#buckyatbedtimeswritingchallenge

[ciarawritesmarvel]

The Forfeit [Teacher!AU]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Language in different languages (eheh), a teensy bit of alcohol?

A/N: I’m literally in love with the idea of cool language teachers Bucky and Y/N that all the students love and - surprise! - they love each other too. I don’t even know why I just love it. Anyway, this is for @bucky-at-bedtime‘s 1.5k writing challenge, congrats lovely! I had a lot of fun writing this so thank you for letting me be a part of it <3

Prompt: We’re both teachers and at the end of the year we compare how many gifts we’ve received from students and you’ve won for the past three years AU

MASTERLIST

You wrestled with the folders in your arms, propping them on your hip for a second to get a better grasp on them before continuing along the corridor. You received a few smiles from kids passing you and you just about managed to return them despite your concentration on not dropping your marking. There were even a few sweethearts who offered to help you but you’d never been one to rely on others so you simply shook your head kindly before hurrying off, heels clicking loudly against the wooden floors.

It was the last week of term which meant there were masses of tests to mark, particularly rowdy students to control and grumpy teachers to be dealt with. You had tried your best not to fall into the same trap they had of getting excited for the holidays too early and letting yourself fall into misery for the last week, so, at that moment, you seemed to be one of the only enthusiastic teachers at the entire school.

You finally made it to the languages office, dropping the folders down on the desk with a loud thump before dropping yourself into your chair. You checked your watch - 50 minutes until your next class to finish marking these essays. Opening up the first folder and skimming over the first few lines you groaned audibly, leaning your head back against the chair and closing your eyes. There was no way you had time to correct these.

It was only when you opened your eyes again then that you saw the bright yellow post it note stuck to the ceiling.

“Don’t stress, Y/N, 2 days to go!”

Bloody Mr Barnes.

You couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on your lips at the gesture. He knew you far too well if he knew you looked upwards everytime you were anxious or frustrated. But being the only two language teachers in the school and being forced to work together in a tiny shared office constantly did tend to form a pretty strong bond.

And that bond came in handy at moments like this as, spurred on by his encouragement, you knuckled down and began marking the essays. 50 minutes later and you hadn’t finished, it was an impossible task you’d set for yourself after all, but you got much further through than you normally would.

“Working hard?” a knock and a voice came from behind you just before the bell was due to ring for next period and you swiveled your chair round to face the intruder, a soft smile of greeting already on your face just from his voice alone.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve just finished,” you answered, pushing yourself up and beginning to gather your folders together, “How were the Year 7s?”

“A handful,” he grimaced playfully but it quickly morphed into a fond smile, “A wonderful handful though. Anyway, I know you have french now but I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

He leaned back outside the doorway to grab something from the hallway before holding it out in front of him.

“Surprise!”

It was a large plastic box, clearly meant to be used for storage. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, waiting for the explanation. Instead of explaining however, he shot you a grin that made your heart flutter involuntarily before striding over to you and, holding the box in one hand, took the folders out of your hand and dumped them into the box, holding it out to you again. It clicked.

“No way…” you breathed as you took the box from him and stared at him for just a moment longer than necessary. You just did not deserve this guy in your life. He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Hey, it’s hardly revolutionary, just thought it might stop you from nearly dropping your shit every two seconds.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” you grinned, snapping out of your dazed gaze and his eyes sparkled at your use of his name since you hardly ever used each other’s first names, preferring the game of using your ‘teacher names’.

“It’s nothing,” he replied sincerely, nodding to you as he turned to leave for his next class before he remembered something and turned back to face you, “Oh, and don’t even think about counting this as one of your gifts for the bet tomorrow.”

He winked and your breath hitched but then he sauntered out of the office and you didn’t have the chance to say another word.

You’d forgotten about the bet. The stupid, godforsaken, why-on-earth-did-we-start-this-shit bet. In your first year at the school, Bucky had introduced the bet as some sort of icebreaker between the two of you and it had been a thorn in your side ever since.

Every year, you’d both see how many gifts you’d get from students before the summer holidays and on that last Friday after school, you’d crack open a bottle of champagne, celebrate the ending of the year and open gifts together, counting how many each person got. Whoever got the most had the other do a forfeit.

And the stupid bastard had won for the past three years. Three. Years.

The first time, you’d had to come into school on the first day the next year wearing a costume of his choice. Mr Fury, the headteacher, found the whole bet so hilarious that he gave his permission more than happily and so you walked in to your new Year 7 class on the first day to a sea of confused faces dressed as Chewbacca. If they hadn’t been scared before, they certainly were then.

The second time he’d won, he’d gotten you to send an email to the entire school, teachers and students alike, and make it look as if you’d only meant to send it to the school matron:

Good morning Matron,

Sorry to bother you but is there any chance you’re free to have a look at something for me this lunchtime? I’ve just got this...rash that I can’t be bothered to go to the doctor about. It’s probably nothing but due to its placement on my body I wanted to get it checked out.

Best Wishes,

Y/N Y/L/N

Joint-Head of Languages

It was by far the most embarrassing thing you’d ever experienced, walking through the halls for a couple of weeks with all the giggles from students and judging looks from teachers. In the end, you’d made Bucky send an apology email with an explanation since you couldn’t deal with it any longer. He’d reluctantly agreed.

But last year was the worst. He’d made you set your Year 8 spanish class a few spanish swear words and act as if it would be cool for them to say them around school and no one would know they were swearing. At first, you refused that one but you couldn’t really say no when you’d lost the bet fair and square and had agreed to the terms long ago. The email you’d gotten from the Cuban maths teacher was interesting to say the least.

You were downright terrified as to what he might come up with this time.

But your train of thought was cut short by the bell ringing. You shoved the rest of your folders into the box before picking it up with ease and making your way to your french class, a wistful smile on your face the entire way.

***

“Were you going to start without me?” you asked playfully, sticking your head around the door to your shared office and you were met with Bucky stacking all his presents on top of his desk.

“No, just putting all my gifts in their rightful place,” he teased and you scoffed. Walking into the room, you placed your box down on your own desk before making sure to shut and lock the door behind you. You weren’t exactly supposed to have alcohol on school property, even if school was out but it wasn’t as if you drank more than one glass each.

“Ah, then I suppose I should start getting all of mine out of my box?”

“I suppose you should.”

You both stole glances at both each other and each other’s respective piles of presents, that both seemed to be growing at an alarming rate. Clearly, there were far more gifts on both sides than last year, it was surprising that this bet could inspire you both to try to become better teachers. Perhaps that was why Fury had no issue with it?

Once you’d both finished, you got the champagne bottle out of your handbag, laughing when Bucky asked you if you’d been day drinking and poured you both a glass, each of you rolling your desk chairs into the centre of the room to sit opposite each other.

“To our fourth year running this shitshow of a department. May it the next one be just as ridiculously exhausting, Miss Y/L/N,” Bucky raised his glass and you clinked yours against his own.

“I’ll definitely drink to that.”

Eventually you adopted your usual position on these evenings, each sat on one side of your chair with your feet up on the other side of the opposite chair, just in reach of your pile of presents. As you started opening them, laughing and reminiscing on the year that was now behind you, it became obvious that this year was going to be close.

“Another ‘World’s Best Teacher’ mug, how sweet! And this is from…” you trailed off to read the label and smirked when you did, “Peter Parker, you have him as well don’t you? I must be his favourite.”

“Afraid not,” he chuckled, holding up an identical mug with the exact same message on a gift card. You laughed.

“Does he not think we’d notice?”

“I don’t know, Miss Y/L/N, I think that boy has a lot on his mind at any one time, it’s a miracle he remembered to get us gifts.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing to sift through the pile.

“How many are you on?”

“As if I’m telling you!”

Variations of those two lines were said throughout the evening but still neither of you was prepared to tell the other how many you’d got. You were quietly confident this year, hoping beyond hope that you’d finally be able to give him a forfeit instead. You were totally going to make him jump in the school swimming pool in just his boxers.

Just for his own embarrassment of course. Not because you wanted to see that. You didn’t want to see that. Who would want to see that? Certainly not you.

Your internal monologue did nothing to help you to believe what you were trying to tell yourself, unfortunately. In fact, you’d been extremely transparent about your...view on Mr Barnes since you joined the school, so much so that many students and even parents had commented on it. At this point, it seemed it was only the man himself who hadn’t noticed your goofy grins and longing looks.

Thank god.

“Right, I’m finished,” Bucky announced, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head with a satisfied sigh. You frowned.

“I don’t know why you’re so pleased with yourself, surely if you’re finished before me, you’ve lost?” you argued but he simply shrugged, still leaning back and you huffed.

Eventually, you’d opened your last present and placed it carefully with the others, turning to your colleague with a smug smile painted on your lips.

“Go on then,” you urged.

“Ladies first.”

“Exactly, go on.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“Just tell me you dumb dork.”

A pause.

“44.”

You went silent the smirk slipping from your face and sliding onto his. This was not happening again. This could not be happening again.

“T’es un salaud!” you shouted, not caring if anyone heard you and making sure to curse him out in french so he would know you weren’t being too serious. But still, you pointed at him accusatorily and he held his hands up in surrender.

“Firstly, wash your mouth out,” he deadpanned and then the smirk returned, “Secondly, I’m guessing I won then?”

“I got 40,” you whined, slumping down into your chair, “How do you manage to do this every year?”

“By being the better teacher?”

If looks could kill, James Buchanan Barnes would have been stone cold dead.

“Can’t we skip the whole forfeit part of the bet this year? I can’t embarrass myself again this year,” you muttered the last part and you could have sworn Bucky was stifling a laugh so you snapped, “What’s so funny, Buckle?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just, jesus doll, you’re a terrible loser,” he shook his head fondly, “And no we cannot ‘skip the whole forfeit part’. That’s the only part!”

You grumbled but sat in silence awaiting your punishment, a pout prevalent on your features. Your gaze was cast on the floor but after waiting for him to speak for just a few seconds too long, you looked up at him only to see he’d shuffled his chair far closer to yours. You gulped.

“Y/N,” he began, looking right into your eyes and your own were locked onto his too, unable to look away despite desperately wanting to, “This year’s forfeit is probably the worst yet. I mean nothing could ever be as embarrassing as this. Nothing. It may just be the worst thing you’ll ever-”

“I swear, Barnes, if you don’t say what it is right this-”

“You have to go on a date with me.”

You sat completely still, far too close to Bucky for comfort but finding yourself frozen in place. You weren’t sure you’d heard him correctly. You shook your head once. Blinked.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, your tone far harsher than you’d intended making Bucky’s eyes widen as he reeled back a little.

“That came out wrong, I didn’t mean you have to, this isn’t one of those forfeits you have to do because obviously I would never force anyone to go on a date with me but if you’re...happy to then...I-”

He trailed off slowly when you began to shuffle forward in your chair until you were closer to him than you’d been since you fell asleep together on the staffroom couch and all the teachers had taken about a million pictures. It would never be close enough.

“How-” you started, closing your eyes and placing a hand on his chest and bunching up in the fabric as a giggle escaped your lips, “-could you ever think that would be a forfeit?”

You opened your eyes to look at his and another giggle escaped when you saw the shock registering within them.

“I...I don’t-”

“...And not a reward?”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed, Mr Barnes,” you grinned, your face now inches from his and he finally cottoned on, a genuine, joyful grin adorning his entire face, his entire being. He was glowing as he finally closed the gap and rested his forehead against yours, both of you shivering at the contact.

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for so long, Miss Y/L/N,” he whispered, “Actually, I’ve wanted to ask you out for four years.”

“Well, why didn’t you?” you scolded, but it was playful and it was promising and it was perfect.

“Scared,” he murmured against your lips, and you began to laugh but were cut off by his lips on your own. You couldn’t help the small whimper you let out at the contact and that only seemed to spur him on as he growled deep in his chest before suddenly his hands were on your waist and you were lifted onto his lap with a muffled squeal.

His hands travelled up and down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the fabric in between you and your other hand joined the one already on his chest, pulling him ever closer. You stayed like this for as long as you possibly could before your lungs began screaming at you and you had to pull away, panting heavily.

Bucky’s lips instantly attached themselves to your jaw and you closed your eyes momentarily at the sensation.

“Can I tell you a secret?” his voice hummed against your skin and you just nodded your head in response, unable to formulate the words, “I told my classes about the bet, that I was going to ask you on a date if I won and to buy me presents because of it. I’m so glad they did.”

Now that woke you from your haze.

“You cheated?” you asked indignantly, pulling away from him properly, letting his shirt go and opting instead to put your hands on your hips. His lips parted in surprise at your sudden movements away from him, and he tried to pull you back by the waist.

“Well...yes, but for a good reason,” he argued, frown deepening when you refused to let him pull you close, “I thought you’d find it cute, I cheated for you! For us!”

“You still cheated!” you were off his lap now and desperately trying to keep from laughing, but this was just too good and he deserved it anyway.

“But, doll-”

“It’s Miss Y/L/N.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and marched out of the office, leaving Bucky staring after you in total shock, lips swollen and mouth wide open. You waited outside for a couple of seconds, just long enough for him to think you’d actually left, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting out into laughter.

When you were sure he would be suitably terrified, you opened the door again, rushing inside and twisting the key in the lock behind you with a flick of your wrist. You hurried over to him, pushing your own chair out of your way and straddling his thighs once again, cupping his face in your hands.

“On second thought, never call me anything but doll again,” you announced, just moments away from his lips, his breath ghosting across your face and you tried to suppress your shiver. He looked like he was about to reprimand you for your teasing but clearly thought better of it.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

He surged forward, capturing your lips once again and you were pleased to learn that each kiss was as spine-tingling as the last.

if crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for some reason - sorry! tag lists are open so please just drop me an ask ^-^

permanent tags: @mightyhemsworthy @aheadfullofsherlock @ign-is @buckysboobear @sooooo-thats-a-thing @thefridgeismybestie @avengersbabe13 @mixedupsammy @memyselfandmaddox @ginger-rxchxo @emergenciesstory @mehfuture @stephie-senpai @hottrashformarvel @queenoftrash97 @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @yknott81 @mell-bell @dolphinpink310 @sgtjbuccky @dreamerinfinity @selenasoftly @spiderlingss @slightlycatdependent @shamelessbookaddict @vintagepigeon @bodhi-black @realgreglestrade @demoncrypt1066 @skeltn @bucky-at-bedtime @hanscait @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @milkywaybarnes @scurtscurt2021 @jitterbuck @slowly-but-shurley @jaamesbbarnes @yesdruidess @dixonsbugaboo @lortise @residentdemonhunter

[sweetboybucky]

Feelings

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1800

Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs 

Summary: Your date doesn’t end the way you expected. 

A/N: Hi, everyone! So this is my entry for @bucky-at-bedtime ‘s 1.5K Writing Challenge! The first thing I wanna say to the lovely Jess is: congratulations on 1.5K! You totally deserve it, my dear. Your work absolutely blows me away. 

My prompt for this was AU number 3: “You’re the bartender and you catch someone slipping something into my drink.” This oneshot was a bit of a challenge for me because I don’t normally write fics like this, but it was also super fun. I had a great time writing this piece and I just want to thank Jess again for hosting such a fun writing challenge. And I apologize in advance for any typos. I do my best with editing, but it’s easy to miss some things. Anyway, enjoy! 

My Masterlist

***

Your night is not going as planned.

Leaning against the bar, you place your elbow on the smooth, wooden surface and let your cheek fall onto your open hand. Your date drones on about something he brought up some ten minutes again you struggle to keep your eyes open as he talks.

The guy’s name is Derek, and you’d met on some dating app your friend, Nat, had forced you download. She had immediately stolen your phone from you once it was installed and set up your profile for you. She even liked a few guys for you.  

One of those guys was Derek.

After an hour or so of having the app, and once Nat had left, he messaged you. Trying to be polite, you responded. It’s not like you had anything against dating apps, and you had been single for a while, so you didn’t think it would hurt to make some small talk with him and then slowly stop messaging him back all together.

Derek, however, had been persistent and had jumped on the chance to ask you out. The moment you received the message, you debated whether or not to go on the date or tell him to back off, delete the app, and call Nat to scream at her for making you download it in the first place.

Obviously, you chose the former.

The bar is crowded and humid, the air making sweat stick little baby hairs to the back of your neck. You look up from where your gaze had been fixated on the ice cubes in your drink to look at Derek, noticing that he’s still talking.

A tiny groan escapes your lips and for the first time since you got to the bar, you’re happy it’s loud enough that your date won’t hear it.

Looking at him, you realize that this won’t even make a good bad date story. It’s not like the guy is some psychopath, as far as you can tell. He doesn’t have some crazy backstory or weird mannerism to laugh at.  He’s not even the least bit interesting. Derek is, in fact, probably the most boring person you’ve ever met.

“... it’s just so pointless, y’know?” he voices, still discussing something you can’t really remember. You hum in acknowledgment, glancing at his face briefly before focusing your eyes back down at your half-empty drink, lifting it up and swirling the liquid in the glass.

Someone clears their throat behind you and, putting your drink down, you swivel on your stool to see who it is. You notice Derek’s now strange, pinched expression as you do, but you don’t pay attention to it, just assuming that he’s mad your focus is elsewhere. You also hear his exasperated sigh as you smile at the person who’s now grabbed your attention.

Bucky.

You knew your dark haired friend was a bartender at this place but you hadn’t expected him to be working. You’ve never been happier to see him, though, as he grins back at you, one of his hands coming up to tuck a stray piece of long, dark hair behind his ear.

“Hey, Buck,” you say, affection changing your tone. For the first time since getting to the bar, you’re glad to be here. Bucky seems happy to see you as well because he’s beaming now, his perfect teeth on full display.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice silky smooth. “How’s your night going?”

You roll your eyes at him and discreetly mouth the words “so boring” to him, leaning a little closer so he can see you in the dim lighting of the place. He chuckles and gives you a sympathetic glance.

“I didn’t know you were working tonight,” you say. “Why am I just seeing you now?”

“I’ve been upstairs most of the night,” he explains, gesturing to the staircase at the far end of the large room. You’d forgotten that there was an upstairs to this bar. “Private party,” he whispers, bracing his hands against the counter and leaning closer to you. He winks. You laugh.

Just as he’s about to say something else to you, his eyes fixate on something behind you, his grin faltering immediately.

“Bucky? Wha -”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing back there?” Bucky bites.

You flinch a bit at the sudden change in tone and stare at him. He’s not looking at you, though. His gaze remains on something behind you.

Turning in your seat, you see Derek. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his face is completely flushed. He looks nervous - no, terrified - and more confusion morphs your expression into a frown.

“What’s going on?” you ask, looking between Derek and Bucky.

Bucky still isn’t looking at you. His mouth is set in a hard line and there’s a fire behind his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You’ve never seen the teddy bear of a man in front of you so angry.

“This asshole just put something in your drink.”

Your mouth falls open as you look at Derek. A million thoughts race through your mind as Bucky keeps barking at the guy.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice that? I’m standing two fucking feet from you.”

Derek flinches at the words, his body curling in on itself as his gaze flicks down to Bucky’s metal arm. Bucky notices.

“How fucking stupid do you think I am?” Bucky adds.

“I-I, I j-just -” Derek starts, his voice and body shaking. But Bucky cuts him off.

“I don’t care. Get the fuck out before I jump over this goddamn bar and beat you half to death.”

During this entire exchange, you remain motionless. You don’t even move when Derek mutters the smallest version of an apology and stands so quickly he nearly falls over. In an instant, he’s out the door.

Blood roars in your ears and your skin crawls as you look at the glass from which you were drinking just two minutes ago. You’d never imagined that you would be caught in a situation like this. But you know that if Bucky hadn’t seen what Derek did, you surely would’ve finished that drink.

So he was a psychopath after all.

Bucky is saying something to you, but you can’t hear him. You can only see his lips moving out of the corner of your eye.

But then he’s in front of you and his metal hand feels cool against your shoulder. You force your eyes to focus on his, the deep blue loosening the vice grip around your heart.

“Hey, Y/N. Hey,” he whispers. You’re surprised you can hear him over the roar of the people in the bar. “Are you okay? Do you feel dizzy or sick at all?”

When you shake your head at his question, he lets out a relieved exhale. He looks away from you for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, but he keeps his cool hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of your blouse.

After a moment of silent pondering, he looks back to you, his eyes flitting over your face and lingering a little too long on your lips. You notice but you don’t say anything. Your brain is too preoccupied with the fact that you were almost drugged.

“Okay, just breathe, doll,” he says carefully, his flesh hand tucking some the hair that has fallen in front of your face behind your ear. “I’m gonna take you home, alright? Is that okay?”

The sweet tone of his voice makes your brain feel a tad less foggy. But once you’ve registered what he’s said, your brows furrow.

“But you’re working,” you mutter.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says quickly, his gaze is affectionate and soft and the weight of the room and the night and the situation you nearly found yourself in gets lighter. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”

---

“I got you some water.”

Your head snaps up from your hands to the doorway at the sound of Bucky’s voice. He walks carefully across your bedroom and places the glass on your bedside table before taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to you.

Bucky had been nice enough to drive you home rather than just call a cab for you like you had expected. His car had been soft and warm and he had driven so carefully you’d nearly fallen asleep. Exhaustion had crept its way into your bones and you were more than ready to curl up in bed and never leave.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, flashing him a grateful smile before looking back down at your hands. Your fingers tangle in the hem of your shirt.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is so tender and his fingers ghost carefully over your arm as he asks. Tears gather in your eyes as you look back up at him.

“I shouldn’t be so upset,” you mumble. “I shouldn’t be so upset,” you repeat. “I didn’t even drink it, thanks to you. Nothing even happened to me and I still feel so -”

“Anxious?” Bucky questions. You nod at him, wondering how he was able to finish your sentence for you. He reads the confusion on your face and sighs. “It doesn’t matter if something happened to you or not. It’s still scary.”

“You’re allowed to have feelings, Y/N,” he continues. He inches a little closer to you to brush a stray tear off of your cheek. You almost hadn’t noticed it was there.

Leaning forward, your forehead meets his collarbone. You take a shaky breath and bite the inside of your cheek to stave off more tears. Bucky just rests his flesh hand on your back and rubs circles with it, trying to help calm you down.

A few minutes later you’re yawning against his shoulder and he’s chuckling at you and the sound of his laughter seems to brighten up your room more than the small lamp on your bedside table ever could.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispers. “I’m gonna get going so you can rest.”

When he starts to pull away from you, you grab his bicep and hold him in place. He looks at you, clearly waiting for you to speak.

“Please stay,” you finally choke out, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. As he opens his mouth to protest you continue. “I want you to stay.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Okay,” he repeats. He moves around you to the other side of your bed and leans back against the headboard. You lay next to him, pillowing your head on his thigh. His metal hand ghosts over your temple and forehead before settling in your hair.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” you ask, tilting your head up enough to look at his face. He smiles down at you and the look he’s giving you is so gentle you nearly melt.

“Yeah, doll,” he answers, his voice impossibly soft. “I’ll be here.”

He takes your hand and kisses it, his lips feeling exactly the way you imagined they would against your skin.

[pepperonijem]

IDK Single || Steve Rogers

Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: you and Steve have broken up and although you try to hide it, you just don’t know how to be single. {Neighbors!AU; written for @bucky-at-bedtime’s 1.5k writing challenge}

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warnings: drink dranking, also it’s a lil angsty?

A/N: this is based off of the song “IDK Single” by LOOTE. Give it a listen! They have a bunch of good post-breakup songs that are upbeat and make you feel a lil bit better even when you’re single. I stan them. (also shoutout to my girl Upo for beta reading this!!) And a big frick u to writer’s block, this is the first thing I’ve written in a month that I feel proud of

Thump. Thump. Thump. Was it the bassline of the song or was that the blood pounding in your head?  Was that a pair of hands snaking around your waist or was it just the alcohol taking a toll on your liver? Honestly, at this point, was there even a difference? Every sensation was dulled down and reduced to nothing.

The only music you heard was when he was speaking, and the only time you felt electricity was when he was touching you, but he took all of that away with him when he walked out of your life. Unfortunately however, he was still your neighbor, so most of your nights were spent trying to get away from him and getting him out of your thoughts. So here you were, at some random party at a club in SoHo trying to start over with whoever was grinding against you right now -- it definitely wasn’t him. But you wished it was. Deep down, you really did. You tried to swing your hips with the beat and focus on the drunken whispers being spoken into your ear, but it was no use, because it wasn’t his voice. And well, you can’t help it. You don’t know how to be single.

“I guess this is it.” His voice was tired. Tired of shouting, tired of calling out to you, tired of trying. It wasn’t sadness that laced his voice anymore, it wasn’t even anger. Emotion had left him weeks ago. “I guess so.” The voice that escaped your lips was not your own. It was the voice of a broken person, and you were done trying to hide it. “Goodbye, Steve.”

That was the end of almost a year of sleepless nights and spontaneous dates and whispered I love you’s, but unfortunately not the end of your feelings for him. It had been over a month since you last saw Steve. He was a man of routine, and you were thankful for it because it made it so much easier for you to avoid him. You spent your days holed up in your bedroom watching Netflix with your headphones in so that Steve wouldn’t be able to hear you watching The Princess Diaries for the 26th time, and you only left your apartment when you knew he was in his. You often went out to clubs and parties every night in other parts of New York to avoid him and his friends, and only came home after 3 am when you knew Steve was deep asleep. Sometimes, you swear you can hear his faint snoring through the thin wall that separated your bedrooms, and the sound made your heart skip. You would mentally curse yourself, but then stay up for another hour reminiscing and missing the feeling of Steve’s skin on yours.

You thought about that night constantly. His voice still ringing in your head, drowning out the upbeat music that washed over the club. You stepped away from the dance floor, having to pry the guy’s hands off your waist, and headed towards the bar. The lingering thoughts of Steve were a sign that you were not intoxicated enough. You sat down on a stool and flagged down the bartender. “Give me a double of whatever your strongest thing is here,” you asked. The   bartender gave you a concerned look but then slid over a shot glass. You downed it quickly and savored the burn of the alcohol down your throat. You spun around in your stool to look around at the sea of people and all of a sudden you felt trapped. Part of you wanted to fool around, find someone new, but the other part of you just wanted to be alone.

In another club in another part of the city, Steve leaned against the bar counter, sipping on a beer. The alcohol had virtually no effect on him, but he liked the comfort it brought. He looked around, and sighed. “God, it’s crowded,” he said aloud. He turned around, expecting to see your face, but instead saw an empty bar stool. It was the fourth time tonight he’s done that, tried speaking to you but forgetting you were gone. He made eye contact with Bucky who was standing across the room with his arm wrapped around a pretty girl.He looked at Steve with concern in his eyes, but Steve smiled and raised his beer up and Bucky smiled in satisfaction before redirecting his attention. Steve’s smile faltered once out of Bucky’s gaze, but he hoped it was enough for Bucky to think Steve was doing okay. This is the third party Bucky brought him to in the last two weeks, but each one seemed even more draining than the last. He really thought that after two weeks he’d feel better, over you even, but if he was being honest, you had him fuc-- Steve was distracted from his thoughts by a tap on his shoulder.

He turned around quickly to see an almost familiar face. It was almost yours. He pasted a smile on his face once again and smiled at the stranger who was now speaking to him. He had absolutely no idea what they were saying, as all Steve could think about was if their nose was just a little bit smaller, or their eyes just a little bit brighter, he would be looking at you. Steve nodded in response, just to be polite, and was honestly surprised when all of a sudden there was a napkin with a phone number stuffed into his hand. The stranger was gone again and Steve looked down at the number. He shoved it into his pocket, but he knew he wasn’t going to be calling any time soon. He almost felt guilty about it, but he knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere and he didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. He really thought that by now he’d feel different, but he still missed you. Bucky walked over to him with the same girl he was with earlier and pat him on the back. “I saw you talking to someone earlier, pal.” Bucky teased. “Did’ya get a number?”

Steve looked down and let out a sad chuckle. “Yeah, I did,” he admitted. He of course left out the fact that he won’t even call it. Bucky playfully punched his shoulder. “And who’s this lovely lady?” he asked Bucky.

“This is Dot,” Bucky introduced. She reached out and shook Steve’s hand politely. “We’re about to head out, maybe take a walk.” Bucky wrapped an arm around Dot and she looked up lovingly at him. “Do you have cab fare for tonight?”

Steve nodded in response. “Yeah, no worries, you two have a good night.” He waved goodbye to the couple as they made their way out of the building. He looked down at his watch and saw that it was already 2 in the morning and set his beer back on the counter. He followed them out to the street and quickly hailed down a cab, giving the driver his address and asking him to step on it. Steve didn’t mind being home late, really, but he knew how you were. He knew that you haven’t been coming home until he did, because he knew you were trying to avoid him. He could very well be out until dawn, but he also knew you hated being out past 3, because you thought it was the haunted hour. Steve had always teased you for your superstition, but he had taken your fears to heart. He also knew that you tried to stay out after him because it helped you to feel like you were winning. Even now, after losing you, he still wanted you to win.

Within a few minutes he was back at his apartment. He unlocked his door and walked in, enjoying the quiet and the stillness of his home. He changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and plopped down on his bed. He folded his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the sweet release of sleep to take him over.

You stumbled your way back to the bar, demanding for another shot of tequila. “Sorry pal, but I gotta cut you off, you’ve clearly had too much,” the bartender reprimanded. You huffed in response but didn’t argue. “I’ll call you a cab, it’s almost 3,” she said. You nodded and waited on a bar stool until she let you know that the cab was waiting outside. You hopped in and managed to give the driver your address, despite slurring your words. You dozed off in the car but woke back up when the driver came to an abrupt stop at your building.

The stairs were your next obstacle and you were doing fine until they started moving like the magic stairs in Hogwarts. You took your time with each step and by the time you made it to your door, it was well past 3 am. You felt jitters go up your spine as your mind wandered off to the scary stories your cousins used to tell you when you were younger. You managed to pull out your keys and tried hard to jam them into the lock. Unfortunately, you were way too intoxicated to have any control over your fine motor skills and you relented to just banging against the door in hopes it would just magically open.

Well, in this case magic was real, because after several minutes of desperate banging, the door opened.

“Steve?” Your voice came out as barely more than a whisper. Even though the alcohol blurred your vision, you could recognize the scent of his cologne and the width of his shoulders anywhere. His presence being so close to you overwhelmed your senses and you began to sober up enough to realize that you had been banging on the wrong door this whole time. You cleared your throat and looked at Steve apologetically. “I-I’m sorry I thought this was my door, but I guess I was knocking on yours. I’ll just—“ you turned to walk over to the door beside Steve’s, and pulled your keys out once again.

Before you could unlock your door however, Steve grabbed hold of your forearm, sending shivers through you and making you pause to look back at him. For the first time in weeks you saw something in his eyes: pain. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and what used to be washed of electric blue in his irises were dulled down to a stormy gray and you felt a sting in your heart at the sight. His eyebrows furrowed together as he began to speak. “Please,” he begged. “Come home.”

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[ican-do-this-all-day]

Noises

Prompt: “You knocked on my door at 3 in the morning, to cuddle?”

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You enlist Bucky’s help in finding the source of an odd noise in the Avengers compound late at night.

A/N: For @bucky-at-bedtime’s 1.5k writing challenge! I really enjoyed writing the flirty relationship between the two characters and I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

MASTERLIST

Your eyes snapped open.

The clock on your nightstand displayed the time “2:47AM.” You stifled a groan, unsure what could possibly be the reason you’d just woken up from your deep sleep, until your ears picked up the offending sound: a long, low moaning sound unlike anything you’d ever heard.

You reflexively jumped out of bed in a combative stance, ready to take on any threat should it come your way. You quickly relaxed and realized you were being foolish—F.R.I.D.A.Y. would have registered any imminent danger and sounded the proper safety procedures. You couldn’t chastise yourself too hard, though. As an Avenger, you had to constantly be on the defensive and never let your guard down.

You took a tentative seat on the edge of your bed, attempting to puzzle out what the sporadically occurring sound might be. It didn’t sound like anything electric, and the Avengers facility was state-of-the-art, so it wasn’t like to be the typical moans and groans of an old building.

Before long, the clock read “3:03AM” and you still couldn’t for the life of you figure out what you were hearing. Although you’d decided it couldn’t be any sort of threat to you or your teammates, you also couldn’t go back to sleep knowing something was making that odd noise in the compound. But who could you tell? You didn’t want to disturb the whole house. You felt a blush crawl across your cheeks at the thought of who would certainly wake up for you.

Bucky.

You had a complicated relationship with James Buchanan Barnes. Although neither of you had ever outright confessed any feelings about each other to each other, there was an unspoken mutual crush surrounded by frequent and intense flirting that anyone with eyes was able to see. You had the closeness of best friends—there was nothing you hadn’t talked about. You and Bucky had spent many late nights pondering life and the universe and why bad things happened to good people. Still, neither of you had directly told the other how you felt, but you both knew. But it was easier to act how you did than to confront the situation, and you both seemed content to just be together for now.

You thought through anyone else you could ask on the team before coming to a final decision. Natasha was the only other teammate you were as close to, but she quite valued her sleep and would possibly kill you if you woke her and the noise turned out to be nothing. Besides, you couldn’t kid yourself—you wanted to see Bucky more than you wanted to see anyone else.

Rising from your perch on the edge of the bed, you folded the covers down and exited your room, gingerly shutting the door behind you.

You crept along the corridor, dimly lit only by the occasional blue glow of the safety lamps guiding you on your way towards the stairs leading to the floor above you, to room 310.

This was not your first, third, or even tenth trek to 310. You’d spent plenty of time there, day or night, hanging out with Bucky: watching Netflix, complaining, philosophizing, and the like. Your footprints may as well have been etched into the carpet by now.

As you arrived outside room 310 of the Avengers compound, you became suddenly aware of how you were dressed: a sleep set consisting of a gray tank top with black detailing and black shorts with a bow. Your pajamas weren’t overly revealing and they weren’t anything special, yet you felt self conscious to see Bucky in them. Should you run back down to your room and change? No, that was stupid—Bucky had seen you in your pajamas a million times anyways. You grit your teeth and decided to rip off the band aid, rapping your knuckles on his door.

You heard a faint groan from behind the wood and, after a moment, a beautifully disheveled Bucky broke the barrier between you. Half of his hair was tossed into a messy bun and when his gaze landed on you, a heart stopping but terribly groggy smile took hold of his features.

You opened your mouth to speak but Bucky held up a finger to silence you. “Let me guess,” he said, “you knocked on my door at three in the morning to cuddle?”

“If that was the case I would’ve been here an hour ago,” you retorted, snorting and rolling your eyes. “No, you idiot. I keep hearing this weird noise and I can’t figure out what it is.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow and failed to stifle a yawn. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in whatever you’re hearing.”

You were about to fire back when you heard the noise again, the guttural moan this time accompanied by a short hissing sound. Bucky’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Alright, I wasn’t going to indulge you, but now I gotta know what the hell that was.” He beckoned you into his room as he changed into a clean shirt. You tried not to stare at the ripples of his muscles while he was between shirts and failed pathetically.

Bucky’s voice snapped you back to the present. “So have you checked anything out yet or did you need me to be your security blanket?” he teased.

You scoffed and crossed your arms. “Yeah, James. It’s pretty evident that I can’t possibly hold my own without you.”

Bucky snorted appreciatively at your jab and abruptly tossed his dirty night shirt at you. You caught it with ease and feigned surprise. “Wow, Bucky. Usually men throw their clothes on the floor in an effort to get to the woman, they don’t throw their clothes at her. Chivalry must be dead.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but grinned. “Ha ha. Very nice.”

He headed toward the door and gestured to indicate that he would follow you out. “I like Night Y/N, she’s funnier than you are during the day.”

“You’ve seen her plenty of times,” you replied, jabbing an elbow into his ribs. You started down the hall with Bucky and his clean white shirt at your side. “Where exactly do you think we should start looking?”

“The fridge,” Bucky smirked. “And yeah, I’ve seen her, but not often enough.” You felt your cheeks redden and didn’t answer for a moment.

“Are you really getting a snack right now?” You decided to change the subject and focus only on the first half of his comment. “It’s three AM.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he chided jokingly. When you finally reached the fridge two floors down, Bucky removed a slice of pizza from a box labeled “Tony’s: DO NOT EAT” and ate it cold. You dragged a defeated hand over your face but didn’t say anything, knowing you couldn’t stop him and that Bucky would just make fun of you for even trying.

“Okay, now what?” you demanded. “Where do you think we should start?”

“Clearly it’s below our rooms,” Bucky reasoned, “so maybe the training center, first floor?”

You pointed to Bucky’s face. “You have pizza sauce.”

Bucky flashed his signature grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “You wanna get it for me?” You reached forward and wiped it from the corner of his mouth, and Bucky fake scowled. “That’s not exactly what I’d had in mind.”

You shrugged but couldn’t help but crack a smile at Bucky’s flirtation. “I’m not inclined to do much else surrounded by Tony’s security cameras. And he’ll have seen that you ate his pizza.”

“He’s already tried to kill me multiple times, and yet here I am,” said Bucky. “Let’s go check out the training room.”

When you and Bucky arrived at the training room, you tentatively peeked your head through the doors and stared into the pitch darkness until your eyes adjusted.

“I don’t see anything,” you whispered. “Maybe we—“ At that exact moment you and Bucky heard the sound again, and this time it was definitely closer since you’d come down from the third floor to the first. Still, it was obvious that whatever was making the low moaning sound was not in the training room.

“Come on,” Bucky gently pulled you back from the doorway, his touch sending an electric current through your skin and your face flushing hot. Luckily, it was too dark for him to see your redness. You had to focus all your energy against shivering from the chill of his metal arm. “Let’s just take a walk around this floor, see what we can hear.”

There were a handful of bedrooms on the first floor, including the temporary room for Peter Parker and those for Quill, Gamora, and the other Guardians when they were at the compound. There were also a few permanent rooms on the opposite side of the floor, including Vision’s, Wanda’s, and the still empty room that had once been intended for Pietro.

“What do you think it could be?” you whispered as you and Bucky approached the permanent rooms.

“Have you considered the possibility that—“ Bucky’s comment died in his throat at the sight before you. “Holy shit.”

Wanda’s door was ajar and the room was clearly empty. You both stopped walking and stared at each other.

“No way,” Bucky breathed, “I was just about to say...”

“Please tell me you aren’t thinking the same thing as I am,” you whispered, but you knew that he was. Both pairs of eyes trailed to Vision’s door just a few paces down the hall. “Because if this is actually what we’re hearing, I’m going to throw up.”

The next second, you and Bucky had your ears pressed against Vision’s door. The noise sounded again but, much to your relief, it was clearly not coming from behind Vision’s bedroom door. The sound was still coming from below you, so you and Bucky both figured it was another floor down. Wanda was definitely not in her own room, but whatever else had gone on, the pair was now sleeping silently. You crept away from the door with Bucky and pointed downwards, to which he nodded.

“The only place I can think of is somewhere in Tony’s workshop,” said Bucky as you descended the last flight of stairs to the lowest level of the facility. “And this better not end up being a waste of my time,” he joked pointedly. “I’m expecting something good.”

Your hands flew to your hips. “And if it’s nothing? You agreed to come with me.”

Bucky brushed a strand of hair from his eyes and cracked a smile. “I guess it’s still worth the time with you.”

You couldn’t hide the surprise on your face and you struggled to find a response that would truly convey how you felt. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Bucky’s grin widened and he held the door open and ushered you into Tony’s workshop.

“See, chivalry isn’t dead,” Bucky quipped, following you inside.

“Yeah, it’s just a hundred years old,” you retorted, about to say something else when the low moaning emitted again, sounding a bit more animalistic this time.

You and Bucky grinned at each other at its proximity—clearly it was somewhere in here. You also heard a human voice, so quiet it was nearly inaudible. Bucky quirked an eyebrow at you in question and you followed your ears toward the sound.

At the far end of the lab, the sound emitted again and you heard the human voice frantically attempt to quiet whatever was making the noise. You and Bucky approached the last possible door for the offender to lie behind, a small storage room you hadn’t even known was there.

Bucky leaned in close to you and your head spun from his intoxicating aroma. “Are you ready?” His grin was contagious and you felt your lips contorting into a mirror of his.

“Then we can finally get some damn sleep.” You turned the knob and thrust the door inwards, unable to wait another moment to find out what you and Bucky had been hearing all night. You couldn’t have been prepared for the odd sight before you.

Inside the storage room, your eyes fell on Bruce Banner cradling a disheveled and yowling cat. He froze when he saw you and Bucky standing before him.

“Don’t try to pretend this is the weirdest thing you’ve caught anyone here doing, alright?” Bruce said after a moment of staring.

You and Bucky exchanged confused glances and you quickly assessed the state of the storage room, attempting to fill in the story for yourself. A few unopened bags of cat food sat beside one half empty bag and a dish of food that was nearly empty. A water dish sat to the side of the food bowl. Blankets littered the floor in an attempt at a makeshift bed.

Bucky snorted, failing to stifle his laughter and the corner of your lips couldn’t help but quirk up at the strange scene unfolding before you. “Start talking,” you said, but there was no malice in the demand.

Bruce sighed heavily, the cat still in his arms. “Don’t tell Tony.”

You laughed at his request, and Bucky said, “Dude, what is going on?”

“Animals are afraid of me,” said Bruce, plunging right into the story. “And most people, if I’m being honest. So I was out picking up supplies for one of mine and Tony’s newest ideas and this stray cat,” he nodded down towards the cat in his arms, “wouldn’t leave me alone. No collar, no chip—I checked. The one animal I’ve ever found that doesn’t smell the Hulk on me and run, I couldn’t just leave it.” Bruce shrugged, apparently finished with the story.

“So you hid it here,” you finished for him, and he nodded.

Bucky laughed abruptly. “That’s hilarious. Why don’t you just let it roam the compound, who cares?”

“Tony says no pets,” Bruce replied. “And in his defense it pees...on everything.”

Bucky laughed again and you found yourself chuckling too. You raised your hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I won’t tell. Bucky won’t either.”

Bruce’s features relaxed. “Thank you, I know how weird this—“

“But Tony’s bound to notice sooner or later,” Bucky interjected. “It smells like cat piss.”

The two of you shut the door on Bruce and his cat in the storage room and headed back towards the stairs to your room on the second floor, laughing about the oddity of the situation. Bucky walked you to your room as he usually did at night since he was only a floor above you, and he stopped outside your door.

“Well, that was quite the weird adventure,” you supplied when you couldn’t think of anything else to say. Bucky stood a bit closer to you than you were prepared for, and your head was beginning to spin slightly from his proximity. “I don’t know if I should apologize for that weirdness or if you should be thanking me for the entertainment.”

Bucky laughed, leaning suavely against your door frame. “I’m not sure either, if I’m being entirely honest.” His eyes met yours and the heat returned to your cheeks. “But I had fun with you anyways.”

You smiled, your brain flooding with all the possibilities of the current situation. “You’re my best friend, Bucky,” you said, thinking that to anyone else, it would sound like you were friend-zoning him, but you two worked differently and he wouldn’t take it that way. He was your best friend, but you both knew there was more. “There’s no one I’d rather spend time with.”

He smiled and glanced in your room. “4:30,” he said as his eyes landed on the clock. “Damn, we killed an hour and a half for Banner’s stupid cat.” You laughed and his grin widened. “I guess I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight, Y/N.”

Your eyes locked and you found yourself trapped in his crystal blue gaze. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

He smiled gently and your heart constricted. Leaning forward, Bucky softly placed a kiss on your brow and your breath hitched.

“See you in the morning.”

[the-canary]

New York - B.B

Summary:  You were probably one of the few people that could stand him, but that doesn’t mean you could give him what he wanted -- the world. (Modern AU!Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: +2.8K

Prompt: It’s always been you. 

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @bucky-at-bedtime ‘s writing challenge. once again the main motivator for this is st. vincent, so consider checking out new york.  

Please enjoy! Like always, feedback is always welcomed.

Bucky Barnes loves Brooklyn. Bucky Barnes loves New York City.

However, James Buchanan Barnes is aware that there is more to life, and he wants to conquer it all.

You love Brooklyn. You love New York City.

But, you were okay living in your own little corner of the world, safe and sound with an everyday life.

And maybe, that’s the problem with this whole love equation to begin with.

Age 10.

You rummage around one of the lower bookcases before settling down in one of the small chairs with your favorite Dr. Seuss’ book. Ever since you could remember, you enjoyed coming to the Barnes’ Bookstore and spend some time there until either your mother or father got out of work to pick you up. Your parents and Mrs. Barnes had known each other for a long time, had even known Mr. Barnes before he passed away, so you all treated each other like extended family. It also helped a little that she had children around your age as well.

“You’re still reading those baby books?” a boyish voice ask, as you look up to see one Bucky Barnes with one of those longer novels that the middle school kids read for school. You frown, Bucky for being a year older than you always wanted to be the “big kid” as he tried to hang out with Rumlow’s when his mother wasn’t looking.

“I like them,” is all you said, before going back to reading. Bucky frowning like always at how easily you ignored him. So, he like always he takes a seat next to yours and open his book.

“I’m gonna sit right here, ok?” he declares, as his mother watches on with a bright smile on her face from the cash register.

“Okay,” you nod and go back to the story.   

Age 12.

“An astronaut!” Bucky declares, “Going to space, exploring the planets, and bringing back cool stuff!”

“Didn’t you want a be a gymnast last week?” you question from your place on the steps that lead to the apartments where you live. It was one of those chilly autumn days where for some of reason you found yourself hanging out with Bucky and his best friend Steve, an older, but sickly boy that he had saved from Rumlow, though not without its consequences -- you had been in the hospital all night with both boys.

“And a journalist before that?” the blond questions from his own seat, as Bucky turns to frown at the two of you. He puts down the book that he has been reading and huffs out in disappointment over you combined lack of enthusiasm.

“Don’t ya guys wanna leave and explore the world?” he questions in desperation and silent fury, and all you could do was shrug as Steve tries to pacify him. You had seen this side of Bucky more often after his fight with Rumlow. He wanted to leave, give his mother and sisters a better life than what they had in Brooklyn. Maybe it was a little pessimistic, but you often wondered if he would be able to achieve anything in the end.

“One day, Bucky, one day,” you declare and give him the softest smile you can muster, as he lets out a deep breathe to calm himself down. He gives you a boyish grin, and for a moment you swear that your heart skips a bit.

Age 15.

“Have you seen Bucky?” Rebecca questions, as you look up from your book to see her worried face.

“No, why?” you ask, as she frowns because she knows that you already know. Ever since transferring into that high-end school for athletes and prodigies, Bucky had been hanging out and dealing with a lifestyle that clearly wasn’t what the rest of the Barnes lived in. It had made him more ambitious in what he wanted, but also angrier at what he couldn’t have at the moment. It lead to a lot more fights between the two of you over your lack of motivation and many other sore subjects that Bucky liked to pull at.

It isn’t until later that night that you see him. Busted lip and dirty clothes sitting in the corner of the sidewalk two blocks away from the apartment building. You question for a moment if you should even bother him, until blue eyes catch you watching him and all he can do is turn away. That’s when you get the courage to sit down next to him.

“Don’t ask,” is all he says you, as you nod in agreement while pulling out a packet of tissue and hand it to him. Bucky lets out an embittered laugh before throwing them on the ground. You frown and in annoyance decide to ask.

“Don’t you get tired of fighting?” you question with a strong sense of curiosity on why Bucky does all this, but his emotions and rush of adrenaline don’t let him answer in a logic way.

“Don’t you get tired of being so useless?” is all he says, hitting on the one little fear the he knows all too well that you have. So you get up and leave without another word, Bucky doesn’t stop you and it isn’t until later, when he tries to apologize, that he realizes all the damage he has done.

You don’t talk to Bucky Barnes after that.     

Age 18.

Unlike Bucky the year before, you were a bit more strategic in where you wanted to go for university. Your parents had agreed on your plan on going to a small community college to get your two years of general education before moving forward to transferring to a bigger university. Your goal was NYU, just like Steve who had gotten accepted into their arts program right off the bat. Bucky had gotten into all his choice schools, but had chosen to head West -- his dream was finally coming true.

You hardly heard from him anymore, though there were whispers here and there. Steve told you he was dating a pretty Russian redhead, social media confirm that. His mother and sisters got fancy gifts for their birthdays and holidays, though you knew they would all rather see him for the breaks he didn’t return for.

For a moment, you mourned the Bucky Barnes you once knew, but you moved on -- you had bigger fish to fry within the wonderful, blasted city.

Age 21.

“Don’t stay up too late!” Peggy yells from her place in the living room, as she and Steve head out for the evening. All you do is give her a salute before going back to reading the political theory book in front of you. It was finals week and you were a couple of hours and three more coffee cups away from your last one of the semester.

After transferring into NYU’s political science department, you had moved in with Steve and his girlfriend Peggy since they had an extra room and their apartment saved you a bit more on commuting from Brooklyn to the central campus than living with your parents did. They were going to celebrate the end of their finals with some friends, while you were still struggling over your own.

In the struggles and loneliness of it all, you thought of him. It was silly, but it had taken you some years to realize that you might have been in love with Bucky Barnes and sometimes the what-ifs killed you, but you knew he was happier out of this city than anything else, and you were alright with that. You groan in annoyance at the sudden shift of thoughts when you should be memorizing the dates behind rise and fall of Robespierre.

You get up and are about to get something to eat when your cell phone rings. It’s an unfamiliar number, but you can’t help but think that this one time you should answer it, so you do.  

“Hello?” you ask in a loud voice, as there is some loud music playing in the back.

“God, I miss you,” is all the broken, raspy and obviously drunk voice on the other line of the phone says before hanging up. You blink at the familiarity of it, but they’ve hung up before you can say anything. It bothers you, but you have to push it to the back of your mind and keep studying if you want to pass this class with a decent grade.

It isn’t until you’re back from your last final the following evening that you hear the whispers coming once more from Steve and Peggy’s room -- something about a car crash and Bucky.  

Age 25.

“Where is the bouquet?” you question, as you run around different halls to find Peggy’s missing bouquet just a few hours before the wedding. Your flowy green  gown and messy flower crown weren’t making it any easier to move through, though neither did the sleep deprivation that came with finals, graduation, and getting everything ready for two of your dearest friends’ wedding. And maybe, that why you almost trip in the hallway leading to the reception hall.

“Oh shit,” you murmur and brace for the impact, only to have a contrasting pair of arms grab you. The heat and cold conflicting with each other send a shiver down your spine, as you look up to see shocked blue eyes staring at you. He’s wearing a grey suit and the marigold in his jacket pocket that adorn your head. There’s a small stubble on his face and while his hair is the longest that you had ever seen on him, it was gelled to perfection. All in all, Bucky Barnes is still beautiful, even after all these years.

“S-Sorry,” you manage to squeak out, as he nods obviously taking in your form after years apart. He lets out a sigh and you feel his hands rubbing circles around the fabric of your dress. There is a look in his eyes that you’re too afraid to find out what it means as you slowly start to back away, “I-I sh--”

“Please,” he murmurs softly, trying to stop you in the most heartbreaking sort of way. And for a brief moment, you wonder if he ever made that realization you had all those years ago. However, then the moments breaks at the sound of two voices.

“Bucky!” you both turn to see the familiar face of one Rebecca Barnes, as she looks shocked for a moment before smiling at what she has just caught.

“Sweets, I found the bouquet!” the voice right behind her declares as Sam, Steve’s other best friend, smiles while holding the white and gold flowers in his hand. However, like Rebecca, he raises an eyebrow at the sight before him, clearly not aware of the history you two have.

“Thanks, Sam!” you remove yourself from Bucky’s grip completely and grab the bouquet before turning to leave the awkward scene, “I should hand it back to Peg. It was nice seeing everyone!”

You run out of the area as fast as you can and clearly avoiding Sam’s questions and Bucky’s regretful sigh.

You avoid the Barnes family for the rest of the evening.  

Age 28.

However, you can’t avoid old family friends for long, especially when Mrs. Barnes is sick and asking for you. It’s the least you could do for the woman that practically watched over you most of your life, and it’s not that far away from your own shared Brooklyn flat.  She is in the center of her bed, looking pale and gaunt as she tells you to take a seat closer to you. None of her daughters are there at the moment, so the silence of such a rowdy household scares you. She gives you a shadow of a smile, as she grabs your hand.

“How have you been, sweetheart?” her voice is soft and delicate, as it slowly fades away towards the end of the sentence. You sit a little closer to her, as the autumn breeze comes in and her body shakes like a leaf.

“Good, good. Working and such,” you explain some of your data analysis work for the city, something that she had always said showed how much you loved your birthplace and you guess that in a way it was true. You loved that it reminded you of a lot of things, even if they weren’t there anymore.

“You’ve always been like my fourth daughter,” Winnie lets out a watery laugh as she pats your hand, “I only wish he wasn’t such a fool and made it come true.”

You cock an eyebrow at this, but never question her as she goes on to tell you of all the little things you have ignored for the years: Bucky dropping out of university, going into the military, the car accident, and moving from place to place like he was searching for something he couldn't find. You wonder why she tells you all this, but you let her because maybe in a way she misses him, like you miss him sometimes -- that bright eyed boy that dreamed too big for his own good.  

Age 32.

When Winnie does get better, the girls decide that Lizzie should take her to the West Coast where the climate would be better for her condition. However, with the idea of Barnes’ Bookstore being sold, you step up and say you’ll buy the lease or deal from them in the most desperate sort of way that they had ever seen from you. They agree and you become a part-time consultant and data analysis researcher in order to keep the store open certain days. Rebecca ends up moving upstate as her family grows and Millie moves to Boston to finish her graduate work.

Brooklyn without the Barnes is something you thought you would never see, but here you are and while Steve and Peggy, Sam, and your other friends are still in the city -- something about being in the city just isn’t the same anymore. But, if you were truthful to yourself, Brooklyn hadn’t been the same since you were 18. And maybe, something out there somewhere decides to be kind to you.

The bell chimes to announce a new customer, as you look up from your laptop to see a man with long brown-hair hidden by a baseball cap and wearing a jacket and red henley. You greet them absentmindedly before going back to your work on the laptop, especially since it’s due in a couple of hours, as the man’s heavy boots echo loudly within the small store. You briefly wonder what he might be looking for, as you hear books being moved and pages being rummaged through. Nothing else is done, until you see a familiar Dr. Seuss placed on the countertop. It surprises you, as you glance up to see bright blue eyes and a timid smile.

“Bucky,” you whisper softly as said man gives you a tight smile. He looks a lot different than from the last time you had seen him, and you had no idea where he has been all this time since you hadn’t seen Steve in awhile either. It was strange, but in a good sort of way to see that he was all right. You ring up his purchase and that’s when he decides to talk.     

“It’s always been you, huh?” he says in some sort hypnotized way, like he had been carrying this revelation in his chest for who knows how long and was finally coming to accept it. Maybe, it’s that same feeling you’ve been feeling the majority of your life. You look at him with wide eyes, as his smile grows a little more.

“You’ve always been home, waiting right here,” he explains, like he somehow knows your heart better than you, and even if that might be true the self-confidence in his statement, and maybe the hidden love within it almost make  you want to lash back. However, those blue-gray eyes looking at you in the certain way --like back in the wedding, like when you were young again-- makes you pause that stubbornness you’re so used to.

“Did ya find what you were looking for?” you ask softly as you place your hand over the Dr. Seuss book, wondering about all the places he had gone, all the people that he had meet and maybe even loved. That self-righteous anger builds up in your chest again as you give him an embittered smile. Surely, he wouldn’t be here, in Brooklyn (in this small, useless bookstore), if he had found whatever it was.   

“All I wanted was here all along,” he murmurs as he places his hand hesitantly over yours, a timid smile on his face as he rubs your knuckles with his thumb, “Home’s always been right here. Just been too…”

He can’t seem to finish his sentence, too afraid of the rejection years in the making, but you just let out a light laugh, relief bubbling in your chest as your grip on his hand tightens a bit. Blue eyes twinkle a bit brighter than before, as he leans in and runs his gloved hand over your cheek. You hum in acknowledgement and look straight into his eyes.

“Welcome home, Bucky.”

He lets out a shaky sigh and in the silence of your stuffy little bookstore, you wordlessly reaffirm a couple of things that seemed like constants in your life.

You love Brooklyn. You love New York City.

And you surely did love Bucky Barnes as well.

[gentlestark]

A Chance (That You Might Love Me Too)

Summary: Prompt #19 - "You're a mess." "I'm your mess." | Angst (and maybe fluff? idk)

Pairing(s): Best Friend!Steve Rogers x Reader, mentions of a past relationship with a gender neutral S/O

Warnings: I cursed like twice, unrequited love, mentions of a kinda shitty previous S/O, Steve might be a bit OOC, I tried to make the reader gender neutral

A/N: For @bucky-at-bedtime's 1.5k writing challenge! Also the first MCU scenario I'm posting. Kind of inspired by Ray Charles's "You Don't Know Me".

Word count: 1124 words

Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by / A chance that you might love me too.

It was late, but not too late. Those dead hours right after dinner that he made useful by crossing items off his “How To Catch Up With The Twenty-First Century” list. Steve Rogers was just about to start reading a new biography he’d recently bought, when his phone rang. When you called.

He smiled as he checked the ID and answered the call with a hum, expecting you to ask him about his day, or if he wanted to hang out soon. Instead, no words from you. Absolute silence, except for a quiet sob. And then another one, a bit louder. And then you were crying; Steve placed the book on his coffee table. He got up and grabbed his jacket and keys.

“Steve, I-”

“Just hang in there, I’m on my way.”

Steve left his apartment in a hurry and ran down the stairs, not even bothering to wait for the elevator. As he raced through the busy streets – speeding up whenever he could –, his heart ached at the thought of you, probably crying and hurting over some asshole Steve swore he could beat up. But he was noble at heart, and he’d never hurt anyone if he didn’t have to. And he was also terrified of admitting how he truly felt about you.

It didn’t take him long to get to your place, reach for the keys in his right pocket and unlock your front door. And since he didn’t find you sitting on the couch, where he thought you’d probably be, he walked in, locked the door behind him, took a deep breath, and headed towards your bedroom.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” he softly called, as he knocked on your door. To his surprise, you called him from the living room. He saw you standing there, a glass of water in your hands, disheveled hair and dried tears on both your cheeks. You looked like you’d gone through emotional hell, and yet you stood, and Steve loved you for that, among many other things. He just couldn’t find the words to use, or the time to say it.

“Sorry, I just needed water,” you weakly let out, wiping your eyes as you approached him. He knew you like the back of his hand, but it wasn’t too hard to see that you were barely keeping it together. He stepped aside so you could open the door, but he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow you inside. In fact, he wasn’t exactly sure how to handle any of this; your voice that cracked as soon as you said a word, the tears streaming down your face every now and then, his own racing heart. He couldn’t stand to see you like this, but there was no way he was going to leave.

“Steve?”

Your voice brought him back to the present and he offered you a small smile when you patted the spot next to you on the bed. Steve Rogers was no stranger to your bedroom, or to your place in general. It was more than usual for one of you to visit the other and spend long, lazy afternoons talking about a bunch of different topics, or dancing to recent hit songs, or just taking a nap. You could always count on him for a good time.

“Y/N, come home with me,” he tried, but you shook your head. “I can’t leave you here. Not like this.”

“Can you stay for tonight?”

He sat down by your side and sighed, nodding. Steve gently pulled you into his chest, as you finally let out a loud sob and gave in to the pain you were feeling. As much as he’d like to take it all away, to be more than just the rock you chose to rely on every time you ended up with a broken heart, he settled for the next best thing: to be your best friend – and a good one at that.

Steve rubbed soothing circles on your back, knowing better than to ask you to talk to him. You’d tell him what was bothering you in your own time. Neither of you knew how much time had gone by before you finally spoke.

“I was dumped, Stevie,” you began. He froze for a second, a wave of violent scenarios going through his mind. He quickly got rid of those thoughts; that just wasn’t him. You needed him with you, not out there chasing your exes.

“You might not believe me right now, but you were way too good for them,” he stated, a serious look in his eyes. You shook your head, avoiding to meet his gaze.

“Clearly, they didn’t feel the same way,” you mumbled, “I just thought things were going alright between us. I swear I tried t-”

“Y/N, some people don’t appreciate all the effort we put into a relationship,” he said, lifting your chin up with his index finger. “That doesn’t mean we’re worth any less.”

You teared up a bit at his words, choosing to reply by pulling him into a tight hug.

“What did I even do to deserve you?” you asked, only half-joking, as you pulled away.

He smiled, shaking his head. You were happy, or at least happier, and that’s all that mattered. He just wished you could understand how happy he could make you.

Because that’s what he truly wanted.

“You’re a mess, Y/N,” he chuckled, as he followed you to the couch to watch some shitty comedy. “One of my favorite people in the world, but still a mess.”

Your disheveled figure to hold every morning, as you both struggled with bed hair.

You laughed loudly, louder than the sobs and cries had been. His heart was so full, yet he felt it break every time yours did.

“In a good way, I hope,” you said.

Your sobs as you both sat down for some sappy movie on a rather normal evening spent together.

“The best way, as always,” he chuckled, sitting down next to you as you reached for the remote.

Your attempts at cooking, and the food fights that followed.

You looked his way, smiling as you found him already staring at you. “I guess I’m your mess to handle, pal. Perks of being a best friend.”

“I guess you are,” he smiled, feeling a pain in his chest.

He wanted all of you.

“And a wonderful one at that,” he mumbled to himself.

If not right now, then when? He didn’t know. He couldn’t know, not when you would only now begin to heal. Maybe when he thought he’d have a chance. So he looked at you, took in your laugh, your scent, your presence.

He’d tell you some other day.

[bucky-at-bedtime]

Oml this was wonderful!!! So freaking cute. Thank you for participating, hun 💛

2:00 am ✧ peter parker au.

warnings / language, college roommate!peter, peter being so cute it’s almost unbearable, FLUFF.

word count / 3330.

@bucky-at-bedtime’s writing challenge / “you’re my roommate who’s super cute and it’s the middle of the night and you’re cramming for your exams in your flannel pajamas and disheveled hair and it’s becoming increasingly hard for me not to kiss you.” AU.

(gif is mine)

masterlist.

↴

⠀⠀⠀⠀THE WIND was knocked from Peter’s lungs in a quiet huff as he all but gracefully slammed himself into the side of his apartment building and he took a moment to catch his breath, his forehead briefly pressing against the brick, before he began slowly shimmying downwards toward his bedroom window. When he was a few feet from the railing of his rickety fire escape, he attempted to drop down, oh-so-quietly, onto the metal bar. He winced as the structure clattered, squeezing his eyes shut as it scraped against the wall of the building under the sudden presence of his weight. When all was silent—you know, aside from the beeping cars and the various shouting voices somewhere below—and right with the world, he very gently dismounted the railing and tiptoed towards his open window.

He slid into his bedroom, feet first, holding his breath as he pulled himself through the small space. It was just his luck that as he did, he kicked over the LEGO Millennium Falcon—the one that came with over seven thousand five hundred individual pieces—and the model slid off of his desk, falling to the floor with a horrific crash and breaking into thousands of tiny pieces. “You’re shitting me,” Peter whisper-hissed, ripping his Spider-Man mask angrily off of his head and dropping into a crouch. He tossed his mask aside and carded his gloved fingers through his sweaty hair, staring with aggravation down at the disassembled ship. “Man, that took thirteen hours,” he groaned quietly in annoyance, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes at his own clumsiness.

Before he had the chance to at least pick up the pieces, his roommate, Y/N’s, voice, like a heavenly choir, sounded through the halls of their shared apartment. “Pete, is that you?” Instead of feeling the usual butterflies that exploded in his stomach at the sound of her voice, he could feel every drop of blood drain from his body. He stood up slowly with wide eyes and panic-stricken features.

He’d woken Y/N up. Despite his terrible, terrible efforts at keeping quiet, he’d woken the beast and, now, she was going to rip his head off, he was sure. Peter swallowed thickly, frozen where he stood in front of the shattered masterpiece that used to be his LEGO Millennium Falcon. “Y-Yeah, it’s me,” he called as loud as his voice would permit. “Look, I know not waking you up is like your number one thing, and, usually, I’m pretty good about that, but I’ve kind of been having an off night. I-I didn’t mean to wake you up, I swear,” he added, making all of these hand gestures even though there was no way in hell she was looking at him in that moment.

He was so nervous, so undeniably nervous, because he was almost one hundred percent sure that Y/N was pissed at him. She hadn’t been pissed at him in a while and he knew it was bound to happen again eventually, but he just didn’t expect— Wait, was that laughter?

A surge of alleviation cleansed Peter’s entire body and a sigh expelled the tension in his muscles as Y/N’s amused giggle floated like a fluffy cloud to his ears. He’d never been so happy to hear that sound, like angels strumming on their harps, and he pressed his palm to his chest, almost slumping to the floor in relief. “You didn’t wake me, Peter,” she reassured him. “I need to ask you a question, though, so if you could come in here, please.”

Peter left his bedroom without another worry, opening his door and kicking it shut behind him, and he stepped to Y/N’s room, which was directly across the hallway.

He stepped across the threshold of her doorway and into the peaceful, desk-light-lit atmosphere that she’d set up for herself and his heart stopped in his chest at the sight of her. She was sitting criss-cross applesauce on top of her comforter in a pair of lightsaber-patterned pajama pants and one of his old t-shirts which she so rightfully wrongfully stole, staring down at a textbook for God knows what subject with gently furrowed eyebrows and locks of beautifully messy hair falling into her face. He could feel the blush rising to his cheeks almost instantly and, before he could think, he was tugging at the collar of his Spider-Man suit because it was suddenly so hot in there. Maybe, it’s just her, Peter thought to himself, clearing his throat awkwardly and leaning a little less than nonchalantly against her wall. “What did, uh, what’d you need to ask me?” He asked. Various parts of his face—eyebrows, nose, eyes, mouth—scrunched and unscrunched as he gave a measly attempt at finding a facial expression that Y/N might maybe, possibly, hopefully find somewhat attractive.

“I know you’re good with math and I wanted some help with this problem.” Peter felt his lips twitch upwards into a smile. She said he was good at math. He knew he was, of course, but hearing it come from Y/N made him understand completely why Tony Stark was so cocky all the time. He watched her shift her position on her mattress, eyes never leaving her textbook as she pulled one of her knees up towards her chest and wrapped an arm around it. She fumbled with her pencil between her hands, shaking her head down at her notes. “So, if the tangent of theta is equal to five over twelve and zero degrees is less than or…” The moment she looked up from her textbook to make eye contact with him, she trailed off, the pencil falling from her hand and her lips parting. Peter’s eyebrows quirked in her direction, before he glanced down at his body. The only thing unusual about him was the suit, but Y/N had known his secret almost as long as Ned had.

He looked back up, opening his mouth to ask if something was wrong, but before he could, she was shoving her books and papers away from herself carelessly. His eyes widened as he watched her move, following her as she clambered off of her bed at record speeds to get to him. “You’re hurt,” she pointed out quietly when she stood in front of him, her hands suspended in the air like she wanted to touch him and, God, she did, but she was hesitating.

“What?” Peter asked and he raised an eyebrow, his cheeks searing with heat because she was so close to him. She’s even prettier up close, holy fuck, he thought to himself and he was sweating. And not the sweating that’s so light that it just makes you look sparkly, it was the kind of sweating where droplets were rolling down his forehead, his hands were clammy and his suit was sticking to his body, even more than usual. If Y/N wasn’t standing in front of him, all beautiful and elegant, he wouldn’t taken it off right then and there.

She looked at Peter like he was stupid and he smiled slightly because of it. Then, her hands were on his face.

He inhaled sharply at the contact, his neck tensing up and his body going completely rigid. Y/N was touching his face. Oh, my God. Oh, God, can I kiss her? He tried his best to stay calm, to keep his breathing steady, to not turn into a stuttering and shaking mess, but it was just so damn hard when he was around someone so breathtaking. “You’re hurt,” she repeated in a motherly tone, her right hand moving to cup his left cheek and the fingers of her free hand flexing just barely so she could trace a delicate circle around his right eye. “You’ve got a massive bruise, Peter,” Y/N pointed out softly, her voice barely above a whisper and her tone a bit throaty, like she was hurting for him and his heart just screamed for her right in that moment. Peter jumped slightly when a gasp left her lips and both of his cheeks were enveloped in her soft hands. He let her turn his face away from her and he let his eyelids flutter shut, just wanting to feel her fingertips and her presence undisturbed.  "Oh, God, and you’re bleeding,“ she whispered, her words saturated with concern, and Peter nearly died of happiness right there.

He settled for a quiet chuckle at her words, but he stopped it the instant she ran her thumb in a slant from a spot near the bottom of his ear to his jawline. "Peter Benjamin Parker, you are so careless,” she chided, and even then her voice was soft like silk. Peter couldn’t help but smile at her as she turned his face so tenderly to look at her once more and she didn’t move her hands. They stayed planted right on his face.

“Are you in pain?” She whispered, like it was the only thing that mattered to her in the entire world. Like Peter was the only thing that mattered to her in the entire world.

Oh, God, when she said that, Peter just melted like putty in her hands. He was a gooey, sticky, gummy, lovestruck mess, but he wouldn’t complain. He’d never complain as long as it was Y/N. “No, I’m not in pain,” he reassured her, his hands taking their gentle places around her wrists and he thought about moving her hands away, but he couldn’t, so he just held them there. Peter slid his hands up to hers and made sure they stayed against his cheeks, even though he was pretty sure he was on fire at this point. He wondered what would happen if he just leaned forward and kissed her. He didn’t do it, though. Chicken. “It’s just a bruise and a little scratch, I’m fine,” he promised her and the look on her face when he did was everything to him.

She looked so relieved, so happy, so thankful that he wasn’t hurting and he barely had time to blink before her arms were around his neck and her cheek was pressed against his. His senses, heightened and all, were overwhelmed with the smell of Y/N and he didn’t mind one bit. His arms wrapped around her as fast as he could move them and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, because he’d rather go all in than wait God knows how long until he got to hug her again. He felt so safe with her arms around him, feeling the warmth of her body radiate to his and the scent of lavender flood his nose. “When have– When have you cared so much?” Peter asked, wondering if maybe he should’ve thought that through a little better because she pulled away from him as soon as he said it.

She gave him another look that told him he was dumb for even asking, but it didn’t matter, because it still made him feel like he was soaring. “I always care about you, you idiot,” Y/N answered him and he’d never been happier to be called an idiot in his life. “I hear about robberies on the radio and I care. You leave every time and I care. I see you in the headlines of newspapers and I see you in the morning and I care, Parker. Even when you’re not Spider-Man and you’re just Peter, I care, okay? I always care about you,” she told him. “And I could show you more if you didn’t get back at two in the morning and go off trying to fix yourself up.”

“But didn’t you say to never—” Peter stopped, his eyebrows furrowing because he could see tears in her eyes and he never knew she cared like this. His heart was longing for her, yearning for her, begging for her more than ever, because just when he thought he couldn’t fall any more in love with her, he did. Peter wanted nothing more than to kiss her, right there, but he knew he shouldn’t and it was taking everything he had to hold back.

“Peter, if you’re hurt, it doesn’t matter,” she pointed out, her hands falling from his cheeks and resting softly against his chest as she looked up at him. “Anyways, you are coming with me so I can get you a Band-Aid and an ice pack,” she ordered, stepping back to take his hand in hers.

Peter cleared his throat awkwardly and he pulled his hand out of hers, which took just as much effort as stopping a bus with his bare hands, it felt like. He grimaced after he did. “Uh, I can’t,” he blurted, before he even knew what he was saying.

Y/N’s face scrunched up as she stared at him incredulously. “Why not?” She asked him. “If your legs hurt, you can sit and I’ll drag you,” she offered, half serious it seemed. She ran a hand through her hair, tucking a tuft of it behind her ear as she did.

He laughed at her words, but he shook his head regardless. “It’s just– I don’t know, you’re my roommate,” he admitted, averting his eyes from her unwavering stare and reaching towards the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Her arms crossed over her chest as she looked at him. “Yeah, and?” She asked, a crooked smile on her perfectly kissable lips.

Peter shrugged his shoulders, holding his arms up in the air so he very much resembled the emoji, and a nervous laugh toppled from his lips. “I don’t know!” He protested and another laugh fell from his lips. “Nothing bad, it’s just, you’re you,” he told her. “Y-You’re you and you’re my roommate and you look so cute in your stupid Star Wars pants and my shirt with your adorably crazy hair and you’re, you know,” he paused, running his hands over his face and groaning. “You’re studying and it’s, like, two in the morning,” he finished, throwing his hands up in the air and trying to fight off his nervous chuckles.

It was a good thing he failed because, unbeknownst to him, Y/N found them to be in her ’top five cutest things Peter Parker does’ list.

And yeah, she has a list, but don’t we all?

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along with him, sputtering when she tried to hold her giggles back, so she just let them loose. “What else, Peter?” She asked him, with a smile on her face that lit up his whole world. Gosh, she was his whole world and she didn’t even know. “I know you’re hiding something, you big child, or you wouldn’t be laughing so hard,” she told him, hoping he would finally just spit it out.

Peter threw his head back, trying to quit laughing, but he couldn’t, so he settled for talking through a smaller fit of laughter. Luckily, it died down as he started to speak. “I can’t because—” He stopped. Did he want to say it? Maybe it was that sudden surge of confidence or maybe it was just because he was so tired—the loopy kind—that he was more open to daring decisions, but either way, he knew he wanted to. “Because it’s getting really hard not to kiss you right now,” he confessed and his blood ran cold.

He watched her cheeks turn as red as he’s ever seen them and a smile, so bright that he almost had to cover his eyes, spread across her face. “So, do it, Peter,” she said. “Kiss me.”

For once in his life, he wasted no time getting what he wanted. He took a quick step forward, placing his hands where he always knew they belonged on her waist, and when Peter kissed Y/N, it felt like absolute magic. Peter’s lips caressed hers, moved against hers, in a way that was so hot, passionate, demanding, fiery and his mind barely even registered his movements as he took the few steps to back her against her door. The door, unfortunately, wasn’t opened all the way, so the second Y/N’s back hit the door, she crashed into the wall.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Peter apologized quickly, disconnecting his lips from hers so he could check if she was hurt. God, it would really suck if he’d finally, finally, finally gotten to kiss the girl of his dreams and she started bleeding.

Y/N just giggled, grabbing him by the back of his neck, and she shook her head up at him. “I’m fine, Pete, just kiss me again,” she pleaded and he listened to her, pressing his lips back against hers and laughing slightly against them because that was the last thing he’d ever expected her to say to him when he slipped through his window that night. A few seconds later, he’d laughed all the breath from his lungs and his chest was aflame with a raging fire, but even with the pain, he refused to pull away. He moved his right arm from her waist, resting his forearm on the space of the door above her head, because he was so mesmerized by the taste of her lips and the way it made him feel that he didn’t think he could hold himself up on his own. He could feel her hands, sliding down his chest and leaving trails of tingles in their wake until she let them rest on his stomach.

Peter panted into the kiss, sliding his hand from her waist to the small of her back. He could feel her shudder under his touch and he smiled against her lips, slowly brushing his fingers up her spine and his tongue hesitantly grazed the seam of her lips. His kiss grew unsure as her lips parted but she urged him on with a swipe of her thumb across his jawline. He continued to lose himself on her lips, scratching the itch he’s had every day for the past two years that he’d lived with her and sending his mind reeling.

The taste of her lips, the feeling in the pit of his stomach, the kiss in general was everything he’d ever dreamed of. It was the kiss he’d always wanted, the one that people talk about in the books and in the movies. There were fireworks and smoke bombs and explosions of purples and blues and reds and he could feel every spark throughout his entire body. He wasn’t sure if it was the lack of oxygen or something magical, but he felt like he was spinning.

Before Peter could find out, he reluctantly separated his lips from Y/N’s, the hint of a smile on his lips while she was full-on grinning. Their chests heaved as they simultaneously gasped for air, both trying not to laugh again because who would’ve thought that they’d end up kissing at two in the morning?

“Oh,” Peter exclaimed when he’d caught his breath a few moments later. “I broke the Millennium Falcon,” he confided in her, like they hadn’t just had the makeout of a lifetime.

He watched her jaw drop at the news. He loved that she cared about his stupid LEGO toy when anyone else would just laugh and tell him to step on it. “Oh, no, that’s what that crash was earlier?” She asked and he nodded sadly. “Didn’t that take you thirteen hours?”

Peter huffed amusedly at that and he nodded again. “Unfortunately, yeah,” he admitted, running his fingers through his hair and sighing.

“Tell you what, Peter,” Y/N started with the sweetest smile on her lips. “I’ll help you rebuild it tomorrow, and, since there’s two of us, it’ll only take six and a half,” she promised.

Breaking the LEGO Millennium Falcon? Totally worth it.

↴

author’s note / i’m actually really proud of this & i’m really proud of myself for finishing it in a day and for learning how to make a gif for the sole purpose of this imagine. thank you, @bucky-at-bedtime, for creating this challenge, it gave me so much inspo!

[bucky-at-bedtime]

Oh my god this is so sweet!! @notimetoblog you are amazing 💛

If You’re Reading This

Summary: An end of the year bet with your friend/colleague Mr. Barnes leads to an unexpected surprise.

A/N: So…. I might’ve been a little too excited to write my entry to @bucky-at-bedtime​ 1.5k challenge. You just posted it a couple of nights ago but I JUST NEEDED TO WRITE IT lol !! Congrats on your milestone! You’re so sweet and talented and completely deserving of 1.5k and MORE! I picked the Teacher AU from her prompt list. I really hope you guys like it! I really loved writing this one. ITS PURE FLUFFFF!!! Thank you for reading!!!

MY STORIES

“Thank you all so much for a great year!” you said to your amazing group of students, your littles as you would call them. “I hope you all have a very fun summer and please don’t forget to stop by next year. Don’t forget me just because you’ll be second graders.”

Your students giggled at that. They were truly a wonderful group of students. They were sweet and very participative, always asking inquisitive questions and answering any of yours. Most of their little hands would shoot up whenever you would ask a question, and those that didn’t raise their hands showed you how bright they were in other ways. Their artwork, you swore to all your friends, should be hung up in a museum. 

Keep reading

[notimetoblog]

If You’re Reading This

Summary: An end of the year bet with your friend/colleague Mr. Barnes leads to an unexpected surprise.

A/N: So.... I might've been a little too excited to write my entry to @bucky-at-bedtime​ 1.5k challenge. You just posted it a couple of nights ago but I JUST NEEDED TO WRITE IT lol !! Congrats on your milestone! You’re so sweet and talented and completely deserving of 1.5k and MORE! I picked the Teacher AU from her prompt list. I really hope you guys like it! I really loved writing this one. ITS PURE FLUFFFF!!! Thank you for reading!!!

MY STORIES

“Thank you all so much for a great year!” you said to your amazing group of students, your littles as you would call them. “I hope you all have a very fun summer and please don’t forget to stop by next year. Don’t forget me just because you’ll be second graders.”

Your students giggled at that. They were truly a wonderful group of students. They were sweet and very participative, always asking inquisitive questions and answering any of yours. Most of their little hands would shoot up whenever you would ask a question, and those that didn’t raise their hands showed you how bright they were in other ways. Their artwork, you swore to all your friends, should be hung up in a museum. 

The end of the year was always bitter sweet. It meant vacation, finally! But it also meant you had to say goodbye to your littles. They would be moving on to their next grade, and a new teacher. You would, of course, get another group of students to love, but saying goodbye always broke your heart.

Luckily, you could talk through your heartbreak with Bucky, or as the students knew him, Mr. Barnes. Bucky was a third-grade teacher who loved his students just as much as you did. He went through the same thing every end of the year. He was every bit caring as he was handsome. You couldn’t deny having a crush on him. How could you not when he looked like that and cared so much for his students?

When you arrived at the school as a first-year teacher, he had been kind enough to show you to the teacher’s lounge and have lunch with you. You had been so nervous that you would have to eat lunch alone, but thanks to him you spent your entire lunch laughing at all his crazy stories. He told you about his students, his friends, his crazy lesson planning schedule. After that, you spent every lunch with him, even taking your friendship outside work hours where you got to meet some of his friends. Your crush had only been growing every year as you got to know him even better.

To cope with the heartbreak the summer brought, Bucky proposed a friendly competition. Every year, some of your students and his, would bring each of you end-of-the-year gifts. Some students gave you drawings, others letters that they wrote in the best handwriting they could manage (figuring out what they said was always a riot), teddy bears, and some parents even brought you flowers. They all melted your heart. Bucky proposed to see who got the most presents, saying the loser would buy the other lunch to celebrate the beginning of the summer in a more positive and happy manner. For three years, that cocky third grade teacher had beat you. He would win by a present or two and would not let you live it down through out the next school year.

As the bell rang, officially marking the end of the year, your students quickly got up and headed to the door where they were usually met by their parents.

“Ok,” you said wanting to keep them for a minute longer. “Have fun! And listen to your parents!”

“Yes, Ms. Y/L/N,” they said in unison, practically begging you to just open the door.

“I’ll miss you guys,” you said as you walked towards the door.

As you opened it, you saw parents holding teddy bears, flowers, and balloons making your heart soar. Maybe this year you would finally beat Bucky!

Calling each parent up one by one to pick up their student, gave you an opportunity to individually say goodbye and thank the students for their lovely presents.

After saying goodbye to your last little, you placed all your gifts in your foldable rolling crate (tying the balloons to the handle), made sure to grab your personal belongings, and rushed to Bucky’s room where he would definitely greet you with a cocky smile thinking he had yet another year in the bag.

“Hey!” Bucky said as he opened the door to his classroom. “Looks like you got a lot of presents. Probably one less than me, though, you know, like always.”

“Whatever,” you said giving him a playful shove. “I’ll have you know, this year’s group absolutely loved me. So, don’t be surprised if I beat you this time.”

“Right, because you haven’t said that exact thing every year,” he said with a chuckle. And the smug dork was right, you admitted to yourself.

“I haven’t!” you said instead. If he was going to beat you, then you wouldn’t give him this satisfaction too.

Placing all your gifts on his desk, you took a look at his pile on the other end. It was stacked so high, there was no way you would be beating him!  

“You know,” you started, as you took a seat behind his desk. “It’s not fair if you buy yourself half of the presents in your pile.”

“What?” he said with a snort, pulling up another chair to sit beside you. “Not as confident anymore? I thought this year’s group adored you!”

“They did! I’m just saying, I’m getting a little suspicious.”

“Come on now, doll, you know I wouldn’t cheat. What example would that be for the kids?”

“The kids wouldn’t see,” you said with a smile. “And it would get you a free lunch, so I wouldn’t put it past you. You eat every lunch you have, like it’s the first and last lunch you’ll ever get!”

He threw his head back as he laughed.

“Well, since your confidence is all but gone, why don’t you start thinking where we’re going to be having lunch,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Why don’t we just start counting,” you retorted, wanting to go through all your presents.

“Ok,” he responded with a chuckle. “You open one and then I’ll open one.”

You nodded as you picked up your first present.

“One,” you counted as you opened it. “It’s a drawing from Liz! Look Buck, she drew me in my blue dress!” you shouted excitedly as you showed him the drawing. He giggled as he saw the drawing of you. Your hair was over the top and your dress hit the ground. Bright pink shoes poked out from the bottom.

“Looks just like you,” he said with a smile. “Ok, my turn.”

He picked up a similar paper as your drawing from Liz, but as he opened it you noticed it was a letter.

“One,” he said as he looked up from the letter. His blue eyes always captivated you. It was hard to look away from them, especially when they held such a teasing glint. “It’s a letter from Amy. She drew me a pretty cool dinosaur and she says I’m an awesome a teacher, you know the usual.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was just teasing.

As you opened some of the letters you received, Bucky and you were on the verge of tears from laughing so hard at some of the kids’ sweet messages. 7-year olds, weren’t known for their beautiful penmanship, but the messages they tried to write were beyond adorable.

“What does this say?” you asked Bucky as you handed him a letter from a little boy named Mike, your 10th present. You couldn’t make out what he was trying to say, in what appeared to be a lengthy letter.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with Bucky as he suddenly doubled over in his chair.

“This is just the alphabet written over and over, doll!”

“What?” you asked as you scanned the letter trying to catch your breath. “Oh my god! You’re right! This is the cutest thing!”

It became even harder to stop laughing after that. Whatever the kids had drawn or written, became ten times more adorable making you both laugh all over again.

“Ok!” you said, holding your sides since they were hurting from so much laughing. “How many presents do we have so far?”

“I think we each got 13, so far,” Bucky said trying to gain his composure.

Looking at the table in front of you, you noticed only one present left. You also had the balloons you had tied to your crate.

“I have those three balloons,” you said as you pointed to them. “Do they count as three presents or just one?”

“Just one!” Bucky responded with a light chuckle.

“Fine! Then I have fourteen and then this one,” you said as you picked up the last present from the table. It was wrapped in beautiful wrapping paper that made you extra careful with the way you opened it.

After getting the wrapping paper off, your eyes grew wide as you noted it was a beautiful leather-bound journal with straps wrapping around it to hold it closed. You traced your fingers on one of the straps crossing the front of the journal that had your last name engraved into the leather.

“Woah,” Bucky said from beside you. “Who gave you that?”

You unwrapped the straps to see if there was a message on the inside letting you know who had bought you this gorgeous gift. As the journal opened, you saw a written message on the first page.

To Ms. Y/L/N,

           Thank you so much for the amount of patience and dedication you showed to your students this year. My little Becca came home everyday with stories of all the fun things she’d done in school. You made her feel special every day, and for that I’m very grateful. We hope you enjoy this small gift and that you have a restful and fun summer.

           -Mary (Becca’s mom)

You could cry at the sweet message. You would treasure this journal and all your presents forever.

“It’s from Becca,” you said to Bucky trying not to cry at the sentimental message.

“That’s a very nice journal, doll. Becca must’ve really liked you,” Bucky said looking at the table in front of him. He had two gifts left. That would mean you two would be tied at 15 gifts each.

“Looks like we might be tied, this year,” he said as he unwrapped one of his remaining gifts, a small rectangular box.

It was a set of three ties. You leaned closer to Bucky to get a closer look at them. They were all beautiful. The colors on all of them were rich and you could already picture Bucky wearing them. He didn’t dress up every day, usually preferring casual attires that consisted of leather jackets, Henley’s, and the possible trench coat on colder days. For picture days, or special teacher dinners, though he would throw on a suit and my was it a sight.

“Hold them for me?” he asked. You pulled back a bit realizing how close you were to him as you held his ties.

He grabbed his last present which came in a bigger box. As he began unwrapping it, you ran your fingers across the set of ties you were holding. You picked out your favorite, a cream and dark-green striped tie. It looked at if it had been knitted but felt silky to the touch.

“This one is my favorite,” you whispered as you ran your fingers up and down the tie feeling the softness of the material. If he wore it with his blue suit, you thought, you would most likely drop dead. 

Bucky looked to you with a soft smile, pausing the opening of his last gift.

“Yeah?” he asked softly and smiled as you nodded, looking up at him from the box of ties. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You smiled at him as he turned back to finish opening his last present. He opened up the box and brought out a mason jar filled with lots of colorful pieces of paper. A gift tag hung from the neck of the mason jar and he read the note.

“Small notes of encouragement for next year. Thanks for all you do,” Bucky read the note aloud. “It’s from Jimmy’s parents,” he added with a smile.

You reached out for the jar and opened it to pull out one of the pieces of papers. Setting his ties gently on the desk.

“Teachers,” you began to read. “Encourage minds to think, hands to create, and hearts to love.”

As you looked up from the little note, you noticed how soft Bucky’s eyes looked. He was looking at you as if it was the first time he’d seen you. A soft smile spread across his lips and you felt yourself mimicking his expression. The message the little note contained, created a bubble around the both of you and you were not sure why. Could it be the emotions both of you were going through as you said goodbye to your students? No, that wasn’t it. The feeling in the air felt magical and the longer you thought about it, the more the butterflies in your stomach fluttered.

“Looks like we’re tied,” he whispered softly enough to not break the trance you were both under. He lowered his gaze to the floor and scrunched up his brows in confusion. “Or maybe not,” he said as he reached his arm out to pick something up from the floor.

Having a break from staring into his eyes, you looked around his classroom trying to process what had just happened. You placed the mason jar next to his box of ties. Bucky had gazed into your eyes in such a way that had made your heart soar and hope there might be something special enough between the two of you to become something else. His soft voice and smile had just brought you deeper into the fantasy of Bucky becoming more than just a friend.

“Looks like you got one more,” Bucky said as he came back up and dropped a small note into your hands. “It was on the floor.”

You looked at the note. It had been neatly folded into four, with your last name written across the front. The writing looked much neater than the previous letters you had read.

“You beat me,” Bucky added softly.

You opened the letter and gasped.

In beautiful handwriting, the letter read:

Dear Y/N,

      If you’re reading this, it’s because I finally gathered enough courage to do something about how I feel. We’ve had many special memories, doll, and I can’t tell you enough how much each of them means to me. We have been friends now for a few years, and I can no longer deny I feel more towards you than friendship. The way you smile, the way you care about your littles, the way you tell me about your day, the way you listen to my stories, the way you laugh. They all drive me crazy and I’ve been overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the way you make me feel. I’ve caught myself looking at you and smiling, because I can’t seem to be around you without a goofy smile on my face. Sometimes you look at me, and I think I see the same goofy smile on your lips. I really hope this isn’t all just in my head. Please let me know if it is. I’ll understand and do anything to not lose your friendship.

                       Always yours,

                 JBB.

You didn’t know how to react. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the way he signed his letter. “Always yours” it read, and your heart could not be contained. It felt like it was flying yet falling at the same time.

“It’s not,” you whispered as you finally brought your gaze up to his eyes. His expression was one of confusion as he listened to the way you began.  “It’s not all in your head,” you added to remind him of what he’d written. “Buck, I have feelings for you too.”

His eyes widened, and a bright smile spread across his face. He leaned closer to you and rested his forehead on yours as you closed your eyes. He was so close, you could smell the fresh scent radiating from him.

“I think I owe you lunch, doll,” he said softly, gently pressing his lips to your cheek, causing you to giggle. “You beat me this year by one gift.”

You opened your eyes and immediately felt lost in the oceans that were his eyes. Being this close to him made his blue eyes seems deeper and clearer. They were absolutely beautiful from a distance, but you would not be able to shake off the need to be this close to him after today.

“It was your gift, though, Buck,” you said with a smile.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied with a smile of his own as he pulled back from you. “You got 16 presents and I just got 15, so I owe you lunch. I’ll make you a deal, though. Why don’t we switch the lunch for a dinner and I’ll wear that tie you liked so much.”

Your smile widened as you leaned in close to him again.

“Add a kiss and we have a deal,” you said teasingly.

“Anything for you, doll,” he said as he pressed his lips to yours. You both smiled into the kiss, a kiss that felt forever in the making and made you so very excited for the summer. 

---

Bucky Tags! (btw Tumblr is being a jerk and hasn’t been notifying me when i get tagged in some things, so please let me know if you’re also not being notified)

@camillechan @just-add-butter @buckyisthepuresthuman @carry-on-my-fandom @creideamhgradochas @sixweekcure4dreams   @verycoolveryunique @dugan365  @jitterbuck @buckysmusculararm @headinthe-fridge @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @hedwigthelegend @sappybarnes @sold-my-soul-in-2016 @coal000 @the-soldiers @natcad @winters-beauty 

[minarawr]

Signal boooooooost 📣📡

1.5k Writing Challenge

Hello everyone! 

First of all - THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 1.5k - I only started writing fics like 3 months ago but I am so overwhelmed by all of the likes and reblogs I get on my work. It honestly means so much to me. I love you all. I’m gonna cry.

I decided a little while ago to do a writing challenge for my 1.5k and here it is! Please participate - I will love you forever. I will add more prompts if all of these are taken I guess? (Also enjoy this crappy lil header I made idk) I haven’t ever done a writing challenge before so many apologies if I fall a bit behind 💛💛 

Rules:

You don’t have to be following me but ily if you do

Reblog this to signal boost!!

Send me an ask with the prompt & character you’ll be writing for (if you change your mind or something, it’s fine! Just let me know through messages or asks)

Tag entries with ‘buckyatbedtimeswritingchallenge’ and tag me in the post!

Write for any MCU character you’d like but only reader-insert fics! 

can be fluff, angst or smut just please make sure you tag your stories appropriately.

NO UNDERAGE SMUT (eg. Peter Parker or Shuri)

you can make it a one-shot, mini-series or a full-on series, you do you. Minimum of 500 words.

1 person per dialogue prompt! 2 per Au.

Also I don’t mind if you alter the prompts a bit - have fun with it ma dudes.

There is no deadline But if you think you aren’t going to get it done at all, let me know so I can free up the prompt for someone else!

If I don’t reblog your fic within 24hrs of you posting it, send me a link!

Keep reading

[bucky-at-bedtime]

1.5k Writing Challenge

Hello everyone! 

First of all - THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 1.5k - I only started writing fics like 3 months ago but I am so overwhelmed by all of the likes and reblogs I get on my work. It honestly means so much to me. I love you all. I’m gonna cry.

I decided a little while ago to do a writing challenge for my 1.5k and here it is! Please participate - I will love you forever. I will add more prompts if all of these are taken I guess? (Also enjoy this crappy lil header I made idk) I haven’t ever done a writing challenge before so many apologies if I fall a bit behind 💛💛 

Rules:

You don’t have to be following me but ily if you do

Reblog this to signal boost!!

Send me an ask with the prompt & character you’ll be writing for (if you change your mind or something, it’s fine! Just let me know through messages or asks)

Tag entries with ‘buckyatbedtimeswritingchallenge’ and tag me in the post!

Write for any MCU character you’d like but only reader-insert fics! 

can be fluff, angst or smut just please make sure you tag your stories appropriately.

NO UNDERAGE SMUT (eg. Peter Parker or Shuri)

you can make it a one-shot, mini-series or a full-on series, you do you. Minimum of 500 words.

1 person per dialogue prompt! 2 per Au.

Also I don’t mind if you alter the prompts a bit - have fun with it ma dudes.

There is no deadline But if you think you aren’t going to get it done at all, let me know so I can free up the prompt for someone else!

If I don’t reblog your fic within 24hrs of you posting it, send me a link!

Dialogue prompts:

1. “Dance with me” - @verycoolveryunique

2. “Are you drinking Vodka at 10am?” - @ohitswanda 

3. “Your leg is bleeding.” - “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed that I’m about to pass out from blood-loss" 

Those Who Remember - @donut-disturb0

4. “Are you going to leave me?” - “You know that neither us want that.” - @headinthe-fridge

5. “Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.” - @petals-sunwards

6. “I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.” -  @bvckysmanbun

7. “I didn’t do it!” - “Then why are you laughing?” -  “Because whoever did it is a freaking genius.”  - @lokillaway

8. “Do me a favor, I know it’s difficult for you… but please, stay here, and try not to do anything… stupid.” - @ironmanlover24

9. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” - @take-my-life-not-my-heart

10. “You knocked on my door at 3 in the morning, to cuddle?” - @ican-do-this-all-day 

Noises - @ican-do-this-all-day 

11. “At least you’ll die doing what you love...” - @agentpegcxrter 

12. “Here’s some cookies and some very bad news!”

13. “Let me keep that promise.” - @lauxeyson 

14. “Next problem… we might die.”

15. “I immediately regret this decision.” - @redstarblacklight

Winter Wonder  - @redstarblacklight

16. “I’m not sure where you learned to whisper, but I’m guessing inside a helicopter surrounded by fucking chainsaws” 

Shot Down - @thats-what-i-call-british

17. “It’s always been you”

New York - @the-canary

18. “Is that my jumper?” 

For Freedom - @awkward-walking-potato 

19. “You’re a mess.” - “I’m your mess.” 

A Chance (That You Might Love Me Too) - @gentlestark​

20. “Your greatest fear is what?” 

La Constelación - @headinthe-fridge

AU Prompts:

1. “You’re my roommate who’s super cute and it’s the middle of the night and you’re cramming for your exams in your flannel pajamas and disheveled hair and it’s becoming increasingly hard for me not to kiss you” AU. 

Study Break - @wailingwhilewriting

2:00am - @vnderoos

2. “You locked yourself out too?” neighbour AU - @gotov-otvechat and @spideywhiteys

3. 'You’re the bartender and you catch someone slipping something into my drink’ AU - @no-champagne-socialist and

Feelings - @sweetboybucky

4. We’re both teachers and at the end of the year we compare how many gifts we’ve received from students and you’ve won for the past three years’ AU - @ciarawritesmarvel 

If You’re Reading This - @notimetoblog

The Forfeit - @ciarawritesmarvel

5. I’m a writer and when it gets close to my deadlines I neglect taking care of myself so you’ll pop into my house every so often to make sure I’m doing okay’ AU - @minarawr and @movie-dates-and-choccy-shakes

(I’m gonna tag my permanents in case they’re interested/will reblog but don’t feel pressured, my loves!)

Permanent Tags: @srgtsprout @redstarstan @just-add-butter @wildefire @dewy-biitch @emilia-dawn @helloitsrhys @twtwmm @comfortablenihilist @averyrogers83 @kittykat101ary @chameerah @obliviousocietea @vodkasindream @ciarawriitesmarvel @lauxeyson @mylovelymarvel @breezy1415 @xxashy999xx @moroiboy @miniwroetofreezymd @feelmyroarrrr @ellaisbutteredtoast @barnesbuucky @black-shad0w-w0lf @shelteredheart @fridolf-arach @missavengeer @winters-beauty @burningthroughmybones @theglowstickofdestiny @gotov-otvechat @o0justyouraveragefangirl0o @silverbvcky @petals-sunwards @stormbreaver @demonspawn2468 @verycoolveryunique @fireflyloki21 @laurfangirl424 @ohitswanda @winters-beauty @movie-dates-and-choccy-shakes

[headinthe-fridge]

La Constelación

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: cussing, dead body?

Summary: Detective Barnes is investigating a case involving a dead security guard and an antique painting. He gets stuck and receives unexpected help.

AN: This is for @bucky-at-bedtime' writing challenge, prompt #20: What is your greatest fear? This one-shot is heavily Sherlock-influenced bc Series 5 is taking forever. I have to cut it short bc tumblr said I reached the 100 text block. What does it mean? Anyways, I hope you like it guys. This is my 2nd Bucky fic. 😀

La Constelación, an antique work of art painted in the 1640's amidst the Cretan War by the Spanish painting maestro Agia. The classical painting was supposed to be destroyed in a wildfire in Crete but 100 years later, a group of private individuals managed to retrieve it. The painting is to be auctioned tomorrow night with a starting bid of $10,000,000

"Detective Barnes."

Officer Maximoff entered the office of Detective James Barnes. A well-known man in his field who does not have a single case left unsolved. His excellent critical thinking skills and keen eye for observation has made him the number 1 detective in New York. The said detective put down the newspaper he was reading to glance up at her.

"Where?" He merely asked.

"Metropolitan Museum of Art. A janitor found a dead body."

Bucky got off his chair and out of his office. Maximoff followed closely behind as she briefed him on the case.

"Forensics?"

"No reports yet, but they're already at the scene."

"Good. I want an address as soon as they ID him." He instructed just before he got on an NYPD car and drove off to the direction of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

"Ah! Look who's here!" The head of the forensics team; Sam Wilson, greeted when he arrived at the crime scene. "Good to see you, man."

"Sam, there's a dead body somewhere in this building, how is it good to see me?" He replied good-naturedly.

Sam chuckled. "You know what I mean."

"Where's the body?" Bucky asked, getting down to business.

"In the locker room." Sam handed him a pair of medical gloves. They approached the door to the locker room and as soon as Sam opened it, the stench of a decaying body hit their nostrils like a bomb. The body lay on the floor, the gun placed on the right hand. Brain matter and blood stained the floors.

"How long?"

"Dead for at least a day, caused by a bullet wound. Shot right through the right side of his temple. Obviously suicide. The names Charles Smith, security guard of museum for close to ten years. " Sam explained.

Bucky remained silent as he scanned the room. Eyes roaming and taking in everything he could find. There was more to the scene than meets the eye. He knew it.

"Not suicide." He said finally. Sam looked at him, eyes wide in disbelief. Bucky sighed exasperatedly. "The ballistics report will tell you that. But I'll tell you why it's not suicide based on other factors."

"Alright, I'm all ears."

"Gun shot is on the right side of the head but Smith was left handed. Why wouldn't you use your dominant hand when firing a gun? He doesn't seem to be a contortionist."

"How could you possibly know that he's left-handed?" Sam asked, his mouth agape.

Bucky shot him a look as if he is the dumbest person on earth. "Look around the room...at his desk; telephone's on the right, notepad on the left. Which means he picks up the phone with his right and writes with his left. This plate, an unfinished toast on the right, butter and knife on the left. He holds the bread with his right, spreads butter with his left. Most importantly, look at his holster. It's on his left hip. Why? Because he pulls the gun with his left hand." Bucky explained in one breath as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I hate you." Was Sam's only reply before he called out to his people. "Alright everyone, let's pack things up in here. I want the ballistics report as soon as possible."

"Now you're talking." Bucky quipped. "Who found the body?"

"Romanoff's interviewing him now. Turn left at the end of the corridor. You'll see them." Sam instructed. Bucky muttered a small thanks and left the forensics head to his job. He could already hear Officer Natasha Romanoff's voice before he rounded the corner.

"Detective Barnes." She greeted when she saw him. Natasha excused herself and approached him. "God, his breath stinks."

"Explains why you were jerking your head away from him." He chuckled then turned serious. "We're looking at murder." He said gravely.

Natasha looked over her shoulder. "Is he a suspect?"

"No. He does not have the nerve to do that." He replied. Natasha turned to look at him again with a raised brow. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

"It's really not, Barnes."

"Come on, look at him." He raised his hand at the man's direction and they both glanced at him. "Morbidly obese, undisguised halitosis, he lives on his own, has low IQ, and a breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. The recoil of a fired gun would kill him." He explained again as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Okay, Barnes, you win. We'll let him go."

"Get him to a hospital, he's close to having a heart attack."

Natasha let out a sarcastic laugh before she left him on his own. Bucky's phone beeped, he pulled it out of his pocket and read the message.

When he arrived at Charles Smith's flat, he was greeted by the landlady. Smith lived alone in an attic of a low-priced apartment in the shady part of New York. The first thing he noticed was the telescope standing by the window. It was a very old model, he could tell from the chipped black coating of the stand and faded-white paint of the lens frame. A stack of hardbound books lay atop the desk beside the window. They were mostly about the stars and the galaxy.

An amateur astrologer. He thought. He approached the desk and pulled open the drawer beneath it. He found a picture of a familiar painting. It was in the newspaper that he was reading this morning. La Constelación. Then, as if struck by some revelation, he quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Maximoff's number.

"That constellation painting is fake."

"What do you mean it's fake?" Jasper Sitwell exclaimed. He is the head of Hydra Restoration, a private organization tasked in restoring and preserving antique paintings. He glared at Bucky who stood beside Chief Officer Steve Rogers. Behind Sitwell is the controversial La Constelación painting, uncovered and all prepped up for tomorrow night's auction. "That painting passed all authentication tests!"

"It's a very good fake then." Bucky countered.

"We're gonna need proof, Buck." Steve spoke up. If there was anyone in the world who would not question his deduction abilities, it would be him. They were best friends since the beginning of time.

"Charles Smith was murdered because he knew the painting was fake. It was framed as suicide."

Sitwell seemed to tense at his words. "Well, how.. how did he know it was fake then? And have you found the killer?"

"Not yet, Mr. Sitwell. But expect that we are close to arresting him." Bucky replied, his tone confident.

"Until such time, Detective, leave me alone. I have work to do." Sitwell said as he kicked the two out of his office.

Steve turned to his friend as they exited the building. "Sorry, pal. If we don't have proof, we can't do anything. I'm going back to the station. Call me if you need anything."

Bucky only nodded in response. Steve gave him a pat on the shoulder before they went their separate ways. As he drove his way home, his mind went back to the painting. He had already deduced that the painting is fake. He found the motive, now all he needs is proof. But he is at loss. Charles Smith immediately knew it was a fake. How? What did he see? And what is Bucky not seeing? Was it the paint used? The color? The brush stroke? He was not fond of Arts and he knew very little about it. He was not about representations and deep meanings, and all that hullabaloo. He was about cold, hard facts.

But he cannot let this one case ruin his record. He solved every single case thrown at him. He will solve this and he will stop the auction. He pulled out his phone and dialed Steve's number.

"Hey, pal. I'm gonna need photographs of that painting. Every angle, every grid. Have Romanoff dress up as journalist or whatever. I'll give you proof tonight. The auction will never happen." He said, voice laced with determination.

"Alright."

"Thanks."

The line cut off just as Bucky pulled over in the driveway.

"I'm home." He announced when he entered the house. He frowned when he heard no reply from you. "Y/N?" He called out. He could hear faint sounds coming from the floor above. With furrowed brows, he went upstairs to your shared room and that is where he saw you. No wonder you did not hear him, Guns N Roses blasted off the speakers as you were fixing the bed covers. You were on all-fours, fixing the cover on one corner, your back facing him.

Bucky quietly walked towards you, you yelped when his hand smacked your butt cheek. "I see, you're already in position."

"James Barnes! I will kill you if you sneak up on me again!" You yelled. You paused the music then turned to him.

"I'm so scared, doll." He said mockingly before pulling you into a hug. That seemed to relax you and lighten up your mood.

"Have you eaten dinner?" You asked as you inhaled his scent. God, you love that musty scent and the heat radiating off his body.

"I'm not hungry but I'll eat my dinner now." Bucky breathed then pushed you against the bed. You fell down and he crawled on top of you. His mouth found your neck and started sucking on your supple skin.

You moaned but pushed him back lightly so you could look at him. "Buck, I just changed the beddings. Can we not stain the bed covers until I wash up the dirty ones?"

"Alright." He placed a kiss on your forehead then got off you. "But we're doing it in the shower."

"You're such a pervert." You chuckled as he pulled you up. Come on, let's have dinner."

Bucky's phone beeped. "Go on, I just need to check on something."

"Okay, I'll set the table." You said the went downstairs.

Bucky pulled out his phone and strode towards the desk where his laptop lay. He went to his email, Steve had sent him the photographs he needed. He quickly downloaded the files then opened it. Bucky sat there, quietly scrolling around the photograph, zooming in and out. Scrutinizing every detail he could see.

"Buck?"

He heard you call from the door. He completely forgot about dinner. "Sorry, doll. Let's eat." He was about to get up from his seat when you approached him and asked.

"What are you looking at?"

"A painting." He zoomed out the photograph to reveal the whole picture. It was a vast landscape with the night sky filled with stars on top.

"That's beautiful." You commented then looked at him curiously. "What's this? James Buchanan Barnes looking at paintings? You finally into Arts?"

Bucky scoffed. "It's from my case. This painting is all over the news. It's classic, painted in the 1640's, very expensive. It will be auctioned tomorrow night. A security guard at the museum was murdered because he knew the painting isn't authentic."

"How?"

"Well, that... I don't know, doll." The two fell silent as they stared at the photograph. Bucky clicked the next button, it was a close-up shot of the painting's night sky.

"Wait, zoom in on here." Bucky, though puzzled at your sudden action, complied. "Look at this." You pointed at the brightest star in the painting. "This is the Dalmatia Supernova. It's part of the Cassiopeia Constellation. Why is that supernova here?"

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about this star, and mind you, stars aren't in the world. That's primary school stuff, how could you not know it?" You blabbed on as you reached for an encyclopedia on the bookshelf then brought it to Bucky's desk. You flipped it open to a page about stars and constellations.

It showed photographs of the galaxy, the stars, and supernovas. You pointed to a group of stars on one of the photographs. "Look, it's the exact same stars in the painting, the positions, the sizes. And this one, the Dalmatia Supernova only appeared in 1769."

"And?"

"Don't you see? This star..." you pointed to the star on the painting. "First appeared in 1769 so how come this was painted in the 1640's, you idiot!"

"Oh!" Bucky gasped, finally realizing the connection. "That's right! Charles Smith was an amateur astrologer. That's how he found out."

"You're welcome, Detective Barnes." You huffed.

"Thanks to you, of course." He cooed then pulled you in for a kiss. "But how did you know that?"

You groaned at the loss of contact but answered him anyway. "We learned it in high school. And I used to star gaze, remember? That's how we met. You and Steve saw me at the school's rooftop. Turns out you guys weren't the only ones sneaking in the school grounds in the middle of the night." You chuckled at the memory.

"I remember." A warm smile tugged on his lips. "You said your greatest fear is if the sun suddenly disappeared."

You grimaced at him. He was making fun of you, you know it. "Well what about you? What's your greatest fear, huh? Not solving a case?" You retorted.

Bucky stood up. He cupped your face with his hand and looked at you intently, the blue of his eyes filled with passion and they seem to draw you in. "You know what my greatest fear is?"

"What?"

"My greatest fear is you suddenly disappearing. You're my sun, Y/N." Your heart melted at his words. Before you could say anything, he leaned down for a kiss. Not the needy, aggressive kiss he always does when you two are in the comforts of your own room, with tongues clashing and hands roaming. It was a soft kiss filled with his love for you.

It was half past midnight when Bucky felt you were not by his side. "Y/N?"

"In here." Your head appeared from the terrace.

He got off the bed and put on a shirt and sweatpants before coming to you. He found you there, looking up at the night sky. The soft glow of moonlight hitting your form, casting an ethereal image. One that took his breath away. He stood beside you then looked up. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"I thought you didn't care about such things?"

"It doesn't mean I can't appreciate it."

The next day at the station, Jasper Sitwell stood inside Steve Rogers’ office. "What are we looking at, Chief?" Bucky asked. Steve looked up from the report on his hands.

"Conspiracy, fraud, murder." He replied as if casually picking out a restaurant menu. Jasper Sitwell remained silent.

"My work here is done." Bucky stated and Steve muttered his thanks. "I'll be at my office. If you need anything else."

[bucky-at-bedtime]

I love this idea! Thanks for being a part of my challenge, love 💛

La Constelación

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: cussing, dead body?

Summary: Detective Barnes is investigating a case involving a dead security guard and an antique painting. He gets stuck and receives unexpected help.

AN: This is for @bucky-at-bedtime’ writing challenge, prompt #20: What is your greatest fear? This one-shot is heavily Sherlock-influenced bc Series 5 is taking forever. I have to cut it short bc tumblr said I reached the 100 text block. What does it mean? Anyways, I hope you like it guys. This is my 2nd Bucky fic. 😀

La Constelación, an antique work of art painted in the 1640’s amidst the Cretan War by the Spanish painting maestro Agia. The classical painting was supposed to be destroyed in a wildfire in Crete but 100 years later, a group of private individuals managed to retrieve it. The painting is to be auctioned tomorrow night with a starting bid of $10,000,000

“Detective Barnes.”

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[bucky-at-bedtime]

Amazing 🙌🏼 thank you so much for taking part, you’re a gem 💛

For FREEDOM

Captain America x reader

This is sort of random and short but it’s just an idea that came into my head cause it’s what I would do if I was left alone in the avengers tower 

“is that my jumper?” promo for @bucky-at-bedtime 1.5k writing challenge Congratulations!!!

Feedback with welcomed!

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[bucky-at-bedtime]

Ahhhhh yesss 💛💛 this is amazing, dude. You’re a brilliant writer - thanks for participating x

The Forfeit [Teacher!AU]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Language in different languages (eheh), a teensy bit of alcohol?

A/N: I’m literally in love with the idea of cool language teachers Bucky and Y/N that all the students love and - surprise! - they love each other too. I don’t even know why I just love it. Anyway, this is for @bucky-at-bedtime‘s 1.5k writing challenge, congrats lovely! I had a lot of fun writing this so thank you for letting me be a part of it <3

Prompt: We’re both teachers and at the end of the year we compare how many gifts we’ve received from students and you’ve won for the past three years AU

MASTERLIST

You wrestled with the folders in your arms, propping them on your hip for a second to get a better grasp on them before continuing along the corridor. You received a few smiles from kids passing you and you just about managed to return them despite your concentration on not dropping your marking. There were even a few sweethearts who offered to help you but you’d never been one to rely on others so you simply shook your head kindly before hurrying off, heels clicking loudly against the wooden floors.

It was the last week of term which meant there were masses of tests to mark, particularly rowdy students to control and grumpy teachers to be dealt with. You had tried your best not to fall into the same trap they had of getting excited for the holidays too early and letting yourself fall into misery for the last week, so, at that moment, you seemed to be one of the only enthusiastic teachers at the entire school.

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[bucky-at-bedtime]

Oh my god I love this so much 😍😍 you’re amazing - thank you so much for taking part in the challenge. You’ve done a fantastic job 💛

Feelings

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs 

Summary: Your date doesn’t end the way you expected. 

A/N: Hi, everyone! So this is my entry for @bucky-at-bedtime ‘s 1.5K Writing Challenge! The first thing I wanna say to the lovely Jess is: congratulations on 1.5K! You totally deserve it, my dear. Your work absolutely blows me away. 

My prompt for this was AU number 3: “You’re the bartender and you catch someone slipping something into my drink.” This oneshot was a bit of a challenge for me because I don’t normally write fics like this, but it was also super fun. I had a great time writing this piece and I just want to thank Jess again for hosting such a fun writing challenge. And I apologize in advance for any typos. I do my best with editing, but it’s easy to miss some things. Anyway, enjoy! 

Your night is not going as planned.

Leaning against the bar, you place your elbow on the smooth, wooden surface and let your cheek fall onto your open hand. Your date drones on about something he brought up some ten minutes again you struggle to keep your eyes open as he talks.

The guy’s name is Derek, and you’d met on some dating app your friend, Nat, had forced you download. She had immediately stolen your phone from you once it was installed and set up your profile for you. She even liked a few guys for you.  

One of those guys was Derek.

After an hour or so of having the app, and once Nat had left, he messaged you. Trying to be polite, you responded. It’s not like you had anything against dating apps, and you had been single for a while, so you didn’t think it would hurt to make some small talk with him and then slowly stop messaging him back all together.

Derek, however, had been persistent and had jumped on the chance to ask you out. The moment you received the message, you debated whether or not to go on the date or tell him to back off, delete the app, and call Nat to scream at her for making you download it in the first place.

Obviously, you chose the former.

The bar is crowded and humid, the air making sweat stick little baby hairs to the back of your neck. You look up from where your gaze had been fixated on the ice cubes in your drink to look at Derek, noticing that he’s still talking.

A tiny groan escapes your lips and for the first time since you got to the bar, you’re happy it’s loud enough that your date won’t hear it.

Looking at him, you realize that this won’t even make a good bad date story. It’s not like the guy is some psychopath, as far as you can tell. He doesn’t have some crazy backstory or weird mannerism to laugh at.  He’s not even the least bit interesting. Derek is, in fact, probably the most boring person you’ve ever met.

“… it’s just so pointless, y’know?” he voices, still discussing something you can’t really remember. You hum in acknowledgment, glancing at his face briefly before focusing your eyes back down at your half-empty drink, lifting it up and swirling the liquid in the glass.

Someone clears their throat behind you and, putting your drink down, you swivel on your stool to see who it is. You notice Derek’s now strange, pinched expression as you do, but you don’t pay attention to it, just assuming that he’s mad your focus is elsewhere. You also hear his exasperated sigh as you smile at the person who’s now grabbed your attention.

Bucky.

You knew your dark haired friend was a bartender at this place but you hadn’t expected him to be working. You’ve never been happier to see him, though, as he grins back at you, one of his hands coming up to tuck a stray piece of long, dark hair behind his ear.

“Hey, Buck,” you say, affection changing your tone. For the first time since getting to the bar, you’re glad to be here. Bucky seems happy to see you as well because he’s beaming now, his perfect teeth on full display.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice silky smooth. “How’s your night going?”

You roll your eyes at him and discreetly mouth the words “so boring” to him, leaning a little closer so he can see you in the dim lighting of the place. He chuckles and gives you a sympathetic glance.

“I didn’t know you were working tonight,” you say. “Why am I just seeing you now?”

“I’ve been upstairs most of the night,” he explains, gesturing to the staircase at the far end of the large room. You’d forgotten that there was an upstairs to this bar. “Private party,” he whispers, bracing his hands against the counter and leaning closer to you. He winks. You laugh.

Just as he’s about to say something else to you, his eyes fixate on something behind you, his grin faltering immediately.

“Bucky? Wha -”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing back there?” Bucky bites.

You flinch a bit at the sudden change in tone and stare at him. He’s not looking at you, though. His gaze remains on something behind you.

Turning in your seat, you see Derek. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his face is completely flushed. He looks nervous - no, terrified - and more confusion morphs your expression into a frown.

“What’s going on?” you ask, looking between Derek and Bucky.

Bucky still isn’t looking at you. His mouth is set in a hard line and there’s a fire behind his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You’ve never seen the teddy bear of a man in front of you so angry.

“This asshole just put something in your drink.”

Your mouth falls open as you look at Derek. A million thoughts race through your mind as Bucky keeps barking at the guy.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice that? I’m standing two fucking feet from you.”

Derek flinches at the words, his body curling in on itself as his gaze flicks down to Bucky’s metal arm. Bucky notices.

“How fucking stupid do you think I am?” Bucky adds.

“I-I, I j-just -” Derek starts, his voice and body shaking. But Bucky cuts him off.

“I don’t care. Get the fuck out before I jump over this goddamn bar and beat you half to death.”

During this entire exchange, you remain motionless. You don’t even move when Derek mutters the smallest version of an apology and stands so quickly he nearly falls over. In an instant, he’s out the door.

Blood roars in your ears and your skin crawls as you look at the glass from which you were drinking just two minutes ago. You’d never imagined that you would be caught in a situation like this. But you know that if Bucky hadn’t seen what Derek did, you surely would’ve finished that drink.

So he was a psychopath after all.

Bucky is saying something to you, but you can’t hear him. You can only see his lips moving out of the corner of your eye.

But then he’s in front of you and his metal hand feels cool against your shoulder. You force your eyes to focus on his, the deep blue loosening the vice grip around your heart.

“Hey, Y/N. Hey,” he whispers. You’re surprised you can hear him over the roar of the people in the bar. “Are you okay? Do you feel dizzy or sick at all?”

When you shake your head at his question, he lets out a relieved exhale. He looks away from you for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, but he keeps his cool hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of your blouse.

After a moment of silent pondering, he looks back to you, his eyes flitting over your face and lingering a little too long on your lips. You notice but you don’t say anything. Your brain is too preoccupied with the fact that you were almost drugged.

“Okay, just breathe, doll,” he says carefully, his flesh hand tucking some the hair that has fallen in front of your face behind your ear. “I’m gonna take you home, alright? Is that okay?”

The sweet tone of his voice makes your brain feel a tad less foggy. But once you’ve registered what he’s said, your brows furrow.

“But you’re working,” you mutter.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says quickly, his gaze is affectionate and soft and the weight of the room and the night and the situation you nearly found yourself in gets lighter. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”

—

“I got you some water.”

Your head snaps up from your hands to the doorway at the sound of Bucky’s voice. He walks carefully across your bedroom and places the glass on your bedside table before taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to you.

Bucky had been nice enough to drive you home rather than just call a cab for you like you had expected. His car had been soft and warm and he had driven so carefully you’d nearly fallen asleep. Exhaustion had crept its way into your bones and you were more than ready to curl up in bed and never leave.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, flashing him a grateful smile before looking back down at your hands. Your fingers tangle in the hem of your shirt.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is so tender and his fingers ghost carefully over your arm as he asks. Tears gather in your eyes as you look back up at him.

“I shouldn’t be so upset,” you mumble. “I shouldn’t be so upset,” you repeat. “I didn’t even drink it, thanks to you. Nothing even happened to me and I still feel so -”

“Anxious?” Bucky questions. You nod at him, wondering how he was able to finish your sentence for you. He reads the confusion on your face and sighs. “It doesn’t matter if something happened to you or not. It’s still scary.”

“You’re allowed to have feelings, Y/N,” he continues. He inches a little closer to you to brush a stray tear off of your cheek. You almost hadn’t noticed it was there.

Leaning forward, your forehead meets his collarbone. You take a shaky breath and bite the inside of your cheek to stave off more tears. Bucky just rests his flesh hand on your back and rubs circles with it, trying to help calm you down.

A few minutes later you’re yawning against his shoulder and he’s chuckling at you and the sound of his laughter seems to brighten up your room more than the small lamp on your bedside table ever could.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispers. “I’m gonna get going so you can rest.”

When he starts to pull away from you, you grab his bicep and hold him in place. He looks at you, clearly waiting for you to speak.

“Please stay,” you finally choke out, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. As he opens his mouth to protest you continue. “I want you to stay.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Okay,” he repeats. He moves around you to the other side of your bed and leans back against the headboard. You lay next to him, pillowing your head on his thigh. His metal hand ghosts over your temple and forehead before settling in your hair.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” you ask, tilting your head up enough to look at his face. He smiles down at you and the look he’s giving you is so gentle you nearly melt.

“Yeah, doll,” he answers, his voice impossibly soft. “I’ll be here.”

He takes your hand and kisses it, his lips feeling exactly the way you imagined they would against your skin.