#attie’s marvel kiss challenge

[evanstarff]

Breathe

Pairing: Stucky x Reader; Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4050

Summary: Notes in the margin of a home built for three.

Warnings: Swearing, a little bit of angst, mostly fluff, no narrative structure or plot. There’s kissing apparently and actual smut, so 18+ only please.

A/N: This is written for @barnesrogersvstheworld​’s 2K Marvel Kiss Challenge! My dialogue prompt was “Breathe.” which is mentioned a few times, so only the first mention is in bold and italics. This is so late – I'm so sorry, my love. Thank you for the extension and for being you 🖤

Masterlist here.

---------

Bucky had left the milk out, absentmindedly and probably in a rush, much to Steve’s chagrin and constant grandpa demeanour. A muscle in the curve of his neck tensed, worrying through the corners of those eyes, bright, so blue, until Bucky kissed it out of him as they opened the front door, all hot and loving in the way that Steve saw stars bursting white in his mind.

“Seriously, Steve.” Bucky cupped that beautiful patriotic cheek, all sweat and dust, eyes burned as blue as the sky on the sunniest day of the year. “It’s just milk.”

“You leave it out all the damn time.”

“So I’ll get new milk, Jesus.”

Bucky pushed a frustrated hand through his hair, lips still burning from putting his mouth on him.

“It’s the 21st century,” he groaned, eyes rolling. “We were almost slaughtered by whatever alien battlefield according to that debrief and my 100-year-old boyfriend is worried about milk.”

“I have priorities.” Steve shot back, but that small quirk in his lips was everything; a time machine that took him right back to that afternoon after the service when the clouds started to part and the sun shot fireworks into his chest.

Bucky didn't remember how he got through the door and Steve couldn’t remember how they ended up in bed, long legs tangled, strong hands, hot breath sweet and rough on skin, jolted only slightly by the sound of the door signalling your arrival home.

Home.

That place Bucky knew deep in the foxholes of his heart, the one that changed and turned like metal into molten gold and from a time long ago before everything became too hard and far from simple.

---

Bucky had wanted to kill him.

No – before that, he wanted to find him, punch his goddamn lights out, then stick him in an early grave with his mother, God rest her soul.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” he muttered, breath torn with anger. One turn, down 53rd street, another turn, another twelve steps, then a block, two more.

After three days of rain and seemingly no end in sight, the sun gleamed a mockery of the days gone by. It was a beautiful service – just Steve, the Barnes, the priest, and the silent white flowers laid by her feet. As a woman of Irish fire and a heart too big to contain, Sarah Rogers lived a life of kindness and passion in equal measures, until the universe decided that was quite enough now.

Her eyes told him everything in the same way his did – blue and green and full of stories. You take care of him, James – you hear me? And Bucky could only nod with equally burning, grieving eyes as Steve lay sleeping by her side, feeling larger than his own mother for the first time in his hard life. Afterwards, she decided she needed a nap, sleeping through half the day, until they realised she’d already left before the dawn.

That was a week ago and it was now Sunday and they were late for the evening mass. Bucky had watched Steve float in and out of the Barnes’ household, notebooks curling between his charcoal fingertips, brushing dark streaks across his forehead as he swept that boyish hair from his eyes.

“Goddammit, where the hell are you?” Bucky groaned to the atmosphere as if the Brooklyn streets could map the pathway to whichever 9th circle of hell Steve had thrown himself into. He ran a hand through his dark hair, hated the way the linen pretended to shield his body from the balmy afternoon, and continued down towards Bush Terminal with hard, angry steps.

The sun was beginning to set over Bay Ridge, painting the water gold and orange with its summer skin. Gulls screeched their song across the surface, throwing shimmers of life through the dusk and Bucky watched them swoop and glide, feathered wings graceful and purposeful, designed to carry the weight of their lives through time in the way that few could truly understand. One landed on the dock on the far right, pecked its underwing and angling along the mottled dock, closer and squawking a shrillness at a small figure by the water.

Steve.

Steve in all his splendour that few outside the Barnes household ever saw. Emotionally challenged according to some – mostly Bucky – and yet so full of heart all the same. The light of the setting sun painted his golden hair almost orange, then almost grey, buttercream jacket dwarfing his small form, shoulders hunched forward just a little and then a lot in the unspoken weight of realising that perhaps, sometimes, you really were alone.

There was a tightness in Bucky’s chest. He drew closer to Steve, heart steadying, anger subsiding yet still worried all the same. Hands rolled up those wretched linen sleeves, rucked up the fabric of his pants and dropped himself beside the boy of blue and gold.

“Been looking for you everywhere, pal.”

Steve was quiet, still, save for his fingers, sketching the glow of the sunset on the paper in his lap. Charcoal this time – no cash for colours, and yet Bucky could see how full, how true the picture grew beneath his hands. Bright in its shadows and smearing warmth in all the right places. Mouth pursed, brow furrowed and that sweet, pretty face hiding all the grief that came in waves along the shore of his small, sick life.

“I miss her.”

And Bucky wanted to die if it would take even a fraction of his pain away.

“I miss her too,” he said at last and Steve glanced up, eyes blue and red from crying, the sun’s reflection – probably both.

“Come on, Steve,” and Bucky had to draw the salty, river air into his lungs to remind himself what it was like to feel alive. “My home is your home. Always is.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve sniffed by way of disguising new tears as allergies, blinked twice and then drew his eyes back to the city. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky’s lips pressed into a small smile, nervous as he held Steve’s small shoulder in his own before pulling him closer to him, and then feeling brave, pressed a kiss to the top of that stupid boy’s head.

Steve let himself sink into Bucky’s side, grateful for the strength he could no longer hold in the weight of that Sunday afternoon. The feel of Bucky’s fingers through his hair was comforting in the way it reminded him of her and let himself taste the soft feeling of home.

---

The house had felt larger, lacking without them these last few days. Days that became well over a week, called on a mission to some faraway place that Fury had refused to indulge you on the details. Sam and Nat had been assigned to the same routes, Barton too, all recon, but even loose lips like his refused to spill details. You could only keep yourself busy for so long, drifting in and out of the empty spaces of your home.

You’d hassled the living daylights out of Agent Hill and she gave you a stack of reporting to shut you up and keep your brain occupied. She’d kept eyes on the comms, gleaming blue and white with frustration before she rolled said eyes into the back of her head at the way your body seemed to almost vibrate in its restlessness.

The compound gym was big and vast, mats rubbing and burning on your thighs as you grappled in training with the junior agents. Half guard, triangle, arm bar – you ran through them all and could only think of their hands, skin and metal, strong and large on your body, hot and drifting so vividly that you had to twist your way out of a rear-end choke that almost took the breath from your lungs.

Running was also a joke. You hated running most mornings when Steve bartered you from the covers, from Bucky’s warm, tight embrace. Running without him felt like death and yet you’d pushed on, wind rushing in your ears and through your lungs, trying to keep you breathing, keep you from missing them too much as the pounding beneath your feet reminded you how real it all was, is.

Most nights it was quiet, at times agonising being in the space alone – more a house, less a home. You’d tried to stay at the compound the first few days, knowing that would be the first place they’d return to after the mission – whenever that ended – but it wasn’t the same. The gleam of glass and metal lacked their warmth; they’d moved out long ago along with you, their things carried through the spaces in your home and peppered, worned and thrown about where they lay.

Shades of him and him and you rested in all the familiar places. Stack of books beside the bed, spilling from their designated shelves thanks to Bucky’s habit of cleaning out second hand bookstores every second week. The apparent art room where Steve took refuge with his paints, charcoal, all manner of colour and darkness in equal measure. Canvas took relief against the largest window, east-facing and bright for the sunrise that Bucky adored so much, even though it was Steve’s room and he just liked to sit and knit in it, balls of yarn – 8 ply, pure wool, because Bucky had standards – floating about his long, folded legs.

“You’re getting paint stains in my yarn.”

“It’s not even your room, Buck.”

“Hey, we wouldn’t even have this house if it weren’t for me.”

“Bucky, my love – we wouldn’t have this house if it weren’t for Stark.”

A pause, then a kiss that lunged and skipped and yelped as fingers flexed over hot skin.

“What was that, darlin’?’

And then he’d shut you up, breathless and suddenly shivering in anticipation, before hands became muscles, the kind with a delicious drag and pull that only existed between thighs, sometimes tongues.

The room was mainly used for art – at least that’s what you liked to believe the first few weeks anyway.

---

Bucky had insisted on a space outside of the compound, fit for three full-time and maybe a handful of visitors he considered family part-time, bird enthusiasts withstanding. He was deliberate in choosing the only house that had been left alone on the market for too long. Too old for most aspiring artists and of course, Steve had been the first to dismiss it; too ostentatious and big and too many rooms – only two more rooms than what was given to you at the compound, but still two rooms too many.

You'd agreed, citing the ten commandments of death by cleaning, but Bucky had insisted it was the one. Good bones, floorboards and what the hell would Steve know anyway with his ignorance of good taste, basic functionality, and the woeful inability to see a future beyond you and him and Bucky. Stark told Barnes he was dreaming and then bought the block without a moment's hesitation – a peace offering for Steve, for you, and a balm for that pit in his stomach that some called forgiveness.

Both Bucky and Steve had protested, determined not to owe a favour to anyone in their lives. Pepper was adamant, though Tony pretended otherwise. There was no real way to repay anything in this strange concoction called a family, but it was something all the same.

---

Moving in had been a mission and a half and Steve one infinity percent did not recommend it.

“The walls are wrong,” you decided, dropping two boxes in the designated bedroom – the biggest out of the three, but small enough to feel full with at least two of you inside. “Too white.”

“Need some melanin, baby?” Sam came up beside you, placing his boxes near yours, eyes sparkling and itching with glee.

“I’m going to shoot you off the Stark Tower, Wilson.” Bucky wrapped a possessive arm around your waist, pulling you close and nosing your hair as Sam rolled his eyes.

“Sure thing, Tin Man.” He waltzed back out the door, intending to help Steve with the rest of the boxes.

You turned to Bucky, smile ghosting on your lips. “You know he flies, right?”

“Darlin’, he only thinks he can.” Bucky pressed one kiss on your mouth, filling your lungs with sun and sweetness and everything that was intoxicatingly him. “The rocket blowing two feet from his asshole does all the work for him.”

You quirked an eyebrow, feeling sweet on your favourite birdman and called out. “Sam?”

“Yeah, baby girl?”

“Might need some of that melanin after all.”

The look on Bucky’s face was pure betrayal, eyes wide and his pretty mouth, opening and shutting like a goldfish lost on land.

You exploded with laughter, its sound big and bright through the room as you pressed two hands on either side of his beautiful face. “Breathe, Bucky.”

His eyes narrowed on yours, laughing and a little dark at the same time. “Traitor.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” You kissed him on his cheek, his brow, your favourite dip in his chin, stubble soft and sweet on your lips.

“You better,” and then his mouth was on yours, lush and weak in your knees, hands sliding beneath your shirt, your own through his hair and–

“I leave you guys for two minutes and this is what happens?”

Steve was in full Cap mode, hands on his delicious hips, grey t-shirt pulling across all the right and wrong directions of his chest, sweatpants dangerously low on his hips. He watched yours and Bucky eyes trace the lines of his knowingly impressive form, trying to catch your eyes, but not trying too hard despite the growing strain between his thighs telling him – and you – otherwise.

“Might have to do something about you two,” he decided at last, turning back towards the door.

“Please do,” Bucky called, grabbing your hand and throwing that heartbreaking grin in your direction.

---

It was much later that Sunday afternoon when all the family had dropped off the boxes, said their goodbyes, gifted their cakes and love and you politely shoved them out the door at twelve past eleven that night so Steve could have his hands between Bucky's thighs.

He was shivering as palms dragged on soft, pliable skin as the other fisted through those strands, grown longer around the neck and still so easy to pull groans from those lips that burned and ached on his own. It always left him in awe, how Bucky slowly came apart beneath his hands, his mouth, the breathless gasps he swallowed in his throat, in his lungs, carving the taste of home in his heart.

“Steve…”

And Steve kissed him harder, blood rushing through his ears until they prickled at the sound of the bedroom door opening; he swore he could hear the smile on your pretty face.

“Oh,” your voice was slow, teasing and full with sudden want. “I see how it is.”

Bucky wrenched himself, reluctantly, from his lover's grasp and was on you in three stuttered steps and then a groan, lips hot on yours, fingers threaded through your hair. Arms of metal and skin tugging you close, flush to his chest, half-dressed and a little dirty from all the moving as your fingers touched and brushed against the soft hairs on his chest.

“I seriously thought they’d never leave,” Bucky whispered and then he was on you again.

You were devoured by the way he kissed; always wanting, taking, and giving everything he could muster and often in the spaces between sheets and skin. Tongue swept on hungry tongue and then Steve's hands were on your face, your neck, turning you, devouring you just the same and it was a race to peel off each other's clothes. He was – they were – soft and strong and urgent in your hands, on your skin, breathless and perfect.

“I can't–,” you gasped at last, words swallowed sometime between Steve's kiss and Bucky ghosting his hands on the hem of your shirt, under, off, then back on skin again, spreading fire across the small of your back, and sending that all familiar shiver up your spine.

“Darlin’,” whispered words from Steve ghosted on your swollen lips. “Breathe.”

Breathe, he says, the word echoing ridiculously in your mind as the atmosphere snapped deliciously as they almost tackled you, deliberate and tender to the bed you shared, pushing you down between them, weighted in the most excruciating, most welcome way that had your cunt throbbing and you were pushing back against them and felt them smiling into your skin.

Bucky liked it best when you were on top of him, the angles just so, shadows cast away so he could see you in full light, full and gasping, hands dug into his chest, his own latched across your back, pulling you close, breath hot against his neck as your skin dragged and pulled between your trembling thighs. He almost preferred it to eating you out, a talent discovered once in the summer of ‘39 just before the war and between the thighs of one dull and desired woman. The sheer intimacy had a tendency to take him out that much sooner – he always had to slow down before it all got too much.

Steve liked it best from behind, pushing you into the sheets, even better with Bucky beneath you, turning your face to one side so he could curl his large, imposing body over yours – still new in so many ways, still used in so many more and even more to come. Something about the way his hands rested on your buttocks, proper leveraged, stroking your back towards your neck, curling his fingers gently around your throat from underneath and pressing the skin there just so. He liked it best right here, you breathless on his cock – inside your cunt or your mouth, it was hard to decide.

You licked your lips absentmindedly, adoring the way they both adored each other in the glow of the aftermath. This was how you liked it best, watching them take each other apart, hands on each other’s cocks, each other's everything and kissing desperately. They were almost biting each other, feeling the heat from each other’s thighs, skin, mouths.

“Gonna take you apart.” Four words, two pairs of hands, three mouths – where it came from, you could barely tell through the haze as the night stretched on.

Just you, just them.

Home.

---

They had gone out for the day, bathed in warmth from the night before and breath still burning on skin. Something about a recon mission that needed a little discretion – whatever that meant in the newer days when things felt foolish and nothing felt purposeful, except in the little quiet spaces shared between three.

Nat had come by to keep you company – she was free, you were free. It was nice. Feet propped up by yours and thumbing through one of Bucky’s many books that had found their way through the corners of the couch, bright morning light streaming through that big front room of the house.

“What are you reading?”

“Um,” she glanced at the cover, careful lips pursed. “Vonnegut.”

“He’s always reading that one,” you told her, setting her coffee on the table. “Feels familiar.”

“I don’t blame him,” she replied, nodding thanks with a warm hand to yours.

"He said it made him feel less alone somehow,” you mused, pushing the hair from your face and trying to ignore the time ticking through the day.

Though your eyes were on your own volume – a Brontë, thumbed one too many times – Natasha’s gaze had a way of unfurling your insecurities, pulling them out into the light.

The silence stretched just a touch before she returned her gaze to the pages before her and spoke. “You know he loves you, right?”

You bit your lip, ignoring the familiar anxiety pressing through your chest, and tried to refocus your eyes on the sentence before you.

She wasn’t convinced and frankly, neither were you.

“Hey,” she closed the book, thumb carefully keeping her place in the familiar pages. “He loves you – they both do.” She sat up, knees pushing against your own and then her hands were gentle on your face, like a mother trying to soothe a childhood fear.

“It’s different with you.” She had a way of making things sound true even when everything inside you liked to tell you otherwise. “It’s more than what you think.”

It was impossible not to believe her, the way she looked at you with such conviction in her words, her face. You felt the small smile press through your lips and she returned it warmly.

They waltzed through the door in that single moment. Steve with his suit rolled to his waist, blue, red, and white sleeves tied at his stomach, and Bucky, all charm and nonchalance as his lover threw verbal spars within his vicinity.

“Buck, he missed me by a hair.”

“A bee’s dick, I’m sure.”

“If you had just followed my orders–”

“Honestly, Steve – when was the last time you followed orders?”

“This isn’t about me.” Steve was becoming more agitated now, mouth spluttering and annoyed at Bucky’s ability to throw him, and entirely oblivious to you and Nat watching the entire exchange.

Bucky, however, was keenly observant. “Not making out with my lover, are you Nat?” His eyes flitted to you, then her as you watched the wheels turn in his pretty head at her hands on your face.

“No,” Nat replied, sly smile in her face. “Would you like me to?”

Steve was still spluttering, but for a different reason entirely now. “Nat–”

“Maybe another lifetime, baby.” You leapt up, arms around Steve and kissed him stupid, devouring the next sentence and pulled away as pink crept through his chiselled cheeks. Another to Bucky, quick and flighty on his lips until he wrestled you back for one that was longer, most earnest.

Nat rolled her eyes and closed her book. She picked up the coffee mug from the table.

“Coffee, boys?”

You followed her, lips burning from their kiss and prickling warm in your heart.

---

It was after midnight in the twenty-four hour grocery store when you watched Steve’s brow furrow, then his face burst in aisle three.

“Are you serious?” Steve was exasperated, hands running through that lust-fucked hair. “Again?”

“I’m taking a break from dairy.”

“Taking a break from dairy – Buck, you’ve got to be fucking me.”

“Here? Right now?” Bucky shot back, catching your gaze with a glimmer in his eye.

“Un-fucking-believable.” Steve grabbed the basket, Bucky’s metal hand letting go instantly, shoulders laughing as he watched his big, blonde, beautiful boyfriend stalk up the aisle to the milk section.

“Since when do you drink soy milk?” You teased, snuggling into his shoulder as he wrapped his now free arm around yours.

“Since I started pissing him off apparently.”

You chuckled. “So... 1930?”

“Sounds about right,” Bucky grinned and it exploded like a solar flare in your chest.

“Maybe you should make it up to him,” you measured, watching Steve thrust open the glass door and grab a bottle from the rack with a little too much force. “He might have a conniption.”

“He had a conniption on last week’s mission.” Bucky replied. “Threw himself out of a plane without a parachute after I said no to his plan.” He shrugged, then conceded all the same. Fingers linked with your own, warm and safe as he pulled you up the aisle before Steve’s frustrated form.

“Steve, seriously – breathe,” you smiled and Steve felt himself settle as you tilted your head to press your lips to his own, soft and lovely. “It’s just milk.”

“Promise I won’t leave it out this time,” Bucky offered, kissing him hard and fast to drive his point across.

Steve shook his head, calming instantly and missing the feel of you – and him. He gazed at you, then Bucky, eyes bright and blue, and let out a breath.

“Let’s go home,” he said at last.

And so it was.

---

Masterlist here again if you like my trash, lovers 🖤

[hiswhiteknight]

The Love of Storms

Summary:  Your love of storms is interrupted by some ‘family’ time in the compound with the Avengers. But what you didn’t see happening was your feelings for Bucky coming up or Bucky’s thoughtful actions.

This is my entry for Attie’s ( @barnesrogersvstheworld ) Kiss Challenge. My prompt was ‘during a power outage.’ This is my first story I’ve tried to write in over a month, so I hope everyone likes it. Congrats Attie on the followers, you are amazing!!! Thanks for this!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 1500

Warning: Fluff, some angst if you look hard enough, minor cursing

Lighting raced across the sky, the rain was going to start soon. You could feel it in the air and in your body, you loved the sound of rain. You and the rest of the Avengers team were at the compound, “Y/N,” you turned away from your window and looked to Wanda, “We’re going to put a movie on, if you’d like to join.”

You took a deep breath, before looking out the window. You really just wanted to sit down with some tea and watch the storm through a big window. But you loved your team and it was a rare moment you all were together, “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

She smiled and turned back towards the living room. You wrapped your sweater tighter around you before walking to meet the gang, “Here comes the straggler,” Clint yelled out, “Hurry up, the movie is about to start.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a glass tea, before making your way to the couches, “Who has the M&M’s?” Everyone pointed towards the bean bag with Bucky on it, who had his hands raised innocently. You raised your eyebrow, “Got popcorn too,” you questioned.

“Of course he does,” Tony interrupted, “Now take a seat with the man, so we can start the movie.”

You flipped him off before making your way to Bucky. He moved to make as much space as he could, which wasn’t a lot. So you squished next to him, grabbing the M&Ms that he passed to you. He put his arm around the back to make more space. You could feel the coolness of his viburnum arm. You’d be lying if you didn’t feel a connection with Bucky, but you never acted on it. He was a fragile man, though he never showed it. He was a good friend.

The movie started, but it was obvious your attention was elsewhere. You could smell it in the air, someone had their window open. You could feel the vibrations of thunder, “You don’t have to stay, you know?”

Bucky leaned in to whisper to you. You turned you full attention to him, “What?”

“You don’t want to be here,” he continued to whisper, “The weather is your scene. You love thunderstorms.”

You heart beat a little faster, you gave him a little smile, “It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll catch it later. How often do we get to spend time together as a family?”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Sam poked Bucky’s knee, which bumped against yours, “Shut up this is the best part.”

You looked back at the screen, “There about to get intimate.”

“Yes, sexy time,” he pointed out, “Zip it.” Tony paused the movie, “Hey,” Sam sat up in outrage.

Tony sat up looking at you strangely, “Hold on,” he said point at you, “Y/N,” he questioned, “Getting intimate?”

You shook your head, “And?”

“No one else is bothered by this,” he looked around the group, who looked amused, “Who talks like that?”

Bucky gave him a dirty look, “Leave her alone, Stark.”

Tony smirked leaning back again, “I’m just curious about what kind of person uses terminology like that for sex. I mean, there are about three thousand more common works for it.”

“Getting it on,” Wanda answered.

“Netflix and Chilling,” Rhodey added.

“Intercourse,” Vision continued, “Coitus.”

Tony pointed to him, “Not helping Vision.”

“Fuc-,” Clint was about to finish.

Before Steve groaned, stepping in to stop the conversation, “Alright, I think we get the picture. Let’s continue watching the movie.”

“Virgin,” Tony whispered before pushing play.

The movie had just started when suddenly the power turned off, “Come on,” Sam jumped up, “What the hell man?”

Everyone looked to Tony, “The generator should start up any minute.” There was a dramatic pause, but the generator didn’t start.

“Tony,” Bruce questioned him, “Was the new update for the compound’s system going on right now?” Tony looked up thought, “During a thunderstorm, which called for the potential for a dozen power outages up and down the coast?”

Taking a deep sigh, Tony stood with Bruce, “Honest mistake. Brucey and I are on it. Continue on with your day. I’ll let you know when the power back up.”

“Or,” you added, “We’ll know by the sudden use of lights.”

“Zip it Virgin,” he growled, making you role your eyes.

Everyone got up and started going in different directions. You stood in front of the in window finding peace with the sudden darkness. Everyone was keeping busy, setting candles every where or playing card games. You felt a hand gripping your elbow, “Follow me,” Bucky whispered before putting his hand on your lower back to guide you.

“Where are we going,” you whispered back, a little amused.

He gave you a smile, grabbing you hand, and leaned in, “Trust me.”

You nodded at him and let Bucky take you away. After searching through the darkness, you enter a door, “Isn’t this your room?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, nodding. You grew nervous again, a spark growing in your chest. It was hard to ignore the fact now that you like Bucky more than you thought. It was easy to ignore when you were busy or alone, but with the lightnings flashes, revealing his handsome face, and the grip of his hand – you couldn’t ignore it, “I have a bigger window,” he pointed. “Here,” he let go of your hand and took all the pillows and blankets off his bed and onto the nook in front of his window, “The rain is about to start,” he grinned again, but shyer, “Get comfortable.”

“Thanks Bucky, this is amazing,” you jumped between the mountain of covers and pillows. A minute later, Bucky joined you passing a cup of tea. You let out a laugh, “How did you make a cup a tea?”

He leaned into you, putting his arm around you as you shivered, “I am a super spy after all. I’m full of all kind of tricks,” he offered you a smirk.

You smiled back, noticing the blueness of his eyes. The lightning flash caught your attention and that is when the rain started. The sound brought a fullness to your heart, a special kind of piece. You didn’t notice the attention from Bucky anymore. He watched your expression with affection and anticipation. It was a long time since he felt like this towards another human. When he was with you, you brought him a sense of rest and calm. It was just your nature, the way you moved, the way you reacted and held yourself. He loved you and was waiting for the right time to show you. It was just luck today happened the way it did.

Taking his hand, he moved a stray bang from your eyes, grabbing your attention, “This is nice,” you said burying your hand into the blankets, closer to Bucky’s chest. You could feel his heart beat, “You’re very thoughtful Buck.”

“Anything for you Doll,” his smile grew as he searched your face, “I’m glad you trust me enough to be in my room alone with me.”

“Bucky,” you laugh, “You mean a lot to me. Of course, I trust you. You do stuff like this,” you motioned towards the nook.

He brought his hand to your cheek, leaned in, and gently kissed your lips. He put his forehead against yours, “How can a fella not? You’re breathtaking, kind, understanding,” he breathed a laugh out, “Honestly, I could go on, but I think I’m embarrassed myself enough.”

You put your hand on his neck, “Your sweet, charming, and almost too good looking,” you laugh.

“Everyone needs a flaw,” he smirked before going in for another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate. One hand swept into his hair and the other to his chest when suddenly the lights snapped on.

You both jolted apart, “FRIDAY,” you laugh, “Shut the lights off, please,” and the lights snaps off as a bolt of lighting shimmered across the sky, “Where were we,” you giggled. He smirked, pulling you on his lap before continuing kissing you.

Steve and Nat leaned into the door with Bruce and Tony standing next to them, “Did it work,” Tony asked.

“Of course it did,” Nat laughed, “Why wouldn’t it?”

Tony shook his head, “I can’t believe they actually thought this place would lose power. This place is a masterpiece.”

Steve slapped his hand on Tony’s shoulder, “Seems some people don’t have as much faith in you as I do,” he grinned, “Now let’s go finish the movie.”

“Just so you know,” Tony pointed at Steve as the group made their way down the hall, “I hate you.”

[the-canary]

You Know - S.R (6/6)

Summary: Dear heart, the term “faking dating” didn’t mean go and fall in love with him, especially when he’s not yours to begin with. (Office/Fake Dating! Reader/Steve Rogers)

Prompt: Kiss at the theater

A/N: This is for @barnesrogersvstheworld‘s kissing challenge. last chapter, thank you for sticking with this story until the end and taking the time to read it! i hope you enjoy the ending. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |Masterlist

Feedback is always welcomed.

I’ll be there in 20 minutes.

It was the latest text he had sent, before making his way to your apartment -- tonight you were going to meet his closest friends, and Steve wasn’t sure what was going to happen from there. Since he had gone to your apartment that one night, everything seemed alright but there were times were your eyes were hazy and distant --like you weren’t there at all-- and you moved away from his touch, even if unconsciously. It happened especially when Nat was around during lunch.

“Of course, she would move away. She’s trying to make an opening for you. She has to big of a heart to not to try to make your happiness possible.”  

Steve smiles at the thought, but he knows that his happiness couldn’t be with Nat, as much as a good friend that she has become since their first argument -- they was all they could be and Steve was happy to have her in his life. However, the way you shined and simply showed your kindness to him in all sorts of different ways, though how you spent time together to how you always asked is he was all right -- and he wanted to the same for you, every single day if he could.

It was simply, but more than he has had in a long time and Steve knows that he really wants to makes this “thing” you two have real.

With a nice blue shirt, that Nat picked out for him, and your favorite flowers at hand -- he hopes that he can by the end of the night.

“You probably only have tonight, Steve. Anything else and she’ll probably push it aside as you wanting her as a ‘second choice’, trust me I know here.”

The start to the evening is a little strange, not because of anything that Steve does. He is the very gentleman that he has been since the beginning of this whole thing with the bright smile, wide blues eyes, and a set of your favorite flowers, which you don’t exactly remember ever telling him. You thank him and put them in a vase, he he waits for you in the tiny hallway of your apartment. It’s not him, it’s probably you because you feel the end setting deep into your bones. 

This is the end what feels had started longer than a month ago. Maybe, it’s because Steve has done so much more for you than Jack had in a shorter amount of time “together”. You hadn’t realized that you were running yourself ragged until Steve made you stop and take breaks, every once and awhile and that not everything the kids needed was high priority. Yes, you were always going to be there for them, but you couldn't drive yourself into sleepless nights and weekends over things that they just needed a little push in -- it was supposed to be a growing experience for them too.  

You were learning to have some free time for yourself, but you weren’t sure what you were going to do with all of it once this was said and done with. Though you knew that deep down, you might need to get used to seeing him with Natasha at one point. I mean, they were so good for each other in some ways, it was just a matter of time and you were sure that Nat would tell you, if they ever got together -- to ease the blow.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, holding out his hand to you. Blue eyes taking in every inch of your outfit before meeting your eyes and giving you a silly grin. He’s just as nervous as you are about the whole thing, about if this is going to work or not, as you grab his hand and realize just how clammy it is.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you in silent agreement of whatever the strange tandem in your little cluttered apartment seems to be, as he pushes you into the bright lights and unknown of what will happen after tonight.

Because after all this, you might not ever have Steve Rogers by your side again.

Bucky and Sam know something up with Steve long before they arrive back in New York -- I mean, that’s what social media was for, right? They had seen Sharon’s life slowly change through pictures and various updates and while Steve didn’t use it as much, the general lack of updates throughout their time apart was strange, it didn’t help that they never saw this gal or connected with her either, which was something that they had quickly done with Sharon.

So, either something was wrong within this relationship, if there even was one to begin with. The pair might be a little paranoid, but they were protective about Steve after everything that they had found out he had gone through while they were away -- Sharon had told once Sam had poked enough.

“Do you think he’ll even bring someone?” Bucky can’t help but fret over his childhood friend, as Sam laughs as he nuzzles closer to Bucky’s left side --he still isn’t used to the new mechanical arm-- as they wait for Steve and his mysterious woman to arrive.

“Who knows at this point?” Sam can’t help but remark, as he places a soft kiss on the man’s bearded cheek in an attempt to calm him down. While, he is also nervous in his own way, Sam knew that Steve always had controlled of things in one way or another, even if he didn’t like asking for help -- he was a stubborn fool that way.

“Looks like you don’t have to wait long,” Sam laughs as he watches Bucky’s own eyes look up and glance at the entrance of the restaurant. They stare at the couple, watch them laugh at their own personal joke as they make it to their shared table and Sam and Bucky know --see it in their best friend’s eyes-- as they come up and she introduces herself as Steve watches her like Icarus might have looked at the sun once.

He’s completely in love with her, but something is definitely wrong.  

It’s all easy laugh and great good between the four of you. It surprises Steve how easily you fall into tandem with knowing whatever mechanics Bucky is talking about (because of all the kids that are into STEM majors underneath your watch) when it comes to astronomy and tech, while also joking and sharing stories with Sam, some which are about Steve and have you hollering. You tell them about yourself and even about some of the students you are working with -- they seem caught on your ever words and impressed with your work.

The night is going as smoothly as it can until Steve goes to the bathroom and Bucky decides to go as well. It leaves you with Sam, who seems to gain a serious expression on his face, before looking straight into your eyes. There is a shift in the air and you know that you are in for it, as you sit up a bit straighter than before as the man begins.

“So, tell me,” he starts, leaning in a bit closer with his best poker face, “What do you really think about Steve?”

“He’s a real sweetheart, ya know.”

“How deep are you in ‘ta this, Stevie?”

“Completely, Buck.”

When Bucky comes back, he can’t help but shake his head for long Sam to see, who only shrugs and laughs.

Bunch of fools in love, is something that they both agree on.

Even after you say goodbye to Bucky and Sam (they had an early conference and meetings with some R&D people from Wakanda), you and Steve end up walking around the streets absentmindedly, making remarks here and and there of anything that catches your attention. Somehow, you end up in a cluster of little movie theaters in Midtown. You aren’t sure which movie you end up watching, but you make this one last date hold out as long as possible, and maybe Steve agrees with you as you sit as close a possible during the movie -- your thoughts more obviously on each other  than the film in front of your.

However, two hours past too fast for the two of you as once again, you are outside staring at the sparkling lights of the city that never sleepless, as you head towards the subway station -- all the while holding hands and huddling close, even if it isn’t that cold. All talk of the moving and who really should have died or not coming to a stop, as you head closer to the end.

“Well, was nice while it lasted, Steve Rogers,” you state softly, near some wall between an older theater and the subway station, as you try your hardest not to break right then and there. Who knew that this man would have stolen your heart so easily when he first come to your aid?

You pull away from his hand and place kiss on his cheek, hoping that you could part ways here and make the blow to your heart easier in the process.

“I-I-” he stumbles, trying to find the right words, until he decides its best to just yell them out, “Please don’t go!”

“Steve, it’s over,” you try to stop, remind of what he wanted from the beginning, “You can go after Nat now, you’ve built a steady thing with her.”

“I don’t want Natasha, sweetheart,” he states, voice trembling, as your eyes widen, “It was never her. I was just too much of a crowd to say it out loud.”

“Say what, Steve?”

“I’m in love with you,” he declares firmly, as you swear your heart stops, “Been so since the first day I started working at the office -- you’re always the best part of my day. And I took my chance with all this, hoping you wouldn’t turn me away when it is all over.”

“I-I--”

Steve steels himself, ready for you to turn him down and that this thing had run its course. However, he is meet with you jumping into his arms and wrapping your arms around his neck. Before he can say or question anything, you press your lips together underneath the bright lights of the theater -- not caring who sees or what they might think. Steve wraps his arms around your waist and you don’t separate until you both need air to breathe. Those blue eyes are glimmering with so many emotions and you can’t help but think of just how dense you must have been to not seen the love shining in them.

“You know,” Steve adds cheekily with a grin, “I think I might just need another -- to understand what you are trying to say exactly.”

“Silly man,” you giggle out before leaving into the crook of his neck and laughing, out of relief and so many other emotions bubbling up, “Let’s go back and I’ll shower you with all the kisses you want.”

“With cuddles and ice cream?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two of you don’t stop laughing, smitten and relieved, until you end up back in your little apartment. You are finally able to stop playing this charade and move forward with an actual relationship, unknowingly needing to thank so many people along the way.    

A few weeks later.

Dummy: Official first date!

Love (Group) Chat: FINALLY!

[a-splash-of-stucky]

how long will i love you?

Pairings: Artist!Steve Rogers x Artist!Reader

Summary: Nothing lasts forever, except, perhaps, your love for him.

Warnings: So much angst. Major character death/grieving. Language.

Notes: Written for @barnesrogersvstheworld’s writing challenge using the prompt ‘paint tubes’. Kisses are featured, though how ‘significant’ they are is up for debate (sorry y’all, I tried)

Some inspiration taken from the ‘Over and Over Again’ music video, and title is from ‘How Long Will I Love You’ by Ellie Goulding. Sorry in advance for the heartbreak, but on a separate note: I’m really proud of how this turned out.

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“You need to clean it out,” Wanda says, for the dozenth time in probably as many minutes.

“I don’t need to do anything—”

“It’ll be cathartic,” she says, “You’ll find closure, you’ll...I dunno, you’ll find those pizza socks that you’ve lost, maybe?”

“I do miss those socks,” you say forlornly.

“So, you’ll clean it out?” she presses.

“I’ll...think about it.”

—

The art studio is exactly how you’d left it, albeit with a thin film of dust clinging to every surface. That is to be expected, given that you haven’t set foot in this room for over two years. As you step into it now, you feel as if you’ve just gone back in time, to a point in your life when things were brighter, easier.

You sigh heavily as you flick on the light switch.

It’s a small, square room, with an enormous corner window. When the blinds are drawn open, sunlight floods into the place, making the studio seem much bigger than it really is. You cross the room quickly to do just that.

You rest your back against the cool glass of the window as you carefully survey the place. The room is in a state of organised chaos, with some semblance of order built into the messiness. An eclectic collection of DIY shelves and IKEA storage units housing your art equipment line the wall beside the door. Some of the drawers are practically overflowing with their contents.

A large desk has been pushed against the wall to your left and on it, there are glass mason jars with paint brushes still inside them. You know that if you were to open the drawers of that desk, you’d find all of your old sketchbooks and a few unfinished pieces of art. Larger equipment like tripods, a drying rack and easels are arranged against the wall opposite the desk. The window takes up most of the fourth wall, so you’ve put no furniture in front of it, in order to not block out the light.

It’s bittersweet, being in here.

You slowly make a circuit around the room, trailing your fingers over the paint-stained and pencil-marked surfaces. His presence fills the room, despite the fact that he has not been in here for the last two years, either. The stuff in here is as much tied to him as it is to you; both of you shared this studio, both of you used these brushes and those easels, both of you used to blast your music as you painted into the wee hours of the night.

It’s difficult enough, having to live in the home that you once shared with him without having to come in here and be harshly reminded of his absence. Nearly eighteen months ago, you moved into a studio-office downtown, so that you could work in a space whose every square inch had not been infused with the essence of his being.

You remember the times when you would open the door to this studio and see him hunched over the desk, new splatters of paint decorating his apron. His tongue would be sticking out of the corner of his mouth and his brows would be furrowed in concentration as he worked on his latest piece. Music would fill the air — something mellow and old-school, something that reminded you of jazz bars and speakeasies.

You’re torn between the urge to preserve the room exactly as it is, and clearing everything out, giving you the opportunity to start afresh.

As you perch yourself on one of the stools, your eyes land on a cardboard box balancing precariously on top of one of the smaller drawer units. You dimly remember dumping it there ages ago, fully intending on coming back to it in a couple of days’ time.

Funny how two days can so suddenly turn into two years.

You cross the room to examine it more closely. The box is exactly how you remember it, black, with the brand name written across the front in simple, clean white text. Hesitantly, like you’re afraid that something might leap out and bite you, you lift up the lid with a single index finger. The paint tubes are still inside, untouched — pristine as the day they came. There are ten of them in all.

In the grief and darkness of the last two years, you’d forgotten about them.

He would not want them to go to waste.

In a sudden burst of motivation, you drag an easel, a small table and a stool over to the window, before rooting around the storage units for a pre-stretched canvas. You grab all the utensils you think you’ll need and don your old, paint-stained apron before sitting down.

You have not put a brush to canvas for a long time, but perhaps, it is time to revisit your roots.

—

You scrub the back of your hand over your face, groaning in frustration when you realise that you’ve probably just smeared blue acrylic across your cheek.

It’s a Friday night and, while most people are ushering in the weekend with booze and parties, you’re stuck in the art department, frantically trying to finish your coursework piece in time for the Monday morning submission deadline. You’re lowkey hating your past-self for being so ambitious and/or being really shitty at time-management, but what’s done is done and your present-self must now deal with the consequences of your own incompetence.

It is at this precise moment that the door to the art studio creaks open and a broad-shouldered, blonde-haired hunk of a man walks in. It takes a moment for you to clock him as Steve Rogers, otherwise known as the guy that you’ve been crushing on for the better part of the last academic year.

He’s wearing a light-grey t-shirt, dark blue jeans and a black bomber that hugs him just right. He’s got a canvas backpack slung casually over one shoulder, and big, square-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He does a double-take when he notices you, like he’s surprised to find anyone else here, on a Friday night.

“Uh...hey,” he says, waving a hand in greeting.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, straightening up in your seat.

Of all the times for your crush to see you, it had to be when you were wearing your least-flattering pair of sweats and had paint smeared across your cheek, right?

“You’re, uh...you’re Y/N, right?” he asks, as he slowly walks over to you.

“Yep, that’s me. And you’re Steve?”

“Steve Rogers, that’s me,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He stops beside your table and gives a cursory glance over the mess you’ve got spread across it.

“Coursework?” he guesses, jerking his chin towards your painting-in-progress.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Same, I got some things I needed to finish up before I can hand it in,” Steve says. “I gotta admit though, I didn’t think anyone would be in here this late.”

You frown in confusion. “It’s not that late, it’s only like...oh,” you murmur, as you look at the clock hanging over the door.

Steve chuckles. “What time did you think it was?”

“Like...maybe almost nine o’clock?”

“Yeah, and then somehow, you find out that it’s five past midnight, huh?” Steve says, nodding sagely. “Yeah, I’ve been there before.”

You smile wryly. “The struggles of being a student artist, huh?”

“You can say that again,” Steve says, shooting you one of those disarming, carefree grins. “But hey—at least you’re not alone anymore, how much longer are you planning to stay?”

“Uh…” you mumble, as you assess your work and quickly estimate how much more time you’ll need before you can pack up. “I need to get the painting done by tonight, ‘cause I need to go over some of the parts with pencil tomorrow, so...maybe another couple hours?”

“Cool,” he says, as he dumps his stuff onto the table to your left. “I’m probably staying that long too.”

“Cool,” you mutter, despite the fact that internally, you are anything but cool. You’re a nervous wreck, praying to the heavens above that you don’t make a fool of yourself in Steve’s presence.

Eh, you’ve already got paint on your face — how much worse can it get?

You covertly watch Steve out of the corner of your eye as he pulls out a set of drawing pencils and a sketchpad from his drawer and gets to work. It’s nice, having him there to keep you company. The two of you make small talk every now and then, but for the most part, you’re both focused on getting your work done as fast as possible.

Sometime after the one-hour mark, Steve brings up his Spotify account and puts some music on in the background, to keep you going for the home stretch. You’re unfamiliar with the artist, but the music is calming and bluesy, enough to occupy the silence, but not too much to make you lose your focus.

You hunker down and finish off the rest of your painting in record time, sitting back triumphantly as you appraise the nearly-completed piece. You need to let it dry before you can add in the last bits of pencil shading, and you still need to mount it into a proper frame, but you’re confident that you can get all of that done by Monday morning.

Steve finishes his work just as you start cleaning off your brushes and palettes in the sink. He comes over and dumps his stuff into the sink beside yours, before turning on his faucet.

“Productive?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the running water.

“Yeah. But I’m really tired now.”

“Yeah, well — it’s almost 2AM, that’s kinda expected,” he says, laughing gently. “You live far from here?”

You shake your head. “Nah, just on the other side of campus.”

“Oh really? I’m near there too, I can walk you home, if you’d like.” he offers.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! I’m just gonna walk through all the campus buildings, I’ll be okay.”

He opens his mouth, about to press his point further, but winds up shrugging his shoulders and dropping the topic instead. You finish cleaning your brushes, then place them and your mixing palettes into the appropriate drying racks. When you turn around, you find Steve’s eyes staring directly at you. He startles and turns around quickly, the slight flush on his cheeks making it obvious that he was just checking you out.

Wait — he was checking you out?

Are you imagining things? Could it be? Holy shit.

Steve is resolutely ignoring you, focusing intently on making his brushes as clean as physically possible. You could either confront him, or live with the agony of not knowing what happens next for the rest of your life.

You decide to bite the bullet.

You clear your throat loudly to get his attention. “Is something wrong?” you ask.

He frowns. “Uh, no? Why would anything be wrong?”

“Well...you were just looking at me funny...did I forget something?”

Steve’s eyes widen in panic. “Oh! Oh, that — no, nothing’s wrong, you just...you got something on your face,” he says, gesturing vaguely with one hand. He clears his throat. “I uh...I can get it for you? If you’d like?”

“Sure,” you reply, rolling one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug.

You watch, strangely nervous, as Steve turns the faucet off, dumps his brushes into a holder to dry and wipes his palms on his jeans before stepping closer. Your breathing hitches in your throat as he gently cups your chin and brushes his thumb over your cheek in a featherlight caress. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the warmth of his breath on your skin.

Quick as a flash, he ducks down and presses his lips to yours — a touch that is gone as suddenly as it came.

His cheeks are flushed a scarlet red when he pulls away.

“Um...sorry, I — yeah,” he mumbles.

You blink rapidly, trying to get your thoughts in order. Did—did that just happen?

“Did you just kiss me?”

His blush deepens, if that were possible. It spreads down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt — a part of you is curious to find out if he’s a full-body blusher.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You chew on your bottom lip as you take in the situation. Steve’s body is still curled towards yours, and the faint, pleasant scent of his cologne fills your nostrils, making it hard to think. He hasn’t taken his hand off your cheek; beneath his palm, your skin tingles with anticipation.

It’s now or never. Carpe diem, and all that crap.

“That was...something,” you murmur, as your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, his gaze flicking from your lips to your eyes, and back again. “It was.”

“I—uh, I think we might need to do that again. So that I can figure out what the ‘something’ was. For science,” you add hastily, as the corner of your lips quirk up into a half-smile.

His lips pull into a grin, one that threatens to outshine the sun and makes your heart do an excited little flutter. It’s a smile filled with hope and promise, and it’s taking everything in you not to lean over and kiss him stupid.  

“The start of something new, maybe?” he suggests.

You bark out a surprised laugh. “Oh, do not start quoting High School Musical at me, or this’ll turn into an impromptu sing-and-dance number real quick, I promise you that.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, even as he leans in closer, curling one hand around your jaw and the other around the back of your neck.

“Anything can happen,” he sings, softly, and horribly off-key, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “When you take a chance.”

“You’re such a dork,” you breathe, as you surge forward and crush your lips together.

—

You’re painting aimlessly, putting paint on canvas merely for the sake of it.

Since his passing, you’ve tried to keep your distance from any and all types of paints; there are just too many memories associated with him. Painting doesn’t have the same allure to you as it once did. Instead, you’ve developed your skills in the world of digital art, favouring Photoshop and cameras and high-tech gadgets over traditional media. Between the two of you, he’d always been the more-skilled painter, anyway. Now, with you being so out-of-practice, a brush has never felt more foreign in your hands.

The colours on your canvas are disjointed and discordant, bold splashes of red juxtaposed by sickly greens and dark expanses of blue. You feel as if you’ve forgotten everything you’ve learnt; how to mix colours, how to dilute the paint to get lighter washes, which colours work well together.

You have no direction in mind, with this piece.

You’re not happy with where things are going, but at least you’re reacquainting yourself with your brushes. You hadn’t realised how much you missed their weight in your fingers, the satisfying give of the bristles as you press them to the canvas. Surprisingly enough, the muscles in your arm and hand still remember how they should move to best lay down the colour. Your fingers are covered in specks of paint and similar flecks of colour now adorn your light-wash jeans.

Despite your best efforts, this piece is becoming increasingly unsalvageable. Layer after layer of colour simply adds to the dissonance in front of you.

A part of you just wants to quit.

You can hear his voice in the back of your head, reassuring and encouraging and comforting in a way that only he could be.

Stop over thinking it, sweetheart. You’re good, you know how to paint. Don’t use your head, just...listen to your heart, paint what you love.

It clicks, then.

He’s been kept alive in your memory for so long, perhaps it is time to share his greatness with the rest of the world.

You stand up, hurrying across the room to get a fresh canvas and a new jar of water. You can see the painting taking form in your mind, with its golden tones, simple brushwork and muted palette. You push your unfinished piece to the side and position your new canvas on the easel, before dragging your stool closer and picking up a clean brush.

You have a portrait to paint.

—

You and Steve are walking down the street hand-in-hand, weaving through the throng of last-minute Christmas shoppers. It is the first holiday season you’re celebrating as a couple, and you’re excited to spend a cosy weekend at home, trading little presents and gentle kisses under the warmth of the covers.

“I fucking hate crowds,” Steve grumbles, “Everyone’s so goddamn rude.”

You laugh, threading your arm around his and pressing your cheek to his bicep, still warm despite the chilly winter air. “Let’s hurry up and get you your hot chocolate, then, before we get crushed to death by all these people.”

He grins, patting your hand affectionately. “You’re filled with great ideas, aren’t you?”

Just then, a store that you’ve never seen before catches your eye. Eager to investigate further, you tug Steve over to the shop window, making him yelp in surprise.

It’s an art supply store — a fancy one, if the decor is anything to go by. The display boasts an impressive array of beautifully-crafted easels, handmade brushes, premium colour pencils and, most notably, a Winsor and Newton 10-colour gouache paint set.

The sleek box is front-and-centre of the display. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the elegant white tubes, with the simple Winsor and Newton logo emblazoned across them. A sheet of paper beside the box holds a swatch of each colour; they look positively dreamy.

“They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?” Steve murmurs appreciatively.

You hum in agreement. “Shame you’d need to drop nearly 90 bucks to get them.”

“I’ll buy them for you,” Steve promises, turning to face you. “I mean—not now, obviously, but one day.”

You smile as you wind your arms around his torso and tip your head back to look up at him. “Yeah? Once your pieces have made it into the Guggenheim and the Tate, you mean?”

“Exactly,” he says, grinning as he bends down to press a kiss to your chilly, slightly-chapped lips.

“I’m fucking freezing,” you mumble, as he pulls away.

In response, he wraps his arms around your shoulders, smushing your face into his torso in an effort to warm you up.

“My little icicle,” he says fondly.

“That...that sounds vaguely sexual,” you say, your voice slightly muffled.

Steve snorts, gently pushing you back so that he can tuck you under his arm. “Get your mind out of the goddamn gutter, please.”

“Fine,” you grumble, giving one last longing look at the set of paint tubes before the two of you resume walking. “Hot chocolate?” you prompt.

“Hot chocolate,” Steve agrees.

—

It is strangely bittersweet, using these paint tubes.

In your mind’s eye, you see his slim, strong fingers wielding a brush expertly, the backs of his hand and knuckles covered in splotches of paint. He was so confident whenever he mixed his colours, knowing instinctively how much he needed from each tube to create the exact shade he was looking for. He had an intuition, a deep-seated knowledge that you’ve always admired.

You personally had never reached quite the same level of skill that he had attained, but you never envied him for it. He had his strengths, he had his weakness and you, likewise.

With this piece, you have a much clearer idea of where you’re going. The painting is taking shape before your very eyes, a creation that is coming straight from your heart. You are literally pouring a part of your soul onto the canvas, exposed and vulnerable, for all the world to see.

As the brush glides across the canvas and deposits streaks of colour in its wake, you feel as if you’re functioning on autopilot. Your brain has taken a backseat and your heart is now running the show, painting what it loves dearly and longs to see. You have no reference besides the memories in your head, the ones that have been your sweetest grief in the most difficult period of your life.

You might not have the same knowledge of colours and composition that he had, but what you lack in skill you make up for through sheer force of will. You don’t allow yourself to question your actions or second-guess your decisions; you know how to mix the exact shade of golden amber for his hair, the precise colour of blue for his eyes, the perfect shade of pink for his lips.

You’re moving on instinct. Your hand and arm and fingers map out the planes and curves of his face, the slope of his shoulders, the breadth of his torso. His image is burnished into your memory, just as his name has etched itself onto your heart.

He may be gone from this world, but you promise yourself that you’ll never let him fade from your memory.

—

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Steve says, as he drops a package wrapped in brown paper into your lap.

“What’s this?” you ask, examining it in your hands as you sit up straighter. Steve bites his lip and shrugs as he comes to sit beside you on the couch.

“Open it,” he says simply. His hands are clasped in his lap and he is twisting his wedding ring around his finger with his right hand — a nervous tick that he’s recently developed.  

“But—Stevie, you’ve already got me a birthday present!” you protest.

“I know, I know...this is like...an early Christmas present. Or a late Christmas present, however you wanna call it.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. “I thought we don’t do Christmas presents?”

“Then, well—this is…oh, for fuck’s sake, just open it, will you?”

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, hastily peeling the tape off.

As the wrapper falls away, your eyes are met with a plain black cardboard box, with Winsor and Newton written across the top in simple white font. From the weight and size of the box, you have a feeling you know what this present might be.

“Steve,” you breathe, as you turn to face your husband. “Is this—”

“Just open it!” he begs, “I’m literally dying from the suspense.”

You laugh, despite yourself, rushing to peel away the protective plastic wrapping that encases the box. Tentatively, you lift up the lid to peek inside, gasping when you set eyes on ten tubes of gouache paint, each one pristine and elegant and so bloody beautiful, just waiting for you to use them.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, putting the lid to one side before running your fingers over the tubes reverently, lips parted in awe. These paints are the stuff of legends; your hands are itching to play around with them.

“Stevie,” you whisper, at a loss for words.

“Do you like them?” he asks, voice heartbreakingly timid.

You nod your head vigorously as you lean towards him, clumsily wrapping an arm around the back of his neck as you crush your lips together, all whilst trying to balance the box on your laps, so that the tubes of paint don’t tumble to the floor. The kiss is clumsy and uncoordinated and you accidentally nip his bottom lip too hard, but that only makes it more perfect.

“I love it,” you whisper fervently, as tears of joy prick at the corner of your eyes. “I love them so much, thank you, honey, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says breathlessly, strong arms snaking around your body to tug you closer. “God, honey, I love you so much. “

As amazing and unexpected as the paints are, what’s more significant — what’s making tears stream from your eyes — is that, after all these years, Steve still remembers how much you’ve been wanting them.

These paint tubes — yeah, okay, they’re paint tubes, but they’re also more than that. Your heart is on the verge of bursting from all the meaning and significance behind this gift. Painting — and art more broadly — has been a cornerstone of your relationship from the outset, weaving its way into every single significant occasion that you’ve shared, and all the little moments in between. These paint tubes symbolise how far you’ve come as a couple and hopefully, how far you have yet to go.

—

Who would’ve thought that just two days later, he’d be caught in a freak car accident that would ultimately steal him from your grasp? Who would’ve thought that you’d be left a widow, before you’ve even hit your fifties? Who would’ve thought that you’d turn into a shell of the person you used to be, passing through day after bleak, monotonous day without a purpose to guide you?

Life is achingly brief. The things that we take for granted can be taken away in the blink of an eye, leaving us bereft and lost.

Nothing lasts forever; that is the cruel, unfair truth.

You’re allowed to curse and sob and scream with anger, frustration and sadness, but you can’t change the rulings of fate. What’s done is done, and you can either let the subsequent current of sorrow drown you, or rise above it, stronger than who you were before.

For the past two years, you’ve been drowning under the weight of your heartbreak, which has been a crushing burden on your shoulders. It’s been a struggle, just to survive.

But maybe—

Maybe it’s time you tried kicking a little harder, tried to break the surface of these dark and murky waters, to see if you truly are strong enough to rise above.

It’s what he would’ve wanted from you.

You put the final few finishing touches on your painting before setting down your brush and standing up, groaning as you stretch your arms over your head. Your bones crack and pop as you move your body around, your muscles stiff from being in the same position for so long. Outside, the last rays of the dying sun paint the sky in vivid shades of red, pink and orange. You grimace — the fact that the sun is setting tells you that you’ve been working on this painting for at least three hours.

The loud rumble in your stomach serves to reinforce your conclusion.

You take a step back to study your finished piece: a painting of him, from the torso up.

Despite the fact that you’re a little rusty, the resemblance of the portrait to his likeness is striking. It is a painting of him as he has been immortalised in your mind, an image of him as you’d loved him best.

You’ve painted him with his head angled slightly to the right, frozen in mid-turn. His rosy pink lips are parted, the corners pulling up in the beginnings of one of his pure, tender smiles. His bright blue eyes are glinting with mischief, the corners crinkling with joy.

You’re proud to have been able to capture the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw, the dusting of freckles across his nose, the ever-present flush of pink that sits high on his cheeks. His blonde hair is slightly tousled and falling over his forehead, the way it used to look like in the early mornings, when his skin was still sleep-warmed and his voice was low and throaty.

You’ve painted him in one of those plain white t-shirts that he used to love, the material hugging his broad shoulders and ridiculously perky chest.

To emphasise the golden shine of his hair, you’ve kept the background dark and simple, abstract strokes of brown slapped onto the canvas with a dry brush. It had been one of his favourite techniques to use to achieve texture whenever he was making expanses of flat colours, and you’re pleased to have incorporated it into your work; it makes it more Steve, somehow.

As a final touch, you’ve used some amber and white paint to make a thin ring behind his head, feathering the paint slightly with a small offset spatula. The end result is that you’ve created a pale, ghostly halo.

Angel boy, you think absentmindedly.

You gaze upon the fruits of your labour with wistful nostalgia hanging heavy in your heart. Though it saddens you to have been made acutely aware of his absence in your life, the process has been strangely therapeutic. You haven’t cleaned out the room as you’d promised Wanda, but maybe, you’ve done something better with your time, and found closure in your own roundabout way.

You still miss him terribly and you’ll probably continue to miss him, for the rest of your days, but—

To miss someone is to have loved someone and that, surely, is better than to not have loved at all. Nothing lasts forever, except, perhaps, your love for him.

[sweetboybucky]

Sweet Tooth

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2600 

Warnings: Bucky is a little shit. Maybe some language. 

Summary: Bucky Barnes has a sweet tooth. 

A/N: My piece for the wonderful @barnesrogersvstheworld​‘s 2K Marvel Kiss Challenge with the prompt “ice cream” is finally done. Congrats again, my love. You deserve every single one and so much more. I hope you like this one. 

This is completely pointless, did not need to be written. So, of course, I wrote it. Sort of inspired by Ariana Grande’s “sweetener” because I have a problem with that song and album. I based this Bucky on my IRL friend, my darling @readingmyeyesout. Thank you for being the Bucky to my Steve, even if I give you shit for it. I love you so much. 

And also - I want to thank you all for being so kind while life has been a little crazy and rough. I’m still very sorry that I haven’t posted in a while and that I’ve been less active than usual. But I have some good things in the works right now to make up for it. Special thanks to @evanstar, who is always there when I need her. I adore you, Maggie. Thank you for being you. 

My Masterlist

***

Soft light filters careful through paned glass. Slides along cool floors and stone walls. A room that you don’t often see with so little life in it. A room that’s waiting for that vitality to be breathed back into it, waiting for the sun to rise enough to bring it.

It’s odd, slipping on socked feet into the nearly empty kitchen.

Even more so, seeing that shock of chestnut instead of gold at the table.

You still. Stand in your place and look him over, just a little surprised he hasn’t noticed your presence yet. His face stays trained on the phone he has propped on the table, hand bringing a spoon from the bowl resting in front of him to his mouth.

Another step, a small breath, and he glances up. His face is a little guarded, a little wary. But those steely eyes catch sight of you and soften just a little. Settle into that kind expression you’re beginning to see more and more.

Bucky tips his head in quiet greeting, the gesture meaning so much more now that it’s coming from him. And you nod back. Find a grin of your own ghosting over your lips, the room feeling just a little warmer.

That blanket of silence rests over the two of you as you step up the refrigerator. Rub a hand down your tired face as you search for something to eat. Revel in the quiet, the peace of early morning.

Sam breaks it.

He steps into the kitchen, Steve trailing behind him and shoes squeaking against the floor. His voice is impossibly loud, his grin impossibly wide as he looks to where you’re standing at the counter with a bowl of cereal and says, “Morning, baby,” just before sitting down.

You tip your head in his direction, send him a little smile. Do the same to Steve, thankful that he keeps his greeting quiet, and watch as he claps Bucky on the shoulder. Takes a seat next to him.

There’s a long moment of silence again. One that makes you sigh, a blissful grin slipping onto your lips. Your eyes turn down to your breakfast again, spoon raising to your mouth before Sam’s voice shatters the quiet, once again.

“Barnes. Are you eating ice cream for breakfast?”

It makes your head snap up, gaze falling to Bucky. Watching the way his expression shifts, that little smile he’d given to Steve turning impish as he lifts another spoonful of - what you now know - is the chocolate ice cream hidden in the back of the freezer.

Steve lets his head fall, his eyes slipping closed, a chuckle falling through his lips. And you find your own laughter rising from your chest, too, as you watch Bucky stare at Sam. Eat another spoonful with an exaggerated, happy noise.

Sam shakes his head. “You’re a damn basket case, tin man.”

A sharp laugh pulls from Bucky’s little smile. Makes his teeth bare before he shovels another spoonful into his mouth.

There are worse ways to start the morning, you think.

***

Tension is growing thick in the air.

It settles heavy over you. Over the rest of the team in the jet. Rests on your shoulders, a weight you will always be willing to carry but will never get used to feeling.

You watch as Steve’s expression grows more determined. As his resolve fully snaps into place once Nat’s voice sounds from the front, lets him know that you’re close.

So close.

“Everyone ready?”

Steve’s gaze is piercing. Serious and stark. You let your eyes roam over his suit for a second, register the rigid posture of his back. That ocean blue in his eyes has sharpened.

You feel yourself nod in response to his question. Silent confirmation. He looks over the team for a moment before standing. Walking to the front of the group and squaring his shoulders. Readying his posture.

The Captain.

It makes your find your own resolve, watching the way Steve shifts into his role so easily. It makes you straighten your back. Plant your feet. Everything grows sharper, simpler.

And then there’s noise.

To the left of you. Small, quiet. Hardly noticeable, but there.

Brows furrow, draw down over previously glaring eyes as your gaze flicks to the side. Your head follows, turning enough to catch sight of a glint of metal. Dark tactical gear and pretty hair and a completely mischievous smile.

Bucky stands beside you.

With licorice in his hands.

It’s a little thing. A tiny, individually packaged piece of licorice. But the noise of the wrapper seems to echo through the nearly silent jet as he finally tears the material open, pops the treat into his mouth and tucks the plastic into his suit.

Steve turns just as he does. And you know he caught sight of the red candy by the expression on his face. The way he deflates a little, lets his shoulders fall and his eyes close and his head shake. Knowing annoyance spreads through his body.

But that ocean gaze fixes back on Bucky after a few seconds, much softer than you think he means it to be.

“Really, Buck?”

Flesh splays out over rough material as Bucky lifts a hand to his chest. Feigns innocence as he keeps chewing the little piece of candy in his mouth.

“What did I do, Stevie?”

You press your lips together. Watch in amusement as Steve raises a brow in question, like a father trying to catch his child in a lie. But Bucky doesn’t let up. He only raises his hands in mock surrender, shrugs his shoulders and smiles as Steve turns away.

He glances over at you. Sends you a wink before settling his gaze on the back of Steve’s head, his resolve coming forth.

The grin never leaves his face.

***

“You have the list?

Steely eyes flick from the crisp sheet of paper in his hands to your face. Head tips in a quick nod, a little affirmative noise coming from the back of his throat as he steps closer to you. You purse your lips to tamp down your smile.

Fluorescent lights flick in the paneling of the ceiling. They illuminate the linoleum floor, weathered and chipped from the people it sees everyday. The grocery store is quiet, nearly silent aisles stretching before you.

You watch as Bucky fidgets the slightest bit. Feel the way your lips tug up into an affectionate little smile, fingers brushing against his flesh hand as he looks up at you.

“So,” you ask, pausing for a moment and letting your eyes roam over his face, “what’s first?”

He follows you through the aisles as you scratch off each item on the list Steve pressed into your hands. And you remember his smile, the small, “Please,” falling from his lips that had finally convinced you.

It’s an oddly domestic thing - a normal thing, buying groceries. It’s a stark contrast from most of the things you do now that you’re on the team. A wild difference from anything you’re sure Bucky has seen in the last seventy years.

It’s strange.

But more than anything - it’s nice. To feel normal for once.

You step away for a moment. Move toward the end of the line of shelves to grab something Sam had written down near the bottom of the list. Eyes flick over the items before you. Fingers snag the box you need and you turn to put it into the cart.

But the cart, along with Bucky, is gone.

Worry settles heavy within you. A small stab of fear for a reason you can’t quite determine.

“Bucky?” Your voice sounds more strained than you hoped it would. Hands grip the box in your hands as you start moving across the floor.

No answer comes. So you call for him again, a quiet, “Buck?” as you round the corner of the aisle and step into the one just beside it.

That’s where you find him - holding a ridiculous amount of cookies in his arms.

Relief lights through your body, makes a drawn out exhale part your lips. Eyelids flutter, closing for a moment before they snap open again. Before you settle your gaze on the man in front of you.

The metallic cart sits in front of him. And there’s a wide array of Oreos resting within it, more sitting in his arms.

Eyes wide, posture rigid, he stares back at you. Like a child you caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“What is all of that?”

Strong shoulders shrug at your question. His face tips down a little, foot moving until the toe of his boot catches on the ground. “Just some snacks.”

A laugh nearly falls from your lips. “Are they all for you?”

Something that looks an awful lot like guilt rests on his handsome face. It makes an ache settle in your chest for saying anything. For questioning him.

You sigh, an overdramatic, long-suffering and drawn out sound. Mutter a quick, “Alright,” and finally crack a smile as he looks to you, a question in his eyes. “You can get them.”

A pleased, “Yes,” meets your ears. And you laugh. Watch him pile the treats he’s gathered with the others. Look at him as he turns back to you.

His smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it.

***

The air is suffocating.

Muscles tense and shift and scream as you move through another set. Follow the body topped with golden hair in front of you. Work to keep his pace, draw heavy breaths into your lungs through parted lips.

There are few things worse than training.

Training with Steve is one of them.

He’s brutal. Unrelenting. His body moves with practiced ease, something you’re sure the scrappy kid from Brooklyn didn’t always have. And there’s a hint of a smile on his face the whole time. A little grin you’re certain shouldn’t be there as he kills you with another round of crunches.

Face tips back to you. Ocean eyes scan your face, bright and lively. His mouth sits in a soft line as he asks, “You doing alright back there?”

An exaggerated groan rises from your chest. “Shut it, Rogers.”

Laughter sifts through the air as he turns away. Strong shoulders shake for a few more moments before settling again. Before he goes back to his super soldier routine he managed to talk you into trying.

You huff out an annoyed breath. Move through another round of crunches and push-ups and some move you aren’t sure of the name of. Focus on anything but the burning in your chest, the sweat gathering on your brow.

And in the corner of your eye, there’s a shock of chestnut.

Bucky.

To your right, just behind Steve. Steely eyes tracing over the figure as he pushes his body up. A question in his gaze, a certain hesitation you’ve only seen a few times.

Then he stops. Plants himself on the ground. Spares one more glance at Steve before snaking a flesh hand down to the pocket of his gym shorts. His movements are careful, calculating. And your brows furrow watching him, confusion drawing into your mind.

Soft rustling, a quiet sound.

Caramel.

A tiny square. Folded up in that telltale plastic wrap. Resting in Bucky’s flesh palm, under his amused gaze.

It draws a surprised laugh out of you, your own movements halting in favor of watching him. A lethal assassin. Sneaking candy into the training room.

And like that day on the jet, when he’d done the same thing, Steve knows.

Ocean eyes turn on steel gray. Narrow as dark brows draw down. He takes in the scene for a minute, posture still rigid in that time.

But then he falls. Heaves a deep breath through his nose and closes his eyes. Mutters out a quick, “Don’t know what I expected,” before turning back and continuing on.

Bucky smiles at the back of his head, full of mirth and light, just before popping the candy into his mouth. Chewing with a grateful little sound.

He spares a glance at you, quick and sweet. Tips a grin your way, just a little fond, before going through the motions of more sets again.

It makes the rest of the workout a little easier to bear.

***

“What are you doing?”

Steely eyes snap up to you. Hold a visible kind of trepidation in them, something you can see even through the darkness of the kitchen. Even as you stand so far away from where he rests at the counter.

His jaw stills. The quiet rustling you’d heard before - the one you’ve grown so used to hearing around the candy fiend - silences. The air rings with a strange tension, one written all over Bucky’s face, his posture.

You take a step forward, eyes adjusted to the darkness of the kitchen enough to make your way across it. Walk toward him, stand at his side at the counter.

Gaze flicks down to the counter where his hands lie. Next to -

“Is that -”

“Sam’s.”

Sam’s chocolate bar. The fancy one. The one he’d marked with a million sticky notes. Threatened death upon anyone who so much as looked at the thing.

“It’s Sam’s,” Bucky whispers. He curls in on himself a little, shoulders drawing up to his ears. Keeps his face tipped down toward the shiny foil that’s nearly useless now, most of the candy bar already missing.

“He’s going to kill you if he finds out.”

A sigh parts soft pink lips. “I know.”

There’s a long pause. A moment you take to look at him. Map the rigid line of his back, that guilty little expression on his face.

You smile, just a hint of a thing.

“So, it’s a good thing I’m great at keeping secrets.”

Head snaps up, face painted in gray shadows and that strange amount of light coming through the windows. He studies you for a long moment, mouth slack.

And then he’s tipping a grin your way. Narrowing his eyes in that fond little way he does, crinkles forming at the outer corners. Dark hair and low light frames his face.

“But,” you continue, smiling at the tiny, confused tilt of his head, “you owe me. For my excellent secret keeping skills.”

He chuckles. Small and quiet but still unrestrained.

“That so?”

“Yep.” Feet step a little closer. Soft eyes settle on soft eyes, take in his face and the way his mouth turns up that minute amount.

“I think I know of a way I can pay you back,” he tells you. And then he’s leaning in just that little bit.

And he’s kissing you.

It starts soft, the way you always imagined it would. The way he is. Soft and careful.

But you push yourself closer. Make a little noise in the back of your throat and grip the cotton of his worn t-shirt in your fingers. His hands move to the sides of your face, nose pressing against yours as he sighs against your mouth.

He’s so sweet. So, so sweet.

After a few breathless minutes, he pulls away. Bumps his forehead against yours, smiles against your skin.

You breath a quiet little laugh. “When I was discussing payment,” you begin, “I sort of meant the chocolate.”

Bucky finds his own laughter at that, keeps his eyes closed. Presses those kiss swollen lips to your nose. Palms slide down the sides of your face to your neck. Rest there as thumbs stroke that little spot just behind your ears.

“That so?” he repeats, voice rough.

You hum, a low sound rumbling through your chest. Fingers dip into the curves of his chest, skim over the material of his shirt as you whisper, “But I think I like your idea more.”

Eyes open then, stormy gray falling to you. Softening at the sight. And it’s so sweet. Pretty and whole.

A beautiful expression for a beautiful man.

“Yeah,” he murmurs against you, leaning in to steal another kiss, “I do, too.”

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[thatfanficstuff]

One Last Kiss - Thor

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Warnings: Angst. Death. Sad stuff. 

A/N: This was written for @barnesrogersvstheworld Marvel kiss challenge. My prompt was a kiss in a Thunderstorm. I had this whole visual in my head when I requested the prompt and this depressing drabble is what came out. Sorry, Thor.

***

You never saw it coming.

That was so cliché. How many times had you heard someone say that in your life? But it was true. You didn’t see a thing.

As the last opponent fell, you turned to Thor with a happy smile. His gaze immediately found you as was his habit after any battle. His joyful expression mirrored your own for a brief moment. By the time you registered his smile slipping away and the panic in his eyes it was too late.  

White hot pain seared through you. You gasped and fell to your knees, the impact sending another wave of agony ripping across your middle. Thor yelled your name, the agony in it making your heart break. You ached to respond, to call for him in return but the pain… Your hands clutched your belly, hot sticky blood covering them in moments.

An angry rain began to fall nipping at your skin as you collapsed to the ground. Your god yelled and screamed in his fury. Lightning crashed from the sky striking the man that would dare take you from him. Thor lifted you from the ground and cradled you in his lap. Tears mixed with the rain to run down his face.

Trembling fingers wiped the blood from your lips. “You’ll be all right, my love. Just stay with me, Y/N.”

You lifted a hand and laid it on his. “It’s okay, Thor. You’ll be fine without me. I promise.”

“No, no, no. Please.” His hands ran over you looking for a way to hold you, to fix you. He was full on sobbing now and you wished there was something you could do to make this easier for him.

“Kiss me.”

Trembling lips brushed against yours. “I love you.”

You smiled against his mouth. “And I love you, my prince.” Your eyelids fluttered closed as you enjoyed the feel of one last kiss from your god.

Marvel:  @evyiione @gabriellewritermua @reblogger-not-a-blogger 

All the Things:  @swanky-batman @rissyrapp20 @startrekkingaroundasgard @spooookyscary @taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep 

[sidehowriting]

Kiss

Masterlist

A/N: Hello, everyone! Are you ready for the Loki feels? Hopefully I can deliver! This is my first story with him so fingers crossed I did alright. This story is for @barnesrogersvstheworld Marvel Kiss Challenge! The challenge and the prompt just really spoke to me so I had to do it! 

Italics are flashbacks

Prompt: I’m in love with you

Pairings: Loki x Asgardian!reader

Summary: Asgard is gone and Loki is alive.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Angst, swears 

You were on the ship, making everyone was safe and secure. Once you knew everyone was alright, you began to go over the events of the past hour or so. You could have sworn you saw Loki as you were loading everyone on the ship. You could have sworn you saw his green armor, horned helmet, and shiny daggers fighting this way through the mob. But he was dead, wasn’t he? Odin himself had told you of Loki’s passing. Which was a bit odd in and of itself. How many times had you spoken to Odin one on one before? It happened so infrequently that you couldn’t even remember the last time.

But then you were in the crowd, being hurled into space and watching Asgard burn and who steps up next to Thor? Fucking Loki. Your stomach did a panicked flip and you weren’t sure why. Part of you wanted to run up and hug him because you missed him like crazy. You wanted to cry in his arms because you thought he was dead (twice) for so long. And then part of you wanted to just punch his stupidly attractive face because he hurt you so deeply.

You made the executive decision to just walk away. The sight of him was stirring up weird feelings inside of you that you didn’t feel like thinking about. Instead, you found a bathroom to clean yourself up. The dirt and grime of the trek through Asgard and from trying not to get killed by Hela washed off of you easily. You hated putting your dirty clothes back on after that, but they were all you had.

Afterwards, you just roamed the ship, trying to figure it out. It was large, more than enough room to hold everyone. You stumbled upon what looked like it could be a study. You stepped inside, not realizing it was already occupied.

Loki was there, looking at the objects that decorated the room. His hands were clasped behind his back and his long black hair looked a bit messy. More panic set in as his attention was turned to you.

“Loki,” you breathed. “You’re alive. You’re here and you’re alive.”

“Hello, Y/N,” he said, walking up to you. You didn’t move. He wore a sad smile as he took another cautious step towards you. You simply stared, not sure how to process everything you were feeling. “I know this must be a bit of a shock-“

“Considering you’ve been dead for years? Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” You took a step back from him, not quite ready.

He sighed, hanging his head. “I know. And believe me, I wanted to tell you-“

“Then why didn’t you?” You bit, suddenly feeling angry.

He opened his mouth to respond then closed it. Your glare softened a bit when you met his sad eyes. You hated to admit that they pulled on your heartstrings.

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “I can’t do this right now, Loki. I’m not ready.” You avoided his eyes as you walked away from him. You knew you would cave if you saw them again. And you needed time to process everything that had happened. You lost your home, friends, and now the person you cared for most in the world turns up not to be dead. A lot had happened in a few short days.

Loki was first and foremost your friend. For years and years, he was really the only person you talked to, spent time with. You cared for him. Quite a lot. But deep inside, you knew it was so much more. You loved him. Truly and properly. You never spoke the words though. It wasn’t worth the risk of your established relationship and you didn’t think you could bare it if he didn’t reciprocate. He never made it seem like he had the same feelings towards you, so you simply pushed them down as far as they would go and hoped for the best.

But now you were homeless and stranded and he wasn’t dead.

You properly avoided him for close to a week. You’d meet his eyes from across the room or in one of the halls. You’d quickly look away once you saw his pain. But you couldn’t manage yet. It had been years since you had seen him. The last time being when he was locked away after his attack on New York. He told you not to visit him again. Then the next thing you know is he’s dead protecting Thor’s mortal, Jane (who he’s apparently not with anymore, good for nothing). You were angry, upset, and scared.

Honestly, you would have avoided him for longer, if you hadn’t stumbled upon a conversation he was having with Thor. You snuck up closer to the room they occupied to listen better.

“She hates me, Brother.” You pressed your back against the wall and scooted as close to the open door as you could.

“She doesn’t hate you,” you heard Thor insist.

“She hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

Thor sighed. “She’s been through a lot, Brother. Give her time. Y/N will come around.” You heard a noise that you assumed was Thor slapping Loki on the back. “She cares deeply for you.”

“And I might have ruined that,” Loki said in a much softer voice. Did he ruin that? No, not entirely. Your feelings for him were just as strong as ever. He was your best friend, your confidant, your Loki. And you needed him back.

As silently as you could, you walked away, not wanting to be noticed by the brothers. You went to one of the unoccupied rooms and sat down, thinking about everything.

During your contemplation you heard Loki’s voice from the doorway. “Hello,” he said, “May I join you?”

“You may.”

He stepped inside the room and over to you. When you didn’t move away he sat down next to you. You could feel his eyes on you, but you made no notion to meet them. Instead you stayed facing forward.

“I heard you and Thor talking,” you said softly, quickly glancing over at him. “I don’t hate you.”

“You should,” he responded. “I pushed you away and then I couldn’t even tell you I was alive.”

You looked over at him and saw that now he was facing forward. “Yeah, that wasn’t very kind of you.”

“To be fair, I’ve never been known for my kindness.” His dry remark did make you smile. He smiled too. Finally, your eyes locked. How you missed him.  

“I’m glad you’re back, Loki.”

“I’m glad to be back with you,” he said to you. “And I’m so sorry for not telling you the truth. I wanted to, truly I did, but I couldn’t risk being exposed.”

“I guess it makes sense why Odin took a sudden interest in me,” you said, lightening the mood a bit. “I thought he hated me then all of a sudden he’s requesting my presence?”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say Odin hated you. He just didn’t care for me and by proxy didn’t care for you.”

You brought your hand to your mouth and giggled. “I should have known it was you with the golden statue and the play. I thought Odin had started to go mad.”

He laughed again. “Was it a bit much?”

“Just a bit.” You turned to face him, a small smile on both of you. Your stomach did a tiny flip.

A comfortable silence fell between you two. You wanted to reach out and touch him, just to make sure he was real. You know he’s fond of illusions and you wanted to be sure you were talking to the real Loki. Slowly, tentatively, you touched his hand, relief flooding you when you knew it was really him.

Your fingers folded under his hand. His cold ones wrapping themselves around yours. You watched the movements carefully. Making sure it was all real.

“I’m here,” he said softly, squeezing your hand.

“I just wanted to make sure.”

“That’s more than fair.” He squeezed your hand again. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

“I don’t understand why. I would have visited you everyday if you had let me.” You thought back to when Asgard was still there and Loki was locked away for his crimes. You had gone to see him; he was your best friend after all. But he had been closed and distant.

“Take me to see him, Thor,” you demanded, arms folded across your chest. You were highly irritated that Thor was being so impossible. All you wanted to do was visit Loki in prison and Thor was being a huge pain about it. “The guards won’t let me pass without your escort.”

“I just don’t understand why you want to, Y/N. There’s nothing there for you,” he responded.

“Yes, there is. He’s there.” You were determined and not about to let Thor stop you.

“Your feelings for my brother are miss placed.”

“But they’re mine to miss place!” You sighed in frustration. “You don’t get to decide what I should or should not feel for Loki, Thor. Just let me see him.”

“He’s not your childhood friend anymore, Y/N!” He was getting just as frustrated as you were.

“Neither are you, Thor!” you spat back.

“What?” His face crinkled in confusion. “I know we haven’t been as close in recent years, but I thought we still had a good relationship.”

You scoffed. “I mean, I guess we’re fine, but I know you were always closer with the others. The warriors. I was only good to play damsel in distress.”

He looked genuinely upset by your words. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t realize.. I always thought of you as a friend.”

“it’s fine, Thor,” You reassured him. “Honestly, I don’t care. I had Loki. You know this. You saw how close Loki and I became. That hasn’t changed for me.  So please Thor, as a friend. Take me to see him.”

He sighed in defeat. “Very well.”

You were pleased. Following him to the prison where Loki was being held, you heart started to race. It had been awhile since you last saw him, and you were so scared.

The guards didn’t ask questions as you and Thor passed. They barely even looked at you which was a contrast to when you first tried to see Loki. You were happy Thor decided to take you.

As soon as you saw his prison, you quickened your pace, leaving Thor behind. He stayed a distance back, letting you take center stage.

You stood in front of his cell, looking at him. He still looked well put together, just as he always had. But there was something slightly off. Something about his demeanor that made him seem… different.

“Loki,” you said softly.

“Y/N.” He said your name so casually as he stepped forward towards the barrier that separated the two of you.

Loki and yourself just stared at each other for a moment, taking each other in. The last you had heard he was dead and then all of a sudden you hear he’s on Midgard attacking.

“It’s good to see you alive.” You were the one to break the silence. You weren’t sure how to start the conversation, but you were beyond thankful that he was there.

“How kind.” His voice still didn’t show any emotions.

“Are you not happy to see me?” You asked in confusion.

He simply shrugged. “It matters not. You’d probably be better off not being here.”

“You sound like Thor. He said the same thing.” You rolled your eyes, annoyed.

“He has a point. You shouldn’t be here.”

“And why not? I wanted to see you, Loki. How long ago did I think you were dead? That I’d never get to see you again? It broke me. Then to hear you’re alive… I had to come visit.”

He chuckled once and started pacing his cell. “I’m touched, Y/N, truly I am. But I must ask you don’t come visit again.”

“And why not?” You asked again. “Do you not want to see me?”

He stopped in front of you, getting as close to the barrier as he could. “You’re naïve, Y/N.”

You were getting angry. His word games annoying you to your core. “You’re my friend, Loki. I care about you. So much. I…” Tears prickled in your eyes. This was not how your first meeting with him had gone in your mind.  

“Go home, Y/N.”

“Loki-“ You pleaded.

“Leave!” His commanding voice echoed around you. Leaving you stunned and shaking and damn near tears. You took a few steps back, both of you staring at each other like when you first arrived. As the first tear rolled down your cheek you turned away from his cell and walked away.

You met back up with Thor and the two of you left the prison. You were thankful Thor didn’t boast about being right.

Loki sighed. “I know you would have, and I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve your kindness. I couldn’t bare having you see me that way. I was…I still am a monster.”

“You’re so stupid sometimes, Loki. I wanted to see you. Odin and maybe even Thor might have decided you weren’t worth their time anymore but not me.” Now it was your turn to squeeze his hand. “And you’re the only one that saw yourself as a monster. You made yourself that way by acting like a complete fool. Not because your Jotun.”

He leaned his head back and sighed. “I’m sorry. For everything. I never should have treated you the way I did.”

You scooted a tiny bit closer to him. He didn’t react, so you scooted even closer, your arm pressed against his.

“It’s okay. I’m here now.” You leaned your head against his shoulder, nuzzling gently. You heard him sigh in contentment and soon his cheek was, pressed to the top of your head. “Please don’t ever push me away again.”

“I won’t.”

You closed your eyes and smiled, feeling happier than you have in a long time. Being this close to Loki, resting against him, breathing in his scent. This was everything to you. He was everything to you. And…did you feel his lips press against the top of your head? You loved him. You couldn’t deny it and you didn’t want to.

The words were floating around in your head. You wanted to tell him. You needed it. If he didn’t feel the same way, well, it was a large ship. Avoiding him would be easy until the awkwardness went away.

You opened your mouth to tell him but was cut off by a blaring horn. You jumped up at it, confused. Loki tensed besides you. “We’re under attack.” He hurried to his feet, pulling you with him.

“By who?” You asked, unsure. Hela was destroyed on Asgard (with Asgard) by Surtur. Who was out there that would want to attack a refugee ship?

“I think I know,” Loki muttered and ran out, you right on his heels. “Make sure the evacuation pods are running. Gather as many Asgardians as you can to get on them.” He called over his shoulder to you.

“But-“

“Go!” He ordered, and you nodded, taking off in the other direction. You raced towards the refugee camp. Explosions started going off and you weren’t sure where they were coming from. You dodged and dived, coming away with just a few scrapes.

There were a decent number of Asgardians currently present at what had become their camp. You ordered them to follow you towards the escape pods and they did so without question. Getting there was just as dangerous as getting to them but somehow you did it.

There were two escape pods tucked neatly together, doors made of glass. They looked big enough to hold the Asgardians you had with you. But you knew this wasn’t all of them; however, you didn’t know where the others were. The ship was large, and you didn’t have the time to gather every single one. The most you could do was hope that they others were safe and that there were more pods located somewhere on the ship.

You started hastily pressing buttons, hoping something would happen. Whatever you were doing, seemed to work. They started making noise, signaling that they were starting to fire up. You figured out the button to open the doors and started ushering people inside. One of the pods was almost packed to compacity when Loki ran in.

“Loki, what’s going on?” You demanded to know, trying to hold back the fear you felt.

“it’s Thanos,” he said, a fearful look in his eyes. You knew about Thanos. Odin (Loki?) told you everything you needed to know about him. “You need to get in there and get out.”

You shook your head. “I’m not leaving without you.” The first pod filled, and the remaining Asgardians were scurrying onto the second.

“Darling, you must.”

“I’m not losing you again, Loki! You can’t make me!” You screamed as another explosion happened nearby.

“This isn’t up for debate, Y/N. Get in the pod and leave!” He grabbed your arm and tried to push you inside. You pushed back, unwilling to move.

“No!” You were seething. Your heart started to race at the thought of losing him away and tears prickled the back of your eyes. You had just found him again, you couldn’t possibly leave him. Not here. Not like this.

“Darling-“ He growled in a low voice, but you cut him off.

“I’m in love with you, Loki!” You slammed the button to close the pods. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

He was still grasping your arms, eyes searching yours intensely. It was hard to read his expression. His mouth in a thin line as he squeezed you tightly. This wasn’t exactly how you had imagined telling him, but it was too late to go back. And you knew you couldn’t keep going if you didn’t tell him.

You were about to open your mouth to say more but he cut you off with a kiss. It was intense and powerful and made your knees shake. How many years had you waited for this moment? To know what his lips felt like. Tasted like. You head was spinning and you were starting to lose yourself in his kiss.

And then he pushed you.

You landed in the pod just as the door closed. It geared up to launch as you got to your feet, doors locked and unwilling to reopen. You banged on the door screaming for him. He didn’t move. You continued to bang and cry, pleading for him. While his lips stayed in a hard line, his eyes were an open book. You saw the hurt, the pain. You saw love. You knew he did what he did because he loves you just as fiercely as you love him.

The pods launched into space, hurling you away from the ship and Loki. All you could do was miserably watch as he grew smaller and smaller until you couldn’t see him anymore at all.

Tags: @dsakita

[americaswritings]

Hold me

Prompt: Black Umbrella

Warnings: A characters death, sad, an unexpected kiss

Words:1.1k.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

A/N: This is written for @barnesrogersvstheworld writing challenge! I really love the concept of this challenge. I hope you enjoy! <33

Add yourself to my taglist!

You felt the rain fall and along with it your tears. The pastor’s words were only a blurry sound in the distance when you felt yourself falling apart for the first time in your life.

You had lost your home, your parents, everything that had once been a steady life to you. But you had always been able to bury your emotions, hoping that if you hid them too well, you wouldn’t have to feel your loss.

But now while you were starring at the coffin of your beloved brother, you suddenly realized that there was no use in hiding your feelings. There was no point trying to be strong when there was no one to be strong for.

Your sobs were drowned by the rain that had grown heavier and havier, making the pastor quickly finish his speech before declaring that it would be the best to warm up inside.

The crowd of people you didn’t even know for the most part followed him inside and you were left alone, staring at the open grave while soacking wet.

But it wasn’t long until you suddenly couldn’t feel the water on your skin anymore.

Confused you gazed up, registering that another person was standing next to you, holding a black umbrella over the two of you.

“I told you to not come”, you mumbled emotionless, wiping away your tears before turning so you could look him in the eyes.

“And I told you that I wouldn’t let you do this alone”, Steve argued and you sighed. 

You didn’t want him to be here, only to wait for you to break down. Maybe you were fragile right now, but having him arround only reminded you of your loss.

His constant concerned eyes and empathy only made you grew angry. Angry at him, but even more angry at yourself.

Steve cared for you, so why where you pushing him away all the time?

“I’m fine so you can go now”, you stated, your voice ice cold. You didn’t want to sound harsh and you didn’t want to him to leave.

But still you spoke those words, regretting them while not being able to hinder yourself from saying them.

“You don’t look fine”, Steve commented and you grew even more impatient.

“I don’t need you to worry about me, got it?” You still wondered why he wasn’t moving. He didn’t even seem upset about your coolness. 

He only wore that one look you knew to well. The one saying I see through you.

“Fine. I won’t go though, I will just stand here, giving you company. But I promise I won’t say anything.” You watched him with curious eyes, trying to find some sort of sign of a hidden plan.

“You promise?” He nodded and you sighed, turning back to the coffin in front of you.

For an eternity you stayed like that, starring at the grave while the silence lulled you in. The only sound was the rain drops splashing hitting the material of the umbrella.

But with every second the silence felt heavier. And the more you starred at your brothers grave, the more aware you became of the fact that you were alone.

You had lost everything that had ever been important to you.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but this time they weren’t matching with the rain anymore.

You tried to take a breath to calm yourself, but it didn’t work. Eventually your body started to tremble and you bend forward, sobs rocking your body.

A split of a second later Steve’s eyes were catching you, pulling you close into his body.

“Ssshh, it’s okay”, he muttered into your hair while you cried into his chest.

"I don't have a family anymore", you sobbed and saying it out loud scared you even more.

“Hey!”, Steve spoke up, slightly pushing you away from him, but only so he could look into your eyes.

“That is not true!”

But you shook your head. He couldn’t convince you otherwise. All of your family was dead, there was no denying that.

“I don’t have anyone. Everyone, who ever cared for me is gone. Where should I even go now? I don’t have anything to return to”, you sputtered.

You didn’t even pay attention to Steve anymore, who was trying to interrupt your flood of words.

“Maybe I should just go back far away and never return, Maybe-”, but your words were broken off by Steve’s lips on yours. 

The kiss was too quick and unexpected for you to comprehend and only a few seconds later Steve had alread moved back.

You instanrly missed the warm feeling of his lips on yours.

“I’m sorry, but I had to make you stop talking somehow”, he explained, a worried expression on his face. You were still just starring at him, your eyes wide open in shock about what had just happened.

“(Y/n), none of what you said there is true. Look, you might have lost your brother and there is nothing I can do that will ever help you get over the loss completely, but what I can do is to make sure that you know how important you are.

The team- they all care for you. And I care for you, okay? I know that now is not the right time, but I want you to know that I love you and that I will always be there for you!”

Your heart was racing and so was your mind, trying to comprehend all of his words. You opened your mouth, but Steve interrupted you once again. 

“I know what you want to say. But trust me, I’m not saying this because I feel the urge to make you feel better. I am saying this, because it is true. I am in love with you and if you allow me, I will be your family from now on.”

A tear slipped from your eyes and Steve wiped it away with his thumb softly. 

“You don’t have to say anything to that now”, he added, knowing that you were still trying to process his words.

For an agonizing second it was silent, none of saying anything.

“I am sorry for pushing you away”, you said eventually, your voice coming out only above a whisper. “And I’m sorry for all of this”, you added, gesturing to your puffy eyes and his water stained shirt.

“Don’t ever apologize for your feelings darling”, Steve smiled, putting a strand of hair behind your ears. 

Your heart was still beating fast in your chest, but you felt a sudden warmth surrounding it. Some sort of hope that you weren’t as alone as you thought.

And Steve loved you. You didn’t know if you loved him yet, but you couldn’t deny that he was the one person you cared for so strongly that you sometimes felt like you were drowning in your emotions.

“Can you just hold me for a moment, please?”, you whispered and Steve nodded, gently pulling you into his chest again.

And as soon as he wrapped his arms around you, you knew that everything would be fine, eventually.

Because as long as you had Steve, you had a reason to keep going.

Taglist:

Permanent Tag List: @capkilljoy @white-chocolate-mocha-fan@justanotherfangirl272 @theshortegg @not-reptilian @breezy1415 @msdrpreist @teaand-cookies @fairytalesforever @alisonhepps@obsesivesun

Marvel: @iamwarrenspeace @embrace-themagic @mbsgr@fairydustparker

Steve Rogers:  @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @part-time-patronus @patzammit

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[catholicdaredevil]

La Vie En Rose

Hey friends, it’s Ezra here. I know I’ve been AWOL for a while and unfortunately that’s not entirely over yet. Hopefully within the nest couple weeks I can be more active and finally fill some requests I have. However my INBOX is still open for requests for the time being! So go ahead and send any in! Without further ado, please enjoy! Also ps sorry if this is formatted weird my computer is shit.

Pair: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader

My prompt for @barnesrogersvstheworld kiss writing challenge: You’re the only real thing I’ve ever touched.

Words: a short lil 1.1k

Warnings: None just some good ole fluffy fluff

La vie en rose literally translates to Life in pink. However, it would be better translated to life through rosy (pink) glasses. The idea is to depict a state where everything appears rosy and cheerful to you. It's about a state of bliss when everything around you is a source of joy.

The first time you kissed Bucky Barnes was magical, truly. As you stood underneath the twinkling of the gorgeous combination of fairy lights and the stars, with the leaves rustling in the trees from the wind that blew by, it felt like a fairytale, a feeling only increased with your company; his brown eyes that seemed to melt when they looked at you, and the way he kept nervously brushing the hair from his face behind his ear just for it to fall forward again.

This was the Bucky you had fallen in love with, Bucky who was soft, kind and generous. Bucky who would go above and beyond any expectation just to make you smile or laugh just once. Bucky who set up the most romantic picnic of your life just inside the woods near The Avengers compound. A blanket laid out on the grass, and sandwiches, grapes, and wine; little jars with fake candles inside and, of course, the fairy lights he had forced Sam to help him hang up.

As Bucky led you by the hand out of the building and off into the lit up distance it felt like a dream. You could tell your cheeks were heating up and tears welled up in your eyes and you froze, pulling you both to a stop.

“Buck what is this?” He turned to meet your gaze and you felt the first tear roll its way down your face. Bucky was so quick to lift his right hand up and brush it away before cupping your cheek gently.

“This, doll, is what I’ve been planning and talking to Sam and Steve about for weeks. This is a date you deserve,” he spoke so softly like there was nothing in the world but you and sheepishly added. “This is what took so long.”

You giggled quietly through the tears remembering all too clearly when nearly a month ago Bucky had asked you out vaguely.

“Y/N would you wanna go on a date sometime?” You nearly dropped the coffee mug in your hands as you processed what was surely the most surprising thing Bucky had ever said to you.

“Yes, absolutely.” Your voice came out choked off as a whisper and you cleared your throat and blushed but Bucky simply nodded to himself, walked out of the room and, to your dismay, never mentioned it again.

This is how you ended up smiling and giggling in the woods as you tossed grapes at Bucky who was laughing boisterously and catching most of the grapes thrown his way.

“Geez, Y/N for an Avenger you can’t fucking throw.” He teased as yet another grape went whizzing past his face, his cheeks flushed and there was a golden glow surrounding him.

“I can throw a punch okay just not a grape,” you cackled and Bucky lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight. He rifled through the picnic basket and grabbed a remote, turning on music from who knows where.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras. Qu'il me parle tout bas. Je vois la vie en rose.

As ukulele filled the air, his metal hand outstretched to you sitting on the blanket and you took it gently and he pulled you to your feet into his arms.

Il me dit des mots d'amour. Des mots de tous les jours. Et ça m'fait quelque chose.

Bucky twirled you in circles, leading you on some dance you had no idea how to do; but with your head resting on his chest and your hands in his you felt at peace. His chest vibrated against you as he hummed along to the song, playing just loud enough for you to hear.

Il est entré dans mon cœur. Une part de bonheur. Dont je connais la cause.

“Y/N?” You lift your head to meet his eyes and your stomach flips at the love behind them.

“Yeah Buck,” you had just gotten the blush in your cheeks to relax and here it was again painting across your face so lightly.

C'est lui pour moi. Moi pour lui. Dans la vie. Il me l'a dit. L'a juré, pour la vie. Et dès que je l’aperçois.

His smile was so wide you thought his face might split and he carded a hand through your hair. Pausing to take in the entire moment so he could lock it away to remember later.

Alors je sens en moi. Mon cœur qui bat.

“Thank you so much for doing this.”

“Ha-ha, wait really? Bucky I didn’t do this you did, I just-- showed up.” You pulled from Bucky to wave your arms wildly at the scene before you both.

Hold me close and hold me fast. The magic spell you cast. This is La Vie En Rose.

“Still,” he whispered and snaked his arms back around your waist to pull you against him and once more you swayed in the dark as the music played. He spun you and giggling you held your arm out dramatically and on being pulled back into him, he caught you and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and firm and you sighed into him and pressed up against his chest on your tiptoes just to keep the kiss going.

When you kiss me heaven sighs. And though I close my eyes. I see La Vie En Rose.

For what you wished was the final time that night Bucky pulled away just inches from you and his hand that had cupped your face shifted. As his thumb ran across your bottom lip he smiled fondly and spoke.

When you press me to your heart. I'm in a world apart. A world where roses bloom.

“You’re the only real thing I’ve ever touched.” Goosebumps covered your skin and your heart jumped and you leaned into connect your lips once more. You danced and kissed for what felt like hours and you could swear there was no sweeter, safer place to be than in Bucky’s arms. In the forest, surrounded by twinkling lights and misthrown grapes.

And when you speak. Angels sing from above. 

Everyday words seem. To turn into love songs.

Give your heart and soul to me. And life will always be. La Vie En Rose.

Tags: @hootyhoobuckaroo @tropicalcap @tokoyamisstuff @vinyloider @5aftermidnight @spiider--boy @toficsandbeyond

[sofreakinmanyfandoms]

It Started with the Mud Puddles - Bucky X Reader

Hello, lovelies! This is a Bucky x Reader one-shot I wrote for the wonderful @barnesrogersvstheworld‘s Marvel Kiss Challenge.

Challenge: Feature a significant kiss

Prompt: Mud puddles

Word count: 2813

Warnings: None. Iz fluff and wholesome weirdness. Actually, no, one warning: DO NOT DO WHAT CLINT AND THE READER DO. (That will make sense in the end.) Just don’t do it. Don’t let anyone else do it. I have not researched what could happen but it can’t be good. Don’t do it, nope, nope, nope.

I hope you enjoy this! Feedback is always appreciated.

You had had mixed feelings when you were asked to join the Avengers. On the one hand, you wanted to help people, and the Avengers would give you a way to do that on a larger scale. On the other hand, you would have to move to their compound in upstate New York. Your tiny apartment in New York City was home; there was no way some compound could ever change that.

Consider your mind officially changed.

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you zipped up your coat. The yellow rain gear and red boots reminded you of your favorite children’s book. It had rained all last night and you couldn’t wait to get out in the yard.

The fresh after-rain scent of the grass and surrounding trees hit your senses and set your heart racing. Rain in New York City left a hint of a fresh scent in the air, but it didn’t have what the compound was surrounded by right now: mud puddles.

With a squeal and a running start, you launched yourself into the first puddle you saw. The splash flew up around you and you felt like a little kid again. Puddle stomping had been a tradition for you and your siblings after every rainstorm when you were growing up. It had been so long since you had lived where puddles like this formed and you were going to spend the day enjoying them.

----------

Bucky followed Natasha off the jet and onto the rooftop landing pad. Exhaustion was seeping from every pore and visions of his bed were dancing through his mind. It had been a long mission and he was ready to crash.

Before he could get inside, a laugh from the yard caught his attention. He looked over the edge and saw you splashing in the puddles.

Who is that?

Steve came out to welcome Bucky back and found him watching you. The Captain’s face lit up with a soft smile when he saw you splashing around.

“I see you’ve spotted Y/N.”

“Who is she?” Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“The newest member of the team.” Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Come on in and get cleaned up, maybe get a few hours of sleep. Dinner is at seven. I’ll introduce you then.”

---------- 

At six thirty you finally forced yourself to go back inside. Several splashes had worked their way up your pants and into your boots, soaking you with cold, muddy water. You couldn’t care less.

You used your half-hour before dinner to dry off and change. It was exactly seven when you padded out of the elevator in your leggings and fluffy socks, Tony’s MIT hoodie enveloping you in its warmth. He’d probably want it back once he found out you were the one who stole it. Too bad for him; it was your new favorite item of clothing.

Most of the team and two people you hadn’t met were shuffling around the kitchen and dining room, determining the contents of various Chinese takeout containers and distributing them to the correct recipients. Since arriving, you had learned that Tuesdays were for takeout and video games. It was your favorite night of the week.

“Y/N, I’ve got some people for you to meet,” Steve called when he spotted you. He motioned to the two you didn’t recognize. “This is Natasha, and this is Bucky. They just got back from a pretty long mission, which is why they haven’t met you yet. Guys, this is Y/N, our new resident telekinetic.”

You smiled at Nat, a bit nervous at meeting the famous Black Widow. “Nice to meet you both.” You turned to Bucky. “I hope the mission went okay?”

Nat waved her hand. “It turned out in the end. I think we’re both just glad to be back.”

“You’re a telekinetic?” You weren’t sure what the look on Bucky’s face as he asked meant, but you replied before you could stop yourself.

“No, I actually just shapeshift into a huge bat. Travel by echolocation, eat fruit flies, sleep upside-down – stuff like that. Not sure why they thought I should be an Avenger.”

Clint cracked up and Bruce smiled, handing you a container. You accepted it and peeked inside. God bless Bruce; beef lo mein was your favorite. You quickly snagged a pair of chopsticks and settled into your usual dinner perch: on top of the fridge.

Nat quirked an eyebrow at your strange position. “I see there’s some stuff I’ll have to get used to.”

Bucky was openly gaping. “How did you get up there?”

You grinned at him. “Didn’t you see me transform into a bat? I flew.”

“She can make herself fly with telekinesis,” Clint informed him with a smirk. “Hey!”

He grabbed for the shrimp floating out of his container but it dodged his hand and deposited itself in your mouth. You bit off the tail and flicked it at him with a giggle.

His pouting made you feel a little bad. “I’ll let you have a bite of my lo mein,” you offered. Clint reached out his chopsticks and you held your container down where he could reach inside. Once he’d snagged a bite, he headed towards the common room where Sam had started setting up Mario Kart.

“I want a rematch against Bruce,” Wanda announced as she joined the group. “Sam and Clint can have their weekly pissing match after I get my revenge.”

“Tony finally bought more controllers to replace the ones broken last month,” Steve laughed. “We’re doing four at a time again.”

Wanda shrugged. “Then they can do their weekly pissing match while I get my revenge. I’m not picky.”

This was your favorite part of living with the others and precisely why you always settled up high where you could watch everything that happened. The team was one big family, teasing each other and having a great time. Sometimes you missed the peacefulness of your own apartment, but by now you wouldn’t trade these evenings for the world.

You brought your lo mein with you as you transitioned to the hammock swing Tony had hung for you in the common room. On the couch, Bruce and Wanda had settled in for their rematch; Natasha and Steve had snagged the other controllers. Wanda selected a track and with that, the night of gaming had begun.

You were so focused on the games happening you didn’t notice that Bucky studied you all evening.

---------- 

Bucky rounded the corner to the kitchen and found you perched on a bar stool, a canvas board and paint spread out across the counter. You didn’t notice his arrival until he cleared his throat.

“Oh, hi Bucky!” Your face lit up with its usual smile when you saw him. “How was your morning?”

“Too short,” Bucky replied, his voice betraying the fact that he had just woken up despite the fact that it was now the early afternoon.

You gave him a solemn nod. “I haven’t been on any long missions yet, but the short ones are exhausting and I imagine your body needed all the sleep it could get. Coffee pot is fresh even though it’s not full. Tony just finished brewing more and he took more than half the pot with him.”

Bucky poured himself a mug of the offered beverage and surprised you by settling onto the stool next to you.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking at the colors across the canvas.

“Finger painting.”

His eyes shot to yours, unsure if you were serious or not. You waggled your paint-stained fingers at him.

“Nothing should get between the artist and their art. I just take that a step further than most.”

Bucky looked back down at the picture you had were working on and creased his brow.

“You did all of this with your hands?”

You nodded and tucked your hair behind you ear, leaving a smudge of green behind.

“It makes me feel more in touch with what I’m painting. It’s kinda like sculpting in two dimentions.”

“Except you need more work on your sculpting,” Steve teased as he entered the kitchen. He reached into the mug cupboard and pulled out a misshapen monstrosity decorated with a shield design.

“Hey, you still use it,” you grinned at him as he filled the mug with the remains of the coffee and set to work brewing more.

“That I do,” he laughed. “Clint keeps asking when he’ll get his.”

“Tell him I’ll make him one whenever I make it back to the studio.”

You and Steve fell into an easy conversation. Steve noticed Bucky alternately studying you and your painting. He tucked it away in his memory as something to think about later.

----------

“Hey, Bucky, have you seen Nat?”

Bucky looked up from the book he was reading and froze. You were standing with your hands on your hips decked out in the most ridiculous outfit he had ever seen. Your t-shirt was neon green and your leggings were purple with pink and blue triangles of varying sized across them. There was a bright yellow terrycloth headband around your forehead and bright orange bands on your wrist, and you had pulled your hair up into the biggest side ponytail he had ever seen.

“Well?” you prodded when he didn’t reply.

“No, I haven’t seen her,” he managed to get out. “Um, what are you wearing?”

You glanced down at your outfit and waved your hand dismissively.

“Oh, Clint found an 80s workout video while we were thrifting earlier and we decided to try it out. This is just my way of getting into the spirit of it. He thought Nat might want to at least watch.”

“Watch what?” Nat asked, blowing a bubble as she walked in. The bubble popped as she took in your outfit. “Never mind what. The answer is yes.”

“Did you find her?” Clint poked his head into the room, a neon pink headband the same style as yours wrapped around his head.

“Yup, we’re coming!” you replied, grabbing Nat’s hand and dragging her behind you. “See you later, Bucky!”

Steve came across his friend half an hour later. Bucky was staring at nothing, his mind still lingering on a certain colorful telekinetic.

----------

“You know, stuff like this never happened off-mission before you joined the team.”

You shrugged at Sam. The movement caused you to wince. “I’d like the record to show that I don’t have a fully-developed frontal lobe yet, but Clint does, and he thought it was a great idea.”

“Which in retrospect probably should have been the first indication it was actually a terrible one,” Tony admitted.

Bruce had Clint laid out in traction until a chiropractor could come to fix his back. You had dislocated your shoulder and were now icing it to keep down the swelling and pain from it being forced back in place. Tony was only in the med bay because that was where the two of you were; he was being forced to listen to Sam and Steve’s “how could you be so reckless” lecture because you and Clint probably couldn’t have pulled off your stunt without him.

“It was so fun, though,” Clint retorted from his bed. “How many people can say they’ve been hit with a six-foot water balloon?”

“One too many,” Steve replied before turning his glare to Tony. “And you! You built them a slingshot?”

Tony held up his hands. “In my defense, I only knew they wanted to launch a giant water balloon. I didn’t know they were going to aim it at Clint.”

“That bit was Clint’s idea,” you cut in. “I just wanted to launch it. He wanted to know what it would feel like to get hit with it.”

“It was great,” Clint added sleepily. His pain meds seemed to be kicking in.

Bucky watched the whole scene from the doorway and tried to fit this piece into the picture of you his mind was forming.

----------

“Power of positive thinking, Barnes. Power of positive thinking.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and glared at you. “You’ve been shot. That’s not positive,” he growled, taking out two more HYDRA agents.

“But it won’t be fatal and I don’t need my arm to do damage,” you retorted in a sing song voice as you telekinetically ripped a man’s gun from his hands and shot him with it. “We’ve still got to get out of here. Might as well have fun doing it.” You launched into an off-pitch rendition of “Hakuna Matata” and lobbed a grenade to your left.

Bucky swore under his breath and followed you toward the exit. Going on missions with you would be the death of him.

----------

“Y/N, have you seen –” Bucky entered your room and cut off as you shushed him, motioning with your eyes to the sleeping child in your lap.

The team had rescued a group of orphans on the last mission, and Tony had made room for all of them at the compound until they could be placed in good foster homes. One of them, a small girl no older than four, had stumbled upon you sitting on the floor and curled up in your lap, promptly falling asleep with her head against your chest.

“What are you looking for?” you whispered ask Bucky sat next to you.

“Her,” he whispered back. “Bruce did a head count and was wondering who was missing.”

You studied the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed deeply. “Bruce is remarkably good at mothering.”

“Seems like you’re not so bad at it yourself.”

You smiled shyly at Bucky and the two of you sat together in silence until Bruce found you and whisked the girl back to her bed. Bucky felt a tug of disappointment in his chest when the two of you had to go your separate ways. The more time he spent with you, the more being with you felt right.

---------- 

“Dude, decorating the tree is so much easier with Y/N around,” Clint called to Bucky as the latter entered the common room. Everyone was there bustling around and decorating, but you were what his eyes were scanning for.

You were sitting crisscross on the floor by the couch, eating sugar cookies and holding Clint up in the air near the top of the tree. He was reaching out to put the star on top when you pretended to drop him.

“Not cool, Y/N. So not cool.” He glared once you had stabilized him.

“That’s okay, I prefer being hot anyway,” you smirked back.

Bucky sat down next to you and took the cookie you offered.

“These are pretty good. Who made them?”

You shrugged. “Whoever Tony bought them from. I was going to protest buying Christmas cookies, but these are better than anything I could make, so I decided to roll with it.”

“Hey guys,” Natasha sang from the couch behind you. “Look what I found!”

The two of you looked up to see Nat holding a sprig of mistletoe above your heads.

“Gah!” You had actually dropped Clint that time. At least you had been lowering him so he didn’t have as far to fall.

“Sorry!” Your hand came up over your mouth as Clint stumbled to his feet. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I got distracted.”

“He’ll forgive you if you two kiss,” Sam said with a grin.

“Sure, what he said,” Clint confirmed, rubbing the back of his head. “Go on, kiss him.”

Chants of “Kiss him! Kiss him!” rang out around the room. You and Bucky looked at each other, and almost before you could realize it he had pulled you into his arms and was kissing you. The two of you lost yourselves in the feeling of each other’s lips on your own, deepening the kiss until finally you had to pull back, gasping for air.

“It’s about time that happened,” you breathed, your faces only a few inches apart.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” Bucky admitted. “I’ve never met anyone like you before, Y/N. You’re perfect. You live through what we all go through every mission but still manage to keep a sense of wonder. It’s… it’s really nice. It started with the mud puddles; when I first saw you, you were out in the yard splashing around and having so much fun just… being. The more I get to know you, the more I don’t want to ever have to live without you again. You keep me from losing myself, and I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“Look what you did,” Clint complained to Natasha. “Now they’re gonna go all lovey on us.”

“Shut up, Barton,” you laughed before pulling Bucky in for another kiss, whispering something only he could hear.

“I think I love you, too.”

[freshwoods]

Promises, Promises

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: The mission was supposed to be a simple extraction, but then everything manages to go wrong. Help finally comes - and of course it’s Steve. It’s always Steve.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: mild violence, blood mention, pining, fluff

A/n: Written as my entry for @barnesrogersvstheworld‘s Marvel Kiss Challenge! My prompt was: “Because if I kissed you now, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.” I had a lot of fun with this one :)

-

The mission had gone too long. You check your watch again. It was supposed to be a simple extraction, in and out, and as you make your way around the enemy base with the liberated American hostage in tow, you wonder if maybe the STRIKE team hadn’t been given all the information necessary to pull off this mission without a hitch. You think about going for the radio on your belt, just to make sure the helicopter still waits at the rendezvous point for you, since you have the last of the hostages. You don’t have to wonder long. You climb the last set of stairs and round a corner, coming to a set of doors that you know leads to the roof. Taking your gun from your holster, you turn back to the scared hostage. “Do what I say.” You kick the doors open.

Everything after that happens in a flurry of movement—the hostage screaming, you telling them to run for the waiting chopper on the other end of the roof, the four armed assailants commencing on you as the hostage flees and you do your damnedest to keep gunmen at bay.

One of them gets a shot off at you and a stinging pain shoots through your arm. You don’t let it slow you down though, instead opting to take what cover you can behind an electricity box, covering for the hostage as they finally make it to the helicopter. You manage to pick a couple of the armed guards off as the helicopter lifts off without a second to spare, more armed people ascending on the roof. You’re outnumbered, outgunned, and your position is perilously close to getting surrounded.

And then help finally comes.

And it’s Steve, of course—your Captain, America’s Captain, the man you’ve been pining after for longer than you’d care to admit.

Somehow, it’s always Steve.

He drops in from somewhere—you honestly have no idea where—shield boomeranging between assailants and then back to him, the two of you working together to level what remains of the enemy in a mere matter of minutes. You always find yourself a little envious of his ability to so quickly and thoroughly take out SHIELD’s adversaries, still, after all the time you’ve spent on the team, fighting along side him. But today you’re more grateful for it than you can say.

As the bodies lay scattered around you two, the battle finally over, the mission finally done, you allow yourself to take stock of the moment. You know it will be at least thirty minutes before another chopper arrives for the team’s extraction, so you take stock—your hostage survived, made it to safety, and the stinging pain in your arm still smarts a little but when you look, you see it’s just a graze. You probably won’t even need stitches.

You’re so lost in your own head that it takes a moment to realize someone’s saying your name.

“Y/N, are you okay? Y/N?”

Looking away from the wound on your arm, you see Steve in front of you, so much closer than he’d been before, and you blink at him as he moves even closer, hands reaching out. He frowns when he gently holds your forearm, inspecting your wound. “You’re hurt?”

You shrug nonchalantly, trying to ignore the heat of his hand even through your uniform. “It’s nothing, Steve. Just a flesh wound.”

His frown deepens. “You need a medic. I’ll radio for our extraction to be moved up.”

You sigh, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “Honestly, I’m fine. All that matters is that the hostages got away, and we shouldn’t jeopardize their retreat by moving up the timetable. It’s not worth it.”

He looks at you for a long moment, and then reaches out once more, surprising you when he cradles your face in his palm. If you thought the touch earlier was hard to ignore, it’s nearly impossible now, with his skin against yours, him looking at you like—like he cares, like you matter, like you’re precious. “Why are you so noble?”

His murmured words are so low you almost don’t hear them—almost. “I…” You stare at him, unable to move, feeling something magnetic starting between the two of you. “I learned from the best.”

His thumb sweeps over your cheek once before he starts to move his hand down your neck, over your shoulder, down your arm, tracing your outline until he settles both hands on your waist, drawing you closer to him.

Steve stares at you with an intensity you’ve never seen him direct at anyone before, let alone at you, your bodies mere inches away from one another’s, then he shakes his head, voice gruff, almost pained, when he speaks. “How can you—You don’t even know what you—goddamnit, Y/N.”

He’s silent for so long that it starts to make you nervous. “Steve?” You ask tentatively, swallowing hard, unable to look away from his intense gaze. “What is it?”

He’s silent for another long moment, eyes roaming over your face. His hands tighten fractionally on your waist. “I want to kiss you.”

Your mouth goes dry as heat floods your body. “Oh.” You pause, “then why don’t you?”

“Because if I kissed you now, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

You make the split-second decision, ignoring the fact that you are still bleeding, that both of you are dirty and sweaty from the mission, that you’re on a rooftop in the middle of another country with dead bodies around you, instead taking solace in the cover of the night sky, in the way Steve’s hands feel on you, in the way he looks at you—taking the choice from him as you close the distance, standing on your tip-toes to bring your lips closer to his. “Promise?” You ask when you’re just a breath away, eyes wide, staring into his.

His fingers dig in to your skin and it sends shivers down your spine. “Y/N,” he whispers your name like a warning or a prayer, like you’re more than he could possibly resist, like he doesn’t even want to try, with you standing in front of him, offering for him to take. He tips his head down to finally, finally press his lips to yours.

For all the heat building inside of you—between you two—the kiss is gentle, exploratory, a soft press of a thing that leaves you trembling, Steve’s hands at your waist the only solid thing keeping you standing. You move your arms up to his shoulders, to hold on, until all you feel is Steve against you, beneath you, the kiss unfurling into something deeper, more desperate, that makes you clutch at him tighter, makes him hold you closer, his firm chest against yours, his hands spanning over your back.

You pull away only when the world seems to tilt around you, dragging in greedy breaths as you gaze at each other. There’s a blush on his cheeks that you’re sure is a mirror to your own face, a satisfaction in the curl of his lips, in the gleam of his eye. You bite your lip, suddenly shy, a little anxious, as you look away from the intensity of his features.

“Hey, hey,” Steve whispers, a hand moving to press gently under your chin, urging you to look back up at him. You do, unable to do anything else, not when the softness of his voice settles something rioting inside of you. He smooths your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “Was that—was that okay?”

He doesn’t look nervous, because you know by now Steve Rogers never actually looks nervous, but his fingers playing with a piece of your hair gives him away. You smile, a gentle tilt of your lips just for him. “It was perfect,” you tell him, letting the honesty come through in your voice. You reach out, gripping the collar of his uniform, “but I seem to remember you promising not to stop.”

He grins, leaning down to kiss you once more.

This time, neither of you stop until the chopper arrives.

[nekoannie-chan]

Fear part II

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Word count: 1336 words

Summary: Steve and you are in a relationship for a year, but the jealousy could be dangerous.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Rumlow being Rumlow.

A/N: This is the second part of my entry to Attie’s Challenge.

Reader’s power is Telekinesis.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English, if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Main masterlist.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tag: @navybrat817 @saiyanprincessswanie @sinceimetyou  @pandaxnienke

Part I

 Brock didn't like what he had heard at all, if you were beginning to suspect him... all the plans would go to hell, now I would have to do something to be able to get everything I wanted, maybe it was time to execute the emergency plan.  

Even though you hadn't had any serious injuries, Steve insisted that you be given a few weeks off to stay home and rest.  

You had a long time that you didn't cook Steve's favourite cake, it was usually for special occasions, but this time you wanted to surprise him so you started baking the cake.   

"Y/N," Steve called you when he came in.  

"In the kitchen," you replied.  

He hastened his step when he heard your answer, he had explicitly asked you to rest, that meant that he would take care of everything, you should be calm, without making any kind of physical effort. He immediately entered the kitchen worried.

"You need to rest," Steve said, hugging you around the waist.  

"Hello love, how was your day? Mine was very well, thank you for asking. I'm all right, Stevie, calm down,” you answered. 

He took the knife out of your hands and turned you over to stand in front of him, kissed your forehead.  

"Rest," Steve said.  

"Steve!”  

"Please," Steve begged to put on that little puppy face you couldn't refuse.  

You sighed and did what he asked, now you wanted your break to end, no matter how much you loved Steve, you had already had enough of the burnt food he cooked. 

Brock was in the gym training; after all those weeks he finally had a good plan, he didn't care if you were afraid of him or didn't want him, somehow he was going to make you be with him.

Steve had realized that you were shunning Rumlow since you returned to the Organization; therefore Rogers believed that something else had happened on that mission and you dared not tell anyone, he even came to think that maybe you were being threatened, so he decided to face Brock.  

"Rumlow," he called him.  

"Cap," Brock replied, still training.  

"What did you do to her?” Steve asked aggressively. 

 Brock stopped and looked at him without understanding, he had been in the gym since he arrived.    

"To Y/N," Steve clarified.  

For a moment Brock thought he had been discovered, although he decided to keep pretending he didn't know anything, so he shook his hands implying that he didn't understand what Steve was saying.  

"On the mission... the last one she went,” Steve declared grumpy.  

 "Nothing, I just complied with the orders," Brock replied.  

Steve went out of his way to such an answer, to however it would lead to finding the truth.

"But Y/N won't be with you long," Brock bluffed once Steve gone.   

A few days later Pierce called Brock in his office.  

"Sir, did you call me?”   

"I need Rogers to be framed," Pierce said.   

“Excuse me? What do you want me to do, sir? Brock questioned.  

"We need to take down Nick Fury and have Rogers look like the culprit, even if it's possible to put him on our side," Alexander said.   

“The Soldier...” 

“Of course it'll be the Soldier, dipshit.”  

Brock bit his lips and clenched his fists so as not to respond badly to his boss, he knew he could not defend himself.   

"Yes sir, immediately my team and I will take care of everything," Brock replied. 

"I need you to take Rogers’s partner away, this will make it easier for him to do what we want; I know you'll take care of everything," Pierce continued. 

When Brock came out of the office he smiled, it seemed that everything was going to be easier than he had thought. As soon as he informed his team, they set about fixing everything to make the plan a success. 

The day they were going to put the plan in motion turned out to be your day off, you decided to go shopping, Steve was on another emergency mission that had sprung up for The Avengers.  

At the mall, you met Brock and Rollins, who when they saw you came to you.  

"Y/N, we need you to come with us," Brock asked. 

"Why? Did something happen to Steve? "You inquired worriedly.  

"We'll tell you along the way, it's important that we don't waste any more time," Brock replied as he took your arm and Rollins took your purse.  

The car was parked in a faraway location where there were no cameras when you were close, suddenly everything went black for you.

The Avengers' mission turned out to be a sham, as soon as they informed Nick, he began to suspect that something was not going well, they had received all the information, but it seemed that it was something planned, although now they had to investigate who was responsible and their motivation.  

He had previously begun to suspect, so he called Maria to tell her that they would execute the plan they had been drawing up a few months earlier, unfortunately, they could not inform anyone else of what happened as they did not know who they could trust.  

Steve came to the house, not seeing you, assumed you'd come out, he called your mobile phone, but the call didn't come in.

“Maybe the battery is dead,” he thought.

At dusk the news that Nick Fury had died, there was no sign of you either, Steve was beginning to worry.  

You woke up in a room, you immediately recognized it wasn't yours, even though you weren't tied up, you noticed you were wearing a mutant inhibitor collar, you got up and went to the door to get out, but you couldn't open it.    

You didn't understand what had happened, your last memories were blurry, you started looking for your belongings, there wasn't your purse or your mobile phone, there was no way you could communicate with Steve. 

Maybe it was minutes or maybe hours that passed until Brock showed up with a tray of food.  

"Ru-Rumlow, what's going on?” You questioned.  

You started to suspect that something bad was going on. 

“Do you like your new home? Eat before it gets cold, it's your favourite," he said, leaving the tray on the table.

Before you could answer, he came out, again you tried to open the door, but it was locked.  

A few hours later you started to hear a big commotion, you started to analyze where you could hide in case it was necessary as it was difficult to defend yourself if your attackers had weapons and you were there without powers and unarmed.  

“Y/N? Are you there? "It was Steve's voice.  

"Steve!” You called him.  

He opened the door and as soon as you saw him, you threw yourself into his arms.  

"Where is he? What happened? “ 

"You're safe now, Rumlow will be transferred to Raft Prison," Steve informed you.  

Brock winced and then punched the wall of his cell, his anger and hatred kept increasing inside, somehow or another he was going to get out of that place and get what he wanted, he didn't care what he had to do, he was going to get revenge... Take revenge on Steve, S.H.I.E.L.D., and The Avengers, anyone who has contributed to his plan to fail.

"You're not the only one who wants someone; nor that they try to stop it, but I'm sure you always get what you want like I'll do," said a female voice seductively in the adjoining cell.  

"Who are you?” Brock asked curiously.  

"Sinthea... Sinthea Schmidt, “the woman replied. “Maybe if you get a little closer to the other wall, you can see me.”  

Brock searched the opposite wall until he found a hole and managed to see Sinthea.  

"I assure you that one day we will go out and get what we want, while we have to have fun in this place; chaos is my specialty," Sin said as she winked.

[until-theend-oftheline]

Idiot Friends and Interrupted Kisses - Part 7: Well Meaning Advice

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Steve is an idiot. Sweet idiot but still. A Captain Marvel spoiler-ish comment.     

Squares Filled: This entire series covers slow burn for @marvelfluffbingo

Word Count: 1100ish

A/N: This series is written for @barnesrogersvstheworld 3k challenge - I hope you enjoy it Attie.  

Betaed by: @sebs-potato - thank you so much, Ida.

IFaIK Masterlist

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Bucky was up early, making his pancakes. Not that there was anything new about that, but he did feel somewhat more grumpy than usual. He felt as if the universe was against him. Not that that was anything new either, but this time it was just downright cruel. He’d sooner go back to being tortured by HYDRA than having this go on for much longer.

It was easier before. When he didn’t know that you returned his feelings. He could push it aside then. But now, knowing what he knew he couldn’t do that anymore. Not now that he was so close to his dreams being fulfilled and still it seemed as if you were slipping between his fingers. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to be happy.

“Hi Buck,” your voice sounded from the doorway, but Bucky didn’t react. He couldn’t. Not right now. Not with the tears pressing against his eyes and his head slipping into that dark space he so desperately tried to avoid.

He heard you sigh as you walked across the room, opening the fridge to get your energy drink.

“Listen I can’t stay. Nat is waiting for me in the gym, but I-,” you started before your words fizzled out. Bucky was listening and waiting. He just couldn't look at you right now. He didn’t want you to see how much he was hurting. He hated that he was such a mess. You deserved so much better than him.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was low and frail and this time and Bucky couldn’t prevent himself from looking at you. You looked like you were hurting too and he hated it. He never wanted that but he also had no idea what was causing it.

“For what?” Bucky asked, without moving. Scared that the slightest wrong move would hurt you even further.

“Running out on you like that. I should have just ignored Tony. I…” you rambled and Bucky quickly reached out giving your hand a squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he assured you but you just shook your head.

“No, it’s not. Bucky I want this,” you motioned between the two of you. “Us. And you’re hurting. I can see that. I caused that. So I’m sorry.”

Bucky smiled softly, quickly turning off the stove and moving so he stood right in front of you, taking both your hands in his.

“It’s not you darlin’,” Bucky assured you again. “It’s in my head. I….”

“What?” You looked up, giving his hands a squeeze. “I mean you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want too. But you can if you want too,” you rambled, pulling a face when you heard yourself and Bucky chuckled, pulling you in for a hug.

“I know I can. It’s just the usual thoughts that I am not good enough. That everyone… you deserve better,” Bucky admitted softly. For some reason, he could tell you these things. He still wasn’t sure how he could the words out, but they made you cling to him even harder.

“Bucky Barnes. You’re the best, most caring man I have ever met. You deserve to have whatever your heart desires and I am damn lucky if that’s me,” you spoke, looking up at him with a soft smile.

“It’s you. Only you,” Bucky answered you honestly, smiling a little when he saw your smile grow. He closed his eyes as he felt your fingers on the nape of his neck running into his hair. When he opened them again, you were so close his heart almost stopped. He leaned down as your eyes fluttered to his lips and back to his eyes. His lips were just about to meet yours when a voice broke the spell and you took a step back clearing your throat.

“Hi, Buck. Sam and I just got back. I think he needs a break.” Steve chuckled, as he reached for the fridge to grab the apple juice, pouring himself a glass. “You wanna join me in the gym later.”

Steve finally looked over at the two of you standing fairly close and looking slightly awkward over at him. “You still haven’t kissed huh?” Steve asked, making your eyes widen and Bucky glare at him.

“Okaay! Well, that’s my cue to go meet Nat.” You put your hand on Bucky’s arm, standing on your toes and kissing his cheek before whispering in his ear, “to be continued.”

You threw him a wink before turning around and walking towards the door. It took Bucky a few moments to break the daze your kiss had put him in, but when he did he called out after you in a whiney voice.

“You’re not gonna leave me alone with him are you?”

“He was your friend first buddy,” you answered, smirking over your shoulder as you disappeared through the door.

“I’m standing right here,” Steve called out loud enough for you to hear it too, only to be met with your laughter as you continued down the hallway.

When Steve looked over Bucky was still glaring at him only for Steve to send him that same innocent grin he used to give him back in the 30s. Usually seconds before Bucky ended up in a fight trying to prevent the stubborn little bastard from getting himself killed.

“You got something to say. Spit it out,” Bucky grumbled, sitting down at the table across from Steve.

“You know as the world’s leading authority of waiting too long… She loves you, Buck. I know you still doubt who you are sometimes, but you are a good man Bucky,” Steve rambled making Bucky’s eyes widen.

“Jeez, Steve! I’m not waiting. I just have friends with horrible timing,” Bucky glared at Steve, making the stream of words stop for a second before his mouth opened and closed without words.

“You were about too…” Steve ran a hand behind his neck, “Shit. I’m sorry pal.”

“You should be,” Bucky grumbled, but still forced a small smile to not make Steve feel too bad. It wasn’t his fault really. Bucky and you just seemed to have the worst luck. “I should just have kissed her on that damn jet.”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, taking Bucky completely by surprise. “Maybe you shouldn’t look for the perfect moment. Maybe it being you and her is perfect enough.”

Bucky jumped off the chair, pulling out his phone causing Steve to frown, “Who are you calling?”

“Danvers. If she left one of her Skrulls behind I to need to know what she did with Steve,” Bucky answered with a completely straight face.

“You’re a jerk,” Steve grumbled, hitting Bucky’s arm with his fist before they both broke into laughter.

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Bucky Barnes Tag Team

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IFaIK Tag Team

@bloodyproudpotterhead @frankiea1998  

[the-canary]

Summary: Dear heart, the term “faking dating” didn’t mean go and fall in love with him, especially when he’s not yours to begin with.

Pairing: Office/Fake Dating! Reader/Steve Rogers

Status: Complete

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6  

[evanstarff]

Oh hey, like Gigi, I’m procrastinating challenges too! Only six to finish now- it’s fine 😅 I know you can relate, so is there one you’re working on or planning to work on that you’re really excited about? Can we get hints? I adore you, you know?! 💕

Oh, gorgeous Attie 💗 You and me both with these challenges! I’m going to try and smash one out this weekend, so there’s a little less to worry about with my growing volume of work in Real Life™ - which I should be getting to now, even though it’s 10:30PM on a Thursday, but ehh…

I am excited for the angst fic I’m writing for @fangirlfiction‘s Angstember, but I don’t think you will be, because it may or may not be another Bucky slowburn - which I already did with Bucky for the last challenge, but like… it came to me in the shower earlier and my brain just went !!!!! so now I’m jotting down bits of scenes instead of working. There's coffee involved. That's all I'm sayin', the end.

The concept I’m kicking around for @bucky-at-bedtime‘s Marvellous Challenge is also another thing I’m itching to write soon if my brain could just do me a favour and settle the hell down and stop being so noisy. 

And lastly, my love - I’m excited for (and will eventually get to) the fic for your Marvel Kiss Challenge! I just have to find a long sliver of time to sit down and write it. When’s it due again? 😂

I adore you like Peggy adored pre-serum Steve - I hope your days are becoming as magical as you remember you are! 💗💗

Ask me things

[sweetboybucky]

In October

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1300

Warnings: Total pointless sap, because literally nothing has changed. Brought to you by Rae, that one girl who can’t stop giving a 100 year old former assassin fluffy animals to mother to death. 

Summary: This is what Bucky dreamed of, in those years of ice, and even before. 

A/N:  This is my piece for my beautiful love @barnesrogersvstheworld​‘s Are You Afraid of the Dark Halloween Challenge, and my prompt was black cat. Attie - I adore you. I know this challenge was meant for scary stuff, but I hope you like this one anyway.  

I’ve missed you, my loves. Thank you for your kindness this year. I have appreciated it more than you could ever know. Some more notes at the end, to keep this author’s note from getting offensively long. I’m pretty rusty with this writing thing, but I hope you guys enjoy this one. 

*** October settles softly in Brooklyn, with leaves of crimson and ochre and wind whistling through the trees. The smell of maple syrup lingering in the kitchen. Morning sunlight filtering through sheer curtains. 

Eyes of winter gray hide themselves from the sun. Body curled tightly under the blanket he knitted for himself, fingers closing around the soft fabric, drawing it up higher to cover the little smile on his lips as he listens to you - humming something under your breath, making Bucky’s apartment feel like home. 

A sigh slips into the air, and you chuckle a little on the exhale. Bucky’s grin grows wider. 

There is quiet, measured amusement in your voice when you ask, “You going to help me with this, honey?” 

He groans. “Too early.” 

“Not that early, Buck.”

“Still too early.” 

“You said you would help me decorate.” 

He lets his eyes open when the couch shifts with your weight, when he feels you press into his side, warm and solid and real. Looks up at you through a bleary gaze, your beautiful face, your kind eyes. Hums when you stroke your fingers through his hair, lips pressing to his temple. 

“How did I ever manage to wind up with such a lump?” you tease. “Don’t you want to decorate for Halloween?”

“Too tired,” he argues. Startles when a slight weight lands on his legs, little paws digging into his thighs, moving up to his belly. An all too familiar chirp sounds through the air. 

“Look who’s awake,” you say, and Bucky turns his face down, finds those gorgeous green eyes, that expanse of shiny, smooth black fur. 

“Good morning, Princess Cricket,” Flesh fingers stroke behind her ears, down her back.  Affection bubbles in him when she goes pliant, flopping down to lay on top of him on her side, chirping and extending her face up for more attention. 

You echo him, smiling as you pet at Cricket’s side. “Good morning, Cricket,” turning to him, you add, “Wait here a second,” then you stand, taking your heat with you. Bucky misses it in an instant.

He whines, reaches a hand out to you as you walk over to the bin of decorations you abandoned on the floor, digging through it, “What are you doing? Come back.” 

“I bought a present for the baby, I’ll be back in a second.”

Bucky grins, mock innocence in his voice as he calls back, “Am I the baby getting the present?” 

“Well,” you say, turning back once you’ve found whatever it is you were looking for, a small object hidden between your hands, “you’re certainly a baby.” He tickles your side when you take your seat next to him again, tender warmth curling in his heart as you laugh and swat at his hand. “But this present isn’t for you.” 

A frown pulls at his lips, but it’s teasing. “No fair.” 

“Because Halloween is practically your holiday, Miss Cricket,” ignoring his words, tapping Cricket’s nose with your finger, “I got something to help you look the part. 

Winter eyes track your hands as the move, settling the gift on Cricket’s head, pulling back once it’s in place, pressing sweet into his side. 

And he can see Cricket now, as she stares up at him with a tiny, jet black witch’s hat on her head. 

Laughter comes deep from his chest, rumbling through the room. He tweaks the point of the hat with one hand, goes back to stroking Cricket’s face as he wraps his metal arm around you. Drawing you closer, feeling something too soft for him to name beneath his skin as he looks from you to the cat. 

“Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” he tells you, moving his fingers to take yours in his grip. Kissing your knuckles once, twice before continuing, “I think Cricket does, too.” She chirps at him, holding very still. “You’re so scary, sweetpea, my little demon witch.” 

“She’s cute, not scary.” 

“You do know that she’s a demon in a million trashy horror movies, right?” He taps the hat again, looks at Cricket as he continues, “She was a total demon when she was a kitten.” 

“Cricket is too cute to be a demon.” 

“You didn’t find her eating a brand new loaf of bread after she tore through the plastic with her tiny daggers for teeth.” 

“Guess I didn’t.” You scratch at Cricket’s belly, just to get her to stretch out across Bucky’s chest. “But I bet she had you whipped, anyway.” 

And he remembers, with a surge of something fierce and overwhelming, when he had first brought her home, between after everything and before you, when she was tiny and warm and so curious. How he had worried over her, but how grateful he was to have her. 

“She did,” he concedes. But he lets his smile turn teasing again. “Doesn’t mean she wasn’t a demon.” 

“Does this,” you gesture to the cat, nuzzling her face into Bucky’s belly and purring, “look like a demon to you?” 

“Yes,” he answers. “Look at her. I can’t believe I’m still alive. She’s drawing it out, the anticipation is killing me.” He curls his flesh arm around her little body, hauling her up so she can nestle her wet nose against the skin of his neck, grinning up at you, “Put me out of my misery already, Demon Cricket.” 

“She’s about as scary as you, Buck.” 

Breath hitches in his throat. He looks up at you, watching your face and that careful measure of fondness in your expression for a long moment, turning those words over in his head. Admiring the way the sun makes your skin glow gold. Slowly lifting fingers of cool metal, tracing the line of your cheek, staring as you grip them in your own, press a few lingering kisses to the knuckles, the palm of his hand. 

“I love you.” 

It is a quiet, tentative and breathless statement. A feeling that has been stirring in his mind since he first met you, since your warmth first touched his heart. A fierce kind of emotion he has felt for you for so long without naming, without breathing it into the air. 

Your eyes are wide, and there’s something he can’t name in your expression now. But it gives way to a smile too tender for words. A small, private thing meant for the two of you alone. 

“I love you, too, Buck.” 

And this is what he dreamed of - what he longed for in the years of cold, and even before then. 

His next exhale is shaky, but a grin comes with it anyway. Because he loves you, more than those words alone could ever explain, can feel it in his bones, and you love him, too. 

Shifting on the couch, he keeps a hand on Cricket to keep her in place, hearing her chirp as he makes room for you. Tugs on your hand, pulls you down next to him. 

“I guess decorating can wait for a little while,” you murmur, indulgent and so sweet as you curl into his side. Hook your arm over his belly, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. 

Eyes trace over your face for long, peaceful minutes, his lips making a path from your hairline to your cheek to your nose to your mouth, kissing you slowly, sighing into your mouth when your hands thread through his hair. Keeping him close, drawing him in. 

He pulls away to tuck you against his side, one last lingering press of his mouth to your hair before resting his nose in the strands. Breathing against you, letting every loose part of him settle. 

Cricket’s fur is soft beneath his fingers, and you are so warm against his side, and there’s so much sunshine spilling into the room. Such an easy, mundane morning, made beautiful by the simplest of things. 

“Baby?” 

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Can we get hats to match with Cricket for Halloween?” 

You chuckle into his neck, pull back to look at him. “Sure, honey.” Fingers trace the line of his jaw, and your lips follow soon after, affectionate kisses pressed into his skin, filling him with light and love. 

Notes: 

Title and inspiration for this one from girl in red’s gorgeous song, “we fell in love in october” because it made my gay little heart feel something. 

A special thanks to @panicfob for posting about the handwriting method and how helpful it is during a writing slump, it was how I got the first draft of this one done. You’re lovely, darling, and thank you for sharing your tips with us. 

Cricket the Demon Cat is mildly based on my own cat, Maddie, because she is very chirpy, lovey and cuddly, and she also once tore through the plastic on a brand new loaf of bread and ate half of it when she was a kitten. I love her. 

More love to all of you, and my amazing friends, for all the support. This year has been hard. Just trying to hope for better in these last few months, and the upcoming decade. I hope your days are filled with so much light, darlings. 

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