#good night everyone & bye for now. ily guys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crescentsteel · 3 years

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Burns

pairing: Suna x f!reader genre: fluff with slight angst (childhood friends to lovers) wc: 3.8k summary: you planned to confess to Suna on Valentines day. Unfortunately for you, he finds the holiday stupid.

[a/n]

Did this in one sitting, brain went zoom zoom

Not really comfortable writing for Inarizaki for some reason. Suna and Miya twins stans, don’t come for me.

Thank you @tokyosdawn, @luvnami, @fayeiparis (my ride or die ily) for the betaread.

ngl. I almost wrote smut after the fluff

Happy Valentines Day! 🖤

This is it. This is the day.

You’re finally going to confess to Suna.

You have been close friends for so long, and for the whole duration of it, you have tried your utter best to feel only as such.

You became friends with the rest of the Inarikazi team because you were always present in every game, with you being the loudest person to cheer for Suna leading everyone to pester him until he introduced you to them. Knowing Suna, he wasn’t fazed by his team’s persistent request and never mentioned to you that the team wanted to meet you.

It had been Atsumu that day who approached you during lunch break saying that Suna asked him to ask you to attend their practice after class.

You’ve been asking him non-stop if he can come watch them practice but he strictly prohibited you from going to the gym at all, so you were thrilled that he finally let you watch.. only to find him unpleasantly surprised that you were there.

Apparently, the whole team thought you were dating. As much as you wish you were, you could only agree with Suna when he said you were just a long-time friend.

But that changes today. Hopefully.

You already know what confessing to him means, and you’re not ready to lose Suna as a friend in case this doesn’t work out. However, with the both of you being third years already, it was now or never. You keep asking him what his plans after graduation are and he’s infuriatingly very consistent with his answer - a shrug and an apathetic ‘dunno.’

While you’re not ready to lose your friendship, you’re probably going to after high school — which is why you spent almost all of your allowance to buy ingredients to make homemade chocolate. It’s not actually that it’s expensive — you wasted so much ingredients making them that you ended up having enough for only three pieces.

But you’re satisfied because they were of three different designs. Three cute fox-shaped chocolates of different colors. They weren’t perfect but you tailored them according to Suna’s taste - just mildly sweet so he can actually enjoy it.

You smile into the February air.

You really aren’t sure about his feelings for you, but you know that you’re special to him.

You’re his only female friend and despite his aloofness, he actually spends time with you outside of school. It was you who he spent New Year’s with. He celebrates your birthday even if you know he’s not really into that kind of stuff. He walks you home when you stay late from club activities.

Being his friend since elementary school, you know he’s not the kind of guy to be nice to someone just for the sake of being nice.

So instead of dreading for your confession, you’re actually excited.

On your way to your first class, the chaotic twins block your path with a mischievous grin from both of them, except Atsumu’s way too obvious and upfront about it.

“So, y/n. Anything for me?” Atsumu asks as he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Why would she give you any, idiot?” Osamu glares at Atsumu before turning to you with a smirk that makes you wary for some reason. “When she’s obviously giving them to Suna,” he adds.

You try to not look affected at his spot-on statement, but shit, you can already feel your heartbeat just a bit faster. Are you that obvious?

“Don’t you have hoards of shit from other girls? Why the hell are you ganging up on me?” you ask instead of answering Osamu’s speculation.

“I want to show them to Suna during practice. His pretty little childhood friend givin’ me homemade chocolates,” Atsumu teases animatedly.

Your eyes widen from what he said. “Wait, how did you know they were homemade?”

The two give each other meaningful looks before Osamu leans down a bit on you. “So there really are chocolates, huh?”

You go rigid when you realize you’ve exposed yourself to these two. Shit, they’re going to tease you non-stop about this. Worse, they might tell Suna before you even get the chance to do it yourself.

“Those are some burns on your hands, y/n. Have you treated those properly?” Atsumu eyes your hand that accidentally touched the hot pan yesterday. You tug the sleeves of your uniform lower to cover the purple-pinkish marks.

“I’m going to be late for class, bye,” you abruptly bid goodbye and hurriedly escape from the two. God knows what else they’ll get from you if you stay longer.

You erase your encounter with the twins from this morning. You can’t buckle down now. You worked hard for this day, both in body and in spirit. You’ve already had more than a fair share of doubts and second thoughts up until last night when you successfully pushed any cynicism away.

You won’t back down, especially when Suna is just a seat away from you now.

“Got any chocolates yet?” You prod at the topic as you put away your used cutleries.

“Yea,” he answers lazily. “It’s so dumb.”

“What is?” you ask with a frown.

“Valentines,” he deadpans. “Atsumu’s gonna get a fucking diabetes from the amount of chocolates he took from me because I was about to throw them away.”

You try to not let it get to you and breathe steadily to strengthen your resolve. You’re special to Suna. Surely, he won’t treat yours like that.

“What’s more idiotic is confessing this day,” he rambles on. “If a person really likes someone, why wait for Valentines to say it?” He asks rhetorically while putting away his own finished lunch.

You feel your stomach lurch, like riding down a rollercoaster at full speed unexpectedly. You try your best to mold your face into an impassive expression to not give anything away.

On the inside though, you’re a mess. Your head feels too loud and the air feels too heavy. You want to close your eyes and disappear.

Then he looks at you. “What about you? Did you give chocolates to anyone?”

You vaguely hear his question. You feel like you’re in a bubble and every sound is muffled -- your classmates chattering, the chairs scraping against the floor, the laughter all around you feels distant.

You planned to give him the chocolates you worked so hard on, but definitely not anymore. He hit two things right (Or wrong? Who knows anymore.) on the marks and right now, you do feel idiotic for trying so hard.

You should’ve known better. Of course, he’d find it stupid! He’s never the person to be all excited with events like this. What were you even thinking, spending all that money and effort when he obviously thinks the whole thing is a farce?

Did you really think this was going to go well? That he’d accept your chocolates and everything would be fine and you would go on as friends? In hindsight, there is never going to be a way out of this where you win. It is a stupid idea, and you’re stupid for even thinking about it.

‘Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb,’ you chant in your head.

“Y/n?”

You flinch and find him staring at you, waiting for your answer. His golden eyes are studying your face carefully. You think you see a little bit of concern there but you brush it off.

“Oh no,” you laugh hesitantly. “No way I’d waste my time on some boy on the very rare chance that he actually likes me back, pfft.” Your laugh turns ironic and bitter. “Like you said, it’s just a dumb holiday,” you respond with a forced smile.

“Anyways, I have to go back now. Later, Rin.” You quickly stand up and head to a comfort room because you feel like shit and you need to cry it out before your classes start again, else you’d be tearing up during lecture.

“Wait.” He grips your hand firmly, adding salt to the injury as you wince when he presses the burn you got from yesterday.

“Ow!”

He’s startled by your sudden reaction, but doesn’t say anything.

He loosens his hold and moves his grip to your wrist as he pushes up the sleeve of your uniform, revealing the burn on your hand along with small others on your arm.

“What happened to you?” he asks with muted concern while his eyes are trained on your arm, fingers gently skimming over the burns.

You aggressively retrieve your arm and pull your sleeve back down while you come up with a lie, “Oka-san needed help in the kitchen yesterday.”

He furrows his eyebrows with suspicion. “Why? Everyone knows you’re useless in the kitchen.”

Yeah, but you wanted to do something for him, and the burns would have been worth it if he at least accepted the chocolates you worked so hard on.

“Honestly, I don’t even know.” You try to laugh it off, but you’re losing it already, so you just give him a quick wave with whatever smile you can muster and saunter away from him.

After a pathetic sobbing session in one of the cubicles, you make your way back to your classroom looking as normal as you possibly can.

Thank goodness it’s Valentines. You’re not the only girl with eyes puffy from rejection.

“Hey.” You feel a hand on your shoulder and solely from his voice, you can tell it’s Osamu. “You okay?”

Maybe it would’ve been better if you had fallen for Osamu instead. Despite being always teased by him and Atsumu, he’s actually a nice likeable guy. Unlike Suna.

God, why did it have to be Suna Rintarou?

“Come with me,” you say without looking at Osamu and drag him with you back to your classroom.

“Uhh, okay.” He sounds unsure but he goes with you anyway.

You ask him to wait for you just by the doorway of your classroom and grab the stupid box of chocolates you made from your bag.

You practically shove it to him when you get back to where he is. “Happy Valentines, ‘Samu,” you greet with a dead expression.

Osamu gapes at you then at the box in hand, an expression of disbelief spreading across his face.

“Weren’t you asking for chocolates this morning?”

“That was ‘Tsumu. Also,” he looks closely at the box. “It says ‘Rin.’

You immediately rip out the wrapper where you wrote Suna’s nickname and tuck the crumpled paper in your pocket.

“There. It doesn’t anymore,” you announce passively.

Osamu scratches his head with discomfort. “I can’t accept this, y/n. I can give it to Suna if you want,” he offers kindly.

“Miya Osamu. Either you accept it or I’m throwing it away right now.” Your voice is dead serious and so are you. If Osamu won’t accept it, it’s going to the trash where Suna would’ve tossed it in as well.

“Okay, okay!” He surrenders with panic and opens the box slowly.

“Holy sh-,” he clears his throat. “I mean, wow. These are so cute, the cutest I’ve received today,” he comments appreciatively before returning his gaze at you. “You sure about this, y/n?”

You nod, more convinced now that you saw his reactions towards it. “Yeah. I figured I’d want to give them to someone who’s going to actually like them.”

The soft ring of the bell alerts you that your next class is about to start.

“Thanks Osamu,” you utter with a grateful smile before sauntering back to your classroom.

“Oy ‘Samu, why are these chocolates so cute? How the hell can I eat these?” Tsumu whines.

“You shithead, those are mine!” Osamu rushes to where his twin and grabs the box protectively.

Suna just watches the two and silently waits for another fight to erupt.

“You’d just taste them and give them to me anyways. What’s the deal?” Atsumu asks with a frown.

“If you must know, ‘Tsumu. Y/n gave this to me,” Osamu announces with a condescending grin as Astumu gawks at him in disbelief. “No fucking way, you stinking liar,” Atsumu retorts.

Suna looks at the tiny box Osamu is holding and agrees with Atsumu. There is no way you’d give those to Osamu. You said so yourself this morning.

‘No way I’d waste my time on some boy on the very rare chance that he actually likes me back.’

Did you lie to him and made some for Osamu? Do you like Osamu?

Suna’s mind wanders back to the burns on your hand and arms and how your mom ‘supposedly’ asked you to help out in the kitchen. He knows something is off. You’re never asked to help out with anything that involves cooking, so why did you lie about it?

So what is going on? There’s just no way in hell you like Osamu. Not once have you mentioned liking his teammate enough for you to venture into the ‘horrors of the kitchen’ (as you put it). And more importantly, why Osamu?

It is true that Suna doesn’t give a shit whether or not he gets a mountain load of chocolates on this superficial holiday. He’s not eating them.

However, he’d make an exception only if they come from you. He wouldn’t mind if they’re just store-bought ones as long as they’re from you.

So why the fuck would you go to the troubles of making them for Osamu and not him? You can’t possibly like Osamu. He won’t allow it.

He marches to where the twins are and turns to Osamu. “Did y/n really give you that?”

Both the twins face him and while Osamu looks pensive, Atsumu wears a shit-eating grin. “Aww, Suna. Are you jealous that your beloved y/n gave us chocolates?”

“‘Tsumu, shut up for the love of God. And she didn’t give it to us. She gave it to me.” Osamu pulls the box closer to him possessively which ticks Suna off even more.

“Did she say why?” Suna tries to sound calm despite the stupid jealousy bubbling up the pit of his stomach.

“Obviously because-” Atsumu starts, but Osamu grabs his twin’s face with one hand to halt his babbling as he sighs to face Suna.

“Actually, the box had your name in it,” Osamu admits. “She just ripped it out and said she’d rather give it to someone who’ll appreciate it.”

“-mmmmff Samu!” Atsumu successfully removes Osamu’s hand. “You shouldn’t have told him that! Do you realize that y/n didn’t want him to know?”

“Duh! Of course, I know. But I really can’t accept chocolates that’re supposed to be for another guy,” Osamu sighs before handing Suna the box.

He opens it and sees the fuss Tsumu was making about it. They really are cute and are obviously made with care and precision. If someone else had told him that you made these, he wouldn’t have believed them.

But there’s something about the chocolates that he can’t ignore.

“Why are there bites on the two pieces?” He asks as he lifts his gaze up from the chocolates.

Atsumu puts his hands behind his head and starts whistling as he avoids Suna’s gaze while Osamu smiles apologetically.

“Sorry, I wanted to see if they taste as good as they look,” Osamu confesses. As for Atsumu, Suna can already tell that the piss-haired setter just couldn’t help himself despite receiving so many already.

“They’re a bit bland, Suna. Tell y/n she needs to improve her baking skills,” Atsumu comments shamelessly which makes Suna scowl at Atsumu’s ungrateful ass. The fact that you made something look edible is already something commendable.

“They’re okay. Just needs a bit more sweetness,” Osamu backs his twin up.

He brings the remaining chocolate that’s still untouched to his mouth.

“What are you two talking about? It tastes perfectly fine,” he states truthfully. It’s just the right amount of sweetness that he’s able to finish it despite not really being a fan of chocolates.

Osamu laughs softly before speaking. “She really did make them for you, Suna.”

That night, you toss and turn in your bed while trying to keep your focus on the movie you played. As entertaining as it is, you can’t fully enjoy it with constantly wanting to smash your head against the wall of your room.

For a good while, you really thought everything would go smoothly and that by the end of today, you and Suna would be more than just friends.

Maybe today is a sign that you shouldn’t push it anymore. Suna said so himself: if someone likes a person, they don’t need the holiday to confess.

So why hasn’t he?

The answer is clear as day and you wish you were blind to see it, but you aren’t.

There had been too many chances for you two to move your relationship forward, but not once had he shown a sign that he wanted to.

He doesn’t like you like that. It’s just you and your delusional head. He doesn’t love you the way you love him. Even with the cute, romantic scene playing before you, you start tearing up.

You grab one of your pillows and bury your face in it, effectively silencing the sob and stopping the tears that are coming as you remember your folly attempt to confess today.

You should’ve been satisfied with the comfort of your friendship. If you hadn’t been so greedy, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt like this.

You hear a text alert from your phone. You open it and see a text from the source of your misery.

‘Come out’

You don’t want to. Tomorrow you can be back to normal around him, but not tonight.

You hurriedly respond with a lie.

‘Went out zzz’

You throw your phone somewhere on your bed and lie down with your pillow still squeezed between your arms while you space out at nothing.

Your thirst brings you back to your senses so you stand up and get to the kitchen. When you come back to your room, you almost scream when you see Suna sitting slouching on your bed.

“What the heck, Rin?! How did you get here?”

“Your mother let me in. Why are you even asking obvious questions?”

You massage your temples as you plan to tell your mom later not to just let anyone in your room even though it’s someone she knows. You might be childhood friends but you’re no longer kids. He can’t just pop in and out of your room anymore like he used to.

“Why are you even here? I said I was out.”

“Your lights are open, dumbass,” he answers, to which you respond with a sigh.

“Didn’t it occur to you that I don’t want to see you?”

He stands up from your bed and although his expression doesn’t change, you feel alarmed from how he’s towering over you without saying anything.

“W-what?” Your stutter betrays your attempt to sound fine.

“Why the fuck would you give Osamu chocolates that are supposed to be mine?”

You gawk at him. He isn’t supposed to know that. That bastard, Osamu! You don’t have a prepared excuse for this kind of confrontation.

“What’s it to you even? You would’ve thrown them away anyways,” you snap back with an accusatory tone.

“Not if they’re from you,” he discloses as his usually austere eyes soften up, holding your gaze. You feel like you’re about to melt.

You feel your heart beat wildly against your chest. Not long ago you had said that you didn’t want to see him, but now that he’s here, you don’t feel like moving. You don’t feel like going anywhere. Everything could be on fire around you but you’d still stay by his side.

But… this is not right. Did you already know? He doesn’t love you back.

You try to turn away to hide the gnawing pain in your chest, but he’s faster. He grabs your arm to pull you closer. When he dips down to claim your lips while his arms snake around your waist, you melt within his hold.

His lips are so warm and uncharacteristically tender as he moves them intricately against yours, causing you to place both hands against his chest to feel him even more, to feel that he is real and not just a dream induced by how badly you yearn for him.

He pulls away a bit and finds a bewildered look on your face that just makes you look adorable. There had been many times when he thought about doing this, especially whenever you’re staring into nothingness with parted lips as if coaxing him to fuck everything else and just cross the boundary of your platonic relationship.

But to be honest, he didn’t like the complications of being in a romantic relationship with you when you already have this comfortable friendship. At the end of the day, he knows you have him and he has you.

Yet, he absolutely despises the idea that you might have liked someone else. He’s never felt any resentment towards his teammates, not even to Astsumu who’s a fucking handful most of the time.

Only today.

Only when he saw that box of chocolates in Osamu’s hands that he realized that he didn’t want to share you with anyone.

It was selfish of him, wanting to keep you to himself but not really doing anything to actually make it happen.

That changes tonight.

He removes one hand from your waist to hold your hand that’s resting on his chest.

“I love you, y/n.”

You blink twice at him, evidently surprised with his confession, but immediately recover when you look down and giggle softly.

When you look back at him again, your eyes are a mixture of content and mirth. “I thought you said it’s idiotic to confess on Valentines Day,” you remind him with a wide smile.

His loving stare becomes a cold glare when you point out what he had said this morning. He didn’t plan to do it today. He just couldn’t wait until tomorrow, thereby forgetting that he had actually told you that. Although, he still believes people shouldn’t wait for the holiday to confess, it just so happened that today is when he decided to do it.

“Fine. I take it back,” he says out of petty spite.

“I’m kidding!” you respond defensively before intertwining his fingers with yours. “Actually, I was about to confess earlier, but you said the stuff about Valentines being dumb.”

“It still is,” he says, undeterred. In his defense, he really hadn’t been expecting you would.

“Right. Yet, here we are,” you state as a matter of fact as you grip his hand tighter.

“Can you answer the damn confession already?” he asks exasperatedly which makes you laugh out loud.

You settle down with an affectionate smile. “Yes, Rin. I love you too.”

He loses his stern expression as he takes your hand to his mouth and kisses it, rubbing the minor burn with his thumb, a reminder that he does appreciate what you did for him.

“Happy Valentines, I guess,” he says before he goes for your lips again.

mlist of other stuff I wrote

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @hqbeesun @megatron-1199 @lovershaikyuu

#suna fluff #suna x reader #suna angst #suna rintarou #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst

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mcwriting · 2 years

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The Marriage Project (13)

It's a Christmas Miracle! I dropped another chapter! This is much happier and sweeter than the last one shot I dropped (for the most part)

Thanks to everyone who's been sticking with me 🥺ily guys

Masterlist

Word Count: 3515

Warnings: slight references to previous chapter which includes SA; mentions of injury/bruises

% First weekend of November %

You’d gone home and put on your dress, a form-fitted sparkling silver gown with a short hem and tight long sleeves that glimmered every time you moved. You used concealer to cover up the purple spots sticking out on your neck and chest and tried to keep your punching hand out of view.

Before heading out, your parents took a couple pictures and kissed you bye.

You were nervous heading up to the Holland’s front door. You knew you looked good, but what would Tom think, especially after how he saw you the night before? You didn’t even have to knock for the front door to open.

It was Paddy, and he looked like his eyes would pop out of his head.

“Y/n! Wow,” he exclaimed. You giggled.

“Hi Paddy! How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here,” he said as you came in the door. You had to appreciate that he was trying.

Nikki came and hugged you, telling you how beautiful you looked and snapping a couple pictures of you alone before calling Tom down. He appeared at the top of the stairs and your breaths hitched when you made eye contact.

He looked really, really good.

Sure, he’d worn a nice outfit Friday, but this was completely different. Now he had on a full tailored suit that fit in all the right places. Underneath he wore a white collared shirt and a deep red bowtie. His hair was perfectly styled. In his hand was a corsage box.

He rushed down the stairs, stopping a few feet in front of you and scanning you up and down.

“Y/n… you’re absolutely breathtaking,” he whispered. You blushed and looked down.

“Thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself.”

He gave you the corsage, pressing a light kiss to your fingers where they were red and purple. You then pinned his boutonniere. Both contained white flowers wrapped in shiny silver and red ribbons.

You couldn’t help but notice his necklace peeking out from under his shirt. Nikki took a few photos of you together when Julia came inside.

“Y/n? Hey! Are you two..?” she pointed between you.

“Hah, yeah. King and queen, you know,” you scratched your neck awkwardly. “Well, you look so super pretty, and I’d love to stay and chat, but we need to get to dinner with my friends.”

You dragged Tom out the door and got in the car, heading for your favorite Italian place.

Once you got to the parking lot, you noticed a text from Alexis saying everyone was at the table, and they were just waiting on you. You looked to Tom nervously.

“Sure we wanna do this?” you asked.

“Absolutely.”

You snaked your arm around his as you entered the restaurant and were led to the table. When one person pointed you out, everyone turned and stared.

“Heyyyy guys,” you waved sheepishly, “I’m sure you all know Tom.”

Their mouths were still agape when you took your seats, you next to Alexis and Tom beside Caroline. Alexis was the only one who greeted you like everything was normal.

They began to shake it off, but everyone was clearly uncomfortable with the fact that Tom was there. He wasn't the only guy, since some of them had boyfriends, but he was Tom Holland, and you were you.

There was also the fact that they hadn’t expected you to bring any guy and had been waiting with bated breath after Alexis told them to save two seats.

The whole dinner you mostly talked between Tom and Alexis since everyone felt awkward about him being there, and you were keenly aware of the passing glances at your dominant hand. When you left for a minute to go to the bathroom, one girl, Grace, followed behind.

“What in God’s green earth is going on? You brought Tom as your date? And don’t even get me started on last night…”

“It’s not a big deal, Grace. Look, we came together to spite the freshmen who are obsessed with him. And last night… well. I’m sure you’ve heard what Harrison did,” you trailed as you carefully scrubbed your hands under cool water.

“Yeah, I heard you got him in trouble again just for pushing you into a wall while he was drunk. Tom’s the one that should be in trouble. I mean, he knocked the guy out.”

You let out a breath in disgust, glazing over how she had claimed Tom was the one who punched him.

“Are you kidding me? He didn’t just press me to a wall. He did this,” you spat, pulling aside your dress top to reveal the bruising underneath. She gasped.

“Oh, oh my God, Y/n I- I had no idea-”

“Yeah. Obviously. Let’s just go and finish this stupid dinner,” you muttered, fixing the fabric and brushing past her and out of the bathroom. You couldn’t help but notice the way Grace occasionally looked at you the rest of the meal.

You told Alexis and Tom what happened in the restaurant parking lot before leaving for the school. They’d both noticed your mood change and Alexis noted how Grace watched you and kept whispering to another of the girls.

Determined to not let anything ruin your night, you brushed it off and pulled into the school parking lot.

“Are you sure you’re sure? I mean we can ditch if you wanna-” you began. Tom put his hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll follow you anywhere. Say the word and we go, but I know you don’t want to miss this,” he said gently. You drew in a deep breath and nodded.

“Alrighty then. Let’s go make a statement.”

You placed each other’s crowns on your heads and made sure they were secure, then headed in. There were stares and fingers pointed as you walked in, once again arm in arm. You both kept your heads held high as you began mingling with different friends as others continued to file in.

One sniff of the punch and you knew it was spiked, so you immediately got rid of it. You’d had enough alcohol in the past 24 hours to last you a lifetime.

The lights became lower and music louder once most everyone came, so you decided to hit the dance floor. You didn’t dance much with Tom, instead letting him hang nearby with the boys while you jumped around with the girls.

After a while, the music got softer and a teacher got up on the stage.

“Okay, if I could have everyone’s attention. We’re going to get started with the king and queen’s dance, so if I could have Mr. Holland and Miss y/l/n to the middle of the floor that’d be great.”

You looked over and smiled at Tom, the both of you meeting in an open space where a light shone down. Neither of you knew what to do, so you just stood opposite each other until a slow song began playing.

He extended a hand, which you took gingerly. He placed his other hand on your hip and yours rested over his shoulder. You started by just swaying to the music, as you were keenly aware of everyone watching.

It didn’t take long, however, for you to become lost in his brown eyes and gain a little confidence. You saw a little glint of mischief in his eyes and he went to spin you. When he pulled you in, he whispered into your ear.

“Did I ever mention I took ballroom dance, too? Because I did.”

He led you in some movements to the music until the song’s end, when you snapped back as the crowd clapped for you.

The DJ then invited everyone else to join in as more soft music played and the spotlight dissolved. The space around you also filled up, leaving you and Tom to sway in place, your arms loosely tossed over his shoulders.

You looked deep into each other’s eyes as those darned butterflies reappeared in your stomach.

“You know, after all this time, I wish we had become close sooner,” Tom said.

“Hm. Then we probably wouldn’t be here now would we?” He chuckled at your remark.

“You may very well be right. You’re so beautiful.”

“You think so? It’s funny what a dress and some makeup does,” you joked.

“No, it’s not just that. I mean all the time,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face, leaving his fingertips under your chin and tipping it up. “You’re the most incredible person I know.”

“You’re amazing, too. I mean, there aren’t many people I’ve gone up against that could hold their own,” you whispered, getting closer to him. There was a change in his face. You weren’t sure what.

“I could say the same,” he breathed, barely audible. You knew what was happening as he continued to lean in, finally closing the gap.

As cliche as it sounds, it felt like fireworks went off as your lips pressed together, moving in sync.

Then you realized where you were and how many people were around. You pulled back abruptly, jaw dropped.

“I’m sorry, but- but… I can’t,” you said, running out of the gym. You looked either direction before heading towards the women’s bathroom, trying to avoid Tom.

“Y/n, wait!” he exclaimed, running after you.

Shit.

He grabbed your arm and stopped you.

“What the hell! I thought we had something going?”

You wriggled your arm free from his grip.

“Tom, do you realize how many people are in there and might have just seen everything that happened? Look, I’m sorry that I asked you to come to this dance, I obviously made a mistake and just potentially embarrassed both of us and I’m sorry,” you rambled.

He placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Look at me. Do you know how long I’ve waited to do that?” he asked seriously, his face searching yours. You felt your brows furrow slightly.

“No..?”

Good answer, y/n.

“Princess, I have had the biggest crush on you for years. When we started this whole project thing back in August I was so afraid I would let it slip and ruin everything. I honestly thought you knew and just didn’t like me back! These have been the best few months of my life and I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way but I just had to finally say it. I like you. A lot. And I get it if you don’t like me.”

You stood agape for a few seconds.

“I…” was all you could come up with.

“Look, why don’t you just go back in there and I’ll find a way home and we can just forget this ever happened oka-”

You cut him off by grabbing his face in your hands and pressing another kiss to his lips. This one was deeper, hungrier. You bit your bottom lip when you pulled away.

“I like you a lot too.” You paused, reveling in the moment. “You know for two of the smartest people in this school, it took us way too long to figure this out.”

He laughed and pulled you into his arms.

“Well now that we have, let’s go back in there and dance till they kick us out.”

It was pretty late by the time the dance finally did end and you decided not to attend any afterparties after everything that had happened, opting to just spend time alone together. You turned off the car once pulling into Tom’s driveway.

“I had a lot of fun tonight, Tom. All things considered.”

“I did, too,” he glanced at your lips and back up.

You leaned in for another kiss, happy to be in the privacy of your car. You knew it had probably gone on too long when you were leaned completely over the console, almost in his lap.

“I oughta get home. I’ll be back tomorrow to work on the project,” you said quietly, looking deep into his eyes.

He gave a soft smile and nod.

“See you tomorrow, then, gorgeous,” he replied, giving you one final kiss on the lips and another on your hand, right over the bruises on your knuckles, before getting out and heading to the front door.

You had the biggest grin on your face as you drove home, knowing full well that Alexis was going to have a field day once you told her everything that had happened.

At home, you unpinned your crown, setting it gently on your trophy shelf, then undressed and washed your face, finally flopping into your own bed for the first time in two days.

Sunday, you came to the Holland’s around 1 pm. After sleeping like a rock, you’d rushed around to shower and toss on some leggings and a long sleeved tee.

In a surprising turn of events, Tom answered the door when you walked up, giving you a hug and whisking you to his room.

After everything that had happened, it almost felt wrong now to be in his room unsupervised, but you pushed those thoughts aside and got to work. It was awkward, neither of you knowing what your relationship was now.

You sat up after a long pause.

“Okay I can’t do this anymore. What are we?” you asked frankly.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you see how awkward we’re being? I mean we know we like each other and we kissed and stuff, so are we together or not? I mean, we’re not getting anywhere just sitting in silence.”

He sighed.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. I mean, do you want to do this? Make it official, I mean?”

“Do you?”

“Y/n, I’ve been pining over you for years, so of course I’d be happy to, but it’s your decision.”

You looked down at your hands, twisting your ring.

“Oh screw it, let’s just go for it. I mean, we’re already married.”

He rolled his eyes and cringed at that joke.

“You really had to pull that card, huh? Come ‘ere,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “I finally get to tell the world that y/n y/l/n is my girlfriend. Grandma is going to be ecstatic.”

“One last thing. Why did you always mess with me before this? It’s not really the best way to show someone you like them,” you said. Tom’s face fell a little.

“Well it’s just… I didn’t want you to know that I liked you. And plus, you weren’t always the nicest either. I was trying to keep the same energy.”

You thought about his answer for a moment.

“Man, we really are dumber than we thought, huh?” you laughed.

After clearing the air, you got back to work. It took about an hour for you to finish up and feel burnt out, so you both laid on your backs holding hands.

“I’m bored,” you whined, looking at him.

“Hm. Want to go outside? We can play soccer.”

“Ugh, no. Soccer season isn’t for another couple of months. What about football? You could teach me how to throw a perfect spiral since you’ve gotta be ready for the semis.”

After only losing one game all season, the football team was in the running for the state championships, which would last the next four weeks. Tom raised an eyebrow.

“All these years and you’re asking me to teach you something? I guess people were right in saying relationships change a person. Sure your hand is up for it?”

You gave him a look and nodded as you got up and prepared to go downstairs.

“Do you want a jacket or something? It’s pretty cold out,” he said. You looked down at your shirt.

“I think I’ll be fine. I didn’t need a jacket walking from my car.”

You realized that was a mistake moments after stepping out the back door. The wind had picked up and it took everything to not make it obvious that you were shivering.

Tom dug around in a bucket, finally finding a football.

“Aha!” he pulled it out, then turned to find you rubbing your arms. “You want a jacket don’t you?”

You smiled sheepishly, nose wrinkled.

“Okay hold on. I think I left one in the living room.”

He came back with a school football sweatshirt and you happily tossed it on. It was a size up from your normal clothing, and fit comfortably over you. It smelled like him so you couldn’t help but smile.

He then got to work teaching you the basics of throwing. Thankfully your hand pain had worn off pretty quickly, even though the bruise was still pretty nasty. After a few tosses back and forth he came behind you and placed his hands over your arms, trying to get you in the right form.

“Okay now this elbow a little more up… uh huh, now pull back, and throw,” he guided. After you released the ball, he kept his hands on you and you pressed into him, trying to drop a hint.

He seemed to understand, because he wrapped his arms around your stomach. You flipped around to face him and kissed him on the lips. It was going well until,

“Oh my goodness! Finally!” You broke apart to see Nikki standing in the doorway watching excitedly. “You two stay there! I need to document this!”

“Mom!” Tom exclaimed as she ran off.

Once she got back, Nikki agreed to just take pictures of you two playing football and goofing off for a little while.

When you all came into the house, she shivered.

“Man is it cold out there. Do you two want some apple cider to warm up?”

You both gave an enthusiastic yes.

“Alright, why don’t you go wait in the living room? It should only be a few minutes.”

Tom led you to the couch where you’d sat once before under different circumstances. This time, you curled up next to him and watched the twins play a video game. They didn’t say anything about it, just looking at you, then each other, and back at the game with a shrug.

Nikki eventually popped her head in, telling all of you she had mugs ready in the kitchen. You settled back on the couch to drink when Paddy came in the room. He looked excited to see you, then disappointed when he realized you and Tom’s proximity.

“Hey, Paddy! How are you?” you asked, sitting up straight and gesturing for him to sit on the other end of the couch.

“Oh, uh, I’m okay. What about you?”

“I’m doing pretty well, thanks for asking.”

You continued talking with him for a little bit as you finished your drink. He was smiling up until Tom tossed his arm over your shoulder and drew you in, giving you a kiss on the cheek. Paddy had a dejected look, then got up and ran off.

“What was that for?” you whisper-yelled to Tom, trying to make sure the twins didn’t hear you over their headsets.

“Just making it known that you’re mine.”

“Tom. You really just hurt your little brother’s feelings because he has a middle school crush on me? He’s 10, for goodness sakes. And just because we’re dating now doesn’t make me your property.”

Tom looked down in shame.

“Okay, yeah, I could’ve handled that better. And I realize you aren’t my property, it’s just that I’ve wanted this for so long, I don’t want anything to ruin it now.”

“After all these years, you can’t get rid of me like that,” you said, snapping your fingers for effect. “And, you know, he is a child. I’m going to let him down easy, okay?”

He nodded as you pecked his cheek and got up, heading up the stairs and to Paddy’s room, where you assumed he’d run off to. You knocked lightly on the door that was already ajar, opening it further to find him sitting on the bed.

“Hey, Paddy? Can we talk for a minute?”

“What about? The fact that you’ve been sneaking around with my brother all this time?”

You sighed and cocked your head.

“Well actually, we just started dating yesterday. But, you know, he and I are the same age and have similar interests. I’m sure it hurts your heart now, but I’ll always be your friend. And just think: there’s someone out there who you’re going to sweep off their feet, and you’ll like them just as much! One day you’ll get to be with someone who’s interested in the same things as you and will get to hang out with you all the time. That’s way better than boring ‘ol me.”

He looked up at you for the first time since you came to his room.

“You really think so?”

You grinned.

“I know so. Now, why don’t you come back downstairs and hang out? I’ll make sure Tom is nice this time.”

“Okay. Thanks, y/n. You’re the best. Fist bump?”

You smiled and stuck out your good fist.

“Heck yeah.”

A/N: omg it's been too long and I'm SO SORRY FOR THAT! A lot has happened in my life over the past year, but especially this past semester. It really kicked my ass and covid hasn't helped so thanks to the people who have been adding my stuff into ficrec lists and who have sent messages and comments. I really do appreciate it all! I hope to release more things within the next month!

*Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify that you’ve been added!*

Story tag list

@jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads, @justafangirlduh, @supraveng, @legolasthegayleafyelf, @kayasholland,

#the marriage project #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland series #tom holland spiderman #tom holland reader #tom holland au #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #tom holland fluff

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andysbubba · 4 years

Text

friends [ two ]

-> steve’s your best friend. you know damn well that won’t change. [ also you’re really stubborn in this au and steve has to deal with that ]

AKA two idiots in love but one doesn't want to admit it

link to chapter one | two | three | four |

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

10 years later, 2020

“How is it going with you two?” Bucky sips his coffee as he sits across you and Steve.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“I would’ve expected a wedding invitation by now from both of you,” He looks at the two of you pointedly.

You choke on your latte and then glanced at Steve. “Seriously?”

Steve glances back at you and laughed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

Bucky bursts out in laughter. “Shit. That was priceless!”

“Oh shut up, Buck.” Steve rolls his eyes at his friend.

“Yeah, Barnes. We’re just friends,” You nudge Steve with your shoulder. “Right, Steve?”

Steve shrugs and nods, leaning in front and picking up a fork to cut into his slice of chicken pie. “Yeah,”

Jesus. What was that stinging pain in your heart?

Steve left for the washroom and it was just you and Bucky.

“Bitch move, Y/N.”

You look at Bucky cluelessly. “What did I do?”

“That guy is hopelessly in love with you and you just told him that you two are just friends.” He pointedly says.

You roll your eyes in reply. “You’re exaggerating. He’s not hopelessly in love with me, Buck.”

“Say that to his lost, sad, depressed puppy dog face whenever you get into a new relationship.” Bucky kicks your leg under the table.

“You’re just bullshitting now, Barnes.”

There was no way Bucky was right. Your mum’s told you the same thing, so did Steve’s parents. And then there was Natasha who said something along the lines too. Lets not forget Sam either.

Steve being in love with you? That’s just impossible.

“You shouldn’t deny the truth, Y/L/N.”

Steve walks back to the table. “Deny what?”

You turn to Steve in slight surprise before you quickly recovered. “Bucky was just saying some things about-”

“-About how you’ve been in love with Y/N since you were kids,” Bucky interrupts you.

Steve blushes immediately, the pink flowing up to his pale cheeks and he stuttered a little. “W-what?”

You step on Bucky’s toes with your boots and glare at him. His knee shoots up and hits the table as he groans in pain.

You turned to Steve and smiled kindly, “Nope, Bucky was just playing with you,”

Steve nods and settles back on the seat beside you.

You thought to yourself while the two guys chat about yesterday’s baseball game.

Steve gets sad when you get into a new relationship? And then he gets awkward when you say that you two are just friends.

Damn it, Bucky.

But Steve’s just being Steve. He’s always awkward... right?

“I’m not even kidding, Nat. Like seriously, Steve? Liking me?” You huff.

“Think about it this way,” She was lying on the couch, her legs resting on your lap. “He has a lot of flings and ex girlfriends. But why did none of them last long?”

You look down at her. “Because he hasn’t found the right person?”

Natasha shrugs. “That could be one. But you two already act like a couple.” She shifted and sits up straight, turning to you seriously. “He’s looking around for something he already has. Except, it isn’t official.”

You were meeting Natasha so you ended up leaving the guys earlier at the cafe. Apparently, they were planning on having some guys night with Sam.

You frown at Natasha. “We don’t act like a couple.”

Nat raised an eyebrow at you with a ‘really’ expression. “You cuddle, you know what each other like and dislikes, he spends money on you, you spend money on him and you sleep together on the same bed.”

“Isn’t that the norm for best friends?”

Tasha rolls her eyes. “You don’t see Sam kiss my forehead before he goes home or see Bucky buy me an iPad, now, do you?”

“I’ve known Steve since I was one.” You pointed out.

This topic was seriously making you think like crazy. You didn’t even know you acted like a couple with Steve. Like seriously???

“Valid point. But do you really think his exes give a shit about that when he helps you put on your coat and shit?”

“But-”

Natasha laughs at you, completely stopping your speech. “Denial is not a good look on you, sweetie.”

You sigh as Nat stands up and heads into the kitchen.

She comes back out with two bottles of beer. “Listen, Y/N. All I’m saying is, maybe you don’t see it but everyone around you sees what’s going on.” She settles beside you on the couch. “Your brain just functions at a slower rate than others.”

You gasp and smack her arm harshly. “Rude!”

Nat bursts out in laughter before calming down and snuggled into you. “Just, if it’s meant to be, it will happen someday. Forcing things will only make it worse.”

“Does he really sulk when I get into relationships?” You rest your head on top of Natasha’s.

“Yeap!”

You sigh again. “Okay then, why do my relationships not last long?”

“Because the intimacy you want with said partner is already something you share with Steve.” Nat stops and tried to think of a way to convey her thoughts. “Minus the kisses and sex.”

You sighed for what seemed like the nth time that day. “Alright lets change topics. How are your ballet lessons going?”

You had some guy named Jake over at your place a few days after your girls night with Nat. It was just a one night thing and he was already in the corridor outside your apartment when Steve appeared from the stairs, slightly breathless.

You see his face drop when he sees the guy standing outside your door. Wait- why have you never seen that before? It wasn’t the first time Steve came over while there was a guy at your apartment?

Fuckfuckfuck. Damn it, Bucky. And Natasha.

“Hey, Steve.” You turn to Jake, or was it Jacob? “Bye, Joseph.”

Said guy just looks at you in shock. “It’s John.”

“Yeah, potato, potahto.” You flashed him a grim smile before dragging Steve into your apartment and leaving the John in the corridor.

“I’ll make breakfast?” You ask Steve, already making your way to the kitchen.

He follows closely behind you. “I’ll help. What do you want?”

“Mom’s congee?”

Steve looks at you in shock. “You’re the best.”

“I know, Stevie.” You wink at him. “Just fry the chicken. And cut the onions, please, I beg you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Steve hurriedly washed his hand and took whatever he needed from the fridge.

“You wanna call the others to hang out?”

Steve shrugs, “Up to you. But you call. I just washed my hands.”

You took out your phone and shoot a text to the groupchat. The one with Sam, Nat and Bucky.

Y/N: congee day

Y/N: no beer no entry.

Sam: OOOO

Nat: beer and congee? seriously?

Y/N: hey, no one’s forcing you to come nat ??

Sam: there in an hour. with beer.

Bucky: is steve making his fried chiken

Y/N: yeah

Nat: fine i’ll be there with bucky in 20 mins

Y/N: bring gummy bears please thank you ily

Steve glanced down at his smartwatch at raised his brows at your last text.

“Gummy bears, really?”

“Gummy bears and beer is literally the best thing Stevie,” You snort, “But of course you wouldn’t know since you’re an old hag, Steven.”

Steve gasps, looking at you in shock. “Did you just-”

You smirk at him, casually walking to the fridge. “You know I did, Rogers.”

You looked inside the fridge, completely not noticing that Steve was already behind you.

You turn around after grabbing a can of Schwepps from the fridge. You jumped seeing Steve towering right behind you. “Jesus, Steve.”

“You wanna try that again?” He held his hands up on both sides of the fridge, eyes twinkling playfully.

You shake your head and pointed at him. “None of the food war crap. I had to clean up the mess the last time.”

Steve gazed down at you. “You better take it back if you don’t want a new mess to clean up.”

You took the time to look at him– really look at him.

Steve's hot, and goodlooking. You’ve already known that. But have you ever really looked at him?

How there’s that weird drain between his brows when he’s frowning, or how his chin is like a shade darker than the rest of his face. There’s a spot on his cheek and his forehead. You’ve never really noticed them before. His eyes always had a shine. The only time you saw it dull was at his dad’s funeral and then again when Sarah Rogers passed away about 4 years after. Your parents took him in straight afterwards.

Those blue eyes are always so intense. Whether he’s trying to get a thread into the needle or reading Paper Towns, Steve’s eyes are so goddamn intense. Like he’s trying to burn a hole through the pages of that stupid book.

“You’re staring,” He noted, even though his eyes were deeply staring into you too.

“You’re staring,” You dutifully told him in return.

“I’m looking,” You see his eyes glancing down to your lips quickly and then back into your eyes.

Your eyes shifted down to his lips too. You know how it feels firsthand. Plump and soft, and it feels so good against your own. The natural pink only compliments his pale skin.

It has never been this intense. He was staring into you and you were gazing into him. His body warmth completely overrides the cold air of the fridge behind you. And his presence was... present, huge. Was this what people called sexual tension?

Damn it, Bucky. And Natasha. And Sam. And your parents.

Fuck.

His gaze switched between your eyes and lips, leaning down slowly and hesitantly. You leaned in too, slowly going up on the tip of your toes.

You could feel his breath on your face.

“We shouldn’t,” You whispered lowly.

“I know,” Steve’s hand still shifted to your jaw, though and he's caressing very lightly.

Your hands trailed up and linked at the back of his neck, and you completely press your lips against his.

Fuck.

It has been at least a year since you’ve been this close to Steve. But this, this was just different.

Steve kisses you back, lips soft but a little rough. It reminds you perfectly of the first time you kissed him he kissed you.

There was a thought in the back of your mind about how this was possibly going to be awkward later. But, fuck. His lips feels too good to stop.

You pull away from him, just about an inch or two away from his lips. “Steve,”

He speaks lowly, “I swear if you tell me that we shouldn’t do this...”

“We shouldn’t.” You breathed deeply. “But we need to talk about this,”

“Talk about what?” His voice raises the slightest bit. “Talk about how I’ve been in lo-”

The doorbell rings.

And just like that, your moment broke.

Steve closed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, before he completely pulls away from you and turned around.

“Go get the door. I’ll get started on the chicken.”

You listened, stepping out of the kitchen and to towards the door. Your mind was still processing what just happened. Was he about to say... But, Fuck.

Even if he did say it, you have no idea what you’d do.

Your hand curls around the door knob and you pushed it down and pulled the door open.

Nat and Bucky were on the other side, holding up bags and something that looks like 10 bags of gummy bears.

Not that you have any complaints.

“Your face looks weird. What happened?” Natasha brushes past you as she strides into your apartment, dropping her handbag on the dining table and then going into the kitchen.

“Yeah, you look weird. Why does the house seem so quiet?” Bucky asks next, pushing past you and going straight into the kitchen.

“Yeah, cause I just kissed Steve. Of course it’s gonna be like the fucking Kardashians’ house, ain’t it?” You mutter lowly under your breath, knowing damn well they can’t hear you.

“Hey, Steve,” Tasha sets the bags in the counter before she goes over and pecks Steve on his cheek. “You look weird too. What happened between you two?” She glances between you and Steve with a question mark on her face.

“Did you have sex?”

You turn to Bucky almost immediately. “No!”

“Alright, no need to get so defensive, Tiger. Did you kiss?”

The blush on Steve’s cheeks and the silence from you was a good enough answer for the both of then.

“Oh, so something did happen, huh?” Natasha teased, eyes glinting with some sort of evil.

“Shut up.” Steve grunts as he continues dipping small chicken cubes into flour and then into the egg mixture.

“Did you kiss his dick or just his mouth?”

You roll your eyes, stepping towards the sink to wash your hands, completely ignoring Bucky’s question.

You eyed Steve from your peripheral vision. He was silent too.

Well, fuck.

like comment reblog? i’ll love you forever

#steve rogers #steve rogers fic #Steven Grant Rogers #steverogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fluff #Steve Rogers #Marvel #Captain America #Chris Evans #Chris Evans x reader

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purrsonaimagines · 4 years

Text

Reminds me of You - Akira Kurusu x Reader

fluff prompt #3 - “Do you know where my hoodie is?” “No...”. “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

i’m writing some stuff for the girls soon as well, and also a little somethin somethin for our lovely akechi and yusuke.

“Where is it..?” Akira mumured rustling the covers on his bed, brows furrowing in frustration.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” Morgana asked from the far corner, bringing a paw over his ear.

“My jacket... I can’t find it.” Akira replied, fixing his blanket now to look around the room.

“Have you looked downstairs?” Morgana suggested.

“No... I left it up here last night when I got home from [Name]’s place...”

“You sure?” Morgana tested, standing up to nose around the room himself.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I remember beinging my jacket home...?” Akira huffed in reply, adjusting his glasses when he saw a piece of dark fabric dangle from under his bed.

He tugged on it, but his brows raised when he pulled out a small bundled robe instead. He looked over to Morgana briefly, before looking back down at the cover up.

“A robe...?” Morgana mused with a teasing tone, causing Akira to huff and nudge him lightly with his foot.

“Where’d I put my jacket then—“

Suddenly the ring of his phone caused Akira to jump, turning to fave the device. He walked over and grabbed it off his nightstand. His eyes lit up noticing your ID, a smiling filling his lips as he answered.

“Hey, [Name].” He hummed lovingly.

“Hey, sweetie. I was calling to see if you knew where I put my headphones last night? My mom wants to borrow them and—Oh!”

“Oh..?”

“I found them in my pocket.” You chirped, causing Akira to snicker at your cluelessness.

“I actually have a lost item of my own. Couldn’t find it since we hung out last night.”

“Oh? What’d you lose? Maybe I can help you find it.”

“My hoodie.”

“Your.. Hoodie?” You said slowly, shigting in your seat.

“Yeah, can’t find it.. I was gonna wear it when I went out today with Ryuji and Mishima..”

“Ah.. Well, I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

Then suddenly as he heard you move on the other end, his ears seemed to perk up like a cats. His eyes softened in realization, and a smirk crosse his lips as he let out a small laugh.

“Do you know where my hoodie is?”

“No...?”

He couldn’t contain his snickers now as he shook his head.

“You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You hummed, trying to play it cool.

“Nice try, sweetheart. I can hear the fabric against your chair.” He said lowly, his glasses getting a mischievious gleam.

“....”

Silence filled the other line as he waited, before he heard you release a breath.

“I hate you.” You grumbled, causing Akira to grin in victory.

“So you do have it?” Akira teased, eyes softening at the way you mumbled under your breath.

“It’s soft..” You mumured over the phone, causing Akira’s heart to quicken and his smirk to drop.

“Plus it reminds me of you. I know you’re busy with the Phantom Thieves, and all sorts of stuff you do.. So I have this piece of you y’know..?” You admitted bashfully, the silence from Akira’s end causing your face to heat up.

“Sorry... That was was dumb, and sappy.. I-“

“Hey, hey hey.. I didn’t say that. I think it’s cute.”

“Mhm... Are you gonna come pick it up now..?” You asked in a dehected tone, and Akira could practically see your doe eyes from here.

“Ah.. Actually, you can keep it if it makes you so happy. I’ll just wear a different one today.”

“Really? Thank you so much, babe! I love you!”

“I love you too, treasure.”

Behind all your excited chattering, you finally paused to let Akira speak again. A large grin covered your lips as you waited in silence.

“I’ll come hang out with you after I’m done with Mishima and Ryuji, okay?”

“Mhm! That aounds good. We can finally finish that movie, and we can get more ideas for Haru’s birthday!” You exclaimed giddily, jumping up from your seat.

“That sounds nice..” He hummed, already thinking about the relaxing aura of sitting on your couch cuddling during the chosen movie.

“Alright treasure, I’ve gotta go now, okay?” Akira affirmed, grabbing his bag from beside his door.

“Aw, yeah okay. Have fun! Tell Mishima and Ryuji I said hi!”

“I will. I’ll see you around six?”

“Sounds good, sweetie. I love you.” You cooed with a gentle smile.

“I love you too, [Name].. Seeya later.”

“Bye!”

The phone beeped signalling the wnd of the call, causing Akira to let out a contempt sigh. He was so damn lucky to have a partner like you, the thought made his heart race already.

“So.. You call them treasure, huh?” Morgana’s teasing voice bounced from the room’s corner, causing Akira to gasp and whip his head to the cat.

“How much of that did you hear..?” He gulped.

“All of it.” Morgana said with a devilish stare, practically smirking if he could.

“Morgana—“

“If you don’t want me telling Ryuji and Mishima, I want fatty tuna for the next month!”

“No way!”

“Well I guess your treasure is about to become everyone elses then, huh—?”

“F-Fine! Let’s just go, okay? We’ll negotiate later..”

Morgana let out a satisfied purr and hopped into Akira’s bag, nestling into the inside. Akira on the other hand was beet red as he approached the door, looking down at your messages talking about movies. Your texts were carried by hearts, only causing him more distress.

Sometimes he was the luckiest guy in the world... But other days it came to bite him in the ass..

this seems so short I’m so sorry. i feel like im oumpung these out so fast. i have smth angsty coming up pretty soon, so im excited for that! im making sure its all good first before posting though bc i want it to be impacting.

tysm for requesting and reading tho, it means the world to me!!! ily guys sm

#akira kusuru #akira kurusu x reader #persona 5 x reader #persona oneshots #persona imagines #persona 5 oneshots #persona x reader #personafic #personaakira #akirakurusupersona #ren amamiya #ren amamiya x reader #persona 5

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fawad-khan · 3 years

Note

hi can u do a sam holland imagine where they're long time bffs and they had like a sleepover or came over to watch a movie and the reader accidentslly fell asleep on sam and tom or harry caught them and sam ended up confessing but he didnt know the reader heard everything hskdhsldjs just extra fluff pls ily

A/N: ok i was kind of going thru my inbox and this seemed so cute hbfhbehv hope u dont mind a headcanon! Also requests are closed!

Masterlist

you and sam had decided to have a movie night-cum-sleepover

since it had been long since you two had spent time with each other

so here you were, all ready with popcorn and nachos and pizza and fizzy drinks

you begged to get disney movies and he being the boy smitten with his best friend aka you decided to oblige gladly

he just loves seeing you happy *sighs in single*

now you’re lying on the couch lazily, watching the movie

cuddled up with each other and a blanket on ya coz being cozy is da best feeling ever

your head is lying lazily on his chest, his arms hold you close to him.

you can smell his comforting smell and maybe hints of his perfume he always likes to wear and it always entices you.

his fingers occasionally stroke your hair, which feels really good.

at one point it kind of makes you sleepy.

you decide to close your eyes and rest your head on his lap, allowing him to stroke your hair more, enjoying the feeling of his fingers.

now you havent actually fallen asleep but he thought you were hdbhedb

at this point is forgotten and he looks at your resting and peaceful face and has a lovestruck smile on his face.

right then harry enters the hall to go to the kitchen and his eyes fall on you two and he can’t help but smirk at his twin.

“so, finally together, eh? took you both long enough”

sam rolls his eyes.

“yeah i wish. we’re just friends, harry.”

“right, i can see that very clearly”

“i- uh fine, i like her, alright? i really, really like her, and perhaps in love with her, but i don’t know how to go and say it. so just leave it.”

you heard all of this, unknowest to them both.

you couldn’t but mentally do your happy dance as you smiled in your sleep.

and feel butterflies in your stomach when he says ‘love’

so you decided to speak, surprising them

“and what makes you think i don’t like you?”

both their heads turn to you.

sam is now full-on blushing and looking so cute and precious you could just kiss him right now🥺

“oh i uh, didn’t want to spoil anything between us. wait did you hear everything?”

“well yeah, i wasn’t asleep, your fingers were very relaxing though” you giggled.

“oh i see” he’s rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

you now sit up so that you’re facing him

“did you really mean it sammy? do you like me?”

“i think love is more appropriate here” “shut up harry!” sam says, although he is smiling.

“well ok he is right, i’m practically in love with you. do you like me too?”

you smiled and pecked his lips “i don’t like you, i love you too”

you kiss again and pull back, giggling. harry is being all aww

“i’m happy for you guys but please don’t make me an uncle right now, i beg you”

making you both throw a cushion at him.

its not long before tom and paddy find out later on when they walk in on you two makin out heavily on sam’s bed with you on his lap and you literally jump out of the bed when they scream.

harry comes to see the commotion and sneakily clicks a picture hfbhbfd

and they run downstairs to tell nikki and dom.

and that’s the beginning of endless teasing from everyone in the family.

ok this got super cheesy bye-

ps should i make a taglist for sam??

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h0neyjaehyun · 3 years

Note

Hi! How are you? Hope your week has been nice :D

Can i send in a request for Talia? Promt 1 no. 78, 77, 84 with Winwin if you don't take request then please ignore :>>

ANYWAYS HAVE A GREAT DAY ILY💚 -🐥

Title // Miss You

Summary // Lets just say Winwin couldn’t be more obvious.

Month / Year // July 2017

Prompt 1

77. "You came all the way here just to tell me this?"

78. "I want to see you again."

84. "Is this the part where we confess our undying love for each other?"

Italics // Chinese

Note // I’m just going to leave this here :), anyway I do take request! You can send as many request as you want! I don’t mind, and thank you I hope you have a great day as well. Also THIS IS FROM THE HELP OF NCT- NARI please I had so much difficulty with this and Joy helped a lot.

Winwin had missed Tali, it was when Tali had been with Blackpink for the comeback of As If It's Your Last and she hasn't been home with them for 2 weeks. They have gotten closer over the year thankfully, and he had missed her. She comes by practice every once in awhile well to practice but she has to leave right after.

He rolled around in his bed not being able to sleep. He looked at the time on his phone and pouted as it was late, he walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water when he heard the door open. He looked over confused since he's pretty sure everyone was here and went to bed if not on their phone in bed.

He heard heels which made him even more confused until he saw light brown hair walk past the corridor. Running her hand through hair then shaking her head slightly. He stood still frozen not knowing what to do as the girl still has yet to notice him.

He cleared his throat unwillingly, which she turned to, just to see him looking at her wide eyed. She smiled and waved.

"Hi Sicheng." He smiled at the sound of his name come out of her mouth. He took a deep breathe of relief.

"Hi Talia." His arms opened wide for her to come and give him a hug which she happily did. She giggled which gave him butterflies in his stomach. She took a step back and looked at him.

"Its been a long time." She sighed.

"Yes it has and you are in a fancy outfit." He scanned her up and down to see she has a white shirt with pant suit with black heels with the addition of the blazer.

"Uh yeah, I came to say something to you actually." She walked to the refrigerator grabbing some green grapes.

"Yeah? What is it?" He asked wondering what made her come all this way. She smiled at bit.

"You know that stylist that called you a name for the past what couple weeks?" She asked cleaning the grapes under the fosit.

"Yeah?" He squinted at her suspiciously.

"Well, she just got fired." She turned to him and gave him a flat smile.

"You came all the way here just to tell me this?" He raised his eyebrows at her. She huffed at sat down her bowel of grapes.

"Yes? It great news, she's not gonna call you those names anymore." She smiled while he still eyed her suspiciously.

"That’s not what you said a month ago when she called you fat." He pointed out grabbing a grape.

"Well, she was doing her job at the time." She mumbled pouting a little turning to the counter to eat her grapes. His head snapped to look at her, she mumbled doesn't mean he didn't hear that. He walked up to her and grabbed her face making her turn to him.

"You listen to me missy, you are perfect! You can sing, dance, rap, and you are so pretty. Everyone wants to be you!" He exclaimed, he found it absurd that those words affected her so much. She's literally perfect. Tali looked off to the side and gave a shy smile from all the compliments.

"Is this the part where we confess our undying love for each other?" He asked teasingly.

"Ah Sicheng." She whined, pushing him away by his chest away from shyness. He smiled at her, he's glad he made her smile. She looked back at him and shook her head.

"You've grown confident, that's good. On that note come on lets get you to bed." She pulled him to his room.

"All of sudden?" He asked confused.

"Yes I have a schedule early with you come on." She finished dragging him to his room with Yuta.

"Where will you sleep?" He whispered as he got into bed slightly laughing as Tali tucked him in like he's a child.

"To Marks room." His face faltered a bit from disappointment but regained a smile and nodded. But that didn't go unnoticed by Tali.

"Night Tali." He whispered as he closed his eyes.

"Night Sicheng." She whispered back closing the door. She turned and her face turned into confusion. She quietly walked to Marks room in the process of taking off her heels in the front door as she forgot to earlier.

She was in the front door of Marks room still puzzled. She couldn't figure out why WinWin was acting like that. She remembered back to his teasing comment of confess their undying love for each other.

"No, I must be overthinking things."

She shook her head. No way WinWin likes her....does he? She was now confused, she always couldn't tell the difference between guys being nice or they actually have a crush on her. She's oblivious to that and she knew that, that’s why she has Karma, Hyunjin, Allen, and Chan for that as they are her protectors from men who try to take advantage of her niceness or just men that have a crush on her and know Tali just doesn't get the hint and doesn't like them.

She sighed and walked into Marks room who was surprising to her, still awake.

"Tali?" He looked up surprised. She smiled at him.

"Hi Mark."

"Do you have to go?"

"Yeah its my friends birthday, if I don't I will get a sad friend, and with him." She turned to Winwin with a chuckle.

"I don't to deal with that." She smiled at him. WinWin looked at her a little sad that she was gonna go. They saw a car pull up and the window roll down.

"Get in here you know how he'll get if we are late." Karma yelled while Tali rolled her eyes.

"I know I know. Bye Sicheng" She turned to WinWin giving him a hug, he hugged her tight.

"Yeah, bye" he gave her a flat smile as he watched her get in and leave.

"Well that was interesting." Karma smirked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yeah I noticed too." Chan snickered as he started to driving.

"What?" Tali questioned but also knowing what they mean.

"He likes you~" Hyunjin sung as he was tapping handle of the car. Tali groaned while they chuckled.

"I know." Tali huffed puffing out her cheeks.

"We know you know, we noticed that too." Hyunjin looked back smiling deviously.

"Im not dating him." She commented.

"Obviously." Chan mused, teasing her which he always found fun.

"I look single to you or something, I take offense to that." She said offended glaring at him.

"No no, its just your not gonna date till like what 2022?" Karma bet looking at the two other boys.

"Hm.. I say 2018." Hyunjin stated confidently which the other three looked at him like really, you really believe that.

"What? I have hope that our Butterfly will find love." He stated with such confidence that it bewildered Talia since she doesn’t have that kind of confidence in herself.

"Well I say 2020 maybe? Maybe 2022, when Tali is 23 and ready to date probably." Chan said parking and looking back at her.

"Who do you think she'll date?" Karma asked. The boys looked down in thought.

"Maybe one of h-" before Hyunjin could finish Tali's phone dinged. Tali got out her phone and looked at the contact name while Hyunjin just glared at her phone for interrupting him. Her eyes widen a little which didn't go unnoticed by them.

"Well who is it?" Karma asked impatiently.

"Its WinWin the guy that we think has a crush on me." She bit her lip.

"Well first off we KNOW he has a crush on him, so what does it say?" Chan hurried up Tali.

"Ah, it says...I want to see you again, so hurry up."

"Ooooooh TALI HAS MORE PEOPLE CRUSHING ON HER." Hyunjin shouted, while the other two laughed. Tali huffed.

They all know Tali doesn't like Winwin like that, she's not really ready even if she did like him like that. Still doesn't mean Tali doesn't have a bunch of guys crushing on her. Those 4 (Karma, Hyunjin, Chan, Allen and sometimes Miguel) can spot who has a crush or a thing for a Tali from a mile away. They have made bets which boy is gonna confess first or who will get Tali's heart.

Its like a game to them since they were in middle school and when they met Hyunjin when he join the company he joined the betting. Tali has been rejecting people left and right they even have a notebook who has a crush on Tali. X is for rejected, O is for who still like her, / is for unsure probably has a thing, and highlighted in green with their names written beside them means they have either a chance or betting they won't get rejected at least a date.

Does Tali know? No, will she ever know? Probably not.

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

76 for winteriron or 94 for rhodeytony?? ily and your work ma’am your vibes are immaculate -ambivalentmarvel

thank you! and reminder: please send in the full prompt!

76.) “If you lay a finger on him, I’ll kill everyone in this room.”

Tony Stark was not supposed to be a detective. He was not supposed to be a lot of things. But when his father had told him at age seven that all he’d ever be was a disappointment, he decided he might as well do whatever the hell he wanted with his life.

So. A detective. That had gone over well with his college advisor.

“Aren’t you...aren’t you Howard’s son?” He had said nervously, readjusting his glasses for about the eighth time in seven minutes.

“Yes, but I also have a mother. And my mother is very keen on my having some skills of my own. Between you and I, we all know my father is going to hand it over to his business partner.”

(This all is a very direct lie. His mother could not honestly care less what he does with his life as long as he never looks her in the eye and tells her that boxed wine is good. He’s not going to look her in the eye for quite some time.)

Being a detective isn’t all film noir and extravagant lifestyle. Sure he gets paid the big bucks. He blends into high society well but is just unknowable enough to put on an old pair of jeans and slink into a coffee shop under the guise of being another guy on his laptop. That’s a skill few possess.

There’s also the tiny, teensy little detail that he’s one of the only detectives to risk secret-agency-detection because in all honesty the security systems were built by Stark Industries and Howard wasn’t exactly what anyone would call “stellar” at security measures.

Tony, however, was.

(Did some side work for SI, you know the drill. Sure his father wasn’t exactly thrilled, but it’s not like there was the PR nightmare of Stark Sr. not being as smart in his old age as people always expected.)

So when he gets an offer for finding and capturing the Winter Soldier from someone named Natalie?

Well, he asks if he gets to use his frequent flier miles and packs a bag for DC.

The Winter Soldier is regarded as a conspiracy theory. A man who is all machine, does the dirty work for an undercover organization, and has a shiny arm that can do a lot of things that Tony dreams about at night.

He likes conspiracy theories. Enjoys the hell out of solving them. (Roswell was a particularly fun one to crack.)

So he starts with research.

There is one thing to be said about the Winter Soldier:

He’s notoriously bad at hiding his tracks beyond the usual security measures. Restricting camera access, destroying tapes, passing off a flimsy excuse as to why a politician, peacemaker, or civilian that was causing a little too much trouble was suddenly found dead, the coronary reports restricted on a need-to-know basis.

Don’t make him laugh.

People talk. They always do, doesn’t matter if it’s been a year or thirty.

The coroners, the police, the people that surrounded the target. They all nervously whisper about suspecting someone else.

He gets closer to the location. He can tell by the thrum he holds in himself now, the way sleep doesn’t come as easily. (Although he still gets it. You don’t buy 400 thread count for nothing.)

Hydra is still in business. Of course it is.

He pays SHIELD a little visit.

That organization is about the worst-kept secret in the world. He dresses up in a smart suit, ridiculous glasses, and pastes a cheesy grin on his face.

He’s in an interview for tech. Gets lost on his way there. The person conducting the interviews has them booked back to back. When a “Mr. Edward Jarvis” does not show up for the interview, the next candidate will come in.

Of course, he looks like any other employee scurrying around with stacks in his arms. Face is obscured by cameras. He’s bypassed Stark Industries’ security features, and he gets to the file room.

Holy shit. It’s bad.

After spending at least two minutes thinking he would die from coughing from all the dust.

They don’t organize anything. All of the paper files, it seems, have been abandoned as soon as the digitized platform came out. (Which makes sense.)

He finds the file box on Winter Soldier. Everything, suspiciously, is blacked out. But he finds one name: Alexander Pierce.

For a man who is about to overtake SHIELD and ruin the entire world, you think he’d have a less consistent schedule. Or that his house would be harder to get into.

Moral of the story: you can break into the window in an attic.

Tony is making coffee.

Pierce stops in his tracks.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Why do you have Folgers? You live in a nice neighborhood. You live like this?” Tony asks. He takes a swig of coffee, winces. “God I haven’t had stuff this bad since I was in college. Ew.”

“If you’re here to kill me, you’ve got yourself in a bigger mess than you know.”

“No, I don’t think I am,” Tony answers. “Because you? You’re stuck here. With me. You can try to run but to be completely frank, your joint medication by the paper towels speak to your ability to outrun me. There’s also the little fact that I’m not here for the typical reason.”

“So what, you’re not an enemy of SHIELD?” Pierce asks.

“Of course I’m not,” Tony says, smiling. “Even like a couple of their agents. But you’re not exactly SHIELD, are you? Some PR talked about one head cut off, two more grow back. I’m not exactly sure if you know how human anatomy works, but...”

Pierce grins.

“Oh, then you know about our little project.”

“Of course I do,” Tony says. “Not so little, though. Didn’t get him operational until 1954? What was that, your birth year? Can’t imagine he’s perfect.”

His smile thins.

“It’s taken trial and test runs. But he’s perfect now.”

“Ah, there’s the problem,” Tony says. “Because he probably broke a lot of people, didn’t he Pierce? Probably threw at least one person. I saw the specs for the arm. A lot of power behind that.”

“And how would you know about the arm?” Pierce asked. “We don’t keep blueprints.”

“You don’t,” Tony says slowly. “But the creator does. And you should’ve looked a lot carefully at who was behind your little experimental arm, Pierce. You shouldn’t trust a Stark to stay in a lane.”

His eyes widen.

Tony loves theatrics. He also likes that he was the one who technically found out about the little quirk.

“So here’s what you didn’t know,” Tony continues. “Our hypothetical technological inventions have a tracking component on them, just in case we cannot find them in our inventory or database. And even though your scientists did an excellent job at hiding the box and filling it with a truly terrible amount of cookbooks, they did not know about that little feature.”

Tony pulls out his phone.

“Your Soldier is in...wow, you’re keeping him local? Pierce, I expected more from you.”

“What do you want.”

“I want him,” Tony says. “And I’ll leave you alone.”

“Absolutely not,” Pierce seethes. “Why would we give you the star of the show?”

“Because,” Tony says. “Your show sucks, if I’m being completely honest. One branch of Hydra is completely dedicated to the idea of Inhumans and is batshit insane. Another branch is literally only focused on weapons, and another is about this. It’s a shit-show. If there was a show about this I would not give it anything past three seasons.”

Alexander Pierce looks like he’s going to burst a vein.

Tony moves on.

“Along with that if I cannot get him from you, I will be getting him. And if you touch a hair on his head, I will kill you.”

Alexander Pierce looks mad. Which of course he does. Tony tends to have that effect on people, Rhodey says so.

“Do you think you can even get out of my house? You think I won’t know your face, know that Tony Stark threatened me? Will anyone even believe you?”

“Aw Andy, you say the sweetest things,” Tony says smiling. “I told you I was a Stark for two reasons. I’ve already told you the first one, let’s see when you wake up if you can guess the second.”

“What--”

And...man down.

And Pepper told him a taser-pen was “hopefully frivolous” and “why the fuck would you ever make that for a pen you barely you know which coffee cup is yours and you just drink from both.”

Pierce is left tied up in his kitchen on the floor, Tony admires the window seat for a brief moment, and leaves the files incriminating Pierce along with about sixty to a hundred other people.

He has a taxi to catch.

“You know he will probably kill you,” Rhodey says on the phone. “And then I get to give my eulogy and I’m going to tell everyone you secretly liked cheese pizza only.”

“I will literally commit a war crime against you,” Tony says. “Not even joking. I’ll face Congress if I have to.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“You can’t, they’d kick you out.”

“Oh, just for wearing a ripped up crop top and jean shorts? What, would I be a menace to society?”

“You’re always a menace,” Rhodey mutters. “Listen, I gotta go. Pepper’s freaking out about your advertisements in the newspaper and the correct grammar.”

“Bye!” Tony says.

DC is definitely not Tony’s style. At least, for now. He can’t even enjoy coffee, he has to foil an assassination plot.

Winter Soldier is not subtle, as he’s said. Neither are the Hydra agents who are just painfully obvious.

At least this might be done by dinner.

He also faces the Winter Soldier. That’s fun. It’s too early to really be anything but fun.

He walks right up to him.

“Do you know someone named Natalie?” Tony asks.

“What?” Winter Soldier asks. “No. Move or I’ll move you.”

“Very robotic, ugh,” Tony says, smiling. “No, I have a job to do. You’re not moving me.”

Winter Soldier lunges.

Tony sidesteps and throws him off his balance with a cafe chair.

Their fight takes them to a bridge.

“You’ve compromised the mission,” Winter Soldier hisses. “Why?”

“Because I got hired to bring you back,” Tony says.

“To Hydra?”

“No,” Tony says. “God no, they’re terrible. No, someone named Natalie wants you rescued.”

“Natalia,” Winter Soldier murmurs. “How do you know her?”

“I don’t,” Tony says. “At least, far as I know. I was asked to find you and bring you to her and whoever else is there. So, are you in?”

He pauses, looks out at the city.

“How are you gonna get me out of here?”

“You underestimate the power of tourism,” Tony says. “Let’s go.”

One “I Visited the Washington” sweatshirt and long hair wrapped into a bun later, Tony is walking out with who appears to be Bucky Barnes.

“Of course you are,” Tony mutters. “Okay, let’s get to the meeting point.”

“Are you staying?” Barnes asks.

Tony cocks his head. “What do you want me for?”

“You just helped me escape from Hydra. You’re most likely near-suicidal. I think you need to stay close.”

Tony rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“I’m not near-suicidal. Of course I’m not. I stick around for a really nice pizza joint. But Natalie--or Natalia, you called her that right?”

“Natalie’s a fake name.”

“Of course it is, who names their kid Natalie anymore?” Tony quips. “But besides the point. She probably can do you more good than I can. After all, I don’t ever drink out of the right coffee cup. I am very, insanely doubtful that I am of any help whatsoever.”

“Fine then,” Barnes says. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Tony doubts this.

But he drives him to where whoever the hell hired him lives. It’s a nice, upscale apartment. Probably costs about as much as his whole apartment building’s rent in total.

Of course, the woman who greets them looks gorgeous. Barnes knows her easily enough.

“Thank you, Stark,” the woman says.

“What do I actually call you?” Tony asks. “You know my name, I know two of yours.”

“Call me Natasha,” she says. “And anything else isn’t your business.”

“Of course not, I would expect a check in the mail otherwise,’ Tony remarks. “So. Barnes is delivered back to you. Expect payment tonight or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow at twelve,” she answers. “Afternoon.”

“See you around,” Tony says, waving. “Barnes, try not to kill anyone right now. Seriously gonna ruin the springtime mood, you know?”

Bucky Barnes stares after him.

Natasha smiles.

“Welcome back, James.”

He nods. Goes and sits in a chair.

“You gonna turn my brain back to mush or let me stay?”

“Stay,” Natasha answers. “I escaped Red Room. I knew I needed to get you.”

“And why not do it yourself? It’s not like you can’t,” he answers.

“Because I was confident that Tony could leave more of a...dramatic element to it,” Natasha answers. “And he did. SHIELD is currently reforming all of its employees. One of the ladies who always let me eat strawberry yogurt from the fridge worked for them. He also helped dismantle any chance at regrouping to get you.”

“Smart,” James answers. “Who is he? Stark?”

“He’s an asshole, but a skilled detective,” Natasha adds. “Son of Howard Stark. You remember him?”

“He was supposed to be my next mission,” James says, feeling a bit of the Winter Soldier seep back in. “Guess I won’t have a perfect record.”

“You don’t have a perfect record, trust me,” Natasha adds. “And I didn’t get you for anything other than a rescue mission. You’re free.”

Being free, James finds, is terrifying.

Natasha has set him up with his own apartment. He has therapy appointments every Wednesday and Saturday. Grocery shopping is...interesting.

And he keeps using his past skills to check in on Tony, who is doing well in life, if not a bit...wary.

He’s assuming you don’t expose the underbelly of at least two secret organizations without gaining some traction.

He’s gotten takeout four times this week. It’s Thursday. This is sad.

His therapist also recommends that he gets “friends.” James is not exactly sure how to do that.

So instead he breaks into Tony’s office.

“We’re friends now,” he announces as Tony yelps and drops his plate.

“Oh my god you could’ve just not snuck in!” Tony screeches. “I dropped my rolls!”

They do become friends after that. Tony decides that James needs to try every single coffee shop that’s ever open.

(He’s a sucker for iced caramel lattes. They’re good.)

They both learn how to cook different foods, and try to make noodles.

“Oh my god we’re both disasters,” Tony says, laughing. He takes a picture of James poking at the disastrous attempt.

“Take me to pizza?” he asks.

“Like you have to ask,” Tony says. “Come on.” He smiles at him, amazed by how much he’s changed. He grabs his jacket.

It is Rhodey who clocks it first.

“You like him,” he crows. “You like him. You like the assassin!”

“Ex-assassin,” Tony corrects. “And no. Of course I don’t.”

“You call him ‘babe’, Tony.”

“And I call you all sorts of pet names,” Tony argues.

“Calling me literally the weirdest pet names like ‘honeybear sweetums’ or ‘platypus’ does not count,” Rhodey says. “You do don’t call me babe. Besides, you like hugging him all the time and I guarantee that you like him. Even if he is an ex-assassin and still thinks completing a thousand piece puzzle gives you the same rush of serotonin as jumping out of a car.”

“He’s fun like that!” Tony protests. “Besides, he doesn’t have a lot of people in his life.”

“That’s a lie,” Rhodey says. “He regrettably met Steve. Again. And he has Sam. Which I think they are friends. Natasha makes him do things.”

“Wow your description of friends are so amazing,” Tony deadpans. “It’s like you have some of your one. You sound like a robot.”

“I’m still right, it’s not like I’m not,” Rhodey says. “You know this. Pepper probably also knows that you like James.”

He consults Pepper. Clearly she will have some sense.

“I demand a raise,” she says. “Because I can detect this shit better than you can.”

“You’re getting a raise but not because of this.”

“Good,” Pepper says. “Now go organize a nice dinner out or something. Get out of here. I’m rearranging your office desk.”

Tony groans. He hates it when she does that.

He supposes they are both right.

So he also supposes that he might have to take James to a coffee shop and tell him.

What Tony doesn’t know is that James is gearing up to tell him that he likes him.

It was brought to his attention by Sam and Natasha.

“You like him,” Sam says.

“We’re friends!”

“Friends don’t write their wedding vows on a napkin,” Natasha remarks. “Go organize a coffee date and tell him. I swear if you don’t tell him I’m going to make you confess at three a.m.”

“If you get me up at three a.m. I’m violating so many rules,” James says. “Like at least four.”

“Do five!” Steve yells from the couch. “And tell Rhodey hi for me!”

“No, he hates you,” James says.

“Exactly!”

He sighs, texting Tony.

hey can u meet me @ clocktower, 7?

sounds gr8 :)

Tony doesn’t know why James wants coffee. But he’s happy and definitely only that, ignore his shaking fingers. It’s the caffeine clearly.

(The caffeine isn’t helping. He knows that.)

“Hi,” James says. “Thank you for coming to the coffee shop. Tonight.”

“You’re awkward,” Tony blurts out. “Why are you speaking in fragmentary sentences?”

“That was at most only one fragmentary sentence.”

“Oh.”

They sit for a moment, James goes to get coffee.

Tony steels himself.

“You remember how I told you that you probably weren’t going to see a lot of me?” Tony asks.

“Are you leaving?” James asks, eyes wide. “I’m going with you. Obviously.”

“No you dumbass, I’m not leaving,” Tony says, taking another sip. “But do you remember?”

“Clearly,” James says with a snort.

“Well I was wrong. And we’re friends. And...well. Fuck it. I love you, and not in a like a friendship way. I really, really have been wondering what it’s like to kiss you. And if you don’t feel the same way then just tell me and we’ll be cool just give me like a month.”

James grins.

“You mean to tell me we can finally actually go on a date at that fancy seafood restaurant you’ve been dying to go to?”

“We could’ve always done that, but yes it will be nice to look at you across,” Tony says.

James takes his hand, smiling.

“Can I take you out on Friday then?”

“I’ll wear my best suit,” Tony says, grinning.

When they’re asked about how they meet, it’s not exactly like you can say “oh I got assigned to find and capture the love of my life and we also managed to wreck a secret organization” for the origin story.

So they usually keep telling people they met while on a business call.

Technically true.

#lovelyirony writes #tony stark #winteriron #i rlly like this prompt :)#i adjusted it a tiny bit #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #pepper potts #rhodey #i think tony's just a Disaster but a Smart Disaster

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suntrastar · 4 years

Text

abstract: chapter 3

chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh. And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

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