Blurb Based On This Anon Everyone Say Thank You Anon

Bad Luck ⚡️ Masterlist

Best Friend! Eddie x Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You’re resigned to living in your best friend’s shadow, letting her walk all over you in her designer heels because life is just easier that way. But when she takes the one thing that matters you decide enough is enough. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Series Warnings: Angst, jealousy, pining, heartbreak, unrequited love, reader has poor self-image, swearing, eventual smut, eventual witchcraft/occult themes, eventual dark-ish!reader

This series is 18+ only MDNI

* denotes smut

Part 1

Part 2 *

Part 3 *

𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k 

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt. 

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat. 

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too. 

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well. 

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause. 

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun. 

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years. 

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled. 

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!” 

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love). 

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.” 

“It’s raining.” 

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?” 

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.” 

“How’d you figure?” 

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface. 

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall. 

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.” 

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?” 

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry. 

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.” 

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.” 

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash. 

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?” 

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.” 

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole. 

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it. 

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.” 

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?” 

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries. 

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it? 

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself. 

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says. 

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek. 

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume. 

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom. 

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full. 

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.” 

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.” 

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you. 

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. 

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies. 

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn. 

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!” 

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.” 

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.” 

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease. 

“Take the towels, loser.” 

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin. 

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life. 

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you. 

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain. 

Eddie just stares at you. 

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry. 

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic. 

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh. 

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.” 

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?” 

“What?” 

“Eddie, are you okay?” 

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.” 

“I don’t have any underwear.” 

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry. 

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose. 

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says. 

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.” 

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.” 

“I’m twenty one.” 

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.” 

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest. 

“Wait, where are you going?” 

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.” 

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks. 

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes. 

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?” 

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.” 

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.” 

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Get lost,” Eddie says. 

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.” 

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved. 

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed. 

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.” 

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?” 

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser. 

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.” 

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on. 

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet. 

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.” 

“It felt important at the time.” 

“Yeah?” 

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him. 

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.” 

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.” 

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder. 

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment. 

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.” 

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head. 

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks. 

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different. 

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable. 

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.” 

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead. 

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.” 

“What am I doing?” 

“You’re rubbing my arm.” 

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach. 

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest. 

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end. 

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume. 

“You smell nice,” he murmurs. 

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back. 

Right. Eddie should remember. 

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days. 

“Too much?” 

“The right amount,” he says firmly. 

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this. 

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before. 

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back. 

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.” 

“For me or you?” 

“For me, duh.” 

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.” 

“You think so?” 

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.” 

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.” 

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it. 

“We’re very close together,” you whisper. 

“Super close,” he whispers back. 

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm. 

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do. 

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?” 

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.” 

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?” 

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?” 

What does Eddie think about it? 

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer. 

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?” 

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly. 

He can’t not give it to you. 

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead. 

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue. 

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur. 

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse. 

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly. 

“You wanted to?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.” 

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy. 

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs. 

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly. 

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency. 

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask. 

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring. 

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door. 

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him. 

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says. 

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?” 

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.” 

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?” 

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.” 

Eddie grins back. 

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring. 

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed. 

“Eyes on the road.” 

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather. 

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.” 

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding. 

He sighs. “No, it does not.” 

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.” 

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.” 

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less. 

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.” 

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw. 

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped. 

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say. 

“Then open it.” 

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?” 

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it. 

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease. 

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze. 

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier. 

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working. 

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” 

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully. 

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.” 

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended. 

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.” 

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.” 

“Now who’s not funny?” 

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

Rockstar!Eddie who hears you singing one of Corroded Coffin's demo songs (he always brings them to you for the first listen and approval) in the shower, and secretly records the audio of it on his phone. The next time he brings you the fully completed song, it starts with the soft and sweet sounds of your voice before launching into the usual heavy guitar-lead music you're familiar with.

"Eddie, is that...? When did you record this?"

"Overheard you in the shower, babe. I thought you sounded so pretty and I knew this song was missing something, turns out it just needed your beautiful voice to make it perfect."

Boom Clap

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 1,063

Summary: Before tonight you wouldn't have been able to label your relationship with Bucky but after he gets home earlier than expected from a mission and shows up at the bar everything changes.

Author's Note: Just because, I love him and this look ends me every time and it's lightly based on this song Boom Clap by Charli XCX. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you 🥰

Warnings: it's just Bucky being irresistible and soft too

“Well, something clearly more interesting than this conversation is going on in your mind. Would you like to share it with the rest of us?”

Two pairs of glittering eyes stare at you, twin knowing smiles gracing your friend’s lips and you frantically try to recall what the three of you had been discussing.

“There’s only one thing that can be giving her that look,” Nat laughs. “A man.”

“And not just any,” Wanda adds.

“Bucky,” both women say simultaneously and with devious grins.

You sip your drink to hide your smile.

“You must miss him since he’s been away on the mission all week,” Wanda muses.

You don’t say it but you do miss him. A lot.

“So what exactly is going on with you two?” Nat asks

With a nonchalant shrug you sip your drink again and try to figure out how to label your relationship with Bucky. Your friends wait, expressions expectant but playful.

If you had a definitive answer you would share it but ever since the two of you started hanging out neither of you had given it a label. You were just enjoying each other. In every way. You were happy being with him, that much of which you were sure.

“Umm…” you start.

That’s the only word you get out before you see Wanda and Nat’s drinks pause halfway to their mouths. Their eyes are trained on something just beyond your shoulder, toward the entrance of the bar.

Several other women at the bar pause their own conversation and you sense the shift in energy.

He’s here.

You place your drink down on the bar and turn. Bucky stands just inside the doorway, his black jacket draped over his broad shoulders and his covetous blue eyes focused on you.

Awareness races across your skin coupled with a heat only he can set ablaze. Your pulse quickens and you fight the urge to run into his arms.

He wears all black, from his tight fitted shirt down to his leather boots and his strong jaw is shadowed with dark hair. When he walks toward you at the bar, he moves with such sensual purpose that you notice another woman swooning.

He looks hungry and determined.

And he’s here for you.

You reach out and grab your drink, downing it in one long sip.

Without removing his gaze from yours, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, turning it over and kissing the inside of your wrist, then your palm, then finally, your fingertips.

This time, you hear the breath woosh from Nat and Wanda but Bucky shows no reaction, appearing oblivious to anything else but you.

“Guess he’s back,” Nat whispers to Wanda. You barely catch the words as Bucky consumes your every thought.

“I missed you doll,” he whispers against your wrist.

“I missed you too,” you reply breathlessly.

He lowers your hand from his mouth and keeps hold of it between your bodies. With a soft tug he brings you closer, leaning into your neck and whispering along the shell of your ear.

“Come home with me?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” you murmur.

“Yes, I do doll. I would never take you for granted.”

Your free hand slides up his chest to his jaw, tracing the outline before you softly press your lips to his. His eyes fluttered closed and he breathes you in.

“I’m just going to use the restroom and say goodbye to Nat and Wanda. Meet you back here in five.”

“Hurry,” he murmurs, letting his eyes sparkle with words of unspoken want.

You rush off toward the bathroom, Nat and Wanda right behind you and after relieving yourself and filling your friends in you search for Bucky’s tall figure.

You find him standing at the bar, taking to someone. As you get closer, you see that the woman is standing close enough to brush against him. Unable to see Bucky’s face, you watch as she runs a hand along his arm with a gentle squeeze of his bicep, smiling at him flirtatiously.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you feel your eyes well with unshed tears but you can’t stop your forward movement. Bucky’s face comes into view. His eyes aren’t on the woman but furiously scanning the room. He looks uncomfortable, backing away from her and saying something you can’t hear.

You consider turning and running out but that wouldn’t be fair. You and Bucky have no official label, have never agreed to be exclusive. You can’t even blame the other woman for approaching him. He’s impossible to resist. You should know.

But then his eyes meet yours and you see all the emotions rushing through them, but mostly you see relief.

Taking a deep breath, you continue to walk forward. Bucky holds his arm out, his eyes begging you to walk into his embrace.

You slide into his side in time to hear him say, “here she is. This is my…”

“Girlfriend,” you finish, smiling and extending your hand with your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“Wow, lucky girl,” the woman says as she shakes your hand. “You deserve an award for landing a man like this.”

“I don’t need an award. I’ve got him,” you say as you reach down and take his left hand in yours.

Your eyes meet Bucky’s. “Ready to take me home Buck?”

“Always doll.”

Your hand stays tightly tucked in Bucky’s as you walk down the street toward his apartment. You turn toward him, the warm breeze caressing your skin and the city lights dancing in your eyes. His breath catches in his throat as your lips spread into a wide and reassuring smile.

He stops walking in the middle of the sidewalk and pulls you flush against his chest, his eyes wandering over your face.

“Are you really mine?” he asks as he dips his head. “You’re really my girl?”

“Yours Bucky. I have been from the beginning.”

His fingers spread across your lower back and he slowly drags his hand along the curve of your spine, every inch he covers pressing you closer against him until he reaches your neck and traces the delicate column before cradling your cheek.

He sweeps his thumb along your skin and holds your lips just centimeters from his, whispering, “mine,” as his eyes close and his mouth captures yours.

@randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @goldylions @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @lizette50

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader (Fey)

Prompt: Rockstar Eddie Munson meets his match in his fiercely competent assistant, Fey, as the chaos of his career collides with unexpected emotional depth. State: Finished

Genre: Slow-burn romance, humor, angst, slice of life

Word Count: ~58,000

Sneak Peak:

As Eddie Munson’s assistant, you thought you had the job figured out: keep the rockstar on track, clean up his public disasters, and maybe—just maybe—survive his relentless teasing. But life with Eddie is anything but predictable.

From late-night rescue missions at exclusive LA clubs to managing his chaos with photographers snapping at your heels, you’ve become an expert in handling his larger-than-life personality. But something weird happens.

Suddenly, you’re juggling more than itineraries and tantrums. There are moments that catch you off guard: Eddie teaching a random little kid to air-guitar, the way he defends you against his cutthroat manager, and the quiet vulnerability that hides beneath his smirking exterior.

But it’s not all heartwarming chaos. Between industry parties where you're painfully out of place, Eddie’s knack for pushing your buttons, and the constant tension that sparks whenever you lock eyes, it’s clear this isn’t just a job anymore. It’s a battle to keep your walls intact while Eddie Munson—infuriating, talented, and impossibly endearing—keeps finding ways to knock them down.

Chapters: [¹][²][³][⁴][⁵][⁶][⁷][⁸][⁹][¹⁰][¹¹][¹²][¹³][¹⁴][¹⁵][¹⁶]

Blurbs:

Eddie needs to squeeze the pimple on your skin! (domestic fluff)

⚠️ Trigger Warnings:

Alcohol and substance use

Mentions of neglect and poor parenting

Emotional manipulation and toxic dynamics

Public scrutiny and paparazzi behavior

Discussions of career and financial pressures

Your Muse

Eddie Munson x Artist!reader

Summary: Eddie finds out what the little secret you’ve been hiding in your sketchbook is.

Warnings: Just fluff I think

Wordcount: 2,332

Eddie knows that you love to draw.

Since the day he met you, you have always had a pen or pencil in hand, doodling whenever the opportunity presented itself. Worksheets, no matter the class, filled to the brim with messy sketches of whatever came to your mind. Palms covered in hearts and flowers from when you got bored listening to your teachers' lessons. But most of the time you would dig into your backpack to retrieve the mysterious little black book that you spent most of your time drawing in.

It was a thing that you never let anyone look at what filled the pages of your sketchbook, not even Eddie had seen the inside of it, and as your best friend he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about what exactly you were hiding. On more than one occasion, though he hates to admit it, he had thought about taking a peek at the, what he presumed were promiscuous, pages of art you spent so much of your precious time working on but the thought alone made him feel an inkling of guilt that he just couldn't get passed.

“What are you drawin’ this time, huh?” Eddie’s question ends in a prolonged yawn; he’s laid back comfortably in your bed trying to take a nap but the scratch of your pencil against rough paper keeps his curiosity piqued enough to overcome his exhaustion from school for the time being. He stretches like a cat along the length of your bed and his feet dangle off the edge, toes wiggling after being still for so long.

You're sitting at your desk hunched over in a way Eddie is sure must be uncomfortable, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows his posture isn't much better. He tries to glance over the top of your shoulder for a chance to see what exactly your drawing but he wasn’t nearly quiet enough because you’re quick to shut the book before his eyes can even break over the hill of your shoulder and all he can do is grunt in annoyance in correspondence to your secrecy. A deep rumble releases from the depth of his chest before he roughly plants his face into your pillow. The smell of your shampoo is enough to make him forget his previous irritation.

Spinning in your chair to face him you smile in amusement, “Why are you so nosey? Wayne didn’t teach you to mind your manners or somethin’?” You're teasing him and he knows it, he lifts his hand just enough to flash you his middle finger and the melody of the giggle you let out in response to his antics makes the beat of his heart accelerate to an alarming rhythm and his stomach flutter with the most vicious of butterflies. He's never been more grateful for a pillow because he’s sure that the heat that’s spreading along the skin of his face is causing his cheeks to redden an embarrassing amount. He can’t believe that just the sound of your laugh has him practically falling to your feet in absolute devotion. He turns his head to glare at you but finds that the glowing smile stretched along your lips, lifting the apple of your cheek which further rounds your face, has his own face softening into a gentle grin that almost matches the brightness of yours. 

Eddie continues to look at you even as you turn away to gently guide your fingers along the worn leather of your sketchbook, there is a look of uncertainty that flashes in your eyes and if Eddie wasn’t paying close attention to you like he always does he wouldn’t have noticed. He makes an effort to change the subject, “We should order in some pizza or something, I’m fuckin’ starving.” 

“Aren’t you always?” Eddie swats your thigh just barley from how you spin your chair to avoid his hand, grumbling words you assume to be comebacks.

You laugh again and despite your previous comment you get up to make the call for your usual pizza with no argument, somewhat of a tradition when Eddie comes over, and dig into the bag Eddie had haphazardly tossed on the foot of your bed when he first got to your place for his wallet; you paid last time so it’s his turn.

The door to your room creaks almost eerily when you open it to step out and creaks again when you close it; he hates that sound. For a while Eddie doesn’t move, just lays comfortable listening to the faint sound of your voice in the kitchen as you order the food. Eddie wishes you had made the call closer so he can hear the sound of your honeyed voice even if it wasn’t aimed at him.

He looks around your room regardless of the fact that he’s been in there more than his own room as of late. His probing eyes find their way to your desk and on your desk, just as you had left it only moments ago, is the little black sketchbook he was always so curious about.

It was wrong, his desire to grab it so he could selfishly get a glimpse of something that was absolutely none of his business. It was a breach of privacy but he had never had such an opportunity, the book was almost always in your line of sight never fully giving someone the chance to open it. He looks at the door, ears straining to see if you were on your way back to the room, but he hears nothing and so, with shaky hands, he stretches his arm across the gap between your bed and the desk and gently grabs the book. The guilt pours in almost immediately and he sighs in frustration. In truth he doesn’t know why he’s so adament on finding out what’s in it, he guesses that maybe he doesn’t like that you feel the need to hide something from him- or maybe he was just greedy, wanting to know everything there was to know about you so that he may keep you closer to his heart more than you were to anyone else's-, he was pretty sure you trusted him he just wasn’t sure why you didn’t with this.

You’ve had no problem letting him have his quick glances at other drawings; the little butterflies you’d draw with precision along the lining of homework, or the randomly drawn eyes in between sections of your notes, why was this so different?

Eddie sighs once more before placing the book back onto your desk, taking care to place just as it was. 

The door opens just as Eddie lays back down and his heart almost bursts out of his chest at how quickly you did it. He still feels that sliver of guilt when you move to giddily plop yourself beside him, letting your fingernails rub at his scalp and rake through the tangles in his unruly hair with a pretty little grin sat perfectly etched into your face. He face plants into the pillow again.

“I almost looked through your sketchbook,” for some reason Eddie’s never felt more full of shame, “I didn’t though.” He says the last part sternly as if to reiterate that you can trust him enough not to try again. 

You stay relatively quiet, hand still making its way through the frizzy waves, fingers curling the hair around themselves in an attempt to create curls. Eddie usually enjoys your random spurts of touchiness, revels in it, because it only happens once in a blue moon- when you’re too comfortable to register the way you’re touching him so intimately, but right now it does very little to quiet his nerves in the way he hoped it might. He wonders if you're mad at him.

The silence is deafening, he’s not sure why he said anything at all, the undeniable need to hold himself accountable when it comes to you is aggravating. Even with the reputation of someone like him it was incredibly hard to lie to you. The time he snuck a bite of your lunch abruptly crosses his mind, he remembers how it took all of ten seconds of your frowning stare for him to give in and stop blaming Henderson.

The thought is thrown out the window when he feels your body cuddle up to him, “It’s you.” you whisper the words so quietly he almost misses it.

His head turns to you, for what seems like the nth time tonight, only to find you already looking at his face close enough he can feel the warmth of your breath against his shuttering lips. You’re so close, maybe too close because he’s sure you can see the way his pupils dilated and the way his nose goes a little red in correspondence. 

Eddie’s brows furrow, “What’s me?”

Your eyes dart to look at everything but his eyes, you look at the crease formed from confusion between his brows and the way it makes his button nose scrunch a little, the smile lines that are prominent even without his usual smug grin, you look at the pink of his lips and the way the skin peels from how often he bites at them, you do see the way his pupils dilate and how his nose gets red, “The drawings in the sketchbook- their all drawing of you.”

At first he just watches you, brown doe like eyes looking for signs of deceit or sarcasm as if he thinks you’re seconds away from laughing in his face and telling him “It was a joke” because he doesn't want it to be. He wants to know if you look at him the way he looks at you. He needs to know if you notice how the corner of his eyes crinkle when he laughs the way he notices the way your eyes shine like gold in the light of the morning sun. Do you take notice of the beauty mark that lays hidden under the shield of his eyelashes the way he takes note of and admires every visible mark and scar that litters your face and body? Do you see Eddie the way he sees you? He hopes you do.

The breath he takes before speaking is uncharacteristically shakey compared to the usual confidence he holds in his chest, “Yeah?” 

Your confirming hum, even with it being laced with uncertainty, has his heart soaring to heights of tenderness he has never felt before. He brings his hand to your face and lets his ringed fingers, calloused and scarred, delicately trace the features he swears were sculpted by some sort of deity before letting it settle against your warming cheek with an adoration that could make even the coldest of hearts leap. His touch is so filled with irrefutable love that it could be mistaken for worship in the purest of forms and God does it make your heart ache with a passion like no other.

The euphoric feeling of exhilaration that fills the both of you and the room has you both giggling like children, pressing your foreheads together at the ridiculousness of the situation, everything not having fully settled in your minds.

This natural feeling of contentment between the two of you is all Eddie ever craves. He hoped almost everyday for moments like this- to be the reason you light up with laughter even in moments of seriousness.

“So… Am I like your muse or something? Cause y’know I’d be totally flattered.” The words are muttered as to not disrupt the intimacy of the moment but the teasing tone of his voice is there and a smirk that has his smile lines deepening, a sight you treasure, inches across his flushed face. When you jokingly begin to roll away from him in response to his mocking his hands press firmly into the dip of your waist to keep you close, he couldn’t even possibly think of being more than a foot away from you right now and he’d never pass up the chance to hold you close.

Eddie rubs his nose against yours, his hair tickles your collarbone, “I think you basically confessed to me by the way, sweetheart.”

You think your best friend is the only person in the world who would still crack jokes during times like this. You cuddle your face closer to his letting your lips brush against his just enough to make his breath hitch, “Oh yeah? Maybe you just have an ego and think I confessed to you. I gotta admit Munson, that's a little presumptuous of you.” Your fingers brush a little of his dark hair out of the way.

His hand moves from your waist to your cheek to the back of your neck to tangle his fingers into the hair by the base, “Well maybe I’m feeling a little egotistical.” The kiss he then places on your lips is nothing short of intoxicating, a gentleness that doesn’t exclude the devastating hunger he feels for you. It’s all consuming and all him. His lips are softer than you imagine and as his tongue slides against the seal of your lips for permission to enter you can taste the faintness of the cigarette he had smoked before getting to your place. His tongue dances with your own sensually instead of dirtily and slowly instead of frenzied like he wanted you to feel every ounce of absolute passion he felt. You pull him impossibly closer, hands clenched tightly into the tattered fabric of his metallica t-shirt, only pulling away when you’ve both run out of breath.

Heavy breathing fills the silence of your bedroom and even with his exasperation Eddie trails his lips across your cheek and along your neck like he never wants to stop. “You should pose for me the next time I draw you.”

“I could pose naked.” He giggles immaturely just at the thought.

“Never mind, you ruined it.”

Are You Now or Have You Ever Been Masterlist

Summary: You’re the most popular girl in school, a 4.0 student, a fantastic cheerleader, and a  force to be reckoned with. Eddie is…well, Eddie. When you two mix, it’s like oil and water. Spewing hateful insults one minute and hooking up the next, you and Eddie navigate the thin line between love and hate. 

Enemies with benefits, or more aptly put: enemies to situationship to enemies to lovers. She’s a doozy. Inspired by imgonnagetyouback by Taylor Swift, give it a listen!

WC: 40k, ONLY 2 PARTS

Warnings: 18+ mdni!! Angst with a happy ending, fat shaming (once and not to reader), no use of Y/N, bullying, sex, PiV, unprotected sex, teasing, degradation, humiliation kink, Reader is mean to Eddie, Eddie is mean to Reader, semi-public sex, Eddie is 20 R is 18, groping, fingering, oral (m receiving), ball play, ball worship (I love bawls), body worship, pussy slapping, rough sex, name calling (dirty whore, slut–kinda, cumdump, whore, nasty bitch, desperate whore, bitch, hole), begging, dumbification kinda, ass slapping, dirty talk, mentions of drugs, teasing, mentions of cheating (hypothetical), breeding kink, spitting, cum eating, cream pie, gagging on dick, like a little face fucking but not really, innocence kink kinda if you squint but not really, Eddie hates Jason Carver, slut shaming, malicious attempt at getting someone alone (Jason), weed smoking, brief mention of student-teacher relations (not R or E, student is 18), arguments, angry name calling, insinuation of sex for money, insecurity about living situation, stereotypes of trailer park living, mentions of a gun (no usage just in a literary sense), reader’s parents died in a drunk driver incident and she talks about it crassly at one point, metaphorical addiction a la Nicotine by PATD type beat, small mention of hypothetical weight gain (eddie), mention of “felony sexual assault” but nothing happens it’s just used as a snark against Jason, physical violence (not E to R), punching, kicking, fighitng, I’m making Eddie tall in this so however tall you are he’s taller

A/N: a post with both parts in the same place. I didn't want to split them up, but apparently tumblr has a limit of 1000 blocks of text and you bet your bottom dollar this shit was over 1000 lmao

Main Masterlist

Part 1

WC: 25.4k-ish

Part 2

WC: 14.7k

Something Sweet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x candymaker!Reader

Summary: Bucky had a sweet tooth and stumbled across a candy shop. He found sweetness inside—but not just from the candy

Warnings: Nothing, really. Just a lot of fluff!

Word Count: 8.0k

—<><>—<><>—<><>—

Bucky had a sweet tooth.

It was a weird discovery he made when he ended up in Romania—broken free of the prison he was lost in, only to stay lost but in an entirely new world. Choosing to hide as a civilian meant learning how to be one. Renting an apartment wasn't the same as breaking into someone’s home; taking the bus wasn't the same as hijacking one; going to bed wasn't the same as going back into cryofreeze.

Bucky learned what it was like to forget to eat because he was too busy doing something else. To sleep in and wake up in the evening. To allow himself a second to close his eyes underneath the sun.

To buy himself a piece of chocolate because, why not?

He had watched a little boy beg his mother to buy a piece, and a sharp memory attacked his mind, reminding him of a time when he had done the same with his mother. It gave him a tight feeling in his chest, his cold heart aching for his family for the first time since he escaped, and he eventually found himself paying for the sweets along with his fruits and vegetables. The candy sat in his pocket for hours, slowly melting away in the wrapper before Bucky finally remembered to eat it.

When the chocolate hit his tongue, something inside him cracked open.

His heart stopped aching, only for it to start weeping, longing for his parents’ embrace and sisters’ laughter. He couldn’t remember how it felt to be hugged or be surrounded by laughter, but his chest embodied a type of warmth that was overwhelmingly comforting. The sugar gave him a spark of energy, but also a brief, wonderful feeling of simply being human.

He went back the next day to buy more.

Soon, the sweet side of his basket—apples, berries, and plums—was joined by chocolate, caramel, and toffee, which all eventually went inside a little jar in his tiny kitchen. There wasn’t much, but it was just enough for him when the weight in his chest became too much—it never went away, but sweets made it bearable.

A few weeks went by, and Bucky finally accepted just how much of a sweet tooth he had. He found it amusing, thinking about how HYDRA would’ve reacted to see their prized assassin obsessing over sweets. Ice cream, cake, pie, tart, cookie—name it, he’d love it.

But candy—small, one-bite treats—always made him feel better. All Bucky needed in life was something sweet. 

When he ended up in Wakanda, he didn’t eat as many sweets as he’d like. It wasn’t that there weren’t any, but readjusting to his own self called for changing his diet, leaving him in the grassy field with fruits and grains, his only company being goats. He didn’t mind, but now and then, he’d just want a singular piece of chocolate. But overall, his craving for sweets became something quieter, less urgent, but still present. Something that seeped into his heart whenever the noise got too loud.

And, to Bucky’s dismay, Brooklyn was so loud.

Of course, he had expected the city to be different from when he lived there. But the abrupt sounds of shouting and honking, lingering scents of exhaust fumes and garbage, and overwhelming sights of people and people and more people were too much for him.

Shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, Bucky grumbled as he walked home from his morning appointment, which only left him irritated as Dr. Raynor was never helpful with…well, everything. The wind blew through his hair, reminding him to get a haircut as it was his homework for a “new start,” but also because a few people had recognized him from his fluffy locks.

He hated being recognized, stopping only to see if the people who caught his attention would praise him as a hero—that he does not find himself to be—or scowl at him for being a villain—which he still agreed with. Which is why, on this particular late morning, when Bucky noticed a group of people far ahead pointing in his direction, he decided to hide. He sharply turned to his left, slipping into the closest shop without bothering to check what it was selling.

The smell of sugar shocked him.

He paused, the sweet smell almost overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It was joined with hints of caramels and…nutmeg? Whatever it was, it worked its way into his chest, making his shoulders relax instantly and encouraging him to take a deep breath. Unlike the outside world, it was quiet.

Bucky glanced around, taking in the small size of the shop that still managed to hold so much life. Walnut wood framed the shelves and counters, giving it a kind of charm that made him feel like he’d stepped backward in time, to his youth, where everything felt simple. The floor was tiled in granite with flecks of cream, and instead of the glaring fluorescents most stores used, the shop favored amber bulbs that cast a soft glow across everything.

On the top shelves, there were bundles of candy, neatly wrapped and named with care—Lavender Twists, Cashew Bits, Honey Drops—while the lower ones carried glass jars full of gummy and hard candies in every color possible, adding brightness to the walls. And at the front of the shop was a main counter where customers would pay for their sweets, but it was also lined with a curved glass display decorated with rows of chocolate, brittles, dipped fruit—all glowing like treasure.

Behind the main counter, Bucky saw movement. Through the window of the kitchen where metal tables, copper pans, and unfamiliar machinery lived, he watched the shop owner pick up a black tray with gloved hands.

You stepped through the doorway, your apron dusted with powdered sugar while you hummed. When you glanced up from the tray, you paused when your eyes landed on Bucky. Then you smiled brightly, as if your lips were sunlight on honey.

“Oh, good morning! Or, I guess—” You glanced at that clock, giggling at the sight of the large hand that had just passed twelve. “Good afternoon now. Sorry, I didn’t know you came in!” You set the tray down by the cash register and brushed your hands on your apron before beaming at Bucky again. “Welcome to Sweet Heavens. Let me know if you need any help with anything.”

Bucky didn't flinch, but he definitely was startled by your bubbly energy. The way you carried yourself seemed effortless, as if you lived on an entirely different plane of existence. He nodded politely before turning his attention to the jars and bundles surrounding him, his taste buds already starting to scream for him to buy something. But still, he pretended to study the labels, debating on whether or not he should actually buy anything.

Because after everything he’d done, he wasn’t sure if he deserved sweetness in his life anymore.

Suddenly, Bucky felt your gaze weighing him down. He was about to turn around when you spoke.

“Wait… Are you Bucky Barnes?”

Damn it.

He sighed, rolling his eyes before turning around to face you, his eyes suddenly sharp with practiced disinterest. “Yeah. Why?” 

He expected the usual—fumbling awe, lingering suspicion, growing unease…but you? You didn’t bat an eye. Despite doing his best to seem intimidating, you smiled at him and pointed at a tray of samples. “Oh, you actually might be the perfect person to try this, then.”

“What?” He blinked, genuinely caught off guard, before peeking at the tray, examining the small, golden cubes of peanut-covered caramel. Nothing looked particularly crazy; they were very simple in look and design. 

Left confused, Bucky turned back to you. “Why me?”

You only continued to smile, gesturing to the tray again rather than using your words. Frowning slightly, Bucky stepped towards the tray, his gaze flickering between you and the samples. You gave him a little nod, encouraging him to pick one up and pop it in his mouth.

Home. It tasted like home.

The moment the sample touched his taste buds, it was as if the shop disappeared, leaving Bucky in a place that felt familiar to him. The texture of the peanut mixed with the buttery taste of the caramel pulled him back into a memory that he was only able to grasp at. He could suddenly hear laughter and feel the smiles of his loved ones resting on his eyes. Without meaning to, Bucky shut his eyes, wanting to stay in this place forever.

Eventually, he opened them, meeting your soft gaze as you patiently waited for him to enjoy the moment. He blinked, clearing his throat to hide his slight embarrassment for getting away in his mind, his eyes immediately looking at anything but you.

You brought your hands together in anticipation. “So…what do you think?”

“I’ve had this before,” he whispered.

You laughed, taking Bucky’s attention away from the floor and back onto your smile. “That was the plan! I was trying to remake some sweets from the early 1900s. This one is similar to PayDay—how it actually tasted when it first came out. Not the overly processed stuff we get now. They taste too artificial to me… Or, I don’t know,” you shrugged as you stepped aside, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your particular ways, “maybe it’s just me overthinking it.”

“No, you’re not,” Bucky said, catching your eyes again. “I had a PayDay a couple of years ago. Tastes like shit now.”

You laughed, a hand over your heart like he’d just given you the kindest compliment. “Right? Thank you! I’ve been saying that for so many years!”

Bucky raised a brow at your dramatic gesture, then your eyes lit up. “So…do I have your approval then?”

Your words threw him off, making him frown. “Why would you need my approval?”

“Well,” you began, matter-of-fact, “considering you’re the only person I know who has actually tried PayDay when it was still good, if you say it’s good, then I did something right. Clearly, I have to impress you.”

And yet, you were already impressive to Bucky.

Your tone was playful, but it still did something strange to his chest, like you were letting him be something other than a weapon or a soldier. Just someone with buried memories worth preserving. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this…good.

Bucky took a beat before giving you a curt nod. “Approved.”

You let out a laugh, clapping briefly. “Yes! Guess I’m adding this to my inventory.”

Bucky didn’t laugh, but his lips couldn’t help but slightly curl at your excitement. His eyes were locked on you as you grabbed your notebook. Unlike Dr. Raynor, he enjoyed watching you scribble away in your notebook, reminding yourself to adjust the layout of your display case to make room for the new treats. 

You clicked your pen before looking back at Bucky. “Well, enough about that. I’m sure you came in here for something specific. What are you interested in?”

He didn’t tell you that he didn’t plan on coming here, nor know the shop even existed. Instead, he hummed and glanced around. “Some chocolate would be nice.”

You smiled as you stepped towards your glass display case full of chocolate, Bucky following your movements closely. “Are you looking for something simple or more unique…”

And you kept talking, showing him the different kinds of chocolate you had crafted. Dark chocolate with sea salt, white chocolate with raspberry filling, and milk chocolate with a hint of coffee. Without asking you to, you offered him a piece of every one, letting him savor each tiny explosion of flavor. He took his time with each of them, and you let him take all the time he wanted.

After all, of all people who deserved time to enjoy the moment, it was he.

You continued to let him try whatever caught his eye, even if he didn’t say anything, while you talked about sugar and cocoa powder as if it were the most important thing in the world. And, unlike most customers, Bucky let it be that way.

When Bucky was at the door, you waved at him with a silly wink. “Come back anytime! I’ll save you the best of the batch.”

Bucky grinned, giving you a small wave back before heading back out into the loud, chaotic world, but it didn’t bother him this time. Unlike that morning, when he wandered with a scratch in his heart, Bucky found comfort in the white paper bag he carried, filled with vanilla-cream-filled chocolate and peanut-covered caramel.

He might’ve found his new favorite place in this new world, and it just happened to smell like caramel.

<><><>

“Oh god—” Bucky winced as his eyes shot open, making you laugh as he continued to chew on the gummy candy. “What is this?”

“You’re not a sour candy person, huh?” you said, setting down a cup of water near him.

“No, I do like them. Just…” A shiver passed through his body as he swallowed the candy, making you laugh more. “That was a lot.”

“That was barely anything,” you teased as you wrapped up another order, tying it with a yellow ribbon before writing the name of the customer. “You can try the cherry one. It’s not sour at all.”

“You’re lying.”

You playfully gasped, pretending to be offended. But then you immediately dropped the act. “Yeah, I was.”

Bucky chuckled before taking a sip of water to wash down the sour taste in his mouth. By now, he had stopped by your shop a few times, claiming that he was just passing through, but you knew better. Every visit, he’d lingered a little longer, asking more questions about the sweets you’d made and even learning how to say the names of certain candies. It amused him to see how stunned you were by his flawless accents as he switched languages. After a couple of visits, you stopped pretending he wasn’t your favorite customer, and he stopped hiding himself, hence feeling the freedom to take off his gloves when it was just the two of you.

The sun was getting low, meaning it was almost time for you to close the shop. You were wiping down the countertop, peeking and giggling at Bucky having what looked to be a staring contact with the sour candy—you knew teasing him about his staring problem would not do anything in the end to stop it. Then you heard the door open, and you looked over to see a family of three walk in.

You smiled right away, walking over to them. “Hi! Welcome back!”

The parents gave you a polite smile while their son immediately rushed to the jars of gummy candy. Bucky stepped away to give you space to help them out, and he turned around to quickly slip on his gloves. But when Bucky looked up, however, he froze at the man staring straight at him, hard, as if he saw something vile. The man’s eyes flickered to Bucky’s left hand, making the soldier turn away again. He walked to the chocolate display to act like he was just an ordinary civilian, but cursed to himself when he heard footsteps approaching him.

He looked back to see the man in front of him, his wife in the background, concerned and confused. “You’ve got some nerve, showing your face in public,” he snapped, just quietly enough that everyone else couldn’t hear.

Bucky didn’t say anything, keeping his eyes on the man but also his jaw tight. He learned that silence always worked the best. 

You slightly frowned, walking over to both of them with the woman. “Hi, is there a problem—”

“I don’t care what they all say—you’re a monster.”

You froze while Bucky showed no reaction. The woman reached for her husband and tried to pull him back, but he wouldn’t budge. Their son looked mortified by the jars, feeling extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed. But Bucky continued to stand still, simply waiting for the moment to pass like every other time.

Because, in the end, was the man really wrong?

The answer was yes, according to you, as you suddenly stepped in between the two men, shielding Bucky from your customer.

“Don’t be rude,” you firmly said. “You don’t get to speak like that to anyone in my shop.”

The man scoffed. “You know you’re standing in front of a killer, right?”

“I’m standing in front of my friend, actually,” you quickly responded, your voice stern and hard.

Bucky was startled—your usual warmth was gone, replaced by the sharpness of a knife. He’d only ever seen you golden, full of laughter like maple syrup drizzling over a stack of pancakes, offering him and other customers sweets on rainy days that reminded you of sunrises.

And yet, there you were with your shoulders squared and voice solid. You weren’t angry, but you were unshakable like melted sugar cooled back into a hard shell. This strength was always within you—you just never had a reason to let it out.

And Bucky’s chest tightened, realizing that the reason was him. 

The man looked at you in disgust. “Friend? He’s killed—”

“—Saved half of the universe,” you quickly cut him off. “He’s the reason why you’re back.”

There was no flame in your voice, but it was boiling with conviction, which somehow was louder than if you had shouted. Bucky continued to stay quiet behind you, but his lips were ajar by your ability to go from bubbly and bright to firm and still.

“You’re welcome to buy candy, but as long as you’re in my shop, you will treat everyone with respect.” You crossed your arms, never once breaking your gaze from the man.

The silence was heavy, as if someone had poured molasses all over the shop. The man looked like he wanted to argue, but instead scoffed. “We’re not coming back.”

“Fine by me,” you replied immediately.

The man snarled before storming out of the shop, his wife and son both flustered. The wife looked back at you and Bucky. “I’m so sorry… Uh…”

Not sure what else to say, the two of them left quickly, leaving just you and Bucky in the shop. You exhaled, dropping your shoulders as you walked over to your door, flipping the sign from “open” to “closed.” You then looked back to see Bucky in the same spot, his eyes now finding the floor interesting.

“Hey,” you walked back to him with concern, “are you okay?”

Bucky didn’t look at you, but muttered, “You didn’t have to do that.”

You frowned, shaking your head. “I wanted to, Bucky. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

When he didn’t look up again, you softly sighed. You reached for his wrist, finally getting him to lift his head and see your smile, bright as always, but this time flavored with sorrow. “Don’t ever listen to people like him. You’re not what he said.”

“But I—”

“You’re not what he said,” you repeated, your voice stern yet still soft. “You’re not a monster. You’re my friend.”

Bucky looked at you, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. “We’re friends?” he asked quietly.

You let out a giggle. “Of course. That is, if you’re fine with us being friends instead of just a candy-maker and their customer.”

At first, he didn’t reply. He only continued to look at you, and you knew he was even considering whether it was allowed for someone like him to have a friend. So you gave him a gentle squeeze on the wrist, and slowly his lips curled into a small, yet very warm, grin.

You tried to offer him another sour gummy just to mess with him, and his grin turned into a laugh.

<><><>

Bucky was already at your shop before he realized where his feet took him. He knew your shop wouldn’t be open until eleven o’clock, yet there he was at your door at six in the morning. His hands were deep in his pockets—he didn’t even think to bring gloves in the middle of his desperation to get out of his apartment. His shoulders were stiff against the cold air, while the sting on the back of his neck wished he had never cut his hair to begin with.

He kept his eyes shut, letting the silence and memories stained with sugar pull him somewhere warmer.

But then, the door opened behind him. “Bucky?”

He flinched before spinning around, locking eyes with your confused ones. You blinked at him—you were both wide awake, but he looked rough compared to you.

You glanced at the sky, which was still dark. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Bucky’s eyes flickered away, his cheeks warming up from embarrassment. “I couldn’t sleep, so I…I was just walking around.”

You gazed at him, almost trying to look into his mind, which made him curl away further. But then you smiled and opened the door wider. “Come on. It’s cold out here.”

“Oh,” Bucky shook his head, “it’s okay. I didn’t—”

“Come inside, or I will throw a marshmallow at you.”

He blinked.

“I mean it.” Your smile curled into a bigger one. “They’re really sticky. It’d be a shame if one got caught in your hair.”

At that, Bucky let out a huff tinted with amusement and stepped inside to let the warmth and smell of sugar envelope him. But instead of stopping at the counter, you walked towards the kitchen and looked back at him to silently tell him to follow you. He briefly hesitated, but walked into the kitchen with you, taken aback by the liveliness around him—pots were warming up, trays were laid out, and a new batch of white and pink treats sat near him. He had only seen your kitchen through the window, so it felt like you were letting him into your dream world.

Bucky paused at the new treats and raised an eyebrow. There were small, soft white cubes with pink swirls next to a large sheet of it that had yet to be sliced, all of it smothered in powdered sugar. He stared at them while you put a new pot on the stovetop, turning on the heat and pausing to see Bucky’s puzzled expression.

You chuckled, “Never seen fresh marshmallows before?”

He glanced up at you. “You weren’t kidding about throwing marshmallows at me, were you?”

“Maybe.” You winked as you carried milk and heavy cream back to your stove, quickly yet efficiently measuring out the liquids before pouring them into the pot. “I decided to make marshmallows for once.”

“Have you made these before?” he asked, watching how you moved with such comfort in your second home.

“A few times,” you replied before adding vanilla extract, brown sugar, and cocoa powder to the pot—the aroma slowly melting away the ice in Bucky’s chest. “It’s rare, but I had the sudden urge to experiment last night.”

Bucky slightly smiled, crossing his arms. “When are you not experimenting?”

“On Mondays.” You grinned, slowly whisking the mixture. “Those are my day-offs.”

He quietly chuckled before peeking at the marshmallows again. You noticed his eyes and giggled, stepping away from the stove and carefully grabbing a sliced piece. “Here.”

Bucky went to grab it, but you pulled your hand back. His eyebrows furrowed while you chuckled, “Sorry. These haven't been coated yet—you’ll get it all over your fingers.” You showed him how you held the treat only by its powdered sides.

Then you smiled, raising your hand towards his face. “Open wide.”

To say Bucky was overwhelmed was an understatement. His body froze, yet his mouth opened without thinking, and you popped the marshmallow in. You giggled before turning back to the stove, whisking the chocolate concoction while he continued to stand still behind you.

He couldn’t even process the taste of strawberry and vanilla—his mind was working twice as hard to process what you had just done, his hand sweating over just how close your hand was to his lips. 

He shifted, clearing his throat before swallowing the treat. “Strawberry and vanilla?”

You hummed while grabbing two mugs. “It sounded good in my head.”

“It is good,” he said, finally realizing you had been making hot chocolate.

You poured the sweet drink into the mugs and dropped two marshmallows in each. With the smile that Bucky had grown to find comfort in, you offered him a cup. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he accepted the drink, smelling the chocolate melt away the vanilla and strawberry.

“It’s like Neapolitan ice cream,” you said before sipping your drink. “At least, I hope it is.”

Bucky took a sip as well, and it was the best hot chocolate he’d ever had. The marshmallow was melting into something smooth, joining the silky liquid to welcome some sweetness back into his system. He sighed into the mug, holding it tight to further warm up his right hand. 

He smiled and went to thank you for the drink, but you instead whispered, “Nightmares are rough.”

He immediately stiffened, his eyes widening as he stammered, “I, uh, I didn’t say—”

“You don’t have to lie,” you interrupted gently, swirling your cup a little as you stared into it. “Nightmares are the worst.”

Bucky paused, affected by the sudden change in your demeanor, like you were remembering your own nightmares. Then quickly, you softly smiled at him, not necessarily hiding your own fear, but expressing it clearly to him.

“Hot chocolate helps me. It reminds me that there’s something sweet to look forward to.” You took another sip, letting the silence speak for itself.

Neither of you said anything else—there was no need to. The kitchen filled the silence and comforted the soldier. He didn’t say thank you, but it was because you already knew.

<><><>

You were anxious.

You tried to keep yourself as busy as possible, but no matter how long you’d spent time in your kitchen, interacting with customers, and doom-scrolling on your couch, you continued to stay worried for Bucky.

Bucky came by your shop at least three times a week now, either to satisfy his craving for sweets or exist somewhere he didn’t have to be anything for anyone, where he could just be Bucky, and that would be it. He’d always stick around, chatting with you for however long he wanted because clearly, though he’d never talked about it, he had no one else in his life to casually talk to. 

He was able to do so with Steve Rogers, but then he disappeared. 

You made a note to yourself to ask Bucky where he went, but also knew that it would’ve been a while before you could. He had mentioned Steve only once when you had asked him about other kinds of candy he ate as a child. He talked about Steve’s favorite—butterscotch hard candy—for only a minute before his words fell apart and silence took over. You never asked him about Steve again, and instead offered him truffles and peppermints to cheer him up.

Whatever happened to Steve had hurt Bucky, so when the news broke out that there would be a brand new Captain America, Bucky himself had disappeared.

Not once did he show up at your shop, and now it had been almost two weeks since you last saw him.

Of course, you tried to text him—you said you hoped he was well and to stop by for new experiments to try if he wanted to. But you didn’t get a reply, and he stopped coming to your shop.

You thought about texting him to hang out, but the timing felt off now. You had only now gotten Bucky’s number as you let him take charge of moving your relationship further—you were always afraid of being too pushy, considering some people had told you that your energy was too much for them to handle. You knew it was silly to be insecure about such things, but every person out there always had something haunting them, didn’t they?

But still, you wanted to text him and see if he was okay. You sighed, telling yourself that you’d contact him after work. Your customers, a loving, elderly couple, approached the counter, and you smiled, ringing up their little bag of hard candy when you heard the door open.

You glanced up, and your breath hitched.

Bucky stood in the doorway, his eyes already locked onto you. You could tell by his eyes alone that he was tired—and maybe a little guilty—but he still smiled at you.

For the first time in two weeks, the glow in your smile returned. 

You finished checking out the couple as if everything was fine, though your hands moved a little quicker as you handed back their credit card and waved them goodbye. Bucky gave them a little nod as he walked past them, and the moment the door closed, you marched right toward him.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” you teased.

Bucky raised his hands in surrender with a chuckle. “Sorry. It’s been a minute.”

“A minute?” You crossed your arms with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve been gone for two weeks. I was about to call the police on you.”

“It takes you two whole weeks to do that?”

You both laughed, the shop feeling more cozy than it had ever been since you’d first opened your business. Then your laughter softened as you took in his face, noticing a faint scar on his nose. Your smile remained, but you stepped closer to get a better look, making Bucky’s cheeks slightly red.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Bucky nodded. “I’m fine. I got busy.”

“Okay, but like…” You stepped back, but continued to stare into his eyes. “Are…are you really okay? After…the news, you know.”

This time, Bucky didn’t respond right away, though you noticed a shift in his stance. He stared back at you for a moment before humming, his lips curling into a soft smile again. “Yeah. Had to take…a minute to figure that all out.”

You nodded, not pushing any further as usual, which Bucky always found charming. “Good. Well, while you were gone, I made something for you.”

Bucky’s smile immediately faded, but he didn’t hesitate to follow you to the jars of candy. “For me?”

“Yeah.” You opened one of the jars and took out a golden, circular hard candy, wrapped in clear plastic, and then held it out for him.

The shade of gold made Bucky freeze in his steps.

It was beautiful. Not shiny in the way actual gold gets in the form of jewelry or bars, nor light like sunlight hitting thin curtains. It was as if amber glowed within the treat, chasing the darkness around them away.

It was a beautiful color, embraced by the hand of the most beautiful person Bucky knew.

You lightly chuckled at Bucky’s awe, “Butterscotch candy. I figured…you know, with the whole new Captain America thing, you could use a little—”

For the first time in a long time, you felt a different kind of warmth. Not the one you felt when you stood near a pot of melted chocolate, or when you poured liquid sugar onto your metal countertop, or when you stepped outside briefly when you opened your shop, letting the sunlight hit your skin.

You blinked, inhaling Bucky’s cologne as he hugged you close. The butterscotch candy nearly slipped from your hand from shock, but you quickly gripped it tighter before gently wrapping your arms around him as well. The warmth you felt was the kind that only appeared when you realized how much someone trusted you.

It felt nice.

Bucky had his eyes closed, holding onto you like you were the only thing left in the world. 

The past two weeks had been too much.

Learning that Sam had given up the shield. Meeting John Walker. Fighting the Flag Smashers. Pretending to be the Winter Soldier.

Losing the trust of the Wakandans. Losing his arm. Losing the symbol of the shield to a man who lost a friend and himself due to the serum.

Recapturing Zemo. Apologizing to Sam. Learning to embrace his fears rather than fight them.

So, there he was, welcoming fear as he held you—something he had wanted to do for so long, but was too scared to. But after everything that happened in just two weeks, he found that fear couldn’t stop him from understanding that you were just what he needed.

Something sweet.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, and you could hear a slight tremor in his voice.

Hugging him tighter, you smiled into his shoulder and exhaled. “You’re welcome.”

You only let go when Bucky pulled away first, and you both locked eyes once again. You grinned, holding out the piece of candy again, and he took it happily. And when you watched as his shoulders relaxed at the taste of nostalgia, you lit up. 

You didn’t realize how seeing him made you feel at ease.

Glancing at the clock, you hummed as you walked to the front door. “Wanna go on a walk?”

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you. “Doesn’t your shop stay open for another hour?”

You flipped your sign over, letting the outside world see that your shop was now closed. With a smirk, you winked at him. “Nope.”

He chuckled, shaking his head while walking towards you. “Sure. A walk sounds nice.”

Neither of you acknowledged aloud that this was the first time you decided to spend time together outside of your shop. You both knew and just let the moment speak for itself. Bucky took a few more pieces of the butterscotch candy before you two stepped out, and you let him talk about his chaotic two weeks.

<><><>

The lights in the front of the shop were dim, toning down the bright colors of the candy jars and signifying that the shop was closed. Only the kitchen was bright, as you decided to spend another night messing around with some leftover chocolate.

You sprinkled sea salt on your dark chocolate caramel swirls. It wasn’t necessarily a brand-new recipe, but it was a good one. Picking one up, you went to try it, but instead jumped from a loud knock on the front door. You blinked, feeling a bit nervous because who would knock on your door at this hour? For a moment, you wondered if you should even open the door, but knowing that your kitchen light was visible to the outside, you couldn’t pretend no one was there.

Maybe it was ridiculous for you to check the door—what if there was just bad news waiting for you? But when you stuck your head out of the entrance of your kitchen, you saw a familiar silhouette standing at the front door. Even the window’s glare couldn’t stop you from recognizing the figure outside.

“Bucky?” You smiled, jogging to the door and unlocking it quickly. “Hey! What are you…”

You stilled when you saw a smear of red on the left side of his face.

“Oh my god—” You immediately grabbed his upper arms, standing straighter to get a better look at him. “What happened to you?”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched the way you looked, so concerned for someone like him. Soon, he smiled. “I was in a little fight.”

“A little?” You shook your head, gently pulling him into your shop by his metal wrist. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

Bucky blinked. “Oh, I didn’t come here to—”

“Nope!” You huffed, not exactly angry but definitely not happy. “C’mon.”

You led him to the back room where you kept your first aid. He sat down on a stool while you rummaged through the kit, pulling out ointments and gauze that you only ever used whenever sugar hurt you. None of what you held was meant for battle wounds, but they would have to do.

“Who exactly were you fighting?” you asked, grabbing a clean cloth and wetting it.

Bucky couldn’t help but huff out a grin. “You didn’t hear about the Flag Smashers at the GRC voting?”

“What?” You shook your head as you sat down in front of him, pressing the cloth to his head. “You know I don’t go on my phone when I’m in the kitchen.”

He nodded, his face slowly turning red as you cupped one cheek with your hand while the other wiped the blood off his face. For someone who worked with boiling sugar and metal tools, your hands were incredibly soft, gentle, and steady, just like you.

“So…they finally showed up, huh?” you said, setting the cloth aside and grabbing the ointment.

“Yeah. Sam gave me the heads-up, and next thing I knew, I was already in a fight with them.”

“Hm.” You paused, eyeing him down before smirking. “Did you win?”

Bucky chortled. “Of course we did.”

“I don’t know. This wound says otherwise.”

“It’s the most minor wound I could’ve gotten.” Bucky then grinned, almost proudly. “But hey, it was worth it… We got the Captain America we deserve to have, now.”

You widened your eyes with a wide smile. “Really? Sam did it?”

Bucky nodded, closing his eyes while you pressed a bandage gently against his temple. You dropped your hands, briefly admiring your little handiwork before taking in Bucky’s face. There was exhaustion under his eyes again, the kind you saw frequently, but you had since come up with a solution for it. 

“One second,” you said while squeezing his shoulder, quickly walking to your kitchen.

Bucky watched you leave and exhaled, bringing his hand to the bandage. His heart raced and fingers slightly trembled, but not due to the fight he had just returned from. He inhaled deeply, letting out the strained breath as you returned.

You sat down again and held out a piece of chocolate. “Dark chocolate with caramel and sea salt. Sugar is the best medicine.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, though his smile was still present as he took it from you. “No doctor would ever say that.”

“That’s why I'm not a doctor.”

He gently laughed as he examined the chocolate. “Experimenting again?”

“Not this time. I was just messing around with leftovers.”

Bucky tossed the chocolate into his mouth, immediately humming in glee. “And it still tastes great.”

You softly laughed, your cheeks getting redder. “Thanks.”

Then you both went quiet and stared at each other.

Because it seemed like the only place they could go now was into each other's eyes.

There were no words Bucky could’ve used to describe the color of your eyes—the shade was of pure beauty, just like you. Despite already being alive for over a hundred years, he could get lost in your eyes—your warmth—for a hundred more.

And the way you looked back at him made something in his chest bubble.

So, casually, Bucky broke the silence. “You know, there’s this new Thai restaurant that opened near my apartment. I never had Thai food before…so I was thinking about trying it.”

You tilted your head, your voice now gentle and full of care. “Yeah?”

He nodded, his smile getting a bit wider. “Yeah. And…I thought it might be nice if…you know…if someone came with me.”

You blinked, then quickly leaned forward. “James Bucky Barnes… Are you…” you grinned with a hint of amusement and mischief, “asking me out on a date?”

He smiled back just as wide. “It can be, if you want.”

You giggled before continuing to tease him, “Depends… What’s with the timing? Why now?”

He gave a half-laugh. “Figured if I’m brave enough to go fight an entire group of super-soldiers…then maybe I should be brave enough to ask you out for dinner.

Your eyes stayed on him, filled with something tender, something amazed. Then you hummed, leaning back with admiration in your eyes. “Well…I’m glad you’re brave enough for both of us.”

Immediately, Bucky lit up, his smile wide as he went a little breathless, almost relieved that he had been right in feeling your warmth for him.

“But,” you added as you tapped his knee, “we’re only going when you’re all healed up. No earlier than that.”

He lightly shook his head. “I’m really fine—”

“No earlier than that!” You pointed at him with a grin, pretending to scold him. “If you try to pick me up before that wound is gone, I won’t have it!”

He chuckled, raising his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine.”

But his eyes stayed on you, full of something deep and steady—something that made the ache in his temple fade just a little. And he thought, not for the first time, that maybe this was the safest he’d ever felt.

<><><>

Your laughter carried Bucky’s heart.

The sun was dipping low as you shared stories about humorous interactions you’d had with customers. The golden hues radiated off the water and your skin, making you glow even more than Bucky thought was possible. He watched you wave your hands around, making everyone around you laugh, their shoulders sagging out of relaxation and peace.

Peace. It was so peaceful.

Bucky smiled softly, then turned to his side when he felt someone hit his shoulder.

“Careful, man,” Sam smirked, “you might fall over there.”

“Shut up,” he chuckled, standing up straight while putting down his empty bottle.

“Is her laugh making you weak in the knees?”

“I wasn’t gonna fall, Sam.”

“Sure.” Sam began to laugh. “Seriously, though, she’s the sweetest person I have ever met. Literally.” His smile grew larger. “How the hell did you wrangle her?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, though his smile still lingered. “She wrangled me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, amused by his friend’s answer. Then Bucky grabbed his bottle and gave him a little nod before walking towards you. Tossing the bottle in a bin, he made his way to you. When you saw him approaching, you smiled brighter than the golden sun itself.

“Hey,” Bucky grinned, “walk with me?”

You blinked before giggling. “Sure thing.”

You both waved at the others before stepping away, your arms brushing as Bucky led you down the dock. Then, when you two reached Sam’s boat, you smiled once again. It was a peaceful spot, not entirely quiet as the cookout was still bursting with energy, but still calming. Bucky climbed aboard first before offering you his hand, and you took it while appreciating the coolness of the metal. The boat gently rocked as you walked to the other side, leaning over the edge to laze in the sunset. Bucky followed your lead, deeply exhaling at the smell of the water that radiated the sunlight.

“I have to say,” you started with a smile, “you can’t get a view like this in Brooklyn.”

Bucky hummed in agreement and moved closer to you. Even though it wasn’t the first time he’d done so, you couldn’t help but blush. You looked at him and smiled while rummaging through your pocket.

When you pulled your hand back out, he laughed. “Really?”

“What?” You giggled as you handed him a piece of caramel. “You should’ve expected this.”

He lightly shook his head while his smile widened. “I guess I should’ve.”

As you slowly peeled away the wrapper, you watched the sunset and softly grinned. “Everyone always needs something sweet in their lives, you know? Caramel’s a good choice for that.”

For a moment, Bucky didn’t respond. Instead, he glanced at his caramel, and then back at you. And without realizing, he was already speaking before his body could stop it. “Maybe caramel isn’t the only choice,” he said quietly, almost like a confession.

His cheeks immediately flushed as you froze before slowly turning your head, meeting his widened eyes with your own. Then, slowly, an amused grin began to appear on your face. “What are you implying, Bucky?”

“I— Uh—” He cleared his throat as he looked back at the water, unable to meet your playful expression. “I mean, I—I didn’t mean it like— You know, you— Uh—”

His words melted against your lips.

Was he surprised that you tasted like caramel? No, not at all. It was a given that you’d be sneaking in some sweets between conversations and meals whenever you could.

But he was surprised that the caramel on your lips grounded him. That, while his words disappeared, his heart still hummed against your hands on his chest. That you allowed yourself to drop the caramel—a piece of your creation—onto the floor to rest your hands on his chest to begin with.

That you touched him as if his heart belonged to something you’d made, but always wanted for yourself.

Something sweet.

All Bucky needed in life was something sweet, but like as you said, everyone needed it.

And you needed him the most.

His hands that hovered around your body finally found their way to your face, securing you to him as if you already hadn’t linked his heart to yours months ago. The kiss was not hurried, but rather slow like tempering chocolate—delicate and balanced. It was as if you were each following the other’s recipe with care, only to try to let your bodies memorize every detail of it.

When you both pulled away, eyes still closed, the silence between you two carried the weight of your feelings for one another. Finally, you looked at him and met his blue eyes, and you gave him a teasing smile.

“Well,” you tilted your head, “I’m assuming I’m one of the other choices.”

At that, Bucky softly laughed as he adjusted his hold on your face, his thumb tracing the edge of your lips. “You,” he quietly began with a smile so gentle that it felt the world around you was smaller, “are my first and only choice.”

It was a simple phrase, but the depth of the emotions behind each word made you speechless. You felt warm, but it wasn’t just the sunset that showered you with light and comfort. 

Your face softened, shocked by what he said, while your smile grew. “Bucky… Do you mean that?”

“Every bit of it.”

The boat rocked slightly underneath you both while you looked at him. You stared at the man who stumbled into your shop and stuck by your side like sea-salted taffy that’s been slightly melted—the man who took your kitchen tools and carved into the empty spot in your life, and you realized that it fit him perfectly.

“I love you,” you quietly said, almost carefully as if you didn’t know what he would say back. “I’ve loved you for a while.”

His heart swelled as he leaned in closer, trying to look at you closer than before. His eyes were wide at your confession, and you could feel—hear—his heart pounding at a fast pace.

And then, softly and gratefully, as if he still believed he wasn’t allowed to have something as wonderful as you, he whispered, “I love you too.”

Then he pulled you into another kiss, and you two lingered in each other’s presence for the rest of the evening.

Bucky had a sweet tooth. That, he knew of. It took a while for him to accept how much he loved sweets—how much he needed them to feel human. He loved all kinds of sweets.

Out of all of them, candy always made him feel better. 

But you? You made him feel the best.

—<><>—<><>—<><>—

Thanks for reading :)

Sunflower

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When Y/N joins the team, Bucky isn’t fond of her but as time goes on, she begin to form bond with the team and with him.

Warning: Swearing, torture, violence, death

Words: 20,971

A/N: All translations were made using Google, so sorry if they are wrong! This is also my first Marvel fic, and my first Bucky fic, so all feedback is welcome!

Master List   Tag List

May

You’re nervous. Your palms sweat, even with the air conditioner pumping through the compound, and your heartbeat is elevated. You know that your presence is allowed but you don’t know whether they will accept you. After all, you were part of one of the most atrocious organisations that had ever existed.

Keep reading

eddie ramblings from my notes app: vol 5

18+, fem!reader

eddie's manspreading like nobody’s business, shoveling handfuls of popcorn into his mouth, flyaways from his frizzy ponytail a halo in the tv light. on screen, someone’s eyes roll back in their head as a priest brandishes a crucifix.

“‘looks like your face when you cum."

three pieces of popcorn go flying at eddie's head in quick succession. he ducks and misses every one.

“i’m gonna smack you into next tuesday. what about your face, huh? you're gonna catch a fly one day the way your mouth hangs open like that."

you love him. even when he says the kind of things that make your soda fly out of your nose. maybe even more for it. 

“yeah?” he challenges, beatific grin teasing the corners of his mouth. the kernels you'd thrown fly back in your direction — featherlight impacts on your chest and your forehead.

“uh huh.”

“come here.” eddie emphasizes, suddenly urgent in his desire to have you closer. he smothers his face in your neck, your chest, huffing hot air over your skin.  

“i fuckin' love you,” his voice rumbles under your skin and warms you from the inside out. it comes like breathing to return the sentiment.

"you got popcorn—" eddie starts, gesturing towards your cleavage with his chin. "right there— here, let me get it—"

the noise you make as he flips you onto your back and tugs your neckline all the way to your navel could give the on-screen exorcism a run for its money.