Delicateflappizzaplaid - E.

Can our precious baker dance? ❤️

Pairing: Chubby Baker Bucky x Reader

CW: none.

Bucky can't dance. At all. He's got two left feet and a lifetime of shyness holding him back from dancing.

At least in public anyway.

He loves to dance while baking, usually singing with just enough rasp to his baritone that doesn't matter that he's slightly off key.

It's never anything too intricate, mostly just him swaying his hips, letting the rhythm guide him while he expertly whips up some new concoction.

You discovered his habit one foggy Sunday morning, he had gotten up way too early to make you breakfast, leaving you craving his touch more than you wanted one of his omelets.

You find your baker, dancing in front of the oven, loose grey sweats slung low over his hips. Your eyes drawn to his firm ass swaying back and forth as he hums, adjusting the heat on the stove. Early morning sunlight poured in through the open window, catching the specks of flour scattered across his bare chest and round, soft belly.

"If I knew you going to give me breakfast and a show I would have been down here earlier," you say, biting your bottom lip.

He turns to you, cheeks tinting pink at being caught, a flash of vulnerability darkens his eyes but it's gone the second he sees the way you're gazing at him.

"I um, hey," he laughs out, running his hand across the back of his neck, the adorable blush seeping across his chest. "Mornin' Peach."

"Morning Bucky," you respond softly, strolling towards him, his arms wrapping around you the second you're close enough to touch.

The song changes. It's a favorite of his. And when he dances with you around the small kitchen, moving slow and sweet and sure like he could live in the moment, like this is he dreamed of, this is the only place he wants to be with his large warm hand splayed across your back, his forehead on yours, it becomes your favorite too.

It turns into a tradition. He always wakes up too early. You always find him mid-song and lost in his baking. He always blushes no matter how many times you catch him. He always holds you like you're spun gold, beautiful and delicate and all his.

As much as he cherishes those dances with you, there's one more dance he's been thinking about, one that he's preparing for. He's been imagining it for a long time now, the two of you in the middle of the reception hall, your song playing as he guides you across the floor. He may not be a great dancer, but he's going to make sure that dance is perfect for you.

And then he wants a lifetime or two of early morning dances in the kitchen with you gazing at him with nothing but pure adoration as he tries some new move he learned simply to make you laugh.

these two keep getting gayer and gayer with each other. that’s it, that’s the post.

ok but can we talk about how obviously touch starved eddie munson is?

his dad obviously isn’t winning any father of the year awards, and his mom is either dead or gone, and wayne— although he loves eddie— doesn’t seem the type to be overly physically affectionate.

pair this with the fact that eddie has almost always been the weird kid. first he was the kid with the dead or deadbeat mom. the kid from the trailer park, who wore crappy hand-me-down clothes and smelled like cigarette smoke. the kid whose dad taught him to hotwire cars. then he was the kid with a buzzcut who played in a weird “satanic” band and played an even weirder satanic boardgame. then he was the teen who sold drugs, who got detention, who failed senior year twice.

and he’s always been the kid who was bullied. pushed down on the playground. beaten up in the locker rooms. dunked in toliets. nearly run off the road by rich popular kids when he was just trying to walk home to the trailer park. (wayne ends up buying the van from an old friend just to keep eddie a little safer.)

so when he finally makes a few friends, finds a few other outcast souls, he gloms onto them. he doesn’t even realize it half the time, but he’s always slapping gareth and jeff— then mike and dustin— on the back, slinging his arms over their shoulders, ruffling their hair. and sometimes they push him away, roll their eyes, annoyed by his antics, and he has to hide his hurt with another joke and quick smile.

he would be even worse with someone he had romantic feelings for. even if at first he thinks he doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t want to ruin your friendship, whatever, he still wouldn’t be able to stop himself from touching you. tapping your arm to get your attention, letting his fingers linger. playing with your hair, your clothes. knee and thigh pressed into yours while the two of you sit on the couch passing a joint.

and once the two of you actually confess your feelings? game over.

now he’s always holding your hand, leaning into your space. pressing kisses to your fingers, your hair, your mouth, anywhere he can reach. makes you sit on his lap any chance he gets, and half the time it’s not even sexual, he just wants you close. needs you close.

and every time you reciprocate— every time you lean your head on his shoulder while watching a movie, or interwine your fingers with his, or let him be the little spoon, or coax him to lie on the couch with his head in your lap so you can massage his scalp and run your fingers through his hair— eddie feels like crying. feels like he’s going to wake up any moment because this has to be a dream…

anyway…. just thinking some thoughts™️

bloopers vs the final scene.

JOSEPH QUINN  as  eddie munson  in stranger things season four.

“You pop when we get intimate...”

← Main Masterlist