#I broke my card reader when it was tossed off the table by a gust of wind

[jemichiart]

Poriconi may have been cut short by the weather, at least for us sellers, since the location basically flooded and everything and everyone got soaked... However, if I may say so myself, I did have a pretty cute little booth in there for the little time we had.

Welp, nothing you can do about the weather..!

A moment later:

[peter-parkourwrites]

Lose You To Love Me (one shot)

1940’s Bucky x Reader

Based off of the song, Lose You To Love Me - Selena Gomez

Warnings: mentions of getting shot, literally all angst, if you squint fluff

Word Count: 2k

——

We'd always go into it blindly

I needed to lose you to find me

This dancing was killing me softly

I needed to hate you to love me, yeah

You had met James Barnes on a humid and foggy night in Brooklyn, July 1st, 1939.

One Year Before Drating

Your friend’s Alice and Rose has decided dragging you out of your house to go out for a night on the town, drinks, dancing, the whole shebang!

When you had stepped out in your baby blue colored dress, the one with the white ribbon tied around the waist, your friends erupted into squeals, mentioning how the boys would be the ones swooning tonight.

You simply laughed, grabbed your cherry red lipstick and raced them out the door, the sound of your heels clattering against the pavement could be heard, paired with loud giggles.

If only you knew how right they would have been.

Bucky had been dragged along dancing with Steve, his scrawny best friend who happened to go beat red every time a decent lookin’ gal showed up in his peripheral. Of course, Buck never minded dancing, truth is he adored it. The sway of a dames hips, and the frill of her dress as he would twirl her around the dance floor to Billie Holiday, or Duke Ellington. The curl of their red or pink lips as he whispered something less than ‘professional’ in her ear.

‘Course any other girl in his eyes would merely become a silly pest when he met you.

There you were, sat at the bar your bare legs crossed and dangling a few inches from the ground, even with heels on.

Bucky cleared his throat, downed the rest of his drink for some liquid courage and stood up. He brushed off the front of his jacket adjusted his cap and strode off towards you. His collar seemed to get tighter as he approached you, even though he could have sworn he loosened it. The room was growing hot, at least he thought so, and yet he continued forward hoping and praying he wasn’t getting sick with the flu that had been going around.

��So, why’s a gorgeous dame like yourself sittin’ here by your lonesome?” He asked, leaning against the bar and shooting you his most dashing smile. His eyes met yours and the world seemed to stop spinning. Your irises were dark and wide, pooling with information as you took in your surroundings, not daring to look at him just yet.

But oh when you did meet his ocean blue eyes, his heart started beating out of his chest, skipping beats, slowing down, speeding up, the whole nine yards. He swallowed thickly, hoping, praying that love at first sight wasn’t just some myth and this wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him, and asked…

“You wanna dance love?”

January 1st, 1940

6 months until the drafting

“James!”

Bucky winced at your tone, his bare feet digging into the sand. He watched as your peach sundress flapped around with the salty ocean breeze. Falling in love more and more every second.

“Bucky I swear to- ahhh!” Strong arms wrapped around your waist and hoisted you up, your bare back going flush against his bare chest. Your cheeks heated up as you kicked at his thighs, watching the world pass by you as he ran towards the shore.

“Bucky no no no!” You cried, but it was too late, you were tossed into the water. The ice cold green and blue surrounded you, as you sat there underneath letting your hair float up around you along with the scattered fish, and seaweed.

Pushing up from the ground you broke the barrier between the cold water and the now even colder air.

“Sorry doll,”He chuckled, a smirk crossing his lips as he leaned in close to you pressing his lips to yours.

You promised the world and I fell for it

I put you first and you adored it

“Bucky.” You grumbled shoving him back, watching as he slipped and fell into the water, last minute pulling you in with him. Now the both of you stood shivering in the winter air, teeth clattering and goosebumps rising with every gust of wind. “You ‘oughta have a good explanation for this hun.” You spoke up, dragging him out of the water behind you and onto the shore. “I love ya, but I oughta get some hot chocolate and dancin’ after this mess.” You hummed, before freezing in your tracks realizing what you had said. “I-I uhh I mean-”

“You love me?” He asked, spinning you around to face him and gripping both your trembling hands in his own ice cold hands. “Well I reckon now as good of a time as ever to mention, I love ya too dollface.” James grinned, looping an arm around your waist and dipping you bringing you flush against him and kissing you deeply. Your hands gripped at the back of his dripping wet uniform and squealing as his fingers tickled at your sides.

“I’m never letting you go baby girl, when I get home I’ll give you the world, and until I leave you’ll have the world.”

“You are my world Bucky.” He hummed and leaned in for another short kiss.

I saw the signs and I ignored it

Rose colored glasses all distorted

Set fire to my purpose And I let it burn

July 6th, 1940

Drafting Day

Bucky lays awake that night, his mind going a thousand miles a minute. Unable to sleep he sits up, letting the sheets pool at his waist leaving his bare chest exposed to the warm summer air. HIs fingers reach out, ghosting over your sleeping features and he prays that if you wake up you won’t think it’s creepy.

But he needs to remember the way your cheekbones become more prominent in the hot weather, when you don’t wear as much makeup. He needs to remember the warm glow that sets on your face as you sleep soundly beside him. The way your lips curl every so slightly as he runs his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp.

His blue eyes filled with adoration, and sadness as he watches you almost purr with delight in your sleep as his soon to be cauloused and rough hands card through your hair.

The sun is now seeping through the white curtains that have long since been stained, such a contrast to when you first had gotten them. It makes him sick thinking they’d have the possibility of changing by the time he returned.

His home, your home… would be different. He’d no longer walk in to your room, and the same glow would not be there. Your brightly colored dresses, pinks, blues, and bright yellows with polka dots, would be switched to greys, blacks, and whites. You had picked up a job as a nurse for the veterans that were coming home already, and you didn’t start until two days after he left. The general having some regard to let you mouron and miss him. Letting your heartbreak settle before working on hand with other people.

And now as you kiss him feverishly, your hands looping around his neck and grasping at his hair. Begging him to stay without needing words he puts on his most charming smile, brushes the salty tears from your cheeks and places one last kiss to your forehead. With a promise.

“I’ll be home soon doll, wait for me.” He said, placing another peck to your lips, shoving a black box in your hands and boarding the bus.

March 18th, 1942

Two years since Bucky has been gone.

Your heart fluttered as you read his latest letter. Something about how they were going in on a mission to gain more intel from Hydra, and try to take them down once and for all. You laugh as he mentions something about ‘following Captain America into the jaws of death’. Steve was prone to dramatics. He mentioned being nervous, considering he only just got out of their hands. You shed a tear as he mentions how he hasn’t been sleeping much since. But he pushes your thoughts from that when he starts talking about some girl Dum Dum was trying to pick up at a bar, and she threw her drink on him.

“Mrs’s Barnes?”

“Louise, how many times have I asked you to stop callin’ me that.” You scoff, sparing a glance down at the ring on your finger, getting lost in its beauty for only a second.

“Sorry Ma’am-”

“It’s not Ma’am either darling, I am not my mother. Good graces if I ever act like her please just take me out back and shoot me.” You groan, pulling on your work gloves, fixing your nurses outfit and following her towards the infirmary.

We’d always go into it blindly

I needed to lose you to find me

Soldiers were being shipped in an out by the minute, you barely knew where to start. But your question was short lived when Louise shook her head and pointed towards the offices.

Suddenly your throat felt very dry, you brought a hand up to pull and loosen your collar as she guided you along beside her, her arm resting around your back as her hand gripped your own.

The news didn’t register properly until you were handed an envelope. Dirty, covered in blood, but there it lay in your hands. The last thing he wrote to you. Kept a secret, never to see the light of day unless he was dead.

The clinic sent you home early that day, and now you sat alone in your studio apartment, that was shared with him.

The letter sat on your coffee table, mocking you. That letter was the destruction of everything you had built with him. You knew what was in it without even having to read it.

Dear (Y/N),

My love, the sun to my stars, my babydoll. You are everything a man could ever wish for. And you know I hate formalities but I feel like if this didn’t start with dear Steve would have my head.

I hope you never have to read this because… it means I’m dead, or missing in action. Which either way means dead in the eyes of war.

When I first got my draft notice I was sick. I threw up the whole night, my ma and sister by my side. I couldn’t leave ‘em here, ya know? With my dad being gone… it never felt right. But I knew I had to go. Stevie was the one who actually wanted to leave. Always goin’ on and on about how jealous he was that I fit all those damn requirements.

So I guess that's when I started wearing my uniform with pride. Knowing I was doing something good for this fucked up world.

But then I met you.

You. Damn I could go on and on ‘bout how beautiful you were that night. By your lonesome, just smiling all happy in that dance hall, not a care in the world about the war, or if anyone would ruin your night.

So I guess that’s why I walked up to you specifically. You didn’t have a care in the world, you were just happy. So I figured, why not have a fun time with a beautiful gal, and then leave her that same night so she wouldn’t have to see off. I didn’t want anyone to see my off. Not my Ma, Sisters, Stevie. Hell I never even dreamt you would. I figured I’d ignore my draft notice long enough that I could elope with some gal who would go with me, and never have to fight in this damn war. But that night... when you took my hand in yours and smiled that cherry red smile... I was done for. Completely whipped man, and I guess that night I didn’t think of the consequences. I didn’t think I would fall so hard for a dame who I barely knew besides the color of her dress and the way it made her eyes pop.

‘Course I’m me, and well… shit happens. But I am so glad that it did. Because either way, loving you will always be the greatest thing I have ever done. No matter how badly I wanted to stay, leaving was the hardest thing.

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and if you want to hate me for the rest of your life, I wouldn’t blame ya sweetheart. If you find another man, I won’t blame you for that either doll. Live your life, live your dreams… just don’t forget me. I won’t forget you.

Yours forever,

James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

April 6th, 1942

You stared at the empty casket in the ground. It had yet to be covered up, and the rain was beating against it making the most horrendous sounds. Bucky always hated the rain. Said it got in the way. Of what? You didn’t know. You figured it was some odd thing from his childhood, maybe he got stuck outside in it and got sick, or maybe he just hated water as a whole.

But now you understood. The rain made everything dreary, and cold. A mood fitting for a funeral you presumed. Didn’t mean it hurt any less. If anything it should have been sunny for him. Bucky was always lighting up your life, or any room he walked into with that dashing smile of his.

His Ma, and sisters cleared out a while ago, to go back to their house for something to eat and to talk.

Something Bucky would have also hated. He never went to family parties, said it gave him headaches, and he hated having to use small talk with his own cousins because his Ma would have smacked him upside the head had she heard what they really talked about.

You stood at the foot of his grave. Your black flats kicking at the dirt. Tears no longer streaming down your face.

“I hate you ya know…” You finally spoke. You were silent for the whole ceremony, not even bothering to look up when you were asked to speak. You couldn’t. How could you when the love of your life was not even in his own grave, but out on the front lines somewhere in germany, dead.

“That night… when you” You cleared your throat and lowered yourself to sit on the ground. “When you asked me to dance… I wanted to say no. You were a man decorated for war, I knew only heartbreak would come.” You sighed, picking at the grasses that grew beneath your feet, scoffing at how it was able to live out its stupid life, and not him. “God if you could see me now Buck, you’d be laughing up a storm. I mean here I am, scolding fuckin’ grass for being alive. I must be a mad woman.” You laughed bitterly and it turned into choking sobs overtime.

“When you asked me to dance that night… my momma had always told me, don’t fall in love with a soldier. He’ll break your heart long before you even see it coming. To this day I still don’t know why she always said it… because you never broke my heart. Still haven’t, and I think I hate you a bit for that. I think it would have been easier if you left me alone that night underneath the lamp post. Maybe then I would have found some man worthy of my time as you’d always go on about. But there was never anyone else Buck. There never will be. It’s always you.” You took a deep breath and shake your head, your hands now sitting in your lap.

“All this, makes me think I deserve it… ya know? Some sort of sick karma… like I was so happy, so in love and suddenly it was ripped away from me. But I guess… I needed to lose you to find me because now… I work with the veterans. Sit and talk with them about the war. Hell one of them knew you, think his name was Pinky something… I dunno, but the nurses and I have helped them get back on their feet. Even started a home for ‘em, and their families. Same with orphans and widows of the war, they stay there when needed for food, medical care, and just company. You’d be proud of me I hope… I love you James… I’ll see you again someday”

Thunder boomed, as lightning lit up the sky. Brushing away the tears you stood up on shaky legs and placed a kiss to the casket, the red stain of your lipstick not even daring to be washed away by the rain. You gripped his dogs tags that lay around your neck tightly, your knuckles growing white as you made your way out of the cemetery and to an empty home.

And now the chapter is closed and done

To love love, yeah

To love love, yeah

To love, yeah

And now it’s goodbye, it’s goodbye for us.

[demon-snacks]

Devil’s Playground Ch. 1

Summary: After leaving your job you travel out to LA for some time to figure things out. Arriving at your destination, you check into an old, seemingly forgotten hotel. After settling in you head to the lounge and and up having a better time than you expected.

Word Count: 2,245

Characters: Iris, Liz Taylor, James Patrick March, Reader

Warnings: a little angst, some cute interactions, alcohol. I think that’s about it

A/N: This first chapter is mainly a setup for the rest of the series. There’s no smut here, but that’ll change in the next chapter. Unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.

Masterlist

Stepping over the threshold of your apartment, you toss your keys onto the table beside the door. The darkness of your apartment in the late morning was made especially somber as rain came down in heavy sheets against the windows. You let out a frustrated groan before shrugging off your dripping jacket and kicking off your shoes. So what if they had made your last day at work a living hell? At least you were done. You never had to go back to that suffocating office, or spend all of your time fixing other people's mistakes.

It had been a spur of the moment decision, to leave your job. After working in the same place without going anywhere for 4 years you were burnt out. Life had become the same, unsatisfying cycle, day after day. Wake up early, go to work, come home late, and eat a quick meal before going to bed, and repeating it all when you woke up. There was no time for passion, no art, no cooking, none of the things that used to bring you joy. Glancing around your apartment now, things seemed  different. Suddenly it was all too real. Feeling overwhelmed, you quickly walked into the bedroom, taking out your duffel bag and tossing it onto the bed. You needed to get out of here, before the walls closed in on you. Some time away would be good, you told yourself. Anyplace other than here. This apartment had suddenly become a prison.

“Okay, just the essentials,” you said to yourself after opening the top drawer of your dresser. Beginning to dance around the room, you grabbed only the clothes and items that you loved, tossing them into your bag. It took only a couple minutes to gather enough clothes to fill the bag. You flitted into the bathroom to grab your toothbrush and other essentials before returning to the bedroom. Dropping your toiletries into your duffel, you quickly zip it shut. You then waste no time in stripping off the work clothes that had been weighing you down.

After changing into a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, you grab your bag and head for the door. Pausing only to pull on your boots, your hand reaches for the doorknob. Without so much as a glance back, you walk out of your apartment. The cold rain feels new and refreshing in your skin as you make your way to your car. Opening the drivers side door, you throw your bag into the car and slide in yourself. There was a small groan of metal as you pulled the door shut.

This was it, the chance you had to turn back. Go back inside, revise your resume, risk starting the loop all over again for the sake of comfort and safety. Taking a deep breath, you slide the key into the ignition, turning it until the engine roared to life. Placing your foot on the gas pedal you started off. You didn’t have a particular destination, no plans, no nothing. All you knew was that you wanted to get far away. So as you drove on, listening to the music spill from your speakers and the wipers move back and forth across your windshield, you headed towards the coast.

As you walked up to the hotel entrance a gust of wind blew past you, ruffling your hair. The chill that followed trickled down your spine like ice, sending pins and pricks to your fingertips. Stilling yourself with a quick breath, you reached for the brass handle and pulled open the door.

The interior was dim. As you made your way through the lobby you couldn’t help but glance up at the three massive chandeliers suspended from the ceiling.The light they cast illuminated the red carpet and upholstery that you could tell was once rich in color. This place didn’t seem half bad considering you found it last minute after rolling into town. After driving for 12 hours you figured Los Angeles was as good a place as any to stop.

“Can I help you?” The voice came from your left. It came from an older woman with large glasses standing behind the reception desk. Shaking the scattered thoughts from your mind you approached the desk.

“Hi, I’d like a single room please,” you say, setting your bag down beside you, and sliding your identification and credit cards across the counter. Without saying a word, the woman took them and began booking your room. As she processed the cards you glanced to the left. You could have sworn you just saw someone out of the corner of your eye, but when your gaze fell on the area they had been there was nothing there. It must have been your imagination. The sharp sound of your ID and credit card being slapped onto the countertop brought your attention back to the receptionist. Turning, she slid one of the keys on the wall behind her off it’s hook and placed it on the counter beside your other things.

“You’re all set,” she droned. “Third floor, take a right at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks,” you say while collecting your things. “Oh! What’s the wifi password?”

“We don’t got that,” said the woman as she walked back into what you assumed was an office. The conversation was over. Lowering your eyebrows after the surprise of the interaction had passed, you made your way to the elevator

The hallway stretched far in front of you. Finally arriving at your room after what seemed like a too long trek through stuffy hallways, you slide the key into the lock and push the door open. The room was decent in size, with a queen bed and some furniture situated along the walls. The fabric on the duvet and drapes were dated, and a musty smell hung in the air, but you weren’t expecting the Ritz-Carlton experience.

Dumping your duffel bag on the floor and kicking off your shoes, you flop down on the bed and roll around, stretching your muscles with a groan. Rolling onto your stomach, you notice the vanity directly across from the bed. If there’s one thing you loved about old hotels it was the furniture. Your eyes slowly moved over the piece, taking in it’s curves and angles. The rich color of the stain, the detail of the woodwork, all leading your eye to the gigantic mirror set atop it all. Say what you will, but art deco will always be stylish. Your mind began to wander, wondering what other gems were hiding within the walls of this hotel.

Hauling yourself off the bed with a sigh, you decide to hop into a quick shower. After being in a car all day you could really use a one. The tile floor was cold beneath your feet as you entered the bathroom, approaching the shower. You turn on the faucets before stripping out of your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor.  It doesn’t take long for the water to reach a nice temperature, and so you stepped in, pulling the curtain closed behind you. A contented sigh fell from your lips as you allowed the hot water to work away at your sore muscles.

The lighting was dim as you entered the lounge. Feeling restless after your shower, you decided a drink might help you wind down. So you threw on your favorite dress and grabbed your wallet, before leaving the comfort of your room. The lounge was mostly empty, only a couple of people scattered amongst the dark tables. As you approach the bar you feel as though there are eyes burning through you, watching your every move.

“Well aren’t you a pretty sight,” said the bartender, placing her book down on the counter behind the bar. She was tall, and wearing a tight vintage dress.

“Thanks,” you replied, offering her a small smile. “Is that Chanel you’re wearing?”

“Pretty eyes, and a knowledge of fashion. I think I’m in love. What can I get you, sweetie?” She asked.

“I’ll take a manhattan, thanks.” She moved fluidly behind the bar, grabbing bottles with lithe fingers as she mixed your drink. You glance around, taking in the craftsmanship of the place. Sharp angles portrayed in hard metal, offset by plush velvet chairs, and multiplied by the mirrors that surrounded the bar. It was made all the more luxurious with the color scheme of red and gold.

Your attention was pulled back when the bartender placed a martini glass on the bar in front of you. “So what brings you to a place like this?” She asked with a small flourish or her hand, gesturing around her.

“Oh, the usual. Running from the past, hoping to figure out a future,” you replied.

“Well, don’t forget to acknowledge the present, or it’ll slip by like a lover sneaking out your bedroom window,” she remarked.

You lifted your glass to her in response, “To the present,” you toasted, before sipping the dark liquid from your glass. Just then a man approached the bar. No, not the bar. You. He was clean cut, dressed in a classic style, his short hair slicked to the side. A thin moustache sat atop his upper lip.

“Pardon me, is this seat taken?” he inquired, flashing a bright smile. His accent was something out of a 1920s film.

“Not at all,” you answered. The man pulled out the stool beside you and took a seat, extending a hand in your direction.

“The name’s James. James March. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance…” he trailed off inquisitively, waiting for you to finish his sentence.

“(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)” responding, you reached out your hand. However, instead of shaking it, he took your fingers in his, bringing your hand to his lips where he placed a ginger kiss on your knuckles before releasing his hold. The contact sent electricity through your arm. His eyes never left yours.

“So, how are you liking your stay here at the Hotel Cortez?” he broke the brief moment of silence that was shared between the two of you, his voice upbeat.

“I only just checked in a couple hours ago, but it’s been nice. This is a beautiful building. It’s as if it’s been untouched for decades,” you answer, looking up at the towering art piece above the bar. James began to tell you the aztec tale behind the the art, and, subsequently, the name of the hotel. The way he wove the story together was like art itself, his accent pulling you into the tale. This man seemed to hold your attention like no other. You sat, sipping your drink between amused expressions as he went on. Effortlessly melding the end of the story into the present, he began asking you about yourself. Divulging only what you wished him to know, he listened attentively.

“Captivating!” James remarked when you had finished explaining about the first year you moved out on your own. You had learned a fair share about him in between witty remarks and conversation segways. He was a passionate man, there was no doubt about that, with an old world charm that never seemed to stop. Having had  lived in the hotel for years, along with a handful of other residents, he led quite a colorful life.

The two of you were laughing over the end of a story James was telling about a mishap he had gotten into with friends when the bartender cleared her throat beside you.

“Last call,” she declared, placing the glass she was wiping on a shelf. Your attention pulled from James, you realized you were now the only two left in the lounge. You wondered how long that had been the case.

“Oh my, it seems we have closed the bar,” James said with a chuckle.

“We must have been talking for two hours straight,” you commented, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. You noticed James eyes drawn to the spot.

“And not a moment of which failed to be titillating,” he remarked, returning his eyes to yours. “I only wish we could spend the next two hours conversing as well, but alas, I must retire for the evening. Busy day tomorrow.” When he got up from his seat, he offered his hand to you. Taking his hand, he raised it to his lips once more, ghosting a kiss across your skin.

“It’s been a pleasure talking with you, James,” you said. “I hope to see you around.”

“I’m sure you will. And if you find yourself in want of anything during your stay here, please let me know and I will see you get it.” He insisted.

“I’ll keep that in mind,”You replied with a smile.

“Until next time,” he concluded before taking his leave. You turned back to the bar, a soft sigh escaping your throat as you raised the glass to your lips, taking the last sip of the drink in front of you. The lounge was quiet, the only sounds coming from the clink of the glasses being sorted behind the bar. You were lost in thought for a moment, drawing patterns in the droplets of moisture left behind by your glass. All of the sudden a deep voice broke the silence behind you, causing your heart to stop. A voice you hadn’t heard in seven years.

“(Y/N)? Is that you..?”

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