#i am crawling into bed under my 500 blankets and weighted blanket

[just-some-random-blogger]

I love your writing and I’d love you to write some battle weary/stressed Gwayne who just needs the comfort only sucking on his lady wife’s tits can bring him

A/N: this is giving mommy issues and I'm here for it. I have been busy with work, thus why I have nawt been able to write. i hope you see this nonnie! and i hope you like it <3 also 😋😋 there are now so many gwayne gifs to choose from YIPPIE YIPPE 👹GWAYNISM👹

Flesh & Teeth

Gwayne grew up with all the comforts he could ever want, and yet there was a comfort that he could not claim, that is, until he was wed to you.

Gwayne Hightower x Reader | >500 | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, smut-ish, tired!gwayne, fluff?, typos, etc.

Tagging: @targs-on-zorses @lancedoncrimsonwings @your-booklover-gal @milesdrift

Gwayne leans his hands on the basin as water on his face drips. The exhaustion on his body refuses to join the liquid that flees his skin.

He forfeits wiping his face for freeing himself of his strangling clothes. One by one, his clothing drops to the ground on his way to his bed, to his wife.

He collapses on his chest, making the mattress bounce and the woman laid there reading a book turn to him. You watch as your husband sighs and crawls towards you. You place your book on the nightstand as the man with auburn locks rests his cheek on your lap.

He grabs your torso, securing his arms around you. He presses his face into your belly, gripping your nightgown for dear life. The wetness of his face is absorbed by your blanket and clothes.

You comb his damp tresses away back and frown, "has the day been cruel to my sweet pup?"

Gwayne does not respond, too soothed by the gentle scrape of your fingernails on his scalp. He buries his face deeper into your belly, but he could go no further, thus eliciting a whimper from you, "Gwayne."

He relents, pulling his face away with a sharp breath in, "I need you."

In truth, he did not have to say it for you to know, and so when he started pulling your blanket down and your dress up, you simply let it happen. He slots himself between your legs and dives under your clothes. Your hands come around him as he nestles his face by your collarbone.

You pull your chin back in an attempt to look at him from under your clothes. He grabs your thigh when you pull your leg away from him, then wraps it around his body.

"Oh, pup," you stroke his head, "has fatigue turned your bones to steel?"

He responds by rubbing his nose on your sternum. Your breath catches when he begins to kiss you. You mumble his name when he licks you.

Gwayne understands perfectly that you mean to stop him, that you mean to chastise him for using up what remained of his dwindling energy for his carnal wants instead of sleeping. Yet in knowing this, he does not relent.

"Gwayne," you hum, "you should-" but your words are cut short by the grazing of his teeth on the side of your breast, which is directly followed by the sucking of your teat.

Your hand flies to his head; you grip his hair through your clothes.

"My love," you try again, to no avail.

The warmth of his mouth only spreads on your flesh. His hand comes to your hip when you writhe and try push him away. He pushes down, pinning you beneath him with his weight. You whimper when he nips your skin once more.

"Hush," he breathes against your skin, "I am not so frail to succumb to fatigue for fucking my wife."

Your expression twists, "you have been awake since the hour of the wolf."

He hums. He lifts his gaze and bats his lashes, "and so reward me for my zeal."

You raise your brows and purse your lips.

"You would deny me of my favorite dessert?"

You do not find it in you to respond when his mouth finds your other breast and your body warms at the ministrations of your husband. You simply tell yourself that if he tried to push things further, you would deny him for his own sake.

You sigh, as if you could.

[joonkorre]

its crazy late but

@drarrymicrofic prompt: blanket fort

(there’s no plot. none. just dudes being guys, guys being pals)

(caution: not very micro, more like a one shot. a whole lot of anecdotes. i’m writing this under a blanket with snow beating at my window, so of course this has to be very soft and warm. you have been warned)

“Hello?” Harry says into the dark. He’s just gotten home and instead of seeing the familiar orange hue of their beetle-shaped lamp (a gift from Luna, of course), there’s a single sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Nothing else seems to exist in the living room but the echo of Harry’s greeting. Tangerine and sage drift into his nose, followed by the bitter tang of smoke. The scent of Draco’s favorite candle, newly extinguished.

Draco just left. Discovered a breakthrough in his research and fled to the Ministry lab, maybe.

Harry sighs. Unlaces his boots and hangs up his coat absentmindedly only for it to crumple onto the floor. Another sigh. He bends and retrieves it, deciding instead to throw it in the laundry bin. Might as well; he’s been trudging around in Dayhound mucus for hours and neither his dragonhide boots nor coat were spared. 

Walking into the kitchen, Harry grabs a glass from the drying rack and pours himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. It’s ridiculous how a simple act like this can drain his energy so, but it does. Curse breaking isn’t a walk in the park; even walking hurts, considering the amount of magic he expends on shite like a 500-year-old wailing locket on a day to day basis. Exposure to different kinds of magic - dark, Old Magick, elemental, countlessly and endlessly more- for 8 hours straight more often than not result in a fierce ringing in his temples and pinpricks on his skin.

After years of doing it, he can scarcely tolerate one Portkey trip from wherever he’s assigned to back to the main headquarter before getting uncontrollable shivers. Another 30 minutes on the metro, then a 10-minute walk home. In addition, Harry has to sleep for at least 8 hours every night to replenish his energy. Morning comes, he wakes up, Apparates to the headquarter, and the cycle continues.

Why does he even stick with curse breaking at this point? Right, a wry grin graces Harry’s lips, Draco thinks the uniform is hot. Oh, and can’t forget the job benefits, insurance, whole nine yards.

With the glass now rinsed and settled once more on the drying rack, Harry drags his feet to the bedroom. The clock - an antique Draco stole from his cheating ex - hits 7:18 PM, but getting ready to go to sleep sure sounds like a decent idea. Harry palms the back of his aching neck and winces. He’d go shower, scrub the dirt and tension off his limbs, and maybe heat up the leftovers from two days-

“There you are. I was wondering how much longer drinking water could take.”

Harry looks up from his slippered feet to see Draco. Or, more specifically, Draco’s silhouette. Behind some kind of white cloth. A white cloth that’s conveniently placed where the focus of the bedroom should’ve been. 

The relief at seeing his husband evaporates.

“What,” Harry says, “where’s our bed.”

Draco’s silhouette crawls to the opening of the cloth… tent-shaped thing. Pewter grey eyes peer at him behind strands of near-platinum blonde, its icy color soothed by the orange tint of… ah, so he’s brought the bug lamp in here. Neat.

“I,” Draco answers. Pauses. “Might have brought it somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Harry shakes his head. An exasperated chuckle escapes his lips.

“Is ‘somewhere else’ the recycling center?”

“Why,” Draco flops down on the floor, appearing tired of holding himself up on his elbows for more than 10 seconds. It’s peculiar to see, the gesture a bit ungraceful for someone like him. Harry is helplessly in love amused. “Do my ears deceive me? Am I being confronted, cornered, accosted for being a good husband? Were the 5 minutes it took to Shrink and Levitate the wretched old thing away from our safe haven worth your condescension, dear lover?”

“I guess I did say I hate-”

“Correct!”

“-the headboard. Nothing but the headboard. Yesterday. While I’m half asleep. Baby.”

“Oh, pish posh, I hate it too! In fact, I’m doing us both a favor disposing of the entire thing altogether.”

“God, however can I thank you? I mean, you did rid us of our bed where we sleep on.”

“You can thank me by taking off those horrid gears faster and come here,” with that, Draco crawls back to where he was sitting before.

“You love these gears,” Harry says, hanging his harnesses and tool belt in the closet and walking into the bathroom for a quick shower, “you love them against your ba-”

“Put a lock on that filthy mouth, Potter, what will the Daily Prophet think?” Draco’s yell almost drowns out the shower spray. Harry laughs, his stomach hurting for the right reason at last.

When he re-enters the bedroom, Draco is leaning out from the tent thing.

“Come, get in, get in,” he beckons with a hasty wave.

Harry points to his wet hair with the hand holding his towel. Draco clicks his tongue and waves his hand more aggressively.

His husband’s level of theatrics is directly proportional to how slow Harry is at doing what he says, so he nods, fondness overflowing, and obeys.

“What’s all this?” He crouches and crawls in, eyeing the collection of pillows and quilts surrounding Draco and what would be Harry’s seat. It seems that he had also lugged in the chairs from their dining room to provide some structural support for the tent.

“A blanket fort, lover,” Draco says, his gaze tender. Harry’s finger tips tingle with every touch of cotton, linen, silk, as he gets situated. It’s been years and years and years and years, and Harry can never get used to, can never take for granted, the weight of his husband’s undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, sitting down with an ‘oof’, “isn’t this for kids?”

“A blanket fort is a blanket fort,” Draco takes the towel from Harry’s arm and puts the throw pillow Ron knitted in his lap. He hits a button on the laptop in front of them, and Harry’s favorite jazz collection plays. He blinks. He thought Draco would play his questionable atmospheric-white-noise-POV-you’re-having-tea-in-a-gothic-vampire-library playlist, the weirdo.

Velvety smooth sax flows through the air. Harry exhales, easy and content, and lets Draco tilt his head. He towels Harry’s hair, massaging unhurried circles on his scalp and varying the degree of pressure. In no time, his head lolls forward, eyes closed, chin a breath away from his well-worn shirt. A slender, pale hand cups his cheek and holds his head up and steady. Meanwhile, the hand’s owner leans out of the blanket fort to get something.

“Ow.” A grunt. Harry smiles; most likely a cramp from all the leaning.

Then, his husband reseats himself, this time with a smell. A mouth-watering, delicious smell, tickling the back of Harry’s nose. He opens his eyes to see Draco lifting off the lid of a ceramic bowl perched on a tray, steam floating out and fogging Harry’s glasses. It’s purple yam soup, topped with chopped up shrimp and ground beef.

“Your usual order from the Viet place nearby whenever Pepper-up isn’t sufficient,” Draco murmurs, placing a spoon in Harry’s hand, his words warm against Harry’s temple. Huh, he didn’t think Draco would notice. “You said today you’d deal with those disgusting booby traps you showed me, thus I reckoned I should put the yams on our counter into good use.”

Harry stares at the soup, stunned. Draco must have taken his expression as something else.

“Oh, right,” he says, “I heated it up on the stove, but you were taking atrociously long so I casted a Heating charm. Let me take it off, okay?”

Draco flicks his hawthorn wand, a hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder as if he could see the prickling running up Harry’s nape.

He turns to look at his husband. When Harry’s career was starting to take its toll on his magical core, Draco didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into Muggle living. Easier said than done, and it took months for him to stop frowning at the “absolutely bizarre, Potter, bizarre” appliances, but he got there in the end. Despite his constant bitching about everything, Draco not once raised a word about the drastic switch, effortlessly guiding Narcissa to gossip about the Albescu clan’s abhorrent matriarch when she asks about how he’s faring.

“Gosh, I,” Harry says. Mumbles, really, into Draco’s collarbone, filling his brain with the woodsy aroma of potion making that no amount of expensive body products can mask, “that’s lovely, baby, thank you.”

“Eat,” Draco says, rubbing his chin on the top of Harry still-damp hair and messaging his tense neck. Harry knows he’s breathing him in too. “Or I’ll have to heat it up in the kitchen again, and forgive me but I’d rather stay here for the next 12 hours, at least.”

“Lazy arse.”

Draco laughs, a momentary rumble of his chest, then moves forward to click something on the laptop. Harry’s on his fifth spoonful of pure comfort when the jazz music stops, and on the blank wall opposite from their blanket fort is the title card of a movie. Strange, Harry didn’t even notice the mini projector. He squints.

“Why is there Korean subtitles?”

“Lover,” Draco tosses a napkin at Harry’s crossed legs, “what is watching movies online without the occasional bout of piracy?”

“Pira- piracy,” Harry chokes, the hot soup stinging his palate, “we have a Netflix subscription.”

“You can’t find shite like this on Netflix.”

“Of course we can. Baby, we don’t know anyone who’s good at computer stuff and can deal with the viruses.”

“There’s no virus here, I checked.”

“How,” Harry stresses, “and again, piracy.”

“Sometimes,” Draco says, lowering the speaker volume, “not doing crimes… is worse.”

“What the fuck,” the main character, a square-faced woman with a python around her neck, has a monologue in a completely different language. “What the fuck? Is that Italian?”

“Yes, but I’m French.”

“And?”

“And they’re both Romance languages. I can understand certain words and translate it for you.”

No, he can’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Keep eating,” Draco settles amid the pillows, long hair settled on his satin-clad chest, white against emerald. Harry sneers at him - an unfortunate habit he’s gotten from Draco - and turns to watch the movie.

True to his words, Draco translates every dialogue and mimics the characters’ voices with zeal, contradicting his stoic expression and somber, interlaced hands, looking like a cranky judge having to deal with reckless teenagers on their anti-authority phase. Harry can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing, and soon enough he’s woven a story about how the thriller-mystery they’re watching is actually a vicious custody battle over a duck. For each of Harry’s occasional snicker at the absurdity Draco has thought up is a playful kick at his ribs.

Minutes pass. With Harry’s bowl now emptied, he puts it on a chair and goes to wash up. 

The moment he sits back down, Draco’s big toe pokes at his spine. Getting the memo, Harry grins and reclines on the pillows. His left side is flushed against Draco’s right, the kinks in his neck eased off from the angle. They, as per usual, gradually get closer to one another, and at some point, Draco lays his head on Harry’s chest and ear on his beating heart. It’s calming to him, Draco had said when Harry asked, on the third night of their honeymoon. With the war long behind them, there was nothing to fear. Only the constellations existed as their witnesses.

“You died, Harry,” he had whispered, full and tipsy. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, despite all the shite I made you go through.

“You were so far away in Hagrid’s arms, I couldn’t see your face,” the night had been blinding, but his eyes had found Draco’s anyway. “It felt like my heart died with you.”

Harry had kissed his forehead and hugged him close. His heart had always been there for Draco to take.

“What’s up with the blanket fort?”

He has a lapful of Draco, a lungful of peach and cedar scented shampoo, and the sleepy timbre of his husband’s voice against his chest. The Italian movie is the last thing on Harry’s mind. 

“I wasn’t aware of its existence growing up,” Draco says. “Having anything other than an immaculate bed when one wasn’t sleeping was uncouth, see, so you could imagine my surprise when Teddy demanded to play in something as messy as a fort so often.”

Harry doesn’t need to imagine it; he had witnessed it himself. Draco, freshly released from a two-year sentence in Azkaban, mellowed and tentative, yet determined to reconnect with his mother’s sister and his nephew. Harry had been wary too, standing in the corner of Teddy’s bedroom, staring at the fuzz of blonde on Draco’s shorn head and his weak gait. Teddy, the darling boy with his clumsy hold on Draco’s thigh, afraid that the haggard man would trip without help, had led him to his play area.

“Fort, fort,” the boy had screamed in Draco’s ear, but he hadn’t flinched. He had nodded and gone along with Teddy’s babbled directions, then sat back on his heels and fixed a wide-eyed stare at the monstrosity Teddy had called a fort (his designing skills were, unsurprisingly, underdeveloped at the mere age of two). 

Swiveling his head, he had gawked at Harry, who had still been standing in the corner with his arms crossed, confusion and hysteria in the arch of his aristocratic brows.

It had been the first time he had looked at Harry in the eye for years. In seconds, it was 6th Year all over again, with him watching Draco pushing his food around with a fork from across the room, unable to look away. Obsession, a voice unlike Hermione’s helpfully defined, had slithered up and under his skin. It had remained there for years, stubborn and ardent, an emotion he had tried to leave behind time and time again. He’d never succeeded.

It’s Draco, after all.

“He never let anyone but him enter the fort, remember? Back when he’s still making us build it for him?” Draco’s fingers tap a random rhythm on Harry’s stomach. Harry tightens his arm around him, shifts a bit. “So many forts and I still didn’t know what it’s like to be in one.”

Somebody downs a shot in the movie. Harry doesn’t quite register it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper one either until now. Didn’t have enough space in the cupboard. Plus, the hanging around the beds at Hogwarts felt pretty cozy by themselves.”

Draco hums. “Mhmm, I say. Another ‘first’ for us.”

Harry glances at the crown of his head. The man doesn’t sound surprised; Harry wagers that he already knows and decided to make one for the both of them today.

They continue to watch the movie in silence, whites and blues and purples flooding his sight, until Draco yawns and Harry blinks his eyes shut for far too long.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Where, then? We have no bed.”

“I still maintain that I made the right choice”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so rash for an academic.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, sleeping in a blanket fort every blue moon does wonders for one’s quality of sleep,” Draco gets up on his elbow to smirk at Harry, “we can look at other beds tomorrow, can’t we? Now hush. Rest.”

“Ha,” Harry says, at least 5 more words to follow up on that just on the tip of his tongue. But then Draco runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, taking his time with it, the remaining hints of Harry’s migraine from work fading with every curl of hair carefully unknotted. He mumbles this and that, silly, insignificant things, engrossed in his task, and Harry listens carefully as his eyelids lower.

Draco takes off his gold-rimmed glasses (so sweet and soft Harry can barely feel it), cleans them and puts them on a chair. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry watches him cover them both with a quilt and return to Harry’s chest, curling up like a cat. Draco’s arm is around his midriff, peach and cedar pervading his senses anew, and Harry forgets whatever he was going to say.

Cold ankles pressed against bare calves, Harry is already deep asleep when the credits roll.

[fangirlinsweden]

Nexus - Part 7

Part 7:  Eye opener and honesty  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Secrets, talk about death and loss (think that is all)

Word Count:  About 7 500 words. THIS PART IS LONG!

Summary:  Y/N is a pain in the ass according to Steve. She is brought on to missions sometimes by Fury when they need help, but she is wild and does not listen to orders. She does what she wants. Now Fury has given her a place in the Avengers. And Steve is not liking it. Having to deal with her every day. He hates her. Or does he? And what is Y/N relationship with Bucky? They seem to get closer and closer.

A/N: This takes place after Avengers: Endgame, but Steve never left. Tony and Nat are still alive.

This is written for Gab’s @buckysmischief Birthday Challenge. My prompt is: “Did you bring us here to die?” “Obviously.” “I really can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

English is not my native language and I am doing the best I can when it comes to writing.

Wanda meets a crying Y/N running in the corridor and she knows the reason. Steve. He has to be behind this. Who else would make Y/N cry? Wanda tries to decide if she should go after Y/N or go and kick Steve’s ass, but the decision was easy. Steve. Y/N probably needed some time to calm down. Wanda storms into the kitchen ready to give Steve a piece of her mind, but when the sight before her stops her in her tracks. Steve is sitting on the floor looking down on the jewellery box that he clearly has been trying to give Y/N. “You don’t have to say a word,” Steve get’s out with a hoarse voice. “I messed it all up again.” Wanda sighed and sat down next to Steve on the floor. Maybe yelling at him was the wrong thing to do. “You have gone about your apology the wrong way from the beginning,” Wanda explained. Steve tilted his head and looked at her. “I did what google suggested,” Steve tried to defend himself. Wanda groaned.  “Google is not always right,” Wanda mused. “But everyone always told me that I should google things,” Steve’s brows were pulled together.  “Steve,” Wanda sighs and shakes her head. “Google can be a good tool to find things like historical events, books, movies and music. But when it comes to righting wrongs and more personal issues Google is not the place to get advice.” “Oh,” Steve looks down on his hands. “So the flowers and jewellery?”  “It can seem as if you were trying to buy forgiveness and also your apology did not seem honest,” Wanda explained. “Some men use flowers and jewelry to appease their women when the men have done something wrong, like forgetting an important date.” “Fuck,” Steve whispers out. Wanda decides not to call him out on the swear word.  “If you really want to apologize to Y/N and make things right with her and Bucky you need to do so in an honest and real way.” Wanda put a hand on Steve’s. “You can’t buy Y/N forgiveness.” “I am lost, Wanda,” Steve whispered. “What should I do?” Wanda contemplated. On one hand, she wanted to yell at Steve, but that was all everyone had done. Yeah, he was a big idiot, but nobody thought about how out of time Steve still was. Or the fact that he was lousy with women. He had made a snap judgment against Y/N twice and hopefully he had learnt his lesson. So on the other hand she wanted to help him make things right with both Y/N and Bucky. Make him understand the right way to do things. “This is not something you can fix overnight, Steve,”  Wanda stood up. “You need to give both Bucky and Y/N time as well as show them how sorry you really are.” Steve nodes and Wanda decide she has told him enough. Now it was up to him to fix it. So she leaves him to his thoughts.

Ten minutes later Steve is no longer sitting on the floor in the kitchen, but at the counter. He hears heavy steps coming towards him and he does not have to guess how it is. Steve sighs and stands up. As he turns a fist is trusted into his face and Steve stumbles back a step against the counter.  “You had to make it worse,” Bucky growls. “You just could not leave her alone.” Bucky grips on tightly to Steve's t-shirt, almost lifting Steve up. Steve just looks at his friend. Bucky kind of shakes him. “I am not going to fight you,” Steve sighs and Bucky stops and looks at him. Really look at Steve for the first time in awhile.  “Fuck,” Bucky swears under his breath. He realizes Steve and Steve leans against the counter. His face is throbbing, but he ignores it.  “You look like shit,” Bucky says and looks Steve up and down. “I feel like it,” Steve agrees and looks down on his feet. “You are still a punk,” Bucky grumbles.  “And you are still a jerk,” Steve answers and smiles at his friend. Steve felt like some weight on his shoulders had lifted. He knew that Bucky and he would be alright. It would take some time, but he knew they were on the right track. “You are not forgiven yet,” Bucky grumbles again trying to keep back a smile.  “I know,” Steve tried not to smile bigger, he knew that Bucky was starting to come around. “You really need to make things right with Y/N,” Bucky continued. Steve nodded. “But not the same way you have done.” Steve nodded again. “Maybe you should try with writing her a letter.” Bucky lifted a shoulder.  “Thank you Bucky,” Steve let out a laugh and left the room. Bucky had just given Steve what could be the solution. Steve was going to write Y/N a letter. 

One of the days you dreaded was here. It was the anniversary of your mother's death, a day you always wanted to be alone. A day you spent crying and remembering your mother. You woke up really early with a jerk. A look at the clock made you realise that nobody else would be up, which made this the perfect time to go to the kitchen and get some breakfast and maybe even something more to eat for later in the day, so you would not have to talk with anyone. When you get back to your room you almost trip over a big box outside your door.  You open your door and put your breakfast and lunch in your room before you walk back to the door. There was no address or anything on the box, so you pick it up and put it on your counter. After breakfast you pull a knife out of one of your dresser drawers and open the box. Inside there are a soft dark red blanket, a lot of expensive chocolates, four books you had told Bucky about that you wanted to read, two movies you had talked about wanting to see, a big box with mixed teas, a bottle of red wine, a bottle of tequila, two bags of different dried fruit, a thick candle in a glass jar, a facemask and pair of fluffy blood red socks. On top of it, all was a note.

I know this day is hard for you. I hope these things can help you get through the day. ♡ 

Seeing as if it was the anniversary of your mother's death you figured it was from Bucky trying to cheer you up since you had told him that the anniversaries always was a hard day for you. That he thought about you made you smile. You wanted to thank Bucky right now but the books called your name and you figured the best thing for you to do right now was to make some tea, crawl under the blanket and read a book. Dealing with people on this day was not something you wanted to do, so you hoped that there would be no missions today. That you could be here in your room dealing with this day alone. It had been years since your mother died, but it was still a hard day. It was the same for the dates your father, grandmother and grandfather had died. You missed them a lot and had always made sure that you spent those days alone nowadays. Before your grandmother died you had spent them with her. Remembering, laughing and crying. Now those days where yours alone to do that and it feels worse. You fixed your tea, took the first book from the book pile and then pulled the blanket over yourself and began to read.  

The next day in the afternoon there was a knock on your door. When you opened it, Wanda, Pepper and Nat stood before you dressed up to the nines, hair and make-up done.   “You need a girls night out,” Nat said and pushed past you. Wanda and Pepper followed. You looked at your open door back to the woman now in your room.  “I do?” You closed your door. Nat and Pepper opened your wardrobe and Wanda stood looking at your make-up. “Yes, you do,” Pepper insisted and Wanda nodded. You sighed and looked over at the books by your bedside table that you got the day before. You had read one of them and wanted to continue reading. Of course you could turn the girls down, but going out sounded like fun and you had not had a girls night in over a years time. “I am in,” You say and the girls laugh. “I think it’s fun that you think you had a choice,” Nat sass at you and points at your bathroom.  “Nat, means go take a shower and we will get everything ready for you out here,” Pepper smiles at you. Shrugging you do as you are told. 

When you got out of the shower one of your favorite dresses lay on your bed. A pair of high heels stood on the floor in front of the bed and the girls stood by your mirror discussing what kind of make-up you should have on. It made you smile and you were thankful that these girls had your back and that you could see them as family. “There you are,” Wanda almost squealed. “We have decided that you should wear that amazing black dress, those shoes and for make-up this darker red lipstick and smokey eyes.” You looked at the lipstick Wanda held up. It was something you had bought but never used, so why not. You quickly got dressed and then you let Nat do your makeup while Wanda and Pepper fussed with your hair. It felt nice to be taken care of.  “I heard that Steve is still being a clueless jerk,” Pepper said after a while. You saw the look Nat gave her but shrugged.  “You could think that he never talked to a woman before,” You tried to laugh. Wanda placed a hand on your shoulder. It told you that she knew about your feelings for Steve, conflicting feelings but still feelings of love and sometimes hate. You sighed. “I feel like I should forgive him and move on,” You admitted and Nat smiled at you.  “Give him one more chance to apologize and then you can decide,” Nat keeps her face neutral. It felt like she was hiding something. “Do you really think he can do that right?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “You never know,” Nat said again and smiled. Wanda clapped her hands together. “Let’s forget Steve and have our girls night out,” She cheered.  “Happy is waiting on us outside,” Pepper looked down at her phone. You decided to try and forget Steve tonight. Whatever happened, would happen. You had already decided to give it some more time and then try and keep it together around Steve for Bucky's sake. He needed his family and Steve was family. 

Steve woke up by his phone ringing beside him in the middle of the night. He sat up and saw Wanda's name on the screen and answered. “Hey,” Steve said and before he got another word out Wanda started to talk. “Thank good, Steve,” Wanda breathed out in relief. “I've been trying to get ahold of Tony, but he is not answering. Bucky does not answer either. Can you please come and pick us up?” Steve heard something in the background of Wanda's call and her swearing.  “Hold on a minute,” Wanda sighed. “Y/N get down from there. Nat, don’t encourage her. Y/N, I mean it, don’t make me come up there. Pepper stop taking pictures.” Steve fought to keep a laugh in.  “Where are you?” Steve was pulling on pants and looking for a shirt. Wanda told him where and Steve was out the door. He stopped by Bucky’s door when he heard the music, because it meant that Bucky was awake. He knocked on the door and Bucky opened fully dressed.  “We need to go, now,” Steve urged his friend who had still not had a chance to say a word. But the look on Steve’s face told Bucky that it was urgent. Bucky closed his door behind him. “Mission?” Bucky wondered as he followed his friend to the elevator.  “No,” Steve answered and pressed the button. “Girls night out.” Bucky groaned. 

They went to the garage and took the minibus that Tony had bought “for Morgan’s future playdates, football games and whatnot”. Seeing as they were picking up four drunk women they needed a bigger car.  “Who called you?” Bucky looked down on his phone and saw ten missed calls, thirteen messages and two voicemails. He had turned his sound off. “Wanda,” Steve answered, keeping his eyes on the road. “She had tried reaching Tony as well as you, but nobody answered.” Bucky pressed to listen to the voicemails. The first was a drunk Y/N. “Hey, Buckaroo, you should have gone out with us.” In the background they could hear Nat and Pepper yell “It’s girls night out.” “He can be an honorary girl,” Y/N whined. “He is pretty enough.” That made the girls laugh in the background. Steve chuckled. Y/N then continued with something completely different. “Buckaroo, there was a man here who wanted to take me out on a date.” This made Steve grip the steering wheel harder. “But Nat scared him away. Apparently, he was a fuckboy.” Steve took a couple of deep breaths. “See you tomorrow.” Y/N happy voices screamed out and then the voicemail ended.  “Well, then,” Bucky cleared his throat. Steve kept quiet thinking about the man that had hit on Y/N. He was thankful that Nat had scared him away, but he knew that one day Y/N would meet somebody. This made his chest feel tight. He tried to get those thoughts out of his head and concentrate on getting to the girls. Bucky did not listen to any more voicemails. Probably because he saw Steve’s reaction to what Y/N had said but Steve decided to ignore that as well. This was not the time och place to talk to Bucky about his feelings for Y/N.

When they pulled up outside the club they saw Wanda trying to keep control over the other girls. Y/N stood on a bus bench by the road dancing and singing, Nat was encouraging her, but at the same time looking mean on any man who dared to stop and look at Y/N. Pepper was on her phone filming it all. “Trouble never looked god damn fine,” Steve muttered out when he looked at Y/N dancing around in a tight black dress. Bucky heard him and only smirked at his friend. The exited the car and when Wanda saw Bucky and Steve she looked relieved. “Thank god, you are here!” Wanda almost yelled. “Our ride back to the compound is here, ladies.”  “Hey, good looking!” Nat winked at Bucky who blushed and looked down on his feet.   “Boy, you know I want your love” Y/N continued to sing and dance on the bench. Ignoring them all. Pepper smirked and continued to film the whole thing. “Your love was handmade for somebody like me. Come on now, follow my lead. I may be crazy, don't mind me. Say, girl, let's not talk too much. Grab on my waist and put that body on me. Come on now, follow my lead. Come, come on now, follow my lead.” Bucky looked at Steve and shook his head. Nat walked over to Bucky or tried at least. She stumbled on the last step and Bucky got a hold of her before she hit the ground.  “Take me home,” She said to him and Bucky looked down on Nat who took that moment to threw her hands around his neck.  “Wanda, can you take care of Pepper?” Steve asked and she nodded. “I will take care of Y/N.” “Good luck getting her down from that bench,” Wanda looks over at Y/N, who was still dancing and singing. “We got kicked out of the club, because she went up on stage dancing and singing.” Steve chuckled and walked over to the bench, Y/N looked down on him and continued to sing. “I'm in love with the shape of you. We push and pull like a magnet do,” Y/n winked at him. Steve laughed and held up his hand for her. She shook her head and continued to sing. “Although my heart is falling too. I'm in love with your body.” Steve sighed and took a hold of Y/N waist and lifted her down from the bench. Y/N laugh and changed the song she was singing.  “She took Jamie as a chaser, Jack for the fun. She got Arthur on the table with Johnny riding as shotgun.” Y/N winked at Steve who carried her to the car. Bucky had gotten Nat into the car and Wanda had gotten Pepper in the car. Bucky hopped into the driver's seat and Wanda sat in the front with her. That left the middle seats in the car for Steve and Y/N. He lifted her into a seat. “Chatted some more, one more drink at the bar. Then put Van on the jukebox, got up to dance.” Y/N sang out loud and Wanda groaned. Nat and Pepper laughed and together with Y/N they sang out the chorus. “You know, she played her fiddle in an Irish band. But she fell in love with an English man.” Steve strapped Y/N in with the seatbelt and smiled at her.  “Kissed her on the neck and then I took her by the hand. Said, ‘Baby, I just wanna dance’. With my pretty little Galway girl. You're my pretty little Galway girl.” Steve walked around the car and sat down on the other side.  “Sing ‘One’ next,” Pepper yelled and Nat nodded. That was all the encouragement  Y/N needed.  “Tell me that you'll turned down the man.” Y/N starts to sing and she looks at Steve. He can’t keep his eyes off her. “Woman,” Pepper and Nat yell in the back.  “Who asks for your hand 'Cause you're waiting for me.” Y/n continues to sing and she takes Steve’s hand in hers. Bucky mutters something in the front seat, but Steve ignores it. His focus is on Y/N and only her. Her hand in his, her voice and the happy smile on her face. “And I know, you're gonna be away a while But I've got no plans at all to leave And would you take away my hopes and dreams? And just stay with me, ooh.” Steve sing quietly with Y/N as she sings. He knew that Bucky heard, but at the moment he did not care. Neither did he notice that Pepper was filming it all from the backseat. 

Halfway back to the compound the car got quiet. Y/N had stopped singing Ed Sheeran, but was still holding Steve's hand. Pepper and Nat had fallen asleep in the backseat and Wanda in the front seat. Y/N looked out the window, still awake, but her blinking got slower and slower. He figured she would fall asleep soon. Steve saw Bucky glance in the rear-view mirror at times, but he was quiet even though he had a big smirk on his face. Steve was mostly looking at Y/N and enjoying being this close to her. Not that he knew if she would remember it in the morning.  When Bucky parked in the garage at the compound Steve felt sad. He had wanted the car ride to go one forever, but Wanda jumped out of the car. She seemed happy to be home.  Steve got out of the car and turned to Wanda. “I can get Pepper to her apartment,” Wanda yawned and turned to Bucky. “Can you take care of Nat? I think you are the only one that can handle her right now.” Bucky looked over at Y/N still sitting in the care awake and back to where Nat was sleeping in the back of the car.  “Yeah, I can take care of Nat,” Bucky agreed. That left Steve with Y/N. Not that he minded, he just hoped she was okay that he helped her to her room. Steve went over to the side of the car that Y/N sat on. He opened the door and Y/N looked up at him.  “Come on, sweetheart,” Steve held out his hand. “Time to go to your room.” “Iz agm ktoo tired pto walk,” Y/N mumbled and closed her eyes. Steve looked over at Wanda  who had an amused smile on her face. “Either you walk yourself or I can carry you,” Steve tried and Y/N response was to lift her arms in the air. Steve frowned at her. “She wants you to carry her,” Bucky muttered from behind Steve.  “Yeaph, please carvry me,” Y/N mumbled with a small smile on her face, still keeping her eyes closed. Steve took a deep breath and undid her seatbelt. Then he lifted her up. Apparently a tired drunk Y/n talked slurry, but before when she was still dancing and drunk she could sing full songs without slurring. Steve thought that was kind of cute. At least it was no problem understanding what she was saying. “Oh, look,” Pepper pushes Nat and wakes her up. “Steve is carrying Y/N like a bride,” Pepper sighs from the back seat. Steve blushes and looks down at Y/N, who does not seem to have a care in the world.  “Just take her up to her room,” Bucky grumbles and Steve walks away from them.  Halfway to Y/N room she opened her eyes and looked up at Steve. “You dons have to pmretend asny moer,” She whispered out with a shaky voice. “I casn madke my owgn way gto ym room.” “What are you talking about?” Steve stopped and looked down on her. “Iz won’t not going ot terll Bucks,” Y/N yawned and looked around. “I kow yuo haze mee.” “Y/N, I do not hate you,” Steve sighed and started to walk again. “I never have and I am sorry for all the things I have said and done.” “Mmh,” Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder again.  “We will talk more about this when you are sober,” Steve smiled at her. “Even if it means you will yell at me.” “Thas finneee,” Y/N mumbled and her eyes dropped close. “Thak yuo foor tazing caare oof mee.” She added after a moment of silence. “I will always be here for you,” Steve whispered knowing she probably would not remember it the next day. They were outside her door and Steve opened. It felt wrong to be there again, but he needed to get Y/N to bed. “Ydou know you are very stroong,” Y/N mumbled against his chest. “an you rsmell gooddd.” Steve smiled at that. “Iz tjust wissh you werte less fo aa ejrk.” Steve sighed and walked over to her bed. He gently set her down on the bed and crouched down in front of her taking off her high heels. Y/n sighed and looked down at him.  “I wizh yomu liketd me,” She smiled sadly and started to pull on her sipper in the back of the dress. Steve’s eyes went wide.  “What are you doing?” He asked looking unsure. Ignoring the fact that she thought that he did not like her. That was something to talk about when she was sober and would remember. “I cs’ant sleep inz this thiqgh drezs,” she mumbled and continue to try and get the sipper down. “Yvou need to help pme,” she said after a while looking at him with big eyes. Steve swallowed and looked around.  “Do you have any pyjamas to change into?” He asked and silently wishing that Bucky would not come in as Steve was going to help her undress. “Iqn thhe tiop drzawer,” Y/N pointed in the general direction of her two dressers. Steve opened the first and hoped it would be pyjamas. But it was lace bras. He blushed and closed the drawer quickly, then he opened the other top drawer. There were old t-shirts. When he lifted the first one he saw that it was one of his old t-shirts he thought he had lost. Why did Y/N have it?  “Will this work?” He went over to Y/n and showed her. “Thas perfelct,” Y/n smiled and tried to stand up. Steve pleased the t-shirt on his shoulder and helped her up. He steadied her with one hand, or more like an arm as she was clinging to it as a koala and turned her around slightly. He then pulled down the sipper slowly. Not to be creepy he tried not to look at her body, but at her hair. Y/N got her arms out of the dress, but Steve did not let her pull it the whole way down. He put the t-shirt over her head and over her body, but did not let her put in her arms just yet. The bra came off next with a quick opening of the claps in the back. Steve heard it hit the floor and closed his eyes. Y/N was almost naked in front of him. It felt like a dream as well as a nightmare. Y/N put the arms in the t-shirt and shimmied out of the dress. Steve helped her sit down on the bed and picked up her dress and bra and placed them on a chair. He then went over to the bed again. Y/N was just sitting there looking at him.  “zi dfon’t want to szleep,” She whined and yawned again. “You have to,” Steve helped her lay down in her bed so she got her body under the duvet. “iz gwant breakfaste,” She whined again and put a pouted with her mouth.  “Y/N, if you go to bed now I will make you breakfast in the morning,” Steve whispers out. “Veen waffles?” She asked and lifted her head to look at him.  “Yes, even waffles,” Steve promised and she sighs. “waffles maze mre hrappy,” She smiled and lay down her head on the pillow.  “You deserve to be happy,” Steve whispered and kissed her cheek. “Yooo tou,” She said and closed her eyes. Steve looked down on her and pulled the duvet up so it covered her. She had already fallen asleep. He could stay there the whole night looking at her, but figured that it would be creepy.  “Good Night, Sweetheart,” Steve whispered and kissed her forehead, before walking out of her room. When he had closed the door to her room he turned around and Bucky was leaning on the opposite wall.  “You got it bad,” Bucky smirked and Steve swallowed hard. “Yeah,” Steve admitted and looked back on Y/N’s door. “I do.” “Fuck,” Bucky said and stood up straight. “I did not think you would admit it.” “There is no point in denying it,” Steve said and left his friend looking after him. Steve knew what he had to do and he needed to do it soon if he was going to have a chance with Y/N.

You are laying in bed wondering if you are dying. Apparently going out drinking with the girls had been both a good idea and a bad one at the same time. You did not even remember how you got home after getting too drunk the night before. But you were alone in your bed and not naked so that counted for something. You even had on your favourite sleeping t-shirt, an old t-shirt after Steve that you took from the laundry a couple of months ago when you moved into the compound. At least you had not taken a stranger home to try and deal with your conflicted feelings over Steve. You had seen how Bucky was with Steve the day before and knew that they were on their way to go back to normal. And you wanted that for Bucky, but at the same time you wondered what would happen between Steve and you.  That was when you heard it. The light knocking on your door. You figured it would be one of the girls checking up on you so you slowly sat up trying not to puke. When the room had stopped spinning you walked slowly over to the door and opened it. On the floor was a tray with coffee, orange juice, a bowl of berries, aspirin and waffles. Waffles were the thing you always ate after a night out drinking or when you needed a pick-me-up. It was happy food. You almost cried out of the sheer happiness, because it meant you could stay in your room and eat breakfast. After taking the tray to your bed you saw that there was a not on the tray as well.

After the night you had, I figured you could need something to make you survive the morning. ♡

You figured it must be either Nat, Wanda or Bucky who had made you the tray. Knowing Pepper she would already be in the office working hard and you could not see Tony making breakfast for you. Either way, you were happy that someone took care of you. You put the note on your bedside table to put somewhere safe later. After taking two aspirins and drinking some coffee you could feel the headache disappearing. During your breakfast, you smiled over at the notes a couple of times. You had to find out who gave you this breakfast so you could thank them. 

It was not until hours later when you were watching Gilmore Girls on your laptop that you remember that your box the day before had a note in it as well. You took the note on your bedside table and walked over to your dresser and pulled out the note you got with the box and saw that it was the same handwriting. It made you smile. It must be Bucky. You decided to find him later in the day after you binged Gilmore Girls for a few hours. Today you needed a day of rest and recuperation after your wild night out. 

A couple of hours later you meet Bucky in the hallway. He seems distracted. “Hey Bucky,” you greet him and smile. “Hey,” Bucky replies and is about to pass you. “I  just wanted to thank you for my breakfast this morning as well as the gift box two days ago.” You smile at Bucky who stops, but his raised eyebrows told you that he was not the person behind this. “What?” Bucky said and you tilted your head. If it was not Bucky, then who? “What are you talking about?”  “Two days ago there was a box outside my door with a lot of things like tea, books and chocolates as well as a note. And then this morning there was a tray outside my door with my preferable hangover food,” you explain. Bucky looks over your shoulder and smiles. Then he shrugs. “It was not me,” he smiles down at you. You sigh. “No, I got that from your face when I thanked you,” you say and cross your arms. “I wonder who it can be?” Bucky chuckles. “Maybe you should just let it be and enjoy the gifts,” Bucky shrugged again and walked away. You looked after him. Was he right? Should you just let it go? Since it was not Bucky maybe it was Wanda, Nat or Pepper. You did not feel like confronting them all, but maybe you could caught someone in the act of leaving things by your door if it happened again. But maybe it was a two time thing? It had been two days that you really needed what you had gotten. You decided to leave it be for now, but if you ever got the chance to look at your friends handwriting and compare with your notes, you would do that. 

The next morning there is a soft knock on your door again. Thinking that this time you would find out who it is that left you the box and the breakfast you run to the door, but when you open there is nobody there. But on the floor, there is a white envelope. You pick it up and walk over to your bed. When you open the letter and read the first sentence you know that the letter is from Steve and everything else disappears from your mind. You frown down on the letter and wonder if you should read it or toss it away. But something inside you makes you read it. 

Dear Y/N, 

I have started this letter for what feels like a thousand times, but seeing the paper crumpled in my waste basket I would say it is closer to a hundred. I am having a hard time what to say to you, how to apologize and how to make things right between us. I have screwed this up in the past by trusting google, but the last time I tried to apologize to you gave me the eyeopener I needed. As well as some strong words from a few of our friends. 

There are no words to tell you how sorry I am. That I hurt you, that I invaded your privacy and that I treated you so badly. I wish I could take it all back. Turn back the clock and make sure I did not do this to you again, but that is not possible. I asked Dr. Strange and he gave me a stern no. 

This made you pause. Steve wanted to go back in time and fix things. He wanted to make things right from the beginning. It made a small smile appear on your face, but you tried to ignore it and got back to reading.

That leaves me with the only option of writing you a letter. It was actually Bucky’s suggestion a few days ago. But I think he might have been joking. Since I don’t want to trap you in a conversation with me I figured that this was the best idea. I understand if you don’t want to read this letter. In fact, you might just throw it away, but I needed to try. I need to be honest with you. With all of it. 

To start when I met you in that grocery store so many years ago. You took my breath away with your smile. I felt like I had been struck by lightning and it was not until hours later that I figured out that you left in a hurry because of Sharon. And getting to know you by talking to you around Brooklyn was the highlight of me coming out of the ice and trying to navigate all the differences from what I was used to. You never treated me like anything other than Steve and I loved it. I was falling in love with you and when I saw you with Fury I started to wonder if you also been placed in my life to keep me safe. Sharon let it slip that she was not the only one in my life that was watching me. I figured you had to be the other person. I got so angry and while I forgave Sharon I had a problem doing the same to you, because I was falling for you and it all felt like a big lie. I started to ignore you and I treated you worse than anybody should ever be treated. When our paths crossed I took every chance to work against you and make your life hell.  For that, I will always be sorry, more than you would ever know. But at every turn, you surprised me, not only by showing what an incredible woman you are but also by not letting me bring you down. By not dropping to my level. You always treated me good and never did anything bad to me. Every time you smiled at me or sassed at me I continued to fall for you. I could not help it.

This made you stop. He had been falling for you, as well, when you had met in Brooklyn. You had thought it was only you. And you had thought that he and Sharon had something going on since she had been all over him all the time. Even if it felt kind of icky that Steve would date Peggy’s niece. You tried to stop your racing heart by taking a couple of deep breaths. Then you continued to read on, curious of what Steve would have written next.

Then when you became a part of the Avengers and seeing you every damn day. It was torture. I did not want to admit to myself that I was in love with you. I acted like a child and did not treat you with the respect you deserved. Then when I saw Bucky and you getting close I got jealous. It was a new feeling for me. I am used to Bucky getting all the girls before, but when I saw him with you I lost it. I told myself that there had to be a reason you would get close to Bucky. There had to be a reason you were always there when I turned around. And the secrecy with your box I just told myself that you must be Hydra, even when I did not believe it myself. I could not wrap my head around any other possibility. 

After I saw Bucky spin you around laughing and being happy in the library. That was what wrecked me. All the emotions going on inside me and I had no idea what to do about it. Then when I saw your door slightly open and the wooden box just standing there. I don’t really know what happened, but somehow I ended up in your room. When I saw the pictures my mind was trying to understand and all I could think was that you really were Hydra. Any other possibility flew out the window, but when I confronted you… I am going to be honest. I wanted to kiss you instead of accusing you. I wanted to take you into my arms. I wanted to hear what you were saying. But since I thought you were Buckys and just could not stop the words from coming out of me. I accused you of lying, of being Hydra. I saw what my words did to you but I could not take them back. After I left your room, I could not tell Bucky. I went to my room and looked at the photos I had taken. Deep inside me, I knew you were not Hydra, but I still went to Bucky. I have to tell you. Everyone believed in you and everyone was mad at me. I think Tony even thought about if there was a possibility to keep me out of the team. 

This made you stop. His explanation was honest and felt raw. He was bearing himself for you in a way no man had ever done. You wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. And the Avengers without Steve? What would that even look like? 

When I understood the magnitude of my behaviour I tried to get help, but all I got from Tony was to make my apology as loud as my disrespect. I googled and it stood that flowers were a good apology. And you were right. It was not an apology. All I could think was that maybe I bought the wrong kind of flowers. Stupid, right?

That part made you laugh. You liked flowers, even if sunflowers weren't your favourite flower you would have accepted them if they were given to you for the right reason. 

I used google as my tool to find a way to apologize. Wanda later told me how wrong that was and that I needed to be honest to you. And honest is what I am going to be. Here goes nothing.

I am in love with you. I love the way you never back down. I love how you always have everyone's back. I love your laugh, it lights up my day. I love the little cute pout you get on your moth when you are reading and a character in your book are being stupid. I love how you sing Ed Sheeran songs when you are drunk.

Wait what? How did Steve know that? You had only been drunk once since you moved here. Then it’s like a truck hits you straight on. A flashback of Steve lifting you down from a bench while you were singing ‘Shape of you’ and laughing at you singing. Then another flashback of Steve helping you to bed whispering soft words and the promise of breakfast in the morning. Was Steve the one that made you the tray of breakfast? You walked over to where you put the two notes you had gotten, first with the box you got on your mother's death anniversary and then the one you got with the breakfast tray. You took them over to where you left the letter on your bed. It was Steve’s handwriting. He had done that for you. The feeling that was blooming in your chest was warm and kind of bubbling. You pick up the letter again and continue to read.

I love how you take care of Bucky, even if he does not notice that you do it. How you tell him about Becca and her life. The pictures you show him and how you make him a part of her life. I love how you smile always makes me weak in the knees and the way you say my name, even when you are angry. I love the way you kind of walk into the kitchen in the morning as a zombie until you had your coffee. I love that you dance around the kitchen and sing when you think you are alone. I could continue to list a million little things that make me love you, but I don’t think I have enough paper. 

I know that this letter will not be enough for you to forgive me, but I hope it’s a start. Just know I am very sorry for everything and that I would do whatever I can to make you forgive me. And if there is never a chance of you ever reciprocating my feelings I still hope there is a chance that we can be friends. 

Forever yours,

Steve ♡

You sat there in your bed wondering what to do still holding the letter. You reread it once. Then one more time. After the fifth time of rereading it, you still did not know what to do. So you left the letter on your bed and went to get ready for your day. Taking a shower and then halfway through getting dressed you walked over to the letter and read a section again. Then you continued to get dressed. All you could think was that you needed to talk to Steve. Even if you had no idea what to say to him.

You pick up the letter again and that is when you see it. A piece of paper still left in the envelope. You pull it out and open it. It was a sketch of you sitting in one of the windows in the library. Even the book cover is sketched so you can see that you are reading ‘Pride and Prejudice’. A book that you found in the library over a month ago and read in one sitting. One of your favorite books. That meant that this sketch was done a month ago. You did not even need to look in the right corner to see Steve’s name, because you knew he did this. Before he accused you of being Hydra, before everything had gone to hell. It only made you realise that the words he wrote in the letters were true. You were about to put the picture on your bedside table when you saw something written on the backside. 

One word from you shall silence me forever. ♡

A sentence that Mr. Darcy had told Lizzy before he professed his love for her again in the end of ‘Pride and Prejudice’. It made your heart beat faster. You needed to talk to Steve. You took the letter and the sketch with you and left your room to find Steve. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Everything Taglist:

@buckysmischief​

@allaboutthebooz​

Nexus Series taglist:

@dee-vn​​

@soleil-dor​​

@readermia​​

@centerhabit

@mylifeiscrazy0423​​

@buckys-other-punk​​

@owhatshername-blog​​

@shower-me-with-roses

@taketimeandappreciate

[muertawrites]

Okay so I know I literally just messaged you but hello again! I was rereading one of the parts in two halves where the main character is talking about braiding their hair before bed and I literally cannot get the idea of braiding Zukos hair for him before bed out of my head. Idk if you wanna do it or how but if you’re inspired by it I think it’s such a cute concept. Thank you :)

Braid (Zuko x Reader)

Word Count: 500 

Author’s Note: Ngl I’m obsessed with the idea of long hair Zuko. One of the hottest things in the world to me are the men of East Asian period dramas, where they’re decked out in the gorgeous robes and have hair down to their waists. It is *chef’s kiss* tasty. This also really reminded me of those edits from a while ago of Loki with his hair in Viking braids?? Equally as irresistible. Bitch loves a man with long hair. This request was super fucking cute, so if you have any more ideas like this don’t hesitate to send them my way!! ♥♥♥ 

~ Muerta

Zuko enters your shared bedroom with a weary sigh, flopping backwards onto your mattress. You peer at him over the book you’re reading, reclined on your side of the bed, and smirk as you watch him attempt puff away a few locks of his hair that have fallen over his face, the action only serving to get them stuck to his lips and the inside of his mouth. He groans when he hears you giggle under your breath.

“I wish I could just cut my damn hair,” he huffs, sitting up to face you. “I don’t know what was wrong with it just being long enough to put up.” 

You close your book, crawling across the expanse of blankets to where he sits and gently running your fingers through his hair, brushing the parts of it that hang loose behind his shoulders and down his back. 

“I like your hair long,” you tell him. “It makes you look like the love interest in a period drama.” 

Zuko chuckles, turning his face and pressing a kiss to the crest of your cheekbone. He gradually moves his lips lower, letting them come to rest on your neck as his head falls against your shoulder; his warmth and weight against your body feel like returning home after a long time away. 

“Here,” you murmur, nudging him forward with your shoulder, “let me help you.” 

Zuko does as instructed, sitting upright on the mattress in front of you. You kneel before him, removing the pin from his headdress and allowing the hair knotted within it to fall free; his muscles relax immediately, his shoulders lowering as he lets out a sigh of relief. 

You divide his hair into three separate locks, twisting them together until they fall in a tether just above the middle of his back; the ink black strands are soft as they slips between your fingers, feeling not unlike the silk sheets you sleep in. You secure the braid with a knot, leaning forward to kiss the back of his neck once you’re finished. Zuko lets out a soft hum, the sound vibrating through his back and into your chest. 

“Better?” you ask. 

“Much better,” he replies. 

He stands, untying the intricate knots that hold his ceremonial robes together so he can shrug them off, letting them fall with a heavy, hushed thump on the hardwood floor. You can’t help but admire him, the scars across his rippled torso dappling his skin like brush strokes in a painting. His braided hair hangs over one of his broad shoulders, swaying with each of his movements; with his hair pulled back this way, his sharp, handsome features are all the more arresting. 

His robes replaced with a simple tunic and loose pants, Zuko climbs back into bed with you, kissing you tenderly before curling his arms around your waist, nestling his face into your neck as he pulls you into a loving embrace. You kiss his temple, leaving your book abandoned on the night stand in favor of falling asleep in his arms. 

📚 table of contents 📚

✨ join me on patreon ✨

{ subscribers: @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @celamoon @omgwhattheeven @i-am-not-a-thot @fandomtrash1616 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @just-another-romantic @berkeliums @eridanuswave @oleander-in-the-wind @kinismanditory @lammello @peppermenty @theawesomefactor123 @loganrwebb @ijustwannabecanadian @a-hopeless-fan @softvv @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak @pearl-stonecutter @crazy0t @commander-rex @kittyddandnyla @abbyarchie @smol-grandpa @nonbinary-rogers @themanwiththemetalarmsdoll @witchywrter @canibea-whore-yet @fuckwhateverfuck @eridanuswave @duh-dobrik }