#frankly if someone walked into this room wearing the exact same thing i’m wearing (grey cardigan bought at tesco ten years ago; dark blue

[fingertipsmp3]

Full disclosure I do not care if someone copies me. I quite literally do not give a shit. Maybe it’s just because I’m 28 and getting mad about someone “copying” you is high school shit, maybe it’s genuinely not a big deal, I don’t know. I could run into someone who’s wearing the same thing, head to toe, that I am and I would neither notice nor care

[angst-fairygodmother]

Will you write a Vanya x reader? Maybe one where the reader is in the orchestra with Vanya and asks her out and then they're both super nervous for the date (the reader because oh my god Vanya is incredible and Vanya because she's the first/only person she's been interested in since Leonard and all that disaster) and then Five and someone, maybe Klaus or Allison, show up to their respecitve apartments to help these disaster lesbians get ready?

A/N: Alright, so obviously, this is a “when season 1 ended, the world didn’t” AU which I’m here for. Also this was SO MUCH FUN to write. Everyone needs a fairy godbrother. Especially a disaster lesbian/bi. Word Count: 1439 Content Warnings: None

“Heeeelloooo? Yoohoo, darling little sister?” Klaus singsonged as he walked through the unlocked door.

“I’m back here,” Vanya called from the bedroom. “And we’re the exact same age, Klaus.”

“Ten months in ‘Nam beg to differ.”

He walked into the room to find Vanya pacing and chewing nervously on her nails, and immediately flopped onto her bed, sitting up to rest his chin in his hands. “Now tell me what the emergency is.”

“Y/N asked me to dinner. Tonight.”

“Y/N? Now that’s the ‘super cute’ flautist you’ve been mooning over for months right?” He couldn’t help a teasing grin and wiggled eyebrows at his own pun.

“Leave.” Vanya shot him a glare.

“No. Come on. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Cross my heart.”

“You better not. But really, I think I figured it out. What to wear at least.”

“Ooh, show me!” he leaned forward with interest.

“What do you mean? I’m wearing it?”

Klaus took in the boxy button up shirt and dark jeans, ended in clunky brown boots, and sighed.

“Oh no. You cannot wear that on a first date unless it’s to watch mechanics rebuild transmissions or some bizarre, boring shit.”

~

Meanwhile, you were fretting over your own clothes and whether the dusky purple pantsuit was too much or too professional or too purple or if maybe you should go with a dress even though you didn’t love wearing them or, or, or, when suddenly there was a flash of blueish light and an angry looking teenager was perched in a sort of squat on the center of your mattress. You screamed. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh relax,” he sneered. “I’m just here for one last vetting before your date with my sister.”

“How did you…where did you…” you gasped, trying to recover from your shock.

“If you’re interested in Vanya,” he said slowly, as if he thought you were stupid. “Then you must know about The Umbrella Academy and our childhood?”

You nodded. You had grown up in the city, and like many children, read the comics and played pretend that you were one of the strangely powered children born on that fateful day.

“I do but I don’t care about that. It’s got nothing to do with—”

He held up a hand to cut you off. “I’m not interested in speeches about why you like my sister. It’s enough to know that you do. Especially since Diego and Allison have already thoroughly researched you to make sure there were no skeletons, real or metaphorical, in your closet.”

You frowned, feeling unsettled by the thought of Vanya’s siblings digging into your personal information, but strangely comforted that they apparently approved anyway.

“The point I was trying to make was that if you’re aware of the Academy, you should have some idea of what the rest of us can do. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that I teleported into your room. I wouldn’t have had to, but apparently you actually take safety seriously and lock your doors and windows, unlike Vanya.”

Right. He must be Number Five then. The only one without a name, the one who had apparently disappeared at thirteen only to return seventeen years later to unite his siblings and stop the end of the world, an end of the world Vanya had apparently almost brought about. You had heard the story but still struggled to wrap your mind around it.

“So are you here to vet me or not? Because you said…” you pointed out.

“Oh you caught that, did you? Clever.” His condescending smirk made your blood boil.

“Don’t patronize me. Just because you’re older than I am, doesn’t give you any right.”

He raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

“Look, frankly, I don’t give a shit what you think of me, but if you want to interrogate me and make sure I’m good enough or whatever, why don’t we take this to the kitchen. I’ll put on a pot of coffee or something. Having you sitting on my bed and staring at me like that is frankly a little disquieting.”

“Offer appreciated, but don’t bother. I have what I need.”

“What?”

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N. Have a lovely time with Vanya tonight.” He nodded with what was almost a smile. “Wear the suit, she’ll like it.”

And with that, he was gone as quickly as he’d come in. You shook your head at the oddness and glanced back down at the purple pants and jacket still in your hand.  Well, he was her brother, so there was no harm in taking his advice right?

~

“Klaus, I look ridiculous. This is too much,” Vanya protested, brushing awkwardly at the slight pleat in the skirt of the soft grey dress Klaus had talked her into buying.

“You look stunning,” he countered, coming up beside her in the mirror and resting an arm around her shoulders.

“Y/N is going to hate it.”

“Then she’s either blind or has no taste,” Klaus sighed. “Vanya, darling, a first date is about impressing the other person. Yes, she asked you out so you have a slight advantage, but you can’t play it safe, you still have to make an effort. Show her you’re invested. And if you’re not going to go all glowing white badass again, this is the next best thing.”

She glared at her brother in the reflection and he shrugged in insincere apology. There were only ten minutes until Y/N was set to come and meet her, so Vanya sighed in resignation, not having time to change even if she wanted to.

“I do like the color…” she admitted.

Klaus grinned and nodded, taking the concession.

“You’re going to have a great time, and Diego and Allison are already gearing up to fight over who gets to kill her if she turns out to be another Peabody.”

~

You took a deep breath, fighting down your nervousness as you raised your hand to knock on Vanya’s door. You felt the paper in your other hand crinkle around the flowers you’d bought on a whim as you’d been walking and worried that you would damage the lovely bouquet that the old woman had made you. And then the door opened, and you were greeted by a tall, gangly man in a fur-lined coat.

“Hi…um…I’m here to pick up Vanya?” you asked, shifting and worrying that you were in the wrong place or that she hadn’t really been interested and gave you a false address to shake you.

“Sure! She’s just finishing up,” the man said, face splitting into a grin. “Why don’t you come in and wait.”

Without giving you a chance to say anything, he took you by the arm and dragged you through the door in a twirl. You had barely stopped moving, stumbling to keep your feet, when Vanya came out of the door at the end of the hall.

For a moment, it was like there was no air in the room. You had always thought she was gorgeous, but now, with her hair slightly curled and swept to the side, her face bright and warm with a smile, you swore there was never anyone more beautiful in the world. And somehow this goddess had agreed to go to dinner with you.

“Hey wait! What happened to the dress?” the man cried out, taking in her charcoal grey pants and navy blue jacket.

“I changed. I love you Klaus, but your fashion sense and mine…aren’t the same. I figured if Y/N liked me, she’d like me whatever I wore,” Vanya shrugged.

You were startled out of your stunned silence by the sound of your name and smiled softly, in awe of her still.

“I…uh…” your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you tried to find words. “I brought you flowers? You look…wow…”

You held out the daisies and lilies to her and she took them reverently, cradling them to sniff deeply while she looked for something that could pass as a vase.

“I could say that about you,” she replied, blushing. “Not the flowers bit, but you know, the…wow.”

Klaus rolled his eyes, smiling fondly. “Alright you crazy kids, go have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” He gave you both a gentle shove toward the door and you laughed, offering Vanya a hand, which she immediately slid her fingers into as if she was made to fit there.

Klaus winked at you behind Vanya’s back, which you took with a warm feeling in your chest as a sign that you had the approval of this second brother now as well.

[slytherin-puffskein]

First of, thank you so much ! I’m glad that you love Barnalau, and seeing how much you guys love this pairing only motivates me to write more !

As for the prompt, I decided to go with number 12, aka “Where did those bruises come from ?”. Hopefully, you will enjoy it !

Warnings: Angst. Like, a lot. As well as mentions of abuse.

“Where did those bruises come from... ?”

Barnaby’s voice definitely has a worried tone, and that makes Lau immediately want to wince. That was exactly what he didn’t want: for Barnaby to worry over him. He swiftly moves away from his friend, smiling at him... but there is one thing to know about Laurent Dorian King: whenever he smiles, his eyes light up. They look as if they inhabit a thousand tiny fireworks, and it is the most beautiful sight... at least, to Barnaby, and a few students who secretly crush on him. This time, however, those fireworks aren’t present, and Barnaby could immediately figure out that this smile was fake.

“It’s nothing, Barny. Don’t you worry” Lau replied, still smiling. “Let’s say Mr.Whiskers wasn’t really kind to me this morning...”

Barnaby couldn’t help but frown. That... didn’t make any sense. How can a small cat give bruises that big !? They usually scratch people, no ? And Barnaby already saw how Lau’s arms would look like following an attack from that cat... whatever was on his arms right now, wasn’t from Mr.Whiskers. He took a step forward, as if to inspect his friend’s arms... but Lau huffed, moving away once again. Now, he was starting to regret the decision to not wear a thick sweater. Can’t he just walk around in a short sleeved shirt without getting any attention !? Man, they were only three days into the new school year, and Lau was already tired. He bit on his lip, playing with his badly done tie.

“Barnaby” he said in a stern voice. “I’m telling you, I’m fine. Now can you please leave me alone ?”

Ouch. That hurt. Lau could be just like fire sometimes: if you approach it too much, you get burned. Now, Barnaby definitely got burned, and he saw that it was useless to insist. He simply nodded, unsure.

“O... Okay...”

With that, Lau gave Barnaby a curt nod, and walked away. After all, classes were over for the rest of the morning, and the redhead had only one wish: being left alone.

* * *

Thank god, the dorm was empty. Rowan was probably studying, and as for the other Slytherins sharing it... well, they were visibly elsewhere, and that was just fine for Lau. Sighing heavily, he dropped his bag next to his bed, trying to forget his conversation with

( Where did those bruises come from... ? )

Barnaby. It’s not like he can tell him, right ? Lau was well aware that Barnaby had his own problems: abusive parents, downright terrible dad... he didn’t want to add to Barnaby’s list of worries. That was the last thing he wanted, frankly... so he had to deal with this on his own. He stepped in front of the mirror next to Rowan’s bed, and stared at his reflection. Ah, time changes... he can still remember his eleven year old self staring into this exact same mirror, and he recalls how terrified he was. After all, he was a Muggleborn. What if he wasn’t good enough for Hogwarts ? What if Dumbledore kicks him out ?

But despite all of these feelings, a stronger one would dominate them. The most powerful sensation ever.

Excitement.

He was thrilled to be part of Hogwarts, and to soon study about magic. His eyes were basically filled with sparkles.

But now, Lau was seeing in the mirror an entirely different boy. An older, tired boy, who wasn’t sure of what to do anymore. He slowly undid his tie and let it fall to the floor, then unbuttoned his shirt. It slid past his bony shoulders, then he took it off, revealing his body.

Thank god he was too poor to afford clothing his size and had to wear Stefen’s hand me downs. If he were to wear clothes his actual size... Barnaby would have had one more thing to worry about: how terribly skinny he was. Skin sticking to the bone, with little to no muscle, a huge contrast to the healthy young boy he was last year. And the bruises. Oh god, the bruises. They were everywhere.

( you deserve them )

He stared at his reflection, hugging himself, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He picked up his shirt and slid it back on, as well as his tie. He closed his eyes, trying to block all of the memories

( it’s your fault ! your fault ! )

coming back. He slowly headed to his bed. He needed a nap...

* * *

Laurent King never liked following rules.

So of course, he had to break them. As a crescent moon was slowly rising in the sky, the Slytherin quietly made his way out of the Common Room, walking on the tip of his toes. Luckily, he was fairly sneaky, and in only a few minutes he was at the Clocktower Courtyard, sitting on the edge of the fountain and admiring the sky and it’s stars. At least, the stars were here for him... the sky always follows you, no matter what. He closes his eyes as a soft breeze caresses his face, and he feels peaceful for a

( you will never be strong enough )

moment. Suddenly, though, he heard something. Footsteps. And as he turned around he saw none other than Barnaby Lee, in his pyjamas. Grey sweatpants, and a white tank top, showing off his muscly arms... they had their fair share of bruises too, however. Living with Mr.Lee wasn’t easy... Lau felt his chest tighten as he thought of that.

“B-Barnaby ? What are you doing here ?”

“I... I could ask you the same”

He looked wary, as if he was afraid that Lau might push him away like he did this morning... but he didn’t. Instead, he slowly stood up and stepped closer to his friend.

“I... needed fresh air” he confessed.

He was still wearing that shirt from earlier, and his bruised arms were in full display... something that Barnaby hated. If only he could take them away... if only he could have them instead. 

“Me too” Barnaby said. “Or well... I was mostly looking for you... I know you often sneak out at night, so I figured...”

Barnaby Lee might forget a lot of things, but he never forgets anything about Laurent. Lau couldn’t hold back a smile. Once again, Barnaby was too caring... and it made his knees weak.

“Sometimes, I wonder what I did for you to be this caring...”

Barnaby could only smile, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“The only thing you did was being you. That was enough for me”

The words came out without him being really aware of it. Lau couldn’t help but blush, and he found himself extremely grateful that it was dark.

Without a word, Lau took Barnaby’s hand, and he guided him to the fountain. Barnaby could only hear the water gently lap against the edges as Lau removed his shirt, revealing his bruises. All of them.

“I... suppose you deserve to know...” he whispered. “You’re my best friend, after all”

That last sentence left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The air was cold. He hugged himself, trying to get some warmth.

“You know how my mom died from an illness... and how my dad isn’t a fan of how... how I am”

A sweet, nice boy who loves flowers. Barnaby couldn’t do anything but nod, but he feared he already knew where this is going. Lau kept staring at his feet, refusing to meet Barnaby’s worried gaze. Should he even keep going ? For a moment, he hesitated... but he decided to keep talking.

“With Stefen gone, he’s under a lot of pressure, and... and I guess he snapped this summer”

And he explained everything. How his father would blame him for his wife’s death, because as a kid Lau demanded too much attention. How Lau would scream and try to shield himself when his father would try and hit him, how starved he felt when Mr.King refused to serve him meals... and refused to let him cook some. As he talked about it, waves and waves of memories crashed through him, and he felt weak. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he hated it. He hated looking weak.

Basically, Charles King finally had his revenge on his son. Or well, he liked to see it as a revenge.

Laurent didn’t dare to look at Barnaby’s face, but if he did, he would have seen the pure shock and anger on his features. He was enraged, he felt disgusted at the idea that someone did this to his Lau... and he could only find one solution.

Wrap him into the tightest hug he could manage, burying his face in the crook of his neck and gently caressing his back. As this happened, Lau finally decided to cry, and he hugged Barnaby back.

“I was so scared... but I also felt like... I deserved it, you know ?” he whispered, trying to hold back sobs. “I mean, with Stefen gone, I’m the only son he has left... and I wasn’t living up to his expectations, and-”

“No” Barnaby immediately interrupted him.

He pulled away and grabbed Lau’s shoulders gently, making him look at him. For a moment, Lau feared he made a mistake. What if Barnaby reacts too badly ?

“You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of this. Your dad... he’s not allowed to do this to you ! He can’t !”

As he spoke, he pulled Lau back into a hug, petting his soft hair.

“You don’t deserve it... you don’t” he whispered. “You’re safe now. You’re in Hogwarts. You’re with me. I’ll protect you”

“I can protect myself” Lau replied.

His voice was sort of muffled, though, since his face was buried in Barnaby’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. The Slytherin smiled. Indeed, Lau can protect himself. He could kick every single Hogwarts student’s ass if he wanted to.

“I know you can, Lau... but let me do it anyway”

Silence.

Then Lau nodded. Barnaby hugged him tighter.

“Now let me bring you back to your dorm”

“Your dorm” Lau suddenly said.

He raised his head, looking at Barnaby. He was now bright red, almost the same colour as his hair.

“I... wanna sleep by your side. Please”

He won’t be able to handle another night alone. He needed Barnaby by his side.

And gently, Barnaby picked him up, carrying him as if he was a princess. Lau didn’t bother to protest, because he actually liked it. He pressed his face in the crook of Barnaby’s neck, smelling his honeysuckle scent... and he let Barnaby carry him.

( I love you )

Neither of them, however, dares to say it.

[thfrustration]

Crossing Knives, Chapter 9: Cake, canoodling, cocktails and confusion

TITLE OF STORY: Crossing Knives CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: Chapter 8 AUTHOR: missviolethunter / missviolethunterwrites WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: AU Tom / Chef Tom GENRE: Romance, Comedy FIC SUMMARY: Tom Hiddleston is the brilliant executive chef of Band of Brothers, a London restaurant with a Michelin star. He also has a reputation for being arrogant, cocky and difficult. Hallie Harrison is a former home cook who has just won Masterchef US. Luke Windsor is a restaurateur who is tired of constantly looking for new sous-chefs because Tom keeps making them quit. In a desperate move to save his restaurant, Luke offers Hallie a job as a sous-chef… and maybe also a chance to meet the man of her dreams in the least likely of places: the kitchen of Band of Brothers. RATING: Explicit WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: None FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: Links to previous chapters: Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8

Chapter 9: Cake, canoodling, cocktails and confusion

Every Sunday, exactly at 9pm, a traffic control helicopter flew over the City of London, checking that the peace of the night wasn’t disrupted by a sudden accident or –almost worse– an unexpected traffic jam.

Every Sunday, at 9:03 pm, it flew over the Barbican towers. Three perfectly grey, elegant, monolithic statues raising towards the sky. Of course, the people on board the helicopter didn’t stop to wax poetic about the brutalist buildings. Sometimes one of them looked down and noticed if the lights on the penthouses were lit or not; but, like good Londoners, they didn’t care much about other people’s lives, not even if those other people were rich sods who lived in super expensive luxury flats on top of an architectural wonder.

If they had bothered to look towards Shakespeare Tower (and carry a pair of binoculars) on that particular Sunday, they would have seen a man standing on the balcony of the 42nd floor. A tall blond man, holding a bottle of beer and looking supremely depressed.

Tom emptied the rest of the bottle in one long swig, while his confused brain tried to make some sense of what had happened after dinner. It all started so well, he thought. Second date with Hallie, a home cooked dinner, some jazz music… The modus operandi had been the same he’d used in countless other dates, only this time he was really interested in what his date had to say. At least until she had bolted out, of course. He stood up and staggered towards the sofa, replaying the dinner over and over in his head and wondering what the hell he’d done to make a carefully planned night go to shit.

In fact, the dinner part had been incredible. He made sure to cook his best for the occasion, and Chef Hiddleston’s best was always a culinary experience to remember. The oysters in the appetizer were poached to perfection in his favorite Riesling wine; the second course, a rack of lamb many restaurants would be proud to display on their menus, accompanied by a rainbow of the tiniest vegetables he could find. As for dessert, Hallie had brought a glorious raspberry and white chocolate cake decorated with many infinitesimal pieces of gold leaf. His mouth watered when he saw it; well, in fact his mouth had started watering just before, when he had opened the door and seen his guest arrive in a spectacular blue dress.

No, he was sure nothing wrong had happened during dinner… so it must had been after coffee, when he had taken Hallie to the balcony to admire the view.

“I think you can see my flat from here”, Hallie said, squinting in the direction of the Golden Lane Estate. “There! On the corner of that building, the one with the lights up. It’s so tiny from here!”

Tom nodded and got a bit closer to her, trying to identify the dot of light many floors below.

“Your mother must be up waiting for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I told her not to wait up in case I…” she stopped herself and blushed a bright shade of pink. “I mean, I’m a big girl, it’s not like she’s keeping tabs on me or anything.”

Tom bit his lip in silence, smiling. He had been looking for a subtle way to invite Hallie to spend the night, and now he knew she was at least considering it.

“Would you like to go back inside? It’s starting to get chilly.”

She nodded. The truth was, early October in London could indeed be quite cold, especially at four hundred feet above ground. She sat on the sofa and took a sip of her wine while Tom managed the music. Her personal tastes turned more towards Broadway than jazz, but nevertheless she closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the song transport her for a moment.

“Earth to Hallie.”

“Oh God, sorry! I always close my eyes when I’m enjoying good music, or good food. One of those silly things one does sometimes.”

Tom sat beside her on the sofa. “It’s alright. But right now I think I prefer to enjoy the moment with my eyes open. You look stunning tonight, Hallie.”

“But it’s just me”, she answered with a smile. “The same woman that looks a mess every day after eight hours in the kitchen.”

“If it wasn’t for the health and safety regulations, I’d ask you to wear that dress to work every day. You’d be the most attractive chef in any London kitchen.”

“What, this old thing? It’s really nothing special.”

Tom slid his hand over hers and looked Hallie right in the eye.

“Then maybe it’s the person inside of the dress who’s special.”

Not having a lot of dating experience, Hallie didn’t know what to say next, so she let her instinct take charge. And her instinct, that dormant and neglected part of herself, told her to do what every young woman sitting next to a very attractive man would do in her situation: she kissed him.

Forgetting her initial shyness, Hallie clasped her hands around Tom’s shoulders and allowed him to take command of the kiss. She reveled in the sensation, in the intensity of his mouth closing over hers, in the skilled way one of his hands slid over her neck and the other inched towards her thigh…

“Hallie.”

“Hmmm?”

“You’re doing it again, love… look at me, please.”

She opened her eyes. Tom was close, so close it was almost overwhelming, but she made a mental effort and told herself to keep her eyes on him no matter what.

“Sorry. I told you, when I’m feeling good I just don’t need to see.”

“Oh, but I do”, answered Tom, caressing her blond hair. “I need you to look at me, Hallie, because I fell for those eyes the moment you stepped into my kitchen. Don’t close them, stay with me.”

His lips began to inch their way down Hallie’s neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Slow but steady, with fleeting touches along her skin that made her moan and sigh aloud more than once. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the bedroom door in the distance, and she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like after so long. To be in bed with someone again, to let him explore her body, let him see her naked…

Tom could feel the exact moment when the girl froze in his arms. She stared at some unspecific point in space, and her lower lip quivered as if she was about to burst into tears.

“Hallie, darling, are you alright?”

No answer, but one of her hands flew to grab hem of her dress and move Tom’s hand away from her leg.

“Hallie, please, what’s wrong?” he tried again.

“I can’t do this.”

Tom frowned and moved away a couple of inches. “Fine. We don’t have to do anything, but I need you to tell me if I’ve done something wrong.”

“No! No, please, it’s been wonderful, it’s just… I can’t let you see me… I mean…I just can’t!”

She shot up from the sofa and grabbed her purse and coat from the chair she’d left them on. “Tom, please, I’m so sorry, I need to go home right now. This was all a mistake.”

Alarmed, Tom searched in his mind at top speed, looking for the precise words to keep the bewildered woman from running away. “Hallie, if you think this is going too fast, we can talk about it. We’ll wait until you’re ready, but please don’t leave like this.”

She stopped in her tracks for a second to look back at him, her breathing agitated and the hand that held her purse visibly shaking. “Oh, Tom, you shouldn’t have asked me out. I’m a mess, I will bring you nothing but bad luck, and…”

Tom approached the anxious girl slowly, stopping at a distance to avoid scaring her.

“Bad luck? Hallie, you’ve been the best thing that’s happened to me in months. Just ask Luke!” He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to make sense of the situation. “Listen, why don’t you go home and rest? I’ll wait for your call tomorrow, or we can talk on Tuesday when we go back to work. I’ll walk you to your place if you want–”

“No, please, there’s no need. It’s two minutes away.” She slung her coat over her arm, without pausing to put it on. “I have to get out of here, Tom… I’m sorry. I will… I mean, we’ll talk at work.”

And, just like that, she left.

Tom barely had time to walk her to the door and hold it open for her. He heard the sound of heels down the corridor, slowly at first and then picking up a running pace halfway to the lift. When he realized he was staring at the closed door of his flat like an idiot he returned to the living room balcony and looked down, waiting to see her small figure in the distance emerge from the tower and run towards Goswell Road, into the Golden Lane Estate… and away from him.

Confused, frustrated, and frankly angry at the Universe that would put such a woman in his life only to yank her away from him in the worst possible moment, Tom grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, took his shoes off and sat on the cold concrete of the terrace hoping that the cold air of the night would clear his mind.

Women were the bloody devil, and damned be the poor sod who tried to understand them.

Meanwhile, at Hallie’s flat, Lorraine had just put her grandson to sleep and turned on the telly. She had missed British TV a lot during her years in California, especially Coronation Street.

When she heard a key turning in the lock she looked at her watch, surprised.

“Hallie? Is that you, sweet pea?”

“Yes.”

The unusually short and deflated answer was a red flag, and she followed her daughter’s steps towards the bedroom, where Hallie had let herself fall face down on the bed, not even bothering with taking off her pumps.

“My powers of deduction tell me that your date wasn’t exactly as you expected”, she started in a sympathetic tone. “I’ll make you a cuppa and we can talk about it if you want.”

Hallie turned around to face her mother. “I don’t want tea. I… Oh, Mom, I feel like a complete idiot!”

Lorraine frowned. “Did he behave like a pig? Because if he did I can go over there and kick his arse, you know. He may be a chef and everything but I was captain of my lacrosse team for three years when I was in college.”

The joke failed to get a smile out of Hallie. She sat up on the bed and hid her face behind her hands.

“He was perfectly lovely all the time. No, Mom, I was the one who ruined it by panicking and running away.”

“Hmmm. Maybe things were going too fast? It’s not something mothers usually tell their daughters, but… sweetheart, you can’t go from zero to one hundred in two dates, especially when you’ve been living the life of a cloistered nun for years.”

Another attempt at humor, another nonplussed look from Hallie, and Lorraine decided to stop trying with the jokes.

“I wanted it to go fast this time”, said Hallie in a whisper. “At least until I realized that if I spent the night with Tom he… he would see my c-section scar and he would start asking questions.”

Lorraine’s face turned dead serious.”You haven’t told him about Max.”

“I didn’t know how to tell him. Or what he would think of me if I–”

“Stop”, interrupted her mother. “Now I’m ordering you to come to the kitchen, drink some tea and have a piece chocolate or two. I won’t allow my daughter to fall into a mental loop of self-deprecation.”

She motioned for Hallie to follow her into the kitchen.

“I can’t help thinking it’s my fault”, she said with a sigh. “I should have encouraged you to start dating much sooner.”

She adjusted her glasses over her nose and, seeing that Hallie was sulking in silence, continued:

“Baby girl, you shouldn’t be ashamed of what your body looks like. I have a scar myself… they had to cut me up twice, one for your brother and the other for you. You were incredibly cute babies, but God knows both of you had big heads.”

Third time is the charm, and Hallie finally laughed.

“I never lost the weight I gained when I had Max, either.”

“Bollocks. A few pounds won’t scare a good man; Tom asked you out knowing perfectly what you look like, right?”

Hallie nodded.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Hallie. A girl who’s had her life on pause for a few years… but you’re only twenty-seven! Go out, date men, have fun! You deserve all that, and I’m here to help you with Max as long as you need me.”

Hallie opened her mouth to answer, but several loud chimes coming from her phone at an alarming pace interrupted her. She read the messages out loud.

“It’s Harrington Craig… oh, and more messages from his sister Georgiana. Both of them reminding me that his birthday party has just began and that I’m invited if I feel like dropping by.”

“Maybe you should go and mingle a little bit. It’s barely nine and you need some cheering up. Where does this Harrington live, again?”

“Saint Katharine’s Docks.”

Lorraine let out a long whistle. “Wow, posh! You should go even if it’s just to see what his place looks like. You can make some new friends, maybe meet a man or two…”

“Mom, I’m with Tom! That is, if he still wants me back after today.”

“And that’s what I was talking about”, retorted her mother. “Two dates and you’re already building a wall around yourself. You must get it from your father’s side of the family… anyway, I think it will be good for you to have a little harmless fun. Tomorrow you can call Tom and explain everything, I’m sure he’ll understand. Now get your things, I’ll call you a cab.”

Hallie started looking for her coat, forgetting that she had left it on her bed. “Mom, are you sure you don’t want me to stay? We can watch a few episodes of Blackadder together, like we did last Sunday.”

“Absolutely not! I have to catch up on Corrie, I’m three episodes behind. Remember, don’t take a minicab after the party, I’ve never trusted those. Or an Uber, I’ve been reading some shitty things about them.”

“Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll make sure to take a black cab”, said Hallie, making her way to the door.

“And take a picture or two of the flat, I’ve always wanted to see how the rich pillocks in Saint Katharine’s Docks live!”

“Mom!”

“Joking, sweetheart. Now, off you trot!”

When Hallie arrived, the party was in full swing.

Although maybe swing wouldn’t be the right word to describe it. If a musical metaphor was absolutely necessary, it would be more like a session of cool, classic jazz.

Harrington had opened the door with a surprised smile and holding a Martini glass. Apparently the host was in charge of cocktails, and he enjoyed putting his little personal touches in them: an unusual mix of berries in a gin and tonic, or a surprising touch of chocolate in a mint mojito.

“Hallie! I didn’t think you would make it, thank you so much for coming”, he said, taking her coat and signaling around the room. “Welcome to what my sister Georgie calls my bachelor pad. I have to warn you that I haven’t done a lot of entertaining here, so my party skills are a bit rusty.”

Everything in the flat looked modern and sophisticated. The tall windows that looked over the river, the soft grays and beiges of the curtains and furniture… even the guests, wearing so much black that Hallie wondered for a second if it was a beatnik party and if she should have come wearing a costume.

She’d barely had time to tell Harry how lovely his flat looked, when the tall figure of Georgiana emerged from the kitchen. She had changed the tweed trousers for a deceitfully simple (and probably very expensive) charcoal dress with no jewelry, and there was an entourage of young men around her, ready to anticipate her every need.

“Oh, look who’s here! Hallie, darling, it’s so wonderful of you to come! You look absolutely adorable. Come, let me introduce you to everyone.”

After a quick round of introductions it became clear to Hallie that everyone, like Georgiana called them, were most definitely the cream of the London crop. There were a couple of City bankers, several young (and probably rich) entrepreneurs, a famous sculptor who followed Georgie like a lapdog, and even a woman who had won a BAFTA.

These were the kind of people who never talked about ordinary, mundane things. From what Hallie could hear, most of the conversations around her versed about art, travel, literature, fashion, and all the latest fads on every field. Nobody discussed politics, of course; that would have been an inexcusable faux pas. And nobody ever talked about money either, as if the idea of exchanging vulgar currency for immortal art was an abomination.

Fortunately for Hallie, among the latest fads in London (and probably in the whole world) there was one she dominated quite well, and that was food. The explosion of cooking shows and celebrity chefs had transformed every elegant person into a gourmet, and as soon as Georgiana had introduced her to a few of her friends, they were all fighting for a minute of conversation with her.

Of course, some of the topics deviated a little bit from the purely culinary.

“Tell me, is Gordon Ramsay as dreamy in real life as he looks on television?” asked a woman with platinum hair, called Brenda, who had just published two bestsellers in a row . “I’m asking just for research purposes, of course. My next novel will be about a chef, and I need someone to base my characters on. Georgie suggested that I use Harry as my inspiration, but my protagonists need to have a mean streak, and poor Harrington is too nice for his own good.”

“He’s a wonderful person. And a great chef, have you tried his–”

“I’ve just had a brilliant idea!” Interrupted the other woman. “You have to take me to your restaurant one day. I need to immerse myself in the ambience of a real kitchen, that will give so much truth to my story! I promise I won’t bother you, I’ll be the proverbial fly on the wall. Who knows, maybe Chef Hiddleston will be a good model for my villain, don’t you think?”

Hallie took a deep breath, not knowing exactly what to answer. She hadn’t predicted that someone would mention Tom, and when the other woman pronounced his name she felt a wave of anxiety rush through her mind. Only one person in the room noticed: Georgiana, whose eagle eyes surveyed anything that could disrupt the peace of her well organized party. She rushed beside Hallie in a second, thrusting herself into the conversation before Hallie’s embarrassment could be noticed by anybody else.

“Now, Brenda, how can you be so insensitive? Hallie’s here to relax from work, not to talk about it. Hallie, darling, come with me to the kitchen; I’ve just had a disagreement with Harry about the right amount of capers he should put on the smoked trout canapés, and I need the opinion of a real expert.”

The kitchen was occupied by a couple of attractive men, laughing and flirting with each other, but Georgiana shooed them out with a piercing gaze and the eloquent rising of an eyebrow.

“Now, sit here and have a little rest. I like Brenda, but her conversation is too overwhelming… she treats everybody as if we were characters in her books.” Observing that Hallie still looked distressed, she pushed the plate of canapés towards her friend. “Hallie, dear, are you having trouble at work? If you need a change of scenery, I’ll order Harry to hire you first thing tomorrow.”

Hallie looked at her, surprised to see that her friend was absolutely serious.

“No, I’m fine. I mean, work is fine… it’s really the job of my dreams.”

“Then, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you look so worried when Brenda mentioned Band of Brothers…? Oh, wait. Unless it’s not the restaurant… You were fine until she mentioned Tom.”

Hallie picked up a canapé and looked at it with an air of melancholy.

“I was hoping to not think about him for a couple of hours. As I said, work is fine, but other things related to work have become… complicated.”

Georgiana sighed. “Oh, Tommy. I’m not even going to ask what he’s done this time. I feel it’s my fault in part, because I was the one who introduced him to that wretched woman who ruined him and left him unable to have a normal relationship again. She walked all over him, and moved on to do the same with my brother… and I’m ranting again, sorry. You don’t even know who Charlotte is, right?”

“I’ve heard of her, but we’ve never met”, answered Hallie.

Georgiana fiddled with her phone and showed Hallie a picture of a beautiful woman, smiling on the red carpet of some fashion show.

“That piece of work in the super tight dress is supermodel Charlotte Rhodes, my ex-sister in law… and, before that, Tom’s fiancée. She left Tom for my brother, married Harry, gave him hell for about a year, and then divorced him when she realized she could do better than the simple son of a baronet who had no interest in yachts, private jets or parties at Monte Carlo. Of course, I don’t know all the details of her life” she said, with an air of sufficiency that indicated that she did know all the details and a few more, “but I hear she’s going after Viscount Dalby now, the heir of the Earl of Rochdale. I know Teddy Dalby from Uni, he’s a good man but not particularly brilliant. I hope he’s got a good team of solicitors, he’s going to need them if he ends up marrying her.”

Hallie stared at the beautiful woman on the screen, who happened to be quite the opposite of her: tall, thin, tanned, and with an air of confidence that she supposed was normal in a supermodel. That woman had the power of making everybody else feel ugly.

“So, she left Tom because…?”

“Because he wasn’t getting rich fast enough. I mean, he’s far from destitute, but chefs don’t become rich and famous easily, not unless they have a television show, and Tommy never liked that kind of fame.” She put the phone aside, facing down, as if she wanted to keep her ex-sister in law as far away as possible. “Of course we didn’t know that when she married my brother; I honestly thought she’d had a change of heart and fallen in love with Harry, and that’s not a crime… she didn’t just fool him, she fooled the whole family.”

“Even you?”

“Yes, even me.” Georgiana rested her face on one of her thin, aristocratic hands. “I wish I could tell you that I mistrusted her from the start, or that my infallible instinct made me realize what a bitch she was. But no, alas. I was every bit as blind as the others; especially Harry. Then the drama about the title exploded, and he saw Charlotte’s true colors, but it was too late for anything but an awfully expensive divorce. We avoided a scandal, but poor Harry was completely heartbroken.”

Hallie took a bite of her canapé. Every one of Georgiana’s answers seemed to leave her with more questions about Tom, Harry and the woman who had gotten between them.

“I’m not sure I understand… about the title drama.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry for being so cryptic, of course you don’t know about that, not being British. And that’s hardly your fault, anyway.” Georgiana picked two mojitos from the kitchen counter and offered one to her friend. “You’ll think I’ve gone crazy when I tell you this, but it’s all the House of Lords’ fault.”

Hallie opened her mouth, closed it again, and sipped her mojito in silence.

“See? You think I’m halfway to the madhouse, but I promise it all makes sense”, said Georgiana. “It started two years ago, when a group of Lords agreed that it was a complete shame that men always took precedence over women when it came to inheriting a title. Of course, many people had been thinking that for years, but those Lords took it to Parliament. There were some debates, some opposition by a couple of conservative MPs, but in the end the New Peerages Act was passed and it received royal assent… sorry, I’m talking in riddles again; that means the Queen signed it so it could become law. And how does all that boring stuff affect my brother’s wretched marriage, you ask? Well, you may not know that Harry is the fourth of five siblings, four of which are girls.”

“Oh… I’m starting to see it now.”

“Of course you are. Before the Act got approved it was a given that, when our father died, Harrington would became Baron Mountjoy; but now, under the new law, the title will go to our older sister Eleonora.”

Hallie’s American common sense kicked in. “But why did Charlotte care so much about a title?”

“Because with the barony comes the house in London, the great house in Dorset, a couple of cottages and a bit of land. The property cannot be divided, the Act didn’t change that. It’s a package that goes straight from one Baron to the next.”

“When you say a bit of land, how many acres are we talking about?”

“Well… I suppose that it’s slightly more than most people own. Not quite half of the county of Dorset.”

“Oh, wow.” Hallie made a mental note to look up the Mountjoy barony in Wikipedia as soon as she got home. “So, Harry was going to inherit all that, and now…”

“And now he’ll be just the Honorable Harrington Craig for the rest of his life. Which he doesn’t give a toss about, of course, because all he’s wanted to do all his life is cook. Unfortunately for him, Charlotte had her eyes set on being Lady Craig and wearing a tiara; when she saw that was impossible, things started going sour between them, until she finally left. I have my suspicions that she was having a thing on the side, too… but I have no proof, so I’m not going to tell Harry.” Georgiana looked at her friend and smiled. “Welcome to the strange and wonderful world of the British peerage! I promise it becomes easier to navigate after a while. And most people don’t care about titles, of course; we’re like a strange race of dinosaurs that maybe one day will become extinct.”

Hallie laughed. “Oh, don’t say that! And forgive my ignorance… we don’t get taught about titles and stuff in America.”

“Of course not, it would be an absolute waste of school hours. And now that I’ve bored you enough, let’s go back to the party. We’re going to tell Brenda a couple of naughty secrets about Gordon Ramsay so she can include them in her book.”

“But I don’t know any naughty secrets about him!”

“Use your imagination and make up something scandalous! Let’s see if we can give her enough of a shock and she shuts up for five or six minutes.”

They got back to the living room, but Hallie could barely concentrate on the conversation. If she closed her eyes she could still see the picture of Charlotte, like a perfect Greek statue shrouded in pale grey fabric, flashing her perfect red lips and flawless skin, with her lustrous dark hair tossed over one shoulder.

If that was Tom’s idea of the perfect woman, why had he asked her out? And what exactly had Charlotte done to make him so bitter?

She shook her head, trying to banish the worrying thoughts. From the other side of the room, Harrington smiled at her and raised his glass, and she did the same. She decided to stay and have some fun talking to all these new people… after all, it was a really good party.

Tom’s plan of getting supremely drunk after Hallie left had backfired on him halfway. The only thing he felt like drinking was beer, and he had just finished the last one. There wasn’t any left in the kitchen, nor in the pantry, and to make things worse he had also out of cigarettes.

He paced up and down the spacious flat like a caged lion. He had the sudden idea of texting Luke, to see if his best friend could be of some help.

‘Luke, mate, are you awake?’

‘Good evening, Thomas. Of course I’m awake, it’s not even midnight. I may not be a party animal, but I still don’t get in bed at nine like an old lady.’

‘That’s the spirit. Look, I’m not having a good night, can you come over?’

‘I’m spending a couple of days with my parents, remember?’

‘You’re in Oxford?’

‘I told you on Thursday, Tom.’

‘Damn.’

‘Sorry. I can come back early tomorrow and we’ll have lunch at the pub. Then you can criticize all the food and feel superior.’

‘No, you stay there, I can manage.’

‘By the way, my Mum says hello.’

‘What is she doing up at this hour?’

‘We just came back from a Sound of Music sing-along. Don’t laugh, it’s more fun than it sounds.’

‘Someday I’ll blackmail you with this information.’

‘Tosser.’

‘I love you too, mate.’

Tom threw his phone on top of the table and lit his very last cigarette. He wasn’t drunk enough to go to sleep, nor sober enough to work on a new recipe, or read, or do anything remotely constructive. Then he remembered that there was an off-licence two streets away: if he was condemned to be alone and bored, at least he could get properly drunk.

During the time it took for the elevator to go down the 42 floors he thought of Hallie again, and it left him confused. To make things worse, Charlotte appeared in his mind without warning, and that made him downright angry. Almost two years since she had left, and he still couldn’t think of her without a nasty feeling in his stomach.

The fresh air of the street did him some good, though. It was a cool, clear night, and the City of London seemed quiet and spooky, perfect for his moody state. He felt relieved to see that the off-licence was open; he bought some cigarettes and a pack of beer bottles, thanked the Pakistani boy behind the counter, and hit the street again.

He didn’t really feel like going back to his flat just yet, so he wandered along the edge between the Barbican estate and the Golden Lane (where Hallie lived, although he commanded himself not to think of her). He had never paid any attention to Golden Lane or his inhabitants before… but it was nice, he thought, with its low buildings and curved roofs. Like the Barbican’s shabbier sister, but still with a lot of charm. They even had one thing better than the Barbican: their own pub, called The Shakespeare for God knew what reason.

Tom’s newly developed attention to the architecture of the City got interrupted by the sound of a car driving close to the estate, and what he did next was really strange, even for him. He normally didn’t react to things hiding behind a pillar.

The reason why he did such a silly was that the car in question had stopped in front of Crescent House, and Hallie had come out of it.

He let out a bitter laugh at the irony of the situation. Of course his steps would take him right to Hallie’s doorstep (even though he’d had no idea that she lived in Crescent House), and of course she would choose that moment to get back home and remind him of his disaster of a night.

But back from where? asked a still lucid part of his slightly boozy brain.

The car started again and left in the direction of Goswell Road. Now Tom could see it clearly under the streetlights, and what he saw made him go livid. He waited until Hallie had gone inside and then he practically ran towards his place, not stopping until he was safe inside the flat.

Hallie had arrived home in a silver titanium Tesla, and he knew perfectly well who owned a silver titanium Tesla: the man who had been one step ahead of him all his life, the man who had destroyed his happiness once and now had every intention of doing it again.

Why else would Hallie arrive home at midnight… in a car belonging to Harrington Craig?

[hellomissmabel]

“Bubblegum pink really ain’t my colour, doll”

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: FLUFFY

Word count: 3.634

Summary & A/N: It’s originally based on an idea I got from @hymnofthevalkyries but then I saw this prompt and it actually comes pretty close to what I had in mind. I also took the liberty to use the four prompts (in bold) provided by @the-vigilante who requested a fluffy Bucky x reader. Here you go hun ❤

When I look at pictures of when I was younger, I barely even recognise the girl in them. I was such a sickly child, with long white hair, light grey eyes and a translucent skin. That girl is long gone and has been replaced by a grown-up woman with rainbow coloured hair and a hard to pin down eye colour. Born with a mutation that allows me to switch from one colour to another depending on my mood, I caught the eye of Nick Fury and was recruited by the Avengers shortly after he found out about my other ability.

I’m not a kick-ass assassin like Natasha Romanova or a super soldier like Steve Rogers, but I do know this pretty neat trick that certainly comes in handy during interrogations. You see, I know fairly quickly when you’re lying to me and when you’re telling the truth. I’m basically a human lie detector and it annoys the hell out of Sam but hey, I can’t help it that I was born this awesome!

Other than that, things are pretty fly at the Avenger’s compound. Like I already mentioned, I was born with white hair, associated with light, goodness, innocence and purity. I mostly return to my original shade when I’m either sleeping, not paying a lot of attention (and Steve always scolds me for it, bummer!) or just very concentrated on something.

My eyes usually have this silver glow about them, yet their hue changes into the same colour as my hair given how I’m feeling at the moment. For example, when I’m excited I look like a rogue canary with amber eyes and Sam just can’t resist the urge to tease me about it because he thinks yellow is such a shitty colour.

Whenever I’m running about the lab, conducting experiments with Tony and Bruce, it’s always a soft olive green. It symbolises peace and safety which is only fitting as the lab is the first place I go to when things get a little too much to handle. It’s not easy adjusting to a life away from my family and friends and I get overwhelmed pretty fast when I sense someone’s not being completely honest with me which, frankly, happens quite a lot – you would be surprised at the amount of white lies that are told around the compound!

Fortunately everyone understands and they leave me be until my true colours resurface, indicating it’s time to get out of hiding again. Slowly but surely the green will translate into a paler shade of blue, linked to depth and stability as well as loyalty and wisdom. It’s the exact same reason why my hair and eyes take on a dark blue hue when I’m around Steve, the personification of knowledge and integrity.

I try to keep my Nymphadora Tonks game strong when I’m at the base but prefer to keep a low profile when walking the streets. Having this particular mutation can get me in quite a lot of trouble when I’m out there in the field and I used to wear a wig every time the team went out on another assignment. But wigs are itchy and I just don’t feel like myself whenever I wear one.

So I spent countless nights trying to figure out how to control my biggest problem, my unruly hair, which means control my emotions until the intensity would subside into a more neutral colour like, say, black. Black, connected to power, elegance and mystery. Exactly my cup of tea.

On other days however I’m fuming with rage, like that one time when one of Tony’s conceited new interns called me a fat, brainless and immature bimbo. My hair almost caught fire by the angry red shade it turned into, my eyes a violent shade of black pushing back my natural light grey irises.

Such situations quickly subside and I usually find myself into a transitional state for a couple of days, orange indicating the shift between passionate red and cheerful yellow. When the emotional storm inside of me blows over and I’ve cooled down a bit, I find myself staring at a brown-eyed brunet in the mirror, brown equalling stability of mind.

Although the colour spectrum is very wide and I’m basically a hot mess, there’s one colour I’ve never exhibited before. That is, until the day Bucky Barnes walked into my life and I surprised everyone, including myself, with just how much I instantly took a liking to him.

���Avengers assemble!,” Tony declares loudly as he steps inside the common area, followed closely by Bruce.

“Stop stealing Steve’s lines, Tony. It’s hardly original,” Nat calls out from on the couch where she’s snuggled up to Clint.

Tony sends her a dirty look. “Well, I’m sure Capsicle doesn’t mind. Besides, it’s not like he’s taken a patent on it or something,” he snaps back with his usual amount of sass and sarcasm. “Now, what I wanted to talk to you about. We’ve got a new guest, Steve decided it’s time for the Winter Soldier aka his brother from another mother to move in with us. They’re down the hall, waiting for my signal.”

“You mean THE Winter Soldier? As in, sergeant James Buchanan Barnes?,” you gasp in excitement, your brain going into overdrive as you try to assess this new and exciting information. You’ve heard countless rumours about the Winter Soldier but that didn’t stop you from hacking into the security system and reading up on his more personal files. Based on what you’ve gathered so far, James Barnes is a man of outstanding character and a born leader who you have been dying to meet ever since he resurfaced again.

“That’s just bloody brilliant,” you exclaim while nudging Wanda’s side who just rolls her eyes at your child-like enthusiasm. Well, it’s not every day you get to meet the man you’ve heard Steve gush about so many times in the past.

Yet nothing could have prepared you for this, your mouth dropping open at the sight of the metal-armed soldier walking next to Steve as they enter the living room area. He’s dressed casually in black slacks and a red Henley, showcasing a generous amount of muscle and you gulp audibly at the inappropriate thoughts screaming for your attention. You know Thor is a God but damn, if Thor is a God then what the fuck does that make Bucky Barnes?

“Oh fuck me already,” you mutter under your breath. You were so caught up in your thoughts you didn’t notice the team staring at you, collectively amused and grinning like complete fools.

“I believe that can be arranged,” Sam replies in a sing-song voice.

“You’re seriously like a man-child,” you retort instantly.

“And you’re Satan,” Sam hisses through his teeth.

“Did you just hiss at me?,” you huff in disdain. “What?,” you try again, getting angry at their obstinate silence, addressing the crowd gathered around you only to be met with a fit of giggles once more.

“Y/N, your hair,” Natasha chuckles whilst pointing at you with mischievous eyes, “It’s pink, like cotton candy pink. It’s never been pink before.” She gives you a knowing smile and her remark was met by a series of oh’s and ah’s from other team members and even a snort from Clint.

Pink, the colour of romance and femininity. As if it’s not bad enough that your cheeks are already flaring up with the heat running through your system, sending colour rising from your neck all the way up to the tips of your ears.

“The colour of looooooooooove,” Sam chimes in and Steve playfully jabs him in the side, Sam retaliating instantly and swatting back at him.

“Oh, look, her eyes are beginning to turn pink too!,” Tony exclaims, clutching his chest as a bouldering laugh escapes his lips.

“Guys, guys, shut it! Can’t you see you’re embarrassing the poor girl. Let’s give her some space, we can resume introductions later,” the blond super soldier interrupts and you thank your lucky stars for his consideration. He winks excessively at you (always the drama queen) just before sneaking out of the room, albeit dragging Tony with him who can’t stop snickering.

The room clears out pretty fast, Wanda blowing you a kiss before she disappears around the corner with Nat. You release a shaky breath thinking you’re alone at last. Well, alone if it wasn’t for an intriguing super soldier and former assassin staring back at you with fascination and borderline obsession.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do about it, this has honestly never happened before.” Your eyes drop to your lap only to glance back up and meet his curious gaze, a fond smile playing on his lips.

“Your hair,” he begins as he inches a few steps closer to where you’re leaning against the couch. “It’s very pretty.” His voice is low and hoarse, with an edge to it that makes it all the more sexy. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Bucky says as your hair goes from fuchsia to magenta to shocking pink at the obvious wonder lacing his gruff voice.

You take a moment to appreciate his handsome features, finding it soothing to just look at all that is Bucky Barnes, steadying your breathing in order to take your rampant hormones down a notch, his 5 o’clock shadow not helping one bit. But the true centrepiece of this Greek sculpture is his eyes, a stormy blue-grey you’ve never encountered before and you reckon will soon become your latest nightly fixation.

As your eyes scan his body as well, you notice the way his breathing picks up when you focus on his luscious lips. Meanwhile his eyes dart from your hair down to your eyes and even further down to your lips as well. “Pink suits you,” he chuckles darkly and you swear the temperature in the room has picked up a couple degrees. His eyes are pensive, concentrated on the phaenomenon playing out in front of his eyes.

“Th-thank y-you,” you stammer as he twirls a lock of salmon hair around his finger and your breath gets caught in your throat. Judging by the light red shade of your hair, you’re slightly (very) aroused and it looks like Bucky is struggling too. He then gingerly tucks the lock back behind your ear, clearing his throat and excusing himself before walking away in long strides.

Ever since that first day, there’s only one colour popping up whenever Bucky is around and you are rarely able to change it back. Some of the other agents even thought you’d dyed your hair pink permanently and even Steve is now giving you shit for it. It happens at the worst possible time, like when you’re busy sparring with Natasha when the door suddenly flings open to reveal a scarcely clothed super soldier, his shirt nowhere to be seen and his chestnut hair loosely tied back in a messy bun.

It doesn’t take much more than that, his eyes locking with yours and instantly colour rises to your cheeks. Soon your entire appearance gives away how truly affected you are by this glorious apparition. Natasha takes advantage of the opening in your guard and flips you over on the mat, landing flat on your back and grunting in pain. Bucky rapidly comes to your aid and offers you a helping hand, swiftly pulling you back to your feet. You thank him and he graces you with a shy smile telling you he likes this new colour on you.

Stunned by his words you turn around on the heels of your feet, jogging over to the life-sized mirror at the other end of the gym and sure enough, your hair is a watermelon pink and your pupils are blown wide, already glossing over with a soft pink hue. Let me remind you, pink evokes romantic feelings and you wish you could just turn invisible instead of being confronted by Nat’s prying eyes and avoid being pulled into a cross-examination later on. But now you just have to get out of there.

Hurriedly saying your goodbyes to Nat and Bucky, you rush past them towards the locker room, Bucky’s hand missing yours by an inch. He wants to ask you what is wrong, if he has said or done anything to upset you. Nat isn’t of much help either, she just shrugs as she murmurs “I’m too sober for this” followed by something about Y/N being a little nervous around new people.

It really doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing, the very second Bucky makes an appearance, your hair looks just as flustered as your cheeks, not to mention your dilating pupils and skyrocketing heartbeat. You mostly manage to talk (stutter) your way out of it, throwing some flimsy excuse about having forgotten something at the lab unless you’re actually at the lab and then fortunately Bruce comes to your rescue, asking you to fetch you a couple things for him in an adjoining room. But once you weren’t fast enough to slip away and Bucky’s metal hand caught your wrist causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

“Y/N, wait,” he says softly, his plump lips moving so deliciously the words almost fall on deaf ears, completely absorbed by his sinful mouth as your hair instantly turns darker.

Bucky seems to be debating what to say next, his teeth keeping his bottom lip hostage as he mulls over the words in his mind. “I – I might have said it before but this shade looks beautiful on you. It reminds me of a blushing rose.”

Completely and utterly dumbfounded by his admission, your brain having frozen over by the cold touch of the metal appendage, you throw him a quick smile before hurrying towards the nearest exit like you usually do. Bucky watches your retreating form intently, a pained expression and an ugly frown obscuring his features.

“What did I do this time?,” Bucky asks sadly, turning to Bruce for an explanation as to why you’re acting so off lately.

Bruce looks up from the petri dish he’s been working on, his brows knitted together in a thoughtful frown, smiling sympathetically as he sees the apparent distress in his friend’s eyes, saying “Maybe she’s just not feeling well. I dunno, maybe you should try asking her yourself?” before he focuses his attention back on the work in front of him.

You’re sitting on top of the kitchen counter at three a.m. in the morning, munching on a sandwich you made from some leftovers you found in the fridge. Since you can’t control your powers anymore around Bucky, you can’t accompany the others on missions anymore. Long story short, Steve benched you indefinitely until you either get a grip or tell, rather than show, poor clueless Bucky how you feel about him. You still haven’t made up your mind.

There’s a glass of milk resting on the counter next to you and as you blindly reach out to take it, you hear something rustling behind you, startling you from your inner monologue and you knock over the glass. Praise the Lord for Bucky’s quick reflexes, scooping up the glass mid-air and preventing it from spilling even more milk on the kitchen floor.

Gently balancing the glass in his hand, he sets it down on the other end of the counter. He then turns to look at you with a small smile playing on his lips, shrugging slightly and oh so adorably you feel a familiar heat pooling in your panties once more. Bucky is wearing nothing but some track pants slung low on his hips, exposing the ripped muscles of his chest alongside a perfectly sculpted Adonis belt. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to start drooling on site and you don’t need a mirror to know your hair has done it again.

“I’m so fucking clumsy. Sorry, Buck,” you apologise whilst trying to either evaporate into thin air or disappear into the surface of the kitchen counter instead of melting into a muddle at his feet in utter embarrassment.

“No worries, Y/N,” he chuckles softly, leaning against the kitchen cupboards opposite of you, crossing his arms over his chest and you can’t help but gasp a little at his bulging biceps. “Can I – uh, ask you a question?,” he inquires quietly, his voice barely a whisper compared to your raging heartbeat pulsating in your ears. While he’s waiting for your answer, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, smirking a little when he sees it has got you all hot and bothered.

“S-s-sure, fire away,” you mumble, averting your eyes to study the floor instead of how sharp his jawline is and how good that scruff would feel between your thighs.

He clears his throat, sporting that classic lopsided grin of his that has you weak in the knees and you’re fairly sure he can smell how turned on you are right now because surely that super soldier serum must’ve heightened his sense as well. Just your luck.

“I saw you talking to Steve the other day and your hair was this azure blue that matched the colour of his shirt and your eyes were such a deep cerulean and it got me thinking, why does she never show these kind of colours around me? Or when you were bickering with Sam over who drank the last bit of Thor’s Asgardian liquor and your hair was a gorgeous crimson. Or that time you and Wanda were so caught up in a tickle fight you didn’t notice I was staring at you and your hair was scarlet. But it wasn’t so much your hair that caught my eye as that golden spark in your eyes and that must’ve been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He momentarily stops his soliloquy to take a deep breath before continuing to speak his mind, baby blues set in determination. “I guess what I’m trying to say here… I mean, not that I have anything against pink, but… Are you afraid of me? Are you afraid to show me? Is pink like your safe colour or something because I completely understand if you don’t want anything to do with me,” he blurts out, suddenly very unsure of himself.

“I just think you’re drop dead gorgeous, Y/N, no matter what colour you’re wearing.” Bucky scratches the back of his head, missing the cheeky smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. His eyes flick downwards before shooting back to your face as you release a shaky laugh.

“Oh Bucky,” you coo as you jump of the counter and cross the distance between your body and his, moving to stand between his legs, leaning the tiniest bit against his broad frame for support and gently placing your right hand over his heart, squinting your eyes just a little as his muscles flex under your touch. He totally did that on purpose.

“I – I really like you. I’m incapable of thinking about anything or anyone else but you when you’re around. My mind just goes blank and all my thoughts, they all revolve around you. I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

Bucky stares at you expectantly, wide-eyed and amused at your insecurity. His hands cups your face and he delicately brings his lips to yours, kissing you tentatively and tenderly before breaking away to gauge your reaction.

“I really like you, too” he confesses gingerly when he sees your mouth hanging open in surprise. “But bubblegum pink really ain’t my colour, doll,” he jokes and you let out a light laugh, lacing your fingers around his neck and pulling him back in for another kiss, sensually slanting your lips across his before kissing him deeply and passionately and with all the feeling in the world. Everything that’s left unsaid you pour into the kiss, every single emotion you are not capable to breathe or voice out, you evoke through the sheer power of love. Because you love this man and you have done so from the very moment you first laid eyes on him.

You part ways, panting and trying to catch your breath when Bucky twirls a lock of your hair around his pointer finger, much like he had done that first day. “Now this is more my colour,” he chuckles and you step away to retrieve your phone from the table top, using it as a mirror to assess the damage done. Your hair is a deep plum and your eyes have that violet hue you love so much. Bucky snugly tucks you in his chiselled arms and it’s a perfect fit, Bucky is even more beautiful up close. He’s holding you tightly, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

“Purple just happens to be my favourite colour,” he hums against your forehead, a low rumble resonating through his chest and sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Technically it’s lilac,” you retort with a grin, laughing lightly as you lean into him, your lips coming dangerously close to his again.

“I don’t care,” he breathes out, rough and raspy, his breath tickling your lips as his nose bumps against yours. “I love it.”

“And what about me? You love me?,” you ask hesitantly, a mixture of worry and longing swirling behind your eyes.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses before connecting his lips with yours in a searing kiss, a smile crossing your features once more. You both moans into the kiss when Bucky tilts his head in order to deepen the kiss and you run your fingers through his loose strands, sighing softly at the feel of his lips finally on yours.

You’ll never wear another colour more proudly than this one.

I honestly have no idea who to tag so I’ll just go with: @beccaanne814-blog @mrshopkirk @winterboobaer @kiwi71281 @a-little-hell-to-raise @unpredictable-firecracker @marvelingatthewonder @emilyinwonderland3 @hardcorehippos @iiharu-kunii @knittingknerdy @winterwolf57 @dontbeamenacetotheforce  @shamvictoria11  @bovaria @marvel-lucy @theariel525