Here comes the general

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@castleallherown
Here comes the general

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
like to charge, reblog to cast.
You are not a bother. You are not a burden. You are not a waste of space. You are not annoying every person you talk to. Your existence matters. Your presence makes a good difference.
ê±ÉȘᎠᎠáŽê°ê°áŽáŽáŽê± áŽáŽÊ ÉȘÉŽáŽÊáŽáŽ áŽâŠ
ê±áŽáŽáŽáŽÊÊ âș somewhere between golden-hour train rides, sleepy kitchen conversations, and waking up tangled together in soft sheets with Alpine purring between you, the lines between friends and flyers blur. and suddenly, the almosts start feeling a lot like forever.
áŽáŽÉȘÊÉȘÉŽÉą âș bucky x female reader áŽáŽÉŽáŽáŽÉŽáŽ áŽĄáŽÊÉŽÉȘÉŽÉąê± âș 18+ MDNI friends to lovers, fluff, domestic bucky, yearning, mutual pining, crushing hard, lowk idiots in love, feelings confession, alpine! implied stalking/being followed by strangers, brief anxiety/fear, buckys hyper vigilance comes out, protective & possessive bucky, kissing, smut, p in v, missionary & cowgirl, soft dom bucky, dirty talking bucky barnes, oral f receiving, fingering, back to back rounds (đ ), sleepy aftercare, bucky nd reader are in lurve, not beta read we die like men. (also halfassed proofread so...) ᎥáŽÊᎠáŽáŽáŽÉŽáŽ âș 8.5k
áŽáŽáŽÊáŽÊê± ÉŽáŽáŽáŽ âș your honor i love them, i love domestic bucky and i want him forever and forever and forever also yeah i barely proofread this i was doing a million things at once and decided to just say fuck it so my fault if its wack
It happens on a Tuesday.
You know itâs a Tuesday because Tuesdays are your longest editing days, and youâre halfway through correcting exposure on a series of portraits when your phone buzzes against your desk. You donât even look at the name before you smile, youâve learned the rhythm of him now. He doesnât text much but when he does, itâs direct.
You home.
No question mark, it makes you smile softly as you type back:
Eventually. Why?
Thereâs a longer pause this time, then,
Found something.
You grin at your screen.
If this is another broken appliance youâre adopting, we need to talk.
Three dots disappear, then reappear.
Not an appliance.
You snort quietly to yourself, you donât ask for clarification because you already know heâll show up whether you do or not.
By the time you make it back to your building, dusk has softened the edges of Brooklyn into gold and shadow. You take the stairs two at a time, not because youâre in a rush, but because youâve started to associate the top landing with something waiting.
You donât check the subway map anymore, you donât hesitate at the corner bodega. You donât feel like a visitor in your own life. When you unlock your apartment door and push it open you immediately stop. Bucky is standing in the middle of your living room, very still, like heâs holding a live grenade. Except the grenade is small.
White.
And glaring at you.
You blink.
ââŠIs that⊠a cat?â
The cat blinks back. Sheâs tiny. All narrow limbs and oversized ears, fur stark white against the dark Henley stretched across Buckyâs chest. One of her paws is hooked firmly into the fabric like sheâs anchoring herself there on purpose.
âShe followed me,â he says flatly. As if this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. You close the door slowly behind you.
âShe followed you?â
âYeah.â
âHome?â
He nods once.
âShe looks like she weighs three pounds.â
âI tried to tell her not to. Sheâs got opinions.â
On cue, the cat makes a small, indignant sound. Not quite a meow. More like a complaint, you step closer carefully, hands out like youâre approaching something sacred.
âOh my god,â you whisper with a growing smile.
Her eyes track you instantly, blue, sharp and wholly unimpressed.
âSheâs so small.â
He scoffs. âSheâs probably feral.â
âSheâs so baby.â You cooed with a waggle of your fingers.
âSheâs notââ
âShe is,â you insist softly, reaching up to brush one careful finger along the edge of her back. Her fur is softer than you expected. She stiffens at first, eye narrowing just a fraction then leans in, just slightly.
Buckyâs brows draw together. âShe scratched a guy.â
âHe probably deserved it.â
âYou donât even know what he did.â He huffs as he genlty shifts her in his hold.
âHe existed near her.â
âThatâs not a crime.â
You look up at him through your lashes. âIt is if youâre three pounds and fierce.â
He exhales through his nose, but thereâs no bite to it. You lean back to fully look at him now, eyes wide with something that feels suspiciously like wonder.
âYou brought her here.â
âShe wouldnât leave.â
âThatâs not what I meant.â
You donât say it out loud, but you both feel it. He could have taken her anywhere. A shelter, a vet, anywhere but here. Instead, he brought her to you. You reach out fully now, cupping your hands under her tiny body. âCan I?â
He hesitates for half a second then nods and transfers her carefully into your arms. Sheâs lighter than she looks, all bone and stubbornness. Her paws immediately knead into your shirt, claws catching slightly as she readjusts.
âAw,â you breathe, heart cracking open without your permission. âHi.â
She stares up at you like sheâs evaluating your worth, you smile at her like youâve already decided sheâs yours.
âWhatâs up with you, girl?â you ask softly.
He shifts his weight. âAlpine.â
You look up at him, startled. âYou named her.â
âShe needed one.â
You look back down at the tiny creature in your arms. âHi, Alpine,â you murmur.
She blinks once, then, slowly, she begins to purr. Itâs faint at first. Barely there, then it gets stronger like a tiny engine vibrating against your chest.
Bucky goes very still at the sound.
âShe didnât do that before,â he says quietly. You grin up at him like youâve just accomplished something monumental.
âShe likes me.â
âShe tolerates you.â
âShe loves me.â
âShe met you ten seconds ago.â
âAnd yet.â You carry Alpine to the couch carefully, lowering yourself into the cushions you once assembled under his supervision. She curls into your lap like sheâs been rehearsing it.
Bucky stands there, watching the two of you.
You glance up. âYou know sheâs our baby now, right?â
His eyes widen slightly. âShe is notââ
âShe absolutely is.â
He opens his mouth to argue but closes it. Looks at Alpine, then at you.
âYou know⊠weâre notââ
âI know,â you interrupt gently, softer now. âIâm just kidding.â
But the word ours lingers in the air, and neither of you correct it again.
Adjusting to Alpine afterwards is surprisingly easy, adjusting to each other has been⊠gradual, natural almost.
Like youâve both been circling the same warmth and finally allowed yourselves to step fully into it. He comes over without being asked now. Sometimes youâll hear the lock turn and his boots cross your floor before you even realize you were waiting for him. He leaves things behind, a spare toothbrush, a flannel slung over the back of your couch. Tools tucked under your sink âjust in case.â
You make space for them without comment. Alpine claims him in her own way, she sits on his chest when he lies back on the couch, she bats at his metal fingers like theyâre an interactive toy, she once knocked over his glass of water and then stared at him like it was a moral lesson.
âYou spoil her,â he says one evening as you crouch in front of a pet store aisle, comparing two different brands of kitten food like youâre reviewing fine wine.
âShe deserves it.â
He cocks a brow. âShe tried to fight a pigeon on the fire escape.â
âShe was defending her territory.â
âShe weighs less than the pigeon.â
âShe has spirit.â
He shakes his head, but he carries the heavier bag without being asked, and back at home, he assembles a cat tree without looking at the instructions. You sit cross-legged on the floor narrating Alpineâs inner thoughts in a dramatic voice.
ââYes, father, construct my tower. Higher. Higher.ââ
âShe doesnât talk like that.â He murumurs from under a fuzzy hammock.
âHow do you know?â
âBecause sheâs judging you right now.â
You glance at the cat. Alpine blinks slowly before turning her head back to seemingly watch Bucky.
âShe agrees with me.â You state with a firm nod of your head.
He almost smiles, you see it, you always see it. Something in your chest heats up at seeing it and you reach for your camera without thinking, lifting the lens to watch him through it.
Click. He looks up at the sound.
âYou take too many pictures.â
You hum behind the camera. âIâm documenting history.â
âIâm building a cat tree.â
âExactly.â
He rolls his eyes, but he doesnât tell you to stop.
Later, when Alpine finally climbs to the top perch and perches there like she owns the skyline, you end up sitting on the couch shoulder to shoulder. Your thigh pressed lightly against his, his arm stretched along the back of the couch. Fingers just barely brushing your shoulder, close enough that you feel the heat of him.
âSheâs so tiny,â you murmur.
He huffs something close to a laugh. "Sheâs vicious.â
âSheâs fragile.â
âShe scratched a grown man.â
âBoth can be true at once.â You tease through a smile.
You glance at him sideways, expecting an eye roll but when you look heâs not looking at the cat. Heâs looking at you. You donât talk about what you are, you donât need to. Everything important has gone unspoken, he kisses you gently when he arrives. Soft and brief, like checking in. You kiss him back when he leaves, lingering just a second longer each time. It was a silent adjustment to each otherâs rhythms. He knows your coffee order without asking, you know when heâs had a bad day by the way he sets his boots down. He reaches for your hand in crowded subway cars now without hesitation, you lean into him when the train lurches.
Youâve started claiming things as yours together without meaning to. Your park bench, your bodega, your stupid inside jokes about screaming radiators.
And now, your cat.
One night, you wake to find Alpine curled between you in bed. Buckyâs arm is draped over your waist, his metal fingers resting warm and steady against your hip and you lie there for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest.
The way Alpineâs tiny body vibrates faintly with sleep. You realize something quietly, you donât feel like youâre building alone anymore, you feel⊠accompanied.
Chosen.
Alpine stretches, paws kneading into your collarbone before she headbutts your chin lightly and you laugh softly.
Bucky stirs.
âWhatâs she doing,â he mutters sleep-rough.
âClaiming me.â
He settles back into the bed. âHm. Sheâs territorial.â
âShe gets it from you.â
He cracks one eye open to look at you.
âIâm not territorial.â
âYou absolutely are.â
He studies you for a second, then leans forward just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. âI just know whatâs mine,â he says quietly.
Your breath catches for half a second and he closes his eyes again like he didnât just say something that makes your chest feel too small. Alpine purrs louder between you, small and fierce. And somehow, without either of you planning itâthe three of you fit.
Photography has always been your passion in life. Capturing the essence of moments in stilled frames. It started small. Borrowed cameras and phone pictures, sunlight through your bedroom window catching dust in the air like suspended stars. You liked that a photo could hold something still, proof that a moment existed exactly the way you felt it.
When life felt loud or overwhelming, framing the world through a lens made it manageable. Cropped. Intentional. Yours.
New York amplified your love for photography because it gave you an endless supply of almost-moments. A man laughing too hard on a street corner. A woman adjusting her heels before stepping into a cab. Sunlight ricocheting off glass buildings and landing like a spotlight on someone who doesnât know theyâre glowing.
You donât mean to start photographing him like this.
At first itâs practical. Professional, detached even is what you tell yourself.
The lighting in your apartment is good in the afternoonsâwarm and honeyed, slanting through the tall Brooklyn windows and catching on dust motes and soft edges. You tell yourself youâre just practicing. Documenting domesticity. Capturing the way ordinary life looks when itâs honest.
It just so happens that Bucky is in the frame more often than not.
He doesnât notice at first. Heâs kneeling in front of your kitchen cabinet, sleeves shoved up, hair falling into his eyes while he tightens the hinge thatâs been sagging for weeks. Youâre perched at the table with your camera resting against your palm, chin tucked into your shoulder as you watch him through the lens.
Click.
He doesnât look up.
The metal of his left hand gleams faintly where the sunlight touches it, silver softened into something almost warm. His right hand steadies the cabinet door, careful and patient like heâs working with something delicate.
Like he always does here.
You lower the camera just long enough to watch him without the barrier.
Thereâs something about him in your spaceâlarge and solid and quietâthat doesnât feel invasive anymore. It feels like furniture. Like foundation. Like heâs always supposed to have been kneeling on your kitchen tile, muttering under his breath about cheap screws.
âStop glaring at it,â you tease. âIt can sense fear.â
He snorts softly. âIâm not glaring.â
âYou absolutely are.â
Click.
He glances up this time, catching you mid-shot. His eyes narrow a fraction. âYou takinâ pictures of me again?â
âMaybe.â
âWhy.â
You shrug like itâs obvious. âI'm documenting history.â
âIâm fixinâ a cabinet.â
âExactly.â
He shakes his head, but thereâs no real protest in it. Just that quiet tolerance he reserves for you â like youâre allowed to get away with things no one else is. You donât tell him that you like the way his brow furrows when he concentrates. Or the way his mouth presses into a thoughtful line. Or the way he looks softer in your apartment than he does anywhere else.
You photograph him crouched beside Alpineâs food bowl next.
Sheâs watching him like heâs personally offended her by refreshing her water five minutes too late. Her tail flicks with dramatic irritation while he adjusts the dish on the mat you bought with tiny embroidered fish.
âSheâs judging you,â you narrate from behind the camera.
âShe always judges me.â
âShe knows youâre weak.â You taunt after a shutter adjustment.
âI am not weak.â
âYou gave her salmon last night because she blinked at you.â
He doesnât answer that.
Click.
The photo captures something you didnât expect, the curve of his metal fingers hovering carefully near her small body. Not touching, just close, being protective without claiming control. Alpine is still small. Still a little too thin around the ribs. You both pretend you donât remember how she looked the day he showed up with her tucked against his chest, fur clumped and eyes wary.
Now she sits like a queen surveying her kingdomâyour apartment, his boots by the door, the couch that used to be yours and now belongs equally to both of them. She swats at his hand when he finally scratches under her chin.
He grins, small and fleeting, you miss it because youâre adjusting the focus.
The subway platform becomes another favorite location.
You catch him staring down the tunnel, coat collar turned up against the wind, hair tugged back by the rush of oncoming trains. The fluorescent lights overhead are harsh, but something about the movement, the waiting, feels cinematic.
He stands slightly in front of you when the platform gets crowded, not enough to make a statement, just enough that his shoulder brushes yours.
You lift the camera.
Click.
He looks over. âGonna charge me royalties at some point?â
âDonât tempt me.â
He huffs a quiet laugh. When the train roars in he places his hand at your lower back as you step inside, itâs a small thing, it always is with him. Small touches. Gentle brushes. The kind that donât demand attention but linger anyway and you start to recognize the way your body anticipates them, the way your breath steadies when heâs close.
The park bench photo is the one that changes everything.
Youâre sitting beside him, knees almost touching, Alpine safe at home because sheâs not allowed outside no matter how loudly she protests. Itâs early evening, the golden hour slipping toward dusk, the air smells like leaves and city exhaust and distant food carts.
Heâs not paying attention to you, heâs watching a kid across the path attempt to throw a tennis ball for a dog that refuses to cooperate and his expression softens without him realizing it.
The sunlight catches in his lashes. You lift the camera instinctively.
Click.
He turns toward you at the sound and for half a secondâhe almost smiles. Not brazen or wide, not open-mouthed with teethflashing. But something real, something gentle and unguarded. You freeze and lower the camera slowly.
âI didnât know you could do that,â you murmur.
âDo what.â
âThat.â
He frowns faintly.
Your eyes find his, wide and soft all at once. âLook like that.â
âLike what?â
You hesitate. Safe, you think, but you donât say it. He rolls his eyes like youâre being dramatic, you play it off with a small breath but when you check the photo your chest tightens. Itâs there. The almost-smile. The warmth in his eyes. The absence of the weight he usually carries like armor. You save it immediately.
It becomes your favorite.
Your boss calls you into her office the next day as she flips through the prints slowly, brows lifting higher with each image. There's no denying the growing intimacy of the photos, not in the vuglar or exposing sense, but in the way of his heart began to glow in the lens.
âWho is he to you?â
You swallow, pulse thrumming at your wrists and below your ear, flushing like she had asked if you two were to be wed. âI answered his flyer.â
The words feel bigger now than they did months ago. That stupid piece of paper taped crookedly to a lampost with a scribbled NEED HELP? in bleeding ink. To think you almost walked past it, you almost didnât take a paper.
Your boss smiles faintly.
âYouâre lucky,â she says and you feel it reside itself deep inside you and you think about that all the way home.
Lucky.
You think about that word the whole way home.
You let yourself into the apartment quietly. Heâs on the floor with Alpine sprawled on her back, paws in the air while he rubs her stomach in slow, careful circles.
You lean against the doorway. âHey.â
He looks up immediately. His face shifts when he sees you, subtle but unmistakable. Shoulders easing back, the corners of his mouth softening upwards.
âHey.â
You donât move for a second, just stand there and watch him, watch the man you almost didnât meet.
âI was thinking about something,â you say softly.
âYeah?â
âIâm really glad I saw your flyer.â
The words hang there between you two, simple and honest, yet carrying a weight you hadn't expected to hit so hard.
He stills and Alpine chirps in protest at the loss of movement. He clears his throat.
âYeah?â
âYeah.â You step closer. âI almost didnât call. Put it in my purse and left it there.â
His jaw tightens faintly. âI almost didnât put it up.â
âWhat?â You blink.
He shrugs, looking back down at Alpine like sheâs suddenly fascinating. âFigured nobodyâd answer.â
âWhy?â
He doesnât respond right away. You kneel across from him, mirroring his position and Alpine rolls toward you greedily, like the traitor that she is.
âBuck.â
He exhales slowly.
âDidnât think anyone would want to take a chance.â On me, he doesnât say but you hear it anyway.
Your chest aches.
âIâm glad I did,â you whisper.
His eyes lift to yours and something raw flickers there, quick and then it's gone.
âMe too,â he says quietly.
The room feels smaller suddenly, closer, the air heavier. Alpine headbutts your hand impatiently, demanding attention. You both laugh at the same time and the tension dissolves into something softer. But it doesnât disappear entirely, it settles between you like something warm and real.
You keep photographing him, but now it feels different, it's not just observation anymore, not just study. sdwfeIt feels like preservation, like proof. Of the way he leaves his boots neatly by the door because you once mentioned tripping over them.
Of the way he started buying your favorite cereal without asking, of the way he checks the locks twice before bed, of the way he presses a gentle kiss to your temple when he passes behind you in the kitchen.
Nothing intense, nothing overwhelming. Just soft and intentional. You catch your reflection in one of the subway windows one evening with your shoulder tucked under his arm while the train sways. You look⊠settled. Happy. It makes you think about the flyer again. The crooked tape, the quiet hope behind it. You think about the man kneeling on your kitchen floor. On your living room rug. On a park bench in golden light.
You think about the almost-smile, and you realize something slow and steady has taken root inside you.
It isnât just attraction anymore. It isnât just comfort. Itâs the knowledge that if you hadnât looked up that day, if you hadnât paused on your stoop and seen that lampost, your life would be missing something fundamental.
You press your face briefly into his shoulder on the train, it makes him tilts his head toward you instinctively.
âWhat's wrong,â he murmurs.
âNothing.â
You donât tell him you feel something more than lucky, you donât tell him that sometimes you look at him and think: I chose right, you donât tell him that your favorite photo isnât the almost-smile. Itâs the one where heâs not looking at the camera at all, heâs looking at you. Like heâs quietly grateful you took a chance on him, and maybe, just maybe heâs a little lucky too.
It slips into something quieter one night.
Youâre at the counter again, but this time thereâs flour everywhereâyour hands, the surface, a faint dusting across your shirt where you tried (and failed) to brush it off.
âI said I could just go buy something,â he mutters, watching you wrestle with dough like it personally offended you.
âAnd I said no,â you shoot back, not looking up. âPeople make this all the time.â
âYeah. People who know how.â
You narrow your eyes at the dough. âItâs about the principle.â
âItâs about you losing a fight to bread.â
âIâm not losingââ
You look up just as he steps closer. His hand lifts, slow and deliberate, and for a second you think heâs going to reach for the bowl, or the counter, or anything but you.
Instead, his thumb brushes across your cheek, light and careful as he wipes away a streak of flour you didnât know was there.
Everything in you stills and warmth prickles all across your skin. The room doesnât go quiet, you can still hear the faint hum of the fridge, the city outside your window, Alpine batting something off a shelf in the other room but it feels like it does.
You donât move and neither does he. His hand lingers for half a second too long, thumb hovering like he forgot what he was doing midway through it. Your breath catches, shallow and uneven in a way that feels louder than it should be as your heartbeat does strange, unfamiliar things.
âYou hadââ he starts, voice lower now, rougher. âFlour.â
âYeah,â you barely manage, your mind floating somewhere far from here.
His hand drops eventually, but the space between you doesnât widen again.
He starts staying over more after that. Not "officially". Not in a way either of you acknowledge out lou, it just happens. At first, itâs practical.
Itâs late, the trains are slow and Alpine is already asleep curled into his side like she made the decision for him.
So he stays. He takes the couch the first few times, or at least, thatâs what he tells you. You believe him until one night you wake up thirsty, the apartment dim and quiet, the soft blue wash of streetlight bleeding in through the windows.
You shuffle toward the kitchen, half-asleep, rubbing at your eyes and then you stop.
Heâs not on the couch. For a second, your stomach dips, sharp and immediate but then you see him. On the floor. Blanket barely tucked under him, one arm thrown over his eyes like he fell asleep mid-thought. Alpine is curled against his side, a small, white comma against the dark of his shirt.
Your chest tightens.
âBuck,â you murmur softly.
He doesnât stir and you hesitate.
You could wake him and tell him to take the bed, tell him the couch is fine, that the floor is ridiculous, that he doesnât have toâbut you donât. Instead, you step closer, then closer. And before you can overthink it, before you can stop yourself you lower down beside him.
The floor is cool beneath you, grounding in a way that makes your breath even out. You donât touch him at first, you just lie there close enough to feel the heat of him. Close enough that Alpine shifts slightly, resettling between you like she approves of the arrangement.
It feels strangely natural, like youâve done this before, like you were always going to. He stirs after a minute, brow furrowing slightly before his arm drops from his eyes. His gaze finds you in the low light, still hazy with sleep.
ââŠYou okay?â he asks, voice rough.
âYeah,â you whisper. âCouldnât sleep.â
A pause.
Then, softerââFloorâs more comfortable than it looks.â
You huff quietly. âI can tell.â
Somewhere between one breath and the next, the distance between you disappears. Itâs not intentional, not really. You just shift slightly, then he does too. And then his arm is around you, your head is tucked against his shoulder. Alpine is wedged between your ribs like a tiny, purring anchor. You fit together so easily it almost startles you, but neither of you pulls away.
By morning, youâre tangled.
Not in a way that feels messy or complicated. In a way that feels right. Your leg hooked over his, his hand resting warm and steady at your waist, Alpine sprawled across both of you like she owns the entire situation.
You wake up first and for a second, you just lie there taking in the quiet and the warmth. The way his grip tightens slightly, even in sleep, like something in him registers your presence and refuses to let go.
He stirs a few minutes later, breath shifting, eyes blinking open slowly and for a second, he looks disoriented. Then he looks at you and something in his expression softens immediately.
âHey,â he murmurs.
âHey.â
Neither of you moves, neither of you rushes to untangle the way you probably should. His thumb traces a small, absentminded line against your side, like heâs checking that youâre still there.
You are.
You both are.
And neither of you calls it anything, but neither of you pretends itâs nothing, either.
You donât notice it at first.
Thatâs the part that sticks with you later throughtout the whole dayâthe way it happens without announcement, without anything sharp enough to pull you out of your own head.
Youâre tired.
Not just end-of-the-day tired, but the kind that settles behind your eyes and stays there, heavy and burning. Youâve been staring at a screen for hours, adjusting exposure, chasing light that already happened, trying to make moments feel the way they did when you first captured them.
It blurs after a while. Faces. Colors. Time. The subway hums beneath you, a low, steady rhythm that you usually find comforting.
Youâre thinking about a photo when it happens. Not even a good oneâjust a small detail you want to fix tomorrow, the way the light caught on the edge of a frame, how you might crop it tighter when the train slows, stops and the doors open.
You donât move.
And then they close again.
Itâs only when the station sign slips past the window, unfamiliar, wrong, that something in your chest stutters and your stomach drops as you realized you missed your stop .
ââŠGreat,â you mutter under your breath.
Too late.
The train lurches forward again.
The next stop feels longer than it should, everything does when youâre suddenly aware of it. The way your foot taps against the floor. The flicker of the overhead lights. The low murmur of strangers who donât know you just made a mistake.
You step off quickly when the doors open again, pulse just a little too fast. The platform is quieter here, too different. You donât like it.
The announcement crackles overhead, distorted and distant.
ââmaintenance delaysânext trainâextendedââ
You close your eyes briefly because, of course. It's late when you check the time, later than you meant to stay out. Later than you usually feel comfortable being anywhere unfamiliar. You could wait for the next train to turn around. You should wait. But the platform feels wrong in a way you canât quite explain, too open, too empty, like something thatâs supposed to be full of noise has been hollowed out.
So you decide to walk to the next station, itâs not far, you tell yourself that like it makes the decision better.
You know the moment it shifts when you step out into the might air. Itâs not something you see but something you feel. The street is quieter than Brooklyn. The buildings taller, the gaps between people wider. The kind of quiet that doesnât feel peaceful but absent. Streetlights flicker overhead, one buzzing faintly before stabilizing and your footsteps sound louder than they should. You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets, shoulders drawing in slightly without meaning to.
And then there's that feeling again. The one that crawls up the back of your neck before your brain catches up.
You glance up and see thereâs a group of men down the block. They notice you immediately. You see it happen in an instant the shift in posture, the subtle way their attention locks in. Alone and disoriented.
Your chest tightens as you look away quickly, adjusting your path just enough to seem casual.
Keep walking.
Donât react. Don'tâ
They start moving, not obviously, just enough to match your pace. The air feels colder suddenly, like somethingâs been pulled out of it. Your breathing changes before you can stop it, shorter, sharper. You turn a corner and try to stay calm. You donât look back right away because you donât want to confirm it, but you know. You hear it, the sootsteps are still there, still echoing behind you. Your fingers shake as you pull your phone out of your pocket.
Thereâs no debate, no hesitation as you hit his name.
He answers on the first ring.
âWhat broke?â
Any other time it would make you laugh.
Your throat tightens and you barely get the word out. âBuck.â
It comes out thinner than you want it to, and thereâs a brief pause. But everything about him changes on the other end of the lineâyou can hear it, feel it, the way his breathing shifts, the way his voice drops into something sharper. Focused.
âWhere are you.â
You try to explain. Street names you barely registered, landmarks you didnât think to remember. It comes out in fragments, rushed and uneven, your words tripping over each other.
âIâI missed my stop and I got off and Iâm walking and thereâsââ
âI got you,â he cuts in, calm and steady.
âStay on the phone.â
Your grip tightens around it. âOkay.â
âKeep walking. Donât stop.â
Your heart is pounding too loud now, drowning out everything else. Behind you, one of them calls out something. You donât process the words, you donât respond you just keep walking.
Your breathing stutters.
âBuckââ
âIâm here,â he says immediately. âYouâre good. Just keep going.â
Your vision feels too narrow, like everything outside of the path in front of you has been blurred out. You turn another corner and they follow, closer now. Your chest feels tight, like you canât pull in a full breath. And then headlights, bright and fast flash in front of you as a truck pulls up hard along the curb beside you, tires crunching against the edge of the street.
You flinch at the sound as the driverâs door opens. And heâs there. Bucky steps out like heâs stepping into something controlled and not the eratic chaos you feel in your ribcage. He's calm and measued, something almost cold in his eyes.
The shift is immediate. He doesnât yell at the group of men, doesnât posture, he doesnât say a word. He just moves, placing himself between you and them like itâs instinct, like itâs the only position that makes sense. The streetlight catches on his left arm, metal glinting sharp and unmistakable and the men stop. Thereâs a beat of calculation, and then they back off. Muttering something under their breath, turning away like the decision was easy, like you werenât worth it.
You donât process it, not yet, all you know is that heâs here. You move before you think, closing the distance, your hands grabbing onto him like you need proof heâs solid and real, not something your brain made up out of fear.
âHey,â he murmurs, voice lower now, closer to the one you know. âI got you.â
You nod against him, even though he canât see it properly, your grip tightening for half a second longer than necessary. He doesn't miss a beat, he just guides you toward the truck, one hand steady at your back.
The drive is quiet.
You sit in the passenger seat, hands still curled slightly like they forgot how to relax. Your heart hasnât fully slowed down yet and youâre aware of everything. The hum of the engine, the rhythm of the tires against the road, the way his hands grip the wheel.
Too tight, the knuckles of his right hand pale under the dim lighting. He doesnât look at you at first, his focus is locked forward, expression carved into something hard and controlled.
Youâve seen that look before.
Just not like this, not because of you, not because of something that almost happened. Your throat feels tight again, but for a different reason now.
âIâm okay,â you say quietly.
He doesnât respond right away as the truck turns down your street.
Finally, his grip shifts slightly on the wheel, like heâs forcing it to loosen.
âI know,â he says.
But his voice is still tight, still holding something back. You glance at him, really look this time. And you realize heâs not just angry, heâs shaken. Not with fear in the way you are, but something sharper, something that looks a lot like the realization that he almost wasnât there in time.
He doesnât say anything else when he parks, he just kills the engine and gets out, rounding the front of the truck before youâve fully gathered yourself. He walks beside you to the door, close enough that your shoulders almost brush.
He unlocks it before you can reach for your keys, like itâs instinct now, like itâs always been his job.
Inside, the apartment wraps around you both with familiar walls, soft lamplight, and the faint sound of Alpine shifting somewhere deeper in the space.
For a second, neither of you moves.
The door clicks shut behind you, and the quiet that follows is heavier than anything outside. You turn toward him and heâs already looking at you. Thereâs something in his expression you donât see often, something unguarded, pulled tight with restraint.
âAre you hurt?â he asks, voice tight and focused.
You shake your head. âNo, Iââ
His hands are already there, gentle but firm, checking your arms, your shoulders, your face like he needs proof. Like he wonât believe it until he confirms it himself.
âAnywhere?â he presses, quieter now.
âNo,â you say softly. âIâm okay.â
He stills just for a second as your words take a moment to settle somewhere deeper than they should have to. And then something in him gives. His hands slide up, framing your face, and before you can process the shift he pulls you into him.
The kiss isnât careful.
It isnât the soft, checking-in kind heâs given you before. It isnât brief or hesitant or something that leaves room for doubt.
Itâs desperate.
Like something almost slipped through his fingers, like heâs grounding himself in the fact that youâre here. That youâre real, that youâre okay. Your fingers clutch at his shirt without thinking, holding on just as tightly, just as instinctively as you melt into the kiss.
âYou scared me,â he breathes against your mouth.
The words are rough, honest in a way that cracks something open in your chest.
âI know,â you whisper back.
âI canâtââ He stops, swallowing hard, his forehead pressing briefly to yours before he finds your eyes again. âI canât lose you.â
Your breath stutters.
Thereâs no distance left between you now. No space to pretend this is anything less than what it is.
His voice drops, quieter but steadier.
âBe mine.â
The words land heavier than anything else tonight.
âFor real,â he adds, like he needs you to understand. âNo unspokeness. No almost.â
You blink, heart racing for an entirely different reason now, something softer threading through the remnants of fear.
âI am,â you say.
Thereâs no hesitation in it.
âI've always been yours, Buck.â
His grip tightens slightly, like he needs to hold onto that.
âForever,â he insists, softer now but no less certain. âLet me take you home. Every time. Let me hold you on every train. Let me put up every shelf. Let meââ
He doesnât finish, you kiss him again. This time slower, still deep and certain, but steadier, like something inside you both is finally settling into place.
âIâll keep you safe,â he murmurs against your lips. âIâll choose you. Every day.â
Your answer comes easily.
âYes.â
He exhales like heâs been holding that breath for longer than just tonight.
His hands shift, gentler now at your waist, but no less sure of where they belong. You tug him closer without thinking, closing whatever space might still exist between you and something shifts. The heat from your bodies no longer stays under the skin, it moves and blooms into a fiery heat somewhere deep inside you. Inside you both.
The mismatching calloused and metal pads of his fingers trace down to the dip of your waist and the swell of your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kisses you again but this time his lips follow his downward trajectory, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. Each one lingers, deliberate, until your skin blooms pink beneath his mouth.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes, the words warm against your collarbone. His teeth graze the spot just above your pulse, gentle and testing before he sucks softly, drawing a quiet gasp from you.
You arch into him, fingers threading through his hair, holding him close. "Buckyâ"
"Tell me," he murmurs, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. "Tell me you're mine."
The words tumble out without hesitation. "Yours. Always yours."
A low sound rumbles in his chest, pleased and possessive. He kisses you again, deep and unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, claiming rhythm. His hands roam your body, worshiping every inch of the softness of your thighs, the flutter of your ribs beneath his palm, the way your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your nipple.
You tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He helps you pull it off, then guides your hands to his chest, letting you explore the hard planes of muscle, the scars, the warmth of him. His breath catches when your fingers skim over a sensitive spot just above his hip.
"Sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. "You're gonna be the death me."
"Not yet." You hum as you kiss him again, pouring everything into it, trust, want, love.
His hands slide down your back, gripping your ass as he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you through the apartment and to the bed. He lays you down like something precious, following you with his body, covering you without crushing you.
His lips find yours once more, soft and insistent as you both shed every last layer between you, before trailing lowerâover your breasts, your stomach, lower still. Every touch is deliberate, every kiss a promise.
"Let me take care of you," he whispers against your inner thigh as you nod shakily.
His fingers tremble slightly as they skim your bare skinâso close to where you ache for him, yet hesitating. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his breath comes uneven against your skin.
"Buck," you whisper, stroking his hair. "It's okay."
He exhales shakily, pressing his forehead to your hip. "Been a long time," he admits, voice rough. "Don't wanna mess this up."
"You won't." You tilt his chin up, meeting his eyes. "We'll go slow. Together."
A ragged breath escapes him as he nods, lips brushing the sensitive skin of your thigh. His hands grip your hips, steadying himself, before he lowers his mouth to you, tentative at first, then bolder as your soft gasps guide him.
"Christ, baby," he groans against you, fingers digging into your flesh. "So sweet like this."
You arch beneath him, pleasure curling tight in your belly. "Bucky, 8ikpleaseâ"
His tongue is slow at first, experimental, and almost shy as if heâs relearning the shape of you like this. But the second your hips jerk under his mouth, he groans against you and his confidence soars, gripping your thighs to keep you still. "Easy, princess," he murmurs, lips brushing your clit. "Let me take my time with you."
And god, does he take his time.
His tongue traces slow circles around you, teasing but never giving you exactly what you need until youâre writhing beneath him. "Buckyâ" you gasp, fingers knotting in his hair.
"Patience," he rumbles before finally closing his lips over your clit and sucking gently. You cry out, back arching off the bed as pleasure arcs through you like lightning. His fingers join then, one sliding into you with ease, curling just right, the dual sensation has your thighs shaking around his head.
"Thatâs it," he murmurs against you, adding a second finger as his tongue flicks faster over your clit. "Let me feel it, let me hear you."
You donât stand a chance. The orgasm crashes over you so hard your vision whites out for a second, his name spilling from your lips in a breathless chant as you grind against his mouth. He doesnât stop until youâre whimpering from oversensitivity, dragging his tongue through your folds one last time before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.
When he finally lifts his head, his lips are slick and his eyes are black with hunger. "Fuckin' perfect," he rasps, licking his lips like he canât get enough of the taste of you.
You tug him into a kiss by the hair, crashing your mouth against his so you can taste yourself on his tongue. He groans into the kiss, hips grinding down against yours where heâs achingly hard.
"Need you inside me," you pant between kisses, rocking against him insistently. "Now."
His breath hitches as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. "Yeah?" His fingers flex possessively on your hip. "Gonna beg for it?"
"Please," you whimper, dragging his hand between your legs again, showing him exactly how ready you still are for him.
His throat works as he nods, reaching for the condom on the nightstand with unsteady hands. You help him roll it on, stroking his wrist when he fumbles.
"Easy, soldier," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
He chokes out a laugh of half nerves, half affection before settling between your thighs. His cock brushes against you, hot and thick, and he stills, forehead pressed to yours. "God, sweetheartâyouâ"
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Move with me," you breathe.
He does, slow at first, sinking into you inch by inch as his muscles tremble with restraint. His breath comes in ragged bursts against your neck, lips finding your pulse point again, sucking gently.
"Good?" he rasps.
"So good," you sigh, fingers clutching his back. "More."
He moans, hips rocking against yours in a deep, unhurried rhythm. Every thrust is deliberate, every groan muffled against your skin as he murmurs praises or "perfect," "mine," "angel" between kisses. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he loses himself in you, the hesitation melting away with every shared breath.
"Close," he grits out, sweat beading on his brow.
You nod, urging him deeper, nails scraping lightly down his spine. His rhythm stutters, his body tensing as he spills over the edge with a broken moan of your name.
He collapses against you, breath hot on your neck, arms tightening possessively around you as he murmurs something low and soft against your skin.
His cock twitches inside you, still thick and hard despite his release. You shift your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp gasp from him as his fingers dig into your waist. "Still?" you tease, rolling your hips again just to feel him shudder beneath you.
Bucky's metal hand slides up your back, pressing you closer as his hips shift, grinding deeper. "Always for you," he growls, voice rough with need.
You push him by the shoulders until he rolls onto his back as you rise up on your knees, guiding him back inside with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips. His groan is ragged, hands gripping your thighs as you take control, riding him with slow, deep strokes that make his breath hitch. His flesh hand tangles in your hair, pulling you down for a searing kiss as his hips meet yours in perfect rhythm.
Your body trembles as Buckyâs thrusts grow rougher, his cock hitting that deep, perfect spot again and again until your vision blurs. A breathy whimper escapes your lips as your head drops against his shoulder, nails biting into his sweat-slicked skin. His arms lock around you, keeping you pinned against him while his hips snap upward, each movement sending sparks of pleasure racing through you.
"Thatâs it, sweetheart," he growls, voice rough with need, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Take itâtake everything I give you." His fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your face toward his for a sloppy, desperate kiss. "You feel so damn good, like you were made for me."
A moan shudders out of you as he shifts slightly, the new angle rubbing his cock against your walls in a way that makes your thighs shake. You whimper his name, hips grinding down in needy little circles just to feel him twitch inside you. Bucky groans, his metal hand sliding down to grip your ass, forcing you down onto him harder.
"Fuckâyouâre gonna ruin me," he snarls, teeth grazing your collarbone as his thrusts turn punishing. His breath is ragged against your skin, his voice dropping into something dark and possessive. "Mine. All fucking mine."
You arch against him, pleasure cresting so sharply it steals your breath. Buckyâs grip on you tightens, his rhythm faltering as his cock pulses deep inside you, filling you with another wave of heat and pleasure as you tremble around him.
He exhales sharply against your neck, his hips still rocking into you in slow, possessive rolls even as his breathing slows. His hands stroke over your skin, gentle but his grip stays firm, like he can't quite bring himself to let go.
The apartment settles around you slowly afterward.
Not silent as it's never truly silent in New York, but softened.
The radiator clicks faintly in the corner. A car horn sounds somewhere far below the window. Alpine hops onto the bed at some point, circles twice near your feet, then decides against staying when Bucky shifts beside you with a sleepy murmur.
Everything feels warm.
Warm in the way your skin still hums from being held so closely, from his hands lingering at your waist like he still canât quite believe youâre here. The sheets are tangled low around your legs, the air heavy with the lingering heat of summer and each other.
Youâre tucked against his chest, cheek resting over the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, his arm is around you. Like even asleep he canât stop reaching for you.
You think you should feel shy about it all afterward. Different somehow. Instead, you just feel calm, like something thatâs been leaning precariously finally settled into place.
Bucky presses a sleepy kiss into your hairline, half-conscious and entirely automatic, and your chest tightens at the tenderness of it.
âYou okay?â he murmurs.
You smile against his skin. âYeah.â
His fingers drag lazily along your spine once before stilling again.
âCâmere,â he mutters, even though youâre already impossibly close. You go anyway.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, you wake slowly, not completely but just enough to feel it first. The absence, his warmth gone from beside you. Your eyes blink open into darkness, disoriented for half a second as your hand drifts across the sheets to feel it empty.
Your stomach tightens immediately.
âBuck?â you mumble, voice rough with sleep.
No answer.
You push yourself upright too quickly, pulse already starting to climb. The apartment is dim, silver-blue moonlight stretching across the floorboards. For one irrational second, panic flashes through you sharp and immediate.
Then, the bathroom door opens. Warm light spills briefly into the room before he steps out, shutting it quietly behind him.
âThere you are,â you breathe.
His expression changes the second he sees you sitting up, concern softens immediately into apology.
âHey,â he says quietly, crossing the room. âSorry. Didnât mean to wake you.â
Your shoulders loosen all at once. âI thoughtââ
You stop yourself.
Thought what?
That he left?
That this disappeared overnight somehow?
The feeling must still show on your face because his own softens further.
âJust cleaned up,â he murmurs.
Thereâs a washcloth in his hand, steam still faintly curling from it. He sits carefully at the edge of the bed, reaching toward you with a gentleness that makes your throat ache.
âCâmere.â
You let him.
He brushes the warm cloth carefully along your shoulder, your neck, your arms and between your thighs. His hands are soft against your skin, like heâs caring for something precious. You watch him through sleepy eyes, the furrow in his brow, the quiet concentration in the way he holds your wrist gently while cleaning flour-soft traces of the evening from your skin.
âYouâre staring again,â he murmurs.
Your lips twitch. âDocumenting history.â
A sleepy huff of laughter escapes him.
âThere she is.â
The washcloth gets abandoned somewhere on the nightstand eventually because he leans down to kiss you before finishing, slow and lingering and warm enough to make your eyes flutter closed again. When he pulls back he doesnât go far, his forehead against yours, breath mingling softly in the dark.
âYou scared me tonight,â he admits quietly.
The vulnerability in it hurts worse now somehow than it did earlier.
You reach up, fingers brushing along the edge of his jaw. âIâm here.â
âYeah,â he whispers.
Like heâs still convincing himself.
He climbs back into bed beside you a second later, pulling you into him immediately, no hesitation left in the movement now. Your leg slides between his, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist until youâre tucked against him again exactly where he wants you.
Where you want to be.
You press a kiss beneath his jaw and his hold tightens slightly.
âAll mine,â he murmurs sleepily into your hair.
Your heart turns over softly in your chest. You tilt your head up just enough to kiss him once more, slow and fond and certain.
âYours,â you whisper back.
And this time when sleep finds you again, it finds both of you together.
<< part one
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Oh hey! Havenât seen this in forever! Didnât reblog it when it came across me before, not gonna skip it this time, I need some good vibes.

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Brothers Best Friend! Eddie (Part 2)
This was not on my schedule but I was yearning for Eddie and I knew a few people asked for more of this so here we are.
Brother's Best Friend!Eddie (Part 1)
--------
âAre you kidding?â You scoff glaring at your brother from the couch.
He drops his bag where he stands, "Don't be like that. Itâs just for a couple of days and Iâll be back to annoy you in no time.â
âNot that, dumbass. Why does Eddie have to stay here? You know Iâm not ten anymore, right?âÂ
âYeah, I know,â he grins and you already know he's up to something, âbut you're a single woman living alone. Thatâs dangerous, you know?â
âSo you're going to leave me alone with your single best friend. How thoughtful!â You throw one of the couch pillows at him.
He gasps, catching your less than enthused tossed pillow, âMy dearest sister! I didnât know you thought about him like that!â
âoh my god!â You flush. You hadnât thought about Eddie like that until your friends had pointed out what they thought was obvious, that Eddie liked you and that Jack had been trying to set you up, âjust go pick up your girlfriend already.â
âYou're so sweet,â he chimes in mockery, âEdâll be here after his shift at the mechanic shop. I left money in the drawer.â
âShocking news, I have a job. I pay half the rent for this place and I can pay for my own take.â You complain despite being happy that heâd left you some cash to waste.
âYeah⊠but my job pays better,â he says as he picks his bag up.
You roll your eyes, âWhatever loser.â
âWish me luck!â he calls out from the front door.
Your brows pinch in confusion, âGood luck?âÂ
The door shuts and youâre left with your thoughts. You donât know what your brother needed luck for. He was going on the same trip heâd been on the last three years with his girlfriend. That gets swept from your mind to focus on the fact that Eddie was going to be in your home. With you. Alone.
It wasnât the first time. He was always your âbabysitterâ when Jack went out of town. Of course, you always thought it was because Jack didnât think you were competent enough to live alone. That and Eddie said the AC and heater were much better than his place.Â
It didnât usually bother you, the lived-in mess of the apartment but now, because of your friends, because of your brother, you worried about it. It wasnât a pig-stye and Eddie had stayed over plenty of times with it just like this, but for some reason, you wanted to impress, so you picked up a little, reorganized in a few areas. Then you waited and waited and waited.Â
Finally you stand and pull the phone off the hook and press it to your ear. You spin to the first four numbers for the garage before you hang the phone back up. What was wrong with you? You didn't need to call him.Â
You glance at the drawer in the kitchen where you know your brother put the money. You pull the phone off and dial up the whole number for the garage.
âDeanâs repair shop, how can I help you?â Annie, the receptionist's voice filters through.
You pull your nerves together, âHi, can I talk to Eddie?â
âOne moment,â a quiet pop beat fills the line and you tap your foot as you wait.
Thereâs static for a moment and then, âThis is Eddie.â
For a moment, you're distracted by his voice on the line. You don't know that youâve ever been on the phone with Eddie, or perhaps you just hadnât paid attention to it before, like many things. He had a nice voice. Rough from yelling in the loud garage. Even at work, he had that lilt in his voice like he was going to say something funny.
âHello?â he says when you don't answer.
âWhat kind of pizza do you want?â you finally ask.
Thereâs another moment of static, âWhat?â
You sigh, like heâs the problem, âJack left some money for the weekend and Iâm eager to spend it. What kind of pizza do you want?â
More static and then his voice comes out more teasing than before, âPrincess?â
You close your eyes at the sound, tipping your head to press your forehead to the wall. You manage to keep your voice neutral, âEddie.â
âCalling me at work about pizza,â you swear he lowered his voice with the way it smooths over you like honey, âis that really why you called?â
You shake your head, âI just figured youâd want something warm when you get off work.â
âReally?â His voice is different, smothered in surprise which is understandable. You usually scoff at his teasing. You from two weeks ago would have hung up the moment he started in. You from two weeks ago would've never called in the first place.
âIf you donât give me an answer, I'm putting pineapple on it,â you tell him, trying to distract from your own actions, even as your finger swirls the cord of the phone. He can't see you, so that part didn't matter.
âDo NOT get pineapple, you freak.â
You don't contain your laughter, âlook who's talking. Tell me what you want, Munson.â
There's a quiet hum across the line before he answers you, softer again, âMeatlovers, princess. Is that fair enough trade?âÂ
His tone stirs that new confusion in your mind again. Has he spoken to you like that before? Had you really been so caught up in being annoyed that you missed that?
âYeah, Eddie," you murmur a little lost in your thoughts, âmeatlovers is fine.â
You listen a moment to his breath, static as it may be, âhey, are you okay? Worried about your brother?â
âWhy would I be-â
âAh shit, listen, princess, let's talk at dinner about it. Something just broke and- Yeah! I'm coming!â
âEddie, why would I be worried-â
âAn hour. Pizza. Dinner. Iâve gotta go.â
The line goes dead. You stand there a moment confused. Your mind had been swirling with worry about Eddie spending the night but now you were worried about Jack. He seemed fine when he left. No stranger than normal. Maybe you had missed something?
--------
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Enemies With Benefits | Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Agent!Reader
Despite working together at the Watchtower you and Bucky just can't see eye to eye.
The fact you only trust each other and have been secretly sleeping together has absolutely nothing to do with it.
General warnings: language, sexual content, canon typical fighting and violence. E for enemies that are already lovers?
Cursing
Laundromat VS Bucky
Save You
Breakfast Interrogation
Finish Me
Helping
Irresponsible
Floored
Reassigned
Bucky Barnes Fic Recs Pt. 5 - Imagines/One-Shots
Another list of incredible stories. I'm obsessed with all of these writers, thank you all for you're beautiful words đ©”đđ«đđđ«đ„°đđ€đ«¶đ«đđ©”
If anyone would rather not be apart of this list please let me know & I'll edit it.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
@danysdaughter
I Thought We Were Already Dating: you thought you were spiraling over a situationshipâmeanwhile, bucky barnes had been acting like your very committed, very oblivious boyfriend the entire time. one public meltdown, a congressional office full of witnesses, and a very intense kiss later⊠you're officially his girl (and he never doubted it). Come Home to Me: during the rise and ruin of the second world war, a sharp-tongued brooklyn girl falls for james buchanan barnesâonly to lose him to the battlefield, a presumed death, and the silence that follows. but almost two years later, when the war is long over and the wounds have scarred over, he comes back through her door, proving that some promises do survive the fire. Part 2. Still Yours: Bucky lets his relationship slip into the background for the sake of duty and public image. but when the distance starts to break them, he realizes heâll do anything to fight for the love he almost lost. Sweet On The Job: When newly-appointed congressman bucky barnes reluctantly hires the sweetest, most radiant assistant imaginable, he doubts your place in the cutthroat world of politicsâuntil you prove you can run it and melt his guard all at once.
@ilovolderman
Friday Night: You end up sitting next to Bucky in a casual team dinner.
@peterparkive
come back to me: itâs been three years since you and Bucky called it quits. you learned to live without him, to stop waiting for a knock that would never come. until tonight, when he shows up at your front door with his team and tired eyes, asking for a place to crash. his presence, bathed in the soft light of your doorstep, stirs feelings long buriedâones you thought had vanished the night he did.
@mcrdvcks
Sparks fly: You were Bucky's neighbor while he was a congressman and staying in New York. When Valentina announces them as the New Avengers, Bucky and the team go with him to pack up his apartment. But then you show up, calling him "James."
@54nboo
Sugar tits: chef james barnes doesnât like when the waitress parades around the restaurant for tips, and he really doesnât like it when she lets the men think they have a chance with her. âIncoming.â: buckyâs gone MIA. you think youâve lost him until he shows up on your tv as one of the new faces of the new avengers. Part 2.
@aquaticmercy
Don't Fear The Reaper: Bucky looks out for you while youâre grieving the death of your best friend.
@orellazalonia
Soft Shopping Spree: Bucky notices you never spend his money or let yourself want anything, so he plans a full day of spoiling you determined to show you what you deserve. (Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Sweetheart!reader) Always There, Never Seen: You're the quiet presence who keeps everything running, always helping but never truly seen or included. Not by Bucky, not by the rest of the Avengers, not even by your own coworkers. You sit on the edges of conversations, offer silent support, and watch others be chosen and loved while you remain in the background. Despite being essential, you're basically invisible and it hurts more than anyone realizes.
@bcksgirl
Always Been You: youâre fresh out of a break up, and your brother is determined not to let you dwell on your shitty ex. he thinks your annual summer trip with your shared group of friends should do the trick. you think a summer spent staring at his hot best friend will at least lift your spirits a little.
@metal-armed-muse
wilted roses: when Bucky Barnes got drafted, you didnât realise that will be the last time you ever see him. but he did leave behind something for you. this is a story about the grief that follows death, and the love that blooms out of it anyway.
@myladybelle
Slow burn: buckyâs still finding his footing in the new avengersâgetting into a relationship is the last thing he has time for. itâs a good thing that youâre alright with a slow burn. my heart went oops!: you think youâre friends who occasionally kiss, but bucky thinks the two of you have been exclusively dating for a while now. it only takes one post-mission debrief for the whole team to realise someoneâs missed a memo.
@artficlly
hide & seek: a simple game of hide and seek for bragging rights turns heated when you and bucky cram into the same hiding spot. Slow burn: buckyâs still finding his footing in the new avengersâgetting into a relationship is the last thing he has time for. itâs a good thing that youâre alright with a slow burn. letters of devotion: you sent filthy, anonymous letters and nudes to the drummer of your favourite band, never expecting heâd read them. never expecting heâd keep them. never expecting heâd show up at your diner one night, more than eager to fulfil your fantasies.
@mindoverbarnes
It's A Heartache: You have a crush on Bucky, it's that simple until it isn't. When your flirting isn't reciprocated, you soon find out why.
@mandoalorian
a soft place to land: bucky stays the night for the first time, and it reveals something hidden about his past.
@knowledgeableknitter
A Possessive Gentleman: Bucky steps in on a harmless conversation in a bar. He stakes his claim. Like a gentleman.
@sleepypanda27
Friendly Fire: Sam exposes Buckyâs obvious crush on you.
@cassiemaebarnes
Darling: You join the Avengers right before they're torn apart by the Sokovia Accords. You join Cap's team, and end up stuck in a safe house with Bucky, slowly earning his trust.
@iamthatonefangirl
rewind - nsfw bucky barnes x reader. Part 2.
@yikesdrama
youâre the jazz to my blues: buckyâs first date in decades comes with its fair share of nerves, teasing friends, and unexpected momentsâbut maybe, just maybe, itâs exactly what he needed.
@buckyseternaldoll
eighteen hours.: Weeks apart on separate missions leave you and Bucky Barnes aching, desperate, and one heartbeat away from unraveling. The reunion? Eighteen hours of pure, breathless release.
@firelilyfox
language of a heart: After a traumatic experience you stopped talking to everyone. Except Bucky. He gets you in a way like nobody else does. give me a sign: You went through something traumatic and wonât speak to anyone. But Bucky has an idea how to comfort you without words.
@blowingbarnes
Out of My Mind (Bucky Barnes): Bucky is too old, too weathered, too scarred, and sheâs soft, and happy, and deadly, and the way her mouth- yeah he really should stop thinking about her like that.
@cece693
THE WORST TIMING, THE BEST PERSON: You never meant to fall in love with your ex-boyfriend's best friend, but Bucky Barnes was making it really, really difficult to avoid.
@cryogeniccrush
Show Me: You and Bucky have been circling something unspoken for weeksâlate nights, lingering glances, near-confessions. But he never crossed the line. Not until someone else did. Now, with your heart on the line and the rain pouring down, everything comes to the surface. And this time, neither of you walks away.
@cosmicsstar
In Your Arms: After a restless night, you run into Bucky. He brings you to the couch to cuddle and calm your racing mind. You fall asleep in his armsâand in the morning, the team find you both snuggled up, leading to teasing and a few surprised looks.
@drabblesandsnippets
Making Waves: During a heat wave, you take advantage of one of your favorite perks of working for the Avengers - access to their private pool - and spend some quality time with Bucky.
@castielscaplan
Cold Without You: Bucky wakes up when you slip out of bed in the middle of the night.
@ellemj
blurred lines: When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.
@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall
The staff - part 1: You're just his assistant - until longing, heartbreak, and slow-burning trust turn your careful distance into something undeniable behind closed political doors. Part 2
@jobean12-blog
Hunk of Burning Love: You and Bucky are friends and after a bad date and some donuts everything changes.
@barnesonly
forwards beckon rebound: You finally found love. Found your place in the world, as your brotherâs best friend fell for you with a kind of devotion that made life feel safe for once. But everything changed when he got drafted to war and you refused to be left behind.
@crybabycabin
attrition | b.b. (1): six months. thatâs how long it takes for you to realize love isnât enough. six months of bucky sleeping on the couch, of missed anniversaries and empty drawers where his things should be. six months of being loved by someone who treats you like youâre already a ghost. contrition | b.b. (2)
@sunsetmade
Grumpy?: Bucky Barnesâ who is cold and curt with everyoneâ always lingers by the front desk smiling and flirting with the receptionist. Matching Pieces: Bucky decides to give her one of his dog tags. The Weight of a Smile: What about a shy!reader with Bucky?
@rosesaints
reckless fever, lover girl!: you think itâs nothingâjust a one-off, a flukeâwhen bucky softens at the sight of a baby in your arms during a cookout. but then it keeps happening. babies at airports. babies on recon. babies in vending machine ads. and every time, he looks at you like youâre the answer to a question he hasnât asked out loud yet. he starts carrying gum âin case someoneâs kid gets fussy on a flight,â stares too long at tiny boots in store windows, and once, unironically, asks if your hypothetical child would like goats. youâre not dating. officially. no one knows. but youâve been sharing a bed for months and he makes you tea without asking and youâre starting to have dreams about pacifiers. heâs subtle about it. until heâs not. until heâs standing at a target, holding a baby hat like it cracked his ribs open, and says he wants a familyâwith you. not someday. Now.
@buckysleftbicep
winning streak: the national title on the line. one last goal. and bucky doesnât skate to the trophy â he runs to you. little black dress: you and bucky have always danced the line between desire and something more. but he never made his move, so you showed him exactly what it looked like when john does. right this time: after a disappointing date, bucky decides to show you what a proper date should be like. who did this to you?: bucky notices the bruises before you ever say a word. as the truth unravels, he steps inânot just to protect you, he makes sure you're never hurt again.
@ramp-it-up
Slow Burn: First he saved your life. Then he refused to leave. And there is the problem of the history between you. Nothing between you is simple anymore.
@marvelwitchergilmore
Winter's Child: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and your daughter live across the hall from Bucky. However, one night when your daughter won't settle, you turn to him for help. Compromised Positions: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and Bucky find yourself in one too many compromised positions, not that he's complaining.
@fawniswriting
The quiet side of thunder: When a visit to his office leaves you shaken, Bucky becomes determined to take care of you.
@sleepdeprivedfrfr
Don't wake daddy dad!bucky x mom!reader: you've never been able to surprise your husband considering he's an ex trained assassin, but he'll make an exception for you and your daughter on fathers day.
@sluterainterluder
My Baby (Got Nothing At All): you and bucky have been broken up for almost a year. neither of you have moved on. now, heâs sitting next to you at your friendâs wedding.
@stardustrider
Sweet on you: Decorating cupcakes for Mel's bridal shower shouldâve been a simple task until Bucky Barnes offers to help. One frosting fight, a kitchen full of chaos, and a few stolen kisses later, itâs clear the tension between you isnât just in your imagination.
@hellfirebarnes
What Happens After Almost: When almost isnât enough, is there room for second chances? Or will the unfairness of the universe intervene?
A once-in-a-lifetime shot â the moon perfectly framed by a rainbow. Caught at just the right time. đ đ
Ne garip bir yenilgidir bazen. bir köĆede öylece oturup her Ćeyi zaman'a bırakmak..

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A Demon in the Night - 16
demon!Eddie Munson x (she/her) reader
Part 1Â | Part 2 | Part 3Â | Part 4Â | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16
Summary: Theyâd been growing closer, it wasnât something they had put a label on. Days blurred together gentlyâshared meals, quiet mornings, Eddie lingering longer than he ever used to. He learned the rhythm of her moods the way one learns the weather, sensing the shift in their dynamic.Â
Warnings: Supernatural, demons.
Her laughter came easier as the days go by. Eddie's touch followed her instinctively everywhere she went. Whatever space had once existed between them had been worn down by proximity and timeâsoftening into something tender.
That afternoon had them tangled together on the couch, a thriller playing on the tv. Eddieâs arm draped around her shoulders, fingers tracing tiny shapes along the side of her neck. His other hand, thumb caressed the surface of her hand, his fingers gently holding hers.Â
Every few minutes, he leaned in to press a kiss to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Soft and indulgent. She giggled at first, shrinking away from him, then gave up trying to fend him off, warmth blooming beneath her skin until she felt light with it, giddy and loose-limbed.Â
Somehow along the way, they began to gravitate towards each other like magnets. Their bodies molding into each other like puzzle pieces that just belonged.
Her hand rested against his chest, thumb brushing his chest when she shifted, the silver ring catching from the light of the tv. Eddieâs gaze dropped. His fingers closed around her hand, thumb brushing the band absentmindedlyâuntil the contact sent something sharp and electric straight through him.
His mind lurched forward in a way that felt like he was being pushed forward but also backwards into a vision that looked fuzzy but felt familiar.
The cold metal felt heavy as if he could vividly feel it wrap around his finger. The scrape of metal against a guitar string. The press of silver warmed by skin that wasnât his now. Emotion he didn't recognize, yet it overcame him without context of why. The fuzz of the vision vanished just as fast as it came over him.
Eddie inhaled sharply, grip tightening for half a heartbeat before he forced himself still. The sensation faded, leaving behind a hollow ache and the unsettling certainty that whatever heâd felt.
She noticed the shift in Eddie and looked up at him, finding him looking a bit dazed and confused.Â
âYou okay?â she asked softly.
His gaze flicked down to her, quick and guarded, then he smiledâcrooked, familiar. âYeah. Iâm good.â
It didnât quite reach his eyes.
Her gaze lingered for a moment, searching his eyes for a clue, but she didnât press him. She just watched as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than usual, like he was reassuring himself she was still there. His thumb brushed her knuckles again, careful, then retreated.
Whatever had happened, he folded it away.
When she settled back against him, he didnât relax the way he had before. His hold stayed firm, protective, as though he was bracing for something he couldnât yet nameâand afraid of what might surface if he let go.
Night crept in slowly. Lamps were switched on, the apartment settling into its softer version of itself. They had just finished dinner. She mostly ate and he indulged her, even though he didn't eat human food.
She stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, rinsing the last plate. Eddie lingered close behind her, not touching at firstâjust there, close enough that she could feel his presence like warmth at her back.
Then his hands came to rest at her waist.
She leaned back into him without thinking, and he followed the motion instinctively, chin dipping to her shoulder. His breath brushed her skin as he pressed a kiss there, then anotherâslow, unhurried, spoiled with affection. His arms folded around her, fitting easily, like theyâd learned the shape of her over time.
She laughed softly. âYouâre distracting me.â
âMânot sorry,â he murmured, words lazily slurred from the surrender to her warmth. His lips grazed her neck. Another kiss. Then one just below her ear. âYouâre very distractingâ
A sunlight-like warmth bloomed in her chest, spread outward until she felt light with it, giddy in that quiet way that made her toes curl. She set the plate aside, hands coming to rest over his, fingers threading together easily.
They stayed like that longer than necessary. No rush. No reason to move.
When she finally turned in his arms, it was only to face himâclose enough that their foreheads brushed. Eddieâs hand slid up to cradle her jaw, thumb sweeping gentle and affectionate along her cheek before he kissed her.
Soft. Lingering.
The kind of kiss that felt like reassurance more than anything else.
He kissed her again. And again.
Each one indulgent. Devoted.
Something in his chest ached with itâsweet and dangerous all at once. This closeness. This ease. He wasn't sure if it was because of her. Of if this was from himself. But it pressed against a part of him that had never felt this full before.
Her thumb brushed his collarbone as she shifted, the silver ring catching against his skin.
His fingers closed around her hand automatically, grounding himself in the contactâand then the metal scraped faintly beneath his touch.
The world tilted.
Not a vision this time around.
A feeling.
The weight of a guitar slung low against his hip. Callused fingers biting into strings. A room thick with smoke and sound and thrill. The ring heavy on his handâthat handâknocking once against polished wood as laughter rang out around him.
It vanished as quickly as it came.
Eddie sucked in a breath, heart slamming hard against his ribs. His grip tightened for just a fraction of a second before he forced himself to loosen it, to smile, to tuck the moment away where she couldnât see the fracture it left behind.
She searched his face, brow faintly furrowed. âEddieâŠ?â
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lipsâgentle, disarming. âIâm fine,â he said easily, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
She didnât look convinced.
But she let him pull her back into his arms anyway.
And Eddie held on like letting go might unravel him completely.
Eddie swallowed the echo of that strange sensation and buried it where it couldnât reach him. Whatever it was, he didnât want it now. Not when she was warm in his arms, real and breathing and here.
âYou drive me bonkers, you know that?â he murmured into the curve of her neck.
His voice came out rougher than he meant it to.
Her breath hitched softly, and that sound alone sent something feral blooming in his chest. His arms tightened around her, drawing her flush against him as if he needed the contact to anchor himself.
His lips traced slow, indulgent paths along her neckâone kiss, then another, then anotherâsavoring the quiet little sounds she made when she tilted her head, giving him more room, more access.
He followed eagerly, unhurried and greedy all at once.
The warmth of her skin under his mouth was intoxicating. Not the sharp hunger heâd known before, but something deeperâfiery and soft, wrapping around him until it made his head spin. He breathed her in, the scent of her clinging to him, and it felt like losing himself in something sacred.
His hands splayed across her back, firm and hungry, pressing her closer until there was no space left to question anything. He kissed her again and again, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her.
It felt dangerous. It felt reckless.
It felt alive.
The way she made him feel possessed in the sweetest way, like warmth filling a void he had gotten used to.
She melted into him, surrendering to the way his affection wrapped around her. This was newâthis version of Eddie. Unguarded. Devoted. Touching her like she was something precious, as if he couldn't get enough.
Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest.
She knew that he was a creature of shadow and hunger. But thisâthis tenderness, the way he held her like he was afraid of losing herâcracked something open inside her.
But the more time she spent with him, the more he opened up, she realized there was more to him than the darkness he was made of. There was something achingly human beneath it.
She felt herself falling, not in a rush, but in a steady, breathless descent.
The way he touched her made it impossible to pretend this was just a distraction. It was a connection. It was him latching onto her heart with every kiss, every murmur, until she wasnât sure where she ended and he began.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, holding him there.
When she lifted her face to his, her voice was soft but certain, threaded with excitement and want. âEddieâŠâ
He stilled just enough to look at her, eyes dark and searching, like he was bracing for rejection he deserved.
But she didnât give it to him.
Instead, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his with quiet intentionâan invitation. Her heart pounded as she kissed him, not rushed, not hesitant. Just a honest answer to the fluttering spark of emotion she felt inside.
Whatever he wasâdemon or notâshe couldn't deny the way she felt around him anymore.
And Eddie held her like his whole existence, depended on being with her. And it became painfully clear to him, whatever came next, there was no going back.
Taglist: @mdurdenpitt, @dreamerjj, @lucydixon, @cherrybomb11037, @seltzerfiend, @midnightevab
HOMESICK
eddie munson x mechanic!reader
eddie invites you to your first movie night with the party . . . ( 2.6 k + pt 2 of hot wired ) a/n: i rewrote this so many times idk why i hated it so much. gets kind of angsty in this one but i lowkey dont delve that deep into it because i ! cant ! write ! angst !!!! this could be read as a standalone but i feel like it wouldn't make as much sense. tags: mentions of smoking and drinking, cursing, stobin r the funniest people on planet earth, implied that reader was confident but she's now super shy after moving to hawkins, reader is fairly homesick, #welovetheparty, eddie is down bad
Steveâs waiting for the popcorn to finish popping when Robin chokes on her drink, sending sticky apple juice all down her front and soaking into the worn material of his Hawkins High swim team hoodie. The plastic bowl he was holding clatters to the ground loudly as Steve slaps her back, trying his best to clear her airway as she sputters. âRob!â Steve shouts, wincing at the sound of her rough cough.
Robin holds her hand up, gulping down big breaths of air as Steve stands back to let her recover. Her already raspy voice sounds like sandpaper scraping as she breathes out, âEddieâŠgirlâŠdrivewayâŠâ
Steve blinks. âWhat?â he says dumbly, âDid you just have a stroke?â
âNo, idiot,â Robin hisses, reaching up to tilt the horizontal slats of the kitchen blinds up for Steve to peek, âEddieâs with a girl in the driveway, look!â
He leans forward, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness outside and gasping when he sees what Robin was pointing out. To his complete surprise, stood in Steveâs driveway next to the most gorgeous Ford Mustang heâs ever seen is Eddie Munson and a girl.
Steveâs not a complete asshole. He knows Eddieâs had his moments with a couple of girls in and out of town, but never anything serious (has Eddie ever wanted anything serious? Steveâs not so sure,) and never girls that look like you.
Youâre pretty, prettier than any girl that wouldâve looked his way in his prime and the way youâre smiling at Eddie as you lean on the car makes you look infinitely more beautiful. By the flush on his friends cheeks as you step closer towards him, Steve thinks he might share the same sentiment.Â
Robin- or Captain Obvious, as Steve would call her right now- unhinges her jaw as she ogles through the blinds, letting more moonlight creep into the kitchen as she pulls the slats wider. âI donât mean to be rude, but does Eddie have a-?â
âGirlfriend?â Steve finishes for her.Â
The pair watch Eddieâs shoulder shake as he lets out a shy laugh, kicking his shoes on the ground as you continue your anecdote. Robin makes a cringing, displeased sound next to Steve. Eddie Munson, shy? Steve never thought heâd see the day.
âWell, sheâs real pretty.â Robin determines a fact so plainly obvious that he rolls his eyes.
Steve hums in agreement. âSuper pretty.â
âWhatâs pretty?â Dustin asks as he strolls in, opening the fridge for his own cold beverage.Â
Steve and Robin turn to him, looking caught. âNothing,â Steve says as Robin replies matter-of-factly, âEddieâs girlfriend,â
The latter comment seems to stick with the younger boy. Dustin almost drops the glass bottle as he balks at the pair, Steve groaning and Robin grinning. âFuck off,â he laughs incredulously. When neither of the two respond, he shimmies his way in between them and looks out the window, looking out into the driveway.
âYou guys are assholes,â he scoffs, slapping Steve in the chest as he lets the blinds snap back into place, âthereâs nobody there.â
Steve and Robin whip around, this time opting to pull the blinds up completely as they stare at the moonlit street. Thereâs only Eddieâs still-smoking cigarette crushed on the ground that proves that there was anyone outside in the first place.Â
âEddieâs girlfriend my ass,â Dustin snorts now, throwing his head of brown curls back as he points a finger at the balking pair with a laugh, âyou two are funny.â
He stops when the doorbell rings, looking as pale as a ghost.
Robin breaks into a run first, almost tripping on Steveâs rug as she sprints down the hallway, Steve following close behind. Sheâs already pulled the front door open as he skids to a stop.
Eddieâs standing outside, a box of beer tucked snugly under his arm and his other hand on the small of your back. You step back a little, surprised at the pair as the summer breeze whips your hair around.
âHey, guys,â Eddie greets, eerily mature as he smiles at the two best friends.
âHello,â Robin greets back warmly albeit surprised, nudging Steve in the ribcage as he stutters back to life. âHey, Munson,â he responds slowly, eyes raking over you. For such a small town, Steveâs surprised that he canât place your face anywhere. Heâs even more surprised that Robin can.
She blinks at you. âHey,â she says, âyou serviced my car the other day!â
You blink back before breaking into a smile that has Eddie grinning, turning to you with an expression that Steve can only read as pride. âOh, yeah, the Honda Accord, right?.â you ask âYou made me wait 5 minutes so you could clean your center console.â
Steve snorts. Sounds like Robin.
Robin nods adamantly. âYou had the cool shoes!â she turns to Steve now, poking him with her finger, âI told you about the mechanic with those shoes I liked, remember?â
Eddie clears his throat. âThis is Y/N,â he introduces as you offer a soft smile and a little hello, âsheâs a fucking rockstar working at Wayneâs garage- as Robin said -and sheâs fixing my van for me right now. I thought it would be cool if she came to our movie night, if thatâs okay.â The look on Eddieâs face tells Steve that your presence isnât really up for discussion, but Steve doesnât mind.
Eddie points to Steve. âThis is Steve. Donât bother learning his name, though, âcause heâs not worth the wasted words.â he says to you, lips curled into a smirk. You wave hello anyways and Steve bites back a smile.
âYou canât come in anymore, Munson.â he says deadpan, big arms crossed over his broad chest.Â
Eddie ignores him to turn to Robin, who beams. âThis is Robin, who you already met.â he leans down to whisper into your ear loud enough for everyone to hear, âSheâs worth talking to.â
âI think we should let him in, Steve.â Robin says before turning back to you, âAnd hello again.â
âHello,â you wave, giving them your name this time.
âDo you want to come in, Y/N?â Steve asks you, and only you, purposefully ignoring Eddieâs pout.
You step inside, carefully removing your shoes and laying them neatly on the rack. Eddie still stands outside, frown deeply etched in face. He looks to you with pleading eyes that have Steve wanting to burst out laughing, ringed hand outstretched for you to take. âDonât leave me here!â he protests, smiling now at your giggles, âPull me in, sweetheart,â
You yank Eddie through the door as he pretends to stumble, almost actually falling on top of you. Robin shoots Steve a knowing look:Â are you seeing what I'm seeing?
ââKay, Y/N, you wanna come help me pick a movie?âÂ
Steve watches your expression, unsure as you turn to Eddie. He waves you off. âIâll survive here with Harrington.â and then to Robin, âDonât break her with your movie-talk Rob! I want Y/N back in one piece.â
Robin snorts, and then with a little bow and salute, disappears down the hallway, arm-in-arm with you. Steve waits until youâre out of earshot to turn to his friend.
âWhat the hell is this?â Steve asks as Eddie unlaces his big black boots, stepping out of them and back down to Steveâs height.
Eddie looks perplexed as he shrugs. âI already said: she works at the garage and I wanted to bring her along to movie night, Harrington.âÂ
Steve rolls his eyes. âYeah, asshole, I was listening.â he snaps back, picking up Eddieâs carton of beers, âI meant like, youâre stood in my driveway playing all coy with this really hot mechanic girl, when did that happen?â
âI just met her today,â Eddie blushes a dark red that matches his t-shirt. âAnd when have I ever played coy?â he says defensively. Eddie was playing coy, it seems to make you even bolder.
Steve doesnât even try to hide his disbelief as he looks at his best friend. âSure, Munson,â he says, ânow letâs go before Robin picks Top Gun again.
-
Itâs almost overwhelming how nice everyone is to you.
Months of confining yourself to a room of kind, albeit emotionally unintelligent, old men has your settings switched onto something not so equipped for a house full of people your age and you mostly sit in silence for the first half of the movie party. The version of you 2 months ago would already have made the rounds introducing herself to every one in the room. Oh well.Â
Eddie plops down next to you, his legs kicked up on Steveâs coffee table. Your thighs touch and you canât help but notice how handsome he looks up so close, and how he doesnât pull his legs away. âHello,â he says lightly, passing you a cold soda.
âHi,â you greet back.
âYou okay, sweetheart?â he murmurs, careful not to let the other party patrons hear. The pet names today have had your brain in a frenzy, and his concerned gaze pinning you to your seat doesnât make it any better.
âYeah,â you say finally, âjust adjusting to not having to discuss Camaro models with anyone for the first time in, like, months.â
Eddie laughs, a pretty sound that has you laughing back. You want to make an effort to hear it again. âYeah? Must be pretty tough, all those hours talking Sports Coupe bases with Wayne.â
You smack him lightly on the shoulder. âHey, donât diss Wayne like that!â you gasp, âHeâs cool.â
ââCause he doesnât talk?âÂ
âEddie!â you giggle.Â
The brunette boy you met in the doorway (and the owner of this fucking mansion), Steve, stands in front of you, reaching his foot over to kick Eddieâs off of the table.
âHey!â Eddie protests.
Steve ignores him as he turns to you. âDo you like pizza?â he asks you, eerily serious.
You hold your expression straight as you answer his question. âYeah, sure.â
He holds out a big hand in invitation. âCool. Come order with us.âÂ
Youâre dragged away from Eddie as Steve guides you into the kitchen, hand wrapped around yours. âWha- Harrington!â Eddie calls out from behind you.
Thereâs a girl and a guy who you assume to be a couple sitting on stools in the kitchen with Robin leaning on the island, talking animatedly with her hands. You like Robin, sheâs intelligent and funny and she acts like youâre already best friends when you walk in with Steve.Â
âY/N, hi!â she waves, beer in hand. The couple greet you with smiles of their own and you look to Steve, pulling open the fridge to grab his own beer. Jeez, you think, is being good-looking a prerequisite to join this friend group, or what?
âWhatâre we ordering?â Steve asks, taking a swig of his beer.Â
âWhy donât we just order the usual, man?â the other brunette boy with the tired eyes protests. Jonathan, you think.
âY/N,â you startle at being addressed, âyouâre not allergic to anything, are you?â his girlfriend asks. If you remember correctly, this is Nancy.
âNo.â you say, âI donât mind what you guys order.âÂ
Jonathan leaves to order the food and the chatter dies down, leaving you with the rest of the group. Robin speaks up first. âSo,â she starts, âwhatâre you doing in a shithole like Hawkins?â
You laugh. Hawkins isnât a shithole, not to you at least. Itâs full of your typical Midwestern small town characters, but also full of life. Your coworkers at Hawkins Auto, the very people sat in this big kitchen. It feels like shit, all curled up in your empty home, wasting the days away when youâre not at the garage, but youâre grateful for all the interactions you have. Thereâs a strange dichotomy: the pit in your stomach, the desire to run back home to your friends and family, and the will to stay, to finish your apprenticeship and finish the great things youâve started. You donât realise youâre tearing up until a salty tear tracks down your cheek and onto the kitchen island.
âSorry,â you flush red from head to toe, scrubbing your hot face.Â
âItâs okay,â Robin murmurs, voice dripping in a kindness you want to fucking swim in.Â
You inhale shakily. âUm, Iâm here for my apprenticeship at the garage, thatâs how I know Eddie. Hawkins Auto was the best place to study, even if it was far from,â your voice cracks and you wince, âhome.â
The room is silent as you lift your head up, meeting the stares of Eddieâs friends. Their gazes wrap you in a warm blanket of sympathy that warms your cheeks, and you feel yourself shying up again.
Jonathan returns, his chair scraping on the floor as he sits back down. Youâre too ashamed to look up at any of them.
âHomesick?â he asks you quietly, voice a murmur. You meet his eyes. âYeah.â
âI lived in California for a spell. It was fucking awful the first months.â he tells you with a small frown, âBut it gets better. It gets so much better.â
You let out a watery laugh. âYeah?âÂ
He nods adamantly. âSo much better.â
-
Eddieâs got his arm slung around the back of Steveâs couch as you munch happily on the cheesy pizza Jonathan ordered. Thereâs a part of him that wishes youâll shuck off your shy shell and curl into him.
 You donât, obviously, and Eddie settles for the way your thigh touches his. Youâre so close that he can feel the heat radiating off of your body.
He peels his eyes away from Top Gun (that he was half-watching, preferring to look at you through his peripheral vision instead) to turn to you. Eddie drops his voice to a murmur to avoid Dustin and Mike throwing popcorn at him and leans down to speak into your ear.
âEverything okay?â he asks gently.
You nod, genuinely looking happy despite the black tear-shaped mascara stain dried on your cheek. âYeah, are you okay?â
Eddie smiles. âYeah. Were you crying?â
Your grin disappears, not meeting your eyes anymore and Eddie wants to punch himself in the face. âJust a little bit. Sorry.â
âDonât be sorry, honey. Did someone make you cry?â He doubts anyone sat in Steveâs living room would, but it never hurts to ask.
âNo,â you shake your head, eyes wide, âno, youâre friends helped me stop crying. Iâm just feeling a little homesick.âÂ
âOh.â Eddieâs had the disadvantage of being confined to the same trailer in the same town for so long, heâs unsure what homesickness feels like. There was that period of time in the beginning when he had to move in with Wayne, but he doesnât miss living with his father, not at all. âOh, Iâm sorry. Are you okay now?â
âA-okay,â you respond and Eddie gives your shoulder a little shake.
âGood. I canât have my favourite mechanic crying on me, can I?â he teases and you giggle, only stifling your sounds when Dustin hisses out a loud âshhhh!â
âIâm your favourite mechanic?â you murmur, looking up at him through your pretty eyelashes. Youâre so close that Eddie can feel your breath heat his face. Or maybe itâs just his rising blush as he adjusts his shirt collar.
âOf course,â he says back.
âWhat about Wayne?âÂ
Wayneâs already his favourite everything. Favourite uncle, family member (though thereâs not many to choose from), favourite confidant. He can afford to lose a title to you.
âSecond best,â
âWow. Am I that cool?â you smirk.
Eddieâs cheeks ache with his grin as he feels your confidence bleed slowly back into you. He holds you a little closer as he responds. âSuper cool,â






