Delicateflappizzaplaid - E.

Better?

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [0.8K]

Eddie’s bedroom was a lavender blue haze in the night. The shadows were only and the streetlight that managed to leak in from behind the curtains was a tangerine, barely illuminating the lumps and bumps of legs and hips under the duvet.

You watched the hours tick by, Eddie’s beside clock mocking as the red numbers changed over. It seemed an impossible task, falling asleep. You weren’t sure why, it could’ve been a number of things, really. Our impending exams, college applications, the fact that your boyfriend had only just been exonerated from first degree murder charges.

Ironically, the boy in question was asleep beside you, bare chested and warm, leaning into your side in a way that was soothing, but steady up and down of his chest still wasn’t enough to pull you into a sleep.

You shuffled, winced when the bed creaked, and tried to find a spot on the pillow that would be the comfiest. Everything smelled like Eddie, his cologne, his laundry detergent, a little smoke and spice. It was easier to push your head to his shoulder, sneaking the chance to press a little kiss to the exspanse of his throat, hopefully without waking him up.

It was a little selfish but it calmed you, the way you could feel his pulse jump a little under your lips. But the boy stirred, mumbling a little, his body turning and seeking out your own even half asleep. His hands found your waist under the sheets, fumbling to push under your shirt - his shirt - for bare skin. He hummed, pulling you into him as his eyes fluttered open.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie mumbled, voice deep and scratchy, his lips brushing over your forehead as he curled into you.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him you hadn’t managed to sleep in the first place, the clock telling you it was nearing half past two. So you hummed back and let him hold you, a warm, wide hand tracing patterns over your spine, guitar string callouses catching at you and making you shiver.

You weren’t sure how he knew. Maybe it some kinda magic, some soulmate thing, maybe Eddie could just feel the way you held yourself too stiffly in his arms, unable to relax no matter how hard you tried. So he pulled back from where his nose was pushed into your hair, eyes a little blurry and his curls sleep mussed. He peered down at you, gaze aching soft in understanding and he sighed.

Not unkindly, not impatiently, just a little sad for you, knowing how awful you’d feel in the morning despite how much you longed to close your eyes now. He knew you couldn’t help it and he hated seeing you when the sun came up, lips downturned and cradling a mug of coffee like it was your firstborn.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” Eddie told you softly, swinging his legs out of bed. “You comin’?”

He didn’t leave much room for discussion, gathering the duvet from you and tucking some pillows under his arm. He headed for the empty living room, bare feet shuffling, cotton shorts low on his hips and the black ink of his tattoos only just visible in the dark.

You didn’t ask questions, didn’t argue. Not this time, not when you’d tried before and lost, Eddie throwing you over his shoulder when you protested and told him to sleep, that you were okay, it was fine.

So you tumbled out of bed after him, walking down the hall until you could watch him throw the bedding on the sofa, the remote control already in hand as he fussed with the TV, flipping through static until an old school horror filled the screen, still in black and white.

Eddie flopped onto the couch, curls messy over the pillows and he held his arms out to you, smiling that smile you swore was just for you.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

He made an exaggerated “oof” when you let yourself fall onto his chest but the boy was grinning, arms wrapped around your waist to pull you closer, legs tangled, lips dancing across your hairline.

“You okay?” He asked when you got yourself settled, covers pulled over you both as you lay between his legs, cheek pressed the warmth of his chest. “This better?”

The movie played low, a gentle buzz of dialogue and background music, bad special effects and low light. It made the living room feel cosier, the light bouncing off of the walls, reflecting off the windows. Eddie’s arms were strong and solid around you and he nosed at your temple, a different but sweet kind of kiss.

Sleep already tugged at you, soft and kind like an old friend.

“Yeah, Eds,” you mumbled into his neck, smiling “this is better.”

• Young Carlos

• 🌶️ Carlos

• Smooth Operator

• Charlos

← Main Masterlist

You're My Queen

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x plus size!reader

Warnings: Insecurities, self deprecating thoughts.

Summary: It saddened Loki to see you view yourself as anything less than a queen.

Wc: 576

a/n: @lilacprincessofrecovery I am so sorry that it took me so long to get to this, but I had a lot of fun writing for Loki though! I feel like it's always such a nice refresher when I thrown in a character that I rarely ever write for! Thank you so much for your patience, it really does mean everything in the world to me! I hope you enjoy! :]

masterlist | AO3

TAGLIST: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy

Even though Loki came from Asgard, he was an Earth man, through and through, why wouldn’t he be? That was the planet where he had found you. It was a complete accident, at least in your end, bumping into him on the street where he stood with his brother. If you was anyone else, he would’ve snapped on you, but it was as if his words died in his throat, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, the god of mischief, the man that always seemed to have something to say, was rendered speechless. He couldn’t help but let his gaze follow you, even after you apologized to him.

All he could recall from that day was Thor saying, “That’s a good one, brother.”

And a good one you were. At least in his mind. Loki considered you his goddess, a queen that everyone should bow down to and worship for the rest of their days. Sadly, you didn’t see yourself that way. At first, he was angry, angry that these pathetic humans ever dared to talk down to you, to make you feel any less important than you truly were. To him, you were the sun, the moon, the stars, the creator of the universe, the person that made his life make sense, but your insecurities only got worse when you’d visit Asgard.

“Loki…” You said unsurely as you stared at the dress laid out on the bed before you. Even though Loki despised his “family,” it would be the first time that they had met you, and he demanded that you’d have respect. “I don’t think this is going to fit.” Which was a half lie. The gorgeous cloth was intimidating; with beautiful intricate golden details to the corset which was even prettier. To you, you felt as though you had no business wearing something like this.

“Darling,” You heard him state as he walked over to you. “I’ve had that dress made just for you. It is one of a kind.” You shook your head, trying to conjure up any other excuse, but coming up empty handed. “I don’t deserve to wear this.” You said as your shoulders slumped. It was embarrassing really, how harshly you looked down on yourself to the point where you couldn’t allow yourself to enjoy the fact that you were on a whole other planet, let alone dating a god.

He placed his hands on your waist lovingly, turning you around so that you faced him.

“That’s nonsense and you know it.” He said sternly. “You are more deserving than anyone in the cosmos. You have hung the stars, my love.” His hands innocently traced your body, no lust in his intentions as he looked at you earnestly. “You are gorgeous. Perhaps the most enchanting woman I have ever met. It kills me, my sun, to hear you speak of yourself this way.” Your heart beat fast in your chest as his hands cupped your full, rounded cheeks that he adored so much.

“Loki I…” You went to say, but he was quick to cut you off. “No, I refuse to listen to such ridiculous words.” He then in turn, grabbed the dress and handed it to you. “You are my queen, and a queen deserves everything pleasant the universe has to offer, but,” He said with an airy laugh, “A dress is a great way to start.”

And for a moment, you believed him.

Ok so, ever since I’ve discovered your blog I’m addicted, how you manage to make me love Eddie even more than I already did is beyond le but somehow you did it! I just noticed that your requests were open and was wondering if you could write Eddie with fem reader who’s like, hyper affectionate; she just need to have some sort of physical contact with him even if it it’s just touching his arm or something else. And when she wants affection but is worried to be annoying by asking she does a simply thing where she rest her head against his back or arm?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

A/N: Hello friend! Thank you so so much for this request! I’m so sorry that it took so long, my mental health hasn’t been great so writing has been hard for me on top of how busy life has been. But this request hit SO close to home as I am constantly looking for affection from my loved ones and I’m just hyper affection in general, I love writing this. I really hope you like it!

You had always been considered “touchy”, you always wanted to be touching the people you love. Person, to be more accurate, as currently the only person you really cared about touching was your boyfriend Eddie Munson. You were always trying to hold his hand or arm, hug him, kiss him, really any sort of affection you could get from him.

Currently you were in his bed with him, both of you reading different magazines as a mixtape he made for you played softly on the stereo. You were itching to touch him, feeling exceptionally touch starved today. But you were trying to hold back, worried that you were annoying him with your constant need for affection.

You had been with each other all day, practically attached to Eddie’s hip as you went about your day. You held his hand when you would walk anywhere, wrap yourself up in his arms when you would sit next to each other, lean up for kisses whenever you could. You were like his little shadow, following him in hopes that you’d get to touch him again.

Eddie had never, ever, made you feel like your affection was unwanted or annoying, yet your insecurities made you second guess that he liked it. Your mind would sometimes scold you for how needy you felt, telling you things like: “He just hugged you, don’t annoy him by asking again!” “He’s been holding your hand all day, give him some space!” And now, as you stared at the magazine in front of you, itching to be held by your boyfriend, it was telling you to leave him alone.

“You okay baby?” Eddie's voice rang out, breaking you from your thoughts.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m okay. Why do you ask Eds?” You said quickly, whipping your head to the side to look at him. Soft eyes full of adoration found yours and you tried not to melt.

“You haven’t turned the page in like fifteen minutes. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He asked with a gentle smile. His hand came up to cup your cheek lightly, thumb caressing the apple of your cheek soothingly.

“I just got distracted, don’t worry about me Eds.” You said with a smile of your own, not wanting to bother him.

“If you're sure, baby.” He smiled before pecking your lips quickly and going back to his magazine.

You smiled from the small dose of affection he gave you, relieved that he initiated it with you. But you wanted more, you wanted to be in his arms snuggled into his chest, your favorite place to be. You loved hearing his heartbeat as it thumped against your ear, you loved the way his scent clung to you after and how you could smell him on your clothes for days, you loved hearing the low rumble in his chest when he would hum or talk to you. You just loved being close to him.

You sighed quietly as to not alarm him, giving into your desires. You looked over to him as he read and leaned your head against his arm. A silent plea Eddie knew to mean that you wanted his attention and affection.

You heard him chuckle as you screwed up your eyes, “There she is. My baby want some lovin’?” He cooed as he put the magazine on his side table and pulled you into his arms, resting you against his chest gently. You heard him chuckle again as you nodded your head against him with a little excited “mhmm!”, happy to be in his arms finally. “I’ll always have lovin’ to give to you sweetheart.” He laughed as you seemed to almost burrow into him further.

He grabbed your leg and pulled it over to the other side of his body so you were effectively straddling him as you cuddled into his chest. “There you go, I want you as close as possible sweet thing. We can stay like this all night if you want, okay?” He asked, rubbing up and down your back as he placed soft kisses into your hair.

“Thank you baby.” You mumbled against his shirt. “I love you so much Eddie.”

“Oh I love you too sweetness. So fuckin much.” He said, you could hear the smile pulling at his lips as he spoke. You let out a dreamy sigh as he started to hum along to the song that was playing as he continued to rub your back, he was just as ecstatic to have you in his arms as you were to be there.

Taglist: @srapalestina @yvonneeeee @cityofidek @anaisweird @mrslovesmayahawke @harrys-tittie @becca-alexa @catacina

"I was on my way to buy some flowers for you..." H.S.- Grapejuice

← Main Masterlist

Jules Bianchi

#jb17

← Main Masterlist

you love me, i love you

description: peter parker is just too pretty to not kiss. (he thinks you are too.)

pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: use of ‘pretty baby’, ‘angel’

what id do to make out with this boy help

“Is my pretty baby comfortable?”

Your heart swelled at Peter’s words which stuck to your mind like sweet syrup. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but you could hear him smile into his words. And hearing them yourself was like drinking a cup of warm honey tea. Your lip was tucked under your teeth as you chewed it, cheeks heating at his tone.

He could hear your heart race.

Your head was pulled into the warm crook of his neck. He felt you inhale, breath hot against his skin. Peter smelled nice. He always did. You could tell he used his aunt’s shampoo. It was sweet and strong, but not overwhelmingly so. Just enough.

Keep reading

• Ollie 🐻

← Main Masterlist

you don't say

[bucky barnes x disabled!reader]

summary: you matched on a dating app, but you didn't tell him that you use a cane. bucky's response is not what you expected. it's better.

warnings: mention of smut, but mostly fluff and insecurity on both bucky and reader's part. autumnal vibes all around.

a/n: i became disabled in the last few years and i have really struggled with needing a cane to increase my mobility, especially where dating is concerned. i wrote this as a love letter to myself, and other babes who are processing what it means to accept love as a disabled human being. enjoy. <3

***

You didn’t tell him. 

If the last six were a good litmus, it was for the best. Apparently being that honest with a man you met on a dating app was to be avoided at all costs. The goal, ultimately, was to have him say: “You’re prettier in person,” and then flush like he was comparing the version of you in his head to the reality before him, and coming up wanting.

Bucky was his name. He hadn’t proposed anything rigorous–he liked coffee, as did you. It wasn’t like he suggested a Central Park marathon for your date.  You weren’t even sure how you matched; it probably happened when you left your phone unattended in the same room as Natasha–whose taste was much more varied than yours. Adventurous. It’s not that you wouldn’t have swiped in interest over Bucky, 39, Brooklyn. But not until he swiped first. 

That wasn’t entirely true. You remembered his face popping up as you doom-scrolled for Jesus, on a two day pajama pity-party bender. Consuming Norah Ephron films and cheap cabernet, you swiped right on any man with kind eyes who didn’t have a fish picture in his array. Which… the pickings were slim. But his face–Bucky’s–appeared beneath your thumb as Meg Ryan met Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building on your third watch-through of ‘Sleepless in Seattle,’ and it felt serendipitous. Bucky, 39, Brooklyn looked very serious, and he had a white long-haired cat. You swiped. He swiped. He was nice in his first message…

Hi… I’m new to this, but it looks like we both hit the magic button.

So, there you were.

You arranged to meet at eleven–you were at the coffee shop by ten-thirty, so you could sit by the window and not have to walk towards him. You tucked yourself into the booth and stashed your things on the bench seat beside you, eager to meet the first guy who said yes to a date since you got back on the horse, so to speak. Nevermind that you hadn’t told him the whole truth.

When he walked in–ten minutes early–he scanned the little cafe until his eyes fell on you. His expression went from hardened and serious to… bashful, almost. He recognized you right away, and there was no way you could mistake him either. 

What was that thing about people being prettier in person? 

He was dressed in layers to combat Autumn in New York (comfortable in varying shades of blue and brown) with leather gloves on, which shone like they hadn’t yet been worn before that day. So like a native New Yorker to wear the same tattered coat… but quality, definitely an expensive peacoat which could last him several generations… but buy brand new gloves when the slightest chill sets in.

Bucky was scruffy, like he couldn’t quite bother to shave but every few days. You didn’t mind. When he approached, he had vibrant energy, like it was all packed up inside with nerves.

“Hi. Sorry. I think we had the same idea,” he said breathlessly as he approached. He held out his right hand to you. You grasped his fingers automatically, but he didn’t shake. He squeezed softly, and then pressed it between his own. 

“It’s Bucky. I’ve already had coffee. Too much. I was nervous. But if you still want some, I’ll just get decaf.” 

“Y/n. To be honest, I did the same,” you chuckled, nodding to the half-empty carafe on the table, which your waiter had left after the third refill in twenty minutes. “It’s nice to meet in person.”

“I don’t do this kinda thing, I gotta warn you.” Bucky shucked off his coat and slid into the booth across from you. The gloves remained. He had a loved but noble corduroy blazer on, over a henley. “Dating. I hate the whole conceit.”

“You’re two-for-two!” You grinned. “My roommate got me on the apps. They can be blamed for seventy-five percent of my daily dread.”

“What’s the other quarter?”

“Global warming, and getting shat on by pigeons coming out of the subway.”

“Fair,” he said, smiling. You dimpled at one another. “We don’t have to stay. We’re caffeinated, and I might start levitating, here. We could walk a bit?”

Your stomach lurched. “We could. Where?”

“Dunno. I’m sorry–I have no idea how to be out. We should just sit here for the requisite number of minutes before upsetting the structure of a date.” He smiled at you pleasantly, but it was clear how incredibly nervous he still was… and how unlikely it was to go away unless he could be more active. Which meant standing. Walking, some. Something which you were not prepared to do.

Bucky watched your expression shift. He sat forward and reached out to touch your forearm. “You okay?”

“So. Yes, um. Yes, I’m okay,” you sighed. “It’s still new for me so I’m figuring it out, but… walking long distances? Can’t do it. I could probably handle a short walk, but I’ve had a rough time the last week, so I don’t know how much stamina I have. Even with my trusted friend, here. So.” You showed the head of your cane above the table bashfully, and looked away. “Sorry–people get weird about this stuff, I’m finding out, so I don’t really say anything in advance.”

Bucky blinked for a moment, then he leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. “What do you mean weird?” His blue eyes narrowed.

“Suddenly unmatch. Tell me ‘it’s such a shame.’” You huffed. “Although it’s guys, on the whole. Women care less. But that’s beside the point–”

“Because of that?” He pointed at the seat beside you, where all of your belongings were stashed, and you knew what he meant. You nodded.

“I don’t say it in so many words. I’m not like–hey, just fyi, I use a cane, so deal with it or fuck off–”

“Why not? That would be a good way to separate out the weak and worthless,” Bucky said, but you could’ve sworn you heard a little touch of anger in his tone. He shook his head. “Doll… shit. Men are shit.”

“Yeah. They are. Sorry.”

“No, I’m shit, too. You can’t insult me when it’s true.” Bucky sat back against the worn cushion. “So, we going? Or are you going to talk me into an espresso to see if I can fly?”

“Sure. If you want to. I’m just slow–”

“Nonsense.” Bucky scooted out of the booth. “I grew up in this neighborhood. There’s plenty to do. And see.” He paused. “If this is insulting, just tell me to fuck off… You can lean on me.” He held out his elbow like an offering.

You could have cried. “Um. Okay.”

“Yeah? I–I would’ve offered, regardless. I like talking to you. I’ve enjoyed myself… through the phone.” Bucky scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “So. Even if you didn’t share, I probably would’ve tried to find a reason.”

“Really, I’ve just given you an excuse,” you said, tamping down a smile. He nodded solemnly.

“It’s thoughtful of you to spare me.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, waiting. The waiter breezed by, just then–

“You can pay at the front register!” the beleaguered hipster sighed, gesturing to the counter at which there was an extensive line. Bucky grabbed his elbow and fished a bill out of his pocket, slapping it in the guy’s palm. The waiter stared down at the twenty in his hand. “Great. I’m a human cash register.”

“Keep the change,” Bucky said. He turned back to you. “Do you get motion sick?”

“No?” You were clearly holding up whatever grand plans he was making in his head, so you hastily grabbed your things. Bucky liberated your coat from your hands and held it open. You stood slowly, leaning on the aid which had given you newfound freedom. Bucky smiled at you softly. He wasn’t impatient, just… excited. You slid your arms into your coat with Bucky’s help, and then curled your fingers into his elbow. His cheeks reddened. He had a boyishness to him which was endearing. 

“This okay?”

Okay? Well. If you considered the wafting warmth of sandalwood cologne and the soft weave of his woolen peacoat okay, then you were dandy. You nodded, feeling your own cheeks flush under his attentive gaze.

“Great. I have an idea, if you’re game. So.” He cleared his throat, ushering you through the front door of the shop onto the sidewalk. “Where do you stand on surprises?”

“Um. Hate ‘em, to be honest.”

“How bad?”

“Flash mob? My idea of hell.”

“K–In that case, I’m gonna call a friend, he runs a ride service. There’s a festival in bridge park–I keep seeing fliers for it all over. We could check it out.”

You couldn’t help the smile which pulled at your cheeks. If that’s the sort of surprise Bucky had in mind, you would’ve been charmed by it. But knowing how quickly his brain was working to improvise a date was impressive, so you squeezed his elbow. 

“Sounds fun.”

“Good. Okay.” His mouth turned up at the corner and his eyes crinkled. 

He quickly dialed a number he had memorized, but not saved in his contacts. It made you wonder how many other people he knew by heart, and what it took to be remembered by this Brooklyn boy. He didn’t say much into the phone, just the intersection you stood on. Bucky hung up abruptly and pocketed his phone again, clearly intent on hiding it away.

“He’s two streets over, it’ll be five minutes max.”

He was a horse-and-buggy driver, who had festooned his buggy with bales of hay and pumpkins bearing hastily Sharpie’d faces drawn on them by someone under the age of ten. When the carriage pulled up outside of the chain coffee shop, Bucky grinned, passing the coachman a tenner and ushering you into the four-wheeled hayride. The straw was strewn over the plush seating poorly enough to poke you in the ass, even through your coat, but Bucky was so excited to pull the plaid wool blanket over your legs that you tolerated the gluteal acupuncture. He stashed your cane beside himself, and pressed you close enough that your thigh pressed against his. 

“I went to school with Pat,” he explained, gesturing to the driver who was too far away to engage in conversation, but kept throwing back knowing glances at you and Bucky. “Kindergarten through the twelfth grade.”

“You really are in your neighborhood.”

“Yeah.” He blushed. “Never did get out, like I thought I would. Not complaining though. There’s a lot to love about Brooklyn.”

Bucky encouraged you to wrap your arm through the loop of his elbow again, and pointed out things to you about Brooklyn which had defied your notice prior. Brickwork at the pinnacle of a building, dating back to the 1920’s. A man dressed like a bush who stood on the street corner, blocking the walk button so no pedestrian could disturb his meditation. The fire hydrant he broke the bolt off senior year, flooding the sewer drains and causing rats to rush down the gutters like a parade of hissing floats. Halloween decorations in windows. Scarecrows mounted to telephone poles like they guarded a field of yellow taxis with as much aplomb as a treasury of corn stalks.

All the while… he distracted you. Little touches on your wrist where your coat met your skin with his soft gloves left you curling your fingers around air, and still he persisted. You studied his profile when he was distracted. With stubble and expression lines, he had character. He wasn’t stoic like you had thought him. Every inkling which crossed his brain was projected on his forehead like a drive-in feature just for you. And he kept smiling at you. 

You arrived at Brooklyn Bridge park having spent an eternity and no time at all in a horse-drawn carriage positively burdened with loose hay, but the tents and balloons and various sizes of gourds distracted you from anything but the Autumnal joy of it all. Stalls lined the park in a makeshift walkway, which smelled of pie spices and syrup, and crisping ham on a rotisserie, and campfire. 

When he helped you down from the carriage, placing your cane at your dominant side, Bucky instantly seemed to have a plan. Time passed like you were observing through a looking glass. He ushered a cup of cider into your hands, and then adios’d the empty into the garbage once you finished it. You dominated the hammer game, winning a massive plush gorilla. Which you promptly gave away to the first screaming child you saw, to Bucky’s amusement. He fed you funnel cake while you picked out your choice for the fastest piglet in a race which consisted of five piglets running around a kiddie pool. You lost–everyone did, when the piglets abandoned course to lay in the tepid water and snort bubbles at one another–but you left a lingering dusting of powdered sugar behind at the corner of your mouth. Bucky wiped it away without a second thought.

And so the date continued, with you floating beside a man whose eyes sparkled with delight every time you found joy in something. It didn’t feel like you had only met that day. You reached for his hand to express delight. He curled his fingers over your shoulder to wish you luck in the ring toss. Bucky–Barnes was his last name, you learned–was some kind of familiar fixture. He even bought you a coffee, and then brutally beat a group of sixth-graders at bobbing-for-apples.

It wasn’t until the sun tucked itself behind the rooftops that you realized dusk approached. Without needing to ask, Bucky summoned a cab. You had leaned on him heavily the second half of the afternoon, and opted to sit every opportunity you got. Yet… Bucky’s excitement never diminished. It wasn’t until you sat on the top step of your stoop that you realized it.

That was the best date you had ever been on.

And you sure as hell didn’t want it to end. The stars were out in force–as clear a night as you had ever seen in the city of light pollution, and yet… Orion’s belt… the pan handle of a Dipper… stars shone for you.

Bucky shoved his hands into his coat pockets in acknowledgement of the drop in temperature, while he balanced one foot up a step from you. He studied you through honest eyes–that is, he looked at you like he saw who you were without pretense. Which felt very vulnerable.

“Repeat the question,” you breathed.

Bucky smiled. “You date much?”

You shook your head. “No. To be honest, I don’t usually feel like it’s worth it. Putting myself out there. I’m sorry–I know it sounds like I’m wallowing in self-pity, but, uh. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. Being turned down. Because I use a stupid piece of metal to walk.”

“You could spend a lot of time feeling sorry for yourself, doll. And–that’s not to say you don’t have the goddamn right to feel some type of way about it. It’s your body, it’s not how you pictured your life going. Of course you’re gonna be sore about it. You aren’t alone in that. I’m just sayin’... Anybody who’d lose out on a chance with you because of something as insignificant as a tube of aluminum ain’t the type of person you wanna waste your time with anyhow.”

“It’s weird. I don’t disagree with what you’re saying, but. I dunno. It’s hard to think people exist who aren’t gonna be weird about a freakin’ cane.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Fuck’em. Waste of your time.”

“What about you? Are you a time-waster?”

“Worse. I’m a Brooklyn boy. We can wait out a stubborn dame with the best of ‘em.” Bucky braced himself on the railing. “Can I take you out again?”

“You’re gonna sit on my porch until I agree to a second date?”

“I–when you say it like that, I sound like a creep,” he chuckled. “No, I just… if you had a good time, and I really hope you did, I would like to treat you to another date. I took a wild guess on the festival idea, but I can think of a million other things. More than just coffee.”

“I was holding a coffee mug in my profile photo,” you laughed. “That was enough.”

“There’s more out there.”

“I had a good time.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

You watched his face turn from excitement to pure glee. His body angled towards you intensely. All his energy was directed towards you. It made your skin tingle, and all good sense fled from your mind.

“Just come in, Bucky.”

“You gotta say it, or I ain’t budging. This is all up to you, doll.”

“Yes, okay?” You leaned against the doorway with an exasperated sigh. “I had a great time. You’re adorable, and exhausting, and I’ve never had more fun on a first date. Or any date, for that matter. Please–come inside. Kiss me a little. I think you’re probably good at it.”

“It’s been awhile,” he admitted quietly, though he pushed off the railing to do as you bid him.

“Good. I don’t like it so formal–”

“You’re so cute.”

“I’m not–”

“No, it isn’t up for debate.” Bucky tucked a finger under your chin so you’d look up at him, given that your attention had fallen to the laces of his boots in embarrassment. His irises flicked back and forth, mapping every refraction in your eyes. “I know cute when I see her. And there’s nobody else in this whole damned city but you, doll.”

He kissed you as if that were true… as if he had stepped out of the subway to a world devoid of anything but a billion scattered golden leaves tracing circles on the pavement, and a girl with a cane who hates surprises. As if–in that dystopian and autumnal universe, that were heaven to him. Like he’d been looking for you in every empty coffee shop. Like he knew you, and it was only a matter of walking into the right store. It was soft, the drag of his lips over yours. At first he just ghosted a millimeter from your mouth, but then he needed to know… so he gave in. He didn’t spoil it with tongue too soon. Bucky discovered you.

You’d been kissed, but never at the world’s end. The world you knew was siphoned away. In this one? Well, kisses stopped time. Made leaves hang in the air between gasping breaths. Kisses were where the light got in. Where sun broke through clouds… where a girl who didn’t much care for vulnerability let a man she barely knew steal every little sound from her throat, out on her front stoop where anybody could see them.

You got the door open by feel, and stayed on your feet by virtue of the man with roving hands who backed you into the building. It was for the best that your apartment was on the first floor, because your knees threatened to buckle when his tongue worried the seam of your lips. He tucked the crook of your cane into the curve of his elbow when you tore yourself away to fight the finicky lock at your threshold. 

“I didn’t expect to have anyone over,” you said by way of an explanation for whatever mess might be found inside, but Bucky snorted.

“When are you gonna get it through your head?” He nipped at the tendon which helped form the curve from your shoulder to neck, making you shiver. “I don’t give a shit if all you got is a mattress on the floor. I like you.”

“I have a bit more furniture than that,” you giggled, “but I still appreciate you saying it.”

The moment you were inside the apartment, Bucky leaned back against the door and turned you, so you stood between his feet. He looked at you through heavily-lidded eyes. “Tell me.”

You turned your attention to the buttons on his coat as he saw right through you. “Bucky–”

“I think you like kissing me, but you’re skittish. If you’re freaked out…”

“I’m–shit.” You sighed. “I believe you. That you like me, I do. But I am so used to feeling like nobody is ever gonna want me back–”

“Impossible.” He cupped your cheeks. “Look at you.”

“Bucky,” you groaned. 

“No, stop it. I know what you’re doing. Oldest trick in my book. You think that a good thing is a lie, that it ain’t gonna hang around. I’m a really, really, really bad liar. Alright? My ears turn red.” Bucky smiled triumphantly when you chuckled. “I watched you drink a pumpkin latte today like it was the best thing you’ve ever had in your whole damn life and it cost me three dollars. You’re charming. I’m addicted.”

He kissed your forehead and you melted into his chest in resignation. “I don’t do this,” you mumbled into his sweater.

“What? Let somebody say why they like you?”

You shook your head, and pressed your cheek against his chest. “I’m starving.”

“Oh–doll, dammit, I should’a fed you–”

“No. I mean, yes, we should order something,” you laughed, “but. Just. Why?” When you raised your hand, gesturing to your general being, Bucky’s expression transformed from concern to… something gentle. 

He shrugged, but his shoulders fell heavily downward, and his fingers curled into the pockets of your coat so you wouldn’t pull away while he found the words. 

“Because–I just knew. You were simply a notification in a stupid app and I still thought about your profile picture waiting in my ‘likes’ for days. And we talked like it was an everyday occurrence, feeling your world shift its axis. I didn’t talk to a single soul on that app but you, sweets, and I tried my damndest not to jump the gun on asking you to meet in person. Imagine my delight when you agreed. I was so terrified last night that I hardly slept, but I never thought once about feeling… self conscious, all day. It–I don’t feel that way with most girls. Safe, I guess. And I may not know what the hell I’m doing, but I’m not a guy who ever feels like I can trust a person and I’m pretty prepared to lay down naked in the street if you tell me that’s what you want–”

“Not necessary,” you said, smiling. 

“Well, that’s a relief.” Bucky brushed his thumbs over your cheeks. “Doll–I’m so sorry that anybody ever made you feel like you got some kinda worth to live up to. It makes me so angry, but then I think–who’s that for? What’s the point in me being angry at somebody who isn’t gonna change their mind… especially when it means that I get a chance.”

“Says the handsome guy with perfect teeth.” You winked at him when he scowled.

“I’m tryin’ here–”

“You’re wonderful,” you whispered. You smoothed over his bottom lip with the pads of your thumbs. “I’m… thank you.”

Bucky leaned forward until his forehead pressed against yours. “I’ve overwhelmed you.”

“No, sir. I just need a second. To acclimate to the idea.”

“I can go–”

“Please. Please don’t.” You tugged him towards the living room, slowly walking backwards and giving him every opportunity to wrench out of your grasp and run. But he didn’t break eye contact, no. Bucky kept pace with you, toe-to-toe. “We’ll watch something.”

“Spooky movie?” he suggested.

“...I’m such a wimp,” you admitted, and he let out a quick breath.

“You can hide under my arm during the scary parts.”

“So just bury myself under you the whole movie, got it–”

“If that’s what you want, doll.” Bucky smirked as your knees bumped into the lip of the couch, causing you to sit abruptly against the cushions. You still had a fist wrapped in the placate of his coat, so he fell forward, catching himself on the arm rest and hovering over you. You watched intently as his tongue whetted his bottom lip absent-mindedly, and you had to bite back a groan.

“That’s what I want. Bucky.”

***

A long time later, when your body was so sensitive that you shivered beneath him, Bucky hopped up… pantsless, still wearing his sweater, but peachy ass exposed to the air so he could run to the bathroom and find a soft cloth. When he returned to you (with a towel around his waist, suddenly bashful), he bore a damp washcloth in his left hand, which… you sat up slowly on your elbows to watch the reticulated fingers on his left hand as he cleaned you with soft strokes over your thighs and bit his lip… asshole. You smiled at him softly when his eyes flicked up to yours. 

“You gonna tell me about it, or wait for me to ask?” you murmured, sliding the cuff of his left sleeve up his bicep, exposing a charcoal and gold metallic limb to the dim light. 

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. He lifted you beneath the knees, and behind your back. He had no choice but to shower with you (since you woefully lacked a bathtub), as cleaning you both was clearly his priority, so he sat you on the edge of the porcelain counter to help you fully undress. He did so with a type of reverence which felt undue… but you were reminded that he didn’t look at you through the same lens with which you viewed yourself. Especially when he trailed his fingers over your softness like he didn’t feel worthy of touching you. 

But then, he stepped back from you, and he shucked his sweater.

He didn’t look you in the eye once he was fully exposed to you. He studied the tiles under your toes, and his hands didn’t seem to know whether to rest on his hips or try to hide his flesh from you, so he fidgeted. Which meant he didn’t see you reaching for his left hand, and when you did so (threading your fingers through his metal facsimiles), he looked like he might cry.

Bucky was an amputee. With a gleaming prosthetic extending from his clavicle to the tips of his left fingers, so intricate and complicated a design that it must be something experimental and custom-made, just for the likes of a soft-hearted Brooklyn boy.

“You’re beautiful.” You meant the raw words, even though they escaped your lips unbidden. 

Bucky squeezed your hand. “I’m not.”

“You don’t have to agree for it to be true.”

He looked at you, then. An agreement passed between you, unvoiced. I’ll say about you what you can’t. I’ll hold for you what you won’t. I’ll touch you again, because I want you, all of you–the flesh and the metal and the weak and the kind. Especially the kind. Of course Bucky understood you. Your heart-wounds took different guises, but they pulled the same strings.

When he knelt at your knee, it was supplication. It was obvious when he bowed his head to kiss the skin above your heart. Your heart had known his forever, it seemed. 

“A long time ago, I didn’t have a choice,” he said, so quietly you could only make out his words because you had coaxed him up to meet your lips again. “I almost died. I–god, I never thought I’d live or touch somebody again. And then you. I can’t explain this to people–” He rolled his shoulder like the limb was hurting him, and maybe it was– “without inviting them to look at my naked fuckin’ heart.”

“Is it heavy?” You ran your finger the length of the connector, where metal met his skin and cupped his pectoral. You meant the arm, but the way his head bobbed… you inclined your head so you could catch his lips before his spirit fell one iota further. It was a kiss of knowing. Understanding, without words.

“I can take it off,” he breathed against your lips.

“So do it.”

Bucky sat back on his heels. Then, he looked you square in the eye and detached the prosthetic arm. It wheezed as it lost power, the moment its circuits no longer drew power from his body’s natural electric whims. You held out your hands, and he set the thing across your open palms. It was lighter than you expected, but still hefty. You could only imagine how it pulled at his muscles, unnatural as it was. It was incredible, but then–so was the man with an empty prosthetic socket, who sat at your feet like he hadn’t hastily fucked you on your own couch at the end of your first date. Like sex was a small exchange when there was a soul resonance at hand. If you said it out loud? It would sound insane. Holding Bucky’s cheeks in your hands, though… 

“I like sushi,” you said softly, “and any carbs, really. So. Jot that one down, for your date ideas. And I’m a fabulous co-pilot if you like road trips. I love Upstate. I excel at floating down a river on an innertube–”

Bucky pushed up between your knees so he could reach your lips and he kissed you senseless. “Doll–”

“Shhh, darling man,” you smiled against his mouth. “I am addicted.” Parroting his words back to him made Bucky beam. “Stay the night. Surprise me in the morning. I don’t care. You’re everything I didn’t think I deserved and–and I’ll keep you. To spite Me.”

Bucky laughed. “It will be a pleasure to help you get revenge on yourself.”

***

Thanks for reading! :)

my masterlist - my bucky barnes masterlist

like what I do? buy me a coffee on ko-fi. :)

bucky barnes tag list: @peterhollandkait @honeywithemoney @eloiseishere @nahthanks @dracosluvbot @dracris33 @searchf0rtheskyline @goldylions