summary: from the prompt "we hosted a party for our friends last night and somehow we ended up making out and now it’s the next morning and we’re cleaning the apartment together and I can’t stop thinking about it"
wc: 1.5k
warnings: lots of overthinking and a flustered steve, but that's about it lol
a/n: originally requested as a blurb that i got carried away with; i hope you like it!! sorry for the stupid title LOL
my masterlist
It’s unusually quiet in your apartment for a weekend morning where both you and Steve are home. The radio is on, playing the current pop hits, but it’s not enough to distract you from the distinct lack of conversation. If you wanted, you could probably chalk it up to the headache you were experiencing from your drinking last night, and assume Steve was feeling the same. And you tried, you really did. But you knew that wasn’t the cause of the silence filling your apartment.
Last night, you and Steve had had all of your friends over to unwind and hang out. There’d been lots of alcohol, and you’d ended up drinking way more than you’d planned to. Your drunk decisions were never your best ones, but you’d really outdone yourself last night. The stupid decision had almost been forgotten until you rolled over in bed to find Steve next to you, his perfect lips parted as he slept soundly. It wasn’t exactly abnormal to wake up next to him, especially after a night of drinking, but nothing had ever happened between the two of you. Until last night.
You hadn’t done anything more than kiss — albeit quite… passionately — but Steve's one of your best friends, as well as your roommate, and a drunken kiss had the potential to ruin everything. Especially since there’d always been an unspoken tension between you, at least from your perspective, but you’d resolved to ignore it in hopes of it disappearing. Clearly, it hadn’t quite worked.
After silently panicking, you’d scrambled out of bed and escaped to the kitchen, busying yourself with making breakfast. Steve had stumbled out of your room into the kitchen not long later, but was still half asleep as he poured himself a bowl of cereal, slumped over the counter as he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth. Maybe he didn’t remember.
At the time, you’d told yourself it was probably good if he didn’t remember. But now, as you silently clean the apartment together, you’re not so sure. Would it hurt more if he really didn’t remember the kiss, or if he was just pretending he didn’t? Sure, you’d both been drunk, but it would be a lie to say you’d never considered the possibility, so the thought of it meaning nothing to Steve nearly eats you alive.
Empty beer bottles and cans clink loudly as you toss them into the garbage bag you’re holding. It’s louder than it needs to be, but you’re trying to focus on cleaning, on the noise; anything to keep your mind from wandering back to Steve and the kiss you’d shared. Because the images of your kiss flash in your mind, of Steve’s hands on your waist, soft lips pressing to yours, do nothing to stop your racing heart.
You can’t believe he hasn’t said anything, but then again, neither have you. Just the thought of mentioning it makes you flustered, and you’re not sure you can face him without feeling like you’re going to burst into flames, but you have to go back into the kitchen where Steve is washing the dishes that had been left out overnight.
Steve is humming along to the song playing over the radio when you walk into the kitchen, and only glances up from the dishes for a moment to flash you his perfect smile when the sound of the bag of garbage you’re carrying betrays you. You manage to return the smile — though you’re sure it’s awkward and unconvincing — as you make your way across the kitchen to dump the bag into the bin. He’s still not saying anything, and you’re still not sure how to feel about all of it. Realistically, you know you should really talk about everything that had happened, even if it was just a one-time, drunken make out. You just can’t quite get yourself to do it, though, and chicken out of saying anything as you dart out of the kitchen and up to your room.
Sitting on the edge of your bed, you grab your phone and dial a number you know by heart. Robin knows both you and Steve better than anyone else; surely she’ll know what you should do. The phone rings once, twice, three times, and finally she picks up with a grumbled, “Hello?”
“Hey, Robs. Did I wake you?” It’s nearly noon, but Robin’s night had been similar to yours — without all of the kissing, of course.
She huffs, and you can hear rustling from the other side of the phone as she shifts in bed, “Yeah, but it’s fine; need to get up anyway before my mom starts telling me about the dangers of drinking again. Like I drink all the time or something. Anyway, what’s up?”
Suddenly the butterflies are back, fluttering in your chest, as you rub your free hand over your face, “Do you, uh… Do you remember anything that happened last night? I dunno how drunk you were but—“
Robin is quick to cut you off, “If you’re talking about you and Steve sucking face, yeah I remember that.”
You groan in embarrassment, face and chest filling with heat as you whine into the phone, “Jesus, Robin. Do you have to say it like that?”
“Well! That’s what it was! What would you call it?”
“I dunno, anything but that! But that’s not— I called ‘cause… We haven’t talked about it. I don’t know if he even remembers or—“
A scoff cuts you off again and you can practically hear Robin’s eye roll, “Holy shit, can you just talk to each other please? I’m too hungover for this and Steve’s already called me about it.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, at like four in the morning. It was freaking ridiculous. He said he’d talk to you. I think. I don’t really know, I was half asleep.”
Something like hope stirs in you as you thank Robin and apologize again for waking her up before you hang up. A call in the middle of the night could be good or bad, but Robin hadn’t made it sound like it was anything bad. She’s known about your crush on Steve, going so far as to insist that the feeling is almost definitely mutual, but you’ve never had the courage to make a move. You know it’s now or never.
Opening your door, you run straight into Steve’s chest with a muffled ‘oof!’ His hand is raised, as if he had just been about to knock, but his arm quickly curls around your shoulders to steady you, “Whoa! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
Your own apologies spill out at the same time, “Shit, sorry! I didn’t know you—“
Nervous laughter erupts from both of you, easing some of the awkward silence as Steve takes a step back. He looks a little nervous, with pink cheeks and wide eyes, which is strange for Steve. Lifting a hand, he scratches the nape of his neck for a moment and then murmurs, “I was just— thought we should talk and…” He trails off, eyes darting to the floor and back up to you before he blurts out, “I remember.”
“You do?” is all you can think to ask, sounding much more eager than you want to.
“Y-yeah. I do.”
“Oh,” you breathe out, a ragged sound as your breath catches in your throat. “Is that… is that a good thing?”
Steve laughs, a sound of adoration, as his cheeks flush again, a dark pink underneath his pretty freckles and moles. He lifts a hand, fingers tugging at his messy hair, tongue darting out to lick his lips, “Um. I mean, I think so. If you also think it’s good. Unless you regret it, and in that case, we can totally forget it happened and—“
“Steve,” you say his name quickly to cut him off, the corners of your lips pulling up slightly as he stops mid-sentence.
“Yeah?”
You take a deep breath, and then just go for it, “I don’t regret it at all. I really… I really like you, Steve.”
“Oh. That’s— yeah, that’s good. Can I kiss you again? Since we’re, ya know, less drunk.”
When you nod, a little dumbstruck, Steve wastes no time in cradling your face in his hands as he steps in closer to you. His hands are warm against your skin, thumbs brushing out over your cheekbones as he gently tilts your face up towards his. His eyes flick to yours for a second, and then he’s kissing you.
This kiss is more delicate than the one you’d shared last night, though his lips are just as soft as you remember. He tastes less like alcohol this time, thankfully, and more like the fruity pebbles he’d eaten for breakfast, and maybe a hint of his minty toothpaste. You can’t help but melt into him, fingers curling into the worn fabric of his t-shirt to keep him close.
You accidentally let out a small noise of disappointment when Steve finally pulls back that makes him laugh, the tip of his nose nudging into the softness of your cheek. His lips brush over the corner of yours once more as he murmurs, “Thank god you let me kiss you again. I’d never have survived off of what I remember from last night.”
Fuckboy!Eddie who always makes you cum without even trying. He's a selfish lover, not bothering to ask you what feels good or if you're close. Yet, he always manages to get you off somehow, hitting it just right with the way his dick perfectly curves up into that special spot of yours. His pleasure is more important to him than yours, and he knows he’s great at sex, so he seldom goes out of his way to make you cum if you haven't by the time he's filled you up.
The two of you first met one drunken night at the Hideout, feeling instant attraction for one another. Naturally, you went home with him that night. And the next night, and the one after that. Through the months of you two hooking up at his apartment, your occasional ogling at his roommate hasn't gone unnoticed, sprouting an idea in Eddie's head. What better way to beat the selfish allegations than to stick good old Roommate!Steve on ya.
“You wanna fuck her?” He’d asked one day, nearly causing Steve to choke on his cereal.
“Wh..what?”
“I said, do you wanna fuck her?”
The nonchalance of Eddie’s tone had Steve thinking he was sleep walking or something. There was no way this was reality. But it was. And Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it a few times. Especially on those nights where you’d come over, practically calling for his attention with your pretty, loud moans while Eddie was balls deep inside of you.
Steve was apprehensive at first, unsure that you would actually go for such an odd proposition. It seemed ludicrous that you'd agree to having Steve step in when Eddie was too spent to finish fucking you.
But he couldn't deny his attraction to you, and he definitely noticed the flirty glances you would direct towards him when your paths would cross. With Eddie adamantly assuring him that you would be more than happy to partake, Steve giddily agreed. On the nights that you would come over, he would eagerly wait up in his bedroom, quietly palming himself through his boxers whilst he overheard your soft whines through the paper thin wall separating his and Eddie's bedrooms.
Finally, the opportunity presented itself right when Steve thought it never would. He heard the familiar sounds of Eddie's climax, and muffled protest coming from you shortly after. In the blink of an eye, Steve's bedroom door swung open revealing a panting Eddie, grinning wildly as he tilted his head gesturing towards his bedroom.
"Now... You just let good ol' Stevie here take care of you." Eddie would instruct, whilst grabbing the rest of his clothes previously discarded on the floor.
"Harrington... You’ve got her, don't cha big boy?” he would say smugly, patting Steve on the shoulder before exiting the room, leaving you to think:
Summary/Request from @barnestans: 'room mate falls in the shower and breaks an arm’ with Steve!! Give me Steve being super proper and polite but also hilarious!!
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings: Broken arm.
AN: YEE! Little bit of humor, fluff, angst, everything. Another prompt for @barnestans prompt night!! I haven’t written anything I’m this proud of in awhile, so please enjoy Y/N and Roommate!Steve
This situation wasn't something any normal person your age would have to experience, but somehow, it happened. What the hell? This stuff only happened to senior citizens, or so you thought.
You could only really blame yourself, though. For the past weeks, you'd been overworking yourself. You were staying at work late, hardly eating since you were so busy, fueled by coffee and energy bars. Essentially, you were burning the candle at both ends.
It was a Friday night, and you were home later than normal. Steve, your roommate, who usually spent his weekends in drawing, locked inside his room, had already arrived at home. You could hear the faint sound of Frank Sinatra playing through the crack under his door, his record of choice for when he was sketching.
Gently, you rested your head against the wall of his bedroom, listening to his desk chair creak as he shifted his his weight, a sharp inhale through his nose. You'd lived together almost a year now, after he responded to a Craigslist ad you had posted when your old roommate, a friend from your previous job, moved out. The dynamic between the two of you was perfect. He was incredibly introverted, as were you, but you'd had plenty of nights where you stayed up talking after watching your favorite TV shows together, him sitting across from you on the armchair in your living room, his fingers clasping the neck of a beer bottle as you tipsily listened to him tell stories from college. He wasn't draining to be around, like most people.
He was handsome, you'd known that initially when you met him. But that wasn't why you fell in love with him. Maybe you were crazy. Maybe it was just the idea of him that you liked. But he was so close all the time, so kind and quiet and gentle. There weren't many men like him. And the handful of times he'd brought someone home after a date, only a few months after he'd moved in, had nearly broken your heart. It had been awhile since he'd done that, though, and while it was foolish to let those things effect your relationship, you couldn't quite help but feel relieved that he didn't appear to currently be dating.
Stepping away from his bedroom and across the hall to yours, the wooden floor creaked as it settled underneath your feet.
"Welcome home, (Y/N)," You heard Steve call from inside his room, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Happy Friday.”
"Thank you," you found yourself smirking, too.
"I hope you're going straight to bed," he said. "I've barely seen you at all these past few weeks," His voice was quite muffled by the door, but you could still picture him sitting at his desk, pencil to notepad, not even looking up as he spoke to you, reading glasses perched on his nose.
"I'm showering first," you chuckled, and he didn't respond, but knew he had heard you.
Opening up your bedroom door, you found it in a bit of a disarray, your clothes scattered all over the floor as you'd left it this morning. Shucking off your coat, you tossed it in the chair next to your bed, which usually was where you deposited clothes that weren't dirty that you were too lazy to hang up.
Next you entered your bathroom, where you turned the shower to it's hottest setting, water on full blast. You didn't have the luxury of a bathtub, so you'd have to make do. This evening, you were primarily focused on curling up with a cup of tea or hot chocolate, maybe a glass of wine...or maybe both.
After undressing, you stepped into the shower, steadying yourself with the handle. Your least favorite part about this apartment was how slick the shower was when it got wet. You usually wore flip-flops for more traction, but tonight you didn't really care, you wanted to get out of the shower and into bed as fast as possible.
The hot water was intoxicating, running over the tense muscles in your back as you turned your neck to both sides, eyes closed, savoring every second of bliss. A contented sigh left your lips lazily, as you tilted your head back to let the water wash away the tension between your eyebrows. It was like curling up in a warm blanket, so maybe that's why you seemed to suddenly black out, the next thing you knew you were on your stomach, one arm bent awkwardly underneath you, screaming in pain, your head pounding.
A whimper passed your lips when you tried to stand, your arm was bent at an angle you didn't know was possible....probably because it wasn't. You realized with horror you were unable to move, and you must have hit the shower knob on your way down, because the water was now freezing, almost dangerously so. There had to be a way out of this, had too. There was no way in hell you were going to call out for help.
The pain in your arm seemed to only get worse, however. Tears were pricking at the back of your eyes, partly from pain, partly from embarrassment. You didn't have a choice.
"Help!" You croaked out meekly. That wasn't going to be enough. Your whole body was trembling from the cold water. "Steve!" You called for your roommate. This might as well happen today, you thought to yourself. So much for your crush. After this you'd have to change your identity and flee the state.
After managing to holler his name a few more times you heard the bedroom door open.
"(Y/N)?" you heard Steve call. Your bathroom door creaked open. "Are you okay?"
Your only view was the tile wall of the shower, and you thanked God that at least you'd fallen on your stomach, so he didn't see every part of you. It saved you a bit of humiliation, as if that were possible.
"Stop!" You commanded. "I think....I think I broke my arm....or something. I can't move. I don't know."
"It's okay, let me turn off the water. It's freezing in here," Steve shivered, but his voice was calm and even. You were crying pretty hard now, a mixture of embarrassment, pain, and stress, and you hoped he couldn't tell.
"Don't look at me!" You blurted out.
"I'm not-" you heard him sniff. "I'm not going to look at you," he said. His voice moved closer to you, and the shower water turned off, abruptly.
"Please don't look at me," you repeated. You felt something soft drape over your back as Steve covered you with a towel, kneeling next to you. Turning your head, you were able to finally look at him. He was wearing gray sweats and a white t-shirt.
"It's okay," he murmured, and you felt his palm rest on the small of your back, a gesture that was supposed to be comforting that only made you more flustered. "What happened?"
"I- I don't know. I think I passed out. All the sudden I was on the floor and I can't....I can't move. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," he repeated himself, but a small smile was playing on the edge of his lips.
"Don't laugh at me, Steve, I'm serious!"
"I'm not," he said, but then the smile broke fully on his face.
"Steve," you whined, a fresh batch of tears starting.
He grew serious then, the smile falling from his face. "It's okay, (Y/N) don't cry." He leaned over you so his eyes were level with yours. "Can you roll over onto your back for me?" he asked. "I promise I won't look at you."
You nodded, and he helped you, the towel that had once provided you with some modesty now lying damp on the floor. But he grabbed it and adjusted it so it laid across your front, helping you into a seated position with your back against the tiles. Gingerly, you tucked your arm against your chest. "Is it bad?" you asked. "I can't see."
Steve glanced down at your arm, suddenly paling and covering his mouth with his hand. "Yeah it's...." he gagged, squeamish. "It's bad."
"Jesus Christ," you said. "The toilet's over there."
"I'm sorry I don't like-" he glanced at your arm and gagged again.
"Then stop looking at it!" You scolded. "If you vomit on me right now I seriously don’t think I’ll ever be able to come back from this.....gross."
He started laughing then, doing an absolute shit job of hiding it from you.
"Steve, what the hell?" You said, feeling like crying all over again. "It's not funny, it really hurts."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he apologized, but had to stifle another laugh
Dejected, your head fell back against the tiles and you bit your lower lip.
"I'm going to have to take you to the hospital," he said. "Do you want me to get some clothes for you to put on?"
"Please," You murmured. "Whatever's at the top of my drawer."
For the few minutes he left the room you prayed that this wasn't really happening. It had to be some type of nightmare. You willed yourself to wake up only to realize that it was all really happening.
"Okay, here," Steve re-entered the bathroom. Despite the circumstances, you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was, especially now that his cheeks were a little flushed from everything going on. It made you feel humiliated all over again. "I got some sweatpants from your drawer, I figured those would be easy to put on. And I brought one of my sweatshirts, that way I can just put it over your head and you don't have to worry about moving your arm...okay?" He asked. "And I'll help you with your shoes, alright?"
You nodded, sniffing, reality setting in that you wouldn't get to spend your evening in, cozy in your bed. Now you had to face a hectic, germ-infested hospital, likely alone once Steve dropped you off. "Let me help you up, alright?"
He crouched in front of you. "Put your hand on my shoulder, hang on to me," he instructed and you obeyed, leaning forward to shift your weight onto your feet as you leaned against him, his body solid and sturdy. When you finally rose to your feet on wobbly legs, your bare feet slipped again on the slick tiles and you gasped, expecting to hit the ground. But instead, Steve caught you, both his hands on your waist. Your towel had moved to the side, however, and his hands were on your bare skin. The warmth of his body against yours caused you to shiver, a for a brief moment your eyes caught his, until he cleared his throat, his eyes flickering away.
"Just hang on," he said. "Let me get you out of here."
You obeyed, and you finally made it out into your carpeted bedroom where he helped you into the clothes he’d found. He was incredibly polite, his eyes never leaving yours or wandering elsewhere as you wriggled into the dry garments. He used an elastic to squeeze the excess moisture out of your hair and twist it into a bun. It looked awful but you had to admit you didn't really care. And somewhere along the way silent tears had begun to flow steadily, after he had helped you into some tennis shoes and sat you on the living room coach, disappearing to grab your keys.
"Oh, (Y/N)," he returned from the small hallway leading to your bedroom. "Don't cry. It’s all fine, it’s not a big deal."
You wished Steve would stop being so sweet and gentle, as he was making it nearly impossible not to fall in love with him. He helped you to your feet again and gingerly embraced you, your head against his shoulder, his hand rubbing your back. "It's going to be okay, you're okay," he soothed. He smelled like soap and aftershave, it was so intoxicating you almost felt smothered. In any other circumstance, it would have you reeling.
"Can you just take me to the car?" you mumbled into his shoulder. While you appreciated his comforting gesture, the pain was becoming a bit too much for you to handle.
He nodded, and helped you into your shared garage. The car ride to the hospital was mostly silence, save for the whimpers of pain you let out whenever Steve hit particularly large bumps. Each time you made any noise in discomfort he flinched, apologizing profusely.
Luckily, when you arrived at the emergency room, Steve dropped you off and you walked in, sighing in relief as you were finally alone. The emergency room was relatively empty, and you were in luck when they took you back right away, seating you on a cot and assuring the doctor would be in soon, a nurse immediately starting an IV with pain medication to help with your discomfort.
You saw the curtain rustling to your room moments later, and perked up, expecting to see a doctor, but instead it was Steve, a backpack slung over his shoulder. "Wow, they got you in really quickly. Sorry, it took some time for me to find parking."
You stared at him incredulously. "I thought you left."
He sat in the chair next to your bed. "No way," he said. "I wasn't going to leave you alone."
"Steve, I'm sure they'll take me into surgery, you'll be here all night," you argued.
"Yeah," he answered. "And someone's going to have to drive you home."
"Seriously," you responded. "I appreciate everything you’ve done tonight, but you don't have to do this."
"Well, I'm going to," he argued. "Because I care about you, and I'm not leaving you here all alone."
Because I care about you. His words echoed in your brain, and you suddenly couldn't think about arguing with him anymore.
"Had you taken care of yourself the past few weeks, maybe this wouldn't have happened," he said, his tone sounding disappointed.
"I know," you answered. As much as you hated to admit it, Steve was right. He put his glasses on and took out his sketchpad and pencil, balancing it on his knee as he continued his work from earlier, the sound of pencil scratching against paper oddly soothing. Your head fell back against the pillows, exhaustion setting in as your body finally reacted to being at rest. Your left arm, the one that wasn't causing all this trouble, settled next to you, and you felt something warm press into your palm.
Steve squeezed your hand tenderly, reassuring. "Don't worry, you're going to be fine."
"Thank you, Steve," you said softly, your eyes slowly closing as you relaxed for the first time that night.
shy!roommate!steve and not realising just how sexy he is and harmlessly doing things like wearing no shirt or just in his underwear around the apartment and giving you the warmest hugs and cuddles and always wanting some affection and physical touch with you and just not realising how much it gets you flustered
mmmmmmm this is so yummy because steve does not realize how hot he is just walking around practically naked and he’ll constantly be giving you hugs and cuddling into you 🥺
and then whenever you call him pretty he probably gets all blushy and flustered before one night steve just asks you “do you think i’m….attractive?”
which leads to you being in his lap as he grips onto you like “can you tell me? can you tell me you think i’m pretty?” and he’s so desperate and needy for you 😩
I know it’s roommate monday, and you’re probably talking about Bucky, but what about roommate Steve coming home from a long mission and he’s so exhausted and grumpy and you’re sitting on the couch looking oh so fuckable
wait this is so good 😩 because steve comes home and you know he’s home because there’s a trail of gear and clothes all the way up to the bathroom. and he’s out of the shower, slightly wet hair and sitting on the couch with a beer mindlessly watching the tv.
but fuck does he look so good (and he shouldn’t because he has a black eye blooming) but you take a seat beside him like “are you okay?” and he just groans out a “yeah. tough mission.”
so you sit with him for a little while longer before he finally speaks again. “i just wish i had another way to let off some steam.” and you bite your lip, twiddling your thumbs before whispering “you could use me, i wouldn’t mind.”
which just leads to him taking you over every surface imaginable 😵💫🤌🏻
