentmindedly rubbing circles on your ankle when he wasn't busy stealing food from your container.
You looked down just in time to catch him reaching over with his fork.
“Did you not have enough of your own food?”
He froze, fork halfway there.
“Yours tastes better” he shrugged, unbothered.
You just rolled your eyes and moved your food closer to him.
The credits rolled eventually and you both stayed exactly where you were, your feet still on Teacake’s lap, and the apartment settled into that comfortable (although unusual) kind of quiet.
Teacake was scrolling through his phone, when you could tell something suddenly caught his attention. He was staring at his screen with his eyebrows pulled together like he was trying to figure something out.
You glanced over, frowning.
“What?”
He looked up at you, with a suspicious glint in his eye.
“Remember that list I told you about?” he smirked.
Oh no. Because you did remember. The one he’d made while he was still in jail. Teacake’s Freedom List. Things he wanted to do when he got out. Things he missed. Things he wanted to try out. A messy collection of ideas, small goals, and things that mattered more than he’d ever admit.
Some things were stupid. ‘Convince somebody I've got a twin for at least five minutes.’
“Come on, it’s fun! It’s like bein’ an undercover cop or some shit”, he bumped your shoulder with his.
You couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re such a weirdo.”
Another one was ‘Win one of those claw machines.’
“Dunno why that got so stuck in my head,” he shrugged “I just always thought ‘how hard can it be?’ Well, turns out, real hard. There was this little penguin wearing a scarf. Which, honestly, was kinda unnecessary because it's a penguin. Like, that's literally their whole thing, right? Not even a good one, which is the funny thing. Kinda weird lookin'. Like now that I think about it, probably not even the best toy in the machine. But he was cute, with his little scarf and everythin’. I dunno, it just looked like somethin' you'd like. And it made me think of you cause you’re always cold and then you do that thing where you put your hands on me to warm up like I’m some kinda personal heater. So I thought, alright, I'll get it for you. I try once. Didn't get it. Whatever, no big deal. I try again. Still didn't get it. Ended up spendin' like fifteen minutes on that damn thing. Kept gettin' it halfway up and then it'd drop, and I swear it was that damn scarf.”
He pointed at you.
“So truly…it’s your fault.”
You scoffed.
“… and after about the tenth try it was just a matter of pride, you feel me? Didn't even realize there were people behind me 'til I finally looked up and there were all these kids just starin' at me. I was like, okay, yeah... maybe I should give up. I was so close. I could feel it. That’s how they get you, I’m telling ya. So now I have to go back, because technically I didn’t finish that one… hey, are you listening?”
You smiled at him as something warm settled somewhere in your chest, and you decided to ignore it.
On paper, the list sounded ridiculous. Almost all of it.
But you knew better than to brush it off. Because it wasn’t really about the things themselves. It was about the little pieces of a life he’d been waiting to get back to.
Things most people never thought twice about. The things he’d missed. Things you never thought about until someone took them away. Things he’d imagined doing when he finally had the chance. New experiences he couldn’t wait to try. Even if those experiences were trying to get a penguin with a scarf from a claw machine. And maybe you liked being part of those experiences more than you should have.
It wasn’t all chaotic though, some were so ordinary and yet so meaningful they felt like a punch in the gut when you heard about them. ‘Take a walk with nowhere to be.’ Not some huge adventure. Just a walk.
But you knew what that meant for him. Because you noticed. You knew because sometimes he’d stand outside his apartment for a few extra seconds before going in. You knew because every now and then he’d look at you with this quiet little smile, like he still couldn’t believe this was his life now.
Like he was still getting used to having time that belonged to him.
Maybe that was the problem. You noticed a bit too much. And maybe you were also starting to notice that you might want your time to be a bit his too.
Somewhere along the way, your feelings for Teacake had shifted. And you didn’t know how to feel about that. At first, you just thought it was you missing him after so much time without him. That you had missed his stupid jokes, his voice, the way he always seemed to know when something was wrong or when he looked at you with that familiar smile that made everything feel better. Of course you’d want to spend more time with him. Of course you’d feel your chest tighten every time he laughed. You had missed your best friend.
But when those feelings didn’t go away, you started to realize that maybe it wasn’t just because you had missed him.
So naturally, you tried to ignore it and push those thoughts away. But sometimes you caught yourself looking at him a little too long. And you’d have to look away. Because you weren’t ready to admit what that meant.
“I remember,” you replied, softer than you meant to.
He smiled, apparently that was all the encouragement he needed.
He turned over the phone wordlessly. It was some article about a ridiculously expensive wedding. One of those where people wear suits that cost more than your car, the venue looks like something out of a movie and a person with allergies’ nightmares, and the food had names no one could pronounce.
You stared at the screen. Then back at him. Then at the screen again.
“It’s a wedding,” you deadpanned.
He frowned.
“I know it’s a wedding, dummy.”
“Well, what do you want me to say, Tea? It looks like another rich people wedding to me.”
He just kept looking between you and his screen shifting slightly on the couch as he tried and failed to hide the smile pulling at his lips.
“Why are you showing me this?” you narrowed your eyes.
His smile widened at your question.
“I still got stuff on there.”
Which is how you now found yourself in the middle of a conversation with Aunt... Lisa? Linda? about how absolutely exhausting finding a nanny for your toddler is these days but “you just have to put in the effort if you want to go to The Hamptons, you know?”
“Right,” you nodded like you had any idea what you were talking about. "Can't have the wrong nanny in... the Hamptons.”
You had walked in waiting for someone to stop you at any second, notice you weren't on the guest list, call security to escort the two of you out, and with the night ending with Teacake behind bars again.
Turns out, there was nothing to worry about. People just assumed you belonged there. That was apparently the secret. Show up, look more or less sharp and just walk around like you had the right to be there. And sure, maybe it was because everyone was too busy looking at themselves to look at you too closely but hey, you weren’t going to complain about that. You were, however, going to complain about being abandoned fifteen minutes in to a group of people talking about things like summer houses, annoying husbands, and which places were “too crowded” this time of year.
She laughed like you had said something hilarious. God, even her laughter sounded expensive.
“Oh, honey, not in the Hamptons,” she corrected, touching your arm like she was talking to a child “For the Hamptons. I love him, of course, but bringing a toddler to The Hamptons is not very relaxing, now, is it?”
Right. Because who would want to make memories with their child when they could be relaxing. Your bad.
“Right. Wouldn’t want him getting in the way of your… relaxing.”
“Exactly! You get it,” she smiled, satisfied with your answer.
The venue looked like something out of a period drama, all stone and huge windows overlooking beautiful gardens. The lawn had been turned into a reception space under the open sky, warm lights wrapped around and between the trees, flowers covered every table and there even was a huge ice swan because of course there was.
Waiters moved through the lawn with trays full of champagne and tiny pieces of food that Teacake got his hands on immediately. Somewhere near, music played softly in the background, mixing with the sound of conversations, laughter, and glasses clinking.
You looked across the crowd of perfect hair and expensive suits until you finally found him on the other side of the lawn, doing exactly what you expected. Talking. He was laughing with an old lady like he'd known her for years. He caught your eye for a second, and the corner of his mouth lifted, letting you know he was enjoying this way more than he should, before turning back to whatever conversation he had somehow charmed his way into.
He was loving this, you could tell. Everything about this place was ridiculous, and Teacake was loving all of it.
“Like, look at this. Look at the flowers. Who needs that many flowers? What happens after? They just throw 'em away? Somebody’s gotta clean all that up. And look at that cake,” he pointed at the admittedly ridiculous cake “The thing’s taller than me!”
“Look,” he pointed behind you.
You followed his gaze.
A waiter walked past carrying a tray of tiny appetizers. He immediately grabbed one of each. You stared at him.
“Are you serious?”
“What?” He shrugged, completely unapologetic, “They’re free”
“Everything is free, we shouldn’t be here” you reminded him.
“Oh, come on,” he poked your side. “you tellin’ me you weren’t even a bit curious to see what these rich folks’ weddings look like?”
You rolled your eyes at him, fighting the smile that was starting to appear when he shoved one of the appetizers into his mouth.
Before you could figure out a way to leave the conversation to grab another glass of champagne before you could rip your hair out, a voice interrupted you.
“There you are!”
A woman you didn’t recognize was making her way towards you. She had perfect curls, a dress you were sure cost more than your entire wardrobe and she was smiling at you like you were old friends.
“I was wondering when I’d get a chance to congratulate you, darling.”
“Excuse me?”
Her smile widened.
“On your engagement, of course.”
You stared at her, certain you had misheard her, or that she had you confused with someone else.
“My… engagement,” you repeated, because it was the only thing your brain managed to come up with.
“Yes!” she said excitedly “Your fiancé told my husband the happy news”
“… My what?” you asked dumbly. Your brain had stopped working. It was already halfway there when Aunt Lisa (Linda?) started talking about the importance of knowing your ‘seasonal color’ but this was the little push it needed to completely turn into mush.
“Oh, it must have been very recent,” she said with a small laugh “you don’t seem very used to the word yet.”
Yes. So recent it appeared you had become engaged at some point in the last thirty minutes.
“You two are just adorable,” she continued, unaware you were barely paying attention “I knew it the moment I saw you together.”
Teacake. Of course.
“Really,” you deadpanned.
“Yes,” she replied, completely serious. “It’s the way you two look at each other. Very sweet.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Nope. You were not going to dwell on that.
“Excuse me,” you forced a smile “I need to find my… fiancé”
You looked across the lawn. He looked good. Annoyingly good. The kind of good that made you forget you were supposed to be annoyed. His bleached hair was slightly messy, a few pieces falling forward from the breeze, his top button undone, and his arms were moving with the story he was telling. And he was far too unbothered.
Fine. If he wanted to play pretend, you could play pretend. Except you were going to have more fun with it than he was.
You narrowed your eyes. And started toward him.
“There she is! The lovely fiancé.”
The woman next to Teacake was exactly what you would expect to find at one of these weddings. She was older, probably in her seventies. Grey hair in place, a pearl necklace and a… Transatlantic accent? that seemed too practiced to be real.
“Here I am” you forced a smile.
“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, darling,” the old lady, who introduced herself as Ethel, added “you must be so happy.”
“So very happy,” you said, way too sweetly. Then you slipped your arm through Teacake’s and leaned in “Aren’t we, teacup?”
Teacake froze. He looked down at you like you had lost your mind. And when he saw your expression, he immediately realized what you were doing. You smiled wider at the panic in his eyes. Good.
“I was so sorry to hear about the ring,” Ethel said, with a sympathetic shake of her head, “How awful.”
“Right,” you falltered “The… ring.”
The non-existent ring.
“I simply cannot believe someone would steal such a valuable thing,” she continued, devastated for you “A family heirloom. And your twin brother at that!” she placed her gloved hand on her chest.
You looked at Teacake, trying to process what you were hearing. Oh, he had gone all out, hadn’t he? And he had clearly sold it, because Margaret looked heartbroken.
“Oh, my poor sweetcheeks,” you said softly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze “he was so devastated. He even tried to confront him. He is so brave, aren’t you, honeybear?”
Teacake’s eyes dropped to where you were touching him and he visibly swallowed.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she said warmly. “That must have been terribly difficult. Especially knowing he left the country with the ring…”
Jesus Christ.
“It was, but my pumpkin is so considerate,” you sighed dramatically, leaning your head on his shoulder.
“What’s with the names?” he hissed quietly, looking down at you.
“What?” you looked up at him and smiled innocently “it’s just what I call my fiancé.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll laugh about it one day,” Ethel said with a reassuring smile.
“Oh, I’m sure we will. My darling cinnamon roll always sees the bright side,” you smiled brightly.
Ethel blinked. Apparently, that was too much even for her.
“Oh yeah, I call him that sometimes. Because he’s as sweet, soft and delicious as a cinnamon roll,” you patted his cheek.
Teacake’s ears turned a funny shade of red, and you had to stop yourself from laughing.
“You two are adorable, I must say,” Ethel said, looking between the two of you, unaware of the chaos unfolding in front of her.
“He’s very affectionate,” you sighed “but he’s also very shy, my snugglebug.”
His blush somehow got worse, if that was even possible.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” you whispered in his ear, barely containing your laughter.
It seems that was enough for Teacake. He straightened his posture, narrowed his eyes…
And decided to tease you right back.
“You two really seem comfortable with each other,” Ethel continued “you don’t see that with couples these days, it’s quite endearing.”
Suddenly, he grabbed you by the waist, pulled you closer, and pressed you gently back against his chest.
“Oh, yeah,” he said by your ear “we can’t get enough of each other. Especially her.”
You turned your head so fast you almost knocked your forehead into his chin.
You had lost control of the situation too quickly for your liking. Because he was too close. You couldn’t focus on anything but his breath on your ear, his warm chest pressed against your back, and his hand on your waist. You needed to get it together. This was your best friend. The man who had ‘Eat an entire cheesecake’ in his Freedom List. (And who had lost a fight with a claw machine just to get you a stupid penguin, but that was besides the point).
Get it together.
“Is that what you think?” you asked, trying to ignore how breathless you sounded.
“I don’t think it, I know it,” he smirked, looking smug.
You snorted.
"What's funny?" he frowned at you.
You leaned in a bit.
“That you actually believe that.”
Teacake's eyebrows lifted and his eyes dropped for a second.
"Believe what?" Now he was the one who sounded out of breath.
“That I’m the one who can’t get enough,” you tilted your head.
His mouth opened slightly. Then closed.
“Because from where I'm standing...” you leaned in even closer. His hand at your waist shifted, his fingers moving against your side. His eyes flickered down again. “...I think you're the one who's always finding reasons to stay close.”
Ethel laughed, thinking she was just watching just two people bickering. And you two were used to this. Bickering. Bantering. That was normal. Except normally his hand wasn't resting on your waist. Or your back was against his chest. Or your noses were nearly brushing.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
And he grinned.
After another hour of pretending to be a perfect couple and suffering through a few more enthusiastic congratulations from people you had never seen before, and hoped to never see again (God, how many people had he talked to?), you and Teacake finally managed to escape to a corner of the ridiculously lavish estate’s ballroom the newlyweds had rushed everyone into to witness their first dance.
Huge chandeliers, polished marble floors, and flowers decorated everywhere you looked. The orchestra was playing a romantic melody while guests gathered around the dance floor.
“You know, I thought we wouldn’t last this long,” you admitted, “and, I hate to say it, but I’m kind of having fun.”
“I t—”
“I swear to God, if you say ‘I told you so’, I’m telling everyone, walking out and leaving you to deal with the consequences,” you warned.
His hands raised in mock defense, and you both fell silent for a moment after that. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter and his gaze softened.
“I’m glad you’re doing this with me”
“The stupid list?” you frowned.
“All of it. Thank you. For staying. I know it sounds obvious, but... you didn't have to and to be honest, there were moments when it would have been easier not to. I wouldn’t have blamed ya” he was looking at you with an intensity you started to think your heart was going to beat out of your chest.
You frowned. Where was this coming from?
“So, yeah, thank you, I guess,” his eyes widened a bit “Not guess! I mean. I mean it”
His hand moved a bit more securely against your waist, and he started to gently brush circles with his thumb against your side.
The thing is, you didn’t know what you were expecting going in. But what you weren’t expecting was how right this would feel like. His hand hadn’t moved from your waist in the last hour, and you found yourself missing it when he removed it to grab a drink. Every time he grabbed your hand when he introduced you as his fiancé and smiled at you, something in your chest fluttered so violently you had to look away. This wasn’t real. This was your best friend. Yet none of it felt weird. And you found yourself craving more.
You were about to say something, anything, when you heard a tiny voice behind you.
“I like your dress.”
You both looked down. A little girl stood in front of you staring at you with wide eyes. She was wearing a pink, sparkly dress and had one of those mini purses rich people seemed so fond of and probably didn’t fit anything, but in her it looked adorable.
“Oh, thank you” you smiled at her “I like yours better. I love glitter.”
The little girl gave you the biggest smile you had ever seen. She looked at you like you had just given her the greatest compliment in the world, and you thought this might be the most adorable child you had ever encountered.
“Your hair is pretty too” she suddenly glanced at Teacake and said, “Yours is funny.”
You snorted at Teacake’s expression. You had never seen a grown man look more offended in his life.
“You look like Ken,” she added.
He blinked. That did it. You started laughing.
“And why are you laughing?” he accused, his eyes narrowing.
“Because you just look so offended and… she does have a point.”
“Okay. First of all. I do not look like Ken. And hey, I have nothin’ against Ken, alright? Ken's cool. Ken is fine. But I am not like him. Ken’s like… preppy. And he has that whole beach thing goin’ on. Me? I’m cool. And this” he pointed to his hair “is not toy hair. This is cool bleached hair, okay?”
“You’re cool,” you repeated.
“Yeah! Like, take skatin’, that was on my list. You won’t see Ken skatin’,” he scoffed, like he had made a point.
“Oh, you mean when you broke your wrist?” you raised your eyebrow.
“Okay that’s besides the point,” he waved a hand “and I still did it”
So had Ken, but you wouldn’t tell him that.
“Don’t worry Tea, anywhere else you’d be a ten,” you patted his cheek.
“Hey—”
“You two argue a lot,” the little girl observed.
You both turned to her at the same time. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just stared at her.
“That means you like each other,” She stated, nodding to herself. If she hadn’t completely thrown you, you would have found the confidence with which she said it hilarious.
“What?” you sputtered.
You felt Teacake freeze beside you. Before any of you could say anything, she kept going.
“My mommy and daddy argue all the time too. And they’re married. But they make each other laugh after.”
She suddenly turned her head towards Teacake and looked at him with a seriousness that didn’t match her age. You didn’t know at what point this had turned into an interrogation.
“Do you make her laugh?”
You looked at Teacake. The playful look he always wore faded into something softer. His eyes moved over your face for a moment, and then he smiled.
“I try” he said quietly.
“Do you make him happy?” the little girl turned her attention to you.
You froze. Because you realized that this wasn’t part of the act anymore. These were real questions. Not questions about fake twin brothers or how long you had been together. This was about your real relationship.
Teacake answered before you had the chance to. He still had his hand around your waist. His thumb moved once, twice, against your side.
“She does.”
And he said it so naturally. Like it was a universal truth. A fact. Like someone had asked him his name. The answer came to him immediately, like didn’t have to think about it. And something in your chest loosened.
You looked back at him and put your hand over the one he had on your waist. A small gesture, but you noticed the change in his expression, his eyes dropping to both of your hands and a shy smile spread over his face.
The little girl nodded to herself, like she had just confirmed something very important.
“Good,” she said. And with that, apparently satisfied, she left, her little purse swinging at her side.
The newlyweds moved to the dance floor after that and for a minute you and Teacake watched them in silence, still in the same position you were in when the little girl left. You felt Teacake shift, and when you turned to look at him, he was already looking at you.
“You know, if there was a chance we wouldn’t get caught…” he said quietly, “I’d ask you to dance.”
You felt yourself smiling before you could stop it.
“If you asked,” you whispered. “I'd say yes.”
He turned you so you faced him, his hand still on your waist, and reached for your other hand. He held it and his thumb brushed gently across your ring finger. Your breath caught. And you swore a hundred butterflies decided to take flight in your stomach.
“Good,” he breathed with the gentlest smile you had ever seen on him.
His eyes flickered down, just briefly. And suddenly, you were aware of everything. How close you were, his thumb still brushing the place where your supposed engagement ring should be, his hand on your waist…
Before any of you could say anything else, a loud cheer erupted through the room when a very drunk groomsman encouraged everyone to go down to the gardens to watch the fireworks show.
You raised your eyebrows at Teacake and mouthed “fireworks?”. He just smirked, tugged at your hand and quickly made for the door with the rest of the guests.
“Tea, we can’t watch go watch them,” you whispered, trying not to laugh “the bride and groom will be there.”
“I know,” he didn’t even slow down. “You think I’m stupid?”
You stopped in your tracks, which made him stop suddenly with you, and looked at him dead in the eye.
“You’re not stupid,” you said firmly.
He had said it jokingly, but you knew he was still beating himself up over getting tricked into helping someone do something that put him in jail. And you couldn’t bear the thought of him blaming himself for just wanting to help someone and feeling bad about that. He just trusted the wrong person, that was all.
His eyes roamed over your face, searching for something, and something in his face softened.
“Okay,” he smiled. He interlocked his fingers with yours and squeezed your hand. “Let’s go.”
Teacake led you to a balcony hidden away from the rest of the wedding, overlooking the gardens but not directly above. You could still hear the music from the ballroom through the open doors behind you, but it was softer from this distance. Somewhere in the gardens below, you could hear people cheering and laughing.
For the first time all evening, everything slowed down. The air smelled faintly of gunpowder from the fireworks, the flowers from the garden, and the cologne Teacake was wearing.
You both watched the gardens and the firework show in silence. Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel Teacake shift beside you. His fingers tapped against the stone railing, stopped, then began again. You could see from time to time he would look at you, then back at the gardens and the sky.
You knew Teacake better than you knew yourself. He always had something to say. Sometimes, even too much, which was one of the things you found endearing about him. If something was bothering him, he usually talked more, not less.
“Hey,” you called softly, “you okay?”
“Huh?” his head turned quickly, “Yeah. Yeah, no. I’m good. So good. Everything’s great.”
You raised your eyebrows.
“Okay. Maybe not.”
You watched him carefully in the silence the end of the show had left, but he was looking everywhere except you. At the stone floor, at the sky, at the gardens. Anywhere but you. And every moment your eyes caught his he would avert his gaze so fast you would think you were going to turn him into stone. It would be funny if he wasn’t starting to worry you.
“Tea?” you said gently.
His eyes finally found yours and stayed there. He closed them for a brief second and took a deep breath. You thought you heard him whisper ‘okay, okay’ to himself but you weren’t too sure.
“Look, I know I’m probably going to mess all this up, but…” he sighed, signaling the space between you “I can’t it hold it anymore. Not after today. Which didn’t go how I was expectin’ it to go, lemme tell you that.”
He laughed nervously, shaking his head.
“I thought ‘hey it’s just another stupid item on the list’, right? No big deal. But then you walked out in that dress, and it reminded me of this poem, right, one I had to memorize in Ellsworth for Explorations in Poetry, and that was like the shortest one in there, but it was cool. ‘She walks in beauty’, or some shit like that. And I didn’t know what that guy was on about. I mean, I knew that he was sayin’, but I didn’t know know. What he meant, you know what I mean?” his voice softened “‘Til I saw you in that dress this mornin’. And I thought ‘Well shit, maybe I’m screwed’. And maybe that guy had a point. What I mean to say is…”
He took a deep breath.
“I like you” he admitted “Like… a lot. I think I might love you, to be honest with you”
He swallowed hard and he looked away.
“And I know you deserve way better than a guy who was in jail because he was too stupid to realize he was getting played. I know that, okay?” he looked back at you “But… I am tryin’ to be better.”
For a moment, you forgot how to breathe. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it was going to beat out of your chest. Because you didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“Teacake…” you breathed.
You wanted to say a lot of things. That you didn't care about some mistake he made years ago. That you saw how hard he was trying to start a new life. That you felt the same. The words didn’t come. You just stared at him, trying to process the fact that Teacake, your best friend, who you had spent so long trying not to think about in that way, was standing in front of you saying the exact thing you had been too afraid to admit to yourself you wanted to hear.
He took your silence the wrong way.
“Look... you don't gotta say anythin'. I get it. We can just pretend I never said any of this, and I won’t make it weird. I just thought you should kn—”
“Travis.”
He stopped abruptly.
“Okay” he nodded to himself. “First name. Not a great sign. Was it the poem thing? I knew the poem was too much. Shit, I should’ve skipped the poem. Yeah, the poem was—”
You could see he was already starting to spiral. So, you did the first thing you could think of to shut him up.
You kissed him.
For a second, he went completely still. His hands stayed at his sides, like he was afraid to touch you.
Just when you were about to pull away, he sighed into your mouth, held the back of your neck softly and kissed you back so sweetly you thought your heart might burst. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that caught you off guard. His thumb brushed slowly across your cheekbone, the touch so gentle it made your breath catch, and you felt him smile against your lips.
When you tangled one hand in his hair and grabbed the front of his suit with the other to pull him closer, he pressed you gently against the stone wall next to you. And the kiss wasn’t hesitant anymore. He kissed you with an intensity that made your heart race, like he had been waiting years to do it. Your fingers tightened on his hair and a quiet groan escaped him against your lips. The sound sent a rush through you, and he pulled you even closer. Your lips parted slightly and he immediately took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. All you could focus on was Teacake, the heat of his mouth and the feeling of his hands on your waist.
After what felt like hours but was maybe minutes, you both pulled apart breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. He pressed his forehead to yours and opened his eyes. His hair was messy from your hands, his lips swollen and he looked like he had lost his bearings. You smiled at the sight.
“Hi” you breathed.
“Wow. Hi,” he looked dazed.
You laughed and tried to enjoy the unusual sight of a speechless Teacake for a bit longer, but you were feeling too happy.
“For the record… I think I might love you too,” you confessed softly.
He blinked.
“I know,” he blurted out.
You raised an eyebrow, smiling.
“I know I love you!” he clarified quickly “Not that I knew you love me. Obviously. I would never assume something like that. Honestly, I’m still surprised you kissed me” he paused, looking uncertain for a moment. His eyes dropped for a second, then they returned to yours a bit more hesitant “Are you sure? Because I know I’m like… a lot. And I’m a fuck-up and a mess and definitely not boyfriend material. Hell, I’m not even sure I'm friend mat—”
You put your hand on his cheek and gently placed your thumb on his lips to stop his rambling. He turned his head and kissed your palm. His eyes held a vulnerability you had never seen before. Like he still wasn't sure he was worth choosing. How could he think he wasn’t enough?
“You keep talking like I don’t know who you are,” your voice softend as your thumb brushed his cheek. “I knew you before, Travis. Before everything that happened.”
“You’re ridiculous. You’re a pain in the ass sometimes.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “You tap your fingers when you’re thinking. You steal my food and then act offended if I call you out. You notice when someone’s having a bad day. You remember the smallest things people tell you because you actually listen.”
His expression softened and he gave your waist a little squeeze.
“And I know you trusted someone you shouldn’t have. I know they made you think they needed your help, and you didn’t think twice about it because you thought you were helping. Because that’s just who you are. You care. You care so much that sometimes you forget to think about yourself,” you smiled softly at him “And I love that you still choose kindness after everything that’s happened to you. I love how you show up, how you make me feel safe, how you make me laugh and make everything feel a little less hard.”
You gently grabbed his face with both of your hands so you could really make him understand. You needed him to understand.
“I know you,” you whispered “And… I know I love you too.”
Teacake stared at you for a second, and he let out a soft laugh. Then he leaned in and kissed you. When he pulled back, he stayed close, his forehead resting against yours.
For a moment, you just stayed there smiling at each other.
You took in your surroundings. And you started laughing. Because of course this was how it happened. Your first kiss and the moment you admitted you love your best friend happened at a wedding you weren’t even invited to. It felt ridiculous and yet so appropriate.
And maybe that was why, five minutes later, when everything went wrong, when someone finally realized there were two people at this wedding who shouldn’t be here, when security started making their way to you, when Teacake looked at you with that familiar glint in his eye…
You already knew you were going to run.
“Hey, sugarplum? Is this a bad time to tell you another item on the list is ‘Run a marathon’?”
To my friends and all the writers who keep fandom alive, thank you for what you do.
feel free to share your thoughts with me, but be nice this is the first thing i've written and i'm fragile
dividers by @moonstoneandmoonlight @starrliqhtt @strangergraphics and @saradika-graphics
jas, how would the djolings confess their feelings ?
steve harrington had been grappling with his feelings for you for a long, long time. the two of you had been friends for a while and everything that happened with the upside down had only bought the two of you closer together. but steve had been so hurt by his breakup with nancy that he was terrified to tell you how he felt. and so, he buried it. keep it to himself.
that was until starcourt and the damn russians and their truth serum sort of ruined everything.
“hi pretty girl,” he slurs as you rush over to him, horrified by the blood and the nasty bruise that completely covers his right eye. “y’wanna set sail on the sea of flavours w’me?”
if you weren’t so concerned about the state of both him and robin, you may have paid more attention to the heat rising to your cheeks as the words ‘pretty girl’ seeps into your bones.
“sure thing,” you mutter as dustin and erica try their best to help a rambling robin while you tend to steve. “but first we need to get you—”
you stop talking, owing to the fact that steve had just booped your nose with his finger.
“you’re so cute. and pretty,” he hums, a dopey smile on his face as he looks back at you. “the prettiest girl i swear—”
“—steve, you’re drugged. you don’t know what you’re—”
“—the only drugs i’m on, baby is love. love f’you. ‘cause i love you.”
you blink. you try to slowly digest his words, the fact that he seemed to have no filter and he was telling you he loved you. but the sound of yelling down the hall pulls you back to the present.
russians. danger. not the time for confessing your love to each other.
“we’ll talk about it later, yeah?”
“whatever you want, baby.”
gator would confess to you mid hook up. by accident, of course.
your hands rest on his chest, fingers brushing through the coarse hair there as you bounce up and down on his cock. gator was trying really fucking hard not to cum too soon. but it was near impossible when he had the perfect view of your breasts bouncing in his face with every movement, the feeling of your gummy walls around him and the sight of him disappearing into your dripping cunt as you sink down onto him, the wet squelch as a result making his balls tighten.
“ya need t’slow down, mama,” he grits out, deft fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he tries to hold himself back, tries to focus on something else other than the pretty moans and whimpers falling from your lips as the fat head of his cock kisses your cervix. “or i’m gonna—”
you cut him off by pressing your fingers to your clit and the sight of you toying with your sensitive pearl was what tipped gator right over the edge.
“fuck—shit, mama. that feels—s’fuckin’ good. i fuck—fuckin’ love ya.”
hot spurts of his cum flood your pussy, cock twitching inside of you as gator grunts out your name. but your fingers have stilled on your clit as you just stare at gator in shock.
because gator had never—
“did you mean it?” you ask him, watching the way his lashes flutter, the way his hazel eyes flicker up to meet yours.
“mean, what?”
you swallow, your chest suddenly feeling tight as you realise gator didn’t knew what he just said. that maybe he didn’t really mean—
“nothing,” you say after a few moments, smiling at him as you push aside the feeling of disappointment that was swirling in your gut.
gator for a moment looks as though he wants to press to you further and for a moment, you think he might ask you again. but the moment passes, his expression shifts and he rolls the two of you over with his cock still inside of you.
“good,” he murmurs, bucking his hips forward to begin fucking his cum even deeper into you. “haven’t made enough of a mess of ya yet.”
being your roommate was the best and worst thing to ever happen to teacake. it was the best because man, oh man, he loved you and you made him stupidly happy.
but it was also the worst thing to ever happen to him, because hearing you fucking the guy you had bought home after a night out felt like a knife had lodged itself right in his chest.
and so, the next morning after you had said goodbye to dylan or dean or whatever his name was, travis had tried to act as though seeing you with someone else didn’t tear his heart in two. but you could read travis like a book.
“what’s up with you?” you ask him, brow raised as you notice the way his jaw clenches when you lean into him to grab your mug to make coffee.
“nothing,” travis replies flatly, looking anywhere but at you. “why would you think that something’s up with—”
“—because you seem annoyed.”
“i’m not annoyed.”
“but you seem annoyed.”
“i’m not—”
“—but you seem—”
“—fucking hell, can you stop?”
you bristle slightly, not knowing what on earth you had done to deserve this attitude at barely eight thirty in the morning.
“stop, what?”
“stop—stop being you.”
you pause, your annoyance slipping in confusion as you stare back at travis.
“sorry? what do you mean stop being—”
“—stop being you! and then maybe i wouldn’t so fucking in love with you!”
you swear, the world stops turning at that. that the birds stop singing. that the world ceases to exist outside of travis and the way his chest was heaving as he looks at you.
“tea, i—”
“—and maybe then i wouldn’t want to punch a fucking wall seeing you with some other asshole who doesn’t deserve you—”
“—travis—”
“—and maybe then i wouldn’t be so in love with someone who would never love me, not even in a million—”
you decide to shut travis up the only way you can think of.
your fingers fist the front of his shirt before you pull him towards you before finally pressing your lips against his in a kiss that steals the air from his lungs. his large hands find home on your waist so he can pull you closer as his lips work furiously against yours, unable to contain the low groan that escapes him at the feeling of you flush against him.
travis is the first to pull away in order catch his breath, his lips wet with a mix of your saliva and his, his eyes wide and looking at you in awe.
“but what about that guy—”
“forget about him,” you say breathlessly before you pull him back until your lips were a breath away from his. “he didn’t even make me cum.”
travis’ eyes widen and before you could close the distance between you, his large hands hook behind your thighs and he sweeps you off your feet in one quick swoop.
“let’s change that then, baby.”
keys had been quietly working up the courage to tell you how he felt for a good few weeks now. you had been friends for a long time after meeting in the coffee shop just outside his office.
he just—he didn’t know how to tell you.
but when you invited him to your sisters wedding as your plus one, keys thought it would be the perfect opportunity to tell you exactly how he felt about you.
“do you ever wanna get married, keys?” you ask, resting your head against keys’ shoulder as you slow danced to my girl by the temptations while keys tried not to think too much about close you were to him.
“um, yeah. i do. someday.”
you pull away enough to smile up at him, your fingers curling into the front of his suit (which he won’t admit to you that he had bought one especially for the occasion) and making his cheeks turn a little pink.
“whoever marries you is gonna be really lucky,” you tell him and keys feels his face turn an even darker shade of pink. “to have you as a husband.”
keys swallows, the words on the tip of his as he looks back at you. you were wearing this gorgeous baby blue dress and you looked so beautiful that it was hard for me to think straight. especially when you were so close and he could smell your perfume, sweet and intoxicating.
“thanks,” he murmurs shyly, hoping you don’t see how even the tips of his ears had turned red. “do you—do you wanna get married?”.
you smile back at him and keys swears that there wasn’t a more beautiful sight than your smile.
“to the right guy, yeah.”
his chest suddenly feels too tight as the image of you—looking ethereal in a white dressing—marrying some guy who wasn’t him enters his mind. even the mere thought of it made keys want to scream about his love for you from the rooftops.
“whoever gets to marry you,” keys murmurs quietly, his thumb gently rubbing circles into your skin over your dress as he looks at you with such reverence it makes your heart pound. “will be the luckiest guy in the whole world.”
the corners of your mouth twitch as you fight back a small smile. “oh, i don’t know about that—”
“—it’s true,” keys tells you, feeling his heart pound in his chest as he lifts a hand to gently brush your hair back. “i mean—you’re you, you know? you’re beautiful and kind and understanding and—shit—is this a bad time? i completely understand if you don’t—”
but whatever words he was about to say, you don’t hear it because the next second you’re pulling him in for a kiss in the middle of the dance floor.
it takes keys one, maybe two seconds to react but when he does, he’s kissing you back and he tastes like champagne and strawberries.
you pull him even closer as you deepen the kiss ever so slightly, your fingers dancing along the skin of his neck and his hand cupping one side of your cheek.
“took you long enough,” you mutter against his lips and keys laughs before pulling you back in for another kiss.
kurt wouldn’t have to tell you. it would just be painfully obvious. it would definitely be you making the first move because kurt didn’t have the nerve.
you had been next door neighbours with the kunkle’s for as long as you can remember. and despite the fact you had moved out a few months ago, you still found yourself there a lot to visit your parents. much to kurt’s delight.
and when your parents went away and you were house sitting for them—kurt couldn’t have been happier. he went to visit you a lot. to hang out, play games together or watch a movie. but did he make a move? absolutely not. not in a million years.
and one wednesday night when you were once again watching movies together, you decided you had enough.
“kurt?” you ask, turning to look at kurt in the middle of some comedy movie he had picked out. “can i ask you something?”
“uh huh,” kurt hums, his big puppy dog eyes flickering over to you as he waits for your question.
“have you ever kissed anyone?”
kurt’s reaction was immediate. his face flushes pink, the tips of his eyes turn red and his eyes widen almost comically.
“i—i—um, of course i—”
“—kurt, c’mon, it’s okay if you—”
“—b-but i have, i—” he stops, his face burning as he looks away from you briefly. “no—no, i haven’t. not ‘cause no one has wanted to but um—”
“—do you wanna kiss me?”
kurt looks as though his brain has stopped working entirely. because there was no way you had just asked him that.
“yes,” he admits, a little breathless as he looks back at you. “i—i’d love to.”
you offer him a sweet smile before you lean in, gently taking his hand and placing it to rest on your waist. you feel him squeeze your skin as though he wanted to make sure you were real and the reaction makes your chest tighten.
“is that okay? it’s not too—”
“—it’s okay, kurt,” you tell him softly. “just relax f’me, yeah?”
kurt nods, his eagerness evident as his eyelids flutter shut. he waits patiently, his cock beginning to swell beneath his sweatpants as he imagines what kissing you would be like, what you tasted like and how you would feel around his—
your lips pressing gently against his makes kurt’s mind go blank. they were so soft. so warm and your lipgloss tasted by cherries. kurt can’t help the noise he lets out as a result, can’t help the way he was now fully hard over a simple kiss.
he kisses you back, not quite sure what he was doing but his eagerness making up for it as he leaned in, pressing his lips more firmly against yours and making your head spin.
you pull away to catch your breath, kurt completely breathless against you as he waits for your next move.
“do you like me, kurt?” you ask, cupping his face in your hands gently and smiling at him. “be honest.”
“y-yeah,” he breathes out. “always have.”
you smile at that before you lean in to kiss your lips to his again in a kiss that has him clinging to you.
ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ₊ ֹ ˖ realizing it barely hurts during car sex +18 ୨౿
the rain tapped steadily against the cold windows of steve’s car. you were straddling his lap in the backseat and your skirt was already shoved up around your hips.
steve’s hands were gripped in your waist as you ground down against the hard bulge in his jeans.
you rolled your hips slowly at first, then harder, rubbing your soaked lace panties over the thick length of his cock. the almost dry friction made both of you groan.
“fuuuck, baby,” he said against your mouth. “you’re soaking through already. keep grinding me like that, pretty.”
one of his hands slid up and wrapped around your neck. then he just gave enough pressure just to make your head spin while you dryhumped him.
you kept moving, rolling your hips slowly now in circles. you kept getting wet and his cock dragged against your clit through the thin fabric. after some minutes of gridding, steve couldn’t take it anymore.
he shoved his jeans down. his cock finally springing free. he was big, with precum leaking from the tip.
he quickly rolled up a condom after he pulled it out from his pocket, pulled your panties to a side and pushed onto you slowly.
“fuck, steve. you’re so… you’re so big,” you said.
the stretch burned. some small tears appeared from your eyes almost immediately, but you tried to control them.
“you feel so tight f’me, baby. all tight and wet,” steve groaned into your lips, as he tried to move slowly.
you gripped your hands on his shoulders, your new nails digging on him as he bite his lip.
“steve, i can’t…. i can’t take it all.” steve kissed your teary cheeks, then he looked at you.
“move. move.” you begged. he started moving deep and steady now.
every time he bottomed out, the thick outline of his cock was clearly visible in your lower belly. he pressed a hand there, feeling himself push in and out from your insides.
“look at that, fuck,” he groaned. “my baby ‘s good for me.”
his other hand moved to your pussy, rubbing your clit with his now wet fingers. the pain was kinda sharp. and steve noticed right away and slowed, then stopped completely.
“hey… you crying,” his voice was rough with full of concern. “we’re stopping. i don’t want to hurt you.”
you grabbed his wrists, keeping him buried inside you.
“don’t stop,” you begged. “please just… go slower,” you looked at him, looking at the scare in his eyes of hurting you. you didn’t move yet, and he was still buried inside you. steve shook his head.
“no. you’re in pain. i’m not continuing if it’s hurting you, baby.”
“steve, please…” you whispered needy, rocking your hips carefully, “it’s barely hurting. it’s just… you s’big” he looked at you for a long moment, with a mix of guilt and desire fighting in his eyes.
“i dont wanna make you cry,” he said, kissing your lips softly.
“you’re not,” you insisted, teary eyes showing up. “it just hurts cause you s’big. please, keep going, i need you s'much."
“baby,” you tried to move to take him again, but steve stopped you taking you from the hips.
“please,” you said softer now. “just slow down,” finally, with a shaky exhale, he looked at you and nodded.
“and take the condom off. i wanna feel you,”
steve pulled out carefully, now scared to hurt you more, and ripped the condom off. he pushed back into you bare. this time much slower. scared to hurt you. the raw stretch made you whimper, and he kept his movements carefully and deep.
“fuck,” he groaned, his forehead pressing yours while he started moving faster once you felt less tight. “this feels amazing. s’good f’me,”
“yeah. just like that,” you whispered, moving also your hips to make his cock deeper is de you, “don’t stop.” steve held you tighter and continued, thrusting up into you in long controlled strokes.
one of his hands pressed again around your throat. the other one rested in your stomach while he fucked you.
“you feel s’good baby. fuck, s’tight for me. gonna breed this little pussy.”
“oh, fuck. yeah, steve.”
“you like it when it hurts, right? taking it like a good girl.” your walls stretched around his length, your pussy clenching now at him like it was made for him.
it didn’t hurt anymore, it was more like you felt good. he then sped up, trying to reach both of you to the orgasm. your back was arching on the seat, your hands trying to grab the headrest and dig your nails there.
he made a thrust in, but his dick slipped out because of the wetness of your pussy. your legs started trembling now.
“fuuuck.” he muttered. “can’t even stay inside you.”
he tried again, pressing the head against your wet folds and entrance, but your slick made him slide right past and up against your clit instead.
‘’jesus christ,’’ he growled with his forehead dropping on your shoulder while you two fucked.
he reached down, gripping the base of his cock again to steady himself, and finally managed to push inside again.
‘’slow down, steve. please, slow down.’’ you begged, trying to hold yourself.
‘’am i hurting you? if i am, i’m stopping.’’ he stopped at the second, scared of what was going on.
“no. continue. i’m close,” he kept the hand on the base of his cock, the other one gripped your ass.
‘’s’fucking messy,’’ he muttered. ‘’my pretty girl… soaking all the car seat,’’ he slowed down, fucking you until you felt your walls tighting against him again.
then, you reached the orgasm, the car bouncing over the street. he came at the same time, fucking you through it slowly enough scared to hurt you. he kissed your forehead and pulled out.
‘’you did such a good job, baby.’’ steve said. ‘’if it hurts again, i’m gonna stop. i got so scared,’’
summary: it was unrequited love at first sight when you met bucky barnes. having a crush on him—your roommate—is hard enough, but hearing him fuck through your shared wall? that almost kills you.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, modern au, lots of plot, fluff, angst, sloooow burn, anxious!reader, kinda insecure!reader, reader works at a bar, cap’s quartet roommates (romanogers !!), swearing, drinking, weed mentions, idiots in love they just don't know it, oblivious!reader (i love her your honour), yearningggg, jealousy, reader crashes tf outttt, miscommunication, one (1) argument, love confessions, pet names (sweetheart, angel, doll, pretty girl), detailed explicit smut, slight dom!bucky, dirty talk, teasingggg, grinding, munch!bucky, oral (f!receiving), fingering, dacryphilia, pussy pronouns, small inspection kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv (don’t do this, friends), missionary, mating press, multiple orgasms, brief sub space, mention of f & m masturbation, happy ending, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress, no physical descriptions of reader, reader's pov, kinda dramatic, briefly proofread, this is not your typical roommate!bucky fic !!
word count: 20.6k (apparently i have this condition where i can't write a short fic)
authors note: i am actually the leader of the 'having debilitating crushes on your roommate' club so... thank you to my gorgeous, stunning, one of a kind beta reader @phoenix-in-writing 🫶 yes, i did use some off campus characters as reader's coworkers - there's no subplot with them, they just suited the vibe 😎 likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated (and feed my validation kink)
you are responsible for your own media consumption. don’t like? don’t read
song inspo: crushcrushcrush - paramore & boyfriend - best coast
divider credits: line dividers by @/omi-resources, heart divider by @/strangergraphics
masterlist
Nothing compares to a quiet evening alone
Just the one, two, I was just counting on
That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again
Let's be more than, more than this
You knew from the moment you stepped into the Brooklyn brownstone that you were royally fucked.
Ruffled, sleep mussed, dark brown hair. Slightly squinted, soft, deep blue eyes. A white sleep shirt that loosely clung to the hard ridges of a muscled body. Grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low and showed the shape of him if you stared longer than was appropriate.
And, god, the low, husky voice that you could feel rumble through your body from metres away. The slender, strong, veiny hands that didn't hesitate to grab the box slipping from yours. The pink lips that stretched into an easy smile, pearly white teeth dazzling and rendering you speechless for a minute.
The heat that crawled up your back was instant—your body reacting to your new roommate before you even knew his name.
Attractive men existed, you knew that. The bar you worked at had handfuls of them come in every night, some that even flashed you a flirty smile with interest in their eyes. But you didn't live with any of them—you didn't see them when they were half-awake, their rough edges softened by sleep and early morning light.
He introduced himself as James Barnes, but he requested you call him Bucky—"only my ma calls me James"—, and mentioned he worked as a physiotherapist at the VA.
He was quick to put the box in your new room, running out to the curb to grab the rest of your belongings from the rental van. You stood near the entrance, frozen in shock. Words failed you, your brain failed you—the only thing you could think about was the shift of his back muscles beneath his shirt as he hauled boxes through the door. It was an intoxicating sight, one you didn't even know would affect you.
You quickly came to learn that the problem was Bucky—everything he did had an intoxicating effect on you.
The smile he flashed you as he handed you your morning coffee, the wink he tossed your way when he took your side in your weekly movie night debate with Sam, his laughs that you could hear through your shared wall when he gamed with his friends.
His laughter was one of the most intoxicating things about him. There were the low, deep huffs when he was tired. The louder, harsher ones when he was caught by surprise. Then your favourite—the long, slightly breathless giggles that crinkled the corner of his eyes and had his nose scrunching. Every time you were blessed with them, you could only think about how cute he looked. It made him even more attractive, and you even more infatuated.
When your friend and roommate said that she was going to move into her partner's apartment once your lease was up, the first thing you felt was dread. You didn't know anyone who was looking for a room, nor did you know anyone who was looking for a roommate. The last thing you wanted was to move in with a stranger—having already lived with complete strangers in the past you could not say it was a pleasant experience. Your friend—an absolute angel—was quick to tell you that a coworker at her law firm was looking for a roommate, and she assured you that Nat would not break into your room and steal your jewellery like your first ever roommate did.
While you weren't exactly ecstatic to move in with four best friends, Nat had quickly won you over when you met for coffee. You sat down feeling like a complete contrast to her—sporting an old sweatshirt over your sweaty work uniform while she was in a creaseless emerald pantsuit. But she made you feel completely at ease—offering up embarrassing college stories about her and the guys, asking you about yourself and actually seeming interested, talking about the brownstone with so much adoration in her voice you couldn't help but love it already.
You felt awkward living with the close knit friends at first—shuffling on your feet as the four of them lounged on the couches, pulling at the loose threads on your sweater as you sat and listened to them bicker.
Fortunately, it didn't take long for you to find your place in the group. Sam played a big part—his teasing and infectious personality making you feel at home within a week. He didn't let you retreat into yourself; he pestered you with a mix of random and personal questions—"what extinct animal do you most identify with" followed by "what was your first heartbreak"—, teased you about your cooking (to which he always stole a mouthful), and was just warm—and yeah, slightly chaotic.
Nat and Steve quickly became one of your favourite couples. They weren't heavy on the PDA—unless red wine was involved—and they balanced each other out perfectly. She was loud, he was quiet. After a few too many on a night out she was ready to start a fight with any asshole who dared to look her way, and he was there to gently steer her away by the shoulders and remind her it wasn't worth ruining her fresh manicure.
Despite having some opposite traits, they were both incredibly kind and comforting people—truly living up to their titles of being the household's mom and dad. Nat was there for you after your gruelling shifts, holding either a glass of wine or mug of hot chocolate. Steve was the one knocking on your door with a bowl of soup and bag of medicine when you had the flu.
And then there was Bucky. He was just as kind, a good middle between Sam's chaotic nature and Steve's quiet one, and he made you feel seen.
Uncomfortably so.
He was the one next to you during social gatherings, gently nudging his shoulder against yours in a silent check in. He was the one suggesting fresh air when your breathing picked up incrementally. He was the one staring at you like he was captivated, sitting forward as you rambled about your niche interests.
Bucky noticed you, paid attention to you, like no one else had in your life.
He remembered what mugs you liked, making sure to use one of them when he made you both coffee—he remembered that too, the way you liked your coffee made. He bought you more body wash when you complained about running out but not having time to go to the shop before your shift. He sat next to you as you rewatched your comfort shows for the fifth time, asking questions like he was genuinely interested—a welcome contrast to Sam's mocking comments.
Each day he was in your life, looking at you like you were worth knowing, was just another day you fell deeper.
And then there were the moments. There weren't many, only a handful, but they were burned into your memory.
The first was when you came back after brunch with old friends, wearing a white sundress that made you feel pretty.
Bucky was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while eating an apple. You smiled in greeting as you walked in, grabbing a glass to fill with water. You sneaked a side glance at him like you always do when he's in the same room as you, catching his eyes already on you—drifting from the bottom of your dress up to your chest. You watched his adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.
"That's a nice dress, sweetheart."
Goosebumps erupted across your skin at his low drawl, a warmth spreading in your core from the pet name. He had never called you that before.
He pushed off the counter and walked out of the kitchen, acting like those five words hadn't changed your whole day—your whole life.
Where once you thought the dress was pretty, you now saw it as a lifeline—tethering you to the hope that Bucky might just like you back. You found reasons to wear it more often; making an effort to hang out in the common spaces when you came back home wearing it, delaying changing into your comfortable clothes because Bucky wasn't home yet and you wanted him to see it. To see you.
The second moment was when the five of you were at a birthday party for one of Sam's army buddies.
Nat and Steve had left after only being there for half an hour—Nat giggling to you on their way out, telling you and the boys to hold off on coming back home for a couple of hours. Sam was in the lounge with a large crowd hanging on to his every word as he retold his war hero stories— to which Bucky was quick to throw you a look, raising his hands to mimic being strangled, making you laugh and receive dagger eyes from Sam.
The two of you made your way outside towards the game of beer pong being set up. Bucky was quick to accept their offer to join in and that's how you found yourself standing opposite him, a sticky fold out table between you—the ping pong ball in your hand shaking, your breath catching as his lips tilted into a smirk. His eyes were as dark as the sky, the moonlight making them twinkle with their own constellations—staring straight into yours with a silent challenge, daring you to miss your next shot. His tongue sweeping over his bottom lip stole your attention and your hand faltered, the ball almost dropping out of your grip.
"You got this, sweetheart."
Time slowed down as the ball left your hand, your eyes watching it sail through the crisp night air while Bucky watched you. It dropped to the table with a pathetic, dull tock—inches away from any of the red solo cups. Bucky's smile grew even more lopsided, his eyes gleaming with mirth.
"Better luck next time, angel."
What the fuck was with him calling you these stupid, heart stuttering, knee trembling pet names?
Your beer pong partner was quick to brush off your missed shot, chuckling at your flustered expression and offering to help you with your stance. The game continued with you almost missing every shot, your partner guiding you with hands on your hips in the hopes of you sinking a cup. His arms wrapped around your waist when you made your first successful shot, but it wasn't his attention that had your mind clouding—you couldn't even say it was the alcohol flowing through your veins. No, it was the look of pride on Bucky's face that had you freezing, everything else around you fading away until all that remained was shining midnight eyes and curved pink lips.
God, how you wished the arms around your waist were his.
The guys you were playing with retreated inside after the game ended, with your partner telling you to find him before you left, throwing you an easy smile over his shoulder.
Bucky and you lingered in the fresh air, slowly walking towards the backdoor, your bare arm brushing against his denim jacket with every step. Music and laughter trickled out of the open windows, the noise softening in the cool breeze before it reached you. Despite the calm, you felt your body vibrate with a persistent buzz—Bucky's close proximity and the beer you downed making it hard to find the line between your feelings and reality.
"You do realise he was flirting with you, right?" Bucky's voice broke the silence. You turned your head to find him already gazing at you—soft eyes a contradiction to his clenched jaw.
You scoffed, looking at him like he'd grown another head. "What, no he wasn't."
"Uh yeah, he definitely was. The 'let me fix your stance' play is the oldest trick in the book and has a pretty decent success rate." He chuckled softly, shaking his head with an uptick of a smile. "Not with you, though." He paused, giving you a teasing wink. "I'll keep that in mind."
The wink had your body flushing with heat, the words I'll keep that in mind burrowing into your lovesick heart and amplifying the buzzing. Your words stumbled on their way out."Th-there's no way he was flirting with me—he's way out of my league."
Bucky stopped in his tracks, turning to face you fully with a deep crease between his eyebrows. The gentle breeze swept a strand of hair over his face, your hand twitching with the need to brush it behind his ear.
His voice dropped low, the teasing tone subduing. "What are you on about? Tell me you know that's not true, doll."
You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable under the intimacy of the dark sky. You shivered, not just from the cooling wind caressing your bare arms. You gave a small shrug in response.
Bucky started to take his jacket off, exposing the black t-shirt that hugged his biceps a little too tight for your sanity. "While I don't believe in the whole people being in different leagues thing, I can confidently say you are so far out of his league you're on a whole nother planet."
"…Are you saying I'm an alien?"
"If the shoe fits," Bucky responded, a fraction of his seriousness easing into a cheeky smile. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the sides of your neck as he fixed the collar—another shiver running down your spine from his faint touch. The warm, rich scent of his cologne and him wrapped around you and dragged you under—the scent that you now associated with home.
Bucky's eyes met yours, the starlit blue swirling with something you couldn't quite decipher. His hands moved from the collar of his jacket to the hem, fingers toying with the rough fabric. "No, what I'm trying to say is that you're—" he licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "Any guy would be lucky to have you, but I don't think anyone is deserving of you."
Your brain short-circuited, the haze of rose coloured glasses starting to fall over your eyes—threatening to distort the Bucky in front of you with the one you stayed up late daydreaming about.
You found a smaller version of your voice. "I…I'm not that special, Buck."
He tugged on the hem, the force pulling the jacket tighter around your shoulders. "No? Then why are you the only person—other than Steve—that I let call me Buck?"
You stared at him, unblinking. You didn't realise other people didn't call him Buck—the nickname just slipped from your lips so naturally after the first month of living with him.
"One of these days, I'm going to make you see yourself how I do."
He leaned in, brushing the faintest of kisses on your forehead—the mere ghost of his lips burning your skin, eliciting a cascade of sparks to run down your body. He stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tilted his head towards the door.
"Let's get back inside before Sam tells everyone about the time he had to save you from a raccoon."
"He had very sinister looking eyes!" You cried indignantly. "And I was really stoned—remind me to never have one of Nat's brownies ever again."
The third moment happened during your bar's weekly quiz night.
The four of them were in their usual booth for the night—the one Sam demanded you reserve for them ever since you mentioned your work had a quiz night on Tuesdays. Nat and Steve were sitting on one side, each nursing a pint of craft beer, with Sam and Bucky sitting opposite them—the latter half hanging out of the booth with his hand raised in a beckoning gesture, shooting you one of those irresistible half smiles that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter.
You rolled your eyes at him, knowing exactly what he wanted—but you couldn't stay away from that smile, even if it was starting to get you in trouble at work.
You walked over to them, pocketing your pen and notepad before stopping next to Bucky, your eyebrows raised and arms folded.
"What do you want now?"
"Can I please place an order for the answer to question five?" Bucky held the quiz sheet up to you, pointing at the blank space next to number five like it was a menu. "Oh, and question eight." His smile evolved into a endearing grin, your heart aching traitorously at the sight.
"No."
The smile dropped a fraction, not expecting you to say no to his charm. "C'mon, you're the one here who knows niche pop culture the best—even Sam is stumped. I know you know the answers."
You nodded, looking at the sheet in his hand before his puppy dog eyes made you crumble. "You're right, I do. I'm not giving them to you, though."
"I thought I was your favourite." His voice dropped like he was genuinely upset, but his twitching cheeks gave away the smile he was suppressing. Sam scoffed next to him, Nat and Steve exchanged a knowing look. You ignored them.
Bucky put the sheet on the table, patting it softly like he was about to make a deal. "How 'bout this—I'll make you dinner for a week." He carefully watched your face, trying to find a crack in your resistance. "Two weeks."
You sighed, dropping your arms to your sides. "Bucky, the prize is only a fifty dollar bar tab."
Bucky shook his head. "It's not about the prize, it's about the glory of winning four weeks in a row." He squinted his eyes, tilting his head in the way you knew meant he was thinking—probably something stupid, too. "Wait—is there another prize for that?"
You scoffed, tempted to hit him with your notepad. "Yeah, you get put on the no entry list."
Nat and Steve snickered at Bucky's clearly offended face, and you bit your lip to hold back your smile—he looked too cute, it was tugging at your heart strings.
"Besides," you continued, "you only won them because you cheated."
He raised his hands in mock defence. "Hey, not my fault the pretty waitress was more than willing."
Sam choked on his beer, spluttering a mouthful onto the table. Your eyebrows skyrocketed, heat rushing to your cheeks and ears at his choice of words.
Bucky's cheeks lit up red and he ran a hand through his hair. "No—wait, I didn't—that wasn't what I meant." He nervously chuckled. "What I meant was that you're more than willing to help—help us…" He trailed off, turning and shooting Steve a look.
Some of the tension left your shoulders, along with some of the hope you always carried that Bucky liked you more than a friend. You cleared your throat, your heart rate struggling to slow down after 'pretty waitress'.
"Maybe I've grown a conscience." You looked slightly to your left, your eyes flicking to your manager standing at the end of the bar, narrowing her eyes at you.
Bucky chuckled softly, his confidence back even with his cheeks still glowing. He crossed his arms on the table, leaning towards you. "Are we gettin' you in trouble, sweetheart?"
"There's no we in this, Barnes. It's all you." Nat interjected, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. He gave her a dismissive wave, his eyes still looking at you expectantly.
"She said if you win one more time then she's going to put me on the bar for quiz nights—something about testing a theory…" You admitted quietly. You watched his blue eyes soften, his previous amusement dissipating.
"Well, we can't have that happening." He said, serious. "I would stop coming to quiz night."
"Yeah, right." Sam muttered into his beer.
"You'd be on the no entry list anyways, Buck." You said to Bucky, your tone lilting jokingly.
He tilted his head, the right side of his mouth twitching, his eyes looking like a sky full of secrets.
"You wouldn't do that to me, doll. You like me too much."
Your stomach dropped at his low voice, his words piercing right into the chamber of your heart he had unknowingly etched his name on. A breath got stuck in your throat, your usual witty banter getting lost in the sea of thoughts that only screamed his name.
Like an angel pulling you from a seizing riptide, your managers voice called out your name—saving you from saying something stupid, something that exposed how you had gone past the boundary of like six months ago, stepping into a dangerous territory that could tear you apart.
"Duty calls," you laughed out breathlessly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder. You turned on your heels and walked away like you were on fire.
Sam's low mutter made its way to you through the hum of soft pop music and chatter. "Get a room already, for fuck's sake."
Your shoe scuffed on the hardwood floor, your feet almost tripping over each other. You caught your balance—narrowly avoiding falling and making a fool of yourself in front of the guy you're hopelessly in love with.
You reached your manager waiting at the end of the bar, overcome with the desire to kiss her in gratitude.
"I need you to cover the bar while Dean has a smoke. He'll be ten minutes, tops."
You nodded your okay, used to covering the bar for your coworkers breaks. "Unless a pretty girl walks past, then he'll be at least thirty."
Your manager hummed in agreement. "Remind me to dock his pay for pulling that shit on Saturday. Boy gets enough tips from his flirting to make up for it."
You exchanged a small laugh, walking around her to go behind the bar. She touched your forearm as you passed, stopping you with a gentle touch.
"Word of advice?" She started, voice a little quieter. "Don't screw the crew."
You stared at her with furrowed brows, confused. "What? I would never sleep with Dean, that's just—ew, who knows how many untreated diseases he has." You visibly shuddered your disgust at the idea of hooking up with your coworker who was always chasing tail.
She nodded her head in the direction you came from. "They're your roommates, right?" You nodded slowly. "Hon, you look at him like you can't decide whether you want to run in the opposite direction or get on your knees."
Heat rose beneath your skin, your body freezing in mortification. You gaped at her, your mouth opening and closing until you pushed out a forced laugh.
"What—you're—that's ridiculous. You should get your eyes checked because that's, like," you laughed nervously, panic starting to burn through your rib cage, "he's like…a brother to me?" You phrased it like a question, your voice rising uncharacteristically high at the end.
She gave you a deadpan look, not buying a lick of your bullshit. Your shoulders dropped in defeat, your teeth starting to tear at your inner cheek.
"Is it…am I really that obvious?"
She sighed, her hand on your arm giving a reassuring squeeze. "I've worked with you long enough to know when someone is making you uncomfortable, when you're seconds away from exploding at a condescending customer, or when you want to jump over the bar and climb a guy like a tree." She paused for a second, pursuing her lips in thought. "Funnily enough, they all looked like him."
She let go of your arm, nodding towards the bar. "Now, stop thinking about fucking your roommate and get to work. I'm pretty sure table seven just ordered six espresso martini's." She gave your ass a friendly swat, pushing you behind the bar and making you throw your head back with a startled laugh.
You grabbed the docket from the POS printer, seeing an order for five espresso martini's and one spicy mango margarita. You walked down to the cocktail section, hands moving on autopilot as you prepared the margarita first.
Your eyes flicked up out of habit, your attention drawing towards the booth your roommates had practically scratched their names into—finding a pair of piercing blue eyes already gazing at you. The tequila bottle in your hand shook.
Don't screw the crew.
The last moment occurred during a typical movie night, where yours and Sam's raised voices warranted a domestic disturbance call from your neighbours.
"Oh my god, we are not watching Top Gun for the third time this month!" You exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing your head back against the couch with a groan.
Sam scoffed from his spot sprawled on his stupidly large beanbag—the one you're fairly certain is a dog bed for a Great Dane. "Oh, like your suggestions are any better? You made us sit through a fucking Twilight marathon a couple weeks ago! That's precious time I'll never get back."
You glared at him. "That's bullshit, Wilson—I didn't make you do anything. You chose to sit in that exact same spot and watch all five movies." A mocking smile twitched your lips. "And, if I remember correctly, you were the one asking me to pause the movie while you went to get more snacks."
Sam shook his head adamantly. "No, what's bullshit is your taste in movies—I only sat through it so you wouldn't feel bad!"
Nat and Steve were cuddled up on the couch perpendicular to you, their eyes darting back and forth between you and Sam like they were watching a tennis match. Bucky was sitting on the other end of the couch you were on, legs spread wide with a soda in one hand—his eyes shooting daggers at Sam.
You let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, really? So you crying when you thought Carlisle was dead was just you not wanting me to feel bad?"
"Yes!" Sam yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. Then he paused, processing what you just said. "Wait, no—there was no crying! I just acted sad for your benefit."
You opened your mouth to refute his statement when a deep, husky voice rumbled out from next to you.
"Sam," Bucky started, tone low and final, "stop lying, I saw you wiping your eyes." He continued glaring at Sam, his shoulders more tense than they were a minute ago. "Apologise to her so we can move on."
Sam looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Apologise? What the fuck do I have to apologise for?"
Bucky nodded towards you, darkened blue eyes still narrowed at Sam menacingly. "You said her taste in movies was bullshit. Apologise."
You were suddenly speechless—not sure how your usual movie night bickering with Sam led to Bucky being so…commanding. Protective.
You looked over to the other couch, catching Nat's eye—her mouth overtaken by a knowing smile. Your eyes darted to Steve next to her, his cheeks tinted pink and eyes squinted as he looked at his best friend—a sly smile partially hidden by the can he brought to his lips.
Sam shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, grabbing the TV remote off the coffee table.
Bucky reached out a long leg, giving Sam's beanbag a firm kick. "Now."
"Jesus," Sam dragged out, "chill out, man." He turned to you with a sigh, brown eyes glinting as he gave you his best puppy dog expression. "I am truly sorry for calling your movie taste bullshit. I will gladly sit through ten Twilight marathons if that's what you want."
He turned to Bucky with a smug grin. "There, I apologised to your girl. You happy now?"
A breath hitched in your throat, your brain freezing and going offline.
Your girl.
Said so easily, so naturally. Like it was a fact and not a mocking taunt.
Goosebumps prickled across your skin, a pleased shiver running through you at the thought of being Bucky's girl.
Bucky glared at Sam, the apples of his cheeks dusting pink. "Very." He said before leaning forward and snatching the remote out of Sam's hand. He turned to you, cheeks still flushed but eyes considerably softer. "What do you want to watch, doll?"
"…Shrek 2."
Groans erupted from three of your roommates, the fourth keeping his eyes on you while he shook his head with a fond laugh—the one that showed his pearlescent teeth and crinkled his eyes. The one that was your damnation, sentencing you to a life of yearning and false hope.
"It's the soundtrack, right?"
You nodded eagerly, a bright smile making your cheeks ache. "I knew you would get me, Buck."
You faintly heard a fake gagging sound come from the nuisance being swallowed by a beanbag, but you couldn't care less. Not when Bucky was looking at you like you were an astronomical phenomenon.
Condensation beaded glasses stained the wooden tabletop, chewed paper straws slowly disintegrating in melted ice. A half eaten bowl of fries grew stale in the middle of the table—your manager's attempt to get some food in her staff while they abused the (prepaid) leftover function alcohol, yourself included. The disco ball was still spinning, sending a thousand shards of light dancing throughout the empty bar, while an ABBA track murmured softly beneath laughter and gossip.
"I'm telling you," Dean said, spreading his arms over the back of the booth, "the ladies can't get enough of me."
The booth packed full of your coworkers vibrated with long groans, someone to your left loudly booing and your manager threatening to throw her gin and tonic in his face. You shoved his arm off the seat behind you, earning yourself a pinch to your cheek as his arm retreated.
"I'm serious!" Dean continued, pulling his phone out of his jean's pocket. "One of them even left a review about me last week—hold up, I'll get it." He squinted against the glowing light from his screen, bringing up the bar's google page to show everyone.
"Here it is—last Saturday: bartender was cute, would drink here again. Five stars." He leaned back in the booth with a smug smile, barely reacting when your manager ripped his phone out of his hand.
"Did you see who left the review, dingus?" She asked him, her mocking smirk overpowering his. "I don't know about you, but I don't know any ladies who go by the name James." She waved the phone in his face before going back to reading the review.
Dean recovered quickly, holding his hands up with a shrug. "I'm not opposed to having male admirers—they're some of my biggest tips."
You snorted a laugh. "Oh, I bet they are."
The table dissolved into laughter around you, the liquor and line cook's joint lowering everyone's inhibitions.
Your manager looked up from the phone at you, her eyes lighting up. "Weren't you also working on the bar last Saturday?"
You took a sip of your drink, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I think so? Was that the night we had two bachelorette parties come in?"
"Yeah, we ran out of cold brew because of them." Dean said. "I set a new record for how many numbers I could get in one night."
You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore him like everyone else at the table. "Yeah, I was definitely on the bar—my arms are still aching from shaking espresso martini's all night."
Your manager leaned forward, her glassy eyes glinting at you teasingly. "I think this review is about you," she said in a sing-song tone.
You couldn't help but feel a little giddy at someone leaving you a review calling you cute, even if they were most likely stumbling drunk.
Allie—your fellow waitress who was sitting on the other side of Dean—grabbed the phone and read the review herself, scrolling on the screen with her eyes growing wider until a delighted gasp left her.
She looked at you with a beaming smile. "This James guy has been leaving reviews about you for months."
"What?"
She nodded eagerly, a small squeal leaving her. "This is so good, nothing this exciting ever happens here!" She was almost bouncing in her seat as she looked back at the phone, her excitement shaking the booth. "Okay, this one is from Valentines Day: waitress's frown is cute, I still should've bought her flowers." She fell back against the booth seat, clutching the phone to her chest with a dreamy sigh.
Your heart stuttered, the tipsy fog in your head clouding further. "That's—it doesn't say my name…" you trailed off with a nervous laugh. "It could be about any of the waitresses."
Your manager snorted. "We called you sourpuss the whole shift, you wouldn't stop frowning."
Before you could start your rant about how Valentine's Day is just another highly commercialised holiday and people shouldn't need a specific day of the year to celebrate love, Allie started reading out another review.
"This one is from four months ago: come to this bar if you want to see a real-life angel."
Dean groaned, "that's so fucking cheesy." He turned to look at you, "I hope you're not falling for this shit."
"We don't even know if it's about me!"
"I think it's cute," the new waitress piped in from the other end of the booth. "You've got a secret admirer."
"More like a stalker." One of the line cooks mumbled.
"Oh," Allie gasped, "this man has it bad. These are borderline love confessions." She reached past Dean, handing you his phone with the review page still open.
You hesitantly grabbed the phone from her, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. There's no way some guy was leaving these reviews about you…right? That just seems insane, like something out of a romcom. Or something that will end with a restraining order and you moving states away.
The phone faintly trembled in your unsteady hands, your eyes narrowing against the screen's bright glare.
James B.
★★★★★ a month ago
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
Oh.
That's maybe the most romantic thing anyone has ever said about you.
You don't know if it's about you.
You exhaled shakily, shrugging nonchalantly as you handed the phone back to Dean. "He could be talking about any of the waitresses." You repeated your earlier statement. And then for good measure—"It's hardly a compliment—wars are started over literally anything."
Allie looked at you with wide eyes, bringing her hands up and shaking them in a strangling motion.
"Do you know anyone called James?" Your manager probed, clearly invested.
"No." You answered, ignoring the dull, tingling sensation at the back of your head. "No one significant."
"Well, even if he does turn out to be a stalker, at least he boosted our ratings."
Over the next few weeks, your coworkers had made it their personal mission to find out the identity of James B. Your manager had the brilliant idea to set up a weekly bar tab giveaway—for people to be in the draw they just needed to put their business card in a jar on the bar. What your customers didn't know was that every Friday after close, Allie and Dean were emptying the jar not to find a lucky winner but to look for any cards with the name James B.
It turned out there were a few more James B.'s than they were expecting, and there were no other parameters to narrow down their search. And much to their chagrin, you didn't recognise any of their names.
"Wait!" Dean exclaimed, holding a finger in the air. "Why don't we just reply to one of his reviews?"
"Oh," Allie said, leaning forward in her chair, "that's actually kind of smart. Maybe we could say we have a thank you gift for our number one fan?"
"Or we could just ask who he is."
Something about that made you uneasy.
After the night you all first discovered the reviews, Allie had drawn up a timeline of them which revealed this James guy had been leaving reviews for a year. And while they never mentioned your name, everyone knew they were about you—but you didn't want to believe that; it felt absolutely insane.
Majority of the reviews were brief and mundane, similar to the first one Dean saw. But a few of them…they read like poetry, like the pages out of someone's journal. They mentioned your smile, how your laugh could cure any ailment, that being in your presence was like witnessing a supernova.
It was beautiful and terrifying.
And every day it was looking more like a stalker than someone you knew—you didn't want to give him attention in fear that it could evolve from something harmless to dangerous.
"Already tried that," your manager sighed next to you. "He didn't reply."
Something in the atmosphere felt off when you shouldered the brownstone's front door open with a heavy sigh. It was well past midnight on a Saturday, and the soft murmuring you would usually hear coming from the lounge—Sam had a habit of passing out in front of the TV on Saturday night's—was nonexistent. You didn't think much of it, your mind single-focused on needing a scolding hot shower to wash away the ten hour bar shift.
Your work uniform was drenched and sticking to you uncomfortably, a crust of sugary cocktails and beer lining your skin. It had been one disaster after another—the beer keg soaking you as you tried to tap it, the cocktail shaker exploding in your hands, the new waitress who failed to call out "behind" and you ended up covered in a customers chili cheese fries.
You welcomed the boiling water, scrubbing your skin until it was red and raw. Visible steam swirled from your body even after you retreated into your room, and only then did some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Your fatigue ran bone deep—it felt like you were dragging your feet through mud as you slowly started your nighttime routine.
A noise cut through the eerily silent night, soft and faint, but an unmistakable echo from the room next to yours. It made you pause, your eyebrows drawing together. Then more noise followed, three breathy high pitched moans that the wall separating your rooms failed to drown out. A hot realisation curdled your stomach, rising through your body until it settled in your chest and throat—a tight, unrelenting fist clenching and making it harder to breathe.
Bucky had company.
Your ears zeroed in on the noises against your wishes. The last thing you wanted was to hear the guy you had a debilitating crush on fuck someone else. And yet, you stood frozen—your towel still wrapped around you, water dripping onto the floor, heart trying to beat out of your chest. Your nervous system had entered fight or flight mode, triggered by the sounds of another woman's pleasure.
Sweat started to line your back, your hands trembling where they were clutching the towel, chest stuttering as your breaths turned sharp and quick.
The moans grew in volume and soft thuds reverberated against the wall—then, a faint low murmuring graced your ears. A deep voice you would recognise anywhere, that you had heard through the wall plenty of times during your one year living there.
You snapped out of your shock, ripping open your work bag to find your headphones. Your phone shook in your hands as you searched for 'calming' playlists, your thumb jabbing violently at the first result. You turned the volume up loud enough to vibrate your eardrums, but the damage was already done.
You paced the length of your room, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to calm down—to will your racing heartbeat to slow, to tamp down the spiralling thoughts that made you feel like you were drowning.
You got ready for bed in a blur, trying to stay as quiet as possible with your heart beating wildly in your throat. The exhaustion that had your bones aching after your shift was lingering, but had been overwhelmed by the adrenaline surging through your veins. You laid in your bed, trying to concentrate on your breathing.
Inhale. One, two, three, four.
Hold. One, two—
It didn't sound like she was faking it.
The breath rushed out of you quickly.
You squeezed your eyes shut tight, clenching your fists and trying to focus on the sensation.
Inhale. One, two, three—
Bucky's bed is pressed up against your shared wall.
You grabbed the pillow next to you and pressed it against your face, something between a pained whimper and frustrated groan leaving your throat.
Did he like to talk? Was he whispering dirty things in her ear, telling her how good she felt, how much he wanted her? Did she get to hear him moan and whimper?
The music in your ears had become irritating, overstimulating you even more. But there was no way in hell you were taking your headphones off—your heart was already broken enough.
Did he call her sweetheart, too?
You slept for two hours, maybe three if you were being generous. The exhaustion won out against the anxiety around two am, only for you to jerk awake two hours later when the same noises echoed through the wall. At some point in the night your headphones had slipped off and you were defenceless against the noises your body had already filed as a threat.
Your nervous system reacted as if you were being hunted down by a lion, not overhearing your roommate-slash-crush have sex. It was a horrible way to wake up—your body pumping full of adrenaline and cortisol before you even took a deep breath.
The headphones went back on a second too late—leaving a scratched record of giggles looping through your head that the music couldn't drown out. One giggle that you knew well, that had you beaming with pride whenever you coaxed it out of him.
A silent tear slid down towards your ear, disappearing into your hairline as you stared at the ceiling.
Hours passed before it felt safe for you take the headphones off, and even then anxiety gripped your chest whenever you thought about leaving your room. Everything that had once felt safe, had once felt like your solace, now felt like a prison.
You knew you were being dramatic, knew that your jealousy and hurt was unreasonable. Bucky wasn't yours, he would never be yours—you knew that, you'd always known that. But that's the thing with crushes—they are irrational, uncontrollable beasts that mistake kindness for attraction, that disguise inevitable heartbreak as fluttering butterflies.
Opening your bedroom door slowly, you saw the flash of a towel dart into Bucky's room—two faint sets of giggles sounding behind the closed door, slicing into your aching heart. Heat burst behind your eyes and you willed the tears to stay at bay—at least until the shower could drown out your sobs.
You sat on the floor of the shower, staring at the wall while hot water rained down on you, each drop feeling like a knife piercing your skin. You sat there, unblinking, as your vision blurred—the water washing away your endless tears. You sat there as the shower stream changed from a burning fire to an icy bite, your body shivering but unmoving.
Nat's banging on the door about rising water prices snapped you out of your dissociative daze.
"Bucky! Oh, fuck—don't stop, please—"
"Yeah? You like that?"
"Yes—god, so much!"
"You feel so good, baby."
Thump, thump, thump.
You had taken your headphones off for half a minute while getting changed. All it took was thirty seconds for tears to swell in your eyes and a silent scream to claw at your throat.
It had been four weeks since you first heard them. Four weeks of knowing your crush was fucking someone else less than three metres from your bed. Four weeks of debilitating anxiety and heartache consuming you until there was nothing left to take.
You knew their routine; she came over every Wednesday and Saturday, always after ten pm. Depending on your roster for the week, sometimes you were home when she came over—subjected to hearing Bucky's low baritone greet her at the door, their footsteps padding down the hall past your room, the soft click of his door closing and the giggles that followed.
You fucking hated giggles.
By the end of the second week, you had put in a request to work the closing shift every Wednesday and Saturday. The tightness in your chest and churning in your stomach never faded, but you took some comfort in knowing you would only be in the same house as her for a few hours. You hadn't met her—you didn't even know her name—but you were envious of a faceless woman, a voice you heard in the dark, because she had the one thing you wanted but could never have.
No one brought her up—there were no casual chats between the boys, no probing questions from Nat. Apart from the first time, she was out of the house by six am—narrowly avoiding Sam and Steve leaving for their morning run. You weren't even sure they knew she existed—not until Nat gave you a sympathetic smile over a glass of wine, confirming that they did in fact know without uttering a word.
The usual nights the five of you spent together continued as normal. Or, at least as normal as you could manage. The space between you and Bucky grew—he stopped trying to charm quiz answers out of you, and you hugged the arm of the couch like it was a life preserver during movie night. The soft conversations over morning coffee ceased to exist, the nights of you two reading together in the lounge just a hazy memory.
The distance made your heart yearn for him while his proximity made your nervous system overload. It was a push and pull that sucked the life out of you, exhausting you until you were a shell of who you used to be.
When Sam asked you what your first heartbreak was you instantly thought of Liam Turner from the sixth grade. He was the classic class clown that both charmed and annoyed all the girls in your grade. He sat next to you during History and English, always pestering you for help and trying to make you his partner in crime. You did what any smitten eleven year old girl would do—you handed him a note. It was simple, you didn't even write your name—just "do you like me" with tick boxes for yes and no. You handed it to him before recess and watched with bated breath as he ran to his group of friends, watched as all of them turned to you and fell into hysterics. You crashed into your mom's arms once you got home from school, sobs wracking your body as you felt like you were going to die from the crushing sensation in your chest.
What you felt that day wasn't even a drop in the agony that consumed you when you walked into the lounge for movie night.
"You're late!" Nat yelled, her voice travelling down the hall as you rushed through the front door.
"I know, I know," you yelled back, heading for your room and changing out of your work clothes in record time. You made your way towards the lounge once in comfy clothes. "The health inspector would not stop asking me questions, no matter how many times I told him I'm not the—"
Your feet and words came to a halt once you reached the doorway to the lounge, your heart dropping to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.
Because there she was—sitting in your usual spot with her feet resting on Bucky's lap, one of his hands engulfing her ankles.
She was beautiful. And the complete opposite to you in every way possible. From the texture and colour of her hair to the shape of her body. From the clothing and jewellery she wore to the colour of her eyes.
The two of you weren't even comparable—you were from completely different planets, different universes.
It hit like a sucker punch. You weren't his type, not even close.
You're a fucking fool.
She smiled brightly at you, the white of her teeth glaring. You faintly heard her great you through the ringing in your ears, offering you her name. You managed a meek hi in response, dragging your wide eyes away from her over to the other couch.
Big mistake.
Nat and Steve were already looking at you with pity in their eyes, a silent "are you okay?" written all over their faces. Nat scooted closer to Steve, tilting her head towards the small open spot next to her on the couch. You knew the second you sat next to them that her comforting presence would wrap around you and tear away the last of your fraying composure. So, you did something you had never done before.
"Move it, bird brain." You muttered to Sam, squatting down next to his beanbag and shoving his shoulder to make room for you.
"You ever tried not being bossy?" He grumbled in reply, shuffling to the right so you could collapse down next to him.
Normally you would respond with something just as snarky. But that required mental energy that you did not possess—energy that was being drained with each passing second she sat behind you.
You settled into the beanbag, the rustling of polystyrene beads filling the quiet room. You tried to take calming breaths as subtly as possible, the blood from your broken heart clogging your throat and lungs.
You hummed, keeping your eyes glued to the TV screen as Steve navigated through the streaming app.
Sam stiffened next to you, turning to you with a peculiar look on his face. "What? You got nothing to say to that?"
You sighed. "Every white guy's number one film on letterboxd. Try being less predictable next time, Rogers." You said in a flat monotone.
A deep, breathy chuckle sounded behind you, and it took all of your diminishing willpower to not turn and get a glimpse of the soft smile that haunted your dreams.
You tried your best to focus on the movie, you really did. You tried to focus on the press of Sam's shoulder against yours, something tangible to keep you grounded. But nothing could distract you from the soft murmuring behind you, the sound of her giggles as Bucky provided commentary throughout the movie. It was something that you normally didn't mind, something you indulged in, even. Not tonight. Thirty minutes into the movie, your eye had developed a constant twitch from suppressing the urge to turn around and tell them to shut the fuck up.
At one point Sam's hand had fallen over both of yours, stopping you from picking at your bleeding hangnails. You didn't even notice the sting from the exposed wounds—too preoccupied with gnawing on the inside of your cheeks.
You walked into your shift the next day with another request.
You clocked into your shift on Tuesday afternoon with a sinking pit in your stomach. A feeling that you had become accustomed to over the last couple months, a feeling that had you walking the scenic route home at night, delaying your arrival. It was the feeling that you had started associating with home, along with the ache in your chest.
You loved quiz night—you loved seeing what stupid team names people came up with, loved judging them when they got such an obvious answer wrong. Once upon a time, you had loved seeing Bucky's handsome face sitting in your section, waving you over with an up to no good smile stretching his lips. Now, it all felt like a taunt.
Nothing was out of the ordinary—the opening shift said it had been quiet as usual, there had been a couple bookings from newcomers for quiz night, and the tabby cat that wandered the block came in to say hi.
And then, she walked in. Strolling in behind Nat and Steve, her arm looped through one of Bucky's, flashing you a kind smile as they made their way to their usual booth. In your section.
You wanted to scream. Cry. Jump into the East River.
The bar had become your safe place—which honestly sounded crazy, you hated half of the customers. But your home hadn't felt like your home since she walked through the door. And now she was in the one place that hadn't been tarnished.
She was nice, you knew she was. But she was a constant reminder that your heart belonged to a man who never looked at you twice.
You rushed over to Allie who was standing at the bar waiting for Dean to finish garnishing cocktails.
"I need you to swap sections with me—please." You said in a frantic breath.
She turned to you, her face already telling you her answer. "Hell no! I've got two tables of big tipper's—I am not giving that away."
Dean leaned his elbows on the bar. "I'll swap with you."
Your head whipped to him at a comical speed, your wide eyes meeting his unbothered grin. "…But you hate working the floor."
He nodded towards one of your tables—one of the newcomer bookings, a booth full of girls in their early twenties. A few of them were already looking over at your trio—more specifically, looking at Dean. You turned back in time to see him flash them a wink.
Your chest deflated with a relieved breath. "This is the only time I am ever going to be grateful for you being such a dog."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't." You and Allie said at the same time, matching deadpan expressions on your faces.
Allie turned to you, squinting suspiciously. "Why do you want to swap?"
You shrugged, looking at her forehead to avoid eye contact. "Just felt like a change."
"You said please—pretty desperately, too. It was kinda hot." Dean piped in.
You glared at him, choosing not to acknowledge his comment. You turned back to Allie looking at you expectantly. "Variety is the spice of life?"
She hummed disbelievingly. "Mhm, sure. We'll talk later."
Working the bar brought you no reprieve; every time you walked to the cocktail station, they were in your direct eyeline. Every time you poured a cosmo, shook a lemon drop, garnished a mojito, you could hear them laughing. You watched how she fit in like the missing puzzle piece, her body slotting perfectly under Bucky's arm—like that's where she belonged. You watched your roommates welcome her in with open arms and crying laughter, the realisation hitting you that she replaced the temporary hole your absence had opened.
Your knees were shaking while you closed up the bar, your hands scrubbing the beer grates with an urgency that was cause for concern.
"Hey, hey, woah that's—" Dean came up next to you, his hands gently clasping your wrists. "That's enough," he said, uncharacteristically gentle, "your hands are bleeding." He brought your hands up, your unfocused eyes seeing spots of red raised on your knuckles.
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. What's up with you today?"
Dean led you away from the bar, grabbing a first aid kit on your way over to where your manager and Allie were sitting, working through the next week's orders. He pushed you into a chair, stepping back with an awkward pat to your head.
"I'm sensing that this is a girl talk so I'm just gonna finish closing the bar."
The two women turned to you with concern painting their faces. Allie glanced down at your hands and opened the first aid kit, pulling out supplies to treat the cuts. Neither of them spoke while she tended to your hands, watching your face closely.
"These aren't too bad, just scrapes." She said softly, packing the kit back up and sitting it out of the way. She clasped your hands lightly, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hands. "What's going on, sweetie?"
You looked up from where you had been staring at the table, seeing her eyes and your manager's shining with worry. A silent tear slipped from your eye, leaving a damp path in it's wake.
"Whose kneecaps are we busting?" Your manager demanded.
That broke you.
Your shoulders started shaking, your throat closing in on itself in the form of a sob. Your heart escaped from your chest cavity, rising up like bile. Your vision was completely blurred, hot tears taking your eyes hostage. You caved in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your body as your frame trembled like a leaf.
You couldn't even feel embarrassed about bawling like a baby in front of your coworkers, the pain you had been sheltering for months overruling any other emotion. Allie wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her warmth and making you cry harder. Your manager placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her thumb rubbing calming patterns as they both whispered words of comfort to you.
You gasped for breath, trying to get some air past the ball in your throat. "I-It's so—" your words broke with a hiccup, "it's so fucking stupid." You rushed out. "We were never—ugh!" You wiped at your cheeks furiously, willing the tears to stop. You gulped down a deep breath, trying to focus on the comforting touches and not the agony vibrating every cell in your body.
"We were never anything. God, I'm sobbing over a guy that—he was only being nice, and I made it into something it wasn't." You garbled out, the brine of tears lining your lips.
You opened up to them, telling them about how deeply you fell for Bucky in between sobs. How you felt like a goddamn fool, your lovesick heart reading into things and mistaking your strictly platonic relationship as something else entirely. You told them how you hate going home most nights, finding it harder to breathe the closer you got to the brownstone. You admitted to them that it's not just jealousy over him with another girl, it's something deeper—the fear that you've been replaced, that he doesn't need you anymore.
"…my sleep is fucked, I'm on high alert every second I'm home—I don't feel safe in my own home. Which—I know, it sounds so fucking dramatic. But it's like she's seeped into every crack, changing the foundations I built over a year ago. Now she's turning up here—on fucking quiz night, my night—and I just can't escape." You finished with a deep breath, feeling drained from your emotional monologue.
Allie, who had kept her arms wrapped around you throughout your rambling, lifted her head and looked at you with a mix of understanding and sympathy. "That's why you wanted to swap sections, because she was here." You nodded meekly.
She sighed and sat back in her chair. "Give me a couple days to clear out my spare room. You need it more than I need a second closet."
Before you could start sobbing over her offer a muscular arm reached in front of you, depositing a vodka cranberry onto the table.
Dean's voice rumbled behind you. "If it makes you feel any better, I've wanted to sleep with you since my first shift."
"Dean," both women next to you hissed. You turned to look at him, catching that easy-going smile of his and you started laughing—the first genuine one in weeks.
Thursday 6:18pm
Nat: Hey, you working late tonight? The boys are getting restless, Sam is threatening to watch Top Gun if you're not home in 10…
You: shit i forgot to tell you i'm working thursday nights now! sam can watch whatever mediocre garbage he wants :-)
Nat: We can change movie night to another night! Maybe Sunday? Whatever works for you x
You: don't worry about it, thursdays work for everyone else!
Nat: Is everything ok? I feel like I hardly see you anymore :(
You: aw i'm sorry natty :-( just been picking more shifts up at work - boss has me training the newbies! promise we'll have a wine night soon xx
"I'm moving out."
It was the Sunday after that fateful quiz night, the sun beating down on your four roommates as they laid out in the backyard. Sam was going on about some barbeque he had been invited to—telling the other three that if they behaved he would let them join him. Nat's head was resting on Steve's chest, half asleep while he massaged her scalp. Bucky was lying with a hand behind his head, shirtless, and reading his well-loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring.
Allie had sent you a photo of her spare room an hour before, a bottle of Tito's sitting on the floor the only thing in the empty room. You couldn't put off telling your roommates any longer, knowing that once you moved out you would start feeling like a human again. You stood in the doorway, arms tight across your body—fearing for their reactions.
Sam stopped talking abruptly, Nat jolted awake and sat up from Steve's chest, Bucky slowly lowered his book to his chest. Nat was the first to speak.
"What?" She asked softly.
You started to shuffle your feet, looking around the backyard—at the fairy lights that flickered like dying stars, the small veggie patch Steve cared for like it was his child—avoiding eye contact with them. "You remember Allie from the bar? We've gotten really close these past few months and she was looking for a roommate—kinda felt like a no-brainer, y'know?"
You finally looked at them, your heart beat rattling your jaw. Sam looked speechless, his face frozen in confusion. Nat was looking at you with that assessing gaze, her eyes squinting like she knew something else was going on. Steve nodded his head solemnly, his features pulled into a frown that looked out of place on him. Bucky had abandoned his book completely, sitting upright with his pretty lips downturned, his sunglasses hiding whatever emotions swam in his cerulean depths.
"I can sort out getting the room filled—can probably pay double rent if necessary—"
"I'll handle it." Bucky cut you off, his tone gruff and curt.
You wrung your hands together, hating being under the spotlight of your roommate's attention. "Are you sure? It's a bit late notice so it might be hard to—"
That same curtness cut you off again,"I said I'll handle it, didn't I?"
He probably wanted his girlfriend to move in.
Your three other roommates momentarily directed their bewildered stares to him, just as surprised as you at his bluntness. Just like Steve frowning, this was out of character for him. You could feel his eyes glaring holes into you through his sunglasses.
Nat shook her head at his attitude, turning her attention back to you. "I didn't know you wanted to move out."
Okay, time for the lies—just like you practiced in the mirror.
"It's not about wanting to move out," you started softly, "it's just something that naturally unfolded. Her landlord upped her rent last month and she can't afford it on her own anymore." Steve and Sam nodded along, while Nat was looking at you with that unwavering stare. You didn't even want to glance at Bucky. "She jokingly asked me over drinks a couple weeks ago if I was looking and after thinking on it, I think it's the best choice for me. It's closer to work, cheaper than what I currently pay and, as I said, we've become really good friends."
Nat continued squinting her eyes at you, watching as you fidgeted with your fingers—your tell that you would rather be anywhere else.
"Okay," she acquiesced. "When are you moving? We'll throw a little goodbye party."
"Great idea," Sam mumbled.
"Sometime in the next week." Everyone's eyebrows shot up at that. "And that's not necessary—I'd prefer it if you didn't do anything; it's not like I'm leaving the city, I'll only be a few blocks away."
Steve recovered from the brief shock at how soon you were leaving them. "Let us know what day and time, we'll help you move your stuff."
"I appreciate the help, really I do, but my coworkers have already offered—we have Dean to do all the heavy lifting."
That made Bucky stir, standing up with a scoff and arms folded across his chest. "Did you think about us at all? Sounds like you can't wait to get away from here."
You froze, the ice running through your veins equal to the frost in his tone. "That's not—I didn't want to bother you—"
"How can you think you bother us after all this time?" He asked, the frost melting into water—revealing something that trembled close to desperation.
"Bucky," Nat warned.
"I just don't understand," He snapped, shaking his head and walking towards where you were stuck in the doorway. He paused in front of you, his sun slicked chest making your heart gallop. You kept your eyes on his chin—locking on the clef still visible through heavy stubble, resisting the desire to glance at his naked chest, or worse, look into his eyes. "Mind letting me through?" He muttered lowly, his frame now blocking you from the sun. You ducked your head, pressing your back to the doorframe to give him space.
"Buck—"
"Not now, Steve." He bit out, your body absorbing the heat radiating from him as he brushed past you. You stood still, head tilted to the floor until you heard his door slam closed.
"Well, that was…" Steve started, his uneasy chuckle filling the heavy atmosphere.
The shock of his attitude left you dazed. You expected some blow back from Nat—she could read you like her favourite book, knowing the emotions you held within yourself better than you did. You expected—hoped, really—that they might be a little down about your departure, but Bucky acting like this wasn't even in your realm of possibility.
"What was that about?" You muttered to yourself.
Sam stood up with a huff, grabbing a beer from the cooler near the table. "Fucking idiots, the pair of you."
You timed the move for the following Wednesday, not wanting to risk another night of hearing what you had labelled your own personal torture. You had been working nights since Sunday, avoiding any interactions with your roommates. The vibe in the brownstone felt off, the air tasting stale even when you were the only one home. Nat had been texting you for updates, apologising for Bucky's strange behaviour, and assuring you your friendship with her wouldn't slip away after you were gone. Sam continued to send you memes—he had an affinity for the gradient instagram reels—and Steve saved you the best strawberries from his garden, hiding them in the fridge for you.
Bucky was radio silent.
Tuesday 5:36pm
Nat: Just spoke to Allie - apparently you're not working quiz night anymore?? What's going on?
You: we thought the new waitress should work it for a bit! good experience :-)
Nat: You should come join us then! We would be unstoppable with you on our team xx
You: maybe another time? don't want the other teams to think you have an unfair advantage lol
Nat: Fuck what they think. We miss you! Movie night was not the same without you last week :(
A month passed before you saw Bucky again.
You had been texting Nat on and off, feeling an awful reluctance to seeing her. It had nothing to do with Nat and everything to do with you continuing to avoid the problem—your feelings. Because you still thought about him, religiously so. You hated yourself for it—hated your brain conjuring up scenarios of him and her, replaying the happiness that glowed on his face the couple of times you saw them together.
Your sleep had improved, at least. There was no anxiety constricting your chest when you walked home, no fear for what you might hear through the walls. Allie encouraged you to cry it out on the bathroom floor, over tubs of ice cream on the couch. While it was horrible to address and to actually feel the heartbreak instead of intellectualising it, you had to admit you did feel lighter. It was a weight off your chest for someone else to know your secret, to let you speak about the pain and not forcing you to move on.
Your manager was quick to approve your request to work the day shifts—asking if you wanted to get your managers license, to be her dependable day shift manager. You were elated to have something else to focus on, and the pay rise wasn't bad either. Working the days also meant you weren't there in case your old roommate's called in for a drink on their way home from work.
But you knew your luck was going to run out some day soon.
It was on a quintessential late summer evening—the kind where the sun was low enough to shine through the tree canopy, casting the ground in a scene of dancing light and shadows. Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you ambled through Prospect Park, listening to the harmony of kids laughter, dogs barking, and a busker playing guitar. Walking through the park lengthened your journey home by twenty minutes, but on a day like this it was hard to resist.
You heard him before you saw him, too lost in appreciating the world around you to notice him strolling towards you on his trek home. He called out your name softly, hesitantly. And you would recognise that husky baritone even if you were locked in a soundproof pool drowning underwater.
Your gaze ripped away from watching a pair of swans glide along the shimmering lake, your heart jumping into your throat as you saw Bucky a few metres in front of you. He was wearing his gym clothes, the black compression top clinging to his chest with light patches of sweat. His hair was tied back in a small bun, a few strands stuck to his dewy forehead and your fingers twitched to brush them back. Soft sapphire eyes roamed the valleys of your face, his shoulders dropping with an almost relieved sigh.
You hated how your body heated under his watchful gaze in an instant—hated that he still had control over you and he didn't even know it.
"Hey," he said quietly, a small smile tugging his lips. He hesitated for a moment, doubt flickering across his face before he shook his head and stepped closer, lifting an arm and placing his hand between your shoulder blades to pull you into his embrace.
A startled gasp escaped you at the contact, blood pulsing in your ears as his warmth enveloped you. His other arm wrapped around your waist, his hand resting on the small of your back to pull you in closer. Your traitorous body relaxed in his hold, the heady scent of sandalwood, spice, and his sweat clouding your mind.
Fuck him for always smelling so irresistible.
"Hi." You murmured, muffled by his shirt. You kept your arms at your sides, knowing that if you felt his body beneath your hands you would backtrack all the progress you had made over the past month. You could already feel yourself slipping—comparing being in his arms again to lying in front of the fireplace while rain pelted the windows and thunder clapped outside. The feeling of being warm and safe despite a raging storm.
He rested his chin on your head, his chest expanding underneath your cheek as he inhaled deeply. The hand between your shoulders flexed, pushing you further into him. His chest rumbled below you and you felt his words more than heard them. "Missed you."
You stepped back quickly, stumbling out of his embrace. His brows pinched together and his lips turned down with a frown. He took a small step back and cleared his throat, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"I—uh—how, how have you been?"
You folded your arms across you chest, focusing on the light freckle on his neck. "I've been okay."
"That's good, great. I—we've missed you." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and his voice dropped lower, softer . "Place isn't the same without you."
You had to leave before you did something foolish—before you dropped to your knees and pleaded for an ounce of his affection.
You cleared your throat, trying to rid the sudden emotion clogging it. "How have you been? How's the new roommate?"
Bucky's eyes flicked away from you, a hand leaving his pocket to rub the back of his neck. "Fine—they're fine." Splotches of red coloured his cheeks. "They don't compare to you, though."
What the fuck did that mean?
"Um—okay, well, that's good? I should—"
"Listen," Bucky interrupted you before you could flee from the increasingly awkward encounter. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the gravel lining the earth. "I—I want to apologise for my behaviour, when you told us you were leaving." He looked up at you, remorse and distress bleeding from him so viscerally you could almost grab it. "I was in shock, I think—it doesn't really matter, I'm not trying to excuse it. I just wanted you to know that I really am sorry and you didn't deserve that." He closed the distance between you more, hands raising towards you before they dropped to his sides. "I—um, I would hate for that to be the reason you haven't come 'round—if you felt uncomfortable because of me."
It was resting on the tip of your tongue, the truth. It was begging to spill out, to tell Bucky that you were uncomfortable because of him but not for the reason he believed. You could handle a little attitude—what you couldn't handle was hearing the guy you're in love with treat another woman the way you had fantasised about since the day you met him.
Grateful for the fact you had been getting enough sleep to keep a grasp on your filter, you accepted his olive branch instead of starting a confessional. "Thank you, Bucky." You looked into his eyes, trying to express your sincereness. "I appreciate it, really."
Hope flared bright across his face. "So, wanna join us next Thursday? Your pick—I'll tell Sam to keep his comments to himself."
Guilt curdled your gut. "Thank you for the offer, but I can't make it, sorry. I already have plans."
If sitting in front of the TV watching New Girl and doomscrolling on your phone constituted as plans.
And just like that, the flame was extinguished. "Oh."
You interrupted before he could say more. "It was good seeing you, Bucky, but I have to get going." You stepped around him to continue home, giving him a small wave goodbye before focusing forward—walking brisker than the tranquil evening called for, your shoulders too tense for the serene landscape.
"Bye," he murmured, the sound drifting towards you with the light breeze.
You kept your head straight forward the rest of the walk home.
You expected the text from Nat the next day, knowing that Bucky would've told your former roommates that he ran into you. She demanded you meet for brunch at your earliest convenience, and given that it was Saturday and you had no plans you couldn't deny her any longer.
You were sitting on the couch putting on your shoes when Allie burst through the front door, her hands full of bags from the morning market and mouth stuffed with cake from the pâtisserie around the corner.
"Oh my god," you heard her mumble around frosting and sponge. "Guess what I just found out."
"Apparently not what decent manners are. Swallow before you talk."
A mop of floppy blonde hair appeared in your doorway. "That's what he said."
You rolled your eyes as Dean sauntered in with a wolfish grin, closing the door behind him. "What the hell are you doing here?" You shot wide eyes at Allie, wordlessly demanding an explanation.
She took your advice and swallowed before speaking again. "I ran into him at the market—he has an update on James B!"
A mix of anticipation and dread made your morning coffee stir. "I thought he stopped leaving reviews?"
Dean collapsed next to you, eyeing the dress you were wearing with approval. "You dress up for me, angel?"
You shoved his shoulder. "Not in a million years. What's the update, dumbass?"
He pulled his phone out with a sigh. "He left a review last night—don't look at me like that, I set up notifications for this very reason." He tapped on his phone before handing it to you, the screen displaying the latest review.
James B.
★★★★★ 13 hours ago
Quiz night isn't the same without her. Nothing is.
Your heart rate picked up, sweat gathering at the back of your knees.
What the fuck?
"But last night wasn't quiz night?" Was the only thing your dumbfounded mind could vocalise.
"I mean, yeah, but you're missing the point!" Allie interjected, standing behind the couch and leaning her head down to read the review. "Now we know he's a quiz night regular! That narrows the search pool down so much."
"Ooo, what if it's one of the old dockmen?" Dean giddily queried.
"They do normally sit in your section—or, well, what used to be your section." Allie supplied, wandering back to your kitchen to put away whatever trendy new chutney she bought from the market.
Your eyes followed her, catching sight of the clock hanging on the wall. "Shit—I'm going to be late." You jumped off the couch, frantically grabbing your phone and shoulder bag. "We can theorise more later, Nat is going to murder me for being late."
"Bye, honey!" Dean yelled as you ran out the door—stopping for a second to throw him the middle finger.
Nat was sitting at a table towards the back of the cafe, her crimson hair a stark contrast to the soft pastel interior. The atmosphere was buzzing and lively—every table occupied, with laughter and heavenly aromas wafting out the open door. It was the go to brunch spot for Brooklyn natives, it's covered outdoor courtyard an enticing location on a warm summer's morning—you were surprised Nat even managed to score a table.
Her face lit up once she saw you, standing to welcome you with a hug. "One more minute and I would've thought you were ghosting me."
You hugged her just as tight, the smell of her perfume relaxing your shoulders and making your heart clench—you shouldn't have gone this long without seeing her. "God, I know, I'm sorry. Allie came home with gossip before I could make my escape."
You both pulled away and sat down, reading the menu like you hadn't looked at it online on your walk over.
"Gossip? Anything interesting?" Nat asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
You let out a deep sigh. "It's a long story. One that's better told over a bottle of wine."
"Okay, now I am beyond intrigued—you better not leave me hanging for another month." She shot you a small glare, the smile on her face lessening it's sharpness.
The waitress came over and took your orders before the two of you fell into easy conversation. She updated you on what trouble the boys—Sam—had gotten into, and you told her about the time you and Allie were locked out in your pyjamas and tried to scale the fire escape. Neither of you broached the subject of why you moved out, but it was lingering in the air—in the soft way Nat said Bucky's name. Throughout the hour you spent chatting you noticed she didn't mention their new roommate once, and the curiosity was making you restless.
"So, how's the new roommate, really? Bucky didn't say much about them."
An out of place nervous hesitation tightened Nat's face, her eyes darting between yours as she bit her lip. After a tense few seconds her shoulders dropped with a sigh.
"Honey, there is no new roommate."
You reared back, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What? But Bucky said yesterday—he said they were fine."
"Of course he did," she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked at you with a huff. "The room is empty. Bucky…he's been paying for it."
"What?" You nearly exclaimed, your body temperature rising.
"Look, I don't know why he didn't tell you the truth—I honestly don't know what goes on in his mind, he has made some terrible choices the last few months." She placed a gentle hand on top of yours, her tone softening. "Choices that had you leaving us."
"I don't understand." You muttered quietly.
"I probably shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but—Steve and him were drinking after work last week and he admitted he's paying for the room—saving it in case you want to come back."
Shock rendered you speechless—frustration climbing up from your gut, opening the partially healed scars seared into your heart. Confusion, irritation, and heartache swirled together until they formed one emotion—anger.
Your hands balled into fists, your clenched teeth making your jaw ache. "I'm sorry, what?" You bit out.
You barely noticed the smirk twitching her lips, red starting to blur your vision. "Sam and Steve are out fishing today—he's home alone if you want to go bite his head off."
You didn't need to be told twice, the red-hot fury bringing you to your feet quickly. You grabbed your stuff with urgency, your hands already starting to shake.
"Brunch is my shout—go knock some sense into him."
It took you less than ten minutes to reach the brownstone, outrage powering your legs with a speed you didn't know you were capable of. The fresh air did nothing to calm you down—you were too consumed by the memories from the past year, the heartache you endured, your utter confusion at Nat's revelation.
Your fist pounded on the wooden door, not stopping until it swung open to reveal a puzzled Bucky.
His eyes widened at the sight of you, pink lips stretching into a knee trembling smile. Your dress caught his attention, his smile freezing as blue eyes trailed down and back up your body.
He cleared his throat before speaking. "What are you doin' here, doll?"
"Don't fucking call me that," you seethed, pushing him out of your way to storm inside. You barged down the familiar path to your old room, ignoring Bucky as he called out your name behind you.
You opened the door to find the room exactly how you left it—empty. You whipped around to see Bucky standing a few feet behind you, looking down at the ground with a hand rubbing his neck and a fire overtaking his cheeks.
"Why the fuck are you paying for an empty room? No, better yet, why did you lie to me about it?" You loudly demanded, just shy of shouting.
He stumbled over his words, looking up to see you with your eyebrows raised, arms folded across your chest, hip jutted out—the perfect picture of barely contained rage.
"Well, I—you see, it's—" he dragged a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "It's complicated?"
"Yeah, no shit. You were so pissy about me moving—it makes no sense! Just tell me the truth for once, Bucky!" Your voice raised higher, your hands flying around as the confusion and aggravation took hold of you.
Bucky's own frustration started to seep through, the volume of his voice a notch below yours. "I was upset because you were leaving—and you didn't seem to care about us, just running straight to Dean for help!"
He was upset? He had no fucking right to be upset.
Hot, frustrated tears flooded your eyes without your permission. "I left because of you, Bucky! No one else, just you." You stepped toward him, pushing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest. "And I didn't run to Dean! He offered to help after he watched me have a fucking breakdown over you."
His glistening eyes stared into yours, his eyebrows drawn upwards in distress. "…What?"
A crack had fractured the dam keeping you contained, your pent up thoughts and feelings crashing through and destroying the concrete barrier.
"Every fucking day I came home feeling like my world—my heart—was being torn apart—" your voice cracked and you turned around, starting to pace the length of your old room. "And I know, I fucking know, it's not your fault—that my delusional mind and hopeless romantic heart are to blame for reading into things that weren't there, for creating a fantasy of you—of us."
You wiped away your flowing tears, sniffling as you tried to catch your breath. "But now, you expect me to, what—feel bad for leaving? I was barely human." You let out a wet, humourless laugh.
"What are you talking about?!" He demanded desperately, his face shining with frustration and something akin to hope.
"I'm talking about the goddamn walls, Bucky! I don't know if you know but they're pretty fucking thin! And every Wednesday and Saturday night I heard you and her—I heard the guy I was obsessed with fucking somebody else and it killed me."
"I only started seeing her to get you out of my head!" Both his hands found their way to his hair, tugging the dark strands in frustration. "And maybe I wanted to make you jealous—which I know is a terrible—"
You closed the distance between you in two quick strides, reaching out to shove his chest. "Jealous? You wanted to make me jealous?!" You seethed out, your fists hitting his chest as your vision blurred. "Are you blind?! Everyone could see how infatuated I was with you." Your hits lost their strength, your cheeks growing even more wet.
"Hey," Bucky whispered softly, his hands gently encircling your wrists and his thumbs rubbing tender patterns on your radial pulse. "Breathe for me."
"No," you stubbornly whispered back, despite your panting breaths slowing to match his. You drew in staggering breaths, finally noticing how hard your heart was beating—your body shaking with every thump. Your fists unfurled, your palms resting flat on his broad chest—the fast pounding of his heart a near match to yours.
He let go of your wrists, his hands cupping your face delicately. He wiped your tears away with such care it made your heart ache. Your vision cleared enough to focus on his face, seeing his eyes shining with their own tears.
"I think we're both a bit blind, sweetheart. Everyone can see how smitten I am with you." He rested his forehead against yours, the space around you two growing charged in the aftermath of your anger. "Sam gives me shit about it every day." His breathy laugh ghosted your lips, leaving tingles in it's wake. His voice dropped low, "I'm so fucking in love with you I was leaving reviews about you like some—like a hopeless sap, hoping you would realise it was me."
His confession of love flew over your head, incredulity controlling your mind. "That was you?!" You gasped, pushing his chest lightly. "I thought I had a stalker, you idiot."
The memory of the night you and Allie read all the reviews ran through your head, remembering the disturbingly romantic details written; remembering the reviews you secretly reread like a guilty pleasure, going to sleep with a giddy smile and fluttering butterflies because someone was noticing you.
"That's all you took from that?" He shook his head minutely, one of his hands brushing down your back to cradle your waist. "I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you here."
You stepped out of his embrace, your mind still picking through all the small details. "But—the first review was, like—" you started to pace again, your hands resting atop your head. "It was well over a year ago!" Your voice raised again, recalling how horrible you felt only a month ago—the heartbreak you could've avoided. "Why did you never say anything?!"
"Because I was scared!" His voice raised to meet yours. "I didn't want to ruin things and lose you forever!"
"Yeah, well look at how that turned out!" You gestured wildly to the empty room.
"Why are we shouting again?" Bucky walked towards you, reaching for your hands. You were both breathing heavily, the sound of your pants echoing in the emptiness as your chests heaved up and down.
"Because I'm mad at you." You finally met his eyes, the blue bleeding with regret and sorrow. Your voice dropped lower, timidness starting to creep in. "You…you broke my heart, Buck."
He gripped your hands tighter, raising one to rest on his chest—right above his heart. "I am going to spend every day until I die trying to make it up to you." His remorse polluted the air around you, tears welling in your eyes once again—this time from the pain clouding his. "If you'll let me."
"That's a bit dramatic," you mumbled, sniffling lightly. "Until you're fifty is fine."
He laughed, wet and husky. He let go of your hands to cup your face again, smoothing his thumbs along your cheekbones. Your breath hitched at the touch, the pain in your system being diluted by the drug that is Bucky.
He leaned in closer, his eyes darting between yours and your lips. "I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"
You managed a small nod before his lips were on yours—desperate and aching, stealing the breath from your lungs. One of his hands shifted to the back of your neck, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. Your hands found his chest again, fisting his shirt and causing a groan to sound in the back of his throat. He took control of the kiss with no complaint from you—happily letting him suck your bottom lip before nipping it, opening for him when his tongue grazed your lips.
The first touch of his tongue against yours had fire scorching down your body, the intensity of his kisses settling in your gut and awakening the need you've had for him for over a year.
The annoying human need for air had you pulling away from his lips, gasping as you tried to catch your breath. His stubble scratched your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, tilting your head to reach the sensitive spot below your ear. He gave it a soft experimental kiss, his tongue darting out and drawing a small whine from you.
His chest rumbled beneath your hands. "You talk about the walls being thin—trust me, I know." He stepped forward, his fingers dancing down your sides to grasp your hips, backing you into the wall. "I know you like to beg, what pretty sounds you make when you're about to come." He trailed his nose back along your jaw and down the other side of your neck, nestling into the crook and sniffing deeply with a small moan.
"Wh-what? I haven't—I never brought anyone home." You stuttered out, head starting to feel heavy from the lust fogging it.
"No, but you still have needs, don't you?" He let out a small chuckle, trailing feather-light kisses along your collarbone. "You thought you were alone, thought it didn't matter how loud you let yourself be." He pulled back, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers along your cheek, making their way down your neck. Onyx eyes met yours—a shiver racing down your spine at the barely contained hunger in them. "I came home with a migraine and you were so wrapped up in pleasure you didn't even hear me—but I heard you. And shit, doll, the noises you made cured my migraine faster than any pain meds ever have." He dropped his forehead to yours, his breath fanning your lips. "I had to fuck my fist three times that night. I replayed every little whimper, moan, every gasp of please until it drove me insane."
A gasp escaped you at his admission, heat rolling through your body—a mix of embarrassment and hunger swirling in your core.
"And then, like it was the universe's sole purpose to bring me to my knees, you walked in the next day wearing this dress." His fingers drifted to the neckline of your dress, toying with it as your breasts moved rapidly beneath. "Looking like a fucking angel sent here to torture me. Like sin wrapped in white lace. I had to leave before I dropped to my knees and begged for a taste—to let me worship you."
Your heart was trying to beat out of your chest, the throbbing in your core escalating with every word he murmured into your lips.
"You kept on wearing it, and I had to pretend like I wasn't replaying those sounds every time I saw you—like my dick wasn't rock hard at just a glimpse of this fucking dress." The hand on your neckline travelled down to the line of lace below your breasts—his thumb stroking along it making your breath stutter and nipples harden. "I had to do something, I felt like I was going insane. I started seeing her to get you out of my head—didn't fucking work now, did it?"
The mention of her cut through the Bucky induced haze, and you hesitated—needing clarification before you could let him consume you.
"Are you still seeing her?" You whispered.
"Fuck no, we were strictly casual. I broke it off the day you left."
Your head reared back an inch, hitting the wall lightly. "You know that doesn't make me feel better, right? That you only wanted to sleep with her because I was in the next room."
Both his hands gripped your waist, squeezing gently. "Okay, that—that wasn't what I was trying to get at." He lifted his head to stare into your eyes. "What I meant was that you leaving really showed how much of an idiot I'd been, wasting my time with her when you were right next door."
"Why didn't you reach out, then?"
He shrugged, his eyes darting away nervously. "I didn't think I had a right to. I wasn't exactly proud of how I acted the last time we spoke."
You saw Bucky almost every day for over a year—you knew he didn't get outwardly nervous often, and you knew when he was being vulnerable and honest. The Bucky in front of you wasn't lying—you could tell he was genuinely worried he'd messed everything up.
You relented with a sigh, lacing your hands around his neck. "I think it's time you start making it up to me."
"Gladly," he said before pulling you into him and kissing you deeply. He pressed his hips against yours, pushing you harder into the wall. You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your stomach, your core trembling and aching in anticipation.
The pace of the kiss picked up, Bucky's tongue licking into your mouth with a deep moan. His grip on your hips tightened and he spun you around, walking you backwards towards his room without removing his mouth from yours.
He kicked the door shut behind him, leading you towards his bed with his hands drifting down to squeeze your ass. You broke away with a moan, your lips swollen and chin tender from his stubble.
"Sit down for me, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out. You quickly obliged—your need for him making you ready to do anything he said.
He kneeled on the floor in front of you, slowly taking your shoes off. His hands trailed up your bare legs, stopping when they reached the hem of your dress.
He pressed a soft kiss to your knee. "You gonna let me make you feel good?" He mumbled into your skin.
You nodded rapidly, your hands clenching his sheets in desperation.
He clicked his tongue. "I need words, angel."
"Yes, Bucky—please. Please touch me," you gasped out, the sight of him on his knees robbing your intelligence.
His mouth tilted into a smirk, his eyes gleaming. "There you go with that begging again."
He clasped your knees, spreading your legs open. His breath tickled the sensitive skin on your inner thighs, goosebumps erupting and surging up to your core. He pressed light kisses along one thigh, stopping when he got to your dress and switching to the other.
You could feel slick leaking out of your cunt, your clit pulsing from the lack of attention.
"Buck, stop teasing, please." You whined softly, lifting a hand to push the hair away from his eyes. He nuzzled into your hand, turning to press a kiss into your palm. Your hand vibrated as he hummed low.
He grasped the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly up to your hips. "Lean back f'me."
You leaned back on your elbows, your body trembling with need as his hands scorched paths up your thighs.
He let out a low groan once your dress was up past your hips—revealing your soaked panties to him. His eyes locked onto them, his pupils dilating until only a sliver of blue remained.
"All this from a little kissing?" He brushed a thumb along the wet patch, grazing your clit. Your head fell back with a loud gasp, your hips twitching towards his touch.
"Sensitive," he mumbled. His hand moved, tracing the edge of your panties—you were sure he could feel the heartbeat pulsing in your core. "How long has it been?"
You lifted your head up, looking into his dark eyes—the desire in them reflecting your own. "Since before I—"
You cut yourself off with a soft moan, your body jerking as Bucky pressed his thumb to your clit through your underwear—circling it with a steady pressure.
"What was that?" He asked smugly.
Your chest heaved as you tried to wade through the sensations buzzing through you. "Since before I moved in," you rushed out quickly, another moan escaping you at the feeling of his touch directly on your pussy—his hand slipping underneath the wet fabric.
"Fuck," he breathed out through clenched teeth. He grabbed the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs quickly. He groaned out looking at your exposed cunt, and you tried to close your legs on instinct.
He gripped your thighs to stop them from closing. "None of that," he growled out lowly. "Let me look at her."
His hands trailed up your thighs until they reached your bare hips, yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You fell onto your back softly, your breath shaking from the impact.
He pulled your lips apart and moaned loudly. "She's fucking dripping, sweetheart."
You clenched at his words, his teasing leaving you aching and squirming. He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss millimetres away from where you needed him most. He breathed you in deeply making your hips buck up with a needy whine.
"Bucky, please."
He dragged a single finger from entrance to clit, pulling it back with a string of your arousal connecting the two of you. You sighed at the small touch, opening your eyes to see Bucky suck the tip of his finger.
He groaned at your taste, hands grabbing the back of your thighs to push your legs back and spread you wider.
"Gonna make her feel so good, pretty girl." He slurred out, his lips trailing a path of fire up to your core. "Be a good girl and make those noises for me again."
He dove in, licking the same path as his finger. His groan vibrated through you and your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands as you gasped.
"Taste so fucking good," he mumbled before latching onto your clit. He sucked gently, circling the nub with his tongue. You rewarded him with a tug to his hair and a shaky moan.
He picked up the pace, moaning as he went from tasting you to devouring. He thrusted his tongue into you, lapping up everything he could. The room filled with the lewd sounds of your slick and his saliva coating your pussy—with your unabashed moans and gasps bouncing off the walls.
He pulled away from you, his chin and beard glistening. "That's it, pretty. Being such a good girl." You whined at the praise, using your hold on his hair to push his face back into you.
Your hips rocked against his face, the flame in your core growing fast. He moved an arm to your hips, holding them down to keep you still. He sucked your clit harshly, your back arching at the pleasure he was unleashing on you. You gasped out his name as your orgasm built rapidly.
"Fuck, Bucky—right there! Please, I'm gonna—" you cut off with a loud moan, your body jolting from him lightly biting your clit. Stars started to dot your vision as he continued to feast on you like a starved man—like you were his first sip of water after wandering the desert.
The knot in your core clenched tight before it unravelled, Bucky's groans vibrating through you pushing you over the edge. You came with a cry, your hands yanking his hair hard. A blissful fire spread throughout you, making your toes curl and head float.
Bucky drank up your release, prolonging your high until you were shaking and trying to push his head away. He relented, moving back to kiss and nip your inner thighs. Your heavy panting filled the room, your pussy twitching as you came down.
You propped yourself up on weak elbows, your droopy eyes meeting his glazed, pussy drunk ones.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered reverently. He moved back in closer, his breath fanning your cunt making you clench around nothing. "Another one."
He slowly licked at your hole, leaving your overstimulated clit throbbing painfully. Your arms gave out, a whimper crawling up your throat. You brought a hand up to your chest, squeezing a breast over your dress—trying to relieve the ache in them.
"Fuck, look at you," Bucky cooed, pulling away from you to stand up. "As much as I love this dress, I think you'll look even more beautiful without it."
You nodded, sitting up slightly so he could pull it over your head. Your eyes were level with his crotch, seeing the large bulge tenting his pants—your mouth salivating already. Once your dress was off you reached a hand out, palming his hard dick over his pants. You gasped at the heavy feel of him, your walls clenching at the thought of him stretching you open.
His head rolled back with a moan, a hand catching your wrist to stop your movements. "Not right now." You let out a displeased whine and his mouth twitched with a smirk. "Later, promise. Lay back down so I can worship you."
He grasped the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, leaving you to gape at his insane torso. You had seen it before but you always adverted your eyes quickly, scared of getting caught staring. Now, you could stare and touch all you wanted.
You leaned up to run a hand over his bare chest, his body scorching beneath your skin. You trailed a finger down the hard ridges lining his body, a thrill running through you as his muscles rippled and breath stuttered. Your mouth found his pecks, lathering them in wet kisses while your hand teased the waistband of his pants. He grasped your chin, jerking your head up to look at him. His jaw was tense and eyebrows furrowed, a slight darkness shadowing his face.
He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "What did I just say, sweetheart?" He mumbled, his tone laced with warning.
Before you could reply, his hands grasped your waist and pushed you up the bed until your head met his pillow. He crawled on top of you, kissing your neck.
"Thought you were gonna be a good girl." He mumbled, biting the spot below your ear and making you gasp. He pulled on one of your bra straps, letting it snap back onto your skin. You gasped louder at the small stinging sensation, the slight pain dousing your core in gasoline.
"Please, I am—I will be. M'sorry." You whimpered out, tilting your head back as he continued his assault on your neck.
He hummed in response, sucking on your pulse point before trailing lower—his stubble scraping the top of your breasts. He reached a hand behind your back, unclasping your bra with ease before pulling the straps down your arms slowly.
Your nipples hardened more once exposed to the cool air, begging for Bucky's attention. He lavished your breasts in kisses, covering every inch of skin with his spit. One of your hands clutched onto his bicep while the other wound into his hair again. He continued to avoid your nipples and you squirmed underneath him, trying to move his head to where you wanted him.
He relented, licking a nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You moaned from the relief and the zaps of pleasure racing down your torso. He pinched your abandoned nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger as he bit down on the other one. You arched off the bed with a loud whine, the pain and pleasure morphing into one. He switched nipples, dolling out the same sweet torture with moans lodged in his throat.
Once both your nipples were raw and aching he kissed down your abdomen, hands clutching your hips as his mouth worshipped your stomach. You giggled at his beard tickling your sensitive skin and he lifted his head, his blown out eyes meeting yours with a soft—almost unbelieving—smile.
"You're breathtaking," he whispered. "And you're all mine, yeah?"
"Yes, Buck. Only yours."
He hummed in approval, pressing a light kiss to your hip. "Good. 'Cause I'm yours, angel. I'm sorry it took so long for me to say."
He moved back down to where you were dripping onto his sheets, your body wound tight from your first orgasm and his teasing. He licked into you without hesitation, drawing out loud noises from you as he sucked your sensitive clit.
"You're so wet—wanna live between these thighs, doll."
A hand left your hip to poke at your entrance, one finger sliding in easily before your walls squeezed at the intrusion. He pumped it in and out slowly until you were begging for more. A second slipped in, both of them curling upwards and grazing the spot that had you arching off the bed with a sound you'd never made before.
He lifted his head up, praising you for how good you were being—telling you how pretty you sounded. His mouth descended on your clit again and his fingers picked up their pace.
Your head rolled around on his pillow, the dual stimulation to your pussy making a heat rush through you like you'd never experienced with anyone else. You could feel how he was paying attention to you, altering his movements to gauge what sounds he could pull out of you—getting to know what you liked.
The ball tightened faster than the first time, your body edging on being overstimulated. Both your hands were fisting the sheets, your hips grinding against Bucky's face and fucking his fingers—the obscene squelch of your pussy soaking his hand mixing with your moans and gasps.
"Let me come—please. Been s'good for you, Buck—"
You know you didn't need his permission to come, but begging and submitting to him felt so good. Your own words pulled the coil in your core tighter—his resounding moan shaking through you telling you how much they affected him too.
A third finger joined in and you clenched down hard, the stretch almost throwing you off the cliff. They curled into your spot over and over, his other hand moving to push down on your lower stomach—causing something between a moan and squeal to leave you.
"Course you can come for me, sweetheart. I want nothing more than this sweet pussy drenching me."
With one last curl of his fingers and suck to your clit, your body started to shake, the ball bursting and sending waves crashing through you. Your eyes rolled back and your ears started ringing, deaf to the borderline animalistic noises you were letting out. You clamped down on his fingers hard, your juices gushing out and coating his hand—dripping and staining his sheets.
Your head was up in the clouds, cotton filling the space your brain used to be. You briefly registered his mouth leaving your overstimulated and raw nub, his fingers still moving slowly as you floated through your high. Small, gentle kisses across your cheeks, nose, and eyelids had you giggling breathlessly. Your body felt heavy, your eyelids struggling to open.
"You doin' okay?" Bucky whispered into your temple, peppering more light kisses to your forehead. You hummed softly.
"Need'a minute," you slurred out.
His fingers slowed and then left you, a whine slipping past your lips at the emptiness. You felt a hand rubbing soothing circles onto your scalp, your body turning towards his warmth. You slowly opened your eyes to find him staring at you, electric blue lazily roaming around your face.
"Hi," you whispered, lifting a heavy hand to push hair behind his ear. He grabbed your hand and covered it in soft kisses, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Hi. How you feeling?"
You leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his. "Good—really good," you muttered before kissing him softly. Your hand weaved into his hair, pulling him in as your kiss grew more passionate.
One of his hands cradled your jaw and the other spanned the small of your back, pushing you into his bulge. You bit his lip teasingly, revelling in his body shuddering and drinking down the moan he let free.
You grinded your hips against his—gasping and whimpering at the rough fabric of his pants dragging against your oversensitive pussy. He responded in kind, rutting his bulge into you with a groan.
"Want you inside of me," you mumbled into his lips, throwing a leg over his to roll your hips harder.
"Fuck—okay," he breathed out. He pulled away to reach for his bedside drawer but your hand on his chest stopped him.
"Are you clean?"
His eyes widened and he nodded dumbly. "I got tested the other week—wait, I'll show you." He reached for his phone but you stopped him with a giggle.
"I believe you. I'm clean—obviously. And on birth control."
His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, pupils dilating until they physically couldn't anymore.
"Are you sure?" He gripped your face in his hands, eyes darting between yours. "I only used condoms with her so I understand—"
That fact pleased you absurdly, your hand trailing down his chest to his groin—squeezing his heavy bulge. "I'm sure. Wanna feel you, all of you."
He pulled you into a searing kiss, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. Your mouth moved against his eagerly, both your hands on his waistband to unbotton and unzip his pants. You reached a hand into his boxers, a gasp leaping out as you wrapped your hand around him—his cock throbbing and big. You briefly worried about the limp you'll have later.
He panted above you, his eyes closing as you stroked him slowly. You could feel his boxers damp with pre-cum, beads of it dripping from his tip. You brushed your thumb over it and he moaned gutturally, eyes opening as you pulled your hand out. You kept eye contact with him as you brought your thumb up to your lips, licking his pre-cum before sucking it into your mouth with a satisfied moan.
He pulled your thumb out, tracing his own along your lip before you sucked on it—twirling your tongue around it.
"You're gonna be the fucking death of me, angel." He groaned out.
He pushed away to pull his pants and boxers off, throwing them behind him carelessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his cock standing proud—your mouth somehow simultaneously drying up and drooling at the sight. He was the biggest you'd ever seen—long and thick, the tip flushed red with his need. Your knees fell apart on instinct, the fire building up just looking at him.
"Wanna take a picture?" He teased.
"Another time," you whispered, surging up to grab his shoulders and pull him back on top of you.
He chuckled into your mouth before it dissolved into a moan, your hips bucking up and smearing his cock with your slick.
He grabbed your hips, pulling them up slightly as he settled between your legs. You both broke off from the kiss with matching gasps, the feel of him sliding along your slit making you both dizzy. His tip bumped into your clit with each glide, whimpers echoing from your chest as you twitched from the stimulation.
"You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled, dropping his head to kiss and nip along your neck.
"Please," you whined, your hips rocking without thought.
He pulled back and looked down between you, groaning at his dick already glistening with you. He wrapped a hand around himself, tapping his head against your clit a few times. You squealed, starting to feel dizzy with desire. He shushed you gently, dragging a thumb along your cheekbone before positioning himself at your entrance.
His eyes met yours as he pushed in slowly, the intensity in them making you choke up. It had never felt like this before—never felt so passionate, adoring. It made everything feel elevated—your nerve endings singing with pleasure wherever he touched you.
You clenched down on him instinctively, your walls stretching around just the tip. Your chest heaved as you tried to relax—you weren't in pain, it just felt so fucking good.
"Be a good girl and let me in," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you.
Your legs opened wider for him, your core relaxing to let him push in further. Moans and gasps filled the air around you as he thrust slowly, sinking until he reached the hilt.
The breath knocked out of you, the feeling of him filling you completely making your head rush. He moved slowly at first, small thrusts to get you accommodated before pulling back until just the tip was inside. He sank home with deep moans, his cock pushing against your spot with every thrust.
You wrapped your legs around his waist making him reach deeper inside you. He picked up his pace, his hips meeting yours with soft slaps.
"You feel so good—oh, fuck!" He exclaimed as you clenched down on him.
"Harder, please." You moaned out, scratching your nails down his chest.
"Yeah? My pretty girl—my little angel—likes it rough?"
You nodded deliriously, the tension in your core sizzling with every thrust.
He sat up, bringing your hips with him. He held them up and delivered harsh thrusts—each one expelling a gasp out of you. Your legs tightened around him, his strength pushing you up the bed.
The headboard knocked against the wall, adding to the symphony of moans, whimpers, skin slapping that was already deafening the room. Each sound had you soaring higher, each thrust kissing your cervix sending a shock through you.
Bucky removed your legs from his waist, clutching your thighs to push them towards your chest. Your wide eyes met his with a gasp, the change in position igniting a roaring fire everywhere. He dropped forward slowly, pushing into you so far you swear you could feel him in your throat.
He groaned into your ear. "This is—god, you're made for me."
His thrusts resumed their previous pace, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Sweat beaded along his hairline from the exertion, his hair sticking to his temples—and he looked so beautiful, your eyes started to well with tears.
Everything rushed through you in an overwhelming burst—the heartache you suffered, the months of yearning and uncertainty, how much you loved him. How much he loved you.
Tears fell from your eyes as the sensations built higher and you grasped his face, pulling his forehead to yours. Your gentle kiss to his lips was a stark contrast to his cock drilling into you.
"I love you," you whispered, your words breaking on a sob of pleasure.
His hips stuttered, his eyes squeezing tightly. "You can't say that again or I'll blow my load." You laughed at his clear struggle to hold back, making him groan as you squeezed him tighter.
He continued his thrusts, wiping a thumb under your eye to catch your tears. "This is the only time I'm gonna make you cry from now on, yeah? Only gonna make you sob cause I'm fucking you so good."
You nodded, letting out little "uh-huh"'s as you climbed higher and higher.
"Play with your clit, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out.
Your hand snuck between your bodies to press circles around your clit—your back arching with a whine. Tears continued to track down your temples, wetting the pillow below you.
"Fill me up, please," you managed to get out between whimpers and sobs. Bucky's grip on your thighs tightened, surely leaving marks for you to admire over the next few days.
"Come with me," Bucky moaned, pressing a scorching kiss to your lips as his thrusts grew sloppy. You tensed below him, your body locking up before pure ecstasy barrelled through you. You came with a scream of his name, clenching down on his cock to keep him trapped. Your vision faded to white, your body trembling and pulsing.
Bucky groaned out your name as his orgasm rushed through him, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you as he filled you completely with cum.
He collapsed on top of you, his sweaty chest heaving against yours. He slowly lowered your legs then wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.
You laid there for a few minutes, the both of you gradually coming back down to earth. He pulled out of you slowly, the both of you groaning at the feeling. A mix of your releases dripped out of you, coating your ass and staining the sheets.
"Stay right here," Bucky said before giving you a chaste kiss, pulling his boxers on to run to the bathroom. He came back with a wet towel, sitting on the bed next to you to clean you up with gentle, reverent touches.
He climbed behind you, pulling you into his strong chest—a satisfied rumble vibrating your back. He kissed the back of your head, trailing towards your ear and giving your lobe a gentle bite.
"I love you too."
"When can we move your stuff back in?"
Bucky and you were still lying on his bed, basking in the warmth of each other as the afternoon sun trickled through his half closed curtains.
You turned in his arms, slinging a leg over his and booping his nose. "I think we should go on a couple dates before I move in with you."
His nose and eyes scrunched with that laugh you first fell in love with. "Oh, is that right?"
"Living together before you've even bought me flowers? Sounds a bit rash to me."
"I'll buy you a whole flower shop," he mumbled, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare hip. "Well, maybe not right away—I am paying for two rooms, y'know. Would be nice to be able to buy groceries next month."
You laughed softly, poking his bare chest. "Yeah, and whose fault is that again?"
He grumbled something unintelligible, hiding his face in your neck to lavish you in more kisses.
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
The reminder of his reviews about you flourished in your mind, prompting you to pull his head away from your neck.
"So, you're James B? This whole time?"
His face bloomed red, a huff leaving him before he nervously licked his lips. "Yeah…"
"Why? Why start leaving them in the first place, why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged slightly, lifting a hand to trace the lines of your face. "We were at the bar drinking, and some guy nearby pointed to you and said ratings must be higher with you working there. And—I don't know, I guess I was drunk enough to agree and then…it just happened?"
You furrowed your brows at him. "Why not just write in a journal?"
"Trust me, I was already doing that." He laughed softly, his eyes glowing. "I guess, in a weird way, I was telling you how I felt without actually telling you. Stupid, I know."
Warmth started to spread from your chest. "It took us ages to even notice the reviews—we only realised they were there because Dean assumed one was about him."
Bucky tensed under your hands. "Fucking Dean," he muttered.
"…Are you jealous?"
The blush on his cheeks grew, his eyes avoiding yours. "He was always staring at you, and you laughed with him like—like you did with me. I thought there was something goin' on."
Is it bad that him being jealous is turning you on?
"You have nothing to worry about, Dean is a gross womaniser who I only see as an annoying brother." You pushed at Bucky's chest, making him lie on his back as you straddled his hips. You pressed kisses along his chest, your hips slowly rocking against his. "He did tell me he wanted to sleep with me, though."
Bucky's hands grasped your hips harder, his face turning stormy. "I don't wanna hear you talkin' about another guy when you're on top of me, doll." He muttered low.
You leaned in to kiss him, your hips moving faster and drawing gasps out of the both of you—his dick already half hard under you. "You're so hot when you're jealous."
The sound of the front door opening had you both freezing—your former roommate's laughter drifting down the hall.
"Get dressed, lovebirds!" Sam's voice rang out. "We've got fish to fry!"
a/n: thank you to this pic on pinterest that inspired half the plot (i couldn't get the ho to fit into a moodboard 😔) yes, team, reader should’ve made bucky grovel HOWEVER high emotion tension filled make up sex is hot 🫦 bro is buying her flowers and taking her on dates every day for the rest of their lives 😌
★ summary: your shoes are off in the back of the squawk van and steve harrington is looking at you in a way your boyfriend never did. he might not be able to fill his shoes, but that’s not gonna stop him from trying
★ pairing: steve harrington x reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, toxic relationships, absent boyfriends, parental issues, cheating, reader is a little manipulative and insufferable, steve deserves better, steve harrington munch, unprotected sex, rough sex, public sex, car sex, oral f & male receiving, cream pie, drug and alcohol usage
★ word count: 11.4k
★ notes: another one that i’ve had in the drafts since oct 25 that came to me in a dream and i needed to finish it. challenged myself so the ending is not like my usual fics! sorry in advance :,)
And this is how it starts. Your eyes on his, drinking him in so brashly that Steve had to take another look. Cocking his head back dramatically, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. But your gaze never faltered; your eyes were still locked on him. This is the exact moment Steve knew that he was screwed, that he’d gladly lay his morals on the ground and stomp all over them for you.
He should’ve never taken you home from work that night; he should’ve stopped the moment things got too far. Instead, he couldn’t help it. You were too intoxicating, he was too addicted to the rush, the thrill of it all. To you.
“Oh, don’t worry,” You hummed into the receiver, “I can ask Steve for a ride. Yup. Love you.”
Steve tried to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping the whole time, but his head perked up like a puppy at the mention of his name. You leaned your body against the Radio station’s desk with a dramatic sigh.
“Oh, Stevie..” You called out, “Aren’t I one of your bestest coworkers in the whole world?”
He was still crouched on the floor, a stack of cassettes cradled in his elbow. “Don’t tell Robin.” He whistled, abandoning the tapes back on the cart. To be dealt with another time. “Why? Boyfriend of the year not picking you up once again?”
It was no secret that Steve didn’t like your boyfriend; he was a few years older than you and a total loser. A friend of the families son, a modern day arranged marriage they called it. Affluent families pushing their kids together to keep their status in a town like this. He had a cushy 9-to-5 job, probably a 401(k), and you. Yet he was still a miserable dickhead, as Robin would put it. A total manchild, with an ego the size of Hawkins itself.
“Down, boy.” You teased, “He had another work thing tonight. I can just walk, it’s no biggie.”
He frowned, “You know I wouldn’t make you do that, Y/n. I mean, who knows what’s out there in the dark.”
He internally cringed at the words that left his mouth, “B-because we’re such good friends, and you’re a girl. I can’t have any girls walking ‘round Hawkins late at night.”
Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you just smiled widely at him. “I know Stevie, are you sure? I don’t wanna be an inconvenience.”
“I’m sure.” He grinned, widely pretending that the tapes weren’t now damp from how sweaty his palms grew under your gaze.
Steve waited by the door with his jacket already pulled on, keys spinning lazily around one finger, though the knot twisting in his stomach had been there for the better part of an hour and had nothing to do with the late shift.
The two of you had been friends for years, long enough that giving you a ride home wasn’t anything worth thinking twice about. He’d driven you home plenty of times when your car was in the shop, when you’d worked a double, when the weather was bad enough that neither of you trusted the roads. It wasn’t unusual, and it shouldn’t have felt different tonight, but Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted somewhere between closing up the station and watching you slip your bag over your shoulder.
“Thank you again,” you said as you climbed into the passenger seat, your voice filling the quiet cab of his car. “I know it’s a little out of the way. I’ll pick up any of the weekend shifts you don’t want.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with an easy smile, starting the engine. “Really.”
You gave him a grateful look before turning toward the window, watching the station disappear behind you as he pulled onto the empty road. For a few minutes, neither of you said much. The radio played softly beneath the hum of the engine, some late-night song neither of you were really listening to, and Steve kept one hand loose around the steering wheel while you fiddled with the strap of your purse in your lap.
“Thank you again,” You spoke up, over the quiet crackle of the radio, “I know it’s a little out of the way. I’ll pick up any of the weekend shifts you don’t want.”
“Don’t worry about it,” He smiled, “Really.”
You smile, and Steve feels his knuckles aching with just how hard he’s gripping the gear shift.
“Stop me if I’m overstepping.” Steve cleared his throat, unsure as to where the sudden confidence had come from.
All you did was shift in the passenger seat, eyes wide. “Okay?”
“Does he take care of you?” The words came out an octave deeper than he wanted them to. He risked a glance at you, your face unchanging. His eyes went back to the road, letting the words fill the tension in the car.
“Like sexually?” You asked, genuinely curious. It also didn’t hurt to watch him squirm.
“God,” A blush was creeping up his cheeks. “All you talk about is sex. That’s not what I meant!”
He hated how defensive he sounded, especially because he knew exactly what he was talking about. He’d seen it too many times. Your boyfriend bailing on picking you up because something came up at work, never bringing you flowers unless somebody reminded him, expecting you to rearrange your entire life around his schedule while never once considering that you might have plans of your own. He’d met the guy once or twice, and both times he’d seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else, as though spending an evening with your friends was another obligation he’d been forced to check off his list.
“You worded the question weird!” You argued, throwing your hands up with a lighthearted laugh.
“You’re ridiculous.” He grumbled, turning the car into your driveway. He hated that the drive was over so soon; he liked spending time with you like this. Alone, no pretenses. Just you sitting pretty in the passenger seat of his beamer. He tried not to think of the implications of this, especially not while he was grilling you about your boyfriend. “I didn’t mean it like that, just is he good to you?”
You stared through the windshield for a moment, considering the question as though nobody had ever actually asked it before.
“I don’t know. I guess. He’s sweet.” You shrugged, one shoulder. “The sex is fine, too.”
Your tone was flat, uninterested. And Steve, he couldn’t help but poke the bear.
“Really convincing.” He deadpanned, letting the car idle from where he had rolled onto your street. Shifting his body to match yours, the two of you were only separated by the armrest.
“Do you really wanna hear about my sex life?” You raised an eyebrow at him, an unfamiliar heat rushing in your chest. You could feel it thrumming in your veins, your body betraying you with the adrenaline of what could come from this.
He grinned, an unassuming smile. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”
“Okay, Steve, I’ll bite. My sex life is boring. Missionary on weekends, and most of the time, I just fake it so it’s over quicker. Nothing to write home about.” The admission rolled off your tongue like honey. You and Steve have talked about sex before, but nothing as intimate as this.
“I mean, he at least gives you head right?”
Heavy silence settled over the car, thick enough that you suddenly found the dashboard fascinating. Your eyes darted toward the windshield, then the passenger window, anywhere but him. Steve noticed, because of course he did, and the easy grin slipped from his face as his tongue suddenly felt too heavy in his mouth.
“You’re not serious.” An awkward laugh escaped him, but there wasn’t much humor behind it.
You let your head fall back against the headrest, closing your eyes.
“It’s just,” You sigh, “Never come up, I guess?”
The excuse sounds pathetic even as the words come out of your mouth.
“That’s a shame.” Steve manages to get out, “I mean, that should be his favorite part of sex.”
You laugh, loudly as if what he said was some grand joke.
All your laughter does is make him side-eye you, his brows furrowed in confusion. Your laughter falters, as you shift in your seat.
“You’re not serious are you?” You ask.
“I’m very serious.” He says slowly, letting the words sink in for you.
It was crossing a line between friends and something dangerous, you thought. The air inside the car had thickened, warm despite the heater having long since stopped running, and Steve’s knuckles ached from how hard he was still gripping the steering wheel. He kept telling himself to look at the road, even though the car had been parked for minutes now.
“You’re telling me,” you breathed out, slightly amused, “that every single girl you hook up with, you give her head?”
“Yes.” His voice came out a little squeakier than he’d intended, and he immediately cleared his throat. “It’s like, why do it at all if you don’t get to make sure she’s having a good time?”
The blush creeping up his neck made you smirk. You liked getting under his skin, maybe a little more than you should have. For as sex-positive and experienced as Steve Harrington was supposed to be, you always managed to find some way to make him flustered, and lately you had started wondering if it was because you knew exactly where to push. And maybe, just maybe, you liked it a little too much.
“Does it get you off?” you asked, not cruelly, but with genuine curiosity.
Steve dropped his head against the steering wheel. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he whispered under his breath.
“Hmm?”
He cleared his throat, “Nothing, nothing.”
You smiled, turning a little more toward him. “Come on, I’m just asking. I don’t particularly get anything out of giving, so I wanted to know another perspective.”
Steve looked at you, and something about the way you were watching him seemed to make the embarrassment drain from his face. He swallowed, shifting in his seat to cover his lap, for no particular reason.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think it’s probably the hottest part. I like knowing she’s enjoying herself, you know? Like, if she’s just lying there waiting for it to be over, what’s the point?”
Your smile faded slightly. Steve kept talking, more comfortable now that he had something to defend.
“And sometimes I don’t even care if I’m getting anything back. If she’s having a good time, that’s enough.”
Your mouth suddenly felt dry.
“Also,” Steve added, and there was the faintest hint of a grin returning to his face, “I think you just don’t like doing it for him because he sucks.”
“Hey-”
“He does, Y/N.” Steve turned toward you, eyebrows raised like this was the most obvious conclusion in the world. “Come on. You can’t enjoy doing something for somebody when you already know they’re not going to bother making sure you enjoy it too.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Steve’s expression changed when he realized he’d hit something.
“Has he ever-” He stopped himself, but it was too late. The question had already escaped. “Has he ever made you feel like you’re actually having a good time? Has he ever even made you cum?”
Your head tilts, mouth agape at the brashness of his question and he backtracks immediately.
“A-as a friend, I’m just concerned. You’re not happy, you know? I mean everyone deserves orgasms, I’m just concerned.”
You arch your eyebrow up at him, “Right. Are you also this concerned with Robin’s orgasms?”
His entire body cringes, and he can’t even find it in himself to lie properly. “Yup.”
He starts speaking before you can call him out on the way his voice rose an octave, “Just ask him. Bring it up, or you know tell him what you want. If he doesn’t suck like you say he doesn’t, he’ll do it.”
You’d never say it outloud, but it wasn’t the thought of your boyfriend that was making your lower belly burn.
“God,” You breathe out, shaking your head as if you could shake out the thoughts of Steve between your legs plaguing your deepest darkest thoughts, “If only I had dated you or something.”
Steve jerks so abruptly that the car shakes, and your heart falls into your stomach.
“What-“
“I didn’t mean it like that-“
“Course not.” He coughed out, running a hand anxiously through his hair. “Yeah, no I knew what you meant.”
“I was just saying, well I mean that,” you continued, trying to save yourself from the awkwardness, “it’s nice that you actually think about whether the other person is enjoying themselves. That’s an attractive trait. Lots of men don’t have that.”
“Hmm.” He nodded slowly, looking anywhere but directly at you. “Yup.”
“Sorry,” you said eventually cutting through the silence, shaking your head as your hands searched for the door handle in the dark. “This has been awkward. I made it awkward.”
“You didn’t.”
You gave him a look.
Steve sighed, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I promise, you didn’t.”
You laughed softly, ignoring the fact that you were suddenly noticing the warmth of his shoulder beside you, the sound of his voice, or how his lips looked, or the way he looked at you like you were something worth paying attention to.
“Listen,” you said, still smiling as you reached for the door, “to make it up to you, I’ll smoke some of the stuff Eddie gets for me from out of state this weekend with you. Deal?”
Steve knew what the right answer was.
He knew he should laugh and tell you that wasn’t necessary. He knew he should remember that this was already complicated enough, that every little moment between you lately felt like another step toward something he wasn’t supposed to want.
He should say no. His inner voice is screaming, pleading with him to say no. No, no, no, no.
Instead, a grin slowly spread across his face.
“Sounds like a deal, Y/l/n.”
”Good,” You wave, “Goodnight, Stevie.”
You closed the door and walked toward your house, but you looked back once before going inside.
Steve was still watching you, and you pretended not to notice, because it felt nice to be wanted. You ignored that feeling when you crawled into bed alone.
The sunset painted the sky in muted pinks and blues; it reflected off the water of Lover’s Lake like a watercolor painting. Steve was too busy propping open the back of the van to notice you staring. His back muscles flexing in his plain t-shirt, the defined muscles of his arms begging to be touched. You’ve always known Steve was attractive, but ever since the night he took you home, you’ve been watching. Staring, imagining things you shouldn’t. Not with your boyfriend at home, waiting by the phone for your call. All while you were letting Steve lure you into the back of the Squawk Van, the joint Eddie underpriced for you tucked behind his ear.
“Figured it’ll be quiet. Not many teenagers down here on a weeknight.” He said, plopping down on the shag carpet. Letting his feet dangle out the back. You joined him, leaning back on your elbows to watch the water ripple.
“Because they’re all adults now.” You stuck your tongue out at him, handing him your lighter.
He rolled his eyes, accepting it from you, your fingers brushing a bit longer than necessary.
“Now, just to make sure Hopper doesn’t bust us with pot.” You teased, watching him take the joint into his hands, setting it between his lips. His pink pouty lips wrapped around the filter, and all you could think about was how they’d feel against your skin. You watched him light it and exhale shakily before handing it back to you.
“If he busts us, I’m blaming it on you.” He coughed, making you gasp at him.
“You’re the one who offered to smoke it out here. Luring out a poor, innocent girl to Lover’s Lake in his sketchy van.” You grinned, the two of you splitting the joint until it was burned down to ash. With each inhale, you could feel your body going lax, the filter between your mouth and brain wearing down with each second. He was feeling it too, you could tell by the way he leaned. His dark brown eyes were glossy, his cheeks flushed.
As the two of you rambled on about work, and movies you couldn’t stop watching the way his thick lashes fluttered against his cheeks when he looked at you.
“So, did you take my advice?” He spoke up, his back now leaning against the wooden wall of the van. You mirrored him on the other side; your shoes were now off. Boots thrown somewhere in between speaker equipment. Knees tucked into your chest, your skirt riding up your thighs.
“What advice?” You giggled, brain too hazy to recall what he was talking about.
“You know,” He whispered, “The plan to get laid as you deserve.”
Steve wasn’t sure if it was the weed making him brave, or if it was you looking at him for what felt like the first time with unguarded eyes. You faltered, just a moment. But it was enough for Steve to notice.
“Oh, that.” You waved your hand, dismissing it. “Didn’t really work.”
You didn’t offer any details, too embarrassed to tell him that your boyfriend denied your advances. Content on asking for a blowjob, then going to sleep. It was even more embarrassing that you accepted it, trying to focus on the stable life he’d bring you. A nice house with a white picket fence, a fancy diamond, and kids in a few years. The life your parents envisioned for you, the one they were determined you’d have.
“What do you mean it didn’t work?” He scoffed, “What happened?”
You groaned, putting your face in your hands. “I don’t know. I dressed up all cute, lay in bed waiting for him. He came home, barely gave me a second glance. Then I asked him about going down on me, and he said no.”
“He just said no?” Steve spluttered.
You just nodded, “Said that’s not something he’s into. Then he asked for head.”
“You told him to fuck off, right?” He laughed, then went quiet at your silence. “Y/n..”
“He makes me happy.” You lied straight through your teeth, “Figured I could deal with it, for all the other upsides.”
“Upsides. Like what? Making your parents happy?”
“You’re one to talk.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Mr. Trust fund.”
He clicked his teeth. Maybe you did have him there. The two of you were two peas in a pod that way, content on making your insufferable parents happy no matter the personal cost. Different circumstances, different families, different expectations, but the same exhausting habit of bending yourselves into whatever shape would make other people comfortable.
Steve had spent years trying to be the version of himself his parents wanted. The golden boy of Hawkins. The kid who had everything handed to him, the kid who was supposed to be successful and charming and impressive enough that nobody would notice how lonely he actually was.
You knew what it felt like to have people decide what your future should look like before they ever asked what you wanted. You knew what it felt like to have love measured in expectations, in appearances, in whether you were making the “right” choices. Sometimes it was easier to accept something mediocre than disappoint the people who had already written your life story for you.
“Money isn’t everything.” He shakes his head, “Trust me.”
You laugh, “Coming from someone who’s always had it.”
You didn’t grow up with the kind of safety net Steve had. You didn’t have parents who could buy you out of mistakes or cushion every fall. Steve could walk away from his parents’ expectations because, at the end of the day, he knew there would still be something waiting for him.
You weren’t sure you had that, but you knew you would with your boyfriend.
“At least I know how to eat a girl out,” Steve shrugged, the vulgarity of his words making goosebumps rise on your skin, “Makes me like 80% less of an asshole, automatically.”
Frustration is still thrumming in your chest, “Right, do these girls even actually cum? Or do they just fake it like the rest of us?”
Steve’s not sure what came over him. Between the weed coursing through his veins, the chill night air, or the smell of your perfume invading his senses he couldn’t stop the next words from leaving his mouth.
“Wanna see for yourself?”
His words cut through the air like a knife, the tension from the bickering getting replaced with something thicker.
You’re not sure what came over you, either. If it was the way you’ve been staring at his lips ever since that night he took you home, or if it was the way you were so sexually frustrated you would have done anything to feel his hands on you.
“Yeah.”
One of you should have laughed the whole conversation off, should have redirected it into something else entirely. It should have been a stupid joke, the argument turning into something nasty. But instead, the two of you couldn’t stop looking at each other. Both of your chests rising and falling in anticipation, like predator and prey waiting for each other to pounce first.
“Are you serious?” He asked, all the bravado in his voice now replaced with something gentler. Something that reminded you he was still your Steve.
“Yes.” Your voice was small, shy even as you shifted on your legs.
He tilted his head, as if he didn’t believe this was actually happening before he pushed himself up off the wall slowly.
“You really wanna do this?” His voice was deeper than before, his eyes darker. The timber tone in his words made your stomach burn with desire.
It took you a minute to find your voice, but once you did it came out breathy, “Steve. Please.”
“Fuck.” Slipped out of his mouth as he leaned forward ready to crawl on his hands and knees to meet you on the other side of the van.
“Spread your legs for me.”
This, was a different side of Steve. One that made you tremble with anticipation as you let your legs spread wide for him. Exposing the no doubt damp spot on the pale lacy underwear you had on.
A strangled noise left his mouth, his eyes never once leaving between yours.
“Pull your panties to the side for me.” He ordered, and you did. The fabric was clutched between your fingers, allowing him access to your trembling, wet heat. Your skirt was quickly rolled up to your hips, as he crawled in between your legs. Before his face could get any closer to the place where you ached for him, your back straightened nervously.
“Wait,” You whispered quickly, “I’ve n-never- I don’t know if I can even, I don’t know.”
His eyes looked up at yours, darkening even more if possible. “Never? Not once?”
You take your bottom lip in between your teeth, shaking your head.
He made a pained noise, and let his eyes travel back to your glistening cunt. “Don’t worry, I’ll go slow. I’ll make you feel good. baby.”
When his tongue made contact with your clit, both of your moans bounced around the walls of the van.
It was nothing like you had ever experienced before, it was warm and wet and had every single nerve in your body lit ablaze. You couldn’t help but watch, your eyes locked on his as his tongue made paintings between your legs. One of your hands wrapped itself in his hair, the other gripping the shitty shag carpet like your life depended on that.
“S’okay?” His eyes fluttered open to match yours, your back arching at the vibration of his words.
You couldn’t help but gasp, “Fuck, yes. Don’t stop, please don’t stop Stevie.”
He answered by suckling your swollen clit into his mouth, his tongue slipping past your entrance. He was gentle, but hungry. His mouth opened wide, drinking in each last drop of you he could.
A familiar, yet foreign feeling began to creep in your belly. A warmth started in your toes, your jaw dropping open as your thighs began to shake. His fingers gripped your thighs, forcing your trembling legs to stay apart.
“Steve..M’gonna,” You cried out, “You’re gonna make me cum, please, please.”
Your pleas were loud, and pathetic and each one went straight to Steve’s cock that was currently grinding against the carpet, desperate for relief. He pressed himself even further into you if possible, his nose brushing against your clit in each frantic swirl of his tongue. He wanted, no he needed, to feel you come apart against him. He needed to taste it, to relish in the sounds, to memorise the look on your face as he made you feel otherworldly.
He did just that, it didn’t take much more for you to cum against his face with a wanton moan. Your fingers gripping, pulling at his now disheveled brown locks. He couldn’t stop his own moans from synchronizing with yours as you writhed and ground your soaking heat against his open mouth.
When you came back down to earth, your body was putty in his hands. Your back slumped against the wall, body trembling with aftershocks as he gently licked you through the orgasmic haze. His eyes drinking you in.
“F-fuck.” You whimpered, eyes still squeezed shut. “That was…There are no words…”
“Want me to keep going?” He spoke up, his head still firmly between your legs. His mouth and chin soaked in your release, his eyes twinkling with eagerness.
A laugh escaped you, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.
“You’re insane,” Your fingers push his sweaty hair back from his forehead, “And really fucking good at that.”
He grins, “And you doubted me.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, biting down on your bottom lip. “You can eat pussy, but can you fuck me even better than that?”
Somehow, his eyes twinkled even brighter. It took him no time to react, he pulled himself up on his knees his hands going to his belt. The bulge in his pants was enough to make the heat rise in your chest again.
“Turn around.” He panted, tapping your hips gently as he unbuckled his belt.
You flipped on your knees quickly, resting your palms on the scratchy carpet aching, begging for him to fuck you. It felt carnal, like something you needed to survive. He pulled your underwear down your legs harshly, lining his hard cock up with your entrance.
When he finally slid inside of you, you nearly fell to the floor, only being held up by his hands splayed across your hips.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking big.” You cried out, chest heaving as he slid each glorious inch deeper and deeper inside of you until his hips were slapping against yours.
“I know,” He cooed, “You’re taking me so well, god, no one’s fucked you this good before huh? Squeezing me so hard I can barely move.”
Your jaw fell at the dirty words leaving his mouth, you’ve known of Steve’s proclivities, but now you were seriously thinking that maybe the girls of Hawkins didn’t talk about him enough.
He fucked you hard, and deep. Each delicious drag of him inside of you had your toes curling and your knuckles turning white from where you gripped the wall.
“Stevie,” You panted, his body leaning over yours caging you in. His teeth nibbling at your ear, whispering filthy things over and over.
“Say my name, who’s making you feel this good?”
You’d answer with a wail of his name, and he’d respond by snaking his hand between your legs rubbing harsh circles on your clit to feel you clench around him.
“Perfect pussy,” He babbled, “So wet n’tight for me. Wanna feel you cum. Wanna make you cum around my cock.”
“You’re gonna make me cum,” You gasped, “Yes, baby. Don’t fucking stop, right there. I’m gonna- oh Steve I’m cumming.”
If Steve thought feeling you cum against his tongue was heaven, nothing compared to the way you exploded around him. Your thighs shaking, your cunt leaking around him as you fell apart. Your eyes shut and your nose scrunched, only wanton moans leaving your lips as he fucked you through the aftershocks.
“Good girl.” His breath flared out his nostrils, gritting his teeth as you clenched so tightly around him he had to rock his hips into you even harder. “Such a good girl, you’re gonna make me cum. Where do you want it?”
You were barely holding yourself up, but managed to push your ass back against him harshly drinking his cock in. “Inside, please-“
“You don’t have to beg baby.” His thrusts sped up, the lewd wet sounds of him inside your frothy cunt only pushing him to the edge. “M’gonna cum. Gonna go home with my cum deep inside of you. You want that? Tell me you want it.”
“Yes, yes.” You sobbed, letting out a final moan that matched his as you felt his warm cum spurt inside of you. You pressed back against him, milking him for every last drop before he slid his softening cock out of you with a wince.
“I don’t think I’ve ever needed anything as bad as I needed that.” You panted, barely holding yourself up on shaky arms as he used a random work shirt to clean up the mess he had made of you.
A gentle kiss is pressed against the small of your back when he’s done, helping you roll onto your back.
Your clothes are scattered around you, his hair a mess from the way you had been running your fingers through it. You look over at him with a sleepy smile, completely unbothered by the weight of what had just happened.
“That was…” You trail off, unable to find the word, because there really doesn’t seem to be any.
Steve watches you reach for your shirt, pulling it over your head before smoothing the fabric down over your stomach. Your cheeks are warm and your eyes soft as you glance over and catch him staring.
“What?” you ask, smiling.
“Nothing.” Steve forces the word out, reaching for his own clothes. “Are you okay?”
You suppose you should feel something, dread, guilt, maybe even despair. But there’s nothing there, not when the ache of Steve is so strong in your gut.
You press another kiss against his shoulder before pulling away to find your shoes, humming quietly as you get dressed.
Steve watches you.
He watches the girl he has been trying so hard not to fall in love with button her skirt in the back of his van, and something inside him sinks with the realization that this isn’t going to be something he can just forget tomorrow.
It hadn’t really sunk in what Steve had done until he dropped you off, staring at the flickering streetlights ahead. You had spent the drive beside him smiling, your hand resting comfortably on his thigh, completely unaware that he was replaying every second in his head. You kissed his cheek before climbing out, told him you’d see him tomorrow, and shut the door with the same easy smile you’d had when you’d gotten in.
“Fuck.”
That should have been the end of it. A one-time thing, a combination of drugs and poor decision-making. You were pent up, upset, and that’s all it was: a simple mistake. But it wasn’t. It was just the beginning. Weeks went by of the two of you falling into a dangerous routine. There was now a permanent indent in the back of his van in the shape of your body, where he’d fuck you senselessly into the carpet. You’d go home with rug burn on your back and bite marks on your shoulder.
There was a point where you wanted your boyfriend to see you walk back inside with a limp. To peek at the bruises on your hips, the bite marks on your chest, but he never did.
Supply closets at the radio station had been christened. Your knees bruised from hiding underneath the sound deck, his cock sitting firmly in your mouth in between songs. His fingers deep inside of you during morning announcements, and quickies in between song breaks. If either of you had spare time, you were clinging to one another. Your body held a new piece of him each time, and you were addicted. He was a drug you couldn’t stop. A drug you didn’t want to stop, selfishly.
“So, you and Y/n?” Robin asked one morning, in between announcements. Her feet lazily draped on the counter. Steve stilled, pausing too suspiciously for Robin not to pick something up.
“What d’you mean?” He coughed awkwardly, nearly dropping the stack of cassettes he was switching out.
“You guys are just getting pretty close,” She shrugged, “Was wondering if you finally manned up and asked her out.”
His eyes nearly bugged out of his head, staring at her. “What do you mean?”
“Dude, you’ve had the biggest crush on her for like ever; everyone knows this.” She laughed.
“Dude, no.” He scoffed, slamming the cassettes down harder than he needed to. “Besides, she’s got a boyfriend anyway.”
Robin’s eyebrow only shot up higher in confusion, spinning around in her chair to face the man. “Wait. She’s still with him?”
All Steve could do was nod; he couldn’t speak the words. His mouth refused to form the shape. It still made him sick to think about the idea that every night, he wasn’t the one you were going home with. But it wasn’t enough to stop; he’d gladly take whatever scraps of you that you’d offer up to him.
Robin has known Steve long enough to be able to read him like her favorite book. It took one pathetic, far-away puppy dog look from him for her to know exactly what was going on between her two friends.
Robin said his name with a saddened tone, her face falling. A look of pity, of shame even crossed her features. Steve kept his head down; he should’ve known she’d find out. He can’t hide anything from his best friend; and now she knows he was a dirty little secret. She took his silence as a confession, inhaling a deep breath.
“That’s fucked.” She decided on it after the silence had rung through the booth long enough. “Steve, that’s really fucked up.”
“I know,” Steve muttered, barely audible. “I know Robin.”
There wasn’t much left for Robin to say that he didn’t already know. That he deserved more than to be a dirty mistress. That you were walking all over his heart, selfishly. Steve also knew how pathetic he was. How pathetic it was to love someone so much that you’d let them destroy you, because at least you had them at all.
By the third week, Steve was fully embedded into your routine. The two of you knew each other’s bodies like the back of your hands. As soon as the music in the sound booth was nothing but a faint hum in the background, and the recording light was switched off, your eyes would gravitate towards each other. His legs spread in his chair, your fingertips pulling at threads on the end of your skirt. Both of you anxiously waiting to hear the front door slam close upon Robin’s departure.
SLAM
“Come on.” Steve patted his lap, beckoning you to come over. You hated how you didn’t hesitate. Hated how you gathered your skirt up in your hands, the skirt you only wore to make this easier. To pull his cock out of his pants and slide down on top of him. Sheathing himself deep inside of you. No matter how many times this happened, he took your breath away each time.
He’d take you right there in his chair, or sometimes he’d lift you up and fuck you against the soundboard. Then if that wasn’t enough, and it never was, he’d take you home, spend the whole drive with his fingers knuckle deep inside of you. Long enough to stretch you out so you could crawl right there in the driver’s seat with him and take him one last time for the night.
It felt like coming home after a long day, each time you rocked your hips against his. Even now, in the driveway of your house. Tits spilling out of your top, the van rocking back and forth for any passerby to see. But you didn’t care, it was hard to care about anything when Steve was near. Especially when his cock was pressing against your sweet spot, the patch of curly hair above it rubbing deliciously against your clit.
“He’d never please you like this.” Steve seethed through his teeth, his hips bucking wildly into you. Your head turned to your house, the light in the bedroom off. No doubt where your boyfriend was lying asleep, another night of neglecting you. All while Steve was balls deep inside of your cunt, just a few yards away. “Would he?”
“No.” You sobbed, clinging to him like a lifeline. Your fingernails left marks on his shoulder blades. You knew this was wrong, but it was the sort of wrong that just felt so good in the moment. So good that it outweighed the guilt that came after. So undeniably worth it, that the guilt just stopped coming after a while.
You came with a shaky scream of his name, and he followed not long behind pumping his seed deep into you while kissing up and down your collarbone.
In the filthy afterglow, you met his hooded eyes with a grin. “That was fun.” You panted, ready to slip out of his van and into the arms of a man that wasn’t him. Leaving Steve feeling hollow, with a bad taste in his mouth as you gave one last wave before shutting the door.
It didn’t feel like harmless fun, no matter what came out of your mouth. Not when you’d trapeze around his house in nothing but one of his oversized shirts with his cum dripping out of you. Not when you’d help him take the kids to the movies, splitting popcorn with Dustin because you knew he hated asking. Not when he’d hand-feed you strawberries dipped in cream while you sat on the kitchen counter, looking at him as if he had hung the moon for you.
He would have, if he could. You knew this. You knew him. You knew exactly how Steve liked his coffee, which records he played when he was in a bad mood, and the look on his face when you walked through his front door after he’d been waiting for you two to be alone all day. You were also very aware of how Steve Harrington looked at you. Everyone knew it, and it wouldn’t be long before the entire town knew just how madly in love with you he was. That included your boyfriend.
It didn’t feel casual when you’d hang off of his arm around his friends. It didn’t feel casual when you’d hang off of his arm around his friends, laughing at something stupid he said, letting your fingers curl around his bicep because you liked the way he looked when you touched him. It didn’t feel casual when you’d steal his jackets and leave your things scattered around his bedroom as though you belonged there.
It didn’t feel like nothing when he held you in his arms. It felt like everything, and more. That was the cruelest part. You knew exactly what you were doing to him.
Now, you weren’t cruel enough to do it deliberately, but you weren’t selfless enough to stop. You liked him. You loved being around him. You loved the way he made you laugh, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel, the way everything felt lighter when you were with him.
You just didn’t love him enough to choose him over a life so safe. A life planned long before he stepped into the picture.
And Steve knew that, too.
He had never been stupid, no matter how badly he wanted to be when it came to you.
So he continued to take whatever you were willing to give him.
A few hours in his bedroom. A stolen afternoon at Lover’s Lake. Your laughter from the passenger seat of his car. Your hand slipping into his beneath the table when nobody was looking. Your head on his shoulder during a movie, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his shirt. Your lips on his skin, the shape of your lips gasping out his name.
For all intents and purposes, the dalliance had been going well. You refused to call it an affair because the word itself felt too ugly, too sharp, too final, and who was Steve to disagree when you looked at him with those tired eyes and insisted that what the two of you had was different? It wasn’t some careless mistake. It wasn’t some cruel game you were playing at someone else’s expense. At least, that was what you told yourself when the guilt became too heavy to ignore.
Despite Robin’s harsh glances towards you, things were going without a hitch. She never said anything directly, which was somehow worse. She saw the way Steve’s whole face softened before he caught himself. She saw the way he found reasons to be near you, the way conversations that should have ended five minutes ago somehow stretched into another hour. She saw the way you started looking for him too, how your eyes instinctively searched the room for him before you even realized you were doing it.
She also knew exactly how this would end, but when Steve loved he loved hard. Her and Dustin’s pleas fell on deaf ears. All she could do was watch, and help him pick up the pieces you’d no doubt shatter.
Your boyfriend was never around long enough to see just how far away you really were. He was always working, always distracted, always promising that things would slow down eventually. There was always another deadline, another meeting, another reason he couldn’t make time. You became something that existed in the background of his life, something comfortable and familiar that he assumed would always be waiting for him whenever he decided to look up.
Steve was always looking. Wherever you were, Steve would find you. And you liked that, you needed that. So you kept stringing him along, kept letting yourself believe that this was working the way that it was.
It wasn’t until Stacey Haskin’s party that the first crack in the mirage appeared.
You weren’t one to go to parties, not parties like this. But with your boyfriend on your ass about hanging out with his friends instead of going out, it seemed like the easiest thing. You could get through one night of adults pretending they were living out the glory days of high school, all of them stuck in the rut of living in their hometown.
The house was exactly what you expected when you arrived. Loud music rattled the walls, the smell of alcohol and perfume clung to the air, and everyone seemed just a little too eager to prove they were having fun. Your boyfriend seemed to come alive around them in a way you rarely saw anymore, laughing louder, drinking faster, acting like he had something to prove.
You stood beside him and played your role to perfection, smiled and made easy jokes. You nursed a beer you hated, and pretended your mind wasn’t floating feet above your body. You were in the middle of grabbing water, before his arm slung lazily over your shoulder, nearly making you wince at the contact. He was never one for PDA, he swore it made him seem weak and clingy. You nearly stumbled back, feeling him pull you into his side more harshly than before. You didn’t know why until a familiar mop of brown hair was in your peripheral vision.
“Steve?” You stopped, causing your boyfriend to jerk his head back.
“Y/n?” He asked, his eyes wide and doe-like.
“Who?” Your boyfriend slurred, smoothing down the collar of his polo.
“Steve Harrington.” You said slowly, “My coworker?”
Steve pretended that didn’t sting, and gave a half-assed wave, “Hey, man.”
Your boyfriend, so drunk he couldn’t even pretend to care just nodded. “Right, I’m gonna go get another drink. Don’t be long.”
Then he was off, running into the open arms of his buddies who were hollering over a beer pong table.
“Didn’t think this was your scene,” Steve said, taking a drink out of his cup trying to appear more nonchalant than he was.
You could feel the bass of the music in your chest, rattling around in your ears. “I didn’t think it was yours either.”
Steve shrugged coldly, “Guess we don’t know each other as well as we thought, huh?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Your name is being called from a distance, a chorus of cheers following.
You open your mouth to speak, but Steve beats you to it.
“Don’t want you to be too long.” He held his hands up, a small gesture of surrender, like he was backing away from a fight he didn’t want to have.
He goes to walk away, and in a moment of fury you follow. Your boots clunking against the linoleum tile and all the way through the sliding glass door.
“Don’t walk away from me, don’t do that.” You hollered, following him into the driveway where he headed for his car.
Steve doesn’t stop immediately. His shoulders rise with a heavy breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he stares at the pavement like he is trying to find the patience to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret. When he finally turns around, there is something exhausted in his face that makes your anger falter.
“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” He asked, “To us?”
“Doing what?” Your hands are shaking as you rummage through your purse for your pack of cigarettes. A horrible habit you’ve started again. Who knew the stress of an affair would cause you to start chain-smoking again?
“You’re not happy with him,” He stuttered, “I know you’re not, you don’t love him.”
“I can learn to love him.” You said through your own tears that threatened to break through, fingers gripping the cardboard box in your palm. “I can learn.”
“Y/n,” He grips your shoulders gently, as if he could shake the stupidity out of you, “He is sloppy drunk and you’re out here crying? In what world is that love?”
“The only love I’ve known, Steve.” The words tear out of your chest, “It’s safe! It’s stability in my life.”
“What does he really give you, huh?” Steve presses, “A big house? Shitty sex? Your parents’ approval?”
“You don’t understand,” You cry, letting a stray tear finally fall. “You got away from your family, I can’t-“
“Yes you can-“
“No!” You cry out, a little too loud, causing passersby to turn their heads. You don’t care this time, your chest heaving as you try to swallow down the sob threatening to break through your throat. “It’s all I’ve ever had, it’s all I’ve ever known. It’s different for me, so different, Steve.”
“Y/n,” He whispers your name, too affectionately for what you feel you deserve, and something about the softness of it makes you want to cry harder. “I know you, I know you’re scared, but honey, I promise you everything would be fine. You could stay with me, you can finish school, we can get you a car-“
“You don't even know me Steve, not really!”
He laughs, and it’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever heard from your sweet boy’s mouth.
“You wanna play that game Y/n?” He asks, bending down so his nose is touching yours. “I buy all of your favorite snacks every time I go to the store. I have a blanket of your favorite color on my couch because you run cold. You talk in your sleep, you wear socks with sandals, and hate the smell of patchouli. I know the exact scrunch of your nose when you’re about to cum on my cock. I know all your biggest fears but I know none of your dreams because you won’t talk to me about the future, because you just won’t admit that I’m not in it. So don’t ever accuse me of not knowing you.”
“You knew what this was,” You snapped, jerking your arm back from him harshly, “If you can’t handle it, then maybe we should stop.”
“Tell me,” Steve knew he should stop talking but all his frustrations were pouring out of him, “Who fucked you up this badly? Was it your parents, or was it him?”
“Fuck you, Steve Harrington.” You spit.
“Too late. You already have, and nothing else will compare, baby.” He leaned forward, his lips just inches from yours before your hands pushed against his chest pushing him far away.
“Go to hell.”
The next day you still found yourself at Steve’s front door. Jutting out your bottom lip, and asking for forgiveness. Your clothes were left behind in a pile leading up the stairs into his bedroom. You let him inside of you, you let him fuck the memories of last night out of you. You scream his name when you finish, and you let him cum inside of you. You tell him you think you love him, he doesn’t pretend to believe it anymore. It’s as if you knew it was ending, as if you needed to feel him one last time.
And Steve, he was going to keep taking whatever it is you gave him.
After it was over you lay on his chest, memorizing the pattern of his breathing, tracing shapes in his chest hair. His arms were wrapped around you, his mind far away as he stared up at the ceiling. No words were spoken, just the hum of each other’s breath.
When it got too much, you slunk out of the bed and leaned against his window. Clad in nothing but his crumpled-up shirt, lighting up a cigarette when you heard him mumble something under his breath.
You took in a deep drag, “You say something?”
Suddenly you could see the tension in his shoulders, the sad faraway look in his eyes. You braced for impact when he sat up on the corner of the bed, his hands gripping his knees.
“What are we doing, Y/n?” The words left his mouth with such a heartbreaking tone, you flicked ash on your leg by accident.
“What do you mean?” Your thumb is now rubbing at the burnt spot on your thigh, self-soothing as best you can.
“You know what I mean,” He glares, “This. Fucking and saying things you don’t mean just to go back with him.”
“It’s complicated-“
He laughs, and it's cruel and you guess you deserve that. “It’s not complicated, you’re just making it complicated.”
“Steve,” you barked, turning toward him as frustration finally began to overtake the shame, and you stubbed the cigarette out against the glass harder than necessary. “You told me you were okay with this, whatever this is. I told you I can’t, I can’t just leave him.”
“Bullshit.” He scoffed, shaking his head as he stood. “It’s fucking bullshit. You’re scared and just using me in your spare time.”
Your face falls, swinging your legs back to the floor. “Steve-“
“Does he take care of you?” He asks, emphasizing each word. His words echo the same ones he spoke to you on the night all of this started.
“In some ways, yes.” You cry out, your hands tugging at the roots of your hair in frustration.
“I could easily fill his shoes, Y/n. Come on.” He scoffs. “What can he give you that I can’t?”
You wanted to cry because the answer felt so cruel when you said it aloud, even though it was the truth.
“Stability? My parents not cutting me off-“
“Money, money, money,” He raises his voice, “It’s just money and sex with you, isn’t it?”
You narrow your eyes at him, “Is that really how you think of me?”
“You haven’t given me much else.” He admits, standing up from the bed and slipping on his sweatpants hastily. “What are you still doing here? I mean we might as well just fuck, s’all I’m good for anyways.”
“Steve-“
“Stop!”
He yelled so loudly that you sank into yourself, the sound reverberating through the bedroom and leaving a terrible silence behind it. His chest rose and fell heavily, his hands trembling slightly at his sides, and for one awful second you thought he might take it back.
“Stop,” he said quieter this time, and somehow that hurt more. “Stop saying my name like it means something to you when you’ve proved over and over again that it doesn’t.”
You choke on your breath, standing up to meet his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I can’t keep being your dirty mistress, someone who you come to crying, who loves you more than anything, does anything for you, to be what?” His voice broke, and he looked down for a second before forcing himself to continue. “Treated like someone who gives you what he can’t. Like I’m just a good fuck.”
“No.” You shook your head frantically, tears finally spilling over as you stepped toward him. “You’re not just someone-God, don’t ever say that. Stevie, you have to know that. I love you. You’re one of my best friends.”
The words sounded so desperate that you hated yourself.
Steve stared at you for a long moment before his hands found your hips, pulling you flush against him. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as his breath shook between you, and for a moment the anger disappeared entirely, leaving only the exhausted grief of two people who had wanted something they could never seem to give each other.
“So be with me, Y/n. I’m pleading with you. Let me give you the love you deserve. Please.”
Your hands curled against his chest, gripping the skin there because you needed something solid to hold onto, something that would keep you from collapsing beneath the weight of the choice he was asking you to make.
Tears were welling in your eyes as you looked at him, and every part of you wanted to say yes. You wanted to let yourself be selfish for once. You wanted to stop thinking about your parents, your boyfriend, money, expectations, and the future everyone else had already planned for you, and you wanted to choose the person standing in front of you.
“I can’t.”
Steve’s eyes closed.
And you felt his hands slowly loosen at your waist, as if even holding you had suddenly become too painful.
He cleared his throat, “Then I think it’s best we keep some space.”
You nod, knowing the moment a word left your mouth you’d be choking down sobs.
“Okay, yeah.” Your voice was small, but Steve turned away giving you privacy as you hastily changed.
Neither of you looked back at one another when you left. Your eyes cast downward on the floor, his fixated on the wall. Neither of you let the tears fall until his front door slammed shut.
Space. Space. Space.
When you say a word so many times it starts to lose its meaning, hell it starts to barely feel like a word anymore. It becomes nothing but sounds, syllables that roll around in your mouth without ever settling into something real. But space had become painfully real.
Space was empty seats where you used to sit beside him in the break room. Space was leaving five minutes earlier than usual so you wouldn’t run into Steve in the parking lot.
It was strange, discovering how much of your life had quietly wrapped itself around another person.
You couldn’t walk into work without thinking of him. Couldn’t hear a certain song on the radio without remembering the way he drummed his fingers against the sound board. Even stupid things had become all about Steve. Strawberry ice cream. Cigarette smoke. The smell of leather. The sound of aerosol. The stupid horror movies he made fun of but always watched anyway.
You had built little shrines to him in places you hadn’t realized could become holy.
Work was awkward in a way that felt almost unbearable. The kind of awkward that sat heavy in your chest and made every minute stretch longer than it should. Robin didn’t even pretend to be civil with you anymore, you respected her honesty. Steve needed someone in his corner, but it left you calling out more days than you should have, inventing headaches and family emergencies because it was easier than seeing him look at you like that.
Steve pretended not to sulk on the days that you were there.
He pretended not to watch your boyfriend pull into the parking lot. Pretended not to notice the smile that spread across your face before you climbed into another man’s car. Pretended not to watch your boyfriend lean over the center console to kiss you. Pretended not to feel something ugly twist inside him every time.
What had once been your sacred time had become someone else’s.
Steve stood beneath the buzzing lights of WSQK Radio and watched another man have all the things he had once foolishly let himself imagine could belong to him.
He had gotten through almost a month of ‘space’ before he caved. Relapsing on the drug that was you.
Steve knew you’d be here. Maybe that’s why he decided to come again, a shitty beer that’s gone warm gripped tightly in his hand as he watched you glued to his side, a fake smile plastered on your face.
A glimpse into the future that he wanted, and would probably never have.
He told himself he was only going to stay for one drink.
Then one drink became two, and two became three, because every time he thought about leaving, he caught another glimpse of you through the crowd and found himself rooted to the spot. It was pathetic, really. A month of trying to teach himself how to exist without you, only to walk into a party and immediately start looking for you as if his eyes had never learned anything else.
You look different, in a way he can’t place. It takes him two more beers and feeling like a perv by watching you through the crowd before it hits him. You don’t look like you. The floral dress you have on, the stepford wife red lipstick. It’s not the same girl who’d show up to work in day-old eyeliner and high tops. It’s definitely not the same girl who would curl up on his couch in nothing but his t-shirts.
Your boyfriend was drunk, his head shoved obnoxiously into the crook of your neck as he paraded you around his equally drunk friends. His hand stayed possessively at your waist while he laughed too loudly at something one of them said, and you smiled because you were supposed to smile.
He stayed until the room became too loud to think in, until the beer in his hand was already warm and flat and the sight of your boyfriend’s mouth against your neck had become something he couldn’t keep swallowing down. He tried to convince himself he was leaving. He was drunk, because he had work in the morning. After all, Robin would probably make fun of him for showing up to a party he hadn’t even wanted to attend in the first place.
Then you slipped away.
It was subtle, the way you did it. You waited until your boyfriend was distracted by one of his friends, laughed at something you hadn’t heard, and gently peeled his arm from around your waist with some excuse about needing air. Steve watched you disappear through the back door, and for a few seconds he stayed exactly where he was, staring at the space you’d left behind.
He should have let you go.
That was the whole point of the month, wasn’t it? Space meant leaving you alone. Space meant allowing you to have your boyfriend and your life without Steve constantly hovering around the edges of it, waiting for whatever scraps of affection you were willing to throw to him. But then he remembered the pack of cigarettes that were always tucked into the little purse hanging from your shoulder.
He remembered the way you always smoked when you were overwhelmed, the way you’d take the first drag too quickly and cough before glaring at him when he laughed. He remembered all the nights he’d sat beside you on his back steps while you complained about your boyfriend, your parents, work, everything that had ever made you feel like you were living a life somebody else had picked out for you.
And before Steve could talk himself out of it, he was moving.
Outside, the air was cooler, and the music became muffled behind the door, reduced to a dull pulse that barely reached the porch. You were standing near the edge of the yard with your arms folded, staring out into the darkness as you dug through your purse. You didn’t turn around when the door opened, because you knew. You memorized his outline long ago.
You pulled a cigarette from the pack and rolled it between your fingers, staring at the end of it instead of him. Steve glanced down at your hands, then at your face, and something about the familiarity of the gesture nearly undid him. You looked exactly like yourself now. You finally held it toward him, an offering.
He took the cigarette from your fingers and brought his lighter up, shielding the flame with his hand when the wind caught it. You leaned toward him, and for one brief second your faces were close enough that he could smell your perfume beneath the smoke and the alcohol clinging to both of you.
The first hit makes your skin tingle, the smoke blowing out of your mouth quickly before you passed it to him. He took it, more out of impulse than he wanted.
Your lipstick stains the filter of the cigarette when you pass it back to him, a faint reminder of you left behind on something temporary. His lips closed around the same place yours had just been, and you watched him inhale. Steve watches the mark without meaning to, watches the way your fingers linger for half a second before letting go, and he hates how much meaning he has started finding in the smallest things.
The strap of your dress is still hanging loosely against your shoulder; er, it takes all of Steve’s willpower not to reach out and fix it for ,you out of habit, of a a of dto love you.
When you open your mouth, he doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Anything, but this.
“He’s gonna propose.” You say, your voice devoid of all emotion. “I found the ring last week.”
The cigarette burns slowly between his fingers as he closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the rough brick wall behind him. The impact is sharp enough to ground him, but not enough to pull him away from the reality settling over him.
“Are you gonna say yes?”
The question leaves him softer than he expects, stripped of all the anger he thought he would feel. He thought if this day ever came, he would be furious. He thought he would fight. He thought he would list every reason you deserved better, every reason you were making a mistake, every reason you should choose something else. It occurs to him then, that this was always how your story was going to end.
You can’t answer, instead, you let the hum of the cicadas answer for you.
He made a noise, a combination of heartbreak, anger, and cruel amusement.
“Did you ever actually love me? Did I ever even have a chance?”
This is the part where you’re supposed to break down, to confess your misgivings and plead for forgiveness. This is where you are supposed to fall apart and admit that you were scared, that you were wrong, that you chose the wrong person because you were too afraid to choose yourself. This is where you are supposed to tell him the truth.
But life is not like the movies.
There is no perfect confession waiting on your tongue. There is no grand gesture that fixes the damage. There is no version of this where nobody gets hurt.
You believe that Steve deserves the truth.
He deserves to know that every glance, every conversation, every moment you stayed just a little too long was real. He deserves to know that he was the person who made you feel seen when you had spent your whole life trying to disappear. But you cannot give him that, because you’re afraid it’s going to break him.
And maybe that is the most selfish thing of all, convincing yourself that breaking his heart is kindness. That letting go is your final act of selflessness, even if he’ll never see it that way. You can’t give him what he deserves, and that’s okay. So you take a shaky breath, and let your eyes fall on the ground.
“No.”
You pretend not to hear the cry that leaves him, or the uneven breath that follows. You pretend you don’t notice the way he wipes at his face like he’s embarrassed for letting himself get hurt, when he knew better. When everyone told him so. You pretend because if you acknowledge it, if you look at him, you know you will take it back.
Some selfish, desperate part of you wants to reach for him. Wants to tell him you were lying. Wants to tell him that every time you imagined a future, his face was somewhere in it. But wanting something does not always mean you are allowed to have it.
Steve stands slowly, brushing off his jeans even though there is nothing there. It is a meaningless gesture, something to do with his hands because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.
He walks away. And your heart stops for one terrible second when he turns back, because there’s a cruel, evil selfish part of you that thinks he’s going to plead, to think he’s going to convince you to change your mind.
“One day,” he says, his voice rough and tired, “when you’re his trophy wife, when you’re standing in some huge house pretending you’re happy because everyone told you that you should be…” He swallows.
“You’re gonna wake up and realize this was the worst decision you ever made.”
The words hurt because somewhere deep down, you know he might be right.
You flinch, but you force yourself not to look away. You force your tear-filled eyes open and make yourself watch him disappear into the darkness of the alley. You make yourself feel every piece of the pain you’ve caused and hope that one day, it’ll be worth it. No, not for you, but for him.
You know with every ragged breath and tear that slips down your cheeks, that he’s right. That you’ll regret this every last second of your life.
summary - your obsession with the boy from the family video is out of hand but little do you know he has the same obssesion with you.
n - steve harrington the man that you are in that green fucking vest
time stamp - 7:30pm
"Bitch, this is the fifth time this week we've been here—don't you think that cute boy is going to notice?" your best friend ivy rambled in your ear.
Okay, so what? Maybe you had a problem...or maybe you just have a crush.
"Well, if he notices, then that just gives him more of a reason to talk to me," you said, your gaze drifting toward the front desk.
Steve was busy with a customer, his back turned as the muscles beneath his shirt shifted. The stupid green vest he had to wear somehow only made it worse—he looked ridiculously sexy.
"You're drooling," Ivy chuckled from behind you.
"Shut the fuck up, ivy," you muttered under your breath.
"Gosh, maybe instead of just watching him, you should actually go talk to him," Ivy rolled her eyes, flipping through scary movies as her gaze flickered back towards you.
"Easy for you to say," you muttered under your breath. "Someone that fucking sexy is not going to pay attention to me, Ivy."
Your eyes stayed on him—the way his hands moved when he talked, the curve of his smile, his hair, his eyes. Every little detail pulled you in, your thoughts racing as the realization hit you a little too late.
"Ivy, this is pathetic—you're right. I'm fucking crazy, and we need to leave before he actually notices I've been here for the fifth time this week," you said, your voice frantic as heat rushed to your face.
"Okay let's g—“
"Did you guys find everything you need?" a voice cut Ivy off, and by the look on your best friend's face, and the voice you heard, you knew this was not fucking good.
Your body shifted as you turned to look at the person now standing just a few feet away from you.
Steve fucking Harrington.
Your eyes went wide as you glanced back at Ivy, silently pleading with her to answer him—because there was no way you were talking to him.
"Oh, yeah—we were just about to leave," Ivy said, a gentle smile on her face.
His eyebrow lifted, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You know this is your fifth time coming in this week without actually getting a movie," he said, glancing between you and Ivy.
“Oh my gosh,” you muttered quietly to yourself.
if anything could end you, it would be this exact moment.
“W-what?” We got a movie last week…” you trailed off, squinting at his name tag as if you didn’t already know it.
Then you glanced back up. “Steve—we got fucking ghostface.”
“Oh, really? So when did you turn it in?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting.
“because it’s been more than two days since you rented it.”
fucking dick.
“fuck off, Steve.” You shot a dirty look, your expression full of irritation.
“Jesus, why are you being such a bitch right now?”
"Fuck you, Steve. You're being a dick trying to call us out. Do you really think that shit is cute?" you shot back.
You didn't even know why you were acting like this. Maybe it was just from being embarrassed.
You thought he was cute. You'd spent the last five days finding any excuse to be around him, yet the second he looked your way, your mouth betrayed you.
"Let's just go..." Ivy whispered, grabbing your wrist and gently tugging you away. Your glare stayed locked on Steve until Ivy finally pulled you outside.
"Jesus--" Ivy shoved the door open before turning to face you. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Your name left her lips sharply. "You've been practically stalking this guy for five days, and the second he notices you, you start acting like a complete bitch."
Her words hit harder than you wanted to admit.
Because she was right. You were acting like a huge bitch. You yanked your wrist out her grip. frustration bubbling over you. "Well, you can fuck off too, Ivy. I don't need you telling me shit."
her face twisted with disbelief. "What the fuck is your problem?" she snapped. "You know what? Fuck this. Find your own ride home, dumbass bitch."
She turned on her heel and stormed off, throwing her middle finger up without looking back.
Shit. What the fuck. "I did it again," you mumbled, your voice barley above a whisper. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes as you stood there alone.
The bell above the family video store chimed as the door opened. Someone stepped outside. You heard their footsteps drawing closer.
Instantly your hands flew to your face, hurriedly wiping away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks.
You turned your head. It was Steve. He stood a few feet away, looking down at you. Guilt was written all over his face, mixed with something softer.
"Hey... um, my bad for calling you a bitch." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Are...are you okay?"
His voice was rough, but there was a quiet gentleness beneath it. A humorless laugh slipped past your lips. "Why are you apologizing?" you asked, shaking your head. "I was completely out of line. if anyone should be sorry, it's me."
Your eyes met his, and suddenly all that confidence from earlier disappeared. Now, all you felt was nervous. Steve let out a small sigh.
"Well... you were right. I shouldn't have called you out like that." He shrugged awkwardly. "I just... notice you come in here a lot."
Heat rushed to your face. "And... you kind of stare at me sometimes." He scratched the back of his head before laughing nervously. "I didn't really know what to make of it."
You opened your mouth to explain yourself, but he kept going. "And, uh..." He hesitated, waving his hands around as he searched for the right words. "I also thought you were cute."
There was just silence between you two. Steve froze. His eyes widened as the realization hit him. "Oh... oh shit." He groaned, dragging both hands down his face. "My bad. that probably sounded really fucking weird."
A smile spread across your face. "So..." you teased, titling your head. "You think I'm cute?" a playful smirk tugged at your lips as a soft laugh escaped your lips.
Steve looked at you for a second before a sheepish grin broke across his face, the tips of his ears turning bright red. "Yeah," he admitted quickly. "I kinda do."
time stamp - 11:00pm
“Thank you again for bringing me home.” A shy smile tugged at your lips, your cheeks tinting pink as you glanced over at him from the passenger seat.
After Steve admitted you were cute, you finally confessed why you kept coming into the store so often. It was a little embarrassing to say out loud. And even after everything—the attitude, the way you acted he still insisted on driving you home after closing.
Steve, on the other hand, didn’t quite understand himself. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why he offered easily after seeing how you acted.
He had been watching you for months, learning your daily routine, habits, he knew everything about you before he even directly spoke to you.
And you hadn’t realized any of it. Not once. Maybe the fact that he knew exactly how to get to your house without asking should have unsettled you. Maybe it should have made you question things. But your thoughts were to clouded, too caught up in the fact that the boy you’d been quietly obsessing over was right here, driving you home, talking to you for what felt like hours about everything and nothing at the same time.
“Anytime… could i possibly get your number?” His lips curved into a small smirk. “Maybe i could bring you home again—on a different occasion.”
Every part of you felt nervous under his gaze, your stomach twisting slightly. “Yeah… here, let me write it down,” you mumbled.
You fumbled through your purse, pulling out a tissue and pen. Your hand steadied as you quickly scribbled your number down, the ink slightly smudging against the thin paper.
“Here you go, Steve.” You leaned closer to the open window, extending your hand. His met yours halfway, your fingers brushing for a brief second—soft, but enough to make you feel a warm puddle in your lower belly.
“Thank you again, i hope to see you soon,” you said quickly, your words rushing out as you stepped back and turned toward your front door.
A wide smile spread across your face as you walked inside, your mind still spinning from everything that just happened.
Steve watched you the entire time, his eyes lingered a moment longer before he finally pulled away from the curb—his own smile settling in as he drove off.
time stamp 2:40am
Steve found himself outside your house, eyes fixed on your window. Everyday for the past two months this is what he had been doing, before he got the courage to speak to you that night.
You never went to sleep early, you liked to take your time after a long day—coming home, showering, grabbing something to eat, flipping through a book.
But tonight was different, Steve watched you, the way your back arched up off your bed. Your mouth slightly parted, two fingers plunged inside yourself, slightly moving in n out as he watched you rub your clit with your thumb.
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and he couldn’t help but feel his cock leak precum, his tip throbbing against his boxers as it rubbed against them. A whimper leaving his mouth as he rubbed his palm over his erection.
“O-oh fuck,” Steve groaned, he knew this was wrong, as much as he wanted to sit there and watch you while he fucking touched himself he knew he couldn’t.
A groan left his mouth one last time as he banged his head against the steering wheel, his hand reaching to turn on the car and driving away.
The thought of you and the way you touched yourself lingered in his head the whole way home. Steve Harrington was going to have you one way or another. Even if it meant being a complete fucking psycho.
n - please i had such writers block at the end of this shit, my apologies if it genuinely sucks towards the end 💔. this was in the work’s for a couple day’s and oh my gosh it took me forever to proofread and edit and then change shit up all over again, but i somewhat like the outcome of the beginning. ugh and i love steve so much, and oh my gosh i would love to tell you all that i appreciate every single one of you who have reblogged, commented, liked, and followed me! it mean’s so much i always have had such a huge insecurity on writing because i see so many amazing writers and it make’s me feel like i could do much better then what i do 🥲, but all the likes and reblogs have made me think other wise cause you guys seem to love it. but i hope you all continue to enjoy and read my work!
summary : You’re a young Brooklyn therapist in a fading relationship when a new patient with a haunted past begins to change the rhythm of your life. What starts as quiet healing turns into a slow, dangerous pull toward something that feels like being truly seen for the first time.
word count : 9,3k (ongoing)
warnings 18+ : no use of y/n, cheating, age gap, explicit sexual content, slow burn, emotional rejection, forbidden romance with severe ethical violations, trauma-triggered anger outbursts, graphic nightmares, dissociation tied to Winter Soldier past, cigarette smoking as coping, alcohol use and drunken impaired decisions, strong language + many more!! each chapter will have it’s own set of warnings <3
just letting you guys know rn that upon all the other wips i’m working on, i’ve just added another gator one to the list. oops.
‘stop the wedding…’ coming soon
the countdown finally hit zero. today is the day! the whole town is here, everyone is in their sunday best. the tables are set, and the guest are waiting!
a gorgeous day for a white wedding.
but you can’t ignore the sinking feeling, voices in your head, the dread in your heart, your sweating hands… you know how you really feel.
can you really do it? or does your childhood best friend, Gator Tillman have to help you…
can i pleaseeeee have two scoops of strawberry… with waffle cone with… uhmmmm butterscotch sauce and… uhhhh strawberries, milk chocolate chip and hmm… dark chocolate chip with blue sprinkles 😋😋.
sigh i hope i did that right hahaha.
Talk Too Much
pairing: steve harrington x fem reader
summary: working with steve harrington was a nightmare you'd yet to wake up from. until a discovery in the basement of the squawk lead you to an even scarier nightmare, one which may somehow result in a happy ending.
wc: 8.9k (i'm so sorry) (don't know why i limited myself to 3k who was i kidding)
warnings: explicit 18+ (minors dni), oral (m&f recieving), face sitting, fingering, nipple play, dirty talk, finger sucking, praise kink, semi-public sex (christening the van), steve finally puts his mouth to good use, coming untouched, mention of upside down, mention of canon character death
an: order up!! here’s the next order for my 500 follower celebration! thank u for ur request best friend i had so much fun writing this (especially with ur help)!!! i really really hope u enjoy it <3 one bed = one van… right…
Working at The Squawk was kind of your dream job. You lived out in Roane County, a fairly long drive out of Hawkins where the radio station was located. Being able to work in radio was your dream job, and taking some time off before going to college to bulk up your resume at WSQK was your foolproof plan for now.
Your job was serene and peaceful. Sometimes you’d be supplying your few colleagues with coffee and lunch before restocking the tape carts, sometimes you’d read commercials and weather updates during the broadcast, sometimes you even managed phone calls from listeners and timed songs to match the station clocks. You loved it.
But that peace was shattered when your boss hired two new team members, Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley.
The first time that you laid eyes on Steve, you were immediately ticked off by his demeanor. The way he carried himself into the room like all eyes were expected to fall on him, how his fingers pushed through his hair and his teeth practically sparkled from behind his smile from the other side of the room.
You took it upon yourself to keep away from him, the last thing you needed whilst you were trying to kickstart the rest of your life was some pretty boy taking all of your attention.
Robin, however, was sweet. She was taking over the morning segment and was always eager to ask for help or your advice, which you were happy to give her. Steve would attempt to make conversation with you, come and lean against the stacks of CD’s as you showed Robin how to use the equipment, but you’d just shrug off his comments and avert your attention back to Robin.
One frosty November morning, you were standing at the coffee machine making a cup for yourself, leaning against the counter as your fingers flicked through a magazine that you’d picked up that morning when you’d stopped for gas on your commute in.
“You know it’s like, fifty degrees out, right?” A voice mumbled from behind you as the door to the kitchen knocked open, your head spun on your shoulder to watch Steve making his way to the shelf where the mugs laid.
“Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?” You spat back, flicking your magazine shut as you took your mug out from beneath the drip to move across the room, not wanting an excuse to brush shoulders with Steve.
He placed his mug where yours had just laid, turning on the machine before turning his body to face your own. His head motioned to what you were wearing, a pair of woolen tights and a skirt that might have been too short to wear in November, but you didn’t care.
“Seriously?” You scoffed as you grabbed the magazine and shoved it under your arm, your fingers wrapping around your mug of black coffee before your eyes scanned over him. “No, hello, how are you? Probably the first conversation we’ve had is you berating me for my choice of clothing?”
“Wh– No, no. That’s not what I meant at all, I–” He scrambled over his words, his brows knitting together as he shook his head. A small smirk inched at the corner of your lips, bringing your mug up to your lips to which he paused, huffing out a small laugh. “Right.”
“Mm,” You hummed softly, lowering the mug to flash him a small smile before making your way toward the door of the kitchen. “Enjoy your coffee, dickhead.”
You heard Steve scoff as the door swung shut behind you, a pleased smile plastered against your lips as you mentally noted you - 1, Steve - 0.
Most of your interactions from then on were of the same nature. Steve desperately attempting to make conversation with you, and you either shrugging him off and cutting through his words, or just staring at him until he awkwardly shuffled away, or just ignoring him completely.
Although one day, something in Steve changed.
It was like a switch had flipped and suddenly he had no interest in attempting any kind of conversation with you. He’d skulk into work with his mind working behind his eyes a million miles an hour, pulling Robin aside for hushed conversations that would be halted as soon as you’d walk in the room.
You noticed that the two of them were inviting their friends to the station, too. Which was fine, it wasn’t like the work you did was all that time consuming and if your friends lived close by, you’d probably invite them round too.
What piqued your interest was how they’d never hung out around you. Which didn’t really surprise you all that much, considering how you’d treated Steve the last two months, you wouldn’t have expected that he’d given his friends raving reviews about you.
You found yourself seeking Steve out now, trying all of your best tricks to push his buttons for a reaction. An eye roll, a curse, a playful smack on your arm, anything. But you were left with nothing. He’d simply shrug you off now, something that burned a fire in your stomach more than you’d like to admit.
Especially when he’d started burning a fire in your stomach when you were at home, too. Specifically, when you were laid in bed at night and unable to fall asleep. As you laid there mindlessly staring at your ceiling, your brain somehow always landed on Steve. On the way his new attitude sparked something within you, something between your legs. An ache that could only be dulled by your hands in your pyjama shorts and the thought of Steve on top of you, telling you that you talk too much, that he needed to shut you up.
One Friday night, after Steve and Robin’s friends had fluttered out from the station at the same usual regulated time, you were sitting in the booth upstairs watching as they wandered out. Your fingers flicking through the different vinyls for the next broadcast, trying to keep yourself busy as your mind wandered.
What were they keeping down there? What were they hiding? Drugs? Money? A dead body?
Before you could even realise that you’d stepped out of the sound booth, your palm was wrapped around the handle leading to the basement. A whole area of the station that you surprisingly had never explored before.
You held your breath as you quietly made your way down the stairs, ducking your head to try and get a glance quicker as you rounded the bottom of the stairs. But your breath was quickly exhaled, taking in the room around you.
It was just a basement. A table, a couple of chairs, nothing suspicious. There were no saran wrapped packages of hard drugs piled up in the corner, or dozens of duffle bags of money stuffed under the couch, there were no limbs or heads or smell of dead body anywhere. Just a basement.
As you took a few steps in, your eyes kept trailing across the space, your eyes wandering for any clues. You were met with a board, you heard the sound of the basement door opening from somewhere behind you, but you were too busy reading the messy handwriting scribbled in front of you.
Upside Down. Abyss. Henry Creel. McCorkle Farm. Crawl. Vecna.
“What are you doing down here?” A familiar deep voice called from behind you as your eyes took in the sight before you.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” You scoffed, stepping closer as your arms snaked around your chest as your head tilted to the side. Your eyes squinted as you tried to make sense of the words drawn out in front of you. “What is all this? Wh– What’s a demogorgon?”
“None of your business.” Steve huffed as he made his way over to you, his palm finding your arm and gently pulling you backward but you were quick to shrug him off.
“Vecna? What’s a Vecna? Are you guys doing some kind of– Math? What the fuck is all this?” You practically laughed, finally turning to face Steve. But when your eyes met his, you felt your stomach drop slightly at the fear that was fighting the strength in his eyes.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” Steve said your name gently, lifting his hand up to grab your arm again, sighing frustratedly as you moved your shoulder back and away from his grip. “Seriously. Please, can we just go up–”
Your face scrunched at his words, a small flutter of anger bullying through your stomach as you looked up at him. “I have every right to be down here, Steve. In case you were too busy doing nothing to notice, I work here. I’ve worked here long before you sauntered in here with that stupid mop of hair–”
“My hair– What does that even have to do with–” Steve stuttered as his own arms folded across his chest, mirroring your pose as your expression scolded him.
“Because, Steve, you walk around here like you own the place. You invite all your little friends around all the time, spend half your shift fucking about down here. It’s ridiculous– You’re ridiculous.” You spat back, your eyes trailing over the cream cable knit that laid across his shoulders.
“Oh, I’m ridiculous? You’re the one who walks around here like you own the place. Like you’re so perfect, like all of us will never be as great as you. I bet you’re jealous, right? That all of our friends come round here and you’re all alone.” Steve’s eyebrows raised at you, eyes narrowing into yours as he spoke.
You scoffed loudly, your eyes rolling before squinting over at him. “I have friends, dickhead. I live an hour–”
“You live an hour away, I know,” Steve sighed exasperatedly, his palm dragging over his face before angling toward you. “Because you complain about it all the time, and that’s all you do, you complain. I’ve worked with you for almost three months now, and have you ever attempted to get to know me? Or Robin?”
“Have you ever thought maybe I don’t want to know you? Not everyone wants to be your friend, Steve. Not everyone thinks that you’re some– Handsome, charming guy with perfect hair and pretty eyes.” You tilted your head as you looked up at him, trying not to fall into his incredibly dreamy eyes as you argued.
Luckily, they rolled out of your vision as his head fell back slightly with frustration. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying– Christ, you’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. You’re always undermining everything–”
You gasped dramatically at his words, your lips screwing into a frown as your voice raised higher than his own. “I’m stubborn? I’m the most stubborn– Have you met yourself, Steve?”
Steve nodded, lifting his hand as if you were proving his point, his own voice raising above your own now. “Yes, you’re the most stubborn–”
All of your arguing words began to blur into one, desperately shouting over each other as your hands flew about in front of your face, desperate for them to assist you in getting your point across.
The two of you were so deep in your shouting that neither of you heard the door to the basement swing open, and footsteps descending down the stairs.
“Steve?” Robin called as she rounded the bottom of the stairs, sighing tightly as you both were knee deep in your arguing that neither of you noticed she was there or even heard her. She took in a sharp breath, her voice raising as she shouted again. “Guys!”
Both of your heads spun toward her at that, your chest heaving in frustration as your fist balled up in anger as Steve sighed in frustration from beside you. “I’m a little busy right now, Robin.”
“We’ve been waiting for you,” She spoke through gritted teeth and widened eyes, as if she was speaking in code right in front of you. “You– Need to get a move on, please.”
Steve’s lips parted before snapping shut, glancing down at you where you stood with your hands planted firmly at your hips. His brow raised gently as he watched your posture straighten, your voice surprisingly gentle as you spoke. “Where are you going?”
He shook his head softly, a small laugh escaping his lips as he stole one last look into your eyes before making his way over to the staircase. “I’ll explain later.”
“No you won’t,” You retorted with a small scoff as you glanced over your shoulder at the board one last time, taking in the mystery written in red pen before following in his footsteps. “I’m coming with you.”
Both Robin and Steve paused in their steps up toward the basement door, glancing at each other before turning back down to look at you as you climbed the staircase behind them. “I don’t think that’s a good idea–”
“I think it’s a great idea,” You interrupted Steve with a bright smile, lifting your hand to press into his back to guide him up the stairs as you spoke. “You want to get to know me? Be my friend? Then we can, doing whatever stupid shit you’re going to do.”
Robin and Steve let out the same frustrated sigh as the three of you continued up the steps and out of the basement. Robin held the door open for you all, to which you strutted out of and made your way through the station despite having no idea where you were going.
Your head turned over your shoulder, brow furrowing as you watched Robin and Steve whispering at the basement door. “Hey,” You called out, to which they both looked up at you with widened eyes. “Let’s get a move on, dickhead. They’ve been waiting for you.”
Extremely reluctantly, you were guided out of the station toward the blue WSQK van that you’d only been inside of once. Steve’s lips were sealed shut, his eyes focused on Robin standing at the entrance of the station as he held open the passenger door for you, not saying a word as he slammed it shut behind you and rounded the front of the van.
You watched as he slammed his own door, keeping his eyes ahead of him as he slipped the keys into the ignition. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or just sit there with a face like thunder?” You teased as your hand reached over to toy with the stereo.
Steve’s hand left the wheel to wrap around your wrist, his eyes glancing over at you before focusing back on the road. “I’m going to tell you, but you’re gonna sit there and not say a word, okay?”
You swallowed down the small tingle that you felt as his fingers wrapped around you, quickly tugging it out of his grip and into your lap as you sank further into your seat. “Alright. But if I have like, a question or something, I’m gonna ask–”
“Seriously?” An almost amused smile toyed at the corner of Steve’s lips as he drove down the darkened road, his head turning to look at you for a moment before taking in a sharp breath. “I’m serious. What I’m gonna tell you– You’re not gonna believe it, and you’re going to think I’m insane. But you just have to hear me out, okay?”
His voice was almost gentle as he spoke, tugging at something deep inside you which for the first time since knowing him, left you speechless. You nodded softly, doing your best to keep your lips sealed as you watched him inhale a deep, shaky breath.
Despite his initial hesitance to tell you, the words fell past his lips surprisingly easily.
He started telling you about this girl, Barb, who had gone to a party at Steve’s house in 1983 and disappeared into thin air. And then a younger boy, Will, who disappeared in 1983 and they’d found his body in the quarry. He told you about a girl that the kids found in the woods, Eleven, and how she’d escaped from Hawkins Lab.
Your stomach turned as he told you about the Upside Down. A haunted place that looked exactly like Hawkins, only dead and rotting existing alongside your own world, a terrifying place filled with creatures that had somehow found their way here.
He told you that Will hadn’t been missing, he’d been trapped in that awful place, and later possessed by something they called the Mind Flayer and now he’s alive, and somehow connected to all of this again. He went on to tell you about the Russians beneath this mall, and the machine they had built beneath Starcourt to reopen the gate.
You learned that Vecna wasn't some new monster they'd stumbled across, but something connected to Eleven and Hawkins Lab, that he had been killing people by entering their minds, and using their deaths to create gates between Hawkins and the Upside Down. That their friend Max was used as bait and severely injured while their friend Eddie sacrificed himself to keep the Demobats away from everyone else.
And somehow, even after Vecna was wounded, he'd survived. The four gates he'd created had merged, ripping massive cracks through Hawkins and allowing the Upside Down to begin bleeding into their world.
And that was how you’d ended up here, now.
How they use the Squawk as a base to communicate with those separated from them and broadcast messages whilst others go into the Upside Down to investigate, try to look for Vecna as they gather information and try to figure out how to stop the invasion before it would ultimately consume the entire town.
Dumbfoundedly, you could only blink over at him as you thickly swallowed down your thoughts. “Are you serious right now?” Your voice passed your lips almost in disbelief as your eyes bore over his expression, watching the way you could see his eyes glass over as he nodded gently.
“Yeah,” He said with a small sigh as he glanced out of the window beside him before focusing back on the road ahead. “We’re going now to see if we can–”
“Do you think I’m stupid, Steve?” A small laugh huffed past your lips as you angled your shoulders to face him, your brows slightly raised as he glanced over at you. “You expect me to believe there’s monsters living beneath us, in a haunted town that looks exactly like this one? Are we in some kind of movie or something? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“My god, are you being serious right now?” Steve couldn’t help but laugh as he turned to look at you. “I literally said to you that you won’t believe me. What, you think I’m making this all up for fun? People died, this isn’t some kind of game.”
You rolled your eyes at his words, your palms coming up to cover your face as you couldn’t help but laugh into them. “This is ridiculous, Steve,” You said with a sigh as you dropped them to your lap, looking over at him with a furrowed brow. “Are you guys on drugs? Is that what this is? You’re all making things up, seeing these monsters–”
A loud and frustrated groan passed Steve’s lips as he threw his head back into the headrest, his lips parting but quickly shutting as if he was regretting his words before he’d even said them.
You scoffed a small laugh, nodding gently toward him with a teasing tone. “Go on, say what you want to say. I’m sure whatever bullshit you’ve imagined up is just as amusing.”
Steve flashed you a glance out of the corner of his eye, taking in a sharp breath before speaking. “Maybe if you weren’t so up your own ass all the time, you’d take a look around and notice that the world isn’t revolving around you, that there are things actually going on that are bigger than the rest of us. If you weren’t so selfish, just thinking about yourself–”
“Stop the car.” You interrupted, your hand flying out of your lap to undo your seatbelt despite the car barrelling one hundred miles an hour down the road.
“I’m not stopping the car.” Steve scoffed as his grip tightened on the wheel, not bothering to look over at you as his foot stepped heavier on the gas.
“I will open this door and roll myself out, Steve, and I’m serious. Stop the fucking car, now.” As the seatbelt smacked back into place, Steve glanced over at you with a raised brow. Another small scoff passed his lips, a sound that you’d heard too many times today but made your blood boil even more with each one. “I’m not fucking around.”
Steve glanced over at you, a small curse falling from his lips before he finally began slowing the van down. He turned into a car lot, completely derelict and dead from life as the van pulled to a halt. The concrete beneath you was only lit up by a few streetlamps, an old rundown store vacant in the background as your hands scrambled for the door handle.
He let out a sigh as he unclipped his own seatbelt, almost lifting his arm as if to reach out for you before stopping himself. “Oh, come on. Can we just talk about this please? It’s not safe for you–”
You laughed at his choice of words, glancing at him over your shoulder as you pushed the door open. “Oh, I’ll be just fine. You can go do whatever it is you were meant to be doing, crawling or whatever. I’ll make my own way home.”
Steve sat there for a moment, watching as you slipped out of the van and stood there for a moment, likely assessing your next move before you began to wander toward the road that you’d just driven from. He let out a tight sigh, unlocking his own door and jumping out of it, calling your name out after you.
“Please, let me take you home. It’s really not safe, I’m serious.” The pain in Steve’s voice almost made you believe him, almost made you want to turn around and look him straight in the eyes and ask if what he was telling you was true. But you didn’t, you just carried on walking into the darkness.
“You’re funny, dickhead.” You laughed over your shoulder, watching the tips of your shoes kick into the pavement as you walked until you noticed the street light above you flickering slightly.
“Hey,” Steve shouted your name again, and this time you turned around. You could hear the crackle of his walkie talkie from the van, and when he looked at you he had an expression you hadn’t seen. “Get in the car, now.”
“I don’t care about monsters, Steve,” You said as your arms snaked across your chest, glancing up at the streetlight as it flickered once more before you looked back to Steve, where all life had drained from his face and he looked pale as a ghost. “This is actually all quite funny, actually.”
“Funny? What about this is funny to you?” Steve snapped, not knowing whether to listen to the walkie talkie or you as his body angled between you both.
“This,” You lifted your hand to gesture between the two of you and the light that was still flickering. “This whole– Whatever that you and your stupid friends have orchestrated. I can’t believe you really expect me to believe there are monsters living beneath this town? Is Robin hiding in the bushes, ready to jump out at me with a scary mask on?”
Steve’s hand lifted from his hip, dragging across his face as his other lifted to point toward the van, his voice shaky with need as he spoke. “I’m not fucking around anymore. Will you please, for the love of god, just get back in the stupid van?”
You only shook your head, your arms across your chest tightening as Steve let out a frustrated sigh. You were flashing before him, the street lamp flickering more severely now as the static of the walkie talkie heightened.
Before you could register otherwise, Steve was making his way toward you. He leant down slightly, his shoulder hitting your stomach and his arm snaking around your waist as he lifted you off of the ground. He marched back to the van with ease despite your kicking and screaming, his spare hand unlocking the van as he manoeuvred the two of you into the back of it.
“This is kidnapping, dickhead.” You huffed as he set you down, though there was no real venom behind your words. You straightened out the bottom of your t-shirt as you inched backward on your knees, watching as his eyes avoided your own.
“Would you just– Be quiet, for one moment?” He mumbled as he moved past you, diving forward over the front seat to grab the walkie talkie. You heard mumblings from the other end, someone saying that it was safe now, the demo had passed.
Steve threw the walkie talkie onto the passenger seat in frustration, cursing under his breath as he sat down opposite with his knees pulled up. His elbows rested on them, the balls of his palms digging into his eyes as he took a few deep, steady breaths.
Doubt began to rise within you. You took a second to think what if he was telling you was true? What if you were sitting here with Steve right now in the stillness of your work van, and beneath you was a whole other universe that you’d never even realised.
You felt yourself shrinking as your palm slipped over your forearm, suddenly feeling the need to ground yourself at the potential realisation that maybe Steve wasn’t lying to you. That the weird behaviour you’d picked up on the last month and a half was actually Steve trying to protect the entirety of Hawkins.
He must’ve heard you take in a breath as you’d parted your lips to speak, because he looked up at you and held his hand up between you before you could say anything. “Look, I know that you think I’m crazy, and you think I’m making all of this up but– I seriously can’t deal with anymore of your arguing. Not tonight.”
You shook your head softly, swallowing down any words that you really wanted to say. Your fingers lifted from your arm to tuck your hair behind your ear before speaking softly, “I know, Steve. But–”
“God,” He groaned, his head leaning back into the side of the van with a tight sigh before lifting his gaze up to meet your own. “This is what I mean. You are so stubborn, too stubborn for your own good. You can’t just listen to me, can you? You don’t hear me when I’m telling you that– It’s dangerous out there, really fucking dangerous. And you have to listen to me because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
You inhaled a short breath at his words, shifting yourself from on your knees to sit flat on the carpeted floor of the van. A wave of realisation rushing over you that maybe whatever this was between you and Steve, it wasn’t what you initially thought.
“Even though this whole time that I’ve known you, all three months, you’ve never given me an inch. You leave the coffees that I make you on the desk, most of the time you pretend like you don’t hear me, some days you can’t even look at me and– Despite all of it, I can’t stop thinking about you.” Steve laughed at his own words as if he couldn’t believe that he was saying them.
All you could do was nod softly, taking in the words he was feeding you. Suddenly the stupid hair on top of his head, messy from the hundreds of times today he’s dragged his hands through it didn’t look so stupid, and the look in his eye as he spoke to you seemed to unlock a whole new meaning in your heart as he spoke to you.
“Those monsters–” He spoke with a clipped voice, his finger pointing aimlessly behind him as his eyes frenzied between your own. “Those goddamn monsters are terrifying. But the thought of watching you getting your head ripped off by one of them is scarier than ten of those monsters combined.”
With Steve’s shaky confession, you slowly pushed yourself up from the carpeted floor. You slowly began to crawl closer to him, his knees parting as you slotted yourself between them. His once frantic eyes were now overtaken with a whole new emotion as he looked at you closer than he ever had before.
You sat on your knees between his legs as both of your hands placed on his chest, your fingertips sinking into the soft wool of his sweater before they slowly slinked up to his collar. Steve swallowed thickly, his voice at a hoarse whisper. “What are you–”
“Something that one of us probably should’ve done a long time ago.” You returned at the same volume, a small smile breaking out against your lips as he huffed a small laugh through his nose.
The tips of your fingers gently lifted to swipe against the hot skin on his neck, tracing over a small triangle of moles that laid there before you leant in. You tenderly brushed your lips against Steve, the feeling of his breath exhaling against your lower lip made your head spin.
His hands moved slowly as they settled at your lower back, gently pressing his lips against your own. When he pulled them from you, a small sigh escaped you, desperate to feel him on you again.
Your fingers slipped to the back of his neck, holding him as you tilted your chin forward to catch his lips again. And once they did, his palms slipped to your waist, pulling your front flush against his own as his plush lips enclosed around your upper lip. Your lips danced with his like this was a routine that was second nature to you both, a dance that you’d performed hundreds of times already.
The sound of you and Steve swallowing each other’s breaths were filling up the back of the van, your body pressing further into his as if you were trying to become one. His hand slipped from your waist and up your back, slipping through your hair to hold the back of your head as his tongue slipped past your lips.
Your own fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck, the feeling of the soft strands brushing so gently against your skin made you sigh against his lips. His hand squeezed your waist gently in response, pulling his lips back from yours slightly.
“Glad I’ve found a way to finally shut you up.” He mumbled against you, to which you pulled back with a small gasp, despite the playful smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. Your hand that had slipped back down to his chest lifted to his face, your thumb running across his lower lip.
“Don’t think that’ll be possible, Harrington.” You whispered softly, your eyes twinkling as you watched Steve’s lips wrap around the tip of your thumb. A small smirk toying at his lips around you before pulling them off you, pressing a small kiss against the pad of it.
“Hm, that’s alright,” He spoke as his hands dragged to the hem of your sweater, slipping beneath the fabric to brace at the curve of your waist, his palms warm on your bare skin as he leant forward to brush his lips against your neck. “I like the sound of your voice, kinda wanna see what other sounds you can make for me.”
A small gasp escaped you as his lips nipped beneath your ear, a pleased hum from Steve vibrating against your warming skin as your head tilted aside to make more room for him. His fingers curled around the hem of your sweater, and slowly began inching it upward.
You leant back on your knees, pulling off of him to finish what he’d started. You scrambled to pull off your chunky woolen sweater over your head, a tight grunt escaping past his lips as he finally got a glimpse of your skin that he had yet to set his eyes on.
“God, you’re beautiful,” He whispered as you watched his eyes attempt to look everywhere all at once, watching as he sat up straight to attach his lips to the first inch of your skin that he could find. “Thought about this for so long, baby.”
You sighed at the feeling of his wet mouth on your skin, snaking your arm around your back to unclasp your bra. When Steve felt the garment loosen against his chest, he was quick to slip his fingers to your shoulders, pulling the straps down your arms and off of your body until he was tossing it over to the front seat.
“Holy shit, look at these,” He spoke, almost to himself as he pulled himself back to glance between both of your breasts. He cupped them each in his palms, his eyes darting up to watch your face as you gasped in pleasure as his thumbs tenderly ran across your nipples. “You like that, huh?”
“Look at who won’t shut up now.” You teased softly, your hands slipping to his knees to hold yourself up as he hummed at your words. His palms began massaging your chest, his tongue fleeting across his lower lip before his jaw fell slack, leaning forward to run his lips across your chest.
He pressed gentle yet hungry kisses against your skin, fluttering them until his lips finally found your hardening nipple. He wrapped his lips around you desperately, tongue swirling and suckling at the sensitive bud whilst your back arched in pleasure, pushing your chest further into his touch.
“God, Steve.” You moaned as your grip on his knees tightened, squeezing your fingers into him as he devoured your breast like he was starving. He pulled off of it with a small pop, a string of saliva connecting him to the nub as he moved over to the other to repeat his actions.
He hummed against you, causing another moan to trickle past your lips into the thick air of the back of the van as your hand lifted from his knee to push through the hair on the back of his head. Your chin dipped to your neck, watching as Steve hungrily ravished your chest.
Steve pulled off you with a small pop, tilting his head back to catch your gaze. You couldn’t stop the smile that grew at the sight of him. His kiss swollen lips shining with saliva, the way his breaths were heavier from not wanting to come up for air. His large hands swallowed your waist, gripping onto you as he pushed the two of you backward.
His lips were back on yours as your back brushed against the carpeted floor. Your arms snaked around his neck to wrap your fingers around the fabric of his sweater, tugging it until it pooled up his back. He reluctantly pulled his lips from your own, lifting himself up to pull off his sweater and tossing it aside.
Your teeth sank into your lower lip as your eyes trailed over his broad shoulders and bare chest, taking in each mole that laid across the skin beneath the span of hair that covered his chest. And trailed lower, and lower, and lower–
“Hey,” Steve mumbled softly as he watched your eyes wander. He placed his hands on either side of your shoulders, lowering himself over you to brush his lips against your neck as he whispered against your skin. “Getting a bit distracted?”
A small giggle huffed past your lips as your head tilted aside for him, your hands landing on his chest to run across his chest as the tips of your fingers brushed through the hair on his chest. “You’re so beautiful, Steve. Everything about you– You’re something else.”
His lips paused at your words, slowly lifting his head to catch your gaze. And when he does, he’s matched with a soft smile. Your hand softly rests at his shoulder as you lift your head to press a gentle kiss against his lips, whispering against them. “Lay down, Steve. Wanna take care of you.”
Steve nodded softly, lowering his head to catch your lips once more before the both of you moved to switch positions. His legs were almost too long to lay flat in the van, his feet knocking into the locked door as you manoeuvred yourself between his legs, one of which was laying flat and the other bent at the knee.
Your fingers were quick to work the buckle of his belt, your eyes glued to the bulge that was tenting against his tight denim as Steve’s arms crossed behind his head, holding it up to watch you with stars in his eyes.
His hips worked alongside your hands as you tugged the denim of his jeans down his hips and even further down his thighs. You couldn’t wait any longer, leaving them to restrict him at his knees as you lowered your head to press your lips above the band of his boxers.
A tight groan passed his lips as your nose brushed through the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the dark fabric. Your palm slowly pressed against the hardened length, dragging it up and down as you felt it throb beneath your touch.
“Fuck,” The sound of your name falling past Steve’s lips drowned in pleasure sounded like a dream. His hips bucked up into your touch, desperate for more as your lips lowered to his tip. The fabric was wet and sticky beneath your lips as you hummed against him. “Fuck, baby. Look so fucking good down there.”
Your eyes fluttered up to find his own as your fingers wrapped around the band of his boxers, a small smirk twitching at your lips as your gaze lowered to watch as you pulled the fabric down.
A small gasp escaped you as Steve’s heavy cock fell against his stomach. Your hand reached out to wrap your fingers around it, the sheer girth of his length almost unable for you to wrap your hand around. Your spare hand braced on his thigh as your hand slowly began dragging up and down the silky skin, a tight moan falling past Steve’s lips at the contact.
You lowered your lips to his leaky tip, a small bubble of spit forming at your lips to smear against the throbbing head as your tongue passed your lips to coat the mixture of your saliva and his precum against him.
“Holy shit–” Steve’s words were cut off with a cried moan as your lips finally wrapped around him, letting your tongue swirl around his length as your head slowly sank further on him with each bob of your head. “God, you feel so fucking good. Like you were made for me.”
You hummed at his words, pulling your lips off of him and lowering your head to pepper sloppy kisses to his balls, your lips grazing against the sensitive skin before trailing your tongue slowly up the hearty vein laid on the underside of his cock before sinking your head back onto him.
Steve’s hips rocked up into your mouth, inching his length further past your lips as his hand moved from keeping his head up to push his fingers through your hair that had fallen over your face. He held the back of your head steady as he blinked down at you. “You look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth, finally shutting you up.”
Your brow quirked up at his choice of words, his eyes sparkling to match the playful smirk strewn against his lips. You took in a sharp breath, breathing through your nose as you sank your head further, your hand working the inches that your lips couldn’t yet reach as your mouth accustomed to his size.
You could tell he was trying to keep his hips from jerking beneath him as his nails softly grazed your scalp, an attempt to soothe you as his tip began hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes fluttered shut, focusing on breathing out of your nose as you swallowed as much of him that you could muster, letting saliva freely pool at the corners of your mouth.
“H–Holy fuck,” Steve whined, watching as your head sank further and further with each bob, working his cock perfectly until your nose brushed at the hair that laid at the base of his cock. “Taking it so fucking well, baby. Such a good girl.”
His praise hit you straight at your core, pushing your thighs together as your spare hand clutched tighter onto his thigh as your eyes watered at the sensation of your mouth and throat being completely full of Steve.
“I–I’m gonna fucking– Fuck,” Steve’s hips jerked with fever as you pulled your head off of him. You took a moment to catch your breath, your wrist working in tight circles as your spare hand lifted from his thigh to wrap around his base to work them both, desperate to bring him to climax. “Gonna come, baby. ‘M so close.”
“Come for me, Steve,” You whispered as your lips lowered to his tip, suckling on it gently before swirling your tongue around his reddened tip. “Wanna taste you, baby.”
He nodded at your words, his head rolling backward as his hips continued to react to each bob of your head. Your eyes were locked on him, watching as his face contorted with pleasure, his brows knitting together as you felt his length pulsating on your tongue.
“Fuck– Baby. Holy fuck.” Steve babbled, words of praise mindlessly falling past his lips as he finally released into your mouth. The feeling of his hot, thick spend unloading in your mouth made you groan around him, the pace of your wrist keeping steady as you worked him through his orgasm.
Steve lifted his head slowly, watching as your fists enveloped around him slowed down as you slowly pulled your lips off of him. “Such a good girl for me, baby. You’re so fucking hot– So beautiful. I can’t believe– Fuck.”
You pressed one last gentle kiss against his tip as his cock flagged against his stomach, still reeling in from his orgasm as your hands pressed into the carpet on either side of him. You slinked up his body slowly, letting your hardened nipples brush against his chest to which he let out another tight gasp.
Steve’s chest was still heaving beneath you, both of his hands lifting to cup either side of your head as you came face to face with him. He pulled you down to him, capturing his lips with your own.
You let your body fall against his as your own hand lifted to hold his shoulder, letting your tongue sweep over his own as you melted into him. His large palm dragging up and down your back slowly, slotting the tips of his fingers beneath the waistband of your leggings.
“You taste good, Steve,” You mumbled against his lips to which he huffed out a small laugh. You pulled your lips off of him to look down at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and hooded eyes before pecking another kiss against him. “But you talk so fucking much.”
“Wh–” Steve laughed gently, his brows furrowed as he looked up at you. He lifted his head to find your lips again, but you pulled backward. “Oh, c’mon. You love the sound of my voice.”
You rolled your eyes at his words as you sat up straight, straddling his stomach as your fingertips ran up and down the span of his chest, softly grazing over his nipples to which he softly smirked at. “Mm, it’s alright. Think I need to find a way to shut you up.”
“Oh yeah?” Steve quizzed, his head tilting up at you as his hands lifted to your clothed thighs. His touch was gentle as his hands slowly rubbed up and down your thighs, inching closer to where you needed him. “Might uh– Take me a few minutes.”
“I think you’ll be fine.” You announced as your hands moved from his chest to brush his hands off of you, lifting yourself off of him to stand next to him.
His neck craned back to watch as you pushed off your shoes, his eyes widening as he watched your fingers start to pull down your leggings. He watched as your legs stepped out of them, his eyes landing on your panties.
He had a perfect view from underneath you. He could see where there was a wet patch on the cotton of your underwear, completely soaked through and stuck to your cunt until your fingers wrapped around the waistband and pulled them off completely.
“Fucking hell,” He mumbled as his hand lifted to touch the first inch of you he could find, grazing against your ankle and trailing his fingers up your shin as his eyes were glued to the mess between your legs. “Can see how fucking wet you are already, baby.”
You couldn’t help the fond roll of your eyes as you looked down at him. You lifted the leg that he wasn’t holding hostage and stepped over him, a tight gasp escaping his lips as he looked upward. He could’ve sworn in that moment, looking up at you that he’d died and gone to heaven.
“Enough now, baby. Why don’t you put that mouth to good use, hm?” You purred as you lowered yourself down. You didn’t give him a minute to react before you hovered yourself over his face, your hands bracing on the driver's seat in front of you.
Steve wasted no time, his palms finding the curve from your hips to your thighs and pulled you down to him so you were seated completely on his face. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt the immediate touch of his tongue sweeping through your folds, inching up toward your clit as he hummed against you.
“Fuck.” You mumbled as you glanced down, watching his nose press into your mound as his lips wrapped around your throbbing clit. His eyes were closed, his fingers kneading into the flesh of your thighs as he attempted to pull you impossibly closer.
The sound of Steve lapping at your soaked cunt filled up the back of the van as his tongue ravished you. He wasted no time in trying to explore every inch of you, tracing over the seam of your swollen lips before toying with your labia. The tip of his tongue pooled at your entrance, collecting your arousal on his tongue before messily spreading it against you.
“Steve, f–fuck,” Pleasured whines fell happily past your lips as your hips began rocking against his face, his grip on you loosening slightly to let you manouver against him however you needed. He kept his tongue in place, letting you work it to where you wanted him before he dialed in on your clit. “Fuck, keep doing that– Oh my god.”
He moaned against you at your praise, his own hips rocking into the air as his cock stirred against his stomach. His lips suckled around your clit, the sounds of him slurping the messily soaked nerve between his lips hit your ear, eliciting a familiar burn in your lower stomach as his tongue toyed with the nub.
One of his hands fell from holding your hip, but you were too high on the feeling to realise. You could feel his arm moving beneath you, your lips parting to question him when you felt two of his thick fingers pressing at your tight, slippery entrance.
You fell forward slightly as they sank inside of you, both of your hands bracing on the seat as your hips bucked into his touch. His fingers curled inside of you perfectly, instantly stroking that spot inside of you that made your thighs tremble beneath his grip.
“Steve– Fuck, I’m so close– Holy shit.” You threw your head back as you cried out in pleasure, Steve’s tongue keeping tight, heavenly circles against your pulsing clit as his fingers picked up their pace in fucking you.
“Please, baby,” Steve mumbled against you, the vibrations of his words sending sparks throughout you as you nodded despite the fact he couldn’t see you. His hand that held your hip was still trying to pull you closer as he gave you everything he possibly could. “Need to taste you now, baby. Come for me, please. Please–”
“Fuck.” You cried out, tears brinking behind your eyes as you rode out your climax on his face, using him at your mercy as the lewd sounds of his fingers and tongue working you through your orgasm danced between you.
Steve hummed against you as he felt your cunt fluttering around his fingers, keeping his pace and each perfect swipe of his tongue until you reluctantly lifted yourself off of him, knowing he could’ve easily pulled another orgasm out of you before you’d fully come down from your first.
“Holy fucking shit.” You mumbled as your knees straightened, still hovering above him as your forehead fell into the curve of your elbow. When you looked down, you could see him beneath you. His eyes still glued to the beautiful mess he’d created between your legs.
A small laugh escaped you as you lifted one of your legs to join your other to sit beside him. As you moved to be seated next to him, your eyes glanced down at his body to see that his cock was still laid flat against his stomach, laid happily beneath a few spurts of his come that definitely wasn’t there when you’d moved on top of him.
“Steve,” You said with a small laugh, your hand placed on his chest as you manoeuvred yourself to lay beside him. His arm lifted for you to tuck yourself under it, your head leaning on his bicep as he looked down at you. “Was that okay for you?”
“Okay?” He practically laughed at your question, pulling his eyes from yours to glance down at his mess before he lifted his spare hand to brush his fingers against your cheek. “That was– Yeah, definitely more than okay, honey.”
Your teeth sank into your lower lip as your head tilted into his touch, your eyes glossing over the sheen of your arousal across the lower half of his face before scanning over his features until your eyes met his.
“You know, I meant everything I said,” Steve almost whispered despite you only being a few inches from his face. Your palm flattened against his chest, turning your body sideways to press against his side as you nodded softly. “Like, I don’t know– You drive me crazy. Like, genuinely crazy but– I love you.”
A smile broke out against your lips, lifting yourself up to press a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back to look down at him.
Steve looked up at you as if you’d hung the moon just for him. Like everything you’d said to him previously had just evaporated into thin air. There was a look behind his eyes that you’d noticed but never been able to note, a look that you somehow felt in the pit of your stomach every time you’d ignored him or pretended you didn’t hear him.
Love.
You loved Steve Harrington and his stupid comments, his stupid hair and his stupidly beautiful face. Looking at him now, you realised the reason that you’d spent so long pushing him away was because you were too scared to let him in.
But after everything that he’d told you tonight, you were certain that he’d go to each end of the earth to protect you. Monsters and all.
The tips of your fingers reached out to trace along the curve of his jaw, tilting it toward you as you leant forward to press another tender kiss to his lips before softly whispering against him. “I love you, Steve Harrington. Even if you do talk too much.”
“You talk too much.” He was quick to argue back through a small laugh as his hand dropped to your waist, holding you steady as his head ducked to nose at your jaw, his lips pressing into your neck.
Your head tilted easily for him, your eyes fluttering shut as you pulled yourself even closer to him, if that was even possible. “Guess you’ll have to find a way to shut me up then."
Steve Harrington always found a way to shut you up, in the nicest way possible. The feeling of his lips on yours was the best reminder for you to take a deep breath and collect your thoughts. Although, he did secretly love it that you talked way too much.
Synopsis: You said to your boyfriend that you wouldn't be able to make it to his birthday, being away in Houston because of work. But you miraculously finished earlier, so here you were, on your way to surprise your boyfriend.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader
Words: 5.3k
Warnings: First time writing smut so be nice!! 18+ minor dni, porn with plot, unprotected p in v (don't do that <3), dry humping, oral (f!receiving), handjob, cum eating, praise, teasing, soft love making, soft dom!steve, hint of sub!steve?,established relationship, pet names (baby, pretty girl, good girl), hints of Ronance, set after season 5, reader wear a dress and lingerie.
Thanks to @uzmacchiato for the divider(s) <3
And thanks @moonstoneandmoonlight for the lovely tips on how to write smut, it helped a lot <3
You could still picture Steve's pout the moment you said you probably wouldn't be able to be there for his birthday. Your boss had needed you to go to Houston for some paperwork that couldn't be done in such a small city like Hawkins. You had tried your best to negotiate that you could do it from here and that driving to another city for some files was a bit exaggerated, but he didn't hear a word.
The moment you broke the news to Steve, you were sure you could have heard his heart break. He tried to play it cool, saying that it wasn't a big deal if you weren't there, that you would still be able to do something when you were back. However, you knew that deep down, he wasn't cool about it. He could survive without you, even if he would prefer to always have you near and not alone in another city. But the fact that it was during the week where his birthday was happening? Yeah, Steve wasn't the happiest to not have his girlfriend by his side, especially for his twenty-first birthday. But he wasn't going to be childish and make a scene when you obviously didn't have a choice. So for your sake, and his own, he just kissed you, wishing you good luck for the awful week you were going to live through.
Now, here you were, kilometres away from your boyfriend when his birthday was two days away. You had already bought his gifts, and the idea of not even being able to be here to give it to him was making you sick. You hated this job with all your heart. And the fact that everyone tried to be here for him despite not being in the city anymore made you feel awful about yourself that you were the one who couldn't make it to such an important day.
But being the good girlfriend you were trying every day to be, you worked harder than ever to finish those stupid files, earning the right to go back to Hawkins earlier, just right in time to be there for Steve's birthday.
The moment you were aware that you could be there, you thought about surprising Steve. Since he would be sad that you wouldn't be able to make it, seeing you there would probably be a nice gift as a bonus from the real ones you bought after months of savings. So you called Robin to tell her about it, and she responded quickly with a sigh.
"I swear if you're asking me for the third time today if Steve is mad at you for not being there, the answer is no." She grumbled over the phone.
"Hi to you too, Robs. I'm fine, thank you, and you?" You let a small laugh at the way she was so done by your antics, and you were sure that Steve was probably acting the same towards her, whining and complaining that you couldn't make it.
"Yeah, hi. Sorry, Steve's being... well, Steve. He's been whining all day that he was going to die without you here." You heard Robin sigh.
"Speaking of not coming... I finished earlier so I can be there for his birthday." You couldn't hide the excitement in your voice at saying the news out loud.
"Oh shit! He's going to be so happy! Did you tell him?"
"That's the thing, Robs. I love you, but you need to keep your mouth shut for once. I want to surprise him because I'm going to arrive a bit late. "You explained to her. It's not that you didn't trust her, but she had the habit of always talking a lot, letting things slip away before she even thought about it.
"Okay, okay, I can do that. I can shut up. I can totally shut up. Steve's never going to find out that you're coming." Robin convinced herself that she could do that simple task.
"If Steve knows about the surprise, you're so dead, Buckley." You murmured, threatening her lightly.
"Yep, got it. You can trust me on that one, I promise!" It was her final words before the line was cut, making you hope that she would be able to do something that simple but that seemed sometimes impossible for her. You just had to trust her on this one.
The drive had been so long from Houston back to Hawkins, and you were finally at your apartment around 8pm. You were sweaty from the heat and still in work clothes that were definitely considered ugly and not adapted for a birthday party. So you took a quick shower to get rid of the sweat, replacing the salty scent with something more flowery, and put on your prettiest dress before doing your makeup and hair simply so you wouldn't miss any more minutes not being at Steve's side.
Once you were done, you took your keys and drove to your boyfriend's place, your heart beating loudly from excitement as you were taking the familiar roads that led you to his house.
The lights were on, and you couldn't stop the smile from appearing at the view. You were so happy to be there for him for such an important day. And you hoped he was going to feel the same when he would see you.
Once you were out of your car, your bag on your shoulder, full of the gifts you bought for him, you finally rang the bell, nervous and excited as you waited for the door to open.
Inside, everyone stopped their conversations, confused by who was ringing the bell at this hour. Only Robin was trying not to smile too widely because she did her job correctly and didn't tell a soul so she would be sure that the surprise would work. And she was quite proud of herself for keeping her mouth shut for those two long days.
"Is someone else supposed to come?" Nancy asked, her gaze on Steve as he seemed as confused as the rest of the party.
"No, everyone is there, so I'm not sure who it can be." His heart was beating so quickly he was sure he could feel it in his throat. He wasn't sure why he was so nervous about knowing that someone was behind his front doors; years of fighting monsters and dealing with things that shouldn't exist can do that to you.
"Are we making too much noise maybe?" Joyce was already panicking, thinking that they were disturbing the peace of some neighbours.
"He did worse than that in his life than a small birthday party; I'm sure it's not for a noisy complaint." Hopper mumbled under his breath, his eyes rolling as he thought about how many calls he used to have when Steve was throwing those gigantic parties, making the whole street shake with his music.
Steve just looked at them with a small smile before standing up. "I think I'm going to see who it is. It's maybe important." He shrugged, trying to compose himself as he made his way to the door.
Once he was in front, he took a deep breath and opened the door. On all the scenarios that he made up in his mind, seeing you looking like an angel was not one of them.
You were wearing his favourite black dress, the pink bow around your waist making you look like a present waiting to be unwrapped. And the moment you heard the door open, you looked up at him, your eyes so soft and so full of love; he must have thought that he died and went to heaven.
"Surprise." Was all you said before Steve launched forward, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he hugged you so tightly that your feet left the floor.
You were giggling at his antics, wrapping your arms around his neck. "What are you doing here? I thought... I mean, you were kilometres away just this morning!" He asked, his hands quivering as he put you back on your feet before cupping your cheeks, needing the reassurance that he hadn't gone crazy while missing you and that you really were here and not an illusion his mind made.
"I tried my best to finish earlier, so... here I am, birthday boy." You explained softly, getting all shy and warm under his loving gaze.
"You did that for me?" His voice wasn't above a whisper when he asked that, like he couldn't believe you did that all for him. Like saying it out loud would make it even more real, and he wasn't sure if his heart could handle something so precious.
Your heart broke at the way he said it, like he thought he didn't deserve that kind of act of love. "Of course, Stevie. I would never think of missing your birthday." You whispered before pecking lightly his lips, but he was quick to deepen it by cupping the back of your head, holding the feeling of your glossy mouth against his for a few seconds before pulling away with a lovesick smile.
"Thank you, baby." He mumbled against your lips, his own shiny from your lip gloss.
You hugged Robin the moment you saw her, thanking her for keeping the surprise, because while she kept the surprise from Steve, she kept it from the others too.
"You did a good job, Robs." You said with a big smile, happy to finally see her again. Since most of them were out of town, Steve's birthday was a good reason to reunite again.
"She knew?" You heard Steve say from behind you, betrayed that his own best friend knew.
"Of course I knew, dingus. I'm like, the first person she told. And the only one. That shows how important I am." The blonde rolled her eyes, acting like it had been obvious that you would tell her and not someone else.
You hugged the rest of the group, lingering in your hold when it came to hugging the kids. Steve was looking at you from the side, Nancy next to him.
"You seem happier," she said before taking a sip of her drink.
Steve just nodded, his gaze not leaving your form as you talked animatedly to Jonathan and Mike about something you saw back in Houston.
"Yeah, I am. She makes me want to be better every day." He replied truthfully, his warm brown eyes finally looking at Nancy. "You seem happier, too. I guess it worked out between the two of you." A teasing smirk made its way on his lips as he jerked his head towards Robin, who was talking to Dustin and Will.
Nancy's cheeks became redder at the remark. "Yeah, it did work out." Her words were almost shy as she said that, like what was happening between the two girls was still fragile. "Now come on, it's your birthday; you should enjoy it. Even more since your girlfriend is there." She nudged his shoulder with her as she made her way towards the rest of the group, taking her place back at Robin's side.
Yeah, he could definitely enjoy his birthday even more now that you were here.
After all the catching up and the laughter, it had been time for Steve to open his gifts after the kids kept whining about how they were eager to see Steve open them. They seemed more excited than he was, and they were his gifts.
So everyone sat down around him, eyes on him as he was starting to finally open his gifts.
"This one from Nancy, Robin and me." Jonathan spoke as he pointed towards the rectangular-shaped one.
Steve nodded, tearing apart the paper before his eyes widened at the view of what they gifted him. It was a handmade photo album. The photos had been taken by Jonathan during the past three years. And next to some photos were written some words by the three of them about how they felt about Steve and how thankful they were for everything he did.
Steve couldn't help but sniffle as he swiped through the pages, eyes getting glassy a bit more at each page turned. "Thank you, guys. That means a lot." He said, his voice quivering while he was obviously trying his best not to break down in tears. It was only the first gift after all.
The next one was from Dustin, Lucas and Mike. It was a new record player because Steve kept complaining that his old one in his room was making a weird song when he was playing his favourite songs, and it was very annoying. So the boys bought him one of the best kind.
"So you can't complain anymore," Dustin had said. And Steve only replied by hugging the three of them.
It was Max's turn, and she gave him a letter, muttering that she thought it was more personal and thoughtful than any kind of gift she could have bought. She seemed embarrassed as she said that, like she was offering a piece of herself to one of the most important people in her life.
Steve made a mental note to read it later when everyone would be doing something else and thanked her in private because that meant the world to him.
Will had been shyer to give him his gift, saying that he wasn't as proud as he would have liked and that it wasn't enough of a thank you for everything he did for him even when it had never been his obligation to throw himself in danger to save him. It was a painting, inspired by one of the group photos Joyce took during a sunny day where everyone was there. Will had painted it, interpreting it in his own sensible and creative way.
"Yes, I'm definitely putting it in the living room. That's incredible, Will. Thank you." It was harder for Steve to contain his emotion, the tears already spilling out.
Joyce and Hopper just gave him money, saying that as an adult now, Steve would probably need it. It wasn't much, but it still warmed Steve's heart that they were thinking about him.
The last gifts were yours, and Steve swore that he never saw you that nervous before in his life.
"I hope you will like them." You said softly, pecking lightly his cheek before sitting back next to Robin, eyes focused on the man you loved as he was opening them.
The first one was a personalised mixtape, full of his favourite songs. A smile appeared on his lips as he read the title of the mixtape you wrote in bold letters with a Sharpie. 'The worst music for the best boy <3'
The next one was a camera. He had talked in passing that he wanted to be able to capture the most mundane and ordinary moments in his life now. He wanted to cherish them and looked back at those memories when he was going to be older. Everyone lost too many things during the last years, and Steve didn't want to lose anything else ever. Even the silliest things.
The last one was a record of Modern English that was impossible to find in the small city that was Hawkins. And during your week at Houston, you found it without meaning to, so of course you jumped on the occasion and bought it for him.
After everything was opened, Steve didn't waste another second without hugging all of you, thanking everyone with big hugs. Steve had never been fond of his birthdays before since his parents had never been really around. But now he understood that feeling of big happiness when you were surrounded by people who loved you as much as you loved them.
You were the last one he thanked, his hands cupping your cheeks as he pulled you in for a passionate kiss, tongue dancing with yours softly.
When you pulled away, Steve was looking at you with his loving gaze, warm caramel eyes holding so much feeling and warmth in them that it almost made you cry by how overwhelmed he looked by so much love directed at him.
"Happy birthday," you murmured against his lips, a lovesick smile on them.
"Best birthday ever." He picked your lips one last time before going back to thank the other again.
The more you were looking at him, the more you knew that you would always do your best to give him all the love he deserved to have.
It was past midnight now and everyone was gone, leaving the both of you alone, knowing that you probably needed alone time after that week being apart.
You were both lying down on the couch, holding each other, his hand rubbing your back in a soothing motion. Your head was resting on his chest, the soft beat of his heart relaxing you in his hold.
"I'm so happy you came." He muttered, his voice not above a whisper as his lips came to kiss your forehead.
"Couldn't miss your birthday. It felt wrong." Your hand went to wrap around his bicep, thumb brushing lightly on the moles and freckles there. "Did you have a good birthday?"
"Best birthday I ever had. I didn't think that everyone would come. But I'm glad they did." His voice cracked at the end of the sentence, arms tightening their hold around you.
You pampered kisses all over his jaw and cheek, lingering each time your lips were meeting one of his moles before pulling away. "I'm going to change, and after we can watch a movie? Sounds good?" Steve just nodded before kissing you one last time and letting you go to make your way upstairs.
Once you were in his bedroom, you didn't even have the time to take off your jewellery before you felt Steve's chest pressed against your back.
"Missed me?" You asked him with a soft giggle as he turned you around so you could face him.
"Yeah. And... I had time to think downstairs. And now I remember that I didn't get to open my favourite gift." His head deep down, lips connecting with the tender skin of your neck, making you shiver in his hold.
"Yeah? "You asked breathlessly, feeling your body get warmer the more he was kissing you.
"Mhh… you look all pretty for me, and I didn't even have the time to unwrap you. That's a shame."
You giggled at his words, hands coming to play with the hair at the base of his neck. "It's technically not your birthday anymore, but who really cares?"
"You're so nice to me. Always have been. Couldn't stop thinking about getting my hands on you the moment you would be back home."
Steve's lips met yours in a soft kiss, both of you melting at the contact. His hands found home on your waist, fingers fidgeting lightly with the bow that was on your dress, hugging your body in the most delicious way.
You were too lost in the feeling of his lips against yours that you didn't register the way he walked backward until he was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling you with him until your thighs were on either side of his body.
You pulled away just a bit, forehead still resting against his, your lips swollen from kissing, and your breathing heavy. You could feel a rush of heat warming your body and making you feel an ache between your thighs at the way Steve was looking at you with a now darker gaze, warm hazel eyes roaming over your figure and stopping when they landed on the hem of your dress that showed the top of your thighs.
"Getting wet, baby?" His voice was hoarse before he started to lick the side of your neck, dragging his tongue to the junction between your neck and shoulder, biting and sucking lightly the tender flesh there.
You gasped at the feeling, breath hitching as your hands came to the front of his t-shirt, gripping tightly the material between your fingers. You just nodded at his question, dragging your aching clit against his bulge. The friction was intoxicating as you rolled your hips against his. Both of you couldn't stop the whimpers leaving your mouths.
"Fuck, I need to see you, baby. Can I take it off?" He breathed, his hands grazing the bare skin of your thighs, making you clench around nothing.
"Please." You begged him, eyes glossy from pleasure as you felt his fingertips meeting the hem of your dress, revealing what was hiding beneath it once it took it off.
"So pretty, you wore that for me? Yeah? You knew that I wouldn't be able to resist you tonight?" He teased as he buried his face between your chest, inhaling your scent that he had missed so much during those torturous long days without you.
You were wearing his favourite set, white and transparent lace, making your curves even more appealing than they were in general. "Maybe, don't let it go to your head." You nudged your nose against the side of his face, biting back a smile at his words.
"It's hard to when you look like a fucking dream." He groaned before looking back at you, eyes hungry as he pulled you for another kiss, this time more passionate. Wet sounds were filling the room while he was appreciating your body, kneading your breast, thumb grazing your hardening nipple through the soft material.
"Speaking of head…" Steve sighed, still pecking your lips between words, earning a few giggles that made his heart warm. "I need to go down on you." He confessed as he fidgeted with the hem of your panties.
"It's your birthday, Stevie," you breathed out, confused by his request. You thought he would want you to go down on him since it was for his birthday. But you should have known that he always took more pleasure by going down on you.
"Exactly, so let me take care of you, okay, pretty girl? Need to enjoy my gift fully." Steve murmured, hands guiding you to lay down on his comfortable bed before he took off his shirt.
Your back was already arched, needy and eager to have his soft and pink lips on you. You could feel your pulse quickening, making you feel dizzy with want.
"That eager, baby?" You whined at his teasing, nudging his face with your bare foot, laughing softly when his big hand wrapped itself around your ankle, gentle lips pressing small kisses on the palm of your foot.
"Stop teasing." You whispered, but the smile on your glossy lips was a sign that you didn't mind at all, and Steve knew that.
Steve finally took his place between your thighs, the soft flesh feeling like home around his head. He started by kissing and biting their inside, never really going up to where you needed him the most even when Steve could smell your arousal. He wanted to drag out your pleasure and make you enjoy it.
After a few shaky cries of protest, pleading him to put his lips on your folds, he finally did it, light pecks on your clothed clit making you moan loudly. Your hands went to his hair, gripping it lightly to have something to anchor yourself with.
Steve then took off your panties, dragging them down your legs at an agonising slow pace before kissing his way up to you, tongue finally plunging into your needy hole while one of his hands came to rest on top of your navel, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit, making you clench around his wet muscle.
Your thighs were quivering around his head, nails scraping his scalp, earning a groan from him, the noise rumbling against your folds, your back arching even more at the sensation.
"Steve, fuck... close," you managed to say between the noises before you came, your eyes shutting tight. Your orgasm was so intense that a choking sound came out of your mouth, the heels of your feet digging into his bare back, bringing him closer to you.
Once your breathing was calmer, Steve put his chin on your stomach, looking up at you as he was massaging your legs with a lovesick smile on his wet lips from your arousal.
"Hi, pretty girl."
You gave him a small smile back. "Hi, handsome. Come here. "You whispered in the quiet night, wrapping your arms around his back, holding him close as he came on top of you, his bare chest resting against yours still clad in your bra.
You could feel him throb against your thigh, his jeans doing nothing to hide his arousal. "Need help down there?" You asked him, brushing back his messy hair from your hands so you had a better view of his pretty face.
He whimpered at the pet name, shivering when you pulled him back until you were both sitting in his bed. Your hands made their way to his jeans, fingers working to unzip them, dragging the rough fabric away from his muscular thighs, throwing away the piece of clothing in his bedroom, leaving him only in his boxers, a wet patch on the front, doing nothing to hide how needy he was for your touch.
You delicately took off his boxers, his thick length springing up between the both of you, tip an angry red and leaking. "Who's eager now?" You asked as you kissed his neck, hearing his breath stutter and smelling the sweat on his skin, a heavenly scent.
"Be nice, it's my birthday." His gaze was focused on your hand as it found its way to wrap around his cock.
"It's not your birthday anymore, but I will let it pass because I love you." You whispered as your thumb rubbed across his tip, smearing the pre-cum over his length.
His head tipped back from pleasure, showing his neck covered in lovely moles. His mouth was open, letting out the sexiest sounds ever, making you clench your thighs together.
"Fuck, such a good girl... love you, too, baby," Steve whimpered, hands gripping tightly the sheet. At his words you slowly jerked him off, squeezing the base from time to time, earning a groan.
You can't help but smile at the sounds he was making, kissing his jaw, your free hand ghosting over his stomach, feeling it tensed at each flicker of your wrist. You were enjoying the way he was so vulnerable by your touch, letting you see a fragile part of him.
"Getting close? Come on, be a good boy and give it to me, Stevie."
"So, so close, pretty girl. So close, I'm—" Steve didn't get to finish his sentence before he spilt all over your hand. His cock was twitching in your hold, eyes glossy as he looked at you, chest heaving from his release.
You bring your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean, humming at the salty taste of his cum. You released them with a soft pop, giggling when you saw that Steve was still rock hard.
"Already, baby?" You laughed, pecking his reddening cheek.
"You can't blame me, that was hot seeing you do that." He said, a small pout on his lips as he looked at you, thumb brushing lightly against your wet bottom lip from your spit and his release.
"I just find it cute that you love me soooo much you got hard again that quickly." You wiggled your eyebrows before letting a small gasp when Steve made you lie down, coming on top of you, his callous hands on either side of your face.
"Of course I love you." It was said so naturally, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He lowered himself onto you, hands coming to take off your bra, making the both of you completely naked. He kisses your breasts, flicking his tongue on your hard nipples before looking back at you.
"Condoms?" He asked, eyes roaming over your figure.
You shook your head, pulling him closer, smiling when one of his hands went to link with one of yours, pressing it against the mattress. "I'm on pills. Need to feel you completely, Steve."
"You sure?" His eyes were back on yours, seeking permission and reassurance. He needed to be sure that was what you really wanted.
But at your confident nod, the tip of his cock teased your weeping hole, making you both quiver at the sensation before he went all the way out, splitting you open, the stretch so overwhelming as the tip of his cock hit your cervix.
His pace was slow and sensual at first, hips meeting yours. Wet sounds were filling the room along with both of yours and Steve's sounds of pleasure.
"I missed you. I was so sad when you told me you weren't going to be there." Steve was babbling nonsense, too lost in the feeling of you sucking him in.
"Missed you so much, fuck... you feel so good around me." He growled, fingers squeezing yours tightly as his skin slapped against yours.
"Missed you, too, Steve. Fuuuuuck, right here." You clenched at his words and the way he was moving his hips, pulling him for a rough kiss, moaning and arching your back at every thrust. "Harder." You breathed out, the word swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you back.
The pace was still slow, but now he was pounding harshly in a way that could probably bruise your pelvis, but it hurt so good, making you clench around his thick length.
"Yes, yes, Stevie, please..."
"Good girl, taking me like...like a good girl." His voice was breaking at each word, nose nudging the side of your head. He was so focused on your pleasure that it was hard to even make a full sentence without gasping for air and stuttering.
You whimpered, biting your lip and closing your eyes. But Steve bit your earlobe the moment your eyes closed, making you squirm.
"Uh uh. Eyes open, pretty girl. Look at me, at us." So you do, eyes opening and shifting to watch where you were both connected, his hard and long cock sliding in and out, glistening with your arousal.
"That's it. Keep those pretty eyes on me." Steve cooed, kissing the corners of your eye.
"Stevie, baby, I'm... close." Your nails were scratching his back, your free hand creeping higher to go from his back, where you left pretty angry marks, to go to his sweaty hair.
At those words, Steve lifted your leg with his free hand, hooking it up to rest over his shoulder so he could keep hitting your sweet spot.
"I know... I can feel you clenching around me, baby. You're, damn, you're doing sooo good." He praised you, his head hiding in your neck to bite at the soft flesh the moment he felt you reached your climax.
It didn't take long before he spilt inside you, stuffing you full of his cum. He crushed you with weight as he lied down on you, head resting against your soft breasts. His hands were roaming over your trembling body, soothing you with his touch.
"You okay?" Steve asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he listened to your breathing.
You just nodded at his words, eyes closed as you played with his hair, enjoying the calm and love that always came after making love with your boyfriend.
"And you?" You asked back, your voice as soft as his.
He just hummed, a peaceful smile on his kiss-swollen lips. "Yeah, always. Thank you for today."
"Don't need to thank me. I couldn't miss your birthday. Wanted to see you being all happy and shit." You felt him laugh at that, his body shaking above yours, kissing lightly the side of your left breast. "Happy birthday." You said again, arms tightening against his sweaty body.
His breathing was slowing down, letting you know that he was probably getting sleepier by the second. And if you hadn't been so tired too, you would have told him that you still both needed to clean yourselves up. But being in his warm embrace and with your eyelids growing heavier with each blink, you thought that you could deal with the cleaning tomorrow.
For now, you just wanted to enjoy your cuddles with Steve. He deserved it.
college au, frat!steve, king!steve, player!steve, slightly toxic!steve, steve harrington yearning, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader
wc: 1.4k
If anyone asked Steve Harrington what on earth he was doing in the library, he would have told them that he was actually studying for once.
But that would be a damn lie.
Because Steve was actually in the library because he was hoping to talk to you.
He didn’t know what had come over him these past few weeks, what sort of spell you had him under but Steve Harrington—King Steve, the guy on that everyone knew on campus, the guy that all the girls wanted and the one all the guys wanted to be—had found himself infatuated with you.
It had started when you showed up to his party a couple of weeks back, the party that your roommate had dragged you along to. You looked as though you would rather be anywhere else in the world, especially after she had left you alone by the drinks table to sneak upstairs with one of the guys on the football team.
Steve couldn’t help but notice you, eventually making his way over to you under the guise of grabbing another beer.
In truth, Steve was just hoping to get lucky that night (which for King Steve was nothing new) and you were gorgeous so, of course he had tried his luck. But you hadn’t seem to pick up on his flirting and usually, that was enough to make him walk the other way, find another girl who could keep his bed warm. He had been about to walk away but then you had smiled at him and asked what he wanted to do after college.
Huh. That was new.
A girl asking him a question that wasn’t ’are you clean?’ or ‘why didn’t you call me back?’. A question about him, not surface level too, but one about his future, about what he wanted. Steve had been honest with you—he told you that he didn’t know but that he would probably end up working for his dad. You had titled your head, considering his response before you then asked, “but what do you want, Steve?”.
And fuck, that simple question had derailed his entire evening.
It was the first party in a long time that Steve Harrington hadn’t gotten laid. But that didn’t mean he didn’t get lucky—not when he had spent the whole night talking to you.
He hadn’t seen you since the night of the party since you ran in different circles and lived on other side of campus to the frat house. But Steve had remembered from your conversation (because yes, he had been hanging off every single word you had said) that you went to the library every Wednesday night to study.
And so, that was how he found himself in the library. Because he wanted to see you.
He had been in the library for almost half an hour at this point. His eyes constantly flickering between the book he had been pretending to read and the library doors, hoping that you would soon walk through.
It was just as Steve was beginning to wonder whether he had misheard you that night or if you simply had plans that he finally sees you pushing open the double doors.
Steve feels his chest tighten at the sight of you.
Shit. You looked beautiful and beautiful wasn’t a word Steve Harrington typically used to describe women. But you were.
You were wearing some knitted cardigan and the same smile he remembers from the night of the party. The smile that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for the past two weeks, the smile he had been desperate to see again.
Steve feels himself straightening up in his chair, one of his hands reaching up to ruffle his hair as though trying to make it look just a little unkempt. He feels his other hand raise up to catch your attention and he feels like a fucking idiot for doing so but before he could let his arm fall back down to his side, your eyes flicker towards his table.
And the soft smile you give him before making your way over? Well, he felt his evening getting derailed all over again.
His heart thunders in his chest as you walk towards him. Fuck—he had spent so long wondering where you were that he hadn’t even thought about what to actually say to you. He should probably say something smart or funny or—
“Good book?” was the first thing that you ask him when you finally reach his table.
Steve smiles at you, a lopsided and slightly goofy smile that was rarely seen on campus.
“Yeah,” he says, tapping the pages as he grins up at you. “It’s really—”
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“You know it’s upside down, right?”
For the first time—in a very, very long time—Steve Harrington blushes. He feels the heat behind his cheeks, a dusting of pink that he prays you don’t see.
“Yeah,” he replies, hoping to salvage the situation so his face doesn’t burn an even darker shade of pink. “I actually, um—I’ve already read it before. Several times and wanted to challenge myself to read it but…upside down.”
It was a terrible excuse and the both of you knew that. But still, you smile at him like you found him endearing. Not King Steve, not the guy who spent his weekends too drunk to remember what happened but him—Steve Harrington—the guy who had spent the past half an hour with a book upside down because he had been too busy looking for you.
“And how exactly is that going for you?” You ask him and Steve feels something swoop low in his gut as he realises you were subtly teasing him.
“Great,” he manages, trying to control the smile on his face. “I love a challenge.”
He sees it—he sees the way you have to fight back a smile at his words. He sees how you very nearly laugh. And fuck, if it doesn’t make him feel more alive than any party ever had.
“Do you maybe want to—”
“—Stevie!”
Oh shit. No, no, no. Absolutely not. Anyone but—
“Hi Sophie,” Steve greets the girl who had just approached his table with a slightly pained smile. He recognised her right away, since Sophie had been the very last girl he had hooked up with before the party where he had met you. The one had hadn’t called back because he had been too busy thinking about you.
Steve watches as Sophie’s face falls slightly.
“It’s Sophia.”
Great. Now he looked like an asshole in front of you.
“Oh,” Steve says, forcing himself not to look at you so he didn’t have to see the disappointment in your eyes. “I knew that.”
Sophie—or Sophia rather—recovers quickly, or at least pretends not to care about the fact that Steve had evidently forgotten her name.
“Did you um, did you lose my number or something?”
“What?” Steve asks her, his eyes finally flickering over to you to try to read your expression. But he can’t. He doesn’t know whether or not that was a good thing.
“My number,” Sophia repeats. “I thought—after we, you know, that you’d call me.”
Kill me now, Steve thought to himself. Just kill me. Make it quick and painless and—
“I’m gonna…go and study now,” you say suddenly before Steve could even think of a reply to Sophia.
Steve’s shoulders slump, part in disappointment and part in shame. Because he didn’t want you to leave and more than that, he didn’t want you to leave thinking he was a selfish asshole who didn’t remember the names of the girls he had slept with.
Steve says your name, half standing up from his chair as he tries to think of an excuse to get you to stay, “wait, I wanted to—”
But you were gone before Steve could finish his sentence.
“Who was she?” Sophia asks, unable to keep the jealousy from her voice.
Steve swallows, watching as you disappear behind a bookshelf as he slumps back into his chair, the book in his hands slipping onto the table.
“Nobody,” Steve mutters, the words feeling like poison on his lips. Because you weren’t a nobody. You were the girl who had managed to turn Steve Harrington’s world on its axis. “She was a nobody.”
Steve bites the inside of his cheek, hating the feeling swirling in his gut as Sophia looks at him as though she didn’t believe a word he said. Steve couldn’t have that, couldn’t have people seeing him disappointed or even mildly upset over a girl—
“Wanna come back to mine, Sophia?”
Steve ignores the way his throat feels tight when she says yes, ignores the voice in his head that told him not as he stands and hooks his arm over her shoulder and he certainly doesn’t run after you like he really wanted to. Because Steve Harrington might feel something for you but King Steve was determined to ignore it.
❝ bucky x female reader ❞
── maybe healing isn't about letting go. maybe it's learning how to carry the people you love with you, and letting them carry you
⤷ tags: mature themes, character death (readers mother), grief, 5+1 with a twist, five stages of grief + one stage of love, stage five: acceptance, "last" stage, emotional comfort, semi slow burn, lowkey grumpy x grumpy, soft bucky, bucky barnes understands trauma, hes also a bit cheeky, thats my sarcastic king, feelings confession, romantic bucky, the slow burn has burnt, first kiss, A SMOOCH! WE DID IT JOE not beta read we die like... everything (also not proofread im posting late and my tummy hurt) ⋮ warnings: as always, mature themes, discussions of death/grief, plus a little kissy kiss to make it all better
˗ˏˋ ꒰ june’s note ꒱ ˎˊ˗
── oh my god... were SO close... i cant believe it. this is for all my #deadmomclub (i know its not funny but it kinda is) girlies! death is weird and inevitable and we're all here for such a short amount of time! love who you love and do what makes you happy! eat the candy and drink the soda and fuck anyone who tries to make you feel bad for anything! (also yeah i didnt proofread this my stomach hurt lowk idk why but i just want to post it and go sleeb) i love you <3
masterlist.
Acceptance didn't arrive the way you'd expected.
There wasn't a morning where you woke up and suddenly felt whole again. No quiet revelation, or miraculous absence of pain. The grief remained and it always would, there won't be a day that goes by without it, it simply stopped asking to be the loudest thing in the room. Some mornings, you still reached for your phone before remembering. Some afternoons, you'd pass the grocery store and instinctively think about calling your mother to ask if she needed anything. Some evenings, you'd stand on the porch and swear you could hear her humming somewhere inside the cottage.
Those moments still hurt and they always would, the difference was you'd stopped trying to outrun them. You let the memories arrive, let them stay for a while then, eventually you let them leave again. Like the tide. It came and it went. Neither movement diminished the ocean.
The porch was finally finished. Every loose board replaced, every weathered railing sanded smooth with fresh white paint that gleamed beneath the afternoon sun.
You leaned against the post Bucky had rebuilt nearly two months earlier.
"So..." you folded your arms. "I guess you're officially unemployed."
He looked up from packing away the last paintbrush. "I've still got plenty to do."
"Oh?"
He nodded toward the cottage. "I noticed your gutters."
You groaned dramatically. "Don't you dare."
"I also saw the back gate."
"Bucky."
"And I think your shed's leaning."
You pointed toward his motorcycle. "You can leave now."
"I don't think I will."
You rolled your eyes. "You've become incredibly comfortable inviting yourself over."
"You stopped locking the front door."
"I live in a town where everyone's eighty."
He looked genuinely thoughtful. "...Fair point."
The smile tugging at your lips arrived before you noticed it.
These days, it happened often. Not because life had become easier, but because somewhere between repairing porches, sharing coffee, and walking quiet stretches of shoreline together, smiling had become something your face remembered how to do on its own. The realization still surprised you. Sometimes, when Bucky wasn't looking, you caught yourself watching him. The way he absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck whenever someone thanked him. The tiny crease that appeared between his eyebrows whenever he concentrated. The laugh that escaped him before he could stop it whenever one of his own terrible jokes somehow landed.
You'd begun collecting those little details without meaning to. Small things, practically ordinary things made precious simply because they belonged to him. The frightening part was you weren't the only one noticing. There had been moments lately, tiny ones where his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary. The way he'd automatically reached for the heavier grocery bags before you even asked. The evenings that stretched well past sunset because neither of you ever seemed eager to say goodnight.
Neither of you spoke about it, whatever it was. Maybe because speaking it aloud would change everything. Maybe because both of you understood how fragile new happiness could feel. Like holding something with wings, too tight and you'd crush it, too loose and it might fly away.
So instead, you walked. Nearly every evening.
The beach became your meeting place without either of you deciding it. Sometimes you'd buy sandwiches from the little deli on Main Street and eat them barefoot on the sand. Sometimes you'd stop for ice cream. Sometimes you'd sit on driftwood until stars appeared overhead, talking about everything and absolutely nothing.
He told you stories about Sam. You told him embarrassing things you'd done in high school. He confessed he'd once burned instant oatmeal.
You laughed so hard you nearly dropped your milkshake. "How is that even possible? All you have to do is add water."
"I know."
"What happened?"
"I got distracted."
"Doing what?"
"...Watching pelicans fight."
That's how it started. He'd offer small bits of himself, and you started showing him pieces of yourself, too.
Not the polished pieces you'd carried through the city. Not the version of yourself who knew how to walk into a conference room and convince a dozen people that beige paint could somehow change their lives. The older pieces, the ones you'd forgotten existed.
One afternoon, you took him beyond the main stretch of beach.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
He followed you along the shoreline until you reached the cliffs at the far edge of town. You remembered coming here as a child, your mother had called it your secret place, though everyone within a five-mile radius probably knew about it.
At low tide, the rocks revealed dozens of shallow tide pools. Tiny ecosystems hidden between the cliffs with crabs, anemones and little silver fish darting beneath the surface.
You climbed carefully over the rocks, laughing when Bucky nearly slipped.
"Don't laugh."
"Don't worry, happens to everyone."
He gave you a look. "Even PTSD-riddled centenarians?"
"Especially those." You grinned.
Then you sat beside him at the edge of the cliff. The ocean stretched endlessly before you. You told him about summers spent here with your mother, about the sandwiches she'd pack, about the time you'd found a starfish and insisted on keeping it until she convinced you that it belonged in the ocean. About how you'd once fallen into a tide pool and cried because your favorite shorts were ruined.
Bucky listened. Sometimes he asked questions, sometimes he simply smiled. You realized halfway through the afternoon that you'd been talking about your mother for nearly an hour and you hadn't cried once. You'd smiled. You'd remembered. You'd missed her and you'd laughed all the way home at every one of Bucky's corny little jokes. The sound had echoed across the beach, light and unforced. The first time you'd laughed without immediately feeling guilty afterward.
Later that night, you'd cried anyway, not because you'd laughed. Because you'd realized your mother would've loved him. That thought had both hurt and helped at once. There were still quiet mornings where you sat alone with your coffee and watched the tide. Still evenings when grief found you unexpectedly, still days where your mother's absence felt like a physical thing sitting across from you at the kitchen table.
But there were other days now.
Days where Bucky stayed until dinner, days where dinner turned into coffee, coffee turned into sitting on the porch beneath the stars and sitting on the porch somehow turned into him falling asleep beside you. The first time it happened, you hadn't realized he'd drifted off. You were halfway through telling him about a terrible interior design project you'd worked on in the city when his responses became shorter and shorter, then nonexistent.
You glanced over. His head had tipped against the back of the couch, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.
You stared for a moment. "That boring, huh?"
You smiled despite yourself and found an old blanket and carefully draped it over him. You told yourself you only did it because the air conditioning was cold and you definitely didn't sit beside him for another hour, listening to his breathing because the sound was strangely comforting.
The next time he stayed over, you woke sometime after midnight to find him still asleep on the couch, the television played quietly in the background, moonlight spilled through the curtains. For a moment, the scene looked so domestic that something inside your chest ached, not painfully, just enough to make you notice. You stood there in the hallway, watching him sleep, and wondered when you'd starting thinking of home as him in it.
One afternoon, as Bucky packed away the last of the tools from fixing the leak in your faucet, he glanced toward the calendar hanging beside your kitchen window, a printed firework displayed on the upcoming weekend.
"What's that?"
"What?" Your eyes followed his. " Oh. The festival."
He frowned. "...Festival?"
"Our annual summer festival. Starts Friday and goes all weekend."
"Are you going?"
Immediately, your stomach tightened. You hadn't thought about it once since coming home. As a child, it had been your favorite weekend of the year. Your mother always insisted on arriving before lunch. She'd drag you toward every craft booth, buy lemonade you insisted tasted better than anywhere else, convince you to ride the Ferris wheel despite your yearly promise that this time you absolutely wouldn't. You'd end every festival sitting on the beach beside her, watching fireworks burst above the water.
The memories arrived all at once, bright enough to steal your breath.
"I think..." you looked toward the window. "I'll probably skip it."
Bucky's hands paused. "You sure?"
"I don't really..." you searched for the right words. "...feel like crowds."
He studied you quietly, then nodded. "I get that."
Relief settled briefly. Until—
"We can leave whenever you want."
You blinked. "What?"
"We'll go together." He shrugged. "And if you hate it... we can leave."
"It's… not that simple."
"It can be."
You looked away. "My mom... we always…"
"I know." The words were gentle, not pushing or pitying. "I know."
Silence stretched between you. He didn't try to convince you, didn't tell you it would be good for you, didn't insist your mother would've wanted you to go. He simply waited.
Eventually you met his eyes again. "You really wouldn't mind leaving early?"
He looked almost offended.
"I'll probably be looking for an excuse sooner than you'd think."
You smiled despite yourself. "Liar."
"A little."
The corner of his mouth lifted. "So?"
You looked toward the ocean beyond the porch, then back at him.
"...Okay."
His smile widened. "So that's a yes?"
"That's a..." you sighed dramatically. "...fine."
"I'll take it."
Friday evening arrived warmer than expected.
You stood in front of the hallway mirror adjusting the hem of your sundress for what felt like the hundredth time. Your mother had bought it for you three summers ago.
"Blue's your color," she'd insisted.
You'd almost changed, the dress feeling wrong for all the right reasons, then decided not to. The motorcycle rumbled into the driveway and your heart immediately forgot how to behave. You stepped onto the porch as Bucky removed his helmet.
He paused when his eyes found you. For one long second he simply looked.
"You..." he blinked. "...look really nice."
Heat bloomed unexpectedly across your cheeks. "So do you."
He laughed. "I'm wearing jeans."
"They're nice jeans."
"They're my only jeans."
You shook your head, smiling as he held out a helmet.
"For you."
You accepted it slowly, then looked toward the motorcycle. Your stomach flipped.
"I've..." you laughed nervously. "...never actually been on one."
"I figured."
"Isn't is kinda, unsafe?"
He nodded seriously. "It can be."
That honesty somehow made you trust him more. You looked between him and the bike, still uncertain. Bucky stepped a little closer, just enough that you could see the sincerity written plainly across his face.
"I won't let anything happen to you."
The words landed somewhere beneath your ribs. There was something about the way he said them, quiet and certain. As though he wasn't just talking about the motorcycle. As though he'd made some private promise to himself long before speaking it aloud. Your heart answered before your head could. You tried to ignore it, told yourself you were imagining things, that everything had simply made you sentimental.
"Okay."
You slipped the helmet on, fiddling with the straps until Bucky stepped forward to fix them for you. His eyes glittering in the almost setting sun. You'd never seen such a blue before, nearly enchanting until you saw them land on yours. Quickly flitting your eyes down you fought off the heat that crept up your face, mentally scolding yourself for staring so much.
When he was done he climbed onto the bike first, then held out his hand. You took it as he helped you climb on behind him.
"What do I do?"
"You hang on."
"To...?"
He reached back and gently guided your hands around his waist. "Me."
Your breath caught. "Oh."
"You'll be alright." His voice drifted back to you over his shoulder. "I've got you."
The engine roared softly beneath you. Your fingers hesitated at first, then tightened carefully around him. He was so solid and warm against you, it was like nothing you'd felt before, the warmth from his body seeping into yours, across every inch of open skin under the summer air. To your own surprise, your fingers splayed out against his abdomen, feeling the hard ridges through the soft shirt. You bit back a smile.
When the bike finally rolled forward your heart raced right up against your ribcage for the first few minutes. Every turn felt sharper, every bump larger until gradually you relaxed. The ocean stretched beside the road, the evening breeze carried salt through the air, the setting sun painted everything gold.
You found yourself smiling into the back of his jacket. Because he'd been right. You were safe.
The festival announced itself long before you reached it. Music drifted down the streets, children laughed somewhere ahead, the scent of fried dough and kettle corn floated through the warm evening air. Strings of lights hung between old buildings and colorful banners fluttered above crowded sidewalks. The entire town seemed alive. Families wandered between food stands, teenagers raced toward carnival games, someone practiced with a trumpet near the stage. Volunteers arranged chairs for the fireworks later that evening.
Every corner held another memory. There—The booth where your mother always bought homemade jam. There— The woman who used to paint tiny seashells that matched your mothers dress. There— The bench where you'd shared funnel cake together one summer after getting caught in the rain.
Your steps slowed. The air suddenly felt too crowded, too loud and too full.
You stopped walking. "I don't know if I can—"
The sentence never finished because something warm wrapped gently yet firm around your hand and stopped your words. You looked down. Bucky's hand was laved with yours, the calloused yet gentle pads of his fingers pressing softly onto the back of your hand, thumb brushing in absentminded random motions. He hadn't even looked toward you. His attention remained entirely occupied by a little vendor displaying hand-painted ceramic turtles beside crocheted sea turtles wearing tiny sailor hats.
"Huh." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Look at that."
You blinked. "...What?"
"The tiny turtle."
He pointed with complete seriousness.
"It's wearing a bucket hat."
You couldn't help following his gaze and sure enough... it was. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous yet your shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly. Only then did you realize he was still holding your hand, just enough for you to know you weren't standing there alone. And somehow that made the crowd feel a little less overwhelming.
As you wandered between booths and brightly colored tents, you realized the things you'd once loved as a child had become quieter now. The festival had changed, or maybe you had. The music wasn't just music anymore, it was generations dancing to the same songs. The food wasn't just food, it was recipes handed down between neighbors who'd known one another for decades. The festival wasn't really about games or fireworks, it was about remembering, about celebrating that another summer had arrived, that everyone was still here. Or most everyone. Your fingers instinctively tightened around Bucky's hand and he answered with the smallest squeeze. Not enough to call attention to it, enough to remind you—I'm here. The thought settled warmly inside your chest as you kept on through.
Soon, you stopped in front of a booth displaying handmade candles. Bucky stopped too, not because he cared about candles, but because you did.
He picked one up and wrinkled his nose from the smell.
"'Ocean Breeze.'" He sniffed it again. "This smells nothing like the ocean."
You laughed. "It smells like what companies wish the ocean smelled like."
"It smells like laundry detergent."
"I was trying to be polite."
He set it back down with exaggerated disappointment. "I feel lied to."
"You'll recover."
"I don't know." He sighed dramatically. "My trust has been shattered."
"You'll have to add it to your growing list of emotional trauma."
"I'll talk about it in therapy."
The corner of your mouth lifted. "You absolutely should."
The vendor behind the table chuckled quietly as you walked away.
A few booths later, Bucky slowed then stopped entirely. You followed his gaze to the ring toss booth. The old wooden bottles sat arranged in neat rows beneath strings of carnival lights. The teenager running the booth looked spectacularly bored.
Bucky nodded toward it. "Wanna play?"
You looked at him, then back to the game. "...Why?"
"What do you mean, why?" He blinked innocently.
"So you can show off your manly prowess?"
"Yes." The answer came without hesitation.
You stared. Then burst into laughter. "I appreciate the honesty."
"It's one of my better qualities."
"You have many?"
"I've been told."
"By yourself?"
"Frequently."
You shook your head. "You are unbelievable."
"And yet..." he gestured grandly toward the booth. "...you're still here with me."
"I question my judgment daily."
The teenager running the game finally looked interested. "You two gonna flirt all night or actually play?"
Both of you froze.
Your cheeks immediately grew warm.
"We're not—"
"We're—"
You both spoke at once. Then looked at each other then immediately looked away.
The teenager grinned knowingly. "Uh-huh."
Bucky cleared his throat. "Two games."
"That'll be ten bucks."
A minute later, each of you stood behind the painted line with a handful of wooden rings.
The teenager lifted a stopwatch. "Ready?"
You nodded.
Bucky rolled his shoulders like he was preparing for battle.
"Oh my God."
"What?"
"You're taking this seriously."
"It's a competition."
"It's ring toss."
"Exactly."
You laughed.
The whistle blew. Immediately Bucky launched his first ring. Thunk. Bottle. Second ring. Thunk. Bottle. Third, fourth, fifth, every single one landed cleanly around a bottle neck.
You stared. "...How the?"
He didn't answer.
He was already grabbing another handful. You watched in stunned disbelief as he barely paused long enough to collect his rings before tossing them again. Every throw was perfect bottle after bottle. Meanwhile you carefully lined up your first attempt, took aim, released and it bounced harmlessly off the edge.
"Oh, come on."
Another try. Miss. Another. Miss.
"You've got this." Bucky endeared.
"I very clearly do not."
Bucky somehow landed another ring without even looking.
You narrowed your eyes. "Are you hustling carnivals?"
"No."
"Bucky."
"I've had a long life."
"You've been practicing ring toss for a hundred years?"
"It comes up more than you'd think."
The timer ticked relentlessly now as you hurried your last throw. The ring bounced once, twice, then aettled around the neck of the very last bottle.
"Yes!" You threw both hands into the air triumphantly. "I got one!"
The whistle blew and the teenager looked between the scorecards.
"You..." he pointed toward you. "...won a sand dollar eraser."
He handed you a tiny white eraser shaped like a sand dollar. You accepted it like you'd won an Olympic medal.
"I'd like everyone to know I earned this."
Bucky nodded solemnly. "You should be proud."
Then the teenager turned toward Bucky.
"And you..." he looked genuinely impressed. "...pick whatever you want."
Bucky scanned the prize wall. Stuffed bears, dolphins and sea turtles. Then his eyes landed on something hanging crookedly in the corner, bright pink and ridiculously oversized. A stuffed octopus nearly half your height.
He pointed. "That one."
The teenager struggled slightly getting it down. When Bucky accepted it, the octopus immediately flopped dramatically over both of his arms, it looked absurd. You started laughing before he even turned around. He walked over completely serious and held it toward you.
"For you."
Your laughter faltered. "...What?"
"You won."
"I won an eraser."
He looked down at the octopus.
"I upgraded you."
You accepted it carefully. The plush thing was ridiculously soft, its floppy tentacles immediately wrapped around your arm.
You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. "Manly prowess, huh?"
You looked up at him over the octopus's oversized head.
He smirked.
"Hey." He folded his arms. "Pink is a very manly color."
"Oh?"
"Absolutely."
"I'll be sure to let everyone know."
"You should."
"I'll tell them the terrifying motorcycle guy specifically requested the giant pink octopus."
"I did."
"Without hesitation."
"I knew what I wanted."
You laughed again, the sound escaped so freely now that you barely recognized it as your own. A strangely comforting feeling.
The octopus accompanied the two of you through the rest of the festival. Children pointed at it and parents smiled, an elderly woman stopped just to tell you it was "the cutest thing she'd seen all evening." Bucky accepted the compliment with complete sincerity despite having absolutely nothing to do with its design.
"You hear that?" He nudged you lightly. "I have excellent taste."
"You have concerning confidence."
"I've earned it."
Eventually you found yourselves sharing an order of chili fries from a paper basket balanced between you.
"You can have the last one." Bucky nudged it toward you.
"No."
"I insist."
"You always insist."
"It's part of my charm."
You rolled your eyes then split the last fry in half.
"There, compromise."
"I like that."
Later came cotton candy. You tore off a tiny piece and held it toward him.
"Try it."
"I know what cotton candy tastes like."
"Humor me."
He sighed theatrically before leaning down. You held the piece closer as he took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.
"Hm."
"What?"
"It still tastes like sugar."
You laughed. "I don't know what answer I expected."
"You asked."
"I regret asking."
"Too late."
Soon the sky deepened slowly toward evening. Festival lights blinked to life one by one, music drifted through the warm air. You wandered without much direction anymore. Simply, together. Somewhere along the way, you noticed something.
Not all at once, just little things.
The way Bucky automatically ordered your coffee exactly how you liked it before you even reached the café stand. The way he noticed your shoulders tensing whenever the crowds became too thick. How his thumb brushed lightly across the back of your hand every time it happened, how he'd give it a tiny squeeze. Never asking if you were alright, never drawing attention to it. Just quietly reminding you you're not alone. How he hadn't let go of you the entire night.
He knew which stories made you laugh, which ones made you quiet. He remembered tiny details you'd forgotten mentioning. Your favorite childhood ice cream flavor, the shell your mother once insisted looked like Elvis, the way you always picked the blue sea glass over the green. He'd been paying attention. All along.
The realization stole your breath. You'd spent months mourning your mother's love, so consumed by the shape of that absence that you'd nearly missed something else taking root beside it. Something new, different and gentler, but all consuming in the same way.
You slowed to a stop near the edge of the festival. The crowds continued moving around you. Somewhere behind you, children shrieked excitedly over carnival rides. Ahead, volunteers began setting up blankets for the fireworks as the first few twinkling stars poked through the sky over the water. Bucky stood beside you looking toward the shoreline. The last bit of the fading sunlight caught against the faint silver strands at his temples. Against the bridge of his nose. Against the soft curve of his smile as he watched a little girl proudly dragging home a stuffed dolphin almost bigger than she was.
You found yourself watching him instead. Not the festival, not the sunset. Just... Him. And for one terrifying, wonderful moment you realized your heart had already made its choice long before your mind had caught up.
You weren't sure how long you'd been staring. Long enough that the sounds of the festival faded into something soft and distant. Long enough that Bucky finally noticed.
He turned his head slightly as he caught you looking.
One eyebrow lifted. "Penny for your thoughts?"
Heat climbed immediately into your cheeks.
You looked away with a quiet laugh. "...I'm not sure they're worth a whole penny."
"I've got two."
"Oh?"
"So now I'm curious."
You smiled to yourself, shaking your head. "It's nothing."
"I don't believe you."
"You shouldn't."
"Good."
The smile lingered as you looked back toward him.
"I was just thinking..." your fingers absently squeezed the stuffed octopus tucked beneath your arm. "...it's kind of weird."
"What is?"
"You."
He blinked.
"Well that feels personal."
You laughed.
"I mean..." you looked out over the festival. "if I had backed into literally any other motorcycle that day,"
He nodded thoughtfully. "...I'd probably own a perfectly intact motorcycle."
"I mean it." You nudged him with your shoulder.
He smiled. "You would've yelled at somebody else."
"I would've."
"You would've stormed out of the hardware store."
"I definitely would've."
"You would've avoided some random guy for the rest of your life."
"...Probably."
Silence settled between you, a comfortable and easy lull.
You laughed quietly to yourself. "I hit your motorcycle."
"You did."
"I almost ruined both our lives backing into a stationary object."
He shrugged. "You mostly scared yourself."
"I apologized."
"Eventually."
"I yelled at you then kicked you out of my house later ."
"You did that too."
"I cried in your living room."
"You did."
"I've really made a series of excellent first impressions."
Bucky's smile softened. "My favorite was probably the second one."
"The storm?"
He nodded. "You offering me a ride."
"I almost didn't."
"I know."
"I was still embarrassed," you admitted bashfully. "I thought you hated me."
"I never hated you."
You looked over. "No?"
He shook his head. "I thought you were just having the worst week of your life."
You laughed without humor. "...Turns out it was more like the worst year."
His eyes met yours, their look carried no pity, only understanding.
You looked back toward the ocean. "It's funny."
"What?"
"I kept calling us..." you smiled to yourself. "...an unfortunate coincidence."
"You did?"
"I wasn't exactly thrilled about you at first."
"I hardly noticed." He deadpanned.
"You kept showing up."
A smirk tugged at his lips. "You kept driving into my general vicinity."
"I did not."
"You literally hit my motorcycle."
"Details."
He laughed.
"So..." you bumped his shoulder again. "...unfortunate coincidence."
Bucky looked toward the shoreline. Toward the waves quietly rolling onto the sand, then back at you.
"I think we're past coincidence."
Your heart stumbled, not dramatically but enough that you noticed and you're sure he did too. You looked around the festival. The lights, music and the crowds. Bucky's hand still in yours and the ocean beyond them all.
Maybe you were past coincidences. But then what could be next?
The first firework launched just as you reached the beach.
A bright streak of gold climbed into the darkening sky. Then—Bloomed. Children cheered immediately, the crowd applauded and more fireworks followed. Blue, red and silver. Each reflection shattered beautifully across the ocean's surface. Blankets spread across the sand with families settled shoulder to shoulder. Someone nearby laughed loudly enough to start a chain reaction through half the beach.
You and Bucky sat a little farther away, close enough to enjoy the celebration but far enough to still hear the waves. The first booming crack echoed overhead and without thinking you leaned a little closer to him. The second explosion came a little louder and his arm brushed yours. Then, very gently, he slipped it around your shoulders. You leaned into him almost immediately, the movement felt so natural it surprised you. His warmth settled around you like another blanket against the evening breeze. Neither of you spoke, just sat as the fireworks painted shifting colors across the water. Gold, purple, green, white.
You watched them silently for a long time.
Finally, you spoke up in a moment of quiet.
"I'm scared." The words barely escaped above the waves.
Bucky didn't pretend not to hear. "I know."
You looked down at your hands.
"I..." you laughed quietly, mostly because crying would have been easier.
"I like you." The confession hung in the air between another burst of fireworks. "I think... I think I've liked you for a while."
Another explosion bloomed overhead.
"I want..." the words felt terrifying and freeing all at once. "I want to keep liking you."
You looked up at him. "But I'm scared. So much of me still belongs to..."
Your voice cracked and you couldn't finish the sentence, a ragged breath leaving your lips. You knew what you wanted to say. Your mother. The grief. The version of yourself that existed before everything changed.
"What if..." you looked back toward the ocean. "What if this is just because I'm lonely? What if I wake up one day and realize I've been trying to replace something that can't be replaced?"
Another breath.
"What if I lose you too?"
The final question escaped before you could stop it. And there it was, the real fear. Not falling in love, but losing it afterward. Bucky was quiet for a long moment as the fireworks continued exploding overhead. He looked toward the water, then back at you.
"I'm scared too."
You blinked. "You are?"
"I've been terrified." He smiled faintly.
A surprised laugh escaped you. "You hide it well."
"I've had practice."
He looked down at the sand beneath your feet.
"I didn't..." he paused. "I don't ever want you to think..."
Finding the words seemed strangely difficult for him.
"...that I was trying to take advantage of..." his voice grew quieter. "...everything you've been carrying."
Your chest tightened.
"You lost your mom." His eyes found yours again. "You came here trying to survive."
He shook his head gently.
"The last thing I ever wanted..." another pause. "...was for you to wonder whether I saw that as an opportunity."
The thought had never crossed your mind, not once.
"I don't."
"I know." He smiled softly. "But I worried anyway."
His thumb brushed lightly against your shoulder.
"I don't need you to love me today."
The words settled somewhere impossibly deep inside you.
"I don't need you next week. Or next month."
"I just..." his voice almost disappeared beneath another firework. "...want to be there."
He looked at you with the same quiet certainty he'd worn the day he promised to keep you safe on the motorcycle.
"No matter what." Another firework burst overhead, the silver light danced across his face. "No matter how."
The tears came then. But they weren't born from grief this time, not entirely. You reached for his hand, not because you needed reassurance but because you wanted him.
Your fingers slipped between his.
"I don't think..." you smiled shakily. "...you're taking advantage of me."
His shoulders loosened.
"I think... I think you've been behind me... watching me stumble stubbornly, until I remembered how to stand. You were always there, even if I thought I didn't want you, you were there. And I never knew how I much I needed it, or liked it, until now."
You took a breath and sat up, facing him. You were closer than you thought, the light flecks of his morning shave fighting through.
"I don't know how to do this anymore," you murmured softly, "but I'd like to try and figure it out, with you… If you want."
The silence that followed was impossibly gentle. The ocean breathed beside you, fireworks painted the night above. Your heart felt frighteningly full as you felt his eyes bore into yours, feeling every inch of his gaze for what felt like the first time. And as you looked back you could see it all plain as day, the kindness that had never once asked you to become someone other than exactly who you were. The patience that had waited outside closed doors without resentment. The man who'd fixed your porch, made you coffee, remembered your favorite order, woven sea glass into a necklace, and quietly held space for every impossible version of your grief.
You leaned in, slowly enough that he could have moved away. He didn't. You let your eyes flutter shut as another resounding boom of a firework went off, but it fell on deaf ears the moment your lips met softly. The kiss was gentle, tentative and almost questioning. It lasted only a heartbeat before you pulled back just enough to search his face.
He smiled, small and warm and you smiled too. Then he closed the distance again. This kiss lingered, fuller and certain, his hand rested lightly against your cheek as yours curled against the front of his jacket. The fireworks thundered overhead and the crowd cheered for the dazzling display yet neither of you noticed. When you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his, laughing quietly, not because anything was funny.
Because joy sometimes sounded remarkably similar to relief.
After another dazzling ride back home, Bucky walked you up to your door beneath a sky still glowing faintly from the last firework. The giant pink octopus swung lazily from your hand, the sea glass necklace rested against your heart. Every few steps, your shoulders brushed, and neither of you seemed interested in creating more space. When you reached the cottage, you lingered on the porch, neither of you eager to say goodnight either.
Eventually Bucky spoke up first. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"You probably will." You smiled.
He laughed. "I like those odds."
"So do I."
He kissed your forehead once more then turned toward his motorcycle. You watched until he reached it and rumbled off down the road until you unlocked the front door. Before stepping inside, you glanced down at the sea glass resting against your chest. Once broken, thrashed in the ocean time and time again, changed and beautiful. Still itself, just different. Your hand settled over it instinctively.
You realized something then. You were smiling. Not forcing it or pretending but actually smiling. And what felt like the first time since your mother's death you didn't apologize for it. You didn't feel guilty for surviving, you didn't wonder whether happiness meant you'd loved your mother any less. It simply existed beside the grief. Just as the ocean held both calm mornings and violent storms, both belonged, both were true.
You stepped inside your cottage carrying your memories, your sorrow, your love and hope. Knowing with the quiet certainty that your heart had made room for love without leaving your mother behind. Knowing it had simply learned that both could live there together.
