#buck will NOT be choking on anymore bread thank you very much

[loucifersbitch]

s8 valentine's day episode, tommy and buck go out for a romantic dinner at an italian restaurant

buck pushes the bread basket as far away from himself as possible. tommy raises his eyebrows but assumes it's best not to ask

[daffi-990]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday 🍩

Tagged by @diazsdimples & @wikiangela

Guess who got the first chapter of Rival Firefighters 🚒 beta’d today and is working on a summary and tags so they can post it next week? 😃😃😃. I am so so sooooo excited to start posting! (still have that last chapter to finish but it’s almost done and I really don’t wanna wait anymore to start sharing this story).

Today’s snippet isn’t from Rivals though, but from LA Lonely 🏙️, the other wip taking over my brain atm.

Prev snippet here.

Buck arrives at dispatch for lunch with Maddie ten minutes early. It’s his day off and he’s finished all his errands with time to spare so instead of waiting the last ten minutes in the car, he decides to head up to the break room. He may also be secretly hoping that by coming in a bit earlier, there may still be a danish left in the pastry box dispatch gets delivered every morning.

He spies the pastry box and makes a beeline for it, letting out a small cheer of victory when he opens the lid and spies a couple of donuts and a blueberry danish. He grabs the danish and takes a bite, groaning and wiggling his shoulders in a happy little shimmy as the buttery pastry floods his tastebuds.

Turning around to find a seat and wait for Maddie, Buck immediately freezes because sitting down at one of the tables and looking right at him is Eddie. Hot hook up Eddie. Chris’s dad Eddie. Eddie from the coffee shop. That Eddie. His eyes are shining bright with amusement and he’s biting his bottom lip trying to suppress a smile.

If the ground could open up and swallow him whole, that would be great.

Buck chews the remaining bite of danish thoroughly before swallowing, not wanting to have another choking on bread situation. One of those is enough for one lifetime thank you very much.

“Uh, any chance you can pretend you didn’t see that?”

“Nope, not a chance.” Eddie says, an amused grin finally breaking free and okay it’s really unfair how one smile from him has Buck’s heart fluttering.

No pressure tagging: @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @wildlife4life @sunshinediaz @watchyourbuck @weewootruck @rainbow-nerdss @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @epicbuddieficrecs @evanbegins @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @mellaithwen @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @athenagranted @sibylsleaves @shitouttabuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @neverevan @nmcggg @princessfbi @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @tizniz @the-likesofus @lover-of-mine @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @king-buckley @jesuisici33 @goforkinard @giddyupbuck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck @devirnis @bidisasterbuckdiaz @dangerpronebuddie @captain-hen @bekkachaos and as always, anyone else who wants to share something -> consider this your official tag 🏷️

[ratchedspeach]

Prompt

Alice (Mrs America) ends up in part of the student section at the ERA event and reader is one of the students. The reader helps her back to her room safely, reader comes to check on her the next day and Alice invites her out for dinner.

I'll let you have fun with it from there.

Love your work!

I’ve never written a /reader fic before. I hope I lived up to the challenge! I changed the dinner bit just slightly. Hope that’s alright! This is an AU based of Episode 8

You first notice her standing in one of the far corners of the room, fingers tracing the diamond shaped patter of the wallpaper with her lips drawn into a soft “o”. Clad in a soft lavender dress, her loose curls spill over her shoulders and mingle with the sheen of sweat slicked against her forehead. She backs away when she sees you approach, cramming into the corner like she thinks she might be able to pass through the other side. Her pupils are the size of saucers, and you smile, knowing the signs of an LSD trip all too well from personal experience. She tells you her name is Alice with tight smile. When you give her yours, she repeats it like she can taste the sylabols as they roll off her tongue.

“You’re a little lost, aren’t ya?” She bobs her head in agreement, giggling like a child whose had too much sugar. Her tongue darts across her upper lip, and she studies you. “C’mon,” you take her by the forearm, “let’s get you to your room.”

“How long have you been with them?” Alice asks you with a slight rasp in her voice. She’s surprisingly lucid for someone whose tripping. “You know ... the lesbians.” She whispers the last words like she’s protecting you from the empty hotel lobby her nose crinkling.

You choke on a laugh, and her brown eyes go wide. “No, no, it’s alright!” You assure her before she can recant. In truth, you’re touched by the innocence of her prodding. “I came out my first year of college. I’m a senior at Oberlin. The ERA gave me a family when my own decided they didn’t want me anymore.” Alice stops mid stride and looks at you in earnest, tears prickling the corners of her vision. High people are so sensitive. “In hindsight, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You wipe away a single tear that’s escaped with your thumb before taking her by the hand and pulling her forward.

Maybe it’s the way she watches the world through new eyes, like she’s seeing it for the first time, or maybe it’s how cool the skin of her fingertips fees against yours; the sheer knowledge that she’s nearby sends your stomach twisting into knots. Guilt knocks against your throat as you pull her through the hotel. She’s not like me. She’s just lost ... in more ways than one.

Alice stops around the corner from where she says her room is, taking you by the shoulders and planting a kiss swiftly on your cheek. “Thank you.” She breaths it like it’s a secret, eyes glinting. You stammer around your words as she strokes the cotton of your sweater with her thumb. She begins to study the material, a gasp hitching in her throat. “It’s moving!” She marvels, licking her lips before she turns her gaze to you. “Your sweater is magic. How’d you make it do that?”

You snort in spite of yourself, placing a hand over hers. “Christ, you’re high. Do you even know that you’re high?”

Alice bites the inside of her cheek as she ponders it. “I think so.” She decides. “I hung up on my mother earlier.” A soft giggle lilts in her voice.

“Have dinner with me?” The words spill over your lips before you can stop yourself. Shit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - I don’t want to assume that you ... I just-“

Alice puts a finger to your lips, brow furrowing. “Ok.” She says it so plainly, like it’s obvious.

“I ... oh, ok. Alright, yes. Um, tomorrow? 8 o’clock? I can meet you right here, if you’d like.”

The older woman nods, squeezing your shoulder gently, before she saunters off in the direction of her room.

*

“You’re a reject!

Alice’s head throbs - it has all day. Her memory of the night before is muddled at best. She remembers speaking to people, but can’t make out faces. She remembers being hungry, so very hungry, and there’s the faintest recall of kissing someone. She chalks it all up to alcohol.

She’s lying to herself, and she knows it.

Alice spends most of the day in bed nursing a bad hangover and ignoring the sinking sense of guilt that she owes Pamela an apology. She pops two Advil and swallows them dry as pressure builds behind her retinas.

She’s supposed to see Phyllis today - she’s supposed to stand in solidarity with her STOP ERA “sisters”. She’s supposed to do something else, too, but she can’t quite recall what it is. Alice goes to the window of her hotel room, squinting as she opens the blinds in preparation for the sun. When light doesn’t hit her face, she checks her watch.

7:30 pm.

The number looms like death sentence, and Alice’s eyes go wide. “That ... that girl!” She says it like she’s expecting her to appear in front of her. Shuffling towards her suitcase, Alice tears through dresses and skirts. I must look awful. She cringes at the thought of looking in a mirror as she shimmies in a flannel dress - deep blue, and soft to the touch.

Her suspicions are confirmed when she finally chances a look at herself in the mirror. Mascara still creases the bags under her eyes, and her hair is matted with sleep. “I don’t have time.” Alice runs her fingers through her waves, tucking a few lose strands behind her ears, washes her face with soap at water without waiting for the sink stream to warm up.

“A reject. You’re a reject!”

Alice shakes her head, glancing at herself once more in the mirror before accepting that this is as good as it will get.

*

You get there early, waiting in the bend of the hotel hallway as you fidget with the buckle on your cross-body satchel. You know there’s a chance that this will all be some cruel cosmic joke, that Alice won’t know what it is she was agreeing to, that she might not even remember -

“Hello.” Her voice pulls your gaze upwards. She’s smiling at you with only the faintest recollection twisting in her eyes. Your stomach churns. She doesn’t remember.

“Alice, hi. I-I’m -“

“Oh good.” She breaths, cutting you off befor you can stumble over your own tongue any longer. “It is you. I thought I thought maybe I was wrong. I was ... pretty drunk last night.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Oh, is that all?” Blood rushes to her cheeks.

“Yes, well, I suppose you’d know better, wouldn’t you?” She picks at her nailbed, smiling sheepishly. Please don’t hate me for it. “I’m sorry if I was any trouble.”

“Oh, no! No you were ... you were just fine.” You clear your throat and will your knees to stop shaking. “Are you hungry?” Alice nods. “I know a place around the corner from here. It’s nothing fancy, but I figured if you were interested, we could -“

“I’d like that.” I would? I would. Alice catches herself off guard with her self assurance.

She’s soft spoken, but there’s a fortitude to her words that makes your throat close. You swallow the lump in your throat and offer her your hand. She studied it for a moment like she’s not sure it’s really there, before taking it in her own, and following you down the hall.

Alice looks like a fish out of water. You release her hand when you see the way she pales in the hotel lobby. Be patient with her. You remind yourself as you open the lobby door and usher her through it. True to your word, the restaurant is around the corner - a quaint little Italian spot that you’d spent the last few nights at with college friends.

“I told you it’s not much.” You apologize before you’ve even walked inside.

Alice’s eyes are fixed on the red awning. “I think it’s nice.” She tucks a few pieces of hair behind her ears and smiles up at the gold letters reading Preggo in practically illegible calligraphy. “I always wanted to study Italian.” Alice admits when you’ve been seated at a table in the far corner of the trattoria.

“Oh? Why didn’t you?”

Alice’s brow furrows. “Well, I ... I never went to college.” She picks at a piece of bread, holing it out in the center without ever actually eating any of it. “I got married at 19, and from there ... well ... Buck I wanted to have a family. There wasn’t much time with babies in the house.”

Your stomach drops through the soles of your shoes. “You’re married?”

Brown eyes flick towards you, wide with something akin to fear. “I suppose I should have told you.”

You shake your head. “I’ve dated married women before, Alice. There’s more of you than you think.”

“More of ... me?”

You lean back in your chair, taking a sip of ice water to steady yourself. “You know ... women who ... who are curious about what it’s like to be with other ... you know.” Alice’s lips pull into a thin line. You’re scaring her. Alice stills, Christ, she barely even blinks, and you think that this is it; this is the end of this doomed date. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed that you were-“

“You’re right.” There it is again, that blunt naievity that you’ve only ever seen in children before. “I ... I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought before now, but why else would I have said yes?”

You smile, giving her the benefit of the doubt. “I mean, you were positively rolling.” You wink, and Alice blushes, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She’s so beautiful.

“Fair point.” She concedes as the waiter comes to take your order.

PART 2 HERE

[new-endings]

you wear white and i'll wear out the words ‘i love you’

or

( in which crowley struggles to find the right time and place to propose)

He’d known Aziraphale’s ring size since Rome, though the need for this knowledge wouldn’t arise until millennia later. Far better than tossing apples at him centuries prior, which Crowley was sure wouldn’t have been well-received by the angel.

He had the ring itself since the tradition was popularized and changed the stone, the metal, and the inscriptions at least twice every decade. He’d known Aziraphale’s favorite flavor of cake, the very swoons and swells of romantic melodies that made his angel’s heart sing with joy and float with love. He’d known that Aziraphale had long wanted to travel East since before its industrialization, though London remained his home and heart, and, not long after the entire mess of the Armageddon’t—

Crowley knew, with absolute certainty, that Aziraphale loved him, loved earth, and loved their life together.

And Crowley, with absolute certainty, wanted a life together with Aziraphale.

The thought had been lurking in the darkest crevices of his heart, ashen and burnt, where most secrets seeped in its cracks. Of course he’d known he loved Aziraphale—he’d known his own heart since Rome. But the very possibility of having that love actualized—much less returned—had been such a preposterous, laughable, impossible thought that…

To even wonder, to even wish, would have wrought him nothing but pain.

But that was something that Crowley couldn’t help. When the wretched emotion had made itself known, had seeded and rooted itself deeply within Crowley’s heart, there was no going back. And now, many millennia later, it was no longer just the torturous squeeze of thorns driving deep into Crowley’s chest at the thought of a life with Aziraphale—

It was waking to the sight of his angel (yes, his) in his ridiculous nightgown and equally ridiculous little glasses perched on his adorable nose as he flipped through the pages of a love-worn novel in Crowley’s bed; it was meeting for lunch without his angel ducking at the sight of every American in a gray, luxurious business suit; it was being able to hold his angel’s hand as they strolled through St. James park to feed the ducks, recycling old banters and trying new, honest conversations (“I thought you looked rather ravishing in that fancy little petticoat of yours. Still not a good idea to wear it during a revolution, though.” “Oh, thank you dear. I rather thought you—you—good lord, your hair back then reminded me of two somersaulting weasels.” “You really are a bastard, aren’t you?” “I’ve learned from the very best, I’ll have you know.”); it was kissing him good morning, hello, be right back, and goodnight.

It was a possibility. A very, very real possibility.

Now…now all Crowley had to do was ask.

---

Crowley prided himself in his brilliance. It wasn’t just the Pride either—he knew he had more creativity that likely all the forces of Hell combined—

(still didn’t hold a candle to Aziraphale’s wit when his angel set his mind on something, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

Which was why he had every bit of confidence that when he enacted his master plan, it would surely sweep his angel off his feet.

…Granted, if he had a master plan to begin with.

Because lo and behold, Crowley, who had been squirreling his angel’s preferences and tastes, ring size, suit size, shoe size—never actually thought he’d be able to use this information in the most important way possible. And thus—

He was scrambling.

He threw idea after idea out—We could go to Rome; take him out on our first date again—wait, did he even know that was our first date?, forged bloody mood boards from digital inspiration on social media—Ugh, this all looks terribly tasteless. This looks nice, but I know for a fact that Aziraphale hasn’t gone swimming since the 1800s for some incident or other—and nearly broke down and ran to the bookshop to propose right then and there just to get it over with.

But no.

His angel deserved better than that.

“We could have a picnic…dinner at the Ritz,” Crowley mocked, turning over in despair. “Go—Sata—SOMEONE-DAMNIT. Why didn’t I propose then…It would have been perfect.” He let out another groan. “Right, right, great thinking there, Crowley—just drop the proposal to your best friend after he was cut off and nearly killed by his abusive family and workplace, real romantic.”

He sighed, peeling himself off the ceiling where he’d somehow ended up. It was getting late and damnit, he promised to take Aziraphale to that play tonight, didn’t he?

Crowley, once upright, glared hard at the ring on his desk. It had been taunting him for the past month and he knew the niggling thoughts at the back of his mind, the compulsion to open it up, scrutinize it, to once again deem it worthy enough for his angel, wouldn’t let up until he saw it where it belonged: on his angel’s marriage hand.

Crowley snatched the box and, with some difficulty, pocketed it.

(He was actually surprised these pants came with pockets.)

Fine. If inspiration won’t come to him, then he’ll come to inspiration. Humans always went on and on about knowing when the time was right or what have you. Sure, it might be more…spontaneous than he’d like…

(Crowley liked plans. Plans kept him and his angel alive since the dawn of their arrangement, even when they didn’t always pan out the way he wanted them to)

But, as his angel showed him back at the airbase, sometimes a little spontaneity was just what he needed to get the job done.

-

He could have proposed at the theater. Hamlet had been Aziraphale’s favorite because Crowley made it into a smashing success just for him. It would have been romantic— a reminder that there wasn’t anything Crowley wouldn’t do to make him happy. But instead, he just watched on with half-amusement, half-embarrassment as his angel cheered and encouraged the actors, rather loudly, from their seats.

(“Angel, darling, love of my life, you’re going to get us kicked out if you keep that up.” “I-I’m the love of your life?” “Obviously, but also, not the point.”)

He could have proposed at their bench at St. James Park: right where they used to meet in secret and business and thinly veiled ventures to simply be in each other’s company—a reminder of how far they’ve come and a promise for what’s to come. But instead, they just fed the ducks, Crowley listening on with not-so-silent affection as Aziraphale berated himself for feeding them bread for years when it turned out it had been bad for them all along.

(“I brought peas this time!” “Angel, I’m sure the ducks would have appreciated any old thing.” “Yes, well, I still want it to be good for them, Crowley.” “All right, fair enough.”)

He could have proposed at the Ritz, gotten them a nice hotel room to ah…freshen up (after making a mess out of each other), enjoyed their meal and basked in the romantic atmosphere— a reminder of the first day of the rest of their lives after freeing one another and paving a road ahead where they could be together, belong together at last. He could have even put the ring in his angel’s dessert—if the ring made it out intact.  But instead, Crowley dined and wined with the most perfect being (for him) created in all this universe, and basked in that lovely, perfect moment, all worries, anxieties—and the ring—forgotten.

(“I love you, Crowley.” “I…I…oh—fuck—” “It’s all right, Crowley…” “I just…sometimes…” “It’s okay, love…” “I’ve wanted to hear you for so long—” “You’ll hear me every day, Crowley.” “Angel, I love you, I’ve been in love with you for—forever, it feels like.” “I know, Crowley. I know…and I’m ready to hear it now.”)

He could have proposed in so many different places, so many different times, and in so many different ways—all romantic, all with grand, sweeping gestures, and all matter of symbolism and meaning behind each instance.

And yet, the primordial, primitive, snake-brain of his—decided that now would be the time.

“Ah—ah—angel, angel,” Crowley gasped, writhing against the delicious friction as Aziraphale maddeningly teased his Effort from within the constricting confines of his trousers.

“Yes, dearest?” he smiled, looking quite at home on his knees on the Persian rug of the bookshop’s backroom.

“You right bastard—ah!” Crowley choked off a scream as Aziraphale mouthed his clothed cock, warm, wet heat so close yet so far from where he needed it most. He fruitlessly attempted to shimmy out of his jeans, buck into that lovely, inviting mouth, and give his angel a taste of what happens when you press a demon’s buttons in all the right ways.

“I know virtues aren’t your specialty, Crowley, but you really should have some patience,” his angel tsk’d, eyes gleaming with mischief and Crowley fell impossibly deeper in love with this incorrigible, chaotic ethereal being.  

And that. That was exactly what his snake-brain was waiting for. “Oh, fuck angel—marry me—”

Then that heat was gone. It took maybe a second or two for the words that had just tumbled straight out of his mouth to register, but before Crowley could internally agonize in horror at his abso-fucking-lutely shite timing—

“I—I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

And what was Crowley supposed to do? Back out? Deny he said anything? Nope, not this time, not on his life.

Not anymore.

“Marry me,” he wheezed out, the embarrassment not quite catching up to him as he miracled the box to his hand (and thusly relieving some of that extra pressure in his trousers), and presented it to Aziraphale with all the grace of a boneless octopus.

(wait, octopodes don’t have bones do they?)

Best case scenario, Aziraphale disregarded the fact that Crowley just popped the question right before a well-anticipated blowjob. Worst-case scenario, he would have berated the demon for the abso-fucking-lutely shite timing. But instead, he was met with: "So," Aziraphale started, brows furrowed with confusion from between Crowley's legs. "That bulge in your pants doesn't just mean you're happy to see me?"

“Angel,” Crowley sighed, valiantly attempting to keep calm despite the gnawing anxiety at his chest; great, the gears were still turning in his angel’s pretty little head from the shock. “You know I’m always happy to see you on your knees for me, but I believe I asked you a question.” He waved the box in front of him and then it all clicked into place.

Crowley could tell by the bright sparkle in those sea-storm eyes and the sweet, bashful smile on his lips. “Then shouldn’t you be the one on your knees? Or—one, rather, I think is the human way of doing it now.”

“Oh, right,” Crowley muttered, wobbling as he stood from his favorite couch in all of Aziraphale’s shop. As tradition dictated, Crowley got down on one knee, opened his mouth to say, “Aziraphale, will you—”

And was immediately met with, “Yes!”

Crowley tumbled backwards onto the couch, and armful and lapful of his ecstatic angel, and finally engaged.

-

“Oh…it’s so lovely, Crowley,” Aziraphale cooed, holding up the ring to the light.

Crowley hummed, lacing their fingers together, and— yes he was right all along, he should have never doubted his tastes to begin with.

The ring was perfect on his angel.

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, dimples, and chin, and if the rest of their lives could be even just a fraction of how perfect this moment was, Crowley, for the first time in a long time, was looking forward to eternity.

“Even if you did propose right before I was to initiate fellatio,” Aziraphale giggled.

Crowley sighed, feigning annoyance despite the way his heart (not quite-so-ashen, and not-quite-so burnt) thudded painfully with love. “You could not have said that any worse.” He pulled Aziraphale close, smothering the giggles at his expense with a tender, loving kiss. He drew back, smirking at the lovestruck look on his angel’s face, plain as day, unguarded and open for Crowley to see. “Besides, could you have done any better?”

“Well, I certainly could,” he teased.

Crowley raised a brow, a challenging smile on his lips. “Oh really, now? C’mon then, let’s hear it.”

“All right, then!” His angel cleared his throat. “I would have, for one, proposed on October 21st—”

“Day the Earth was created, not bad,” Crowley admitted.

“And on that day, asked you to come away with me to a little trip—”

“Ooh, going on a little trip, are we?” The demon chuckled. “Where to? Tadfield? France? Rome?—”

“The Garden.”

Crowley felt his breath catch in his throat. Aziraphale gave him a small, triumphant smile, and continued. “Of course I still have access to it, dear. I was one of its guardians after all.” His angel admired the ring once more, voice soft as he continued, “I would have brought a picnic of course, and suggested, if you hadn’t already—”

“To have it on the wall,” Crowley whispered. “Where we first met.”

“Where our journey began,” Aziraphale added. “And I would have—I would have let you know that never in my wildest dreams would I have thought, back then, up there on that wall, that I would have found…the person that my heart belongs to.” He looked back at Crowley, eyes wet and smile wobbling on his sweet mouth and Crowley wanted to just take this lovely, lovely being in his arms and never let go. “And that through this long, long journey since Earth began, I’m ever-grateful that all my roads lead back to you.”  

“Angel…”

“And then, I would get down on one knee and ask you,” he turned to face Crowley, a tear or two slipping down his cheeks, “Oh? My what’s that in your ear?”

Crowley furrowed his brow. “Wha—oh, no, angel, not one of your—”

“Ooooh, what’s this?” But before Crowley could swap his hand out of his way, something bright, gleaming, and poorly concealed in his angel’s hand caught his eye.

Any and all teasing of his fiancé’s failed sleight of hand fled Crowley’s mouth at the sight of the gold band between his fingers. He must have looked quite the sight, gaping mouth and nothing coming out, but Aziraphale only chuckled.

“You always did go faster than me, Crowley,” he murmured, placing the band right on his demon’s marriage finger, smiling at the perfect fit it made. “But that’s all right.” He pressed a soft, gentle kiss to his fiancé’s lips. “All my roads lead to you, after all.”

[hutchhitched]

Bucky’s Very Bad Day

A couple of weeks ago I stumbled upon this post by @musette22, and it sparked an idea. Even though it was originally Evanstan, I heard Stucky in my head. I haven’t been reading Stucky long. I’ve been writing fanfiction for The Hunger Games (Everlark, specifically) since 2013, and while I enjoy Steve and Bucky, their voices weren’t inside my head (metaphorically, of course) telling me two write down their stories. I don’t usually get nervous posting fanfiction anymore, but writing something for a new (very large, very active, very talented) fandom is unnerving. If you choose to read, I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to @stjohn27 and @musette22 for extra eyes and support.

Rating: Excessively Fluffy Warnings: No content warnings apply. Length: approximately 2200 words AO3 link

Prompt: Chris Steve and Sebastian Bucky trading soft, sleepy kisses as they cuddle up in bed after a long day, burrowed together under a soft, fluffy duvet. Their guards down, eyes closed, curled into each other as they steal soft little kisses right before they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

 ___________________________________________________________

“I’m here,” Steve calls as he enters his apartment. He’s been waiting all day to get home to Bucky, and he’s finally able to toss aside his responsibilities and spend time with the person he loves most in the world.

 There’s no answer, which he finds a little disconcerting as he sets his bag down on the couch and shrugs off his jacket. Patches of lights from floor and table lamps litter the walls, but the apartment is quiet and lacks the liveliness he expected as he anticipated his arrival. Bucky’s supposed to be here.

 Steve jumps as a soft thump echoes behind him. He turns to see an upturned face with wide eyes and a swishy snow-white tail. With a fond grin, he scratches Alpine under the chin and coos, “Where’s your daddy, sweetheart?” The cat leans into his fingers before yawning widely and sauntering out of the room and down the hall. As he watches, she disappears into the master bedroom without a care in the world.

 “Buck?” Steve asks as he patters behind the animal. “Where are you? What are you doing?”

 He enters the bedroom and swivels his head to survey the entire area. Bucky’s nowhere to be found—that is, until Alpine jumps up on the bed and the lumpy mattress makes an unglorified “hmph”.

 “Bucky?”

 A grumble emanates from under the duvet, and Steve approaches the bed and pulls the blankets down to reveal his boyfriend tangled in the sheets. His long brown hair spills over his shoulder blades, and Steve trails the tips of his fingers over the bare skin of his neck peeking through the dark strands.

 “Bad day?”

 Bucky nods and sniffles as he buries his face deeper into the pile of pillows until his head almost disappears.

 “You want to talk about it?” he asks gently, hoping to get Bucky to turn over and give him a smile.

 Bucky shakes his head fiercely, which only succeeds in burrowing his head further until he’s covered down to his shoulders. Sighing, Steve nudges him sideways so he can sit on the edge of the mattress. When he’s braced enough not to slip off and land on the floor on his ass, he tries again.

 “Is there anything I can do to convince you to come out from under there?”

 Bucky grunts but, otherwise, doesn’t move, so Steve seeks out the warm skin of his boyfriend’s lower back. Bucky hums at the touch, but that quickly turns to a whimper when Steve rises and moves away from the bed. Without looking, Bucky reaches with his right arm and grasps at empty air.

 “Give me a minute, sweetheart. Bathroom, pajamas, and then I’ll join you.”

 Bucky’s hand drops so the crook of his elbow curves over the edge of the mattress. Steve takes that as his cue to move and does his business and changes into sleep pants and a tank top in record time. He slips through the apartment turning off the lights and setting the alarm before moving back down the hall and standing by the bed.

 Bucky’s still nestled so deep in the bedding he’s practically invisible, and Steve chuckles softly at how adorable his boyfriend is when he’s sad or happy or excited or irritable or upset or—well, really anything. Bucky’s always as precious as gold, especially when he’s hiding from the world and waiting for Steve to come home to help make things better.

 “Hey,” Steve says as he pulls back the duvet and slips underneath. When he’s on the same plane as Bucky, he can just barely make out the furrowed brow and trembling lips of the love of his life, and he reaches over and brushes hair out of those beautiful gray-blue eyes. Eyes that happen to be filled with tears and sorrow. “What’s wrong, baby?”

 A broken noise catches in the back of Bucky’s throat, and Steve scoots closer so he can press up against his side. He’s stiff with tension, and Steve works to ease the rigidity of Bucky’s upper body.

 “Shhh, I’m here,” he says in a soft, soothing voice that he hopes radiates a comforting vibe. “I’m right here. What’s got you all huddled up under the covers hiding from the big bad world?”

 Bucky curls instinctively toward him and tucks his head under Steve’s chin. His hair tickles, but Steve tightens his arms around him and holds on tightly. The sniffles and whimpers intensify for a few minutes and then subside into quiet sighs that hold the weight of the world in their echoes.

 “You’re so strong, Bucky. Brave and smart and loving. Selfless.” He drops a kiss to the crown of his boyfriend’s head. “Generous and compassionate. Tender-hearted and kind.”

 “No, I’m not,” Bucky grumbles, and he shakes his shoulders miserably.

 “You are,” he insists in a soft whisper directly into Bucky’s ear. “You’re all of those things and a hundred other wonderful things more. I’m so proud of you. Love you so much.”

 Incrementally, Bucky’s shoulders relax under the resolve of Steve’s embrace until he’s limp and calm. His breaths even out into deep inhales and slow exhales that puff against Steve’s chest and trail along his neck.

 “I went to the grocery store,” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s shoulder. “You asked if I could pick up a few things, and I had a list. I thought it was going to be okay.”

 “I take it things didn’t go as planned?”

 Bucky shivers in his arms, and he runs his hand absently along Bucky’s right arm, all the way down to his wrist and then back up to his biceps, solid and hard even when unflexed. The latent power beneath Bucky’s soft skin is one of the sexiest things Steve’s ever had the pleasure of feeling.

 “There were so many people there. Some sort of vendor appreciation day and people with samples at the end of every aisle. All of them shoving stuff in my face and yelling at me to take it. I couldn’t find what you—we—needed, and there was no one to ask for help, and then someone dropped a gallon of milk, and I—” He chokes on his words, and Steve squeezes his elbow to comfort him. “The bang was so loud, Steve. I had to get out of there.”

 “That’s okay, Bucky. It’s okay. You did great.”

 “I ran home, and I crawled in here. All you wanted was for me to help you out. All I had to do was get some milk and eggs and bread and whatever the hell else it is that you think we need when a storm’s coming, and I couldn’t… I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, Stevie.”

 “You don’t have to apologize to me, Buck.”

 “But I—”

 “No, stop. You followed your instinct. Fight and flight are two perfectly acceptable options, and in this case, I think you hiding in bed is a hell of a lot better than beating up a baby boomer in a black apron and baseball cap hocking cheese to unsuspecting grocery shoppers.”

 Bucky snorts, and Steve’s heart expands three sizes in his chest. That sound is music to his ears.

 “So, can I get a kiss? Because I’ve been home for approximately 25 minutes, and I still haven’t even seen your face.”

 Bucky pulls back to loll his head against Steve’s shoulder. A wry smile graces his lips, and his eyes are hooded and gloomy. “What? This old mug?”

 “I happen to really, really like everything about it.”

 “Like what?” Bucky asks, his tone suddenly cheeky.

 “I don’t know,” Steve answers. “Maybe these lips.”

 He brushes his over Bucky’s, and both release tiny moans as electricity sparks between them.

 “These old things?”

 “Old just means they have experience and know what they’re doing.”

 A contented sigh reverberates through Bucky’s chest, and Steve slants his head to capture his boyfriend’s mouth in a searing kiss. Their lips part, and Steve slips his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. Heat spirals into a comforting, scorching bubble that eventually eases Bucky’s worries until he’s grinning so hard they can’t kiss anymore.

 “Feel better?”

 Bucky nods and smiles sheepishly. “Much. No beating up anyone in aprons today.”

 Steve smooths the hair off Bucky’s forehead and kisses him there gently. “Have you eaten?” he asks and rolls his eyes when Bucky shakes his head self-consciously. “You forget?”

 “I forgot.”

 “Up,” Steve insists and tosses the duvet aside. “You need food.”

 “I don’t want food,” Bucky whines, but he rises from the bed and follows Steve dutifully into the kitchen. Steve knows he’s hungry, no matter how much he pretends to be put upon by having to leave the bed. Steve heats some food and whips up a salad while pointing at Bucky to have a seat at the table.

 “Sit,” he insists. “I’ve got you.”

 Although it always drives Bucky a little up the wall to be coddled this way, Steve can tell his panic attack earlier exhausted him. Bucky watches him with tired eyes until Steve blushes.

 “What?” he asks, a rueful grin twitching at the corner of his mouth.

 “Just grateful for a boyfriend who loves me enough to take over when I’m not okay.”

 “It’s definitely a hardship,” Steve teases, but Bucky refuses to let him make light of his words.

 “I’m serious, Stevie,” he insists. “And even better than you taking over, I also know I only have to eat before I can climb back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and cuddle with you while Alpine curls up into the curve behind my knees. Because that sounds really amazing right now.”

 “Well, here’s to amazing leftover spaghetti,” Steve announces as he sets a plate in front of Bucky.

 Steve fills his boyfriend in on his day at work as the two eat. After a few minutes, he remembers the bottle of wine in the fridge and pours them each a glass. There’s certainly not enough alcohol to get either of them drunk, but sipping the drink seems to ease the tension in Bucky’s face.

 “Leave the dishes,” Bucky pleads once they’ve eaten. “I know it bothers you not to clean up, but I’m a little desperate here. Sensory overload is a thing, and I could use a blank slate. White sheets seem like a great idea right about now.”

 Alpine meows from beneath the table, and Steve smiles indulgently. “Give me five minutes. Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

 Bucky doesn’t resist, so Steve hurries as much as he can. It only takes a few minutes to get the kitchen the way it should be, and then he rushes into the bedroom where Bucky’s…asleep. Curled on his side with wisps of hair brushing against his cheek. Steve can’t stop the dopey grin from sliding over his face. He has the most remarkable boyfriend in the entire world, and it doesn’t help at all that there’s a soft, fluffy, pristine white cat curled up on the pillows purring like a machine.

 He crosses to his side of the bed and as carefully as possible lifts the duvet to slide under it. He’s not cautious enough because Bucky wakes as the mattress dips, and he blinks at Steve through sleepy eyes.

 “Hey,” he says with a wide yawn. “I know you.”

 Steve leans over to brush his lips against his boyfriend’s and is rewarded with an uncharacteristic giggle. “I know you, too. Your name’s Bucky.”

 “Who the hell is Bucky? What a dumb name.”

 “It’s the worst. If that’s what people called me, I’d be totally embarrassed.”

 Bucky smirks as he scoots across the bed, so he’s pressed up against Steve. “Good thing I don’t embarrass too easily.”

 “You don’t, huh?”

 “Not even remotely,” Bucky answers, his voice as husky as Steve’s.

 Their lips meet. And then again. Over and over in sweet, gentle caresses until Steve melts.

 “I’m sorry about your day, baby,” he whispers into the darkness between them. There’s just enough light from the windows for him to see the sparkle in Bucky’s eyes. “If I could have, I would have gone with you.”

 “That’s because you’re a good human, Stevie. A really, really good human who also happens to be a really terrific kisser.”

 Steve slides his arms around Bucky and pulls him closer until their foreheads meet. “Are you sure?”

 “I might need more evidence.”

 Their mouths slot together repeatedly, soft whispers and confessions falling between them as their eyes grow heavier. Steve pulls the duvet up to their chins and slips his arms back around Bucky as their fingers and legs tangle together under the sheets. Steve’s chest warms his boyfriend’s back, and he curls tighter until they’re spooned together.

 “Love you, Stevie,” Bucky slurs, his voice heavy with fatigue.

 “Love you, too, Buck,” he murmurs. “Go to sleep, baby.”

 His eyes droop closed, and he brushes his lips against Bucky’s twice more before they both drift into sleep. Alpine watches them both for a few minutes before yawning and curling into a ball next to Bucky’s chest. She kneads the material for a few seconds and then follows her owners into slumber.

[spoonfulofsexy]

Frozen Over

Winter Soldier x Frostbite (Reader) 

Chapter (13/?)

Masterlist (x)

AN: Dear god guys, I am the worst!! I’m so sorry for the wait.  College destroyed my brain and it was really hard to get back into writing!! I understand if you are not interested in the story anymore! But if you are here’s a fluffy story to make up for my absence. 

“Have a good day at work”, you kissed Winter on the cheek.  It’s been almost  a year since you moved into your new home.

Winter got a job down at the docks carrying large boxes and equipment.  You got a job at an ice cream parlor in town.  This was perfect for you because you got to be around the cold and you were able to interact with people everyday.

You often worried about Winter when you had time for your mind to slip during work.  He was never great at adapting socially around new people, and you didn’t want something to trigger him into soldier mode.  

Every night when he walked through your door, a sigh of relief escaped your mouth.  Everyday with out a winter soldier incident is a day closer to moving on.  He would always come home so exhausted, you could just see it in his eyes.

“Hey Wint”, you said from the kitchen as he walked into the house.

“Yes, my love?”, he shouted loud enough for you to hear him.

You smiled at the loving name as you stirred the soup on the stove.  “Are you working tomorrow?”, you asked.

There was a pause of silence as Winter thought for a second. “No, I don’t actually. Why?” Winter entered the kitchen and wrapped his strong arms around your torso.  He rested his chin on your shoulder and hummed as he smelled the delicious meal you were making.

You smiled at the contact and leaned your head, so you could rest it against his.  “How do you feel about the idea of going to the lake tomorrow?  It’s supposed to be perfect weather for that.”

“That sounds great!  What about my arm though?”   You could hear his voice change at the mention of his arm.  

“Well you can wear a shirt and just put that sleeve you always wear over top of it.  You don’t have to go into the water all the way”, you suggested.

Winter’s mouth tugged to the right as he considered that option. “Hmmm, alright I guess that could work.”

You danced in your spot with excitement. “Yay!! I’m so excited to get out of this town for awhile!!”  

Winter smiled at your cute little wiggle that you called a dance. “You’re the cutest, Frost”, he said and quickly placed a peck on the side of your cheek.  “Is it alright if I go shower, or will the soup be ready soon?”, he asked.

“No you can go, I will keep it warm for you!”

With that you could hear his heavy footsteps make their way up the old wooden stairs.

Once you heard the water turn off from upstairs you started to set the table and cut some bread for the soup.  

“It smells amazing, printesa!” He gleamed with joy as he took a deep breath of the rich aroma.

“I knew Ciorbă ardelenească de porc was your favorite, and you’ve been working so hard that I figured this would be a nice reward after a tough week”, you poured the soup into two large bowls.  

Winter placed the bread on the table and instantly broke a piece off for him to eat.  You placed a bowl in front of him and one for you across.

You could see his chocolate eyes widen with joy once his soup was before him. “Thank you, my love, for making me delicious meals every night”, Winter thanked you before taking a spoonful of the soup.

A smile spread across your face at his appreciativeness.  “You’re welcome, thank you for eating everything even though it may not taste good.”

You both shared a laugh while reminiscing on all the meal disasters you have experienced together.

When the meal was over you washed the dishes as he dried them.  You kept telling him how excited you were to go to the lake tomorrow. You were so excited that it took you an hour of laying in bed before you could put your mind at rest so you could sleep.

  The sun’s rays burned your eyelids making you wake up from your peaceful slumber. You groaned and rolled over to snuggle up to Winter. You kissed his cheek lightly and nestled your head into his neck.

“Good morning, Draga mea”, he said in his raspy morning voice.  Winter kissed the top of your head and wrapped his muscular arms around your torso.  

“Good morning, Wint.”  Your voice was soft, but showed your tiredness.

“How’d you sleep?”, he asked as he ran his fingers through your soft hair.

“Like a baby”, you hummed.

“Good, you will need a lot of energy for today.”

“Oh yeah!”, you shot up with eagerness. You threw the covers off of your legs and you hopped out of bed.  Before picking an outfit you opened the curtains so you could see better.

Winter groaned at the sunlight, “Ahh, it’s too bright.”

With a huge smile on your face you replied, “That means it’s a perfect day for a swim!” You pulled on your floral, high waisted bathing suit bottoms and tied on the matching top.

Winter couldn’t keep his eyes off of you and you caught him staring.  You were flattered by his wondering eyes and blushed at the attention.  Over top of your bathing suit you pulled on a light green sundress that had little polka dots all over it.  

“Alright, I’ll make breakfast while you get up!”, you gracefully danced out of the room.

 You and Winter enjoyed your breakfast and then packed you bag for the lake.  Once ready, you both took the bus and sat on it for an hour before you arrived. The town with the lake was so lively.  People were out and about going to shops and dancing to some music that was playing.  There spirits were infectious and you couldn’t help but feel energized by watching them.  

You grabbed Winter’s hand and started to run to the water. “C’mon Buck!”  You had to remember to call him by “Bucky” in public.

The lake’s beach wasn’t too crowded.  You found the perfect spot that was the right distance from the water and other people.  Children’s giggles filled the air as they chased each other into the water, and the sound of their mother’s gossiping to each other were in the background.

“Isn’t it a lovely day?”, you sighed as you took off your dress.

“Yeah it’s great, good thing it isn’t very crowded.”

“Wanna come down to the water with me?”, you asked with a outstretched hand.

Winter put a hand on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.  You could see he was checking out the surroundings to see if their was anything suspicious. “Yeah, sure.”

He got up off his towel and dusted the sand off his swim trunks.  He placed his gloved hand into yours and walked down to the shore with you.  When the water came up and touched your toes a chill shot up your body, making you squeal.

“Ohhh, that’s chilly”, you exhaled.

Winter let out a laugh, “As if you’re not used to the cold”, he whispered.

You rolled your eyes at his little joke, “You know I haven’t used my powers in years.”

“I know, I was just joking around, dear.”  He kissed the side of your head and squeezed your hand a little tighter.  You pretended to be mad at his joke and Winter knew it, so he peppered your face in kisses till you burst into giggles.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough!”, you laughed as you tried to push his face away.  Once you finally got out of his grips you sprinted to where your towels were. Winter caught up quickly and was taking the lead, so when he was in reach you pushed him to the side making him fall into a pile of sand.

“Hey!”, he shouted.  To make things even he grabbed your ankle as you passed making you fall flat on your face.  You lifted your face out of the sand only to see Winter reach the towels before you.  You pouted in defeat and dusted yourself off.  Bucky laughed at your childish facial expression. “Oh c’mon I’ll buy you a milkshake at lunch”, he comforted you.

“Well, I guess that makes up for it”, you smiled.

“Alright let’s go get some lunch before my stomach eats itself”, he threw his arm around you as your grabbed your bag.  

 For lunch you both ordered smoked sausage with a side of polenta and potatoes.  Then for dessert you shared a vanilla milkshake.  You were having such a wonderful, relaxing day with him, you couldn’t imagine what could make this day any better.  

To help digest your food, you both took a walk along the lake’s shore.  The farther you walked the less people were around, which was the best for Winter.  As you walked the two of you discussed dreams of yours and joked around with each other. Winter started to slow down until he was standing in front of you and he took your hands into his.  You weren’t sure what was going on, but you didn’t really think much of it.  

Winter looked deep into your (E/C) eyes, and took a shaky breathe before speaking.

“Frost, you are the most beautiful person I have ever met in my life.  I’m not just talking about your looks either.”  You blushed at his sweet words. “Ever since you came into my life, things have been different.  I’ve been wiped so many times the memory is blurry, but I always try to keep it tucked away.” He shut his eyes, as if he was thinking hard about something.  “I remember, you were like a wild flame.  Always shouting and trying to fight back like you were never going to give up.  You gave me hope, Frost.”  You smiled sadly at him, as tears filled his eyes.  “Even though they tried to change you into a little puppet, you stayed strong and kept a lot of you the same.  I really admired that, because you were what I yearned to be.  It pained me to watch them hurt you.”  He looked at you with sorrow.  “Every day they tried to break you, but they never could. You are the strongest person I know.  I’ve seen you have wounds where I thought ‘This is it, she’s not going to make it.’, but you get right back up and keep kicking ass.  Even when you were weak you would help me.  You are so selfless.”  He choked out the words as tears ran down his cheeks.  You wiped them away with your thumb and put a hand on his cheek.  He took a deep breath to gather himself. “You have been by my side for years, and I want to be by yours for the rest of my life.”

Winter went down on one knee and pulled a little velvet box out of his pocket.  “Frost, will you let me love you unconditionally and be by your side through the thick and thin for the rest of your life?  Will you marry me?”  He opened the box and revealed a dainty diamond ring that sparkled in the sun.  Your breath was caught in your throat, and your heart was pounding so fast you thought it would burst out of your chest.  You were completely lost for words, you never would have thought Winter would take the time to do this.  You figured that you both had an unspoken agreement on just growing old together, but this was completely different.

“Yes!”, you finally breathed out.

Bucky looked up at you with excitement. “Really?!”

You jumped into his arms making you both fall into the sand. “Yes!!! Of course, who else would I want to be with?!”  You giggled and attacked his face with kisses.  Happy tears ran down your face as he slid the ring onto your finger. “I can’t believe you did this”, you gasped.

“I was talking to Babushka and she suggested it.  She helped me pick out a ring. I know it’s not much but-”, you cut him off.

 “No, I love it!! It’s perfect.”

You laid in his arms for a bit and sighed, “I can’t believe we will be married.”

“I know”, Winter gleamed at the thought of it. “Do you think we will have kids?”

Your face softened at the thought, “Maybe one day, I don’t if my body will allow it though.”  You saw him trying to hide his sadness. “Oh Wint, it’s okay, we will worry about it when the time comes.  If it’s not possible then we will get a dog!”

“Ten dogs?!”, he suggested with excitement.

“Alright, don’t push it.”  You both laughed at the suggestion and continued to watch the sunlight glisten off the water.  Who would’ve thought that you would be marrying the same mysterious man that you met the day Zola brought you in.

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