#slaps steves chest 'this boy can hold so much trauma'

[afewproblems]

Part Four: Final Part Four Mean!Eddie Misunderstandings Au

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Read in full on Ao3

Thank you to everyone that cheered me on @samcoxramblings for your kind words on every post! @flowercrowngods and @barbariansteves for your helpful advice and @zerokrox-blog for your original prompt waaaaay back in February, I'm sorry this took so long but I hope you finally get the comfort you wished for!

***

The kids demand two weeks to prepare for their Hellfire session, insisting that they need this time to debrief Eddie and come up with their game plan, which is fine by Steve.

It also gives him two weeks to decompress from his last interaction with the kid's Dungeon Master, and time to try and untangle exactly how he feels about the whole situation. 

It was nice for things to start moving back towards something resembling normal. The kids seemed happier, even going so far as to begin splitting their time between Eddie and Steve once again. Asking for rides to the hobby shop in Indi from their resident metal-head rather than Steve. It was nice to finally have a little bit more time to himself again.

Even Robin, who had previously been steadfast in her Anti-Eddie stance, had suddenly grown rather tight-lipped about the whole thing.

She had even offered to accompany Steve on his errands for the day they scheduled their Hellfire meeting, citing that she was always up for a grocery run and he may need help bringing everything in.

Which, in hindsight, should have been Steve’s first clue that something strange was going on. 

“So, you ready?” Robin hums as they walk up and down the canned food aisle of Marsh Market, “you can still back out you know?”

Steve smiles and grabs a box of onion soup mix, he’s fairly certain he has some sour cream at home to make a dip of some sort, much easier than the last snack he tried to prepare for the group. 

“Yeah, Robs, I know, I think it should be fine,” he crosses off the soup mix on his list and turns the cart around the empty aisle to head towards the produce section, “the kids are already setting up now so the only thing I need to do is be there,” he shrugs and stops in front of the humming displays. 

Steve waits until the misting stops before reaching for a bag of mini carrots and tossing them into the cart. 

“Can’t believe you trust Henderson to have a key, I can’t believe you hold us at the same level of trust!” Robin grumbles under her breath as she picks up a granny smith from one of the bins and rubs it on the rolled up sleeves of her navy blazer; it’s just slightly too big for her, most likely stolen from her dad’s closet. 

Steve rolls his eyes and continues pushing the cart around the produce area, "careful Birdy, you roll those up anymore you're actually going to turn into Don Johnson". 

"I should be so lucky," she snarks back as she catches up to him by the celery.

She tosses the apple back and forth between her hands, nearly dropping it twice before placing the produce into the cart under Steve’s unimpressed gaze. 

She starts snapping her fingers and shuffling her feet as they continue walking up and down the aisles, going through their list bit by bit. Steve finds himself watching his friend’s nervous fidgeting with curious eyes, it was just a grocery trip, there shouldn’t be anything to really make her act like this, right?

He takes a quick glance around at some of the employees stocking the aisles, in case Vickie or some other pretty classmate of Robin’s is wandering around. 

But, they’re alone.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Robin asks, as Steve folds up the list and turns the cart towards the check out tills.  

She tips the small watch she’s wearing up to her face, her eyes flit back and forth between Steve and the watch as she chews on her bottom lip, which is more than a little odd.

The kids are already at the house and Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire gang won’t be arriving for at least another hour, they have plenty of time?

Robin steps away from the cart and throws her thumb over her shoulder at the chip aisle, “you do realize that you’re going to have like ten teenagers at your house right? You think veggies and dip is enough?”

“I’m ordering pizza later, I think this is fine?” Steve says slowly, gesturing at the cart, confusion and suspicion saturate his words as his eyes narrow at his friend. 

“Robin,” Steve murmurs, walking the cart closer towards her, “what's going on?”

“Nothing, why would you --nothing!” She stutters as her freckled face pales slightly. 

Steve smirks, Robin is probably the worst liar he’s ever met, and it's always endearing whenever she tries. 

The last time she had lied to Steve, it had been about the mascara wand she had dropped onto the passenger seat, staining the leather just slightly, and smearing the black makeup all over the floor covers. 

Robin had panicked and insisted that had been there before she had sat down.

Steve had been sitting in the car with her at the time.

He knew a Robin lie when he saw it, but he also knew it wouldn’t take long for her to crack. 

“Okay!”

There it is.

“Listen,” Robin hisses sharply, she steps closer until she’s nearly whispering in his ear in the empty chip aisle, “I’m stalling you okay?”

“Probably not something you should be telling the person you’re stalling but okay?” Steve snorts as he leans onto the cart handle, “also, this was the worst place to go to stall us, it's two in the afternoon on a Wednesday, no one else is here”.

“I know!” Robin groans, letting her face fall into her open hands, she slowly lifts her face once more and lets her fingers drag across her forehead and cheeks, pulling at the skin, “I should have said no, I wanted to say no, but they used Will--”

Steve nods, “and you can’t say no to Will, yeah I gotcha”.

The words register after a beat.

“Wait, backup, the kids put you up to this? The unsupervised shitheads in my house right now?”

Robin nods, her blue eyes wide and the barest of smirks still covered by her hands.

“Oh christ,” Steve mutters under his breath, “do I even want to know?”

Robin drops her hands away from her face and scowls for a second before sighing, “I would absolutely love to tell you,” she shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling, “better yet, I’d love to just take you to Indi for the day, forget about this completely, but those God Damn kids know exactly what to say,” she looks at him once more in barely concealed exasperation, “how do they always know what to say?”

“How angry do I need to be, on a scale of like one to ten?” 

Robin stares at him consideringly, her eyes scanning his face, “I mean, if I were you, it would be at like, a hundred,” she says eventually, “but since it’s you?”

“Maybe a four”.

Steve nods and drums his hands on the cart handles, blowing out a long slow breath as he makes his decision, “how much more time do they need?”

Robin looks at her watch again and smiles this time, “Well this bought them another five-ish minutes, so maybe another half hour?”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled five dollar bill, “come on, I’ll getcha a coffee or something?”

“Wait, do I even need these snacks? Robin?”

Robin was wrong, this at least warranted a five for the groceries alone. 

***

The drive back is uneventful, Steve did end up going though check out, rationalizing that, no matter what, he needed some veggies for the rest of the week so there were worse things he could have spent the money on. 

Robin had bought him a coffee from the gas station down the road. There wasn't enough creamer in the world to make that palatable so he leaves it in the cup holder while driving back. Even with a hot chocolate Robin hasn't fared much better. 

"Okay, well that's the worst five dollars ever spent," she groans after taking a sip. Robin wrinkles her nose and sets the cup in the other empty holder beside Steve’s before sneaking a quick look at her watch once more, “worth it though,” she says with a small smile.

It slides off her face after a moment when she realizes that they’ve turned down her street, “Steve?”

He looks between her and the road, tilting his head as she touches his elbow gently. 

“You can just come over you know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to and that includes letting people force you to--” Robin snaps her mouth shut with an audible click of her teeth. 

She shakes her head and takes her hand back, “sorry, I promised not to say anything”.

Steve pulls over onto the Buckley’s driveway and finally turns to face Robin as much as the driver's seat will allow. 

“Still sure about this whole thing only warranting a four?” he asks softly as a bubble of anxiety begins to expand from his stomach and into his chest, as though he’s absorbed her nervous energy over the course of the afternoon.

Robin shrugs, “I don’t know, but,” her blue eyes bounce back and forth between his own, “just don’t let them make you make a decision you’re not ready for,” she chews her lip again, “no one gets to push you around but me”.

Steve laughs as Robin leans out of her seat to give him a quick, but firm, hug before she opens the door and steps outside. As soon as she’s out of the car, Steve wishes he had asked her to stay, to come with him and hold his hand through the unknown. The bereft, hollow feeling from before returns in full force as she walks up to her front door. 

She turns around and holds up her thumb and pinky as she lifts her hands to her face, mouthing, ‘Call me later,’ as she waves with her other hand. 

She stays outside as Steve slowly reverses, hesitating on the street for just a moment as Robin walks backwards the rest of the way to her door, she moves her hands, motioning for him to get going. 

Steve nods once and takes a deep breath as he shifts into drive and heads down the street.

It’s just the kids, he tells himself, how bad can it be?

***

By the time Steve pulls into his driveway, he’s nearly turned around to retrieve Robin and insist that she come with him at least five times. Even now as he pulls the emergency brake for the slight incline of the Harrington driveway, he considers starting the car again and leaving. 

The last time he felt this anxious to be home was after graduation, after he’d been rejected from every school he’d applied to and knew there was no getting around that conversation with his dad. 

That conversation had ended with the crack in the table, a hastily completed Scoops application, and his parents leaving for three months. 

If it hadn’t happened he wouldn’t have met Robin, so at least there had been a silver lining on that occasion. 

He’s not sure if there will be one this time.

Steve gets out of the car before opening the back door to grab the paper grocery bag from the store, he leaves the full coffee and hot chocolate cups with a grimace and makes a mental note to throw them out later before locking the car door. 

Steve slowly makes his way to the steps, balancing the bag on his hip as he rifles through his pants pocket for his house key. 

He looks around the street and spots Eddie’s van parked a few houses down. Great.

Steve knew that Eddie and the others would be showing up around now, even before Robin went ahead and spilled the beans about whatever it was the kids were secretly doing, but he had still hoped for a moment to just breathe before he had to face the inevitable.

Steve takes a deep breath and grabs the door handle, scoffing as it opens immediately. He makes a second mental note to scold Dustin for leaving the door unlocked for just anyone to come in --especially since the rest of Hellfire was already here apparently.

“Hey assholes, the snacks are here,” Steve calls out as he steps over the threshold, tossing his own keys into the dish on the side table. 

He kicks the door closed and locks the deadbolt with a roll of his eyes, “and I do include myself with that statement,” he adds under his breath with a smirk.

Steve slides off his shoes and pauses, looking around the foyer.

It’s quiet.

Where there is normally an abundance of yelling and laughter, of the kids arguing amongst themselves, or Eddie’s usual dramatic storytelling, there’s nothing. 

Steve walks into the kitchen and puts the bag onto the counter, “guys?” he calls out again, only to be met with silence. 

Steve makes his way into the dining room through the swing door and stops in his tracks.

The table is gone. 

“What the fuck?” he hears himself whisper as he walks into the middle of the space, nearly into the hanging light in the center of the room --he’d never noticed just how low it was, what with the table that was normally there to stop him from walking directly into it.

“What the fuck?” Steve hisses again, his heart starts to race as he steps around the light and spots the open sliding door to the backyard. 

“If you little fuckers decided to move my grandmother’s table when there is a perfectly good patio table out there, I swear to Christ--” 

But the kids aren’t outside either. 

Eddie freezes as Steve walks around the corner of the house, he’s standing next to the dining table with a piece of sandpaper in his hands.

“Steve,” Eddie squawks in surprise, quickly hiding the sandpaper behind his back, “hey!”

Steve’s not entirely sure just what he’s looking at as he takes another step further into the yard. Eddie’s normally black ripped jeans are covered in a fine layer of dust, his wild curls have been pulled back into a messy ponytail away from his face, and an open container of wood filler sits beside him on the concrete patio.

Steve takes another four steps until he’s close enough to touch the wooden surface, his mouth hanging open as he takes it all in. 

The surface of the table has been sanded down in its entirety, removing the beautiful deep cherry varnish, but the crack in the center has been mended, some kind of slightly darker putty has sealed the gaping wound that had marred the surface. 

“Can you,” Eddie’s voice shakes, drawing Steve’s attention once more, “can you please say something, I can’t tell if you’re mad or what?”

“You fixed it,” Steve whispers, his eyes fixed on the table, he reaches to run a shaking hand over the surface.

“Careful,” Eddie says softly, grabbing Steve’s hand before it can touch the center with long sure fingers, “that still needs about an hour or so to cure”.

Steve looks from the table to his hand, still cradled in Eddie’s own, before looking up to see two big brown eyes staring into his own. 

“I don’t understand,” the words come out in a whisper as Steve swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, “why?”

“Well,” Eddie murmurs as he squeezes Steve’s hand once before threading their fingers together and dragging Steve towards one of the pool loungers in the grass.

Eddie sits down and pulls Steve with him to sit, he feels a deep flush begin to wash over his neck and the tips of his ears, it's impossible to hide in the bright sunlight this time --not that he’d even be able to with Eddie’s firm grip on Steve’s hand.

“Those kids of yours are pretty genius,” Eddie says slowly, deliberately, his gaze never wavering from Steve’s face, “and they love you so fucking much man”.

Eddie clears his throat and rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles, “and there seems to be some confusion about how I actually feel about you, so allow me to uh, lay it all on the,” he gestures with his free hand towards the dining table and smirks, “well you know”.

Steve feels his heart leaping out of his chest, he can’t sit here, listen to this, he’s heard it before, it isn’t real.

Steve moves to stand up from the lounger but Eddie is faster as he manages to grab Steve’s other hand, holding him in place.

“Eddie--”

“You said no one had ever bothered before,” Eddie barrels on, speaking so quickly that Steve hardly understands at first. He squeezes Steve’s hands lightly again, the skin warmed metal from Eddie’s rings press into the palms of Steve’s hands.

“No one’s ever tried to fix it, have they?” Eddie breathes out as his eyes flit back and forth, searching Steve’s own, “would you let me try?”

For a moment, Steve lets himself just sit with the words. 

Lets himself indulge in the soft, almost reverent way that Eddie asks. He lets the warmth of Eddie’s hands tether him to something resembling hope.

Before he shakes his head.

“You don’t know what you’re saying Eddie,” Steve growls, but the words lack any true bite.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Eddie insists, he gets up from beside Steve and kneels in the grass in front of him, “but I don’t think you do, I think we’ve been talking past each recently Steve, and it took speaking to a bunch of people --way smarter than me, to realize it. So here it is--”

“Don’t,” Steve shouts at the same time that Eddie whispers, “I like you,” and for a moment neither moves. 

Steve slowly takes his hands out of Eddie's now slack grip. 

He lowers one hand down to the edge of the pool lounger, gripping it so harshly that his knuckles slowly fade to white, while the other he brings up to cover Eddie’s mouth.

“Don’t say something you can’t take back,” Steve says softly. 

Eddie just stares for a beat, his forehead pinched in a terrible frown, before he reaches up to cup Steve’s cheek and gently removes the hand covering his mouth. He smiles softly and lets his thumb gently run over the crest of Steve’s cheekbone.

“Good thing I don’t want to take it back,” Eddie insists, he slides the hand on Steve’s cheek down to hold his chin firmly between two fingers.

“Steve,” Eddie lifts himself up so he’s balancing on the balls of his feet, just high enough that they are at eye level now, “I spent a very long time holding onto things that weren’t even remotely true, and they made me act like an asshole, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that sweetheart”.

“What if you change your mind, what if I--”

“Steve, what the fuck could you do at this point that would shock me?" Eddie says with a derisive laugh, he lets go of Steve's face to press his hand briefly to his own chest. 

"I’m a drug dealing, satan worshiping, murderer who almost ate it in another dimension from killer demon bats".

Eddie grins as he peppers his speech with air quotes but the edges of it are jagged, and the good humour doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Steve breathes out sharply through his nose and shakes his head, “I get angry sometimes, I say things I don't mean, I…" 

He sees himself surrounded by ceramic shards again, crying as he sweeps up his own mess, and shudders.

It's enough for Eddie to nod, and shuffle closer still.

"Pot," Eddie says softly as he pokes Steve in the sternum with this pointer finger and then brings it around to point at his own face, "kettle". 

Steve chews his bottom lip as his thoughts swirl together and fly apart, disjointed and frenetic, "I just," he swallows around a harsh lump that begins to form in his throat, "I don't want you to think that I'm something that I'm not”.

Steve closes his eyes, missing the way that Eddie freezes at the words, but he can’t stop now --he has to get this all out or he’ll never be able to.

"That I've changed, that I'm this thing you've built up, for your sake, because let me tell you, it's pretty heartbreaking when everything you hoped was real turns out to be all in your head".

Steve opens his eyes as Eddie makes a sound like he’s been punched in the gut. 

He’s still kneeling in front of Steve, even closer now, almost close enough that Steve can count the light dusting of freckles on his nose, and it feels like his heart will burst at any moment. 

Fuck it.

"I've been halfway in love with you since you woke up from the hospital," Steve blurts out, “only to find out that you didn't feel even remotely the same about me, this whole time,” he breathes in shallowly as Eddie pales.

"I don't think I could take it if that happened again Eds,” Steve continues as he drops his gaze to his knees, “I think it would crush me".

"That's why I don't want you to say something you can't take--"

The words die on his lips as Eddie grabs his face and kisses him.

It’s harsh and clumsy, their teeth clack as Eddie loses his balance, pushing himself into Steve. They fall over the lounger, Steve’s shoulders and lower back hit the metal  frame hard, forcing a muffled groan out as Eddie falls on top of him with his own faint, ‘oof’.

Eddie tries to raise himself up by his hands before falling even further as one of his hands slips through the rubber slats of the chair and he crashes into Steve's stomach.

Eddie babbles a string of incomprehensible apologies as he frees his trapped hand and manages to gently straddle Steve. Eddie hovers over him and lifts his hands to cup Steve's face.

“Shit baby, are you okay? Fuck, that’s not how I wanted that to go at all, I’m so shit at this”. 

“Can we, can you get off and then we can get off the stupid chair?” Steve wheezes as he tries to catch his breath and shift his weight away from the metal still pressed into his back, “lets go inside, we can..talk about this”.

Eddie curses under his breath, his expression nervous, and moves his legs off of Steve and the chair before holding a hand out to help Steve to his feet.

Steve rubs his back as he leads the pair back inside through the sliding glass door, not daring to turn around and face Eddie. 

He feels his own mortified flush spread across his chest and neck and winces; this is probably the most he’s blushed in years all in the span of a single afternoon.

He kissed me, he kissed me, he kissed me, plays on a seemingly endless loop in Steve’s head as he walks into the house, he can’t help the wide smile that blooms over his face --despite the other, darker thought that whispers in his ear, be careful, be careful, be careful.

Steve takes them through the empty dining room and into the living room before dropping onto the couch with another low groan. He looks up as he realizes that Eddie is no longer beside him.

Eddie stands in the entryway to the living room, he’s holding a thick handful of hair over his mouth and watching Steve carefully.

“Can’t talk with you all the way over there,” Steve huffs. 

He tries for a smile but the effect is lost as Eddie continues to stand and stare at him, looking as though he could bolt from the house at any moment.

“Please come here Eds,” Steve tries again, his voice small. He takes a deep breath, if Eddie can be brave so can you, he thinks as he holds out his hand.

Eddie hesitates for just a moment more, his eyes flick beyond Steve to the hallway linked to the foyer and back, it’s so quick Steve nearly misses it. 

Still, he keeps his hand steady, holding it aloft.

Eventually Eddie takes a tentative step, then another, slowly moving forward until his fingers brush Steve’s own. He takes a seat next to Steve on the plush gray couch but doesn’t relax as Steve turns his body to face him. Eddie tenses even further as Steve gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

He opens his mouth to start but Eddie beats him to it.

“I’m so sorry Steve,” Eddie whispers, his voice strained and thin as he takes his hand back, “I just fucking attacked you? Jesus, I," he cuts himself off, whatever he had been about to say trapped behind the teeth that dig into his bottom lip.

"I mean," Steve mumbles, hating the hunched line of Eddie's shoulders, "I tell you I've been in love with you for months and you kiss me, that makes sense to me?"

"Stop doing that," Eddie bites out as he stands up, slapping his hands on his knees to launch himself away from the couch.

He paces the living room, not looking at Steve and getting progressively more agitated as he walks.

"I apologize and then you turn it around on yourself, why do you do that? Just let me apologize!"

Eddie halts suddenly as he straightens and faces Steve, it's as though a lightbulb has blinked on in the ether as Eddie speaks his next words slowly and carefully, "stop letting me off the hook Steve, be honest with me".

"I have been honest with you," Steve tries but Eddie shakes his head.

"Nope, you've told me some of your stuff today, but not why you keep downplaying everything, why you're not just telling me you're upset, it's like you're censoring the stuff you think I don't want to hear, come on”.

"My stuff," Steve mutters under his breath as a hot flicker of irritation licks at his ribcage.

"Yes," Eddie says, throwing his hands into his hair in frustration.

"Everybody censors themselves Eddie, you think I tell the kids everything? That I've told Robin everything?"

At this Eddie blanches, surprise etched over his forehead as his eyebrows climb into his wispy bangs.

"But Robin--"

"Knows enough, but not everything,"Steve scoffs as he crosses his arms over his stomach, "and she doesn't need to".

Robin may know his parents are hardly around, she may have formed her own opinions, assumptions about what she thinks is going on; but Steve has gotten very good at hiding these things -especially over the years. 

Pulling out the King Steve persona, make them laugh, make them mad, watch this hand while the other pulls the wool over their eyes. 

"Then tell me," Eddie says softly, but there is a challenge to his words. 

He shifts his stance slightly, putting more weight on his left leg as he cocks his hip out to the side, "shock me Harrington". 

Steve shifts on the couch, feeling pinned under Eddie's gaze, before swiping a tired hand over his face and dropping it into his lap.

"That crack in the table happened just before I graduated," Steve says softly, his head tipped down so the words tumble into his knees. 

He ignores the sharp intake of breath from Eddie, not daring to look up as he continues,  "my uh, my dad opened the rejection letter from Vincennes, that one had just been delivered that morning I think". 

Steve breathes out slowly and picks at a hangnail on his left thumb, he hasn't ever spoken about this to anyone, he's never really managed to talk about his home life growing up without side stepping things. 

There had been moments where Steve thinks Tommy and Carol might have had their suspicions, but they never asked and Steve wasn't in a position to talk about it.

"I think that was at the beginning of June, so, so his logical conclusion was to uh, go looking for the other letters, the ones I must have received already". 

Steve barks out a laugh, but the sound rings out hollow in the large living room, he startles slightly as the couch dips down next to him as Eddie sits, close enough that his knees are brushing Steve's own.

He doesn't say anything, but it's enough for Steve to breathe out and keep going.

"And he found them, my dad, in the shoebox I kept in the back of my closet". 

"I don't know why I had even kept them," Steve shakes his head, "I should have thrown them away".

Steve absently traces a faint white line across his temple, staring past his knees into the patterns of the ornate area rug, "I got home from school and he had the letters waiting for me". 

"He laid them all out on the dining table," Steve sweeps his hands out, setting the scene in his head, "like you see in those detective movies right? He just needed some string to connect them all to me". 

Steve shivers and closes his eyes, the words still echoing fresh in his mind, the hot spittle that hit his face as his father cornered him against the wall still makes him flinch if he thinks about it too hard.

"He asked when I was planning to tell him about the rejections, and I couldn't give him an answer," he reaches up and pinches his nose, just once, blinking a few times as he wills away the gathering moisture.

"I didn't raise you to be this way Steven, like some fucking ungrateful coward --look at me when I'm God Damn talking to you!" Richard seethes as he slams the flat of his palm into the center of the table, his Harvard class ring splitting the wood as it connects with a loud crack.

Richard doesn't look down, his hand slides to one of the letters, snatching it from the surface as he steps around the table, towards Steve, in three sure strides. He backs his son towards the wall, looming over Steve as he shoves the paper into his face in one hand while the other grips the collar of Steve's T-Shirt.

"What will people think, huh, our only son didn't get into college, Hagan got in for chrissakes," his dad shakes him once, forcing Steve's head to connect with the wall, "what am I supposed to tell people Steven, what are we going to tell your poor mother?" 

"I thought that Wheeler girl was supposed to be smart, tutor you or something," Richard scoffs as he finally lets go of Steve's shirt collar, "or did she finally come to her senses?"

Steve sneers before he can stop himself, "I didn't think you were even around enough to see that dad--"

The blow comes swiftly, catching him across the temple, his father's class ring comes out to play once again as a hot burst of pain blooms across the entire left side of his face from the backhand. 

"Don't you ever speak to me that way again, you want to be a big man Steven? Just see what happens". 

Steve blinks once, coming back to himself, "my dad, um, he has a problem with anger, with uh, expressing it I guess".

"But that isn't what this is about," Steve whispers, and this time he can't keep the wobble from his voice as he speaks.

"I'm afraid, I'm just like him, that I could do what he did if I got upset enough, and you," he breathes out sharply but the sounds more like a sob than anything else, "you want me to be honest?"

Steve finally lifts his eyes up to meet Eddie's own. Eddie, who looks as though he wants to melt into the floor, his shoulders tense and his own eyes seem suspiciously shiny as they stare back at Steve.

"Why couldn't you be honest with me, huh?" Steve whispers, "from the beginning?" 

A tear breaks the surface, tracing down Steve's cheek. He manages to catch it roughly with the back of his hand before reaching up to press the heels of both his hands into his eyes --as though the pressure could stop the building deluge he knows is inevitable.

"I was so angry with you when you told me that you hadn't meant what you said in the Upside Down," Steve manages to speak through the tightening of his throat as he drops his hands back down into his lap, "that I smashed a plate in my kitchen after you left, I don't, I don't know what happened". 

His breath quickens suddenly and every other word comes out as a gasp, "but it's like my worst fucking fears h-have come true and I don't, I don't know what to do, I don't, I--" 

"Oh sweetheart," Eddie says softly as he reaches for Steve, pulling him into his arms with gentle fingers, "oh, I gotcha".

Steve lets himself be moved, for his head to be tipped into the crook of Eddie's neck and his body tucked into Eddie's chest. 

Steve tries to slow down his breathing, to stop the shuddering of his chest as he fights the tears. 

"It's okay," Eddie tries but Steve shakes his head.

"It's not," he bites out, the words taper off into a whine, "it's not--"

"Okay, you're right, it's not," Eddie says so softly Steve nearly misses it.

"I'm so, so, sorry Steve," Eddie murmurs into Steve's hair, holding him tighter as Steve finally gives in and lets himself cry. 

He's not sure how long they sit for, eventually Steve feels a steady hand card through his hair while the other strokes down his arms, he feels the tension in his shoulders begin to melt away and the tears slow to a gentle trickle.

"I'm an idiot," Eddie huffs out, the breath flutters Steve's hair, making him twitch at the sensation.

Steve reaches up and wipes at his face with tired hands. The skin feels warm to the touch and puffy around his eyes and his nose which refuses to stop running, he must look like an absolute sight right now, he thinks to himself with a grimace.

"You're not an idiot," he manages to croak, but Eddie's already shaking his head sharply, turning himself to look at Steve.

"Oh believe me, I've fucked up before, pretty spectacularly, but this takes the goddamn cake sweetheart". 

"And you're right," Eddie says slowly, carefully, "I shouldn't be harping on about you hiding how you feel when I'm the reason why we're in this mess".

Eddie chews his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth before pulling away from Steve entirely as he reaches up to cup Steve's face between his hands.

"I'm sorry for not being honest with you Stevie, and I will spend every day trying to make it up to you if you let me?"

Steve looks at Eddie, really looks at him.

He takes in the drooped curve of his shoulders, the subtle pink of the tip of his nose and the glassy sheen in his brown eyes. The way his chest has stopped rising and he drops his hands away from Steve the longer he openly stares at the metal-head, the way Eddie anxiously spins and spins and spins the rings on his hands the longer he waits. 

It’s an easy decision to reach out and place his own hand on Eddies own, to halt the frantic movements with a gentle squeeze.

“So,” Steve says, grinning as Eddie finally looks up at him once more, "on a scale of helping to chauffeur the kids to finishing fixing the table, what kind of making it up to me are we talking about?"

The smile Eddie gives him is nearly blinding as he launches himself at Steve, gathering him up in his arms. His hair smells like sawdust and there's the barest hint of some kind of cologne that Steve can't place.

Eddie leans back into the couch cushions, laughingly wetly and taking Steve with him. The sound makes his chest ache as Steve realizes just how much he’s missed Eddie’s laughter. He buries his face in Eddie's neck as they cuddle into one another, letting themselves sit with nothing but the sound of the occasional car driving down the street outside or the humming of grasshoppers through the screen door to the backyard.

"For what it's worth," Eddie huffs, breaking the quiet, a hint of dimples revealing themselves as he smiles, "I've never met the guy, but from the sounds of it, you are the farthest thing from being like 'Ol Dick Harrington".

Steve says nothing but feels something in his chest finally unclench for the first time in weeks.

"Besides, there's nothing like a good plate smash every now and again Stevie," Eddie hums as he runs his thumb over the crest of Steve's cheekbone again.

"That's what Robin said," Steve mumbles, as he leans further into Eddie with a smile, "she came over that night, after". 

"A wise and terrifying woman," Eddie says sagely, "who I hope to never piss off again".

He stops suddenly and looks up at Steve, a nervous pinch to his brow as he plays with a loose curl hanging in front of his face, "I'm glad you guys have each other," Eddie says slowly, letting his thumb stroke Steve's hand absently, "that you have people in your corner and--”

Eddie swallows, his eyes darting back and forth between Steve's eyes as he finally seems to steel himself.

"I hope you'll let me be one of those people".

This nervous, quiet Eddie, is so strange to take in, but then again Steve's also never been on the receiving end of so many apologies all at once, it's just shy of being overwhelming at this point.

"Oh come off it Eddie," Steve huffs with a roll of his eyes, "you had me the moment I saw that fucking table outside and you tried to hide the sandpaper behind your back --real smooth by the way".

The way Eddie stares at him in surprise and that same look of awe from before, tells Steve that was the right thing to say.

Eddie barks out a wet laugh and squeezes him tighter, tipping his face to nuzzle Steve's ear, "I missed you teasing me".

"That was the worst part about all of this," he shudders once and drops his head to Steve's shoulder, "I thought I lost my friend, but I have you back".

"Yeah, you have me Eds," Steve says softly.

Steve rests against Eddie, uncaring that the position is growing more uncomfortable as the arm tucked closest to the metal-head falls asleep. Eddie holds him with such gentle reverence that Steve feels as though he may just burst from happiness at any moment. 

Everything he's wanted for months, has finally fallen into place.

It's quiet for another moment. Steve plays with one of Eddie's hands, running his fingers over the calluses from playing guitar and the eclectic rings decorating his knuckles.

Eddie clears his throat after a beat, swallowing once, “so uh, earlier….that wasn’t exactly how I pictured our first kiss you know?"

Steve feels a small grin slowly bloom, he's not quite facing Eddie the way they're sitting, so he can play coy a little longer.

 “You’ve pictured it huh?” 

Eddie snorts “Oh yeah, you have no idea, there’s usually more tongue involved and less chipped teeth”.

Steve nods, letting them sit for a moment longer, letting himself be chased for once.

Eddie pulls back slightly, leaving his arms loosely wrapped around Steve, “think we could uh, try again?”

“Will you mean it as much as you did the first time?” Steve says with a smile as he rubs his lip with his thumb and flushed cheeks.

“You liked that huh, always knew you were a freak like me Harrington,” Eddie barks out, his eyes shining with mirth as he leans closer to run the tip of his nose down Steve's before nuzzling them together, "wanna make some good memories in this house Stevie?"

“Only if you’re with me Eds,” Steve whispers against Eddie’s lips as he slowly leans in. 

Steve’s heart races, anticipation flooding his veins and filling his chest with a giddy realization that he finally, finally, gets to have this. 

That he knows Eddie finally, finally, feels the same way.

He’ll call Robin later, let her know about Hellfire’s plan, the apology, and maybe even the truth about everything he’d kept hidden away for so long. The old hurts soothed and the lid of the box in his mind permanently open now, the lid wrenched off its hinges so as to never close again. Maybe he could let people in, to let them know him. 

For now, Steve lets himself be lowered onto the couch, lets Eddie's hands roam freely, over Steve's shoulders, his neck --letting his fingers gently brush the long scar from the Demobat tail, before lifting one hand to cup his cheek while the other climbs into Steve hair, threading his fingers through it and giving the locks an experimental tug.

Steve's hands make their way up Eddie's back, under his shirt, tracing over the raised scars on his sides. Eddie shoots Steve a wicked grin, his eyes crinkle at the sides as he lets his weight gently fall over Steve, catching himself with his hands on the couch cushions on either side of Steve's face, effectively caging him in. 

Eddie moves slowly, deliberately, it's not nearly as brutal as the first time but Eddie kisses like a wildman starved, licking into Steve's mouth and grazing his bottom lip with harsh teeth. 

It feels like Steve is being consumed, slowly, carefully.

It's overwhelming in the best way. The feeling of his soft lips against Steve’s own, the harsh stubble that rubs against Steve’s chin. The smell of weed, and sawdust, and cologne invades his nose.

Eddie pulls back briefly before leaning down again to place a soft kiss against Steve’s lips.

“How's that for a second kiss?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and a wide smirk pulling at his slightly puffy lips.

Steve scoffs and tugs at Eddie’s shirt collar, “I dunno, maybe we need to check again?”

Eddie’s laughter rings out loud and long in the Harrington living room, as he leans down again and hugs Steve tightly.

For the first time in a long time, Steve feels himself relax. 

He lets the weight of Eddie press him into the cushions and releases a long contented breath, the Harrington house, finally feeling warmer than it has in a long time.

I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed working on it! This was the first fic of this length that I was still actively writing as I was updating that I've actually completed and I'm pretty damn happy about that! I was so worried about abandoning this guy and I'm glad I was able to finish it, hopefully it has come to a satisfying conclusion <3

Taglist: @zerokrox-blog @samcoxramblings @thosemessyvibes @liketheocean @vampireinthesun @themostunoriginalpersonever @merricatty @hyperfixationgoddess @hippieg1rl420 @mysticcrownshipper @estrellami-1 @clumsiluni @messrs-weasley @the-obsessed-nerdist

#platonic stobin #mean!eddie wip #finally finished this big boy #eddie munson has a bad dad #protective wayne munson #the party #will byers can and will weaponize those eyes of his #I broke my promise about how long this would take #angst with a happy ending #steddie #getting together #afewproblems writes #afewproblemswrites #steve harrington has a bad dad #implied referenced child abuse both verbal and physical #its only a small section but its not great #hurt steve harrington #slaps steves chest 'this boy can hold so much trauma'

[whirlybirbs]

          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 

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MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #marvel imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #bucky/reader

[hex-obsession]

Silver Lining - Two

word count- 2,259

content warning- language, angst, indirect s**cidal thought

____________________________________________

Crows cawing, your eyes open just enough to hazily make out the all too familiar color of your room.

“Early bird gets the worm, you know,” a familiar voice murmurs. Pushing off the wall to your right, your body slides diagonally over your bed, your head dangling off the side. Upside down, Cheryl is slumped against your door frame, arms and legs crossed. Brazen as usual, just the way you loved her. You held your own in most regards but Cheryl was always there when you least expected it and needed her most. You swear there were a halo atop that adorable shaggy blonde head of hers. And not one of those tacky event items either.

“Like I’d get anything any time of day with all the birds around here.” A tickling squeeze builds in your abdomen, branching up your neck to your cheeks which now had a telling pink glow.

“So you gonna talk to old lover boy yet or what?”

You jolt forward and whip around fast enough to make any killer miss a swing. Your response is unnecessary as she’s already smirking devilishly, aware of what she’s doing. She might have been your closest friend but that did not stop her from tormenting you, or anyone else that crossed her path. All in good fun and love, of course. It went without saying that you enjoyed it and she knew when it was, rarely, time to pack it up.

Raising her eyebrows, she leans back and throws her hands up. “I’m just saying, if you don’t, you might lose your chance. That’s all I’m saying,” quieter now.

You sighed. She was right. You weren’t the only one who took a liking to Leon. But, unlike you, Yun-Jin did not hide her feelings, from anyone for any reason, ever. Of course, everyone thought he was charismatic and most, undeniably handsome. That was common knowledge. You ran out of things to talk about in a place like this, and secrets were few and far between. There was no reason to hide here. This was your foreseeable future, together. There was no getting out, no changing things. Being open and sharing everything together made your day to day bearable. The connections you lost in your old lives left gaping holes, but together as one tightly knit, weird, fucked up family, you helped fill the voids. Some took longer than others to accept that fate, and there were some inevitable hiccups, but everyone came around eventually.

Anyone who wasn’t blind could see the attraction Yun-Jin had for the newest addition to your group. Placing her hands on him in conversation whenever she got the chance, laughing a little too hard at the things he said, biting her bottom lip and smiling at him when he talked. You’d even caught her pecking his cheek playfully here and there. He’d always smile and look away, as if it were a game. Leon always had a sultry attitude to him, a ladies' man no doubt. Subtly flirting with everyone was just commonplace for him. That was part of the reason you held back. Fearing you missed your chance and someone else had filled the role you longed to be in. Maybe it was your fear of rejection or abandonment, or not wanting to lose something this important in a world as cruel and bare this. You were subconsciously working hard to convince him you were only a friend. Which you were, definitely friends. Close even, given the circumstances. Trauma bonding does one hell of a number to the timeline of friendship. Still, you sensed zero difference in his behavior toward you versus the others. Which, admittedly, was quite the letdown. Nonetheless, you had nothing to lose by casually admitting your feelings for him. Keep it light and airy and there would be no reason for things to change on the chance he didn’t feel the same. After all, you surely weren’t the only one with a harmless little crush. That’s all it was. Right? So what if you constantly day-dream about him holding you so close he might consume you, kissing you with four times the passion the Notebook tried to capture, never leaving your side regardless of what the future held. His taste, his smell… what his cock would feel like ramming into your cervix. Your brain was one giant knot, constantly distracting you and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. Except tell him, but keep it simple.

By your calculations, it was November 18th. You’d been keeping track, not sure if it made things better or worse. Your third anniversary in this place was not far off. Despite being a literal nightmare, it had its perks. Your need for food was no more, as well as your other bodily needs. Sickness was a quickly forgotten annoyance of the past. You stayed in this eerily perfect state. Makeup never crusty, hair never oily and always smelling of your favorite fruit. The dirt and blood you’d acquire during trials magically disappeared upon return. You had a handful of outfits to rotate but there was no real need. Another upside, there were no severe temperatures here. Jackets, shorts, sandals, snow boots if you were Nea. You were always mostly comfortable. Even on Ormond where snow blanketed the ground, those gusts of wind should have sent chills right through you, but they didn’t. It felt like living in a dream or a, simulation. Just, where you’re hunted all day and night for the rest of your existence. At least death wasn’t permanent. Sometimes you’d wish it was, just to escape.

Several months have passed since Leon and Jill were introduced to your world. You had inside jokes and more close calls than you could both count. You were a damn good team and got along smoother than melted butter. What were you waiting for? You inhaled sharply and broke your stare out the window.

“I’m gonna do it.”

To no avail, your deep breaths failed to remedy the painful pounding in your chest, or the heat radiating from your face. Nevertheless, you marched out to the campfire to seek out Yun-Jin. As selfish as you wanted to be with Leon, she was your friend, and you held that in high regard. She was easy to spot in a crowd given her loud attire, but wasn’t around the fire. Which lead to your next realization; neither was Leon. Your throat tightened, heart still pounding. You set off a little too quickly to find her, or them. First stop was Ace’s shack. Judging based on appearances, you figured he would be one of the last people she associated with. Quite the opposite, they were dear friends. Not connected at the hip per se, like her and Claudette, but they related to one another's childhoods. Trauma bonding, can't beat it. To your dismay, the shack was empty, a seed of despair planting in your stomach. Maintaining the most convincing composure you could, you continue your search. Heading left down the line of shacks, robust laughter grows closer. You’d know that laugh anywhere. Cutting through the row, David and Felix are reclined under a tree. They were one of the few monogamous couples among you. The others being Nancy and Steve, and Adam and Zarina. You understood the allure of being romantically involved with more than one person, especially given your less-than-ideal situation, but it wasn’t for you.

“Hi y/n!” Felix shouted toward you.

Not wanting to stop and chat given your current objective, you flashed a cheeky smile and waved to them. Before they could get another word out, you dipped back behind the row of houses. Nerves getting the best of you, you parted your lips to breathe through your mouth. Every breath burned your lungs, realizing now all the times you brushed off your feelings have come back to haunt you. You should never have waited this long. At this point you would be more than willing, desperate, to share Leon. Refusing to let your anxiety get the best of you, you ball your fists and dig your nails into your palms to get a grip on yourself. There was one more place they could possibly be. A sliver of premature acceptance wedged itself into your train of thought as you trudged toward your own shack. Leon’s was adjacent to yours. Feeling foolish for not checking earlier, you round the corner to the opening. As much as you wish you could close your eyes, they were pinned open with anticipation. Looking up from your feet you were shocked to see an empty room before you. Relief and confusion replace your foreboding. Too much time had already been wasted, so you return to the campfire.

“Hey, have you seen Leon or Yun-Jin anywhere?” you, as calmly as possible, ask Élodie.

“They got pulled a little bit ago babe.” She was intently focused on Jane, her concentration not broken. “Which do you like more, up or down?” her gaze still fixated on Jane.

You have to either keep the courage you finally mustered until they get back or give yourself emotional whiplash by releasing until they do. You hesitate for a moment, but to hide your disappointment you quickly retort, “Up, definitely up. Gotta distract the killer with that beautiful face you know?”

“Like they're looking at her face and not that dumptruck ass!” Élodie howls. Jane facetiously puts her fingertips to her chin and looks upward, a façade of innocence no one here would ever buy. You can't help but giggle despite your inner turmoil.

“Well hey,” you add through chuckles, “when they're back can you please send her my way?”

“Sure thing babe,” Élodie assures, finally turning to meet your gaze.

A horrible nauseating mix of dismal, relieving, lewd thoughts of Leon swirl in your mind as you wait for Yun-Jin to step into the doorway. You knew you liked him but holy shit, where did this come from? The realization slapped you in the face. Try to blame infatuation all you want, not that you did, but it was so painfully evident now you were dumbfounded.

A soft knock jerked you out of your thoughts. “Hiya y/n, what's going on?”

Her delicate eyes effortlessly comforted you from across the room.

“I...” your eyes now glued to the floor beneath your feet, a reservoir of tears barely being held back, “I need to know how you feel about Leon.” Your nerves went haywire just uttering his name to her. An icy splash of chills surged from your head to your feet as your chest panged with dread.

“Well of course I like him,” her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

All that could escape your mouth was, “Oh.” Emptiness, despair replacing the jealous unease you felt before. Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably, feelings that danced around menacingly finally coming to a head.

At the sight of your distress, she rushed to sit next to you. “Honey, what’s going on?” her voice barely above a whisper.

You were ashamed for breaking down in front of her, afraid of guilting her for something that was not her fault, and now terrified Leon might follow her here, only to find you undone over him. You jerk your head up to face her and blurt out, “Jinny I think I love him,” face sopping wet with untouched tears.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles at you. “Honey I have fun toying with him all in good nature but there’s no connection there.” Your heart thuds against your ribcage. “Sure, I’ll admit he’s attractive, who wouldn’t, but I have nowhere near the same feelings for him that you evidently do.” She uses both hands to cup your face and pushes as much wetness as she can aside with her thumbs. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Not only to me but to him!” Despite being similar in age, she feels like a mother to you. Caring for a child, your own or not, will do that to you. That’s not a trait you lose over time.

“I’m so afraid,” you softly whimper, “of what he would say, what you would say.” You're picking at your cuticles, a habit you acquired during puberty as an outlet for your overwhelming feelings.

She wraps her arms around you, carefully as to not tarnish her jacket with tears, which would definitely stain the material. “I was just having a little fun, and from what I’ve gathered, he was more so allowing it than participating. You know I love you all to death but I’m not looking for anything like that, definitely not here.” She gives you a squeeze, and suddenly you can breathe again, the air around you no longer dense and difficult to swallow. “Honey, go get him.”

“Oh Jesus, let me fix myself a little first at least,” the sudden relief causing you to laugh involuntarily.

You were grateful disease and ailments didn’t exist outside of the trials, if they had you're sure you would've had an aneurysm from the stress you went through in a matter of an hour. Yun-Jin left you to your thoughts, which were now solely you and Leon together, doing anything and everything you could think of. The rest of the day you contemplated telling him, more so, how to. Thankfully you didn’t have any trials together, you were far too disorganized for that right now. “Tomorrow,” you promise yourself. Nothing like a clear head and a night’s rest to help you be your most collected, confident self.

____________________________________________

Silver Lining masterlist

#leon x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #dbd smut #dbd fanfic #dbd fluff

[makbarnes]

Hey I was wondering if I could request a one shot. It mentions some heavy topics so I would like to apologize in advance in case it bothers you.

Loki x reader where they’re newly budding friends and he finds out that she has never really indulged in sex due to trauma from being sexually assaulted when she was younger. Knowing that she trusts him, he offers to sleep with her to help her overcome her fear and she accepts it. Can the smut be slow and passionate and include soft dom Loki, with a romantic ending?

Change of Plans! I discussed changing the character for her request! This is for @yeeetmyasss Steve X Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Warning there is a little cut scene where it flashes back to the reader's past but doesn't describe anything. BTW this really got away from me! I enjoyed writing this so much!

PROMPT: Steve x reader where they’re newly budding friends and he finds out that she has never really indulged in sex due to trauma from being sexually assaulted when she was younger. Knowing that she trusts him, he offers to sleep with her to help her overcome her fear and she accepts it. Can the smut be slow and passionate and include soft dom Steve, with a romantic ending

WORD COUNT: Over 4K

You carefully slipped on your jacket in hopes it would cover enough of your skin for you to be comfortable. Your hair helped cover your neck and yet you still felt exposed. You felt the cold air on your legs and you could feel the tears brimming your eyes. You held back your tears as you grabbed your things and headed for the elevator in the Tower. You smiled to push the feelings down as you walked, Waving at Sam and Bucky you headed straight for the kitchen to grab a sip of water before leaving. As you leaned against the counter your fingers gripped the marble and you couldn’t help but sink into your thoughts. Your eyes flashed a deep blue as your memories took over.

Night after Night, You dreaded the night. It happens every night and you keep trying to prevent it. Hiding, acting like you were asleep, even faking sick, nothing stopped him. You had moved in with a close member of your family after your parents had divorced and the state concluded it was unfit to live with any of them. Every night was the same thing, he’d come in sometime after he had a few drinks, you could always smell it on his breath. Knob Creek Bourbon Even to this day that certain kind just sent shivers down your spine. You never wear your hair up to sleep anymore, It would give him access to more skin at night. You always tried to wear thick clothing and you still do every night when you sleep. It started off small, a grope or a kiss that lasted a bit too long, then it came to him covering your mouth, forcing himself onto you. You cried each time and you were thankful for the night you didn’t have to see him. You lost count over the years, You just felt numb...The night of your thirteenth birthday you fought back, ran off and found yourself running into HYDRA. After the years of abuse and silence you agreed to their experiments that ended up giving you powers, HYDRA set you loose after they searched your mind and found the trauma. They released you and you set forth to kill your trauma at the source. You started with your parents then your uncle. He laughed in your face as you choked him with your powers, He fell limp and you set the trailer on fire in hopes it would burn the memories as well. After that night you had turned yourself into the Avengers and they added you to the team.

“Angel?” Steve held himself back from touching you knowing what happened last time he did. He heard your sniffles and decided to lean against the counter next to you. Your knuckles were tight and you felt locked in your fears. “{Y/N}? Hey, it’s Steve, I’m right here. It’s okay.” You gasped as your mind came back to you and saw Steve standing next to you with worried eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” You gave him a quaint smile before turning away and trying to clean your face of tears. “You goin somewhere?”

“I have a date.”

“A-a Date?! Oh...w-with who?” Steve stumbled over his words as he mentally cursed himself for his reaction.

“Don’t act so surprised, Old Man. I can pull a guy.”

“I know you can, Angel. Just surprised.”

“Don’t go gettin’ jealous on me now.” You nudged his shoulder as you sent him a wink and took your phone from your small bag. “I’m texting you my location. Just to be safe.”

“Or you could just not go. Stay with me and watch a movie.” Steve suggested quietly and you held the blush away from your cheeks. You kissed Steve’s cheek bye as you texted the boy you were supposed to meet. Steve had felt jealous as you walked away. He loved you and wanted you so badly but you never acted that way towards him. He thought he was like a brother in your mind so he pushed it down and took what he could get. Just your presence calmed him. He had started calling you when he had a nightmare or trouble sleeping and waited for you to invite him to your room to talk. The first time he snuck up on you while you were sleeping he instantly regretted it when you slammed him into the wall. Steve understood and didn’t as when you had reacted that way, some people liked their privacy. Unknowingly to him you liked him just as much as he did you. The touching was rare but when it did happen it was enveloping. The late night cuddles when you each had fallen asleep as you watched a movie, relaxing against each other after hard missions full of fighting. Everything about the man made you feel safe.

Your breath hitched when you spotted your date at the bar. You were never against drinking, you were just scared around men who couldn’t hold their alcohol. That was an issue you never had to worry about with Steve. Each time you talked with someone they had blown their chances before you even set a date with them. You were partially grateful for that fact, you were just waiting for Steve to ask you out. You hoped for it, you even dreamt about it most nights. You pushed Steve to the back of your mind as you plastered a bright smile over your face and approached your date.

“Hey Brandon?”

“Hey! God you are hotter than your pictures.”

“Uhm, thanks. Did you wanna grab a table?”

“I’d rather sit here at the bar, if that’s okay.”

“Perfectly fine.” You slid into the empty seat next to him and ordered a club soda. Something to just take the edge off but to keep you lucid incase. You noticed Brandon’s eyes roaming over your body and you felt a bit exposed as he did. “So, How was your day?”

“Boring, I’m hoping to spice it up tonight.” He reached his hand for your thigh and you quickly moved it away from his reach. You cleared your throat and hoped he would turn off the douchebag side of him. Brandon downed the rest of his drink and you rolled your eyes as his actions.

“What do you like to do?"

“Fuckin’ pretty ladies. Wanna get out of here?”

“Ugh! Yea, I'm leaving." You slammed your glass down as you stood and started to walk out of the restaurant.

“Woah! Where are you goin’?!” Brandon jerked his hand out to grab your wrist and pull you back to your seat. You stumbled but thankfully caught yourself against your chair.

“I’m going home! Let go of me!”

“No, I think you are gonna sit here and make this worth my time.”

“No the fuck I won’t” You slung his hand off of your wrist and slapped him hard across the face.

“You dumb bitch!”

“You fucking douchebag.” You easily left the restaurant and hailed a taxi to take you back to the Tower. You brushed away the few tears you had and held off your panic attack until you knew you were safe. You slammed the taxi door and stomped into the building. Tapping your foot in anger the elevator seemed to take forever, you prayed for the main room to be empty and for everyone to be doing their own things on a Friday Night. You grabbed your phone and deleted the dating app you had set up. All the guys in there just wanted one thing. You wanted to build a relationship not just fuck and leave. You tucked your phone away and groaned while the elevator opened. You kicked off your heels and ignored everyone in the main room as you went to your room. You quickly changed out of your uncomfortable dress and slipped on your joggers with one of Steve’s sweatshirts. You smiled as his scent covered you and felt safe again. You tucked your knees into your chest as you sat on your bed. Your mind ran over your thoughts and you compelled your thumb to hover over his contact in your phone. Steve would always be there.

Your breath quickened and tears started streaking down your face. You held your knees tightly and tucked your nose against the collar of Steve’s shirt. He knew you had it, He had given it to you after a night full of PTSD terrors and bloodshot eyes because you were too scared to fall asleep. You ran your finger through your hair and you pulled, trying to keep yourself grounded. Your eyes panned to the door. If you could make it a few feet. Steve was right across the hall. Just a few steps. You willed yourself to stand but felt your legs shaking, breaking out to a full sob you reached for your small clutch and pressed the green call button next to his already open contact. You just stayed silent, your sniffles echoing back from the rings as you waited for him to answer.

“Hey! Are you okay? Do I need to pick you up?” Steve’s protective tone shined through the phone and you held your mouth open to speak but it just came out as a whimper. “I need you to tell me where you are.”

“I-I…”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y locate {Y/F/N}.”

“{Y/F/N} is in her room, Captain.” The only thing you could hear were heavy footsteps echoing over the phone and you kept pushing the tears away with the sleeves of his sweater. You jerked when you heard a knock and tried to speak.

“It’s Steve, I’m coming in okay?” You nodded silently, knowing he couldn’t see you. You needed him. The only touch you ever welcomed was Steve. As he easily opened the door you sat balled on the floor with your face covered with tears. “Angel. What happened?” You shook your head no repeatedly as he sat beside you on the floor. “You don’t have to talk about it. It’s okay.” Without warning you climbed into his lap and snuggled against his broad chest. His hand rubbed up your spine while you stained his shirt with tears. Your shoulders began trembling while his warmth enveloped you, Steve pressed his lips against your head and let you cling onto him.

“Why can’t all guys be like you?” You looked up at him with tears filled eyes and sniffled.

“I’m Captain America sweets. Nobody is like me.” Steve’s thumb gently wiped away your tears. “What happened?”

“Just a douchebag only wanting sex and no relationship.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing then.” Steve ran his fingers over your hair as both of your movements grew still. You felt a pit of nervousness growing when your panic settled and you realized you were in his lap. Clearing your throat as you stood up Steve followed quickly and offered his hand out to you. “Since you’re home, wanna watch a movie with me now?” His bright smile was hard to say no to but you wanted to stay in your room. Your eyes darted between his hand and your bed while you tried to decide. “Wait here.” Steve rushed out of your room as you sat on your bed.

He quickly came back with four movie cases and his bowl full of popcorn with two boxes of your favorite candy. “Movie night in your room then. Need me to get anything else?”

“How did you get my candy so fast?”

“I have a secret stash in my room for you. For nights like this.”

“You are going to have to show me this stash.” You blushed as he climbed into your bed next to you. Tucking yourself against the wall the first movie started and Steve kept his distance. He placed the popcorn bowl between the both of you while he sat relaxed against your headboard. You tucked your feet under the blanket as your fingers pinched at your candy pieces. Steve tried to keep his attention to the move but kept finding himself watching you with a small smile on your face and your eyes glistening against the bright colors from the screen. You noticed his staring and set down your candy. Moving the bowl onto his lap you inched closer and laid directly next to him.

“Now stop staring.”

“I wasn’t”

“You were. I saw you.”

“Prove it.” Steve smirked as he took a few pieces of popcorn. You both stayed silent for a moment and you felt yourself messing with the sleeve on his sweater.

“Thank you Steve.”

“For what?”

“Cheering me up. You always know what to do.”

“How can I not? You're my girl. No thanks needed.”

“I’m not your girl Steve. I’m your best friend.”

“What if you were my girl?” Steve locked eyes with you as a blush creeped onto your face.

“W-what?”

“What if you were my girl, Angel?”

“Steve, you don’t want me as yours, too much shit to deal with.”

“That’s not true {Y/N}, I’ve always wanted you to be mine. Why do you think I never go on the dates Nat sets up? I’m always checking on you, I’m always worried about you. But you never seemed to want that so I just never pushed, but I’m tired of you going on dates and coming back hurt because they just want that one thing. I don’t want this to ruin our friendship but I want you, I’ve always wanted you since you joined.” Steve reached out to brush the hair away from your face but you jerked away from him. “Hey, I’m sorry Angel. I’ll just go okay? Don’t worry about it…” Steve’s voice dropped in sadness as he quickly ran into his room with a slam of his door. You still sat shocked on your bed at what he just said.

“Steve Rogers, Captain America wants you...You?! A trauma filled, scared of sex, timid girl like you?! And you sat there silent, let him think you crushed his dreams! Maybe he’s confused, Maybe he doesn’t want you. Just a thing to be conquered. No, it’s Steve. He would never. Shit I’m still wearing his shirt. God what did I do?”

You knocked yourself out of the trance and moved after Steve. You chewed your lip as you knocked on his door and your breath hitched when it opened.

“Who is - oh. Hi.”

“Can I come in?” Steve opened his door wider for you to slip inside and you stood there awkwardly as he shut the door again. “Look {Y/N} I’m sorry. I just can’t take it anymore. It’s fine if you just see me as a friend and we can stay that way.” His eyes pleaded with you.

“Steve.”

“Please {Y/N} Please just forget what I said.”

“Steve.”

“God I’m so stupid.”

“STEVE! Let me talk. I-I like you too. I always have, it's just I have an issue with my feelings.”

“What?”

“I love you Steve. You are my best friend and can always cheer me up. You even have a stash with my favorite candy. How can I not love you?” Steve closed the distance between you two and held your hands in his large ones.

“Can I? Uhm. Can I kiss you?” You smiled while you leaned your head up to feel his soft gentle lips against your own. You wanted to melt but kept your walls up, Steve cradled your head as he pulled back and smiled. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” He huffed out a heavy breath and you felt a lump in your throat, you had to tell him before it got too far.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Whatever you want, Angel. Sit down.” You sucked in a heavy breath as you sat down on Steve’s bed and played with his fingers that laid in your lap. “Before this gets too far. You uhm, you need to know that while I am not totally against it, I am terrified of having sex. It’s nothing against you. It's just. I, uhm, didn’t have the best childhood and I was...abused...a lot.” You held your tears away, not wanting to cry anymore tonight.

“Angel, I don’t care about that.”

“Of course you do. Everyone does! Even I do. But I just really need to trust someone and they have to understand that I just can’t.”

“If it makes you feel any better I haven’t had sex in over seventy years.” “Yea but if the time came you could do it better than me.”

“What if I uhm I help?”

“What?”

“Have you ever had someone make love to you? Not just fuck?”

“Language Captain.”

“I’m serious. Do you trust me?” You nodded your head as Steve drew himself closer to you until he was almost sitting on your lap. “Can you lay down for me?”

“Okay.”

“I want you to tell me to stop if you need me to okay?”

“Okay.” Your breath hitched as Steve moved to lay next to you and turned you on your side to face him. His hand laid over your shoulder while he slowly guided your lips to his own. Your lips intertwined and you felt his hand trail under his sweater to glide over your skin. He pulled your body against his own before coming back up to cup your face. Steve teased your mouth with his tongue and you opened for him to taste you. A stifled moan flowed into Steve’s mouth from your own while he guided your hands to flow under his shirt. You pulled back to catch your breath while you pushed your fingers over his abs and bit your lip with every curve of his skin.

“You are so beautiful baby.” Steve’s eyes moved over your body before he took his shirt off and you pulled him hungrily to your lips. “Can we take this off?” He fiddled with the bottom of his sweater that covered you. You nodded while he slowly slipped it off of your body. “You okay?”

“Yes. Kiss me more.” Steve obeyed while he gently rubbed your skin and guided your hand up to the bottom of his hairline. Steve’s hand held your hip slightly and you felt his hard member press against you. Your breath hitched and he pulled back away from you checking your face. “I’m okay. Sorry.”

“C’mere.” He pulled you against him and let your nails play over his back while he peppered kisses over your jawline. His nose tickled against your skin, his mouth was hot and welcoming while he toyed with your skin. “So sweet.”

“More please Steve.” Your legs wrapped around his waist while he sucked a mark to the top of your breast. “Shit.”

“Like that Angel?”

“Mhm..” Your nose was tucked against his hair while his lips moved down your body and he paused when he reached your pants. “{Y/N}, Can I take these off?”

“Yours too?” Steve stood up and removed his sweats before pulling your own down softly with a kiss over every inch of exposed skin that followed. You could see him in his boxers and pushed down the gulp in your throat. You let out a shaky breath and hoped Steve didn’t notice.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I promise.”

“I don’t believe you.” Steve grabbed his blanket and laid down next to you resting the situation. He covered your bodies with the blanket and scooted you against him. “What’s wrong?”

“Just nervous, please don’t stop.” Steve moved your leg to hook over his waist and pushed your back to grind over him. “Just look right at me baby.” He gave you a small peck while he reached around and unhooked your bra. Steve sucked in a tight breath as your chest was revealed and his hand toyed with one of your breasts.

“Feels good.” He licked his lips before trailing his tongue down to circle over your nipple having your back arch against him. He teased the other with a pinch and you rolled to your back. Opening your legs wider Steve held his hips tightly against you with small ruts while he had his fun on your chest. You gripped one of his wrists and moved it down to play over your underwear. Moaning at his touch you arched into him and let your eyes roll back into your head. Steve rolled his tongue down your stomach and pressed a few kisses against your hip while he pressed his fingers against your clothed clit.

“I’m gonna take these off okay?” “Please. Yes.” Your voice was at a pleasurable sigh and Steve loved how you looked to him in this moment. He trailed his tongue down to your slit and massaged your legs to open again.

“God, You’re dripping Angel. This all for me?”

“Only you Steve.” He let an guttural growl loose from his throat while he dipped his tongue through your folds. “Oh! Yes!”

“Taste so sweet Darling.” His tongue cleaned up your slick before he teased your opening with his tongue. His thumb came up to rub small circles on your clit as he began to fuck your hole gently. Steve pulled down one of your hands to play in his hair while the other was linked with his free one at your side. You pushed your hips up against his face to earn more pleasure and Steve let you control his movements. Your moans filled his room and you only wanted more. Steve switched his fingers with his tongue and you gasped as they curled inside of you. Steve pressed kisses against your thighs while he looked up to watch your breasts rising and falling with your pleasure. You gripped his hand tighter with every rise of pleasure, Steve was your only thought and you gripped for him. He adjusted his thumb to take his tongue’s place on your clit as he rose up to rest his forehead onto your own. “Feel good Angel?” “So good. Oh god! Right there. Don’t stop.” Steve tucked your face against his shoulder while he focused his hand and felt your walls tense over his fingers. Steve hovered over you a bit as he cleaned you off of his fingers and your pupils blew as you watched him. You urged your hips towards him and felt a pit open in your stomach with that little laugh he did. Steve kissed you harder this time while he guided your hands to link around his neck, you gasped against his chest as he coated himself in your finish before slowly pushing into you. The sting was coated with pleasure once he filled you to the hilt of him and stayed there for you to adjust to him. Your nails gripped into his skin and his hand held your thigh in place while he balanced himself over you with his arm next to your head. He watched your eyes close and kissed you forcefully with his ruts.

“Look at me baby.” You moved your chin down for your eyes to lock with his crystal blue ones and your breath left your body. “I love you so much, god you are so beautiful.” The coil tightened with every word he spoke. “God I’m so lucky. Such an Angel.” You pulled his chest flush against your own and tucked your face into his neck. Your thighs trembled a bit when you felt his teeth sink into your neck and suck.

“Fuck Steve. Feels so good. So close.”

“I know baby. Just let it happen, Don’t worry about me.”

“Faster. Please.”

“Sure?”

“Mhm, Please.” Your lips pressed against his clavicle and you gripped his shoulders as he picked up his pace, your eyes flitted up to him and he was chasing his own release now. He grunted quietly with every thrust and your legs felt weak as he did so. Your orgasm had ripped through you but kept rising with Steve’s thrusts. Your legs twitched when Steve’s fingers found your clit again and began working them in time. He hovered over your face and pulled your lips to his as he stopped his thrusts and filled you with his finish while his fingers kept pushing you over your limit. You gasped against the sheets as a gush of your finish coated his abs and he watched you with wide eyes.

“Oh my god, Did I!?” “That’s my new favorite thing about you Angel.” Steve quickly moved to grab a rag and cleaned his abs before slowly wiping over you and grabbing a clean pair of underwear for you.

“How many of my things do you have Steve?”

“Everything my Angel needs.” He kissed your forehead as he climbed in his bed with you and you tucked your nose against him. “Are you mine forever now?”

“Forever.”

[hawkinsindiana]

we’re safe now

ALMOST PARADISE: PART TWO - CHAPTER TWELVE OF FIFTEEN

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 3.3k

a/n: ahhh i’m sorry this is coming a week late! but i really appreciate everyone being patient while i sort out all the issue with my health. luckily, i’ll be able to post the next chapter next week so we’re back on schedule! again, i can’t thank you all enough for the support and overwhelming love i’ve received recently, so this is for you guys <3

masterlist

Almost two weeks have passed since that night. You’ve been counting the days like some twisted tally, unable to stop reminding yourself of the events that occurred. It bothers you to no end - why you can’t seem to get them out of your head.

The nightmare certainly isn’t helping you cope.

You can’t recall all of the details; you just remember how it felt when your body jolted, how your fingers rushed to grab the smooth grip of the pipe resting beneath your bed - until you realized it was only your subconscious mind playing tricks.

That shadow cast by your dresser wasn’t Billy Hargrove. 

It’s only been five days, but sleep has eluded you ever since.

It seems that everyone’s already moved on. Their lives haven’t stopped or slowed down by what happened. Even Will’s adjusted well, or as well as can be expected. Every little bit of progress is like ten steps in the right direction for the Byers’ boy.

“Hey-” The eraser on the end of Steve’s pencil jabs you in the arm, bringing your scrambled thoughts back to reality - back to him.

“What d’you think about ten? A or D?”

Your eyes drift from Steve, sitting in the chair beside yours, to the worksheet on the table. You’d completely forgotten about it - the pen in your hand had been drawing circles absently onto the paper.

“I, uh-” You clear your throat, gaze bouncing between the four questions you managed to answer, “I didn’t get there yet.”

Steve scoffs as he leans over to take a look; he doesn’t believe a word of it. You always get through these faster than him. But when he realizes that you haven’t flipped to the second page, a touch of worry settles in his stomach.

“Jesus, Henderson. Where’s your head at?”

Steve asks it like it’s a joke. You don’t know if you appreciate or despise the delivery.

On one hand, you’re happy that he feels lighter than you do. Your troubled mind is thankful for the levity it desperately needs. 

But then again, you don’t feel like you’re really here - you think you could just fall right through the floor, forever destined to drown in these emotions.

Dustin says that’s typical until the concussion wears off; but you’re not concerned about physical trauma.

You reply to Steve just as the bell rings, marking the end of the school day.

“Well, uh… the kids wanna get together tonight, but now that there’s so many of ‘em, Karen won’t let them hang at the Wheeler’s. Mike’s been on my ass to help find a spot.”

That’s not a lie - it has been on your mind. Mike has been bugging you about it, desperate to spend more time with El now that she’s returned. That’s cute and all, just as long as you’re not being dragged into it.

Steve’s brow creases before grabbing your bag from the back of your chair. He swings it over his shoulder, carrying his own books by his side; until your hand heals, you’re not going to have to lift a finger.

“Why can’t you just have it at your place?” 

“Not enough room for them all to stay over,” You respond, “Max and Mike refuse to sleep on the floor. We only have one couch.”

As soon as the pair of you step out into the crowded corridor, your eyes catch the snide glances in your direction.

It didn’t take long before people started to figure out what happened.

The injuries that litter your faces were quickly connected to Billy’s split knuckles - which he’s been showing off proudly. To no one’s surprise, it sparked a whole array of rumors. 

Don’t forget the shocking twist that Nancy Wheeler showed up to class with Jonathan Byers on her arm, prompting even more whispers and speculation. Needless to say, it’s been a rough couple of weeks at Hawkins High for you both.

But as soon as you’re free from the fluorescent lights and greeted with autumn’s crisp afternoon breeze, peace starts to settle in. 

“They could hang out at my place.”

Steve’s comment causes you to spin around and stop in your tracks. Your confused expression meets his plain one; he simply shrugs, not acknowledging your reaction, “You know, if they wanted to.” 

He continues on, brushing past you on his way towards the parking lot before you pick up the pace.

“Wait, seriously?” You question after coming to Steve’s side, baffled that he would offer such a thing, “You know that you don’t have to do that, right?”

Steve chuckles a bit, amused by your tone and the shock you radiate, “What, it’s not like anybody’s using it anyways. My parents won't get back until late Sunday night.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, Harrington?” You add after approaching the passenger’s side of his car, “They’re even worse when the world’s not at stake.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” Steve replies, tossing your belongings into the back seat. He shuts the door before opening yours. A touch of concern floods his mind, “Wait, you’re coming too right?”

You fold your arms over your chest; a small smirk curls your mouth upwards, “I thought you could handle it.”

“Well, you know… there are six of ‘em-”

“Relax!” You laugh, shoving Steve lightly. The action makes you realize that you hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten - it makes your heart skip a beat. He mirrors your bright smile as you finish, “Of course I’ll be there. I’m not that cruel.”

—

One word. That’s all it took to convince them. Dustin, on the other hand, was on board with the idea as soon as you mentioned it.

The door chime rings once, then seven more times before Steve finally swings open the front door. He’s met with Max’s smug grin, pointer finger pressed against the doorbell. 

Steve frowns when she doesn’t let up - the annoying sound still echoes through the house. Just as he’s about to tell her to quit it, Lucas slaps her hand away; the action earns him a prompt shove on the arm.

“I heard there was a pool,” Max says. 

Her overnight pack is slung over her shoulder, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. The group is huddled onto the step, all carrying their belongings with them.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve steps back, pulling the door back with him, “Down the hall, take a left-”

“I’ll find it. Come on guys.”

The girl pushes forwards, with Lucas and Will pursuing closely behind her. Mike and El follow soon after - El’s hand is wrapped tightly around his elbow.

Steve starts to grow concerned when he doesn’t see you or your brother. Maybe you ditched him to go hang out with Hargrove. 

He hates that he thought that. Of course you wouldn’t. It still bothers him though, why you said yes.

But then Steve hears your bickering cut through the chilly November breeze, and he can’t help the warmth that spreads through his chest. 

“Here, take this-”

“No! I’m not carrying your shit!”

The corner of Steve’s mouth curls up at your tone. He hopes he gets used to your arguments - god knows he doesn’t want to lose either of you.

And then he thinks about what was admitted that night. That maybe things would be better if he realized how happy you make him.

That he’s happier when he’s with you than he was with Nancy.

That scares him. He doesn’t know why.

—

Max couldn’t get into the pool fast enough; she was still wearing one of her socks when she drove in. She quickly found out it wasn’t deep enough to do so.

“I still can’t believe you convinced Hop to let her come,” Steve mutters, approaching your side before passing you a can of Coke.

As much as you might wish it was something stronger, you’re not sure you’d like to be tipsy around any of the kids. Who knows what secrets could spill.

Steve gestures to El, who’s perfectly content just dipping her toes into the warm water; you taught her how to roll her jeans into tight, clean cuffs as to not get her clothes wet. She watches the others throw around a foam football, clapping anytime someone catches it successfully - which isn’t often.

You shrug a bit and gladly accept the drink, “As soon as he heard I would be there, he was fine with it. You know, I’m trustworthy.”

Steve’s standing a little too close - his arm brushes yours every few moments. Every touch has been amplified since you felt the undeniable electricity; any nudge or tap makes your heart rate pick up, no matter how small.

Steve doesn’t get to reply, Will’s pass just misses Mike’s hand; the ball bounces against the concrete before landing against the fence on the other side of the yard.

You sigh while sending a nasty glare to the boys, setting down your soda, “Wait, I’ve got it.”

Steve chuckles as you walk over, waving off their excuses and holding conversation; he can’t hear the banter over the radio that’s blasting the hits. And then something comes to mind, something you’d hate. 

He kneels down next to El - her curls bounce as she turns her head to him. Steve keeps his voice low, eyes bouncing between you and the young girl, “I’ve got an idea.”

“Mike, you missed a perfectly good shot!” You say, siding with Will in the argument. 

“Thank you!” He exclaims, “At least somebody notices talent around here.” He smiles when you send him a sly wink and a thumbs up.

Mike’s words stutter as he attempts to defend himself, “My-my hands are WET! We’re in a POOL! It’s not my fault!” He’s motioning wildly now, splashing water around as he speaks.

You start to approach the water’s edge, spinning the ball between your fingers as you answer, “Yeah, tell that to the other thirty times you miss-”

As soon as you come close enough to the pool, you’re pushed a few feet forward, limbs flailing rapidly in surprise. A wave cascades over the group as you land in the water, quickly drenching them and turning Dustin and Lucas into sputter messes; they can’t tell if they’re coughing or cackling.

Once your head comes up from the surface, Steve and El’s laughter grabs your attention. Steve offers his hand for a high-five, which she eagerly returns, “Nice job, kid - that was awesome!”

You brush your hair away from your face and begin blinking rapidly to rid it from your eyes, “You two are so gonna get it!”

“It was Steve’s idea,” El replies between giggles, to which the boy in question deflects the blame, “Wha- you’re the one who did it!” 

“What the hell was that?!”

“Oh come on, that was funny!” Steve answers your outburst, relishing the moment that came before, “You should’ve seen the look on your face, Henderson. Absolutely priceless.”

The frown you have cracks a bit at his joy. It’s hard to not let his infectious happiness influence you. The water’s deep enough to come up to your chest as you wade over to the pair of them, “But now my clothes are all wet! These are my good jeans!”

Steve exhales, feeling a bit of guilt wash over him at your whining, “Alright fine. I’ll help you up, come here.”

But as soon as Steve’s fingers wrap around your bicep, yours tighten on his wrist - Dustin would recognize your mischievous expression anywhere.

“Wait, Steve-”

Your brother’s comment comes too late, because you’ve already yanked Steve in too. Another splash covers the kids; Lucas wipes water from his cheeks, “Oh, come on!”

“There. Now we’re even,” You add as Steve combs his hair back. It sticks up in chunks in random places, making your mouth curl up in a smirk.

“I guess I deserved that,” Steve coughs as he pulls his soaked sweater from his skin, before turning to you when a laugh bubbles from your throat.

“You should’ve seen your face, Harrington.”

There’s a pause before Steve responds. He’s overwhelmed by your actions, how that glint in your eyes makes his heart flutter, makes him speechless for the first time in a long time.

Instead he lunges, an arm wrapping loosely around your waist to pull you closer, only to splash more water in your face. 

“You’re so dead!” You shout before pushing Steve back underneath the water, but his hold strengthens, pulling you down with him briefly before popping up again. 

There’s a moment that occurs right after breaking the surface. 

Your hand comes to rest on Steve’s shoulder, the fabric of his clothes twist in your fist as your gazes meet. Heat crawls up your neck when his palm slides over your back, and his focus is drawn to your lips. 

God, he could kiss you right now. 

But he’s still in love with Nancy. And nothing about this is fair to you.

Then the realization hits - the kids are still here. 

“I’ll uh-“ Steve clears his throat, moving himself away as you drop your hand. When his touch finally leaves you, the exhale you were holding releases into the sky, suddenly expelled from your lungs.

Steve nods once, a somber manner about him, “I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

You swallow harshly as the feelings start to settle; your stomach aches. Turns out that things between you and Steve weren’t going as well as you thought they were.

Maybe what he said didn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s just confused. Maybe he’s just using you as a way to get over his heartache.

You feel like you could throw up.

You’re barely able to look at the kids, who are all staring silently in your direction, puzzled by what they just witnessed.

“If you guys need anything, I’ll be inside,” You say softly before hoisting yourself up on the metal ladder.

Lucas is the first to speak once you’ve retreated inside.

“Alright, please tell me we all saw that?”

—

You can’t sleep. Not that you’re surprised, you weren’t expecting to.

You just hate how this feels - uncertainty and fear don’t mix well inside your brain.

Even if everything is shitty, at least your relationship with Steve seemed to be better. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

But you can only lie here and listen to Max’s light snores for so long; you need some fresh air. Turns out, you’re not the only person with the same desire.

It’s your voice that draws Steve’s attention.

“You know, the last person out here alone got snatched up, Harrington.”

He can’t help the small smile that spreads over his face at the sight of you, standing there wrapped up in one of his mother’s expensive throws; the hood from his sweatshirt pops out a bit at the top, helping to keep you toasty. 

“Oh yeah? You got a death wish, Henderson?”

You go silent for a moment, hesitating with your response - your exhausted brain can’t seem to come up with a reply. The mixture of the cool November air and the heat that rises from the pool washes over you in waves. It makes your body desperately wish that it could relax.

“No, no I don’t,” You finally reply, moving to sit down next to the water’s edge, “Not yet, anyways.” 

Steve grows confused at your answer. It’s not at all what he expected you to say. He waits a few seconds, pondering his options before deciding to join you. 

His skin tears slightly at the contact with the rough concrete, his eyes are cast towards the ground. 

Your breathing begins to steady once Steve takes a seat by your side, leg pressed to yours. You feel better having him here - you don’t like being alone anymore.

“I can’t sleep either,” He says.

You don’t even have to mention it; he recognizes that look on your face, the desperation for a hint of rest. But he doesn’t know if that’s because he’s still reeling from the harrowing experiences, or if it’s because Nancy’s not there next to him anymore.

“Will went missing about half a block from here,” Steve continues, “It still freaks me out to think about that.”

“There’s a street light right outside my window,” You add, picking at a loose string on your pajama bottoms, “Nine times out of ten I think it’s that thing. And I know that there’s no way it could be...”

You sniffle after trailing off; Steve shifts his gaze to you, watching as you peer out over the calm and quiet landscape, “But that doesn’t stop my mind from imagining it.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. He wishes that he had known about this sooner. Maybe he could’ve helped you move on.

He wants to keep you talking. He hopes that would help you, but he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries. 

That was never something he thought about before. But juggling with these new feelings about you has him reconsidering everything about your friendship. He doesn’t want to make anymore mistakes; you don’t deserve that.

“How are you holding up otherwise?” Steve asks.

Your brow furrows as you hold your hands in your lap, grimacing at the sight of your healing bones. There’s no wonder why you haven’t been able to adjust - a constant reminder is always in sight. 

Your chest heaves as a warm breath expels into the air, “I just… I can’t get rid of that feeling.”

“Which one?” Steve’s eyes are now on your face, studying you softly. The lights from beneath the pool’s surface gloss over your features - it’s absolutely mesmerizing. 

“I’m still so scared, Steve,” You gulp, gaze trained on the water ahead, “I’m so scared that something’s gonna happen again.”

“Eleven closed the gate,” He says, “We’re safe now.” 

You shake your head slightly, pulling the blanket closer to your chilled frame, “That’s not what scares me.”

You don’t need to continue for Steve to understand. He can’t imagine what’s been running through your mind, although your behavior from the past few weeks is starting to make more sense.

A light dusting of purple and blue still covers your jawline. God, how he wishes he could wipe it all away, forget that ever happened, forget that it’s his fault you’re burdened with the memory of that night. He didn’t do enough. 

Maybe if he had, you would have been spared.

“I’m terrified of what he did to you.”

Steve’s admission hangs in the air for a moment. He almost grows embarrassed of it, but being vulnerable doesn’t scare him as much as it did. 

He’ll never be able to get that image out of his head. You, bruised and bloodied at Billy’s mercy - he sees it when he closes his eyes at night.

You don’t know what to feel at his words, you just know that it makes your heart race. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone say anything like that to you before. 

Steve’s forehead creases when he feels your fingertips brush his knuckles, still tender from trying to beat Hargrove senseless.

He adjusts to intertwine your hands, feeling a sudden wave of relief come over him as your palms press together. Then, somehow you’re both inching even closer, head resting on his shoulder as it becomes painfully clear.

He knows why he was scared before. Because this, this feels real. 

“It took me a while to get over her too,” You say, voice just above a whisper, “She has a way with people, you know.”

Steve doesn’t understand how you can make something sound both emotionally heavy and soft at the same time. 

His lips are pressing a kiss to your temple soon after - reassurance that he’ll be here for you. You squeeze his hand tighter in response, closing your eyes as the anxiety dulls.

“Yeah, I know.”

—

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #st fic #st imagine #almost paradise #my writing #my gif

[stevesharrlngtons]

120 steve

he’s pampering me, let him be 

not a shot for shot scene (bc u know im not a fan), but may hold slight spoilers for those who haven’t finished st3 yet. but it’s kinda an au? idk, but i hope you enjoy lmao

you were getting sick and fucking tired of coming so close to your death. you were far too young to have seen what you had, experience the trauma that had been dished your way, and have to live forever with the knowledge of interdimensional creatures out for blood.  

and as you sat now in the starcount food court, with blood caked skin, a throbbing headache and the knowledge of possessions, russian spies and more upside down bullshit, you longed deeply for a time when wondering if steve would like your new lip color was your biggest problem. that’s what mattered, not hoping that you would evade monsters and live to see the next day.  

everything just kept happening so fast. in ‘83 it felt like days. in ‘84, weeks. now, you swore you, robin, steve, dustin and erica had been fighting for months, years even. you had to remind yourself continually that it was only friday, and not months in the future. two days ago steve had planned a date for the two of you. nothing fancy, just a movie and burgers at the drive in, but you had been looking forward to it. you had been looking forward to a night off. you were supposed to be swapping spit with your boyfriend in the back of a movie theater, not listening to chief hopper and dustin play rapid catch up on the newest threats.  

you gnawed at your thumb nail, letting your mind go blank and take a rest. you weren’t sure when you’d be privy to another calm moment like this. it needed all the time it could get.

you stayed in your blissfully unaware bubble until you felt a tap on your shoulder. thumb still resting on your lips, you glanced up to see one of the men who had come in with hopper looming over you.

when he saw he caught your attention, he shook his hand at you gently. he held a damp handkerchief and was montioning to your blood covered knees.

“oh, um thank you.” you offered a sweet smile as you gingerly took the handkerchief from the man, who grinned when you took it.

he then turned to the other tag along, muttered in words you could now recognized as russian and looked back to you, smile still intact.

“he says to tell him if you need anything else.” the man informed you.

“uh, alright. tell him thank you?” you breathed an uncomfortable laugh as your eyes darted between the two strange men.

“она говорит спасибо.”

she says thank you.

his grin only widened.

“i don’t think i caught your name, either of you.” you looked between both of them again.

“murray bauman,” he extended his hand which you took, “and this is alexei.”

“(y/n) (y/l/n), it’s a pleasure. though, i wish it weren’t under less threatening circumstances.” you said with a charismatic lit to your voice.

murray relied your words in russian as you shook alexei’s hand, who placed his free hand on the back of your hand clasped in his.

“удовольствие все мое.”

the pleasure is mine.

with him still holding you hand, you glanced over to murray, your smile staying put as to not tip alexei off on your slight discomfort.

“he says the pleasure is all his.”  

“quite the charmer.” you demurely dipped your head.

“она сказала, что ты очаровательный.”

she says you’re charming.

“она очаровательная.” alexei replied almost instantly, a slight blush dusting his cheeks.

murray chuckled, “he says you’re the charming one.”

“did he flirt with joyce this much?” you prompted, turning back to rid the blood from your knees.

“that was jim’s prerogative.” murray scoffed, and you laughed.

“well, it is nice to know that i am the least bit alluring in this state. i feel like i’ve been hit by a truck.”

alexei’s eyes were ping ponging between you and murray as you spoke out of his native tongue.

“так?“

so?

“она польщена твоим флиртом.”

she is flattered by your flirting.

alexei didn’t reply, but his bashful look said it all.

while you cleaned, alexei flirted and murray translated, steve stood watching it all from a far. his eyes narrowed as he watched you laugh and reply back to whatever murray had just said. the russian asshole he was with was giving you some looks steve didn’t approve of. this green feeling wasn’t unfamiliar territory for steve, but he didn’t think he’d be experiencing it here and now, of all times.

you were naturally appealing and attractive to others, you exuded it. people were drawn to you, adored and worshipped you when your orbit caught them. you couldn’t turn it off, couldn’t push people away, no matter the situation. but right now, steve wished you could.

“aye, what do you think they’re talkin’ about?” steve elbowed robin and tipped his chin over to where you sat.

robin observed the scene for a moment before speaking.

“if i had to guess? russian doctor dude is trying to butter up your girl. i can tell from here he’s flirting hard core.”

steve didn’t need any more encouragement than that to stalk across the food court toward to three of you. when he arrived, steve joined in on the laughter, his obviously forced and angry.

“wow, what’s so funny over here? didn’t think the end of the world would be a laughing matter.” steve practically berated.

“well, we were actually just making light of this situation. we’ve done this before, baby. y’know if we get to in our heads, we crumble.” you reached up to take steve’s hand in yours hoping it would calm him, but his resolve only hardened.

“yeah, yeah, yeah, cool, cool, cool. so, shitbag soviet over here ain’t bothering you?” steve glared daggers into a very confused alexei.

“oh, goodey. another man in this group incapable of expressing their insecurities in a constructive way.” murray chimed in sarcastically.

“the fuck you just say?” steve took a step forward and puffed out his chest at murray’s comment. sadly, only proving murray’s point further.

you quickly turned around to the two men behind you and kept a death grip on your boyfriend’s hand.  

“murray, darling. alexei,” he perked up at the mention of his name, “can you both go grab me a cup of ice and something to eat? i’m starved.”

“она попросила лед и еду.” murray relayed.

she asked for ice and food.

“женский мальчик ее разозлил?” alexei asked, worried.

did the feminine boy make her angry?

“нет, что-то говорит мне, что она много занимается этим.” murray snorted a laugh before leading alexei off to find what you requested.

no, i have a feeling she deals with this a lot.

“what? what did they say about me?” steve craned his neck to watch them leave.

“sorry, i didn’t become fluent in russian since the last time i saw you.” you replied.

“well, i know it was about me. commie assholes.” he cursed.

you slapped his leg, “hey! what the hell?”

“those commie assholes are helping us figure this shit out. don’t be an a dick.”

“you’re only saying that because he’s kissing your ass.” steve muttered as he flexed his jaw.

“can’t get mad at him for something you love to do too, harrington.” you shot him a smile.

he looked at you and rolled his eyes, why did your smile have to be so cute? could you stop being so cute for five fucking seconds?

“whatever, it’s still annoying. even robin could tell how thick he was laying it on with you.” steve grimaced, coming to sit next to you.

“he’s pamering me, let him be.” you sighed and rested your temple against his shoulder. as you did, steve slung his arm around you.

“i should be pampering you. not that fuckin’ babushka.” steve brought you closer to him, reveling in your closeness and satiating his protective instinct.

somehow after a day of running from russians, being tortured and sweating from pure fear, you still smelled amazing. god, he hated how perfect you were sometimes.

“let him. let’s me conserve my energy for when i pamper you after this is all over.” you lifted your head briefly to press a kiss to his cheek.

“if we get out of this.”

“we will. this is all gonna work out.”

steve wasn’t so sure. there was still so much that could go wrong. the obstacles were rising and viable plans were dwindling. billy was out there with his army of flayed, ready and waiting to kill them all, and their one weapon was weak and acting faulty. but, steve wasn’t going to let himself be cynical. like you said, you had done this before, side by side and won. so what was a third time? what was the saying? third time’s the charm? he could only hope that applied now.

but in case it didn’t, steve memorized this moment with you. curled to his chest, smelling like fresh air and wild flowers.

feedback is greatly appreciated!!

requests are closed 

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington drabble #stranger things imagine

[initiala]

what’s left of me

A soul for a soul. That's the deal, right?

a post-Endgame fix-it fic. The canon is dead and I killed it.

{on AO3} {on FF.Net}

ABSOLUTELY SPOILERS HERE

I tried to get her back.

It's the hardest thing, waiting in the shadows, listening to them argue about who gets to die - who kills themselves for the cause.

It was supposed to be me.

He flinches at the explosion, hears Clint's bow clatter against the stone, the footsteps quickening. Natasha's shout and he dares to look out from behind the rock and his heart plummets as she disappears over the edge.

It's hard, but he hears them arguing, still, dangling over the precipice.

"Damn you!"

"Let me go."

"No. Please don't."

"It's okay."

And Clint's anguished cry tells him everything the blinding flash of light doesn't, that Natasha's gone, she's not coming back, it's irreversible.

She's not coming back.

Steve's had some bad hands dealt to him over his life. Parents gone too soon. Crappy health. Denied the chance to do some good again and again, until someone took a chance on a scrawny kid who couldn't breathe right most days. Then denied the chance some more, put on tour like a circus monkey, a slap in the face.

Losing Bucky. Losing Peggy.

He's not losing Natasha too.

He's lost seventy years but gained seven - seven not so bad ones, with her at his side with her quiet jokes and her own persistent pursuance of truth and justice. She'd been the one to pull him back together after the Snap, after they'd killed Thanos, pulling every trick in the book to keep whoever was left in the loop and doing whatever they needed to keep the entire universe from imploding on itself from the genocide. She'd pushed him into helping others, knowing he'd understand more than anyone else how difficult it was to move on from a horrifying change in your life.

He'd pushed her to sleep a little more, to let Danvers and Okoye run their recon and let Rhodey follow up on leads.

He doesn't remember who'd pushed whom into bed first, but they found comfort in one another for that first year or so, before finally admitting there was something more, something that had been simmering in the background since the start.

He'd found Bucky. He'd found Peggy.

He'd be damned if he wasn't going to find Natasha too.

Maybe you ought to go talk to him!

The spectre lingers near the edge, the hood keeping its face in shadow as Steve steps into the light. The case feels light in his hand, as if the item it contains knows it's home and is trying to fly out; he'd left Mjolnir left in its own time on Asgard, the other stones back in their respective homes. The Soul Stone is the last to return and he's got all the time in the world to barter for Natasha's life.

"Steven, son of Sarah."

He knows that voice.

Red Skull looks on with the same indifference he remembers from eighty years before; nothing surprises him anymore, not the least the appearance of his old enemy from halfway across the universe and a lifetime ago. He steps forward, opening the case as he goes. "The stone you seek is no more," Red Skull intones.

Steve lifts up the Soul Stone. "Returning it, actually."

For a moment, Red Skull actually looks surprised, then confused. "Why? The price has been paid, the conditions met."

"About that," Steve says. "You said the conditions were a soul for a soul." He held out the stone, settling his stance and meeting the spectre's gaze squarely. "So I offer it back, to cut out the alternate reality this made, in exchange for a soul."

Red Skull grimaces, stepping back into shadow. "Once the exchange has been made, it cannot be undone."

"Says who?"

"The stone."

"Bullshit."

The inhuman face floats just inches from his own now, eyes piercing into his own. Steve's hand closes over the stone, clenching into a fist. "You are condemning me, boy, to a curse that will last infinitely. Returning the stone will not bring her back. Returning the stone will only trap me here until the next wandering soul comes to try and claim it, only to fail yet again."

The stone feels warm in his hand. "I can't say I care too much about condemning you. I thought that had been taken care of already, but I'll gladly do it again after everything you did. But the fact remains - the conditions for the stone are a soul for a soul. I very much doubt that whoever created the stones thought that someone would go to all the trouble of returning them moments after they were taken. Her body's not even cold."

He takes a step forward, the stones beneath his feet trembling as the clouds overhead rumble. "So I say again. A soul for a soul." He holds out the stone, its light piercing as it hovers over his palm.

"Give her back to me."

"A soul for a soul."

The whisper calls to mind the roar of a waterfall and the slithering of snakes over fallen leaves, the cold of space and the blaze of a volcano. It is all and it is nothing as light streaks down from the heavens and encases the rock pillars around them. The warmth in his hand increases to a burn and power pulses from the stone, pushing him back and blinding him all at once-

Until there is darkness.

Clint, where's Nat?

His heartbeat sounds oddly loud in his ears and his body aches. It takes him a moment to register that he's laying in a pool of water, that being partially submerged is why his heart beats so loudly, that his body aches from being exposed to the power of an Infinity Stone.

But there is a weight on his chest.

He sits up carefully, aware that she's been through a trauma and might not be fully awake or okay just yet. He holds her, using the water and his hands to clean her face of blood and checking her for a source or further injury, listening to her steady breathing and praying to whatever was listening that this wasn't some kind of monkey's paw - that she'd returned and she'd be herself and not some facsimile of Natasha Romanoff.

He hadn't listed any conditions. He probably should have listed some conditions.

A soul for a soul.

She opens her eyes. Green, clear, confused, darting this way and that as she draws a shaky breath and tries to sit up on her own. "How-?"

"We won," he tells her. It's not the first thing he wanted to say, and it's not even the second thing he thought he should say, but she's looking around like everything has gone wrong but he just needs to tell her the most important parts, that everything's changed and a lot of it did go wrong, but they got the job done.

They won. That's all that matters, now.

She's waiting for him down the street, lurking in the shadow of a tree and ignoring the scandalized looks from passersby. "She took it well?" she asks, holding out her hand for him to take.

"She understood, as much as I could explain it anyway. She's married, anyway. Good guy, loves her for who she is." Steve pauses, glancing over his shoulder. "I can't say it didn't tempt me to stay," he admits quietly, knowing she's done and forgiven him for worse.

Natasha steps in front of him and he takes a handkerchief from his pocket - an old habit, sure, but it comes in handy now when he wants to wipe away another streak of blood left maring her skin. Her eyes are sad but there's a smile on her lips. "You love her," she said, catching his hand with hers before he can pull away.

"And part of me always will," he says. "She loved me before I became... this. But she's in the past-my past. I found you. You never gave up on me, not in the beginning and not through all those years on the run and trying to figure out life after Thanos. You reminded me that I wasn't always Captain America, that I was still Steve Rogers. You helped me remember why I signed up for this, why we kept going after SHIELD, after the Snap."

She's shaking her head. "Only because I couldn't stand seeing you break. You needed something to believe in, a reason to keep fighting and stay sane. I took over the insane stuff so you didn't have to."

"I believe in you, Natasha."

His lips find hers, soft but with feeling, pouring everything he couldn't find the words to say into a simple gesture. She presses her forehead against his and he feels dampness against his cheek. "You found me," she whispers.

"I didn't know what I would do if I lost you."

They remain that way for another moment before she pulls back first, sniffling and swiping at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. "Well. Where do we go now, Cap?"

He smiles, tugging her hand and leading her down the street. He's still got a few vials of Pym particles, he knows their quantum GPS's are still sync'd to the new portal in 2023, but he's not in any particular hurry to go anywhere. "I know a good place we can go and get some milkshakes," he says. "Best in Brooklyn, hand to God."

They've got all the time in the world, after all.

#steve rogers #natasha romanoff #romanogers #romanogers ff #amanda writes #endgame spoilers #wow i haven't written these two in so long #it was a dynamic change #ANYWAY THE CANON IS DEAD AND I KILLED IT PERSONALLY

[tisfan]

Ex Nihilo Fihil Fit

Title Ex Nihilo Fihil Fit (From Nothing comes Nothing) Link A03 Square Filled O4 Ship Brock Rumlow/Bucky Barnes (WinterBones) Rating Explicit Major Tags smoking, aftermath of injuries, Steve has guilt, Bucky has issues, hand job, continued enthusiastic dubcon, shotgunning, drug use Summary In the aftermath of the helicarrier battle, Rumlow is desperately injured and calls to the one person who might help him. The Winter Soldier. Who still has a mission to complete. Word Count 3,071 Created for @mcukinkbingo 

For @shi-toyu -- a sequel to Quid Pro Quo

A/n: Bucky’s consent in here is still both enthusiastic and dubious, as he’s still brainwashed. Rumlow’s consent is also a little dubious, because he’s injured and high as a kite on morphine. You know your own state of mind.

The Asset dragged the man (Steve, that’s Steve, that’s Steve) to the shore. The man coughed up an obscene amount of water from the river and started breathing, ragged. The Asset looked down at the man. (Steve! Steve you fucking idiot, that’s--)

“-- james?”

The com unit fritzed in his ear. A crackle of static and then a soft, pained voice. The Asset was already fighting the… the other (Bucky!) in his head, conflicted between his need to finish the mission and his need to save the man (Steve!). The tug of war was so great, the Asset could almost feel his brain being ripped apart.

Which meant that James -- that third and most elusive of the shades that haunted the Asset -- had a target of opportunity and he took it with sly vengeance, shoving both Bucky and the Asset aside.

The Asset didn’t fight.

He never fought the shadows of his past; that was for handlers and words and cryo. It wasn’t his job to keep his fractured brain together.

“... james i need an extraction…”

The Asset retreated with one last look at the man (Steve!) on the side of the water, bleeding and breathing.

…

“Brock, give me your position,” James said into the com. “I’m on my way. Mission failure, the target is still alive.”

“...abort mission…” crackle, pop, hiss… “... ambulance, west on 66. GW hospital. James… I’m… dy--”

No. No.

James wasn’t going to lose him. He settled his gear, got his bearings, and started to run.

Everything hurt, everything. His fucking arm was broken and was going to need to be rebroken to set the bone correctly.

At his best, James could run upwards of sixty miles an hour, for about three hours before he’d collapse. Today… not his best day. He barely made it to the hospital ahead of the ambulance. He waited until the driver got out of the vehicle before he hijacked it. Restrained, he pointed his gun at the medical team. “Get out.” They bailed, and James drove.

“Drive it like you stole it, hotshot,” Brock said from the back of the ambulance. His face was covered with a breathing mask; his body was broken and bloody, but he was awake, and those warm brown eyes of his were watching everything with the diligence of a predator.

“I did steal it,” James said, and then he laughed, a short bark of a sound, choppy and ugly. “What happened?”

“Building came down,” Brock told him. “Fucking helicarrier crashed into it.”

James swallowed hard. “My fault--”

Brock waved it away. “Drive first, blame later.”

James drove.

(more below the cut or at A03)

There wasn’t pain, and Rumlow wasn’t sure if that was a bad sign or not. He’d been crushed under the building, he’d been burned, he’d been-- why wasn’t there pain?

There was darkness, black and unrelenting. He couldn’t feel anything, it was like he was a series of muddled and confused thoughts with no body attached. Had he died, was he dead.

He forced his tongue to work, tried to work up enough spit to open his mouth. Managed to poke his tongue between his lips; they rasped, dry and chapped, and that was something, at least. He made a sound.

“Shhh.” A voice. “I’m here.” Something cold touched his mouth, a trickle of water, and Rumlow opened his mouth, greedy. Warm fingers, tasting like gun oil, shoved a piece of ice in his mouth.

“Sitrep?”

“Safehouse,” James told him. “You’re in bad shape. Burned. Crushed. Hydra’s fallen. SHIELD, too. Captain America is in the hospital. He’s not dead.” There was the sound of a gun slide being reassembled. The unspoken yet. “Can you finish a mission, now?” Rumlow asked. He didn’t want to doubt, but he’d watched as Bucky, that fucking little puppy, drop-kicked Brooklyn boy, bubbled to the surface. Watched as Pierce tried to slap it out of him, and failed. Bucky, so damn close to the surface and damn Pierce for putting the Asset out there in the first place. Hadn’t the man done his fucking research? Didn’t he know the few times they’d almost lost the Asset before had been because he’d come across something that reminded him of Captain fucking America? (“Let’s hear it for Captain America!” It was on the fucking film, for shit’s sake?)

“Ain’t a mission,” James told him.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s personal,” James said. There was a puff of air, then James’s mouth touched his cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna take care of you. Few days, til you’re stable. Then I’ll get him. I’ll fucking kill him.”

For you. That went unspoken, too.

Steve tried to tell himself it was a dream, because none of the rest of it made any goddamn sense at all.

He’d woken up a few times, with Sam sitting next to him. Once with Nat. Fury had been there for about ninety seconds at one point, disguised as a janitor. It wasn’t a look that suited him.

But Steve woke up one night, dark as hell.

Wasn’t even aware that there was another person in the room for a few minutes, then--

“Bucky?”

A shadow detached itself from the wall, stepped forward. It wasn’t the Winter Soldier in his black tactical gear. It wasn’t that ice cold, emotionless face, that killer stride. It wasn’t even the wide eyed terror of a trapped animal that Steve had seen on the helicarrier.

Just a man. In a green coat with a sweatshirt underneath and his hair tucked up under a ballcap. Just a man with healing bruises. He didn’t look lots better than Steve did, probably should have been in a hospital himself.

“No,” Bucky said. “I ain’t your Bucky.”

He did have a gun, and Steve would have worried more about that if he cared. He didn’t care. He was so tired, he was still in pain, and his chest ached with the strain of not bolting out of the bed to throw his arms around the man who stood there, not quite hostile, in the middle of his hospital room.

“You know me…”

“I don’t belong to you,” Bucky said. He raised the gun, lowered it again. Took a step closer. There was pain, anger, confusion in those blue eyes.

“You never did,” Steve said, and that much was true. More like Steve had belonged to Bucky. Body, soul, and heart. Everything. He would have done anything for Bucky. “Are you okay, pal?”

“I ain’t your pal, neither,” Bucky said. The gun moved again, threatening.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve said. “Doesn’t matter if you know me, doesn’t matter if you care about me, none of that matters. I know you. I care about you.”

Bucky shook his head. “You don’t know me,” he said. The gun shifted a third time, and Steve tracked its movements.

“Are you here to finish your mission?”

“No missions,” Bucky said. “Hydra’s gone. Pierce is dead. There’s no missions. Just revenge.”

“For what?” Steve was in shock, what the hell had he done to Bucky that Bucky would want revenge?

“You hurt Brock,” Bucky said. He tapped the gun against his thigh a few times.

Steve blinked. Of course he’d hurt Rumlow, Rumlow’d tried to arrest him, succeeded in taking them captive for a while. Rumlow had hurt Sam. Rumlow was fucking Hydra, of-- Steve bit his lip and did the only smart thing he could do. Didn’t say anything.

It was harder than it should have been, not to justify, not to explain. Not to point blame at Sam, or at Bucky himself, or even a Rumlow, who started the whole goddamn thing by being a treacherous snake in the first place.

The silence stretched between them.

Then, finally, Steve couldn’t take it anymore. “It was an accident,” he said. “The helicarrier crashed into the Triskelion. You were there. A lot of people got hurt. I… wish it hadn’t had to be that way.” The price of freedom is high… that’s what he’d said. He was willing to pay it, and yet Steve never was the one who bore that burden. Other people, hundreds of people, had died in the battle. But not Steve.

Bucky’s hand was shaking. “You tried to-- tried to take everything from me,” he snapped. The gun came back up, pointed directly at Steve’s heart.

“Bucky,” Steve burst out, not able to help himself. “What the hell is Rumlow to you?”

Steve shouldn’t have said that, because the pieces of Bucky’s expression fell apart. He was grieving, anguished. In agony. What the hell had Hydra done to him, Bucky’d never looked like that, ever. Not…

“Shut up! He’s not your Bucky. There’s no Bucky here. Bucky’s dead, he’s dead, and we killed him, Hydra killed him. He had nothing. Nothing to hold on to.” He brandished the gun at Steve, and there wasn’t any fear in that room, not from Steve’s side, but Bucky was wild, and there didn’t seem to be anything Steve could do to calm him. It wasn’t like the first few fights, where Winter Soldier was calm, icy. Almost inhuman. “Brock… Brock helps me. He helps me, he takes care of me, he loves me, and you can’t have him! He’s mine, he’s mine, and you’re nothing! You’re nothing to me, and why can’t I kill you?” The Winter Soldier was breathing harder, sweating, face wild and yet somehow soft at the same time.

Oh. Oh, my god. Everything south of Steve’s neck went numb with shock and horror. “He’s your lover,” Steve said.

Winter Soldier -- or Bucky, or whoever he was -- actually nodded. Lowered the gun a little.

Right. Steve was going to throw up. He knew a little about brainwashing, about conditioning. Just the things that Natasha had confided in him, but her matter-of-fact retelling of her own trauma, of the things they had done to prepare her for what she became… if they’d even done a fraction of those things to Bucky, it was no wonder he was divorcing himself from the man he’d once been. The man that those things had happened to. “Christ, Buc-- what should I call you? What… what can I do?”

He’d meant what can I do to help you.

Instead, the Winter Soldier took it as license to raid Steve’s supplies. Pain pills that Steve didn’t take because they didn’t affect him. The damn IV and the spare bag. He searched the cabinet, took the doctor’s draw kit and a bag full of bandages.

“He’s not dead--” Jesus. Bucky’s captor and handler and liar and probably rapist was still alive and Bucky was going to go help him?

“Not if I can do anything about it,” the Winter Soldier told him. “Get more. I don’t care how you do it. A debriding kit. Pain medication. Antibiotics. You get them for me.”

“I’ll need time,” Steve said and that was nothing but true.

“Put together a package. Get your bird-friend to put it on the roof for me. No traps, no tricks, or you won’t be the first one to die,” Bucky said. It wasn’t even a threat, just a fact. A cold, ugly fact.

“I’ll do what I can.” Jesus. Even help Rumlow, if it would keep Bucky on a short tether until they could figure out what to do, how to help him, break him out of this.

“You didn’t kill him,” Rumlow said. James had washed him down, slow, with a damp cloth. Gave him two pills and an injection -- explained how he’d bugged the man’s room, to keep an eye on things. James couldn’t -- or wouldn’t -- say if he’d hoped the target tried to cheat him, thus earning a quick death, or didn’t, thus helping. In either case, James had tasted and tested everything they’d put in the bag. It would do, for the time being.

James shrugged one shoulder. “He’s useful, for now. We’ll get you patched up, an’ then get the fuck out of here. He’s tryin’ to keep me close. I don’t trust him.” There was just enough puzzlement in his face that Rumlow knew James was fighting his programming. Knew that it was going to be over soon. Cap’s pal, Bucky, was fighting his way to the surface.

“Yeah, stubborn as fuck, that one,” Rumlow said. “I’m just gonna slow you down--”

“I’m not leaving you,” James said. “I got you a present.”

Rumlow raised an eyebrow, then grimaced as it pulled at the damaged skin of his face. “Better than a hospital grade morphine drip an’ chocolate pudding?” Even through the morphine, that hurt. James hadn’t let him near a mirror; Rumlow couldn’t tell if that was just a coincidence, or deliberate, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what he looked like. He’d been in pain before, but getting a building dropped on you would slow down just about anyone.

James held up a pack of cigarettes, brown wrapped. Nat-Shermans. The ones Rumlow smoked when he was celebrating.

“What the fuck are we celebrating?”

“We’re alive,” James said. He put one hand down on Rumlow’s elbow, one of the few places that didn’t hurt, ache, burn, or twinge. The small patch of relatively unharmed skin was unduly sensitive and James traced his fingers gently over it, sweeping circles along the tender inner skin of Rumlow’s arm. “We’re together.”

Rumlow made another face; his lungs ached with need. James was right; they were celebrating. They were alive. They were free, for the moment. James would take care of him. “I don’t think I can smoke,” Rumlow said, and that hurt, both in the actual pain meaning of the word, and the meaning behind it. He was too weak, too dependent.

James shrugged again. He tore off the cellophane wrapper, tapped the box to pack the tobacco down. He opened the pack, held the dark cigarette between his lips and lit it. Like a pro. Like it was something that he’d done so often the movements were muscle memory. Or something more than muscle memory. The Asset didn’t smoke. Hydra had no reason to allow it, or even offer it. Which must mean Bucky had smoked.

Fuck. Rumlow was going to lose him, lose him to those memories of who he used to be, and-- his chest squeezed again, agony, ripped and tearing, shaking, shattered. Something in his chest broke open, bleeding.

James inhaled, and leaned in close. Before Rumlow could even figure out what he was doing, those plush lips were on his and James was blowing, softly. The taste of tobacco in his mouth. Rumlow inhaled, slow and shallow, drawing the smoke into his lungs as James filtered it for him, made it thin and mild.

Even second hand, shotgunning the cigarette, it burned in his chest, made him light-headed and swimmy. Or maybe that was just James’ mouth, tasting him and the way his tongue moved, delicate and subtle, across Rumlow’s lips.

Rumlow let the smoke back out, curling from his mouth.

Rumlow wasn’t certain when sharing the cigarette became more than that, became apparent that James was seducing him. Somewhere in the nicotine haze and the deeper, darker pool of morphine, there was want. Even as his blood heated and raced, Rumlow’s brain was sharp. Cold. Calculating. James was teasing at him, of his own will, in his own mind.

Can I keep you?

Will you stay?

If Rumlow made James his, some primitive brand, some possessive need, James would stay, would stay with him. Always.

“You want another?” James asked, hand still moving over the few patches of Rumlow where his body wasn’t destroyed.

“Yeah.” And even in the roughness of his voice, smoke-thick and aching, Rumlow knew he was asking for more.

James drew more smoke, gave it to Rumlow like the most precious drop of water in the desert. Licked at the cracked and aching mouth. Nudged until Rumlow was forced to loll his head back, displaying his throat.

And then James had no choice, it seemed, except to make love to Rumlow’s neck.

He kissed, thoroughly, sparing no inch of skin in a sensual onslaught against Rumlow’s shattered, scattered nerves. Moved up the line of his jaw, nuzzled softly at the skin just behind his ear. It hurt, damn it hurt, every bit of Rumlow’s body had been battered and bruised, but he didn’t know how to tell James to stop.

Didn’t want him to stop.

A dark current of fear ran under the wanting, but it was swallowed up, discovered and chased away by how excruciatingly gentle James was. Even getting hard hurt; god only knew what his dick looked like, but at least it was still there. Intact enough to get hard.

Rumlow turned his head, met James’s mouth with his own. Tasted smoke and the salt-sweat of the man’s skin.

“I’ve got you, Brock,” James promised him. His hand slid beneath the blankets. Ever so soft, gentle. He stroked Rumlow’s dick. Took another draw of smoke and gave it to him, kissed him while the nicotine passed back and forth between them. Fucked his tongue into Rumlow’s mouth with easy urgency.

It was barely enough pressure, like a sustained tease, but it would have to do. Everything else just hurt too fucking much.

More smoke. More touch. More sweet, stubborn kisses. It was the slowest, most agonizing handjob he’d ever gotten. Minutes rolled by and sweat shivered down his neck as James touched him, stroked him. Breathed for him. Moved with him.

By the time Rumlow tipped over the edge, half the pack of smokes was gone. They both tasted of ash and blood, and Rumlow was sobbing aloud with racking, racing need.

“I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you. Be so good to you. I’m yours, everything, anything, you ever want.”

Rumlow managed to get a hand on the back of James’s neck, pulled the man in and rested his forehead against James’s neck. “Love you.” He stiffened, muscles aching, and then--

There was no pleasure so sweet, so exquisite, as relief from pain.

Coming wasn’t the normal jolt of heat and rush, but a tender quiver. Like pulling the blankets up on a cold night and snuggling in.

Only a few moments of blissful, pain-free rapture. Rumlow was holding on, as tight as he could, knowing that the pain was going to seep back in and drown him. But for this moment… James was holding him up.

#winterbones #brock rumlow x bucky barnes #mcukinkbingo #shotgunning #injuries #enthusiastic dubcon