#'these plants are all in Avengers cups. water to the top of the middle bar of the giant A'

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: January 3

"King of the Road" by Roger Miller

[quarantined-with-bucky]

Crash

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 4,900

Summary: Bucky learns what he likes about life: you

Warnings: Angst, but also fluff

A/N: Mildly inspired by “Crash” by You Me At Six!

...

Wait, where you say you've been? Who you been with? Where you say you're goin'? Who you goin' with?

There was a knock on your apartment door. Plucking yourself off the couch, you trotted towards the door, pulling it open. You were met face to face with Bucky, a smile immediately finding your lips. His visit was a surprise, he hadn’t said anything about stopping by. “Hey,” you greeted, about to stretch out your arms for a hug, stopping immediately when he didn’t return your smile. 

Oh. And that’s when you peaked over his shoulder and noticed Steve standing on the street, leaning against the car. “Sorry, doll,” Bucky apologized, offering you his arms for a hug.

You accepted, pulling him close and tucking your face into his chest. “’S okay, Buck.” He told you earlier that he may have to be leaving to go on missions, he couldn’t say exactly when or where. But this took you by surprise; it was the first mission he’d been sent on since he’s met you – since he started dating you.

“So, it looks like I’m going to have to raincheck dinner on Friday,” he mumbled shyly, pulling away, but still holding you firmly at the waist. He awkwardly chuckled, hoping you’d at least find light of the situation in his old charm.

You smiled up at him. “Let me know when you’re back?”

“You’ll be my first stop.” He moved a hand to cradle your jaw, leaning towards you for a goodbye kiss. You obliged, biting your lip and watching him saunter back towards Steve.

Bucky stood next to the man, giving you a stiff wave. “Make sure he comes back in one piece,” you call out to Steve, waving back at the both of them.

Steve laughed, waving back. “Will do, (Y/N).”

You stood frozen in the doorway, leaning against the frame as you watched the boys climb into the truck, pulling away, heading off to wherever the hell they were going.

Wait, keep me in your skin, Keep me in your chest. I'll wait for it to start, I'll wait for it to end.

Bucky sat at the camp sight, the soft light of the fire illuminating the picture before him. He held the edges carefully, the image creased perfectly in the middle from where he’d folded it up to fit in his pocket.

It was a photo of the both of you. You were at the bar, one around the corner from your apartment, that you took him to months ago. It was the night of your friend’s birthday, and you wanted to bring Bucky along to meet a few of your friends. He was nervous at first, not sure if they’d recognize him, if they knew his past, if they’d be scared of him.

However, everyone welcomed him with open arms. They didn’t ask him too many questions, didn’t pester him about his arm. Instead, they told him extremely embarrassing stories from your past. And, damn, it made him laugh; you were blushing like crazy, trying to cut them off after every story – doing so by buying rounds of shots if they promised to stop talking about you.

It ended up not working, everyone growing more and more intoxicated as they continued teasing you. But you found it to be all in good fun, just enjoying you night out with your boyfriend and your friends. You spent the whole night attacked to Bucky’s arm, linking your own two arms around his, his hand resting on your thigh. You buried your face in his shoulder to smother your laughter or after they said something embarrassing about you.

It was one of the best nights he’d had in such a long time; he doesn’t remember laughing for so long or so genuinely in a while. Your friend had secretly snapped this picture of you, sending it to you the next morning. You groaned and rolled over in bed; your few hours of sleep interrupted by your phone buzzing loudly. Bucky handed you your phone, holding back his laughter at your raging hangover. You mumbled an “oh my god” and showed your phone to Bucky, cheeks tinted pink.

It was dark, the bar had been dimly lit where you were sitting. Cups half full, empty shot glasses, and beer glasses littered the sticky table in front of the both of you. Your face was buried in Bucky’s shoulder, unable to conceal the drunk smile taking up your whole face. You held on tightly to his metal arm, the glare of the metal prominent in the photo. Bucky was gazing down at you, a similar grin painting his own lips.

As you tucked yourself into his side to resume sleeping, he took your phone and placed it on the bedside table, but not before sending it to himself.

That was the picture he carried with him on missions. He tucked it away into his breast pocket, hidden underneath his armor-plated vest, right above his heart. He patted atop his armor for safekeeping.

He couldn’t wait to see you when he got home.

Just crash, fall down, I'll wrap my arms around you now. Just crash, it's our time now, To make this work second time around.

It was eight days later when he showed up on your doorstep again. This time, when you opened the door, you were met with a smiling Bucky; he was clean shaven, his hair pulled back behind his head. He was wearing that red Henley you loved so much, and his arms were open wide, waiting for you to run into his arms.

So that’s exactly what you did: hopping off the front stoop into his warm embrace. He caught you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist, intertwining your hands behind his neck. The two of you stood on your front steps, embracing each other, kissing each other, for what felt like an hour. Eventually, Bucky made his way into your apartment, plopping down on the small sofa, not taking you off his lap.

That became routine for you two. Whenever he had to leave, you’d spend a whole day holding each other when he came back.

We grew up, We worked and changed our ways. Just like wildfire, Been burning now for days. Tearing down those walls, Nothing's in our way. I said, nothing's in our way.

Time flew by; before you knew it, it was your two-year anniversary. Two years of bliss, two years filled with commitment and trust and love. Despite taking it slow at first, after that first mission, you two became inseparable. Given the fact that he spent a lot of time with the Avengers: working, training, and on missions, you had no choice but to spend every bit of free time together.

You’d spent your fair share of time at the Avengers Tower, spending the night at Bucky’s place, joining him at parties, watching the sunrise on the roof of the skyscraper. But there was something about your place that Bucky felt more comfortable. He was like a giant in your tiny apartment. Meager living room, tiny couch, lined with pillows and blankets; modest kitchen, two small chunks of countertop on either side of the oven, shelves crowded with spices and utensils, pots and pans hanging off the pot rack on the ceiling above the island; crowded bathroom, utilities barely able to fit in the small room, no room to maneuver, shower head just too short for Bucky; humble bedroom, packed bookshelves, clothes strewn about, bed pushed under the one window, narrow enough that you have to sleep half on top of Bucky – not that he minded, except for the fact that his feet hung off the edge.

It made him feel small and safe. He hadn’t felt a home in a long time. He went from the frontlines of World War II to the empty cell of Hydra to a block of ice. He’d spent the majority of his life without comfort. And when he was welcomed to the Avengers, he hadn’t received much either. There were shrouds of hospitality, yes, but something about it lacked an intimate feeling. Vast corridors, high ceilings, large rooms; Bucky decided he wasn’t a fan of minimalism. He much preferred “cottagecore” as you liked to call it.

He loved to garden, taking care of your houseplants almost too much. He’d named all of them, from each viney philodendron to the splaying palm trees. He had an almost aggressive watering schedule. Soon, he began spontaneously bringing you flowers and houseplants – your small apartment turned into a jungle.

It was the morning of your second anniversary when Bucky asked if you wanted to move in together. “Do you mean you want to move in with me?” You clarified smugly, flitting your eyes above the coffee mug currently held to your lips.

He giggled childishly, happily. “Maybe,” he mumbled, drawing out the first syllable. He sipped his tea, mimicking you as you couldn’t contain the smile pulling at your lips.

You sauntered across the kitchen – as in, you took two steps closer to him and you were already chest-to-chest – and tilted your head up to his. He kissed you on the tip of your nose before you could respond, the grin on your face already confirming your answer. “You think you can fit all your clothes in my bedroom,” you teased, eyebrows raised in challenge.

He rolled his eyes, pointing his chin towards the open door of the bedroom. Piles of your clothes and his clothes thrown over chairs, folded on top and in the dresser – he practically lived with you already. “I think my clothes fit just fine in our bedroom.” His tone dropped, as did his face, burying it into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your collarbone.

You hummed, setting your mug down on the counter beside you, wrapping your arms around his neck and broad shoulders. You traced the top of his spine on the back of his neck, barely dragging your finger on the surface of his skin; the tickle brought a smile to his lips against your skin. “It seems so.”

And then he moved in. It’s not like he had much, anyway; everything he had technically belonged to Tony. He spent one Saturday bringing over his clothes – in which you graciously shoved into the dresser beside yours  – knickknacks – to which you’d decorated throughout the apartment, displaying them on shelves, on the walls, between pots of plants – and boxes of memorabilia. Bucky thought about stealing his king-sized bed, just so he’d be able to fit without curling up into you (also so you’d have more room to roll around), but he wasn’t even sure it would fit through the door. He wouldn’t change anything about it, though. Everything felt like home, it felt like you.

You shared countless memories in that apartment: long nights spent talking instead of sleeping as the New York City traffic blared through your window, endless nights of baking (and burning) desserts, numerous movie nights that half-the-time ended in the two of you having sex on the couch or falling asleep innocently in each other’s arms.

No matter how many times he woke up with cramps in his legs and a sore back from falling asleep on your tiny plush couch, he still couldn’t wait to do it again the next night.

…

“(Y/N),” he whispered your name, face pressed up inches from yours, pillows smushed together and against the wall. Your sleeping eyes fluttered, eyebrows twitching, and bridge of your nose crinkling slightly. Soon, though, you were completely relaxed again, and Bucky almost felt bad waking you up – but not really. “(Y/N),” he murmured a bit louder, this time smoothing your wild hair down against your head, pulling his fingers through the knots.

You hummed, stirring in the bed, inadvertently stretching, pressing your palms against the wall, toes lengthening to the edge of the bed, pulling the bedsheets off you (and Bucky). “’Sup,” you mumble, immediately closing your eyes again, burying your face into your pillow and tucking your hands underneath your chin.

He smiles, gazing down at your tired form, obviously exhausted from the night prior’s festivities. “Baby, wake up,” he almost groans, faux upset that you weren’t giving him attention.

“I’m up,” you hum, not moving – not even opening your eyes.

“Let’s get married.”

You laughed in your pretend sleep, reaching your hand out blindly up his arm and up to his cheek, patting it lightly. It wasn’t the first time he said it; although the other times he had either been extremely intoxicated or sleep talking. “Do you have a ring for me, darling?”

“I do.”

And with that, your eyes popped open, meeting his staring back at you. You then narrowed your eyes at him, crinkling your nose. He was beaming at you with a shit-eating-grin, hand curled under the pillow propping up his head, curled up like a goof. You couldn’t find any words.

“So,” he continued, filling the gap of your shocked silence. “Will you marry me?”

Sitting up in bed, you propped yourself up on your elbow, staring down at him. He quickly took the cue, flipping around and digging his hand around under the bed. He returned facing you, sitting up next to you, sheets pooling at his hips. He held up the box, opening it with his metal hand.

Your breath left your lungs.

“Bucky,” gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, eyes flitting between the ring and his eyes: blue, glossy, and glazed over with passion. “Oh my god, Bucky.” You kept repeating yourself, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“So…is that a yes?” He chuckled, nervously holding the box, gesturing it towards you.

“Oh my god, yes!” You nearly screamed, tears now fully flowing down your face, holding your hand out for him to place the ring gently on your finger. You then threw your arms around his neck, kissing your fiancé. He smiled through the whole kiss and you felt his heart beating next to yours.

You pulled back to fully look at the rock now sitting on your left hand. “I hope you like it; I had to go through my sister’s daughter, who had to go through a ton of old keepsakes and it took a while so I would’ve gotten it sooner, but – ” he cut himself off, realizing he was rambling when he met your growingly perplexed facial expression. “Anyway, it was my mom’s ring. And my pop saved up forever for it. I know it’s not huge and probably out of style and you deserve a million diamonds – ” he cut himself off again with a deep breath, anxiously scratching the back of his neck. “I just thought it would be nice – but if you don’t like it, you can just tell me and – ”

This time it was you who got him to shut up, leaning forward, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips to yours. “Bucky, I love it.” It was beautiful. The diamond was small, still in perfect condition. The gold band was twisted intricately around the stone, newly polished and sparkling in the light shining through the window. What was even more appealing about the ring was the sentiment behind it. There was no two people that Bucky looked up to more than his parents; he often told you stories describing how much they loved each other, how hard his dad worked to finally convince his mom to go on a date with him. He beamed with pride when he spoke of them, recounting their hardships but how that never impacted their love for each other.

There was nothing more he wanted – then or now – than to give pass his mother’s ring along to you. He just happened to be lucky enough that his sister and niece saved it after all this time. He admitted that he could’ve gotten you a new ring, probably through a loan from Tony. Bucky technically didn’t have an income – just Tony’s money. And he did, in fact, offer to buy you the most expensive diamond ring in the world, a ten-carat ring from Antwerp; but that didn’t feel right. This was the only thing that Bucky had actually felt right about in a long time.

…

One month from that day, it was your three-year anniversary.

It happened during dinner – one random Thursday while the two of you sat at the edge of the kitchen counter, enjoying a casual plate of spaghetti.

“What ­– ” You choked on your mouthful of noodles. Coughing slightly, you sipped some wine, washing the rest of your bite down. Then you repeated yourself firmly: “What?”

“You heard me,” he responded, casually, mouth full of garlic bread.

“Now?” You ask, eyes wide, but unable to stop the smile forming on your lips.

“Yeah, why not?”

You stood from your stool, holding your palms against the island counter on either side of your dinner plate. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to do anything special for our anniversary.” You laughed, completely knocked off guard, mind moving a million miles per hour.

He raised an eyebrow. “You really thought I’d say that without some trick up my sleeve?” And, in fact, you were surprised when Bucky wanted to have a very low-key anniversary – he’d always been one for romantics. “Thought you knew me better than that,” he smirked, throwing a wink your way.

You rolled your eyes and swatted at his arm. “Are you being serious?” You leveled with him, leaning over so you were staring directly into the eyes of the man sitting beside you.

He smiled back kindly at you. “What do you kids say these days? Deadass.”

And you burst out laughing. Maybe you were a bit wine-drunk – but, god, this was something you’d never grow tired of. And that was perfect, considering you had already agreed to spend the rest of your life with him. There, in all honestly, was nothing that made your heart flutter like Bucky being an old man. “Okay,” you then whispered, cupping his jaw in both of your palms. “Let’s elope.”

So that weekend, that’s exactly what the two of you did.

Bucky had “borrowed” one of Tony’s cars – he assured you that he asked to take it for the weekend, but the smile and laugh in his voice told you otherwise. There was no time to question him further – no need, in fact – as he threw your suitcase in the trunk and opened the passenger door to you, ever the gentleman.

It was a short drive to Brooklyn Botanical Garden. You’d taken Bucky’s word for it, a place he remembered from his childhood; it was somewhere his mother used to drag him to and roam around – obviously with time he grew to appreciate not only the memory but also the serenity. He knew that was where he saw the both of you getting married; he knew that seeing you adorned in white surrounded by the beautiful trees and flowers was a sight he would never get tired of imagining.

Now, it was a sight burnt in his memory, holding your hands in his, a simple white gown falling perfectly on your body, veil pulled back that made it seem as though you were surrounded by clouds, the beautiful angel you were, anyway. Your hair was free, moving ever so slightly with the soft breeze; cheeks tinted pink as your skin glowed in the sun that shined before you; a bright grin painted your lips, so genuine that it made small crinkles form around your eyes. God, those eyes – gleaming in the reflection of the bright light before you, sparkling with love and laced with anticipation.

You faced a similar view, Bucky donning a casual grey suit; you insisted that was the one he brought with, a light grey contrasting his dark hair and deep blue eyes. While you had no doubt that seeing Bucky in an all-black suit was one of your all-time favorite looks, this was much more fitting for the occasion. The bright morning sun, the light-colored leaves surrounding your union; black was too harsh. Black, after all, was the color associated with the Winter Soldier. His uniform was black, his mask, his pants, his boots – his whole life was shrouded in darkness. This could not have been more the opposite; it was untraditional color, but so was your wedding and, hell, your whole relationship.

It was you and him, the officiant and the witness. You couldn’t remember either of their names, and you didn’t care, either. The only thing that mattered was Bucky’s eyes staring down at you, your hands held in his large ones, him slipping the wedding band on your finger.

And the kiss: perfect. You didn’t have the words to describe it. One hand found your waist as the other snaked through your hair, holding the back of your neck, guiding your lips up to his. Your arms folded around his neck, allowing you to pull your entire being flush against his body. He gave you two pecks on the lips before pulling away, letting his forehead rest against yours, staring into your eyes, glazed over with tears. His heart was full, it took all of his willpower not to breakout in tears. “I love you,” he whispered.

Your smile never faltered as you repeated those words to your husband.

…

“Buck, I have to get ready for work,” you called to him, yelling over the sound of the shower running.

“I’m almost done,” he responded, peaking his head from behind the curtain.

You stood at the vanity mirror, holding your hairbrush in one hand, flat iron in the other, makeup bag propped skillfully on the corner of the sink, one wrong movement away from spilling all over the floor. The mirror was fogging up ever so slightly; Bucky always insisted on taking the hottest showers possible. You began work on your hair when the water shut off, curtain swinging open, Bucky stepping out to grab a towel.

The two of you were practically pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, your elbow actually jutting out to nick his side as he toweled-off his hair. He laughed, maneuvering so that he stood behind you, his reflection towering over yours in the mirror. “I think we need a bigger place.”

He frowned, holding his hands against your hips. “But I like this place.”

You set the hot instrument on the edge of the sink, turning around in his arms. “I think we’re out of room,” you replied, thinking of the stacked up boxes of wedding gifts everyone sent you; you didn’t have anywhere to set them out or store them, thus everything remained in their boxes stacked up in your living room. Books and clothes lined every wall of your bedroom; you couldn’t fit nearly anything in the bathroom – and, hell, Bucky didn’t even fit without having to crouch under the showerhead.

He smiled down at you as you ran the brush through his freshly washed brown hair. “I guess so,” he mumbled shutting his eyes, reveling in the feeling of you softly brushing out his hair. “Plus, we’re going to be needing some more room to grow.” He peeked open his eyes, shooting a wink in your direction.

You cocked an eyebrow and yelped when his hand tucked against the underside of your thighs, pulling you up against him; you locked your ankles around his back and held onto the back of his neck, droplets of water still rolling down the nape of his neck and down his back, tickling your skin. You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“You’re telling me you want little baby Barnes running around this place? It’s kind of a hazard, (Y/N),” he teased, then pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your hand against his chest, signaling him to drop you. Once he did, you turned around, back once again against his chest. “House first, then baby.”

“Really?” He gasped, staring at you in the mirror, wrapping your frame in a backwards hug. His eyes lit up, a huge smile creeping on his lips.

“Better get house hunting,” you said, shooing him off to get dressed so you can finally get ready for work.

Crash, fall down. I'll wrap my arms around you now. Just crash, it's our time now, To make this work, second time around.

There was a knock on your front door. You set down the sponge you were washing dishes with, placing the bowl in the drying rack next to you. Wiping your hands on your jeans as you walked over to the freshly painted door. Bucky had painted it a deep forest green before he left. You’d been waiting for ages to find the perfect color, the best shade to match the cozy, rustic – cottagecore – living space the two of you had cultivated together.

Once the door was done, you felt it was finally finished. Everything was so much bigger, but you two made sure to fill it with large, comfy furniture, displaying all of your wedding gifts graciously (and obviously Bucky’s plants). He made you wait outside while he painted the door; he didn’t want you breathing any fumes in that could harm the baby growing newly inside you. You rolled your eyes: “It’s the twenty-first century, Buck. We don’t use lead paint anymore. It’s okay – plus I want to help.” You picked up a paintbrush, reaching towards the paint can.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, grabbing a hold of your wrist, instead holding it up to his chest. “I just don’t want anything to happen. Please,” he pleaded, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes, curling out his bottom lip.

A soft smile pulled at your lips and you quit protesting. “Okay, baby,” you giggled, gazing up into his blue eyes. He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, blushing hard as he did so, laying a hand to your lower belly. It hadn’t grown much, only three months – hell, it was still the size of a plum (which also happens to be your husband’s favorite fruit) – you weren’t even showing yet, nonetheless he was still so excited, so proud, so in love. And nothing had changed since he met you on day one. He still looked at your with the utmost admiration, a lustrous gloss in his eyes as he stared down at you. You’d only grown more beautiful by the day, to him. You were his to come home to, his to protect, his to love.

You spent the afternoon out front in the garden, pruning bushes, watering flowers, and pulling weeds. You’d detested yardwork – everybody did – but there was something about doing it while you called across the lawn to Bucky, still positioned at the front door, cracking jokes and sharing anecdotes that made it all worth it. You wouldn’t trade this for the world: to be able to do chores with Bucky, even the most menial work, because he enjoyed doing them, just because he got to do them with you.

You walked to the door, kicking a few rogue shoes out of the way, and swung it open.

You were met with the sight of a uniformed chest, straight ahead in your line of sight.

You dropped to your knees, holding your hands to your chest, feeling your heart race. You couldn’t breathe – you were almost feeling yourself for a pulse.

He knelt down and wrapped his arms around you.

It was just the two of you in that moment.

You buried your face into his chest, the tough leather scratching your face. The wetness of your tears smeared across the surface of the material, painting your cheeks. His hand rubbed up and down your back, cooing softly in your ear. You didn’t know if he said anything in that moment, your mind couldn’t register anything coming out of his mouth, your ears clouded with a loud ringing behind your eardrums.

It was a loud, open, ugly sob – you sounded like a toddler throwing a fit; damn, this was quite the tantrum.

You pulled back suddenly, fisting at the chest of his uniform. It startled him; he tore himself away from you quickly. There was no way of knowing what you looked like – eyes red and puffy, cheeks glistening with wet tears smudged along your lips and chin as well. You couldn’t even stop, as you pulled away to look into his blue eyes, your own tears kept flowing, eyebrows knitted together and breath still hitching. He looked tired – exhausted; you didn’t know how long he’d been torn up like this. His face was pale, cheeks red and irritated with tears, blue eyes filled with tears exactly like yours.

“Is he really gone?”

He stared at you for a moment, new, fresh tears flooding in his eyes and down his cheeks. He bit his bottom lip, unable to trust his own voice. But Steve found the strength to muster up two words, the words that made you bury your face into his chest again, crying harder than before:

“I’m sorry.”

[firefly-in-darkness]

Confessions of a Chocolate Thief

Characters: Steve Rogers & Reader, Wanda, Bucky

Prompt: Chocolate

Summary: Someone stole and ate your secret stash of chocolate...

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Fluff.

Beta: the lovely Stace - @princessmisery666​ // all mistakes are my own.

A/N: Congrats on your follower milestone Lyn aka @coffee-with-bucky 

Firefly’s Library & Masterlist

Y/N’s dream startled her awake from her afternoon nap; disoriented and confused by the lights flickering at the end of her bed. She uncurled herself from the plush caramel blankets and patted around for the television remote to shut off the soundless screen. She rubbed her bleary eyes and pulled her hair into a messy but successful ponytail. With a frown, she noticed the darkness outside the window and looked to the clock on her bedside table. It was after eight, oops.

A simple half hour nap after a marathon of a mission was Y/N’s plan and clearly another four hours was what she really needed. She shuffled out from underneath her mound of pillows and blankets, tossing the now cold, hot water bottle to the side. It was a bittersweet feeling to be climbing out of the comfort, the memory foam mattress beneath her and the cocoon of blankets on top of her was like a double decker of bliss. But her grumbling stomach forced her from the bed. Y/N’s stretched her arms high above her head, wincing at the pain from her aching muscles.

With her feet placed into the soft slippers, gifted by Pepper, and her body wrapped in a fluffy dressing gown, another gift from Pepper, Y/N left her room with one thing on her mind, something she knew would give her a boost; chocolate. She padded down the hallway and entered the communal kitchen to find some of the Avengers perched on and around the breakfast bar with their beverage of choice, a cup of coffee or herbal tea, chatting amongst themselves.

“Hello sonnaya, are you feeling better?” asked Wanda, her doe eyes brightened with her smile.

Bucky and Steve turned to greet Y/N’s sleepy amble into the room and she waved half-heartedly before grabbing the fold-out step and headed over to the cupboard. She needed her sweet treat before she could form coherent words. She used the step to climb up to the highest shelves, solely focused on her quest to get to her treat.

I know you’re all super soldiers and can fly or whatever but did anyone think that there would be normal sized humans that need to access these when they built this compound?

“What was that sweetheart?” Bucky asked, a smirk on his lips.

Y/N’s head whipped around, a blush staining her cheeks. “Oh did I say that out loud? Sorry.”

Wanda shoved Bucky's arm, “He’s just trying to wind you up princessa.” 

“Oh right, yeah.” Y/N giggled lightly.

Once she had reached into the back of the cupboard to pull out the boring cereal box from the top shelf, Y/N descended the step and placed the box on the counter. She could already taste them; mouth-watering, she thought of breaking the hard shell and the gooey centre spreading over her tongue, it made her lick her lips. The cardboard flaps flicked open as she eagerly tore it open, box lifted and tipped. Nothing. No clang of heavy sweets hitting the countertop. Only empty wrappers of her favourite chocolate fell out like confetti onto the counter.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes and she clenched her fists at her side. “Who. Ate. My. Chocolate.”

Bucky raised his hands, surrendering and looking innocent. “I didn’t even know there was chocolate in there.”

Wanda rubbed her hand up and down Y/N’s back, the sensation brought little comfort and she felt worse than before. Anger simmered under her skin, she snickered and muttered to herself about maiming the person that had taken her chocolate.

“Sorry doll, we’ve got to head off but we’ll catch up tomorrow.” Bucky pulled her into a hug, “It’s movie night and your choice.”

Y/N didn't argue that it was actually his choice. He was trying to make her feel better, but it didn’t help. Steve and Bucky left the kitchen and Y/N stared at the discarded wrappers. All the superheroes in the complex and not one of them had the ability to create chocolate. What use were super-soldiers and mind control if they couldn’t transform empty wrappers into her beloved chocolate. The pain in Y/N’s back and stomach eased with Wanda’s strokes.

“Don’t cry, how about I make you some hot chocolate…” 

Wanda guided her to the bar stool and prepared the drink that Y/N knew wouldn’t sate her desire for that chocolate or to find the culprit that had stolen it.

The super soldiers entered the elevator and once the doors were shut, Bucky shoved Steve into the wall,  “You did it, didn’t you? And you didn’t even replace it?!”

“What the hell Bucky?!” Steve raised his arms in defence as his cheeks and ears reddened, “I had the last one today, I couldn’t resist - ow!” Pain rushed from the back of Steve’s head and he rubbed where Bucky had struck him.

Steve rubbed at his scalp and smoothed down his hair, “What was that for?!”

“For being sucha punk, you need to make this better. Now.” Bucky pushed him out of the elevator as the doors slid open and pressed the button to go to another floor.

Steve turned around, “Wait, where are you going?”

“You’re on your own with this one pal. Just think of the ol’ faithful tricks mom used to share with us.” The elevator closed without another word from Bucky.

With coffee in Y/N’s system and some of her anger taken out on a punchbag and a two-hour gym session she felt more alive. She had enjoyed the time out with Natasha, it had helped her to forget about her missing chocolate and the bounty that she was going to put on the chocolate raider’s head. Now all she needed was to shower away the sweat and ease the aches in her muscles. 

An involuntary gasp left her lips as she found Steve perched on the corner of her bed, and then she noticed the room was covered in flowers and boxes of chocolates. “Steve, what-”

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice. “I’ve replaced the chocolate in your cereal box and wanted to make it up to you.”

Y/N couldn’t concentrate on his words as she took in the room; an assortment of colours burst from every corner. Vases of tulips in every available colour, sunflowers, red and white roses and daffodils with boxes of chocolates in different sizes; from truffles to sugar coated candy leaning against the bouquets. 

Her eyes finally rounded back to Steve who joined her, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Wow. Erm- thank you.” She stammered as his arms wrapped around her.

Y/N couldn’t help herself and cried into Steve’s shirt. “Sorry, I’m just a little emotional and this is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. 

“You deserve it sweetheart.” Steve placed a kiss on her forehead.

Her heart pounded as she felt his lips touch her skin -what is happening right now?!  

Y/N went to breakaway and unravelled her arms, “And I’m a little sweaty and smelly.” 

Steve held her closer, tipped her chin up with his index finger, “I don’t care.”  

She turned away from those blue eyes that sparkled like a galaxy whenever she looked for too long. Shying from the intensity of his gaze and slightly panicking, she buried her head in his chest and he leant his chin on her head. leant her head back on his chest, “Could have just got me another couple of bars.” Her voice and laugh muffled against his body.

“Your reaction was worth it.” Steve grinned and rested his cheek against her head.

Steve’s hand absentmindedly stroked Y/N’s back, and the warmth from his body encouraged a hum of approval. She tilted backwards and grinned up at her favourite super soldier, the chocolate fiasco long forgotten.

“This might be slightly off topic, but is the stealing of chocolate the only reason you did all of this?”

Steve’s smile grew, “Is it that obvious?”

Y/N rose on to her tiptoes and planted a light kiss on his lips, pulled away to smile at him. Steve followed her lips, captured them and deepened the kiss.

Bucky spotted the embrace, smirked to himself as he left them amongst the colourful blooms and sweet treats.

the end.