#caroswwc

[a-splash-of-stucky]

By Morning Light | i

Pairings: Steve x Bucky x Reader

Summary: Midnight missions leave you lonely in the mornings

Warnings: Brief mentions of anxiety. Possibly some language.

Notes: Written for @ughjoekeery’s writing challenge, with the prompt: Dawn.

Think of this chapter as the ‘prologue’ for the ‘series’. Title for this chapter is an adapted lyric from ‘Daylight’ by Maroon 5.

[BML Masterlist]

~ when the daylight comes (you’ll be on your own) ~

You stir in your sleep, your hand reaching out to the right with the intent of pulling Bucky closer to you, hoping that you can leech off some of his body heat. The chill that is currently ghosting over your skin is probably what awoke you in the first place; your twin furnaces seem to have disappeared from your sides.

Your lips contort into a frown when your fingers close on nothing but empty sheets. How strange.

You roll onto your other side — and pause, stunned by the discovery of the fact that you are actually able to roll over. Normally, Steve is curled up around your back, arm slung around your waist and nose pressed into the crook of your neck. If you ever turned over in your sleep, you usually end up with your face smushed between pecs of steel. As wonderful as it is being able to sleep with two solid walls of muscle on either side of you, the fact that the boys usually cling to you like octopi to a rock just makes their absence that much more noticeable.

With a muted yawn, you stretch out your arms and do some half-assed impression of making a snow-angel, flapping your arms and legs around in the sheets to confirm that yep, you’re most certainly alone in the bed. Reluctantly, your crack open your sleep-encrusted eyelids, in order to survey the room.

It’s still fairly dark out, the morning in that weird transition hour between night and dawn, where the entire world seems to take on a slightly purplish quality. The digital clock on the nightstand tells you that it’s a quarter past six in the morning. Your drag your eyes away from the bright red lights of the clock’s display and slowly track them over the rest of the room. You note the half-shut cupboards, the pulled-out drawers and the clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor, all indicating that the boys left in haste. There’s no denying the evidence presented by the whole scene — you’re forced to accept the sad reality that Steve and Bucky are gone.

Midnight missions happen all the time, in this household. It’s not unusual for one, or both of them to get called out in the middle of the night. Given their line of work, you figure it’s expected that Steve and Bucky need to keep odd hours. World-saving waits for no one, so you’ve come to embrace the fact the the boys could be dragged away at the drop of a hat, with no prior warning, whisked off to some far-flung part of the world to kick some bad-guy butt.

If you had to guess, you’d probably say that nights like these happen at least once every couple of weeks. With that level of frequency, mornings like these are not uncommon — morning where you wake up shivering and alone in a bed that feels far too big. With that level of frequency, a part of you thinks that you should be used to the programme by now, that your body should know what has happened and should therefore not freak out about it. Sure, Bucky and Steve are off risking their lives to make the world a safer place, but they always come back to you — battered, usually bloodied, though always whole.

You resent these mornings, nonetheless.

Exhaling a harsh breath through your nose, you roll over onto your stomach and bury your face into Bucky’s pillow, greedily inhaling the scent that clings to the brushed cotton. You miss your boys. Perhaps it’s your imagination, but you swear that you can feel the ache of loneliness and longing in your heart, throbbing dully with every heartbeat. You’d been looking forward to spending a relaxing weekend with them, but that looks to not be the case.

Way to go, bad guys, you gripe, thanks for ruining my weekend plans.

The memory of the first time a morning like this happened starts playing in your ming like a terrible grainy film, one that you’d much rather not watch.

Bucky and Steve had left without so much as a note explaining why they were gone, or where they were going, or when they’d be coming back. You can vividly remember the way the terror had gripped at your heart, the way the panic had nauseated you as it swirled in your stomach. You remember grabbing your phone and dialling their numbers. You’d tried calling them a dozen times. You’d clutched the phone to your ear with a trembling hand, waiting with bated breath as the phone rang and rang and rang, without being picked up.

You remember praying to the heavens above for a miracle, hoping to develop some sort of telepathic connection with Steve or Bucky, just to know that they were alive. God, you must have left them at least six voicemails. Each. You don’t want to think about how hysterical you must have sounded, how close to the verge of tears your voice must have been. When you finally realised that calling Bucky and Steve would get you nowhere, you’d tried everyone else on your contact list. You tried getting ahold of Sam, you tried getting ahold of Nat, of Wanda, of Tony, of Clint — hell, you even tried to call Pepper, all to no avail.

You’d worked yourself into an anxious frenzy, unable to shake the fear lingering in the back of your head for the rest of the day. You were hardly able to sit still for more than a couple of seconds. You’d known that the best thing for you to do was to just keep calm, to just have faith in the knowledge that Steve and Bucky have been doing this for a lot longer than they’ve known you and that they know how to handle themselves. But—there’s just some things that girlfriends do. Being worried sick when their boyfriends vanish into thin air is one of them.

Now, at least, you’re proud to say that you can handle Steve and Bucky’s midnight disappearances with a lot more composure. After six months of living together, you’ve finally taught yourself to reign in the all-consuming panic that threatens to overwhelm your mind and send it spiralling into the pits of despair. You never seem to be as productive as you normally are, not can you quite shake off the nervous energy hovering around you like a cloud of mist, but it’s a definite improvement to how you used to act.

Having exhausted your contacts list, you’d resorted to booting up your laptop and doing a Google search for their names, hoping that you’d read about them in the news, or something. The relief that spread through your veins as your eyes skimmed over an article detailing a sighting of the Avengers in Belarus was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before — you’d felt as if a mountain-sized boulder had been lifted off your lungs, allowing you to breathe again. You remember patting your chest, right over your heart, as if to reassure the madly-beating muscle that yes, Bucky and Steve were still alive.

As much as you’d promised yourself that you’d be giving them a real chewing over the minute they stepped through the front door, that’s not exactly how the events played out in real life. In reality, things panned out a little something like this: a haggard-looking Steve and an equally exhausted Bucky stumble through the door, a string of apologies on their lips. You take one look at them, one glance at the truly forlorn look on their faces and feel something in your heart just give way. You promptly burst into tears — of joy? Relief? Anger? Who knows? — and run into their outstretched arms, clinging to them in a viciously tight embrace, as if to ensure that they could never leave you, ever again.

The three of you have made some changes, after that.

There’s a protocol, now. The boys will always leave you a note if they have to go, putting it somewhere obvious so that it’s easy for you to spot. Initially, they’d tried waking you up to let you know that they were leaving, but that plan fell through because you sleep like the dead and are just as difficult to reawaken.

Now, you push yourself up onto your elbows, glancing around the dimly-lit room in search of their note. A flash of yellow in the corner of your eye catches your attention. You lean over and pluck the square post-it note from where it’s stuck on the nightstand on Steve’s side of the bed. You narrow your eyes, turning the slip of paper this way and that, trying to decipher Steve’s unreadable chicken scratch. With a sigh, you sit up straighter, intending to flick on the bedside lamp to shed some light on the subject — you laugh humourlessly at your own pun. Just as you’re reach over to thumb the switch on the wall, a folded piece of white paper crammed underneath the base of the lamp draws your gaze.

Eagerly, you snatch up the note and flatten out the paper. The inside is covered in Bucky’s loopy cursive script, scrawled across the scrap of paper in green ink.

Hey doll, it reads, we left just after 12AM, should be back in time to take you out for brunch. Don’t worry too much. <3 S and B

Well. It’s something, at least. With any luck, they’ll stick to their promise and be back in time for the three of you to go out for pancakes, maybe take a walk in the park. If all goes to plan — and that, to be fair, is a pretty big if — you’ll be able to make the most out of the rest of the weekend.

It is with this thought in mind that you swing your legs off the bed and pad over to the bathroom, to go through your morning routine of brushing your teeth, washing your face and going to the toilet. After, just as you’re about to flick off the light switch and head down for some breakfast, your eyes fall on the laundry hamper in the corner of the bathroom. Specifically, your gaze lands on Steve’s white t-shirt lying on the top of the pile.

You don’t hesitate to cross over to it, pulling your own night-shirt over your head as you go. That gets tossed into the pile of dirty clothes, and you tug Steve’s shirt on its place. For good measure, you rummage around in the hamper, clicking your tongue triumphantly when you pull out Bucky’s navy blue zip-up. That gets pulled on too.

Despite the fact that it’s not even seven in the morning, you’re feeling wide awake and know that you’re unlikely to be falling back asleep anytime soon. So, as your gaze roams over the disheveled mess that is your bedroom, you decide to take advantage of your early start to the day by getting some housework done. You make the bed and put away the junk cluttering the surface of your dresser, before gathering up all the clothes on the floor and dumping them into the laundry hamper, ready to be washed with Steve and Bucky’s gear once they get back.

It’s nice, working with their clothes on, if only because it means that you’ve enshrouded yourself in their comforting scents. You turn your face and press your nose into the shoulder of the zip-up, breathing in that musky, spicy smell of Bucky that clings to the material. You push the garment to the side, exposing the t-shirt underneath so that you can get a quick whiff of Steve’s fresher, slightly sharper scent.

Like this, it’s easy to pretend that you’re not alone, easier for you to imagine that your boys are right there next to you, bickering between themselves as they attempt to distract you from your chores. The thought brings a smile to your lips.

Once the bedroom is as clean as you can make it, you head downstairs, not bothering to turn on the lights as you go, because you enjoy observing the way the rising sun tinges your home in shades of pink and orange. Your fingers itch for some pencils and a sketchbook to capture the tranquil scene.

You make your way through the rest of the house, restlessly tidying away things that are out of place. You find yourself rearranging some framed photos of your family and putting the packages that you received yesterday into your art room, to be opened some other time. There’s only so much cleaning you can do, however, before there is literally nothing left to be cleaned. With a resigned sigh, you amble into the kitchen and put the kettle on, then pull out your favourite Avengers mug and drop a tea bag into it.

Once it’s ready, you carry your scalding hot mug of tea and a packet of chocolate cookies into the living room. Today feels like a Netflix morning, you decide, as you settle down in the corner of the L-shaped couch and bring up the latest episode of the show you’re watching. The sunlight is beginning to stream in through the windows properly now, casting everything in a soft, hazy glow.

As the opening credits roll, you decide to make a quick dash to your art space to grab the book you’re currently reading, in case you want to occupy your mind in other ways, as well as your laptop, in case you — heaven forbid — decide to actually be productive on a Saturday morning.

Since your mind is rather preoccupied, you wind up not paying that much attention to the drama playing out on screen. The volume’s turned down low, enabling your brain to push the sounds into the back of your head. Your mind wanders and ends up waltzing down memory lane.

———————————

You work as an illustrator and freelance artist. Two and a half years ago, you’d been invited to create some original pieces for a local art gallery, who intended to auction them off and give part of the proceedings to the local children’s hospital. You’d met Steve and Bucky on the night of the exhibition launch and your relationship had taken off from there.  

Steve had made the first move. He’d come over to you, an embarrassed flush on his face when he started gushing about your work, eyes twinkling with excitement as he geeked out over your colour and compositional choices. Bucky, standing by his side, had been equally charming, not letting his lack of art-knowledge hinder him from joining in on the conversation. There’s a candid picture of the three of you from that night that is pinned to the wall above your work-station. The photographer had managed to catch you all just as you burst out into laughter. Steve’s hand is resting on your upper arm, Bucky’s hand is clapping on Steve’s right shoulder, and all your faces are alight with joy. Your heart never fails to melt whenever you set eyes on it.

Afterwards, they took you out for coffee at a ridiculously expensive downtown cafe. The three of you had stayed in there and chatted well beyond closing time — it seems that shop owners make exceptions for Captain America. From the get-go, it’d been so easy to talk to them. You don’t know of any other people who have made you laugh as much, or as hard, in that amount of time. The three of you clicked, instantly, as if you’d always known each other.

By the time Steve and Bucky were ushering you into the cab they’d called, the three of you had already established a date for a get-together at your house, so that Steve could come over and ogle the rest of your work, and so that Bucky could come over and impress you with his potato salad.

Cue a year or so of you spending a hell of a lot of time with Steve and Bucky. Well, as much time as you can with the two of them were jetting off on missions every week, at least. Slowly but surely, you found yourself falling for them both. It wasn’t something that you were conscious of, really, it’s just — one evening, you sat down to have dinner by yourself in front of the couch and found yourself wishing that Bucky and Steve were there to keep you company. And, the more you thought about it, the more you realised that you wanted their company every night — and every day too, if that was possible.

Then, there was a brief period of awkwardness, during which you fretted and lamented over your indecisive heart. Your every waking hour was spent wondering how on earth you were going to broach this subject with them. But, before you could even formulate a game plan, before you could even begin to prepare yourself for the heartache that would inevitably come with you having to end your friendship with them, the boys had approached you and asked you out on a proper date. Emphasis on the plural, there.

And it’s been…well, it’s been a lot of things, since then. Stressful, exhilarating, enjoyable — pretty much every descriptor under the sun. You’ve been dating for a year and a half now, and six months ago, the boys had moved into your two-storey studio loft. They had, of course, invited you to come and live with them the tower, but you couldn’t bear the thought of having to pack up your meticulously organised work-station, only to have to establish a whole new system of organisation. And besides, the view of the city from your window is pretty spectacular.

Was it scary for you to finally meet the rest of the team?

Hell yeah, it was. Downright terrifying, would perhaps be more of an accurate answer. But, questionable first impressions and poorly-concealed death-threats aside (mostly directed at Steve and Bucky on your behalf, as opposed to the reverse, thankfully), the rest of the Avengers have come to accept you as part of their family. You are the one person who brings a sense of normalcy into their otherwise hellishly chaotic home.

Your relationship went public about a couple of months before the three of you moved in together, after the three of you had gotten papped when you’d gone out grocery shopping. There was a lot of media coverage, mostly in the form of disgruntled grumbling, of your relationship in the following weeks. Steve’s image took most of the heat; as a national icon, Captain America is, by default, supposed to stand for national ideals. Apparently — and you’ve got no idea what idiot decided to institute this as fact — America’s national ideals are not, in fact, bisexuality and polyamorous relationships. You’d also gotten your fair share of death threats during the initial media frenzy, but it’s the Avengers we’re talking about, at the end of the day. No mere civilian is stupid enough to get on their bad side. And besides, the PR and legal teams are great at keeping your private life under lock and key.

———————————

You end up lazing around on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep for the next couple of hours. You’re startled by the sound of a key jingling in the lock, followed by the front door creaking open and heavy boots thudding inside. You sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with one hand and stretching out the kink in your shoulder with the other. A quick glance at the clock on the wall lets you know that it’s half past nine in the morning.

Steve is limping into the living room just as you turn around. Your give him a quick once-over, taking in the bruising on his cheek and the way he holds his body, indicating that he’s probably taken a pretty bad hit to the right side of his ribs. His helmet is held in one hand, his shield in the other. Bucky strides in after him, tac jacket unzipped and hair freed from the bun he keeps it in when he’s out on a mission. There’re butterfly bandages above his eye and a cut on his lip, but besides that, he doesn’t look too bad.

“Hey,” you murmur, twisting around properly now, resting your elbows on the back of the couch as you push yourself up onto your knees. Bucky is the first to reach you, his hands cupping your face and tilting it upwards as he leans in to capture your lips in a fierce kiss. You sigh contentedly, feeling the tension draining out of your body with each surge of Bucky’s lips against your own. You sense Steve sauntering over to the two of you, dropping his helmet onto the couch beside you so that he can thread his fingers through your hair. The last vestiges of anxiety leave your body at the gesture, and you can’t help but let out an approving moan as Steve’s fingertips dig into the base of your skull.

When you and Bucky finally break away, you find that the two of them have smiles on their faces, contented looks in their eyes. Steve chuckles softly when he notices your outfit, stroking your hair fondly.

“Missed us that much?” he asks quietly.

“You got no idea,” you reply. Bucky’s flesh hand gives your forearm an understanding squeeze.

“Good mission?” you ask tentatively, pressing your cheek into Steve’s palm as he glides it over the left side of your face.

“Yeah, doll,” Steve murmurs. Bucky hums in agreement.

“Tired?” you breathe, the fingers of your right hand threading between Bucky’s metal ones, where they rest on the couch cushions. He catches your eye and flashes you a small, appreciative smile.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, breaking off with a small yawn. Bucky scrunches up his nose and gives Steve a disapproving side-eye, a million words communicated through that single expression. You’ve learned that Bucky basically goes non-verbal after missions, choosing instead to communicate with touches and gestures. You might be lucky enough to get a hum or a grunt out of him, but there’ll be no actual words until he’s had a shower and some food, at least.

“Alright then,” you say, pushing away from them both — with no small amount of reluctance — and getting onto your feet. “Shower first, then food. Nap and sex after,” you tell them, as you gather your things into your arm and walk around to the back of the couch. You pause, then add, “The last two don’t necessarily have to be done in that order.”

Steve laughs tiredly, looping his arm around your waist when you pass by him, leaning some of his weight on you as you make your way over to the stairs. Bucky shakes his head in amusement at your comment, lips tugging into a tiny smirk. He goes to Steve’s other side, where his sore ribs are, and gently curls his metal arm around Steve’s slender waist, helping to support some of his weight. On any normal day, Steve would’ve protested, argued that he could make it on his own, thank you very much, but today, he’s happy enough to accept the gesture.

You can’t help but watch the two of them out of the corner of your eye as you slowly climb up the stairs, as if needing to reassure yourself that Steve and Bucky are really here. Knowing the two of them, the moment you get into the bedroom they’ll probably try and hustle you into the bed that you’ve made so nicely, despite your vehement protests.

You’re okay with that, though, you think, as you watch Bucky bite his lip suggestively, just as he takes Steve’s right hand in his own, walking backwards to lead you and Steve into the bedroom. Though this morning might have started off on the wrong foot, your boys are back and safe in your arms. This weekend might turn out to be a good one, after all.

——————————— Tags are open, but only via asks or PMs. 

[ohwhatamessiam]

Lies

Summary: A month into your friendship with your favorite barista, Bucky Barnes, he invites you to meet his friends. You’ve been denying your feelings for him the whole time, but after spending an evening with him, it becomes clear you can’t hide how you feel anymore.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5.7k (sorry guys, I got carried away)

Warnings: Language, some alcohol consumption, pining, angst, and maybe a happy ending?????

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m back with my second submission (the prompt was Lie) for @ughjoekeery‘s WWC. This is part 2 of Lonely, my coffee shop AU. A big thank you to my beta @fangirlisms-22! Barista!Bucky is still soft and loving here, and I think you’ll all enjoy the ending a little better. 

I love feedback, so tell me what you think!

Read Part 1 (Lonely) here

A month went by while you and Bucky remained friendly. You visited the coffee shop two or three times a week, secretly hoping to run into him. Fortunately, he let you pay for your own food now, and he didn’t bring up going on a date again. He also started accepting the tips you left him. But he continued the trend of taking his break while you were in store and spending it entirely at your table.

And that didn’t bother you one bit.

You’d exchanged phone numbers, but only texted when you’d miss each other at the shop. You learned that he was a struggling artist who’d barely had time to paint a new piece in a month. His friends were all artists as well and had jobs at galleries, magazines, and bars in Brooklyn.  

As your friendship with Bucky grew, the coffee shop became your safe haven and your favorite place to edit. When your boss would get particularly difficult, you knew there was a delicious drink to soothe your frustration, and a sympathetic ear waiting for you there. And to top it off, you were head over heels for Bucky.

His pouty bottom lip, his fluffy head of hair, his scruff covered jawline, his dimpled chin. You couldn’t look at him for too long without getting caught on those features. And whenever he’d turn his attention on you and his kind eyes would crinkle, you felt like the ground had fallen out from under you. His bright blue eyes made you feel like you were flying, like anything was possible. In those moments, you wished you were the only person in the world. You didn’t want to think about him looking at anyone else like he looked at you.

But did you tell him about how you felt?

No.

You fed yourself lies.

That you weren’t ready to take that leap yet. That you needed more good friends and people in your life. That the loneliness that left you clutching a pillow in bed, staring at the wall was still just that, and not you daydreaming about seeing him next.

Did you want to spend every second of every day talking to him, falling for him?

Of course.

But would you let yourself say it out loud?

No.

You lied and played it off.

You pretended like he was just a friend and your heart didn’t beat twice as fast every time you pushed the front door of the coffee shop open. You knew he saw the cracks in your composure, he was too observant not to. But he let you lie, to yourself and to him.

As you continued building your relationship with Bucky, you started spending more time with some of the other editors at the publishing house. Some days you even got drinks with them after work, and a few of the writers you’d picked up started grabbing lunch with you. You finally felt like you weren’t alone, that there were people who wanted what was best for you.

And that’s when Bucky invited you to meet some of his friends.

It started out just like any other late afternoon, and he was on break having an in depth conversation with you on his next project while you were trying your best to not get lost in his eyes.

“That reminds me, there’s a new show opening at a gallery my friend manages on Friday. Sam got like six pieces that our friend, Natasha, created in it and she begged me to invite people,” he says, as he pulls a small flyer out of his back pocket.

You take the piece of paper from him, reading it carefully. The gallery is only six blocks away from your apartment, and you are interested in meeting more people in Brooklyn. But going to a gallery opening with Bucky sounded kinda like a date, and you still didn’t know how Bucky felt about you. Sure, he’d asked you out on day one, but you wanted your connection to last. And as beautiful and charming as Bucky is, you had learned that he dated rather casually. He’d brought up a few different girls to you over the last month, and you’d listen attentively and give him the advice he asked for. But casual wasn’t what you were looking for then, and after all this time, you knew it sure as hell wasn’t something you could do now.

“So, do you think you’ll be able to come?” he asks, his eyes watching you closely as you continue to stare at the flyer.

“Um, it sounds kinda cool,” you shrug. That’s a lie, a gallery opening is the perfect way for you to spend a Friday night, especially because it implies that you won’t be alone.

“Come on, (Y/N). I think you’ll really like my friends, and I never get to see you out of this place.”

“There’s a reason for that,” you remind him, your focus zeroing in on how his bottom lip juts out as he pouts.

“I know you’re being cautious, and you said it’s a no on the dating thing.” That was a truth that had warped into a lie not long after your first meeting. And you’d clung to that lie so hard you were pretty sure you’d convinced both him and yourself that anything more between you two wouldn’t work out. Your conscious warned you to be careful still, to keep your most solid friendship in New York safe. But your subconscious already longed for a relationship with Bucky. You’d been waking up in the middle of night from dreams that his face, hands, and lips graced.

His brows furrow as he continues to beg for your company, “But I promise this will only be a friend thing, and I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“You promise it’s just a friend thing?” He nods quickly, desperation seeping into his baby blues. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“Good,” he breaks into a victorious grin. His hand captures yours on the table and your heart leaps into your throat, cutting off your ability to speak. “You’re gonna love the artwork and my friends! It’s such a nice, fresh collection and everyone’s gonna be so happy to meet you. And I swear I won’t flirt with you too much.”

“Bucky, don’t make me regret this.” A carefully constructed lie delivered as you withdrew your hand from his. Trying to sell the ruse with your whole being, yet you couldn’t imagine anything better than a flirty Bucky.

“You won’t.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Another lie, because you were already regretting it. You knew you were a good liar, but you weren’t a great one. And there was no way you could spend a night out with him and keep your feelings hidden.

Friday came too quickly.

Bucky sends you a text two hours before the opening to ask if you’re still coming, and your fingers hesitate over the screen. A part of you keeps saying that tonight is a bad idea, but you type back, “Yes.” He responds with a smiling emoji.

Not sure if there’s a dress code for the evening, you try to balance classy and casual with a short, maroon dress, a pair of heels, and top it with a leather jacket. Walking to the gallery in heels is probably the worst decision you could have made, but you manage to get there fifteen minutes after the night was supposed to start.

You let out a deep breath as you pull open the front door of the gallery, your nerves already crawling up your throat and threatening to make you turn around. Fortunately, you only stand in the entrance of the gallery for a few seconds before Bucky spots you.

He cuts through a group of people to reach you, and it gives you just the appropriate amount of time to take in what he’s wearing. You’re not used to seeing him in anything but his work shirt, plain pants, and apron, so his black jeans, white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and nice black combat boots are a pleasant surprise. Not too dressy or too casual, so you don’t look out of place after all.

When he finally makes it to you, he greets you with a dreamy smile, his eyes softening as you smile back at him. He pulls you into a hug, and after a moment of surprise, you hug him back. He smells like just the perfect mix of a fresh aftershave and a clean yet woodsy cologne, but the scent of coffee still lingers in his hair. His body is firm against yours, and you close your eyes for only a second, reveling in how nicely his warmth feels.

He pulls away, and you gently slip your hands down his biceps before clasping them in front of you. “God (Y/N), you look amazing.”

“Uh thanks,” you can feel your cheeks flush. “You look nice too.” Your first lie of the night, and a major understatement. He looks beyond great, his jeans fitting him just perfectly and he’s gelled a little of his hair back so it’s not as fluffy as usual.

You two stare at each other awkwardly, anxiety and excitement nearly sparking in the air around you. He breaks the silence first, gesturing to the group of people over his shoulder who are watching you two like you’re on a reality TV show, “I should introduce you to my friends.”

Bucky steps to your side and gently slips a hand down your back before ushering you toward his group of ridiculously attractive friends. There’s a good amount of people walking around the gallery, taking in several pieces, but you’re lead to the group directly in the middle of everyone.

“Guys this is (Y/N),” Bucky starts, his hand lingers on the small of your back. “(Y/N), this is Natasha, a photographer and one of the artists of the night.”

“Call me Nat,” the redhead with stunning greenish-blue eyes and fair skin says, extending her hand out for you to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you after all we’ve heard.”

Your eyes go wide as you take her hand in your own, “Bucky told you about me?” Nat smiles as she shakes your hand and you notice how the expression transforms her features completely.

“He hasn’t shut up about you in a month,” a tall man cuts in, his skin a warm brown that matches his kind eyes perfectly. Your eyes shoot to Bucky as you release Nat’s hand, and you catch the blush darkening his cheeks as his gaze drops to the floor. His hand leaves your back, and you instantly miss the tiny piece of contact. “I’m Sam by the way. I manage this place,” the man continues, pulling your attention away from your suddenly flustered friend.

“I haven’t had a chance to look around yet, but from what I’ve seen this place is amazing,” you respond, shaking Sam’s hand.

“I like you,” he smiles genuinely, his easy friendliness somehow calming your nerves almost immediately.

Bucky swallows his embarrassment and finishes his introduction, “And last but not least, this is Steve, our recently returned poet.”

A large blond man, with a slightly darker, trim beard grins at you, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His blue eyes sparkle as you stare into them, almost rivaling Bucky’s.

“I want to hear all about how you turned down Mr. Blue Steel over here. I’ve never met anyone who could say no to Bucky,” Sam teases as someone waves at him from across the room. “But I am working tonight, so I’ll be back for all the details later.”

“And that’s my cue to get drinks,” Nat adds before pointing to Steve, “Your usual?”

“Yeah, but make it a single. I do have to work tonight,” he answers, his brows raising with his slight tone of sass.

Nat turns to you, “Anything I can get you?”

“A whiskey ginger.”

“I’ll come with,” Bucky announces before he leaves you and Chris alone with a polite smile.

You clasp your hands in front of you again, unsure of what to say to Chris. Luckily, he picks up on your uncertainty and does his best to keep you engaged. “So I hear you’re a book editor?”

“I am,” you nod, not entirely sure where he’s going with that. “Do you have a book you want edited?”

“Oh, no no,” the way he shakes his head shows his modesty, but you pay closer attention to the way his shoulders pull against the fabric of his shirt. “I mean, I’m working on putting together a book, but it’s nowhere near the point of editing or publishing.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Do you write too?” he asks, taking a step closer to you as a couple people push past him.

“I uh, I used to.”

“Prose or poetry?”

“Prose, primarily fiction, but I dabbled in non fiction too.” Bucky knew a little about your history with writing, but you rarely elaborated with more than one word answers with him. Not because you minded talking about it, more so because you knew he’d encourage you to start again. And the only thing you could imagine writing about, was him.

“Why’d ya stop?”

“I guess my inspiration just dried up. Personal life got in the way.”

“Do you think you’ll start again, now that you’re here?”

“I don’t know, I’ll just have to see what happens.”

“I gotcha. I went through something similar,” Steve says, shrugging as he decides to stop interrogating you. “I choose to pursue investigative journalism instead of poetry, like I’d always wanted, and I ended up alone in D.C. doing grunt work for a newspaper I didn’t even like reading. It took all that for me to realize that I didn’t have to search for truth and justice. I had it in front of me the whole time, and I could write it however I wanted to.”

He stops to catch you watching him with intrigue, and drops your gaze in moment of shyness. “Sorry,” you shake your head, worrying that he thinks you’re interested in him in a romantic way now that you’ve been staring at him for too long. And honestly, if you weren’t aggressively pining after Bucky, you’d probably be more than willing to go out with Steve. But as he was talking, you noticed how the space between his eyebrows stayed pinched, and you wished you could just smooth out that tension.

“You don’t need to apologize, I just-, I know how much Bucky has talked about you in the last month. He’s always telling us how good of a listener you are, and how he’s dying to know what you’re thinking when he’s rambling. Now I know what he’s talking about.”

You give Steve a small smile, trying not to get stuck on the fact that Bucky really does talk about you. “So, how did you all meet?”

“I’ve known Bucky since we were kids, and I met Nat and Sam in college.”

“I had Poli-Sci with this tiny blond dude freshman year,” Nat cuts in, arriving with drinks. “And he loved to talk about government scandals and how the media shaped public opinion.”

“I was enthusiastic… and much smaller,” Steve explains, taking his glass from Nat.

“And he’s stayed enthusiastic, it just took three more years for him to finally hit his growth spurt,” Bucky jokes as he hands you a whiskey ginger.

“You didn’t get this big until you were 22?” you ask.

“Yeah, kinda.” he shrugs.

“Sam still swears it was a reaction to a weird chemical spill or that someone mixed steroids into his cereal every morning,” Bucky continues as you take in Steve’s height and build for the second time that night.

“My money’s on the steroids,” Nat winks at you before taking a sip of her drink.

Bucky was right.

You liked his friends a lot.

Nat was the mom of the bunch, and you could tell that she loved teasing the boys about anything and everything. It was her way of showing affection besides taking care of them. Sam was the showman, the entertainer. He commanded the room without even trying and people were automatically drawn to his charisma. Steve was the confidant, he knew everyone’s secrets and everyone came to rely on him. You’d consider calling him the dad of the group from his dumb puns alone, but something inside him seemed on edge, not nearly relaxed enough to fully carry the mantle of dad friend. You weren’t sure what that left Bucky as. Based on their dynamics he was the goofy nerd, but also the creative and adventurous one. They all looked to him for his opinion on the work on display, but also nudged him to make a few bad jokes about some of the more ridiculous pieces.

Sam is off selling a couple sculptures to some patrons while Steve and Bucky get drink refills. Which leaves you with Nat. She leads you through the six photos she has on display, two of them having already sold. She hesitates at the last image of hers, and you’re not sure what to think about it. It’s vibrant with colors and contrast, and the more you stare at it the better you’re able to pick apart the pieces.

“You know, Bucky helped me put this one together,” she comments as you take a step closer to the photo.

“There’s a lot of coffee cups in there,” you answer, not even bothering to count how many. The focal point of the image is a red velvet couch, half of its seat and the entire floor around it are covered in disposable coffee cups and ceramic mugs. There’s a small wooden table next to the couch and it has a half closed laptop on it, and a bound stack of papers with a red pen on it.

“It was his idea actually.”

The wall behind the couch is covered with white pages with red ink on them. “That’s love poetry, right?” you ask, making out a Pablo Neruda poem.

“Yeah, Steve shared some of his favorites and then even let me use some of his original stuff.”

“I really like it, it’s a group effort.”

“What do you think it’s about?” she asks, and you turn to find her chewing on her bottom lip.

You let out a sigh, not sure how she’ll like your answer but deciding to be honest. “It evokes the feelings of desperation, exhaustion, and love to me. Like someone doing what they love, in this case writing or creating something, but time’s going by and they’re fighting how tired they are. And the end result seems small, like the work doesn’t reflect the time and effort put into it, but regardless it’s what that person loves and will continue to do.”

As you finish speaking you turn to Nat, finding a smirk on her lips. “I like that, but that’s not what it was about. At all.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Her smirk grows into a grin. “It’s about you.”

A coworker of Sam’s takes over sorting and closing the gallery down when the group decides to leave for the bar Steve works at. It’s only a two block walk from the gallery, but the amount of conversation the group gets into in that short distance is ridiculous. Jokes about college and the art scene. Discussion on Sam’s current girlfriend, who he’s seriously considering proposing to. The group pestering Nat on who she’s seeing at the moment, the girlfriend they met three weeks ago or the boyfriend Steve ran into a week ago. And then that turns into her bugging Steve about dating anyone, at all.

While you listen and laugh along with them all, you’re still stuck in your head, thinking about what Nat said. She didn’t expand on what the piece meant in her mind, or in Bucky’s. She wanted you to figure it out yourself. She gave you a hint that the stacks of coffee cups were about the setting and the bound pages were a manuscript. You could put together that the red pen was a symbol of you editing, but you had no idea what the love poetry meant. And if you were the one using the red pen, did that mean you were supposed to be the one who covered the walls with poetry? Did that mean that Bucky knew you were falling in love with him?

As the front door of the bar gets yanked open, you notice how Bucky’s watching you, concern pinching his brows. “You okay?” he whispers, staying close.

“Yes. I’m just thinking.”

The group takes up several stools at the bar as Steve ducks behind it. The place isn’t fully packed yet, but most of the tables and booths are filled.

“Another whiskey ginger?” Steve asks as he leans onto the counter to look down at you.

“I’m sticking to beer now. I have a little bit of a walk home.” Steve nods and lets you tell him what brand as Sam bursts out in laughter next to you.

Once the group calms down from whatever joke Nat made, Sam swivels to you. “So (Y/N), tell me how you said no to that dumb, beautiful face,” he begins as he points at Bucky. “I need every detail, your internal monologue, the way Bucky looked. I need it all. I’m still pissed I couldn’t be there so I need you to give me this experience like I was.”

“Alright, well I ended up in the coffee shop by accident. I had a draft to edit for a new client and intended to just go home and make a large pot, but it was like fate pulled me to that place.”

Steve sets a drink in front of Sam and Nat, and Sam takes a sip before turning back to you, “You’re off to good start.”

“So I walk in, trying to feel the place out. It’s a calming little shop, and it helps my nerves a lot. I walk up to the counter and Bucky’s standing there at the register, but he doesn’t see me. I can tell he’s kinda cute from the little bit of his face I could see, but he’s too busy writing something down to notice me. I had to slide my hand over the countertop to get his attention, and even then he didn’t look up at me.”

“He can be a bit oblivious,” Steve comments as he places your beer in front of you. You catch Bucky rolling his eyes next to you, but take a drink before you continue with the story.

“So he tells me to order and I start to when he finally decides to look up at me, and my voice literally died in my throat.”

“It’s those baby blues,” Sam grins, looking past you to see Bucky.

“Exactly, I thought he was kinda cute and then I saw those and I was like never mind on that, we’re past cute. So then I composed myself and finished my order, and Bucky’s got a shit-eating grin on, fully aware that he’s fucking handsome.”

“I’m not that narcissistic!” Bucky adds, causing you to glance at him.

“You’re not, but babe, you know you’re good looking and you totally ate up my stunned moment,” you say, gently brushing a finger against his cheek as the whiskey finally affects your confidence. His eyes follow your hand as you bring it back to the counter. “So I pull out my card to pay, and Bucky tries to only charge me for the croissant I ordered.”

“Free coffee is a good move,” Nat nods at Bucky.

“And when I put up a fuss, he takes my card from me, reads my name from it and then hands it back. Doesn’t swipe it or charge me. Just tells me I’ve already paid as he hands it back to me.”

“This little shit, right?” Sam asks, his eyes wide as he looks at Bucky.

“You’re right,” you answer as you turn to the beautiful man that you’re fighting your feelings for.

Bucky’s eyes are on you, and you alone as a small smile pulls on the corners of his lips. You hope it’s only the alcohol’s effect, but as you smile back at him, you understand. The love poetry was for you. It was his feelings for you, the exhausted, rapid coffee consuming, book editor sitting at the small wooden table. He’d covered the walls with his love for you. His love was surrounding you and goddammit, you couldn’t stop your own feelings from creeping into your gaze, your heart beating faster as you watched him.

You really weren’t that good of a liar.

After another hour of conversation at the bar, you decide to call it a night. Steve pretends like he won’t let you pay, and the glare you turn on him forces the whole group to laugh.

“Hey, most people would be happy to have me cover their tab,” he shrugs as he hands you the receipt.

“Just like most people love talking to you for hours?” Nat asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Yes,” Steve nods at her and she snickers in response. “What?”

“People tell you things because you’re comforting, but also you’re fucking beautiful,” Sam cuts in and elicits another laugh from Nat. “If they stare at you for too long their brains just turn to mush and the alcohol lets it all slide right out of their mouths.”

You can’t help but laugh at Sam while Steve rolls his eyes. Pulling your wallet from your clutch, you find a couple bills to cover it and tell Steve to keep the change. His eyes go wide as he realizes how large the tip is, but he doesn’t turn you down.

“Why don’t you walk (Y/N) home, Buck?” Steve asks quietly, side eyeing his best friend.

“Yeah, don’t make the pretty lady fend off catcallers by herself tonight,” Nat leans against the bar.

“We just made a new friend Barnes, gotta make sure she gets home safely if we want to hang out again,” Sam pushes as you slide off your bar stool.

“I’m going guys, Jesus,” Bucky says before he polishes off his drink and throws money on the counter. Nat and Sam both get up to hug you goodnight, and the way they look at you and Bucky says that they hope one of you makes a goddamn move.

You wave goodbye to Steve as Bucky holds the door open for you, and as you step into the cooler air you pull your jacket tighter around you.

“How many blocks is it?” he asks, his step falling in with yours.

“About 8.”

“Lead the way.”

Your conversation on how the night went and how much you like Bucky’s friends dies down as you reach your block. “I had a really good time tonight,” you tell him as you walk toward your door.

“I’m happy you came out.”

“I am too.” You stop in front of the building’s entrance and turn on your heels.

Bucky nearly bumps into you but catches himself in just enough time. He brushes a hand through his hair, making you think he might be nervous. “I think everyone else was too.”

“I’m not used to you being that quiet.”

His gaze meets yours, and even in shadowy darkness his eyes are breathtaking. “I’m-, I’m not usually. I promised I’d be on good behavior, remember?”

“I remember. And you did your best not to hit on me.”

“That definitely was not easy.” You bite down on your lip as a grin breaks across your face. Bucky’s eyes watch your mouth for a moment, and although it’s dark you could almost swear he’s blushing. He brings his focus back to your eyes as he licks his bottom lip, “Do ya think you’d be willing to go out with the group again?”

Your heartbeat speeds as you try not to focus on his mouth or his eyes too much. There’s no need for you to melt on the sidewalk. “I absolutely would.”

“Good,” it’s his turn to break into a smile.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

Silence hangs in the air between you two and you can’t stop thinking about the love poetry in Nat’s photo.

His feelings for you.

The way he looked at you on day one and the way he looked at you tonight. Somehow they were both the same gaze of adoration and you just couldn’t see it. You weren’t ready to admit it, but now you are.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Bucky says, giving you a small nod.

“Goodnight Bucky.”

Neither of you move.

The longer you stare at him, the more sure you are. Drowning in his eyes, you feel your body lean toward him, your hand reaching for his shoulder. Your feelings take over, pulling your lips to his. You want to get lost in this moment. The instant you give in and stop caring.

You close your eyes, anticipating the kiss as you feel his hand ghost your hip.

Except your mouth finds his cheek, scruff scratching your lips.

Bucky’s hand gently guides you away from him and you open your eyes to find that he’s turned his head so you wouldn’t kiss. You feel your brows furrowing with confusion as he takes a step back from you. “I’ll see you,” he throws over his shoulder before he disappears down the dark street.

Well shit.

Maybe you were wrong after all.

After Bucky rejected your kiss you spent the rest of the weekend curled into a ball on your bed, binge watching TV.

You were so sure he felt the same. So sure it was safe to make a move. You had friends now, people who you liked and trusted. You weren’t alone anymore.

But you couldn’t erase the pain in your chest that started when you watched Bucky vanish.

You avoided the coffee shop Monday, still not sure if you could handle seeing him. You didn’t think you could ignore what happened Friday night, and bringing it up would only break your heart more.

When Tuesday morning rolls around, you try to make a cup of coffee but realize you don’t have enough left to make a decent one. Knowing he usually works Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings while he works Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, you decide it’ll be safe for you to stop by the shop. You get ready in a hurry, trying to leave enough time to get your coffee and get to your subway stop.

You walk into the shop, your nerves tingling like static under your skin. Another barista is working the register and you let out a deep breath of relief. He isn’t here.

As you step up to the counter you tell the young woman your usual order, and just as you begin to dig for your wallet you hear his scratchy sigh. Holding in the groan that desperately wants to escape your throat, you duck your head down and search through your purse. There’s no wallet to be found. The barista is trying her best to appear patient but the line behind you only gets longer.

“She’s good, I got her,” Bucky cuts in. You squeeze your eyes shut, praying you could just disappear on the spot.

“You sure?” she asks him.

He answers her with a chuckle, “Yep, she’s covered.”

You move out of line and toward the pick up area, feeling his eyes on you. You just want to ignore him. You know the second you look into his eyes, you’ll break.

“(Y/N).” Bucky says your name softly, fully aware that you’re waiting to get the hell out of there.

You keep your eyes down and place a hand on top of the cup. Just as you start to pick it up, his hand covers yours. Your eyes shoot up, finally meeting his, and he’s wearing a frown as he watches you.

“I’m sorry for how Friday night ended.” You stare at him blankly, trying to keep yourself in check. “I wanted to kiss you, I really did. But I didn’t want our first kiss to happen like that, with you bordering on drunk. I wanted it to be special.”

“It would have been plenty special to me,” you answer, dropping your eyes back to the counter. You want to be mad at him, but you can’t.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been special. Jesus, I’ve literally wanted to kiss you since the first day I saw you, but I want it to be perfect. Bordering on magical. Just like how I wanted out first date to be.” You can’t stop yourself from looking at him.

The barista calls for Bucky but he ignores her. “Look, I know I came onto you really aggressively the first time, and I just wanted to make sure you wanted this too. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been hoping for a second chance, because I have. Hell, I’ve saved every tip you’ve given me, just waiting to spend it on a really nice date, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable again. I wanted to make sure you wanted this too, that it wasn’t just the alcohol affecting you.”

“It-, it wasn’t,” you manage, your heart feeling like it’s about to explode.

Bucky’s thumb brushes against yours before he pulls his hand away, “Good.”

He turns back to the countertop, taking the next cup in his hand and filling it with espresso. You take a step toward the door, preparing to go home to get your wallet when a thought crosses your mind.

“Hey, Bucky?” you ask, your hand gripping onto your hot drink.

“Yeah?” he asks, he looks worried but he forces a fake smile.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

His eyes light up as a genuine smirk tugs up his lips. “I’m not.”

“Good.” You hesitate, afraid to push the words out. “Why don’t I pay you back by taking you out for dinner?”

The grins that spreads across his face pushes his cheeks up and crinkles the corners of his eyes, making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

“That sounds fantastic.”

Tags: @suz-123 @irishdancr24 @lostboyinneverland @malletbreaker @wildefire @thefridgeismybestie @ssweet-empowerment @sophiealiice @imaginesofdreams @beau-andthebeast @obsessedwith-everything @wecanonlyimagine @michalkal @avinaris @srgntjbarnes @genlovesdcb @tessathedragon @anotherawkwardaustralian

I tagged everyone who asked to be tagged, or asked for a second chapter!

[sad-af1121]

Sleeping in (One-Shot)

Summary: Weekends were meant to sleep in, yet Sebastian had a hard time last night, not getting an ounce of rest since you’ve been teasing him. He should be used to it; you were his girlfriend who loved doing it because he got hard every time. But this time, you didn’t do anything about it and went to bed. Seb couldn’t just lay there and suffer, so he took the matter into own his hands.  Pairings: Sebastian Stan x Reader Word Count: 2075 Warnings: SMUT, mutual masturbation, language, some dirty talk, NSFW gifs A/N: This is my submission for Caro’s Wonderland Writing Challenge! I had fun plotting this fic out and I’m happy with how it turned out. Shout out to my bf for helping me and being an inspo. My sentence prompt was “Is that too much to ask?” Thank you @sanjariti 💕

Feedback is welcomed 💜

Sebastian loved sleep.

If it was tampered with, he was the grumpiest dork of ‘em all.

Today, he laid in bed, wide awake with the covers off his body. He was clad in his usual night attire, shirtless with boxers. His piercing gray-blue orbs stared at the mute cream wall, knowing nothing was going to phase. It was just an act he’d do whenever he was lost in thought, last night’s events replaying in his mind. He couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning from the lack of rest and the abundance of tension. He awakened multiple times during the night, trying anything to get himself comfortable but it was no use.

Exhaustion coated his face as his mind ran a thousand miles.

And yes, he was grumpy.

What wasn’t helping most was the fact that his cock was hard as a rock, pressing firmly against his thigh, throbbing and straining. He thought about removing his boxers, to relieve some of the pressure. But then, he’d get the urge to stroke it and he didn’t want to. Not unless you did it. Only yearning for your touch.

A touch that always set his body on fire.

You teased him a lot before going to bed; arousal rolling into the next day. Your words, lasting stares, and touches lingered in his head. You wanted to have some fun, get him riled up and needy. You aimed for all his weak points, whispering dirty things while rubbing the bulge with tenderness. Being in one of your “moods” turned you into a little shit, behaving inappropriately while getting the fun out of it.

In Sebastian’s eyes, you were the cutest, most precious woman he ever came across yet, whenever you were lust-struck and playful, he would lose control and focus. Something about you being his was like a drug, turning him on without much effort. It was how his body reacted to you and he wasn’t complaining. He treasured the hunger and desperation you set out for him, longing for the precious intimacy with you.

Sebastian recalled that way your eyes peaked through your thick lashes, batting at him like a spell with the most honeysuckle tone that ever left your plump lips. Your delicate fingertips skimming across his heated skin only drove him closer. He restrained himself from pouncing on you, knowing you were the one in control.  He couldn’t touch you, and if he did, you’d stop altogether.

Unfortunately for him, that’s what happened last night, and Sebastian regretted the moment he leaned in to kiss your tender lips, humming to your taste of your tongue. He was sure you were going to relieve the ache in his length as you were getting needy too, your sweet scent flooding the room as you straddled his hips.

But he was met with nothing.

If only he listened.

Groaning with frustration, Sebastian turned his head, dark eyes roaming over your sleeping form and watching your chest rise and fall peacefully. The sight was stunning, never tearing his eyes away until you stirred in your sleep, muttering incoherent words before dozing off. A light chuckle fled from Sebastian’s mouth as he shifted his body to get a good look, propping his head on his hand.

He knew you wouldn’t be too happy if he woke you up, especially on a weekend. Sleeping in was a must in your household. It balanced from the lack of sleep you’d gain from the chaotic week of work and life. However, like any boyfriend who wanted payback for what you did, a devious light bulb went off as Sebastian’s lips curled into a gruesome smirk.

He was going to get what he craved, rather you liked it or not. Getting a taste of your own medicine would be good.

“God, I’m gonna get an earful after this.” He snickered quietly, biting his lip to hinder his cynical tone.

His free hand hovered over your bare shoulder before sliding down to your breasts.  Sebastian’s long slender fingers fanned over your taut nipples that poked through the flimsy fabric of your tank top. The pads of his fingertips circled around the sensitive bud, eliciting a shiver that coursed throughout your body. He watched as you inhaled deeply, sighing in bliss then returning to sleep.

Seb felt the heat in his cheeks grow immensely as his cock twitched, hearing a soft moan push pass your mouth, guessing your nipples must have been sensitive. They harden instantly, rising to his touch before he kneaded your breasts in the palm of his hand. The softness of your mound against his rough hand intoxicated his senses, reluctantly rolling his hips, never encountering your backside. He showed the same affection to the other, going back and forth then ran his calloused hand down your stomach and onto your thigh, groaning silently when you push your ass against his cock. It pulsated uncontrollably, blood rushing to his tip as it screams for release.

He wanted to moan out loud but was keen on being quiet. Trapping his lower lip under his teeth, his hand sustained to follow the curve of your ass, giving it a good squeeze as he let go a labored breath.

You moved again, humming tenderly, and rolling your body to lay on your back. When you feel something broad against you, you shift away from it, settling back down. Sebastian froze, waiting to see if you’re up or not. The fear of you waking up bubbled inside him, afraid you’d laugh and not give him satisfaction.

He anxiously licked his lips, eyeing your clothed cunt as his urge to touch there increases. It was crazy how nervous he was, as if he was a child again, putting his hand in the cookie jar. Cautious about being caught.

Well… this was a different type of cookie.

After a few seconds, a gentle snore erupted from your chest, alerting him you’re still knocked out.

He couldn’t help but bring his hand over your pussy, nudging your clit through the fabric of your panties. His lips mockingly curl at the corner, watching you whimper and sigh lightly, your chest rising and falling much quicker now. It was starting to build up the faster he rubbed your clit, fingertips pressing firmly against the little bud of pleasure.

Your legs spread further apart, kicking off the covers, and making you fully aware of your senses now. You know this is Sebastian’s doing and don’t bother to open your eyes. Deciding to play along, you rolled your hips, brows ceasing as the friction becomes satisfying for your liking, craving for more.

“What’s wrong, baby? Hm? A little too much for ya? Thought you can handle this since you did the same thing to me last night.” Sebastian growled, scooting his body closer to you to rub his beard against your delicate neck. It shot electrifying waves of ecstasy to every nerve.

You quivered, his tone dropping a few octaves, loving how his beard felt on your skin. So soft yet rough. Memories of him going down on you flooding your mind, leaving pleasurable burns behind and mind-blowing orgasms.

“Fuck Sebastian.” Your scratchy breathless voice slipped out of your mouth as you writhe under his touch.

“Bet that pussy’s nice and wet. Needy for my big cock, huh? Tell me, baby. You enjoying this? I’ve been a good boy for the past week and this is how I get awarded?” He desperately said, tone dipping low.

You don’t say anything back, mouth running dry as it became difficult to speak.

“Shit… c’mon baby. Please touch my cock. I’ll do anything you want; I’ll be your good boy and be still. Please, please, please... Don’t you want me to be a good boy?” Sebastian begged, rubbing your clit faster as his hips rolled against yours. He knew he shouldn’t be doing anything to his cock right now, but the ache was too much to bear.

Your slick began to seep through your panties, coating your cunt, thighs and Seb’s fingertips. He looked down, groaning to the sight of your ruined panties as he slowed down the pace and ran his fingers along the imprint of your folds.

“All you gotta do it touch it, sweetheart. C’mon, just stoke it…. Is that too much to ask?” He whispered innocently, looking back up at you, lips parted and swollen from the number of times he sucked on it, suppressing his impulse to snap.

“Oh my god.” You moaned at his needy manner before opening your eyes to look at his crotch, gasping at the sight of his length. It was protruding, perfectly outlined and desperate. Your flushed skin reached up your neck and up to your ears. Sweat began to form on your chest, thighs, and pits as the moment became overwhelming.

Without warning, you aimed to grab his cock, groaning to how firm and swell it was before pumping it. Sebastian let out a hoarse groan, resting on his back but never removing his hand from your swollen clit. You pushed your hand under his boxers and pulled out his angry red cock, whimpering to its purple shade.

“Jesus, Sebastian… You really need to cum huh?” You breathed, looking up into his nearly black eyes.

Sebastian doesn’t respond, writhing from your actions as you stroke his cock faster and faster. At this point, it was like a race to see who’d cum first. And you knew Sebastian would; he’s been craving for it since last night.

“O-oh fuck.” You exhaled with a squeak, nipping your lower lip to elicit pain. You were close and needed to steer your mind elsewhere because you weren’t ready to cum yet.

The room was filled with desperation, heated moans and whimpers bouncing off the walls as you two laid in bed, jerking each other off. Hearts thudded wildly, making you both light-headed, drained almost. Yet you two were racing to your orgasms, building stamina and friction. Your hands began to ache, the soreness adding a pleasurable sting.

Before you knew it, strings of hot semen shot up in the air, landing on your hand and some on Sebastian’s stomach, creating a pool. His orgasm triggered yours as you followed behind, moaning out his name as your back arched and legs closed in around his hand. The intensity of your releases coursed through every nerve, toes curling and stomachs filling with exciting warmth. Heavy breaths and whimpers broke out of your mouths, the dryness on your throat and the sweat on your brows added to the impact.

Sebastian’s tongue darted out to lick up the saltiness across his lips, humming in ecstasy. You lazy ran your hand up and down his torso, calming him as he turned his head to plant open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

Once both of your orgasms washed over and regained enough energy, Sebastian grinned heavenly, eyes languidly blinking as he nudges your side. 

“I needed that SO badly.” He chuckled, kissing your neck again until he reached your cheek.

You grunt, moving away from his affection. “Don’t touch me. You couldn’t wait till after I woke up?” You panted, opening one eye, and raising a brow.

“Well excuuuuse me, I’m not the one who left me with blue balls last night.” Sebastian playfully argued back.

“Aww, cry me a river.” You mocked, slowly falling back to sleep as you snuggle against the covers again.

“Yeah let’s see how that goes when I tease your pussy and not do anything about it.” He grumbled, leaning over to grab his wipes from the nightstand.

After he cleaned himself and discarded the wipes, he returned to bed with a fresh pair of panties.

“Baby, clean yourself up.” He threw the panties at you before plopping down on the bed.

When you don’t move or respond, Sebastian leaned over shoving you lightly and whispering, “Baby, wake up.”

“What!” You snapped with a grouchy attitude.

“Don’t hurt me! I’m a fragile boy!” Sebastian screeched back, falling back on the bed as he covered his face with his hands for protection.

Your eyes fluttered open, curiosity and amusement etched on your face to find your boyfriend pulling up the covers over his face.

“Wh-what? Sebastian.” You laughed out, rubbing your eyes.  

“Don’t judge me.” He murmured, pouting his bottom lip before you tugged on the covers, giggling and attacking him with kisses.

Mornings were always an adventure too.

PERM TAGS: @thatawkwardtinyperson  @jezzula @finallybreathee @plumfondler @atari-writes @angryschnauzer  @badassbaker @papi-chulo-bucky @amrita31199 @cumonbucky @soldatbarnes @random-fandom-girl2000 @lostinspace33 @feelthemusicfuckwhatheyresaying  @rda1989 @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt  @melconnor2007  @feelmyroarrrr @iamsooooohappy @elaacreditava   @broken-pieces  @ms-potts-to-you @hardcollectiontrashworld @i-kneel-for-king-loki @hufflevirgoclaw @charliexowrite @valkyeries  @saharzek

FIC TAG: @3brosangel @ruby-white-rabbit @chrisevanshh @retroasgardian (thought you’d guys would enjoy this <3) 

[gaytonystark]

Pairing: Thor x Reader Words: 1,273 A/N: Hi!!! This was for @sanjariti‘s writing challenge! The prompt was “Holiday dinner - preparations and all that good stuff” so that’s what you’re getting! Enjoy!

“Thor! I think something’s burning!” You shouted from your bedroom as you looked up from your book and sniffed the air. “Like really bad.”

“Uh-I don’t smell anything!” Thor’s voice sounded unsure and just a bit frantic so you figured it was a good time to investigate.

Setting your book down, you followed the burning smell to its source. The kitchen was certainly a sight to behold. Smoke was steadily coming out of the oven and various foods covered the counter. Thor looked lost among his surroundings as he was not used to being in your kitchen on his own for an extended amount of time. It was only a matter of time before the smoke alarm went off so you quickly grabbed a dish towel and started fanning the smoke out of the kitchen.

“How’s Christmas dinner coming along, babe?’ You asked rhetorically as you coughed out some of the smoke that had made its way to your lungs and shut off the oven.

“I’ve made bigger messes if I’m being perfectly honest.” Thor retorted and he flashed you his winning smile, knowing full well that you couldn’t stay mad at him with it.

“I know that you have because I was there. Why do you think we aren’t invited to anymore of Tony’s parties.” You removed the oven mitts from his hands and gave him your dish towel instead. “Now get to cleaning while I help you finish up dinner.”

“No, I said I would be making dinner this year.” Thor threw the towel to the side and hoisted you over his shoulder in one fell swoop. “We made an agreement, Y/N.” He was marching out of the kitchen and you couldn’t help but enjoy the view until you realized he was just trying to get rid of you.

“What are you-Thor! The agreement was null and void in the event of a fire, don’t you remember?” You were quite used to Thor plucking you from the ground at any moment so you were a little more prepared each time, but you were still getting used to being set down.

“Ah yes, I remember now.” He recounted as he unceremoniously dropped you onto the couch. “You threw that in there after the last fire I caused.”

“Exactly! So now I am going to help you make Christmas dinner!” Free of his grasp, you marched past him and stomped into your nightmare of a kitchen. “Holy shit this place is a mess.”

“It’s not too bad if you only have one eye.” Thor looked at you with a smarmy grin and you nearly punched him in the face for it. Nonetheless you appreciated his sense of humor after coming so close to burning your apartment to the ground.

“You got that out of your system, Lord Of Thunder, because that’s the only reference to your loss of an eye you get to make for the rest of the day?” Suppressing a fit of giggles at his own joke, Thor nodded as you continued to assess the situation. “Ok I think I have a new plan.”

“Feel free to elaborate whenever you’re ready.” Thor quipped as the cogs were turning in your head and you figured what you wanted to do next.

“How does this sound,” You turned to him, ready to lay out your master plan and he looked at you with eager eyes, “we pretend this mess doesn't exist, order a bunch of food from that Chinese place that is inexplicably always out of the dumplings I like, and camp out in the living room until it’s time to open presents?”

Thor pretended to ponder over your amazing plan, even going so far as to rub his chin while making “hmmm” noises. Finally, when you were about to smack him in the face, he spoke. “That genuinely sounds like the best way to spend the evening.” His handsome face broke into a wide grin and you gave him one of your own.

“Great, I’ll get our order in while you make a blanket fort since yours are way better than mine.” You were reaching for your phone, getting reader to order 4 number sevens, 2 number twelves, 3 number fives, and extra peanut sauce on the side when Thor reached for your hand. As always, his gentle touch stopped you in the middle of whatever you were doing and he looked too conflicted for you to handle.

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Y/N? My plan was to make this night perfect for you because you’ve made everything else perfect for me from the day I met you.” He smiled as he spoke and your heart swelled with all the affection you felt radiate off of him. “I just want to show you how much I truly love you and I thought doing it here in the home we made would be the best with a feast that’s worth of you..”

“Thor, all I want is to spend Christmas Eve with you. Whether we’re here chowing down on Chinese take out or on an entirely different planet doing whatever it is you do on other planets, I couldn’t care less.” You grabbed his hands in yours and made sure he heard every word you had to say. “I’d say I can’t believe you wanted to go through all that trouble, but I’d be lying because you’ve always treated me like a queen.”

“As long as you know how deeply I love you,” Thor punctuated this with a gentle kiss on each of your hands as he was now holding them both in his large hands, “that’s all I want for Christmas.”

“You big softie, I love you with everything I have and then some.” You threw your arms around him so he could pull you in for a kiss that you felt all the way down to your toes. When Thor finally let you go, you set to ordering food while he pulled all the blankets from the linen closet.

Soon enough, you had empty take out boxes littering the floor as you lay under a massive blanket fort that took up nearly your entire living room. A movie was playing, but it was getting so late that you weren’t even paying attention anymore. Your eyes were getting heavy with sleep when you decided to check the time only to see it was one minute to midnight meaning Christmas was just about here.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” Thor said, having noticed the time as well and pulled out a small, black velvet box from under the tree that you had failed to notice as hit among some of the larger gifts.

“Merry Chris-Thor, is that what I think it is?” You asked incredulously, all traces of fatigue leaving you as soon as Thor pulled that little box out.

“I hope you think it’s an engagement ring,” He said as he opened it to reveal a gorgeously simple diamond ring, “because that is definitely what this is. Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you! Yes, yes, yes!” You threw yourself on top of him and peppered his face in kisses.

“May I?” He asked as he held the ring out to you, blushing under the kisses you gave him, but beaming at you nonetheless. You were too stunned to speak so you just nodded wordlessly for him to place it on your finger. “Beautiful, as always.”

“Merry Christmas, you big softie.” You melted into him and gave him your first real kiss as an engaged couple.

Hands down, this was the best Christmas ever.

Tag List:

@arrow-guy @arcxreactor @liaamari17 @claws-of-vibranium @themilkface @imagine-assembling-the-avengers @steebthesmol @avengersimaginings @avengerofyourheart @kellarter @captainpunk @fluffyavengers @purelittleblueberry @travelwithwords  @tasting-writers-block@rotisserierogers @valkyeries @captainrogerss @jurassicbarnes @bookworm4ever99 @buchonians @lady-thor-foster

*Let me know if you want to be added/removed from my tag list here*

[captainmarvels]

caro’s wonderland writing challenge!

Hello, my friends! I reached 10k not too long ago, and I wanted to celebrate with a writing challenge, since you guys are all super amazing, talented people!

If, by some miracle, all the prompts are taken, I will add more and/or reopen the prompts to more than one writer! I hope you all consider giving this a try, and don’t worry about having no experience - this is all about having fun!

Rules + prompts under the cut!

To participate, must be following this dork (please please PLEASE don’t let this flop because I really wanna celebrate with y’all lmao) + reblog this post!

Word count: 500 minimum, no maximum

One-shots, drabbles, drabble or fic series are allowed, as well as any genre; fluff, angst, smut (Absolutely NO SMUT for Peter Parker - that’s just so wrong.)

ABSOLUTELY NO: non-con or dub-con.

Any MCU character is allowed; Steve Harrington and Eggsy Unwin are included, too!

Actors allowed include: Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Ryan Reynolds, Anthony Mackie, Chadwick Boseman, Tom Hiddleston, Tom Holland, Chris Hemsworth, and Taron Egerton!

Any characters Sebastian has portrayed are fair game as well!

When asking for a prompt, please specify the pairing you will be writing for!

Your fic must be reader insert

You must send an ask to enter - once again, specify the pairing/character you’re writing for, along with the prompt(s) you’ve chosen!

If the one you’ve chosen has been claimed, you have plenty more to choose from!

Please, don’t forget to tag me! Also, please add #caroswwc to your tags!

If by any chance I missed your fic, then please send me a private message within a day of posting. Y’all know tumblr doesn’t notify properly sometimes!

Make sure to use the prompt/sentence/song you’ve chosen, otherwise there’s no point in being in this challenge! For song prompts, you do not have to include the lyrics if you don’t want to!

There is no deadline to enter, but ALL fics must be submitted/posted by January 20th, 2018.

PS: If you have questions about how to use certain prompts, just ask me! I’ve tried to describe what I (personally) would use for them, but you’re free to do whatever!

Prompts:

The setting is a festive party for a holiday of your choosing. Something unexpected happens, and the guests are drawn into a weekend of pranks and hijacks.

It’s a cold, rainy night. A man and woman stand beside a car, outside a convenience store. One of them pulls out a gun. Frank Castle x Reader // @halfbakedhoe || bucky x reader // @allyouneedisangst

Holiday shopping - what could go wrong? Peter Parker x Reader // @too-cultured-for-your-bs

Handmaking gifts for a birthday/holiday gift. 

Holiday dinner - preparations and all that good stuff.  Steve Harrington x reader // @runningwitches || jim hopper x reader // @atari-writes

There is a magical talisman that allows it’s keeper to read minds. It falls into [character’s name] hands. bucky x reader // @missingbucky 

The character unlocks the door with a special key they found slipped under their door. Sebastian Stan x reader // @obssessedwithbarnesandrogers

Two best friends make a pact. When they grow up, they grow apart, but the pact haunts them. Will they fulfill the pact they made as children? Steve Harrington x Reader // @ughkeery

She rolled over and felt her body push up against something hard. Bucky x reader // @lovelynemesis

“Every day the sun comes up and every night it goes down again.”  Tom Holland x reader // @thisisthetragicstoryofme || Steve Rogers x reader // @kaunis-sielu

“All the love we had and lost” Bucky x reader // @wanderlustingandwandering

“I’ll be your quiet afternoon crush” Tom Holland x Reader // @thestarsshinebrighterindarkness || Steve Harrington x Reader // @hairringtonsteve

“Is that too much to ask?” Sebastian x reader // @sad-af1121 || Peter Parker x reader // @farklesdarling

“What is true happiness?” Tony Stark x reader // @sometimeswerebruised

“Let’s go for a drive.” 

“Do you want me to stay?”Steve Harrington x reader // @lastdancewith-mj || Frank Castle x reader // @casownsmyass

Songs:

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys Bucky x reader // @buckingoffthebed

Show Me Love - Hundred Waters feat. Chance the Rapper

Champion - Fall Out Boy Steve Rogers x reader // @avengersandlovers

Mercy - Shawn Mendes Bucky x reader // @manonblxckbexk

Es Tarde - Juanes  Loki x reader // @just-another-photo-filter

The Party & The After Party - The Weeknd  Steve Harrington x reader // @nomequedamas-writes

Helium - Sia Tom Holland x reader // @justablrr

Somebody Else - The 1975 Bucky x reader // @wanderlustingandwandering

Shameless - The Weeknd

El Amante - Nicky Jam Steve Harrington x Reader // @fanlove-fandomlife

Africa - Toto  Bucky x reader // @marvelandwinchesters927

Words:

Power @buckythetinman // Tony Stark x Reader

Romance  Bucky x reader // @whothehellisbella

Heartbreaker Steve Harrington x reader // @carriefish-er

Dawn Stucky x reader // @a-splash-of-stucky

Ecstasy [...not the drug]

Lonely bucky x reader // @ohwhatamessiam

Heartbeat Bucky x reader // @221bshrlocked || Tony x Reader // @haven-in-writing

Survival  Steve Harrington x reader // @thegirlwhobrokeintothetardis

Lie bucky x reader // @ohwhatamessiam

Champion  Thor x Reader // @lady-thor-foster

[the-sweetest-dragon]

One Quiet Afternoon

Prompt: “I’ll be your quiet afternoon crush”

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 683

Warnings: None, other than bad fluff writing

AN: this is my first time posting any of my writing on here so I hope it's good!

For @ughjoekeery 10k wonderland writing challenge. I hope your amazing blog just keeps growing!

I felt bad for using Tom as a foot rest, I really did. But where else was I supposed to put my feet when his body took up most of the couch? I have my laptop resting on my lap and I’m typing my essay out quicker than usual. Tom is channel surfing with one arm around the back of the couch. Is it hard to not stare at him as he made faces at the TV? Hell yes. You see, I’d had a crush on this big dork for months now and he hadn’t seemed to get the hint yet. We’d been friends for years and I’d always had feeling for him but I hadn’t let them be so obvious before now.

I focused back on my essay, finding that I had typed out the same word five times while I was staring. I sigh and delete the words, trying to find the right frame of mind to write again when Tom turns his head to look at me. One eyebrow is raised slightly, like my position confuses him. I give him a smile and go back to work.

“What’re you writing about that gives you that look on your face?” he asks suddenly. I pause my constant movement to look up at him.

“It’s a short story my English class. Part of an assignment.” I go back to writing as he turns back to the TV.

“What’s it about?” he asks and I sigh, somewhat annoyed with all the interruptions in my writing. It had taken me hours to get a page with him sitting here and now he wanted to talk. This was never getting done by the deadline.

“It’s a love story,” I say without looking up.

“What kind of love story?” I sigh and shut my laptop, giving up on writing anymore. I’d already decided that whatever conversation this developed into would be a good one.

“It’s a quiet afternoon type of crush love story I suppose. All soft and loving. The type of love that doesn’t really happen in real life. Something every girl wants I suppose,” I say with a dreamy smile. Truth be told, I had based the male lead on Tom and the girl on myself, so it was almost like I was writing fanfiction about myself. Weird? Possibly. Was I loving it? Hell yes.

Tom just kinda looks at me for a moment then goes back to watching TV. Seeing this as a sign, I power my laptop up again. He seems to have lost interest and I lose myself in the story. After what feels like a few hours, I’m startled back to reality by Tom’s thumb rubbing small circles on my ankle. He’s still facing straight ahead so I go back to my writing.

“Y/N,” he says quietly. I look up from my screen and shoot him a confused look. “Is that what you dream about? A quiet afternoon crush?” My face grows warm at his questions. He’s looking at me with those big brown eyes and I just kinda melt as I nod. His hand stills as he smiles. “I’ll be your quiet afternoon crush Y/N, if you’d like.” My mouth hands open a bit. Tom chuckles and goes back to watching TV as if nothing had happened.

“You’re kidding right?” My voice sounds higher pitched, even to me. He shakes his head with a smile. He’s got that playful gleam in his eyes but I can tell he’s serious. I open and close my mouth like a fish, totally confused and out of my element.

“I’ll prove it to you. How about dinner tomorrow evening, after your last class?” he asks, his voice deepening slightly. I nod my head, too stunned for words. Tom smiles and gets up carefully, to not disturb my computer. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Y/N.” He kisses my cheek before leaving, making me feeling stunned and insanely giddy.

I immediately jump up and run to my room. Looks like my story was actually coming true after all.

[thisisthetragicstoryofme]

Everyday the sun comes up and every night it goes down again.

Word count: 955

This fic is for @sanjariti ‘s writing challenge... Enjoy guys! and thanks to @spideytrxsh (Maisy and Gabby) for helping me with the concept and fixing my grammar when I wrote it :) 

A sigh escaped your lips as Ana once again splashed you, this was her subtle way of telling you she wasn’t done with Bath time and that she wanted more time. With Tom being due home any minute, you decided to let her have this extended bath time because her Daddy would be home to read her a bedtime story. Making your way back to the lounge room, you sat in your arm chair absently rubbing the small bump forming as you watched the TV but listened out for a cab pulling up.

You and Tom had been trying for a second child before he left to film, as you both loved being parents, but it seemed Ana had turned into a small terror while he was away, it never helped with the increased fatigue and sickness you had most days, but you were a strong mumma and you could handle it. When you told Tom about the pregnancy, over facetime no less, he cried ruining his makeup and causing a few of his fellow actors to grow a little annoyed until he explained, to which they all congratulated you and begged to know when you were coming to visit the set.

Getting lost in your thoughts you almost didn’t hear the front door open and shut, alerting you of Tom’s arrival.

“Honey?” He called out softly, pulling a bag behind him as he walked up the hallway towards your bedroom, completely missing you on the arm chair.

“Thomas?” You asked back, maneuvering yourself off the chair and walking at a quick pase to find your husband.

You first felt his arms around your waist and his lips on your neck before you turned around and fully embraced him, feeling safe in his arms and soothed by his heart beating. He placed many kisses on the top of your head before planting one on your lips, which you reciprocated as you had missed the feel and the weight of his lips on yours. Tom then slowly began kneeling down, both hands placed either side of your bump as he kissed the stretched skin and cooed a message to the bumble in your body.

All too soon your reunion was cute short as a certain three year old had decided to get out of the bath and come racing to greet her Daddy, leaving a trail of water wherever she ran and splashing the walls as her hair flung side to side.

“Daddy!!!!” She shouted, running into his open arms and greeting him with the biggest hug a three year old could muster. “Daddy, Will you read me a bedtime story? Mumma has been falling asleep before them.” Ana dobbed you in, a smirk on your partner's lips as he agreed, having had asked you a few nights ago if you’d been okay with putting Anastasia to bed lately because during your last pregnancy you could barely keep your eyes open until half past eight.

You followed the pair as Tom abandoned his bags in the hallway and carried his child to her bedroom; a pale pink palace for his little princess he had described it whilst he painted the walls and build the furniture. You now leaned against the doorframe, watching as your husband dressed the princess in a Spider-man onesie and brushed her muddy auburn hair.

“Daddy, I went to school and we painted and I did a spider for you, Mumma put it on the fridge but I took it and put it on my wall.” Ana rambled as her father brushed her hair carefully, knowing that tears would ensue if he tugged at it too hard.

“That’s wonderful Darling, Do you want to show me before you go to bed?” Tom replied as he began plaiting her hair.

Ana nodded as Tom finished with her hair, She ran to the side of the room which had the picture placed as high as she could get it on the wall. Tom smiled and looked over the picture as Ana waited with a smile on her lips, watching as he father nodded and grinned with approval.

“Can you read me a book?” Ana asked her father as you slipped away to empty out the bathwater and clean the bathroom as you knew if you stayed watching them you’d be there all night. As you mopped up the floor and drained the water, you heard your husbands voice read to your baby girl as you picked up the dirty clothes and chucked them into the basket and made it back to hear Tom reading Anastasia the last of the book.

“Everyday the sun comes up and every night it goes down again, the Daddy told the princess, kissing her forehead as she drifted off to sleep.” He spoke as he did exactly as the book told, Kissing Ana’s forehead as she fell asleep with her elephant plush in hand.

You spent the night cuddling your husband and he spent the night caressing your bump and talking to it, explaining that he was sorry for leaving and promising to be home until bumble decided to show up. You both fell asleep cuddling each other, so when you woke and the bed was empty, you grew a little worried.

“Sshhh.” You heard your husband shush Ana as she opened the door and Tom walked in with a tray of food. Pancakes and eggs, you most sudden craving.

Ana climbed up onto your bed as tom placed the food in your lap, kissing you as he sat on the edge of the bed with ana settling on his lap.

“Good morning beautiful.” He said softly as ana reached for your glass of juice “I love you so much.”

[kaunis-sielu]

The Sun

A/N: This is for @sanjariti challenge. Thank you for letting me participate! My prompt was

“Every day the sun comes up and every night it goes down again.” With Steve.

You fucked up. Oh man did you fuck up. Luckily Steve had been there to back you up and save your ass. Everyone was giving you a wide berth as you sat in one of the corners of the quinjet, feeling like total shit. You can feel their eyes on you, judging you.

You turn and pull your knees up to your chest, and bury your face in your legs. You just need to keep it together until you get back to the compound. You hear the rest of your team start to talk amongst themselves. Joking, laughing, Nat starts on a dramatic reenactment of a fight she had that had taken down six Hydra agents.

You couldn’t even handle two.

You’re so caught up in your own head and the disaster that could have been that you don’t notice someone making their way toward you. They sit down on the ground, but don’t say anything. It’s like they don’t want you to be alone but at the same time they know you need your space.

It’s not until the person sighs heavily that you know who it is. Steve. That heavy sigh is all it takes to uncurl you so that you can curl yourself into him instead. He wraps both arms around you, holding you silently to him. Silent tears slip down your face and fall to the hard panels of his suit, you feel like such an idiot. Your body shudders and you take a deep breath just before Steve tips your chin up so your eyes meet his.

“What’s this about?” He asks gently and you drop your gaze.

“I could’ve gotten you killed.” You whisper, saying it out loud makes it so much worse.

“But you didn’t. I was more worried about you.”

“You saved my ass Steve.” You mutter and he swipes a thumb across your cheek wiping off a tear.

“And you’ll save mine someday.” He soothes.

“I’m never going into the field again.” You argue burying your face back into his chest and Steve laughs softly. “I’m not kidding. You could have died!”

“Doll. We almost die on a weekly basis, if there’s one thing I’ve learned is that, every day the sun comes up and every night it goes down again.”

“No shit Sherlock.” You grumble.

“I understood that reference.” He teases and a smile pulls at your lips. “What I’m trying to say is the next mission is a new mission. There’s always uncertainty but I know that you’re going to fight, tooth and nail, to protect your team. To protect me.”

“How can you say that when I messed up so bad?”

“Because I believe in you and I trust you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you.” He says pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sigh softly and curl tightly into him, his thumb slides back and forth on the small of your back.

Usually you and Steve don’t show any affection beyond a glance or squeeze of a hand in front of the team. You’re almost asleep against him when someone comes toward the pair of you.

“So, you two are a thing huh?” Natasha asks softly as you pretend to sleep against Steve’s chest.

“Yea.”

“You treat her right Rogers. I may have known you longer but I love her like a sister.” He’s quiet for a moment before he responds quietly.

“And I love her.”

[a-splash-of-stucky]

By Morning Light | Masterlist

Pairings: Steve x Bucky x Reader

Summary: There’s a peculiar kind of peace that dawn brings. It holds promise in its serenity. There’s hope in its fragile tranquility. Some daybreaks are good. Others? Not so much. Most sunrises are unremarkable, but a handful of them you will remember forever. Each new day is an opportunity for a fresh start — you’re just lucky enough to have two amazing lovers to see you through each one.

Or

A series of related Stucky x Reader one-shots that document your life together. 

Rating: Explicit (NSFW, 18+, some chapters contain descriptions of sexual activities)

Warnings: Smut (including threesomes and m/m action), a lil’ bit of angst

Notes: In celebration of the new year, here’s a new creation for you! Written for Carolina’s Winter Wonderland Writing Challenge. My prompt was ‘Dawn’.

So hear me out with this one. I wouldn’t call BML a series per se -- these chapters can be read as standalone one-shots, but they will all be set in the same ‘verse. For best effect, I think they should be read together. 

These are 5 daybreaks/dawns (and one evening) at different stages of your relationship with Steve and Bucky. No, this series did not happen because Elsa was indecisive and couldn’t decide on one concept for a fic, of course not guys, what’re you talking about? Elsa is the queen of self-discipline. Not. 

But, I digress. Title of the series is taken from ‘Only The Horses’ by the Scissor Sisters. Chapter titles make use of lyrics from various other songs. Posting schedule will be irregular, just warning you ahead of time. 

Chapters:

i - when the daylight comes (you’ll be on your own) ii - i see the light, touch the light, we’re together now iii - this love is like sun on the rise iv - even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise v - steal some cover, share some skin vi - you are right at home (goodnight)

Send me an ask or PM if you want to be added to the tag list. Tag requests from replies/comments to posts will be discounted. 

[ohwhatamessiam]

Lonely

Summary: You’ve just left behind your friends, family, and old life to move to NYC for your new job, but finding a connection in the bustling, crowded city seems impossible. That is until you meet the barista at the coffee shop 2 blocks away from your apartment.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language probably? Otherwise this is kinda cute and fluffy, and Bucky is excitable (inspired by how soft Seb looked at TIFF 2017!)

A/N: Hi guys! This is my submission for the prompt Lonely to @ughjoekeery​‘s Wonderland Writing Challenge! I’ve never written a coffee shop AU so I decided to try it out, even though I’m sure there’s 20 other fics just like it. A big thanks to my beta @fangirlisms-22, who loves anything and everything coffee related. There is a part 2 to this post and it’s called Lie (my second prompt from Caro’s Writing Challenge). If you want to be tagged in the second part, send me an ask! 

I love feedback, so tell me what you think!

Home had gotten, claustrophobic.

Your relationships felt restricting. Confined by your family, constantly trying to live up to their expectations to prevent disappointing them. Hell, even your friends had become limiting.

Your job was one of the few places you felt you had room to grow at your own pace. While you were suffocating in your personal life, you’d decided to apply for a promotion. Having been a copy editor for a publishing house for almost two years, and you were ready for a change. The news that you got the book editor position strained your relationships even more. But that didn’t matter to you because you got a great job, in New York City.

The promotion gave you the confidence to break away from your routine. Although you’d grown comfortable at home, you were also very lonely. All these people were in your life, ever present reminders of what you were supposed to be or do. Yet, you felt like no one was there. No one truly wanted you to do what was best for you. And it didn’t matter how many people were around you, the intimacy you desperately desired wasn’t present.

Moving to New York alone was the exciting part of breaking out of your comfort zone, but your bank account wasn’t quite equipped to handle it. You found a studio apartment in Brooklyn, not far from the subway you had to ride in to Manhattan, but it was tiny. Yet, you packed your bags and picked up your life.

No one said how hard it would be to find a real connection in the city. Over 8 million people in such close proximity, but within your first couple weeks in the city, no one clicked with you. Sure, your new coworkers were nice and chatty, but there was no after work bonding. No lunches spent getting to know each other. You knew two actual people who lived in the city that you attempted to keep contact with, but they lived in Queens and Hell’s Kitchen.

So you spent your time alone. At first, you could still pretend it was nice, good to have independence. But that went away quickly as you spent every night in, watching TV or working. It made the loneliness you felt at home seem tiny. This loneliness swallowed you whole and left you staring at a blank wall in bed, holding onto your pillow like it was another person. You even caught yourself talking out loud to no one. You needed a friendly face to latch onto, just a person to bond with. But you went on with your life.

A couple weeks later you picked up a new writer for the company. She sent you the first draft of her novel and begged you for some help editing. Needing a day out of the office, you head home but got blocked in on the subway and miss your normal exit. Getting off at the next stop, you decide to just walk the five extra blocks. Knowing the book is 800 pages long, you plan on making a large pot of coffee and nursing it all night long, but you run into a traffic accident that has the street a block away from your apartment blocked off. You turn down the street before it to avoid the accident, and your pace slows as you notice a small coffee shop you’ve never seen before.

Obviously, it’s cheaper for you to go home and drink what you already have, but your feet carry you to the glass door. As you step inside a wave of calm crashes over you, refreshing your tired limbs and pulling you toward the long wooden counter. The place smells like espresso and croissants, and you see a small table that’s perfect for you to work at. As you step up to order you notice that the barista is an incredibly handsome, scruffy haired man and you shift your weight nervously. Even after being in New York for a month, you still aren’t used to how many beautiful people live here. Every time you pass a supermodel or an actor, your jaw drops. And this man looks like he could have both of those careers.

He’s writing something down as you slide a hand across the countertop, and the movement catches his attention momentarily. He doesn’t look up at you, his hand still scribbling on a piece of paper, but he asks, “What can I get ya?”

“Um, just a 12 oz-,” you start as he drops his pen and glances up at you. Your voice dies in your throat, disappearing as you stare at him. The contrast between his dark beard, and his light blue eyes is stark but stunning. You gulp audibly and the corner of the beautiful man’s mouth tugs up into a crooked smirk. Catching yourself, you drop your gaze to the counter and blink quickly. “A 12 oz latte and a chocolate croissant.”

His fingers tap on the cash register and you dig in your purse to find your wallet. “That’ll be $4.50,” you can feel your cheeks flushing under his gaze.

“Oh, uh, isn’t the croissant worth that much alone?” you ask, pulling your card out.

“Yeah, it is. But you look like you need the coffee more than the store needs the money,” he comments, a sly smile framing his words.

“I-, I’ll pay for both,” you stumble, holding your card out.

He takes it from you, reading your name on the card carefully. “You just did,” he smiles and hands the card back to you before tapping on the register again.

“No, no, I can’t let you do that,” you shove your card back towards him.

“Can’t let me do what?” he asks as he grabs a plate and mug.

“What-, what you’re doing. I won’t let you make that for me,” you say, pointing at the chocolate croissant he’s picking up.

“Who said this was for you?” He tilts his head to the side as his gaze narrows. The crinkles that form around his eyes makes you nearly go weak in the knees. “I’m making this for me.”

“Hey lady, get out of the line,” a middle aged man says from behind you. You glance over your shoulder, giving the man an apologetic look.

“Yeah lady.” You turn back to the barista that’s got your heart nearly beating out of your chest. “Go sit down,” he says as he points at the table you were eyeing.

“I-, I don’t-.”

“Seriously?” the angry man says, taking a step toward the counter and nearly shoving you out of the way.

You glare at him, all your politeness having evaporated, and throw your hands up defensively, “I’m going.”

“Right over there,” the barista says, pointing at the table again. You turn your glare on him and he grins victoriously at you. Another barista walks behind him and he shifts his attention from you to the man at the counter, amusement disappearing from his features. “Next.”

After taking a seat at the small table in the corner of the shop, you pull out the printed draft of the novel you’re editing and a black pen. You’re writing a comment on page three when your generous barista approaches you.

“I warmed up the croissant,” he says as he places the plate and mug in front of you. “And if you have any complaints about your service, you can bring them up with me personally.”

You roll yours eyes at his words, leaning back in your seat, “My complaint is that you wouldn’t take my freaking money.”

“Hold on,” he responds, holding his finger up to you as the other barista calls to him. The young woman calls him Bucky, and you find yourself leaning forward, curiosity pulling at your brain. 

He turns back to you, his brows furrowing as he clasps his hands together in a plea, “My break is in 20 minutes and I’ll be more than happy to sit and listen to all your complaints with my full attention then.” You want to turn him down but the charming smile that transforms his features from brooding and handsome to devilishly enchanting keeps you frozen in your spot, butterflies already tickling your stomach. You pretend to appear angry, but when you don’t respond he winks at you, and you feel a tightening in your chest.

Maybe you finally found a person to have a connection with, or maybe your dumbass fell for a pretty face in less than 15 minutes. But either way, watching him work leaves you wondering what you’ve got yourself into.

You’re 12 more pages into the draft, making notes on sentence structure and character descriptions, when you hear the chair across from you scrape against the floor. Bucky sits on it backwards and watches you with an amused smirk.

“I see you liked the croissant,” he gestures to the plate specked with crumbs.

“Warming it was a nice touch.” He cracks a smug smile and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you tuck your pen behind your ear. “But there’s no way I’m leaving here without paying for this.”

“What are ya writing on?” he scoots his chair to the side of the table, getting closer to you.

“It’s um, a book I’m editing for work.”

“Oh, that sounds like a fun job.” When you don’t respond he rambles on. “I mean, anything’s better than having to deal with the asshole public. I get yelled at by at least 3 people a day here, and I’m not even the person who helped them.”

“The publishing world’s filled with assholes, they’re just egotistical writers and our bosses instead of the public. But you do make a killer latte.”

“Thank you,” he grins. “Do you write too?”

“I used to, but it’s been a while.”

“(Y/F&L/N), that sounds like an author’s name to me.”

“That used to be the dream,” you say wistfully, staring at the book in front of you, trying to ignore how smoothly your name rolled off his tongue. How nicely it sounded in his voice. “Stop trying to distract me, Bucky. I’m paying you back for the food.”

“There’s no need for you to do that.”

“It’s not about whether I need to do it, it’s that I’m going to do it.”

“You’re really that set on paying me back, huh?” his eyes twinkle with an idea.

“Yes.”

“Okay then, you can pay me back by going to dinner with me.”

“What?”

“How does tomorrow night sound?”

“Um, excuse me?”

“I’m thinking Thai-, do you like Thai?”

“Slow down there.”

“Or do you like Italian? There’s this amazing spot a few bloc-.”

You cut him off by laying your hand on top of his, his eyes darting to you immediately, and you swear you see a hint of anxiety in them. “You seem like a nice guy, Bucky. And this is kinda, um, too fast, and super forward, and I just moved here-.”

“I could show you around,” he offers, his thumb brushing against your hand. Your heart feels like it might explode in your chest.

“While I appreciate that, I’m still getting settled in. Figuring this place out, and I, I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

“Oh, okay.” The excitement that crinkled the corner of his eyes disappears.

“I don’t really have any friends here, and I don’t want my first connection in this city to be a rushed romantic thing.”

“I get it.” His hand pulls away from yours as he drops his gaze.

Your shoulders slump as your heart finally slows its beating, and you nearly reach for his hand again. You finally find a goddamn connection in this city and you’re already chasing him away on day one. “It’s has nothing to do with you.”

“You don’t have to talk around it. You can just say no.”

“But I’m not saying no to you, I’m saying no to the situation. I don’t really know you, but you seem sweet and you make a mean latte, and that goes a long way in my book. But right now, well it’s just not a good time.”

He glances up at you, features softening again. “It’s okay to say no.”

“Okay Bucky. It’s a no.”

For now.

Tags: @irishdancr24 @suz-123 @thefridgeismybestie @ssweet-empowerment @lostboyinneverland @sophiealiice @wildefire @malletbreaker

I didn’t know who to tag so I just tagged some people???

[hairringtonsteve]

liminal.

(steve harrington x reader)

summary: a series of snapshots between the reader and steve during the last summer before college.

word count: 5,975 words

 a/n: this is for @ughjoekeery​‘s wonderland writing challenge! the prompt was i’ll be your quiet afternoon crush. this has been the hardest thing i’ve ever written, but also the one i’m most proud of. it’s easily the most cathartic thing i’ve ever written. i’m pretty sure that there’s a significant piece of me that’ll stay with this. enjoy!

If the two of you were seasons, then Steve would be the summer, and you would be the winter.

Steve was loud and present, constantly demanding your attention. He was all of the highs and none of the lows. He was late night road trips and lazing around at the beach and skinny dipping in his pool. He was the hand on your shoulder, the whisper in your ear telling you to enjoy the moment. He was the nostalgia, the yearning for times that had long since passed.

You were the opposite. You were soft and drifting, more interested in reading and staying behind the scenes. You were quiet nights clutching a mug of hot tea while the snow fell, silent on the ground. You were cozy sweaters and cuddling up on the couch. You were walking in the middle of the road, the foot of snow crunching beneath your feet.

Steve was the summer. You were the winter. Always close enough, fingertips brushing, but never fully touching.

Never fully together.

64 Days.

“Steve fucking Harrington, you’re late!” Your voice carried over to the house next door. Steve jerked his head up from where he’d been leaning into the backseat of his car, a grin spreading across his features. He dropped his bag onto the sandy driveway and tore across the sand. You could hear your grandma yelling at you inside about your language.

Never in your life had you been more appreciative that your grandmother lived next door to the Harrington’s beach house.

You ran down the stairs, practically tripping as you hopped the last two. The two of you met in the middle, your arms making their home around his neck, his around your waist. He buried his head into the crook of your neck. Your feet lost their footing a little as the sand shifted, and you fell into him. His arms tightened their hold on you as he laughed.

“God, I missed you,” he mumbled.

“Missed you too, loser.” The two of you held on a while longer. It was always like this at the start of the summer. There were ten months of hugs to make up for. “So, how’s the whole Nancy thing going? You two still together?” You pulled away from him to get a better look, your arms dropping to your sides. He winced and gave a sharp shake of his head, hard enough that his Wayfarers almost flew off his face.

“Uh, no. We broke up around Halloween.”

“Oh, shit. That sucks. What happened?” You took a couple of steps back, nodding towards the ocean. Steve kicked off his shoes, bending down to tug his socks off before he followed your lead. The sand was warm, but not burning, that perfect temperature that always came right around as it grew a little later out.

“It was, uh, not working. Any of it. It wasn’t meant to be, I guess,” he said. He gave a shrug of his shoulders as he sighed. The gesture was almost helpless in a way, like he was admitting defeat.

“Are you good? I mean, that was what, eight months ago?” You stopped once you reached the ocean’s edge, the water lapping at your feet. Maybe that was a little insensitive of you. He’d been hung up on her the entire summer of ‘83. And then talked about her the entire summer of ‘84, since they’d been dating. It had been two entire summers of nothing but Nancy this and Nancy that.

Maybe he’d been in love with her.

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m good, yeah.” He offered you a small smile. It wasn’t the biggest one you’d seen light up his face, but it was genuine. “What about you? How’s Mr. What’s-his-face, back in Williamsburg?”

“You mean Jake? Oh, that was nothing.”

“Sure it wasn’t,” he said, side-eyeing you. You nudged your shoulder against his, letting out a soft huff.

“It wasn’t.” You took a few steps forward, the water up to your ankles. It was still a little cold despite the fact that that first week of June had already been sweltering. “So what made you a week late? Usually you guys are here by the second at the latest.”

“It, uh, just got busy, I guess. Mom and Dad have been pretty busy with work and all of that. They won’t even be here ‘til Monday.” He was looking out across the ocean, and for a second, you thought that he was purposefully not looking at you.

“Two whole days by yourself? Whatever will you do?” At that, he looked down at you, a slow smirk easing onto his lips.

“I think I’ve got a few ideas.”

63 Days.

If it had been any other boy, your grandmother would have never let you stay the night, with or without a chaperone. But Steve was different. The beach was different. She knew how special it was to you.

The beach had always been your security blanket, something to hold onto tight whenever the school year got too crazy. It was ten weeks of a guaranteed escape. Ten weeks of seeing your best friend and doing whatever the two of you had wanted.

“So why isn’t Beth here this year?”

You were sitting on his enclosed porch, listening to the waves crash outside. It was dark out, the moonlight glinting against the beer bottle that you held. You could see the outline of Steve, but the shadows were more prominent than the highlights.

“She wanted to stay home with Mom and Dad. She got herself a boyfriend, so…” You let your words trail off as you rolled her eyes. “Is it weird that she’s sixteen, but I still think that she’s too young to date? I was dating when I was sixteen.”

“You’re the older sibling. Of course you’re going to be protective.” He took a swig of his beer. “Like me and Dustin.”

“That kid that you were telling me about? The one that’s your little buddy?” You watched as a smile curved at the corners of his lips. He’d spent the entire day rambling on about this group of middle-schoolers, and how great they all were. You still weren’t clear on why they all started hanging out, but that didn’t really concern you when Steve was this happy.

“He’s a good kid. Pissed about me leaving him for the summer.” You hummed, acknowledging his words. He was pressing his lips together like he was going to continue. “He understood why, though. Since this year is, um, different.”

Steve was a bad liar. He always had been. He’d been a bad liar when he was six years old and had met you, claiming that the green sand shovel was definitely his and that you were the one that had stolen it from him. He’d been a worse liar in ‘79, when he’d said that he had kissed other people before he’d kissed you. But this was something else. This made the beer turn toxic in your stomach, making it twist and curdle as you sat there.

“How is it different?” You set the beer on the ground, nudging it near the chair leg so it wouldn’t be spilled. Steve scooted to the edge of his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. You could see the vague outline of his mouth open and close a couple of times, fishing for the right words.

“My parents decided that we’re selling this house since I graduated. They, uh, they wanted to sell it before the summer, but I convinced them to wait.” He left his chair completely and headed over to the railing. It took you a couple of seconds, but you eventually did the same. Your shoulder bumped against his as you tried to look out in the darkness. In the distance, there was a little dot of light, a ship that was going far, far away from the ache that was in your chest.

“Why?”

You’d always known that your summers were going to come to an end. Summers like those were kid stuff. Adults didn’t get ten weeks of paradise. They didn’t get to leave the stifling place that was Williamsburg, Virginia and get to stay just a couple of hours south in North Carolina. They didn’t get to spend their days lazing about with the greatest person they’d ever met, or driving down the beach road at one in the morning. They didn’t get any of it.

“I wanted one last summer.” There were words hanging in the air, unspoken but obvious.

I wanted one last summer with you.

Your head dropped to his shoulder. His arm went around your waist, tucking you into his side as he head rested against yours. Steve was your best friend. Sure, it was a friendship that only existed during June through August, but it was your most important friendship. Somewhere along the way, deep, deep down, you’d started to hope - unrealistically - that this would last forever. That you and Steve would always have your summers together, despite everything else in the real world.

“One last summer?” His fingers were pressing into your side. You could feel their warmth through the thin fabric of your t shirt. His thumb was drawing little circles against your shirt. You had to bite back the tears.

“One last summer,” he said. His voice was soft, but sure of itself. It helped to ease the twisting that was still going on in your chest. It wasn’t by much, but it was something.

45 Days.

Steve let out a loud laugh as he dodged the left, your splash missing his face by mere inches.

“Watch it. We all know what happens when you try to start that shit with me, Y/N.”

“You mean that time when you tried to miss it and ended up stepping off the sandbar and screaming like a kid?” Steve smacked his hand off the top of the water, sending ocean spray right into your face. You grinned despite it, though, and continued on. “I never even knew that your voice could get that high. You think it still can?”

Steve swam towards you, a little smirk playing on his lips. His arms cut through the water easily. You looked back to the shore. You weren’t incredibly far out, but it was better to focus on that than Steve. You could still see him out of the corner of your eye, the way his tan skin was cutting through the water as though it were nothing. His muscles became taught with every stretch of his arm.

Your skin warmed.

The water bumped up against you as he got close, stopping mere inches away.

“I think my voice is pretty deep now, don’t you think?” His foot brushed against yours as he kicked them back and forth to keep afloat.

“Deeper than the year that Grandma called you a soprano. That was in ‘78, right? The year of the goat?” Steve let out a scoff. His hand wrapped around your waist and tugged you into him.

“Your voice cracks one time and suddenly-”

“It cracked all summer. Don’t lie,” you retorted. You cocked a brow up at him. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a question chanting along with it.

what are you doing what are you doing what are you doing what are you

“Friends don’t lie.” He’d murmured the unfamiliar words. The look on his face suggested that they held some sort of significant wright, but it was hard to tell. Your breathing was refusing to cooperate, instead opting to catch somewhere in your throat. A spell had fallen over the two of you. For a brief, perfect moment, you two were frozen in time. “Y/N, I-”

“Come in for lunch!” Your grandmother’s words were yelled from land and when the two of you looked in that direction you could see her, hands on her hips. Her usual stance. You pulled away from him, shaking your head to clear your mind. He was still watching you, eyes darting all over your face like he was searching for something.

“We should probably head in,” you said. Your pulse was still pounding in your ears. It was hard to tell what was making you feel warm - the sun, beating down on your back, or how he was still focused solely on you. “We shouldn’t make her wait. You know how impatient she gets.” You were speaking a little faster than normal, the urge to get out of the water hitting you all of a sudden.

If you got out of the water and dried off, you’d feel more grounded. More normal. Not like how you were now, which was twitchy and nervous. Your heart wasn’t sure what to do, lifting and dropping within moments.

“Right. Yeah. We should,” Steve said, blinking at you. He shook his head a little, droplets of water flying off of his hair. He watched you for a moment longer before turning towards the shore. This time, you allowed yourself to watch him. His back muscles were prominent as he began to swim to land. There were little glints of water streaming down his back, catching the sunlight. Your teeth grazed your lower lip as your stomach dipped.

39 Days.

“You coming or what?”

Steve’s voice brought an unfamiliar jolt to your chest. It had been happening more often the last couple of days. He’d look at you a certain way and every nerve in your chest would jump. He’d say your name - soft and low - and suddenly your heart would slam painfully against your ribcage.

It was unfamiliar, but quickly changing into something that you knew a little too well.

“I don’t know, Steve. I kind of just want to hang around the house today.” You turned to look at him, leaning against the doorway that led into the kitchen. You rested your hip against the counter, giving him a pointed look as you felt a blast of humid air waft in. “You’re letting the AC out.”

“Your grandma isn’t even here today. What are you even going to do today?” He asked as he stepped inside. He closed the door, taking his sweet old time as he grinned at you. “I guarantee that Raleigh would be a hell of a lot more fun than hanging around here.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?” You watched Steve shrug his shoulders, his sunglasses perched on top of his head almost falling off with the movement.

“A new discount bookstore opened up down there. Today, apparently, is three dollars a book, as many books as you can fit into a bag.” Your eyes widened with every single word. The Outer Banks was slowly getting built up, but any new business opening was still a huge deal. And you’d finished up all the books that you’d brought with you a week ago - which Steve was well aware of.

You’d complained about it every day since.

“Are you kidding me? That’s not fair.”

“How is that not fair?”

“It’s not fair because…” you began, looking over to him. “You know my weakness, but I -” You paused, lifting your eyes to meet his. Something in his gaze made your stomach dip in anticipation. Anticipation of what, you weren’t sure, but anticipation nonetheless. “But I don’t know yours.”

Steve took a step closer. There was a look on his face that you didn’t recognize. He had the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, and he shook his head a little. He leaned in closer, close enough that his breath was fanning across your face. Close enough that your heart was pounding and your fingertips were tingling in a desire to reach out and touch him.

“I thought it was obvious,” he said. You watched as his gaze dropped to your lips for a second before darting back to your eyes. Your cheeks felt as though they were burning by that point.

“You should tell me anyway, just so we’re clear.”

There was a brief, painful moment in which you thought that you’d misunderstood. He just stared you, your challenge hanging in the air between you. It stayed there for what felt like forever. He just stared down at you, a little crease forming in between his eyebrows as he looked down at you.

Another moment passed.

His lips were on yours.

You could remember the first time he’d kissed you, twelve years old and all teeth. He’d gotten better over the last six years. He was all give, moving soft and sweet. He rested one hang against your waist, the other on the counter. It was a lazy kiss, one that would have usually been reserved for a quiet Sunday afternoon. It was like the two of you had already been dating for years, and you had all the time in the world. It was comfort and it was home.

At some point, you ended up sitting on the kitchen counter. You weren’t sure how you’d gotten there, but Steve was standing between your legs, his kisses getting a little more insistent. He pulled away from the temptation was your mouth and started to pepper kisses down your jaw. His hands had made their home on your thighs. You were pretty sure that they were permanently attached by then.

“We should really start to head out,” he mumbled. The movement of his lips tickled against your neck.

“Or we could stay here and go tomorrow.” He pulled away, cocking a brow at your suggestion.

“The book sale is today only, though.”

“Yeah, but the store will still be there tomorrow. And we’ve only got thirty-nine days left of summer.” He regarded you for what felt like an hour. You hadn’t meant to bring up the end of summer, but it had slipped out anyway. It felt like it was approaching too fast, despite having more than a month left.

As always, Steve brushed it away. He grinned down at you, shaking his head before his lips found yours once more.

24 Days.

“Are you going to keep reading all day long?” Steve whined, lifting his head up from the towel. There were red lines marring his skin from the wrinkles in his blanket, his sunglasses half off from his nap. His voice was almost as rough as the sand that was running up and down his arms.

“You were sleeping, you don’t get to complain.” He used his elbows to pull himself closer to you. He rested his chin on your shoulder, giving you a small kiss against your skin. You tried to pull away, but the sun was making you too lazy.

“Which one are you reading?”

“The Princess Bride. The one that you wouldn’t let me buy?” Steve grinned.

“You were already buying like, five! You weren’t letting me get you anything.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to get me anything,” you said, turning your head to get a better look at him. He pressed his lips against yours. He’d been doing that ever since you two had kissed in your grandmother’s kitchen. It was almost intimate, how he’d taken to giving you little kisses when he got up to leave, or when the two of you were just hanging out. It was veering towards an actual relationship, despite the fact that neither of you had brought up confirming it one way or the other. Which was fine.

The two of you might have taken to sneaking in each other’s rooms at night to sleep, and cuddling up a lot more. There was a lot more kissing as well, both quick little pecks and long makeout sessions. You held hands and wandered around in the middle of the night on the beach. You spent every day together.

But you weren’t dating.

“I want to get you stuff, though. So don’t complain.” Steve pressed another kiss against your shoulder. “Read me some of it.” He scooted forward, leaning his head against yours. You let out out a scoff. “I’m serious. I like hearing you read.” He mumbled the last words, sheepish. You hesitated for a moment longer, a sudden feeling of bashfulness taking you over. You plowed through, though, your voice soft as the warm wind caressed your skin.

“The year that Buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette…”

You weren’t sure how long you read. Long enough that your voice had become a little scratchy, and you’d forgotten that you were wearing a bathing suit since the sun was just a little too hot. Steve had fallen asleep and was snoring against your arm.

For a brief, crazy moment, you weren’t sure if you’d ever feel about someone the way you did about Steve. He could smile and you felt like you were falling a little bit deeper, a little bit harder. Every summer since you had been six had been pure, unadulterated magic. This was the culmination of every beach trip. This was the part of the story where the main character (you) and the romantic lead (Steve) finally got together. This was it.

There had been one night where you and your grandmother had stayed up late, sitting at the kitchen table and talking. It had been one of the rare nights where Steve hadn’t been around. His parents had decided that they were in need of a nice, family dinner. They’d invited the two of you to go along with them, but you’d decided against it.

Pizza and soda had sounded a lot more appealing.

“Steve’s your quiet, afternoon crush,” your grandmother had announced over the rim of her mug filled with Pepsi.

“He’s my what?”

“Your quiet, afternoon crush. The crush that nice and relaxed and easy.”

“Steve’s - it’s not - it’s not a crush, Gram. He’s not my crush. He’s my…” You had let your words die out as you stared at the half eaten pizza on your plate. The word crush felt too weak for what you felt towards him. “He’s my Steve.”

You glanced down to Steve snoozing against you. Maybe this was what your grandmother was talking about. The soft easy feeling of liking someone, akin to a lazy afternoon at the beach.

“I’ll be your quiet, afternoon crush,” you murmured, grinning down at the cute boy by your side.

16 Days.

“You’re going to college, aren’t you, Y/N?” Steve’s father asked you.

“I am, actually. I’m going to Berkeley. I’m really excited.” You spiraled some pasta onto your fork, ignoring just how hard Steve was gripping your knee under the table. His parents had invited you over for dinner and what appeared to be an interrogation session.

“Oh, Steve! You didn’t tell us that!” His mother was giving him some sort of pointed look, but you just focused on the food.

“This pasta is delicious, Mrs. Harrington. Is it a family recipe?” She looked over to you, smiling faintly.

“Oh, this is just something that I threw together. Found the recipe in the back of a magazine back home,” she said. You took a bite as Steve let his fingers tap against your thigh. “So, Steve, has Y/N helped you decide what you’re doing?” Steve’s fingers stilled against you.

“Uh, no, Mom. I, um, we haven’t really talked about that.”

That was an understatement. The two of you hadn’t talked at all about college, or what was happening after the two of you went home. Summer wasn’t meant for that kind of talk. There was enough to think about and stress about when you got home. If your life was an anxiety-inducing game of tag, the beach would be base.

“Doesn’t Chief Hopper need some help on the force?” Mr. Harrington asked. Steve blanched. “He seems to have taken a liking to you. That’d be something to consider while you’re deciding on colleges.”

“You’re friends with your town’s police chief?” You asked, cocking a brow at Steve.

“Friends? Steve’s practically the babysitter for his daughter. He’s got his own little group of middle schoolers following him around. They’re like ducklings following the mother.” His father let out a laugh as he spoke. Glancing over to Steve, you watched as he ducked his head. His mouth was set in a straight line. “You know, whatever happened to Tommy and Carol, hmm?”

“They were assholes, Dad.” Steve muttered the words as he stared into his place of food.

“They were your own age, Steve.” He was giving Steve a frown, a silent language warning being conveyed without a single word about it spoken. “You need to make more friends your own age. That might be why college hasn’t been on your radar - you’ve been hanging out with fourteen year olds, doing God knows what on the weekends with them.”

“They’re teaching me how to play DnD, Dad. They’re good kids. Better than most of the pricks in Hawkins.”

“Steve, watch the language,” he snapped. “We’ve got company.”

“I can’t swear, but you can make Y/N uncomfortable by talking about all of this? Really?”

“I’m just concerned about you, Steve.” Something in his father’s tone made you think that it wasn’t concern towards Steve that was driving this.

“Bullshit.” His voice wavered on the word. His use of it surprised you. He’d said every other word on the planet that summer, except that one. When you would use it, he’d even wince. “C’mon, Y/N. We’re leaving.” He shoved his chair back and stormed out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, the front door slammed. The three of you sat at their dining room table. His parents were staring at each other. You were staring at your water glass.

“The meal was great, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. Thanks.” You weren’t sure what their response was. You were up from your seat in a flash, hurrying down the hallway to head outside. When you made it out, Steve was nowhere to be seen in the soft orange glow of the sunset. You rounded the house and spotted him down aways, digging his feet into the sand.

“You sure do know how to show somebody a good time, Harrington.” He looked back at you and barked out a laugh. He turned to look at the water once more as you approached him. You stopped, your shoulder brushing against his as you stood there. You glanced down to your hands, mere inches apart. His fingers twitched towards yours, and your stomach flipped.

“It’s normal for me to not know what I wanna do, right? I’m eighteen. I’m not supposed to know.” You bridged the gap, your fingers intertwining with his.

“Of course it’s normal, Steve.”

“I’m not a fuck up?” The words came out broken, like he’d spent way too much time thinking about that.

“You’re not a fuck up, Steve.” You had no idea where this was coming from, but there was one thing that you knew. Steve Harrington was not a fuck up. “I promise.”

7 Days.

“What the fuck are we even doing?”

Steve’s outburst made you jerk your head over to him. The two of you were perched on the hood of his car, a bag of chips between you as you stared up at the stars. The thing about his outburst is that it wasn’t loud. His words weren’t harsh or angry.

Instead, they were filled with pain and frustration, and maybe even a little bit of fear.

“We’re eating sour cream and onion chips?” Steve let out a harsh, short laugh.

“What’s going to happen once you go off to college and I’m stuck in Hawkins?”

“I don’t - I don’t know, Steve. We exchange numbers and we see each other on breaks and we - we make it work.”

Steve sat up, bringing his knees to his chest as he frowned.

“We’ve been friends for thirteen years and we never once gave each other our home phone numbers. We’re - we’re shit at keeping in touch. How are we supposed to do this?”

“We work at this, Steve. We work at it.”

His jaw ticked as he shook his head. Your head started to spin. This was it. You were one week away from leaving and the two of you hadn’t even talked about this once. Every time it was brought up, one of you would sidestep it and pretend that everything was fine. 

That you wouldn’t be living thousands of miles away from one another. 

That this was perfect and frozen in time.

“We’re both shit at making it work and you know it. This is - Jesus, what’s that word that you used the other day, about the rest stops?”

“They’re liminal spaces?”

“Yeah! That’s it. We’re liminal. This is liminal and it’s - we didn’t even talk about this, not once. I didn’t even know that you were going to Berkeley until we were at dinner with my parents. How the fuck did we not talk about that?” His voice cracking and the moon was glinting off the tears that were pooling in the corners of his eyes. You scooted over to him, pressing your shoulder against his.

“I didn’t want to think about it. I just. This was perfect, you know? Because this is it and next year you won’t be here and I just wanted to hold onto that. Is that so bad?” You were choking the words out as best as you could. The bag of chips had been shoved down the hood at some point, and spilled all over the ground.

“How does this work if we’re both too afraid to talk about what’s going on in our lives?” It was crashing down all around you at once. Neither of you had asked the other about what you were doing after the summer. You didn’t talk about anything serious, or pertaining to your relationship.

The two of you hadn’t even confirmed that you were actually dating.

“So what do we do?” Your shoulder was up against his, but you couldn’t look at him. If you looked at him, you’d break.

“We could keep doing what we’ve been doing. Just keep going along with this and not talk about it.”

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard, Steve. It’s going to fuck us over even more,” you said, rolling your eyes. He rested his chin on the top of his knees. “We can’t keep doing this. We’ve got to - to be friends. Like we were. That’s the only way we don’t-” You cut yourself off. You weren’t even sure what you had planned on saying. He looked over to you, his cheek taking the place of his chin.

“The only way we don’t hurt each other?” You leaned over, pressing your lips against his softly. It was the closest thing to a breakup that you’d admit. You pulled away, ignoring the stinging at your eyes.

“Yeah.”

He sighed, straightening up and put his arm around your shoulders. He kissed the top of your head, lingering longer than what was normal. It was almost too quiet to catch, but the words that he whispered would be ingrained in you forever.

“Friends, then. We’re friends.”

1 Day.

The two of you were lounging on your bed, your legs dangling off the side as you continued to read aloud. It had become a thing between the two of you that summer. At some point, every day, you’d grab The Princess Bride and read it to him. You’d spent most of that day reading aloud, racing to get it finished before the two of you were forced to pack up.

“But that doesn’t mean I think they had a happy ending either. Because, in my opinion anyway, they squabbled a lot, and Buttercup lost her looks eventually, and one day Fezzik lost a fight and some hot-shot kid whipped Inigo with a sword and Westley was never able to really sleep sound because of Humperdinck maybe being on the trail.

I’m not trying to make this a downer, understand. I mean, I really do think that love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops. But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn’t fair. It’s just fairer than death, that’s all.

New York City

February, 1973.”

The words settled between you two, warm and quiet. It was fitting. It was fitting in a way that neither of you wanted to acknowledge, but it was too big to not admit to.

“How bad would it be if I said that I read ahead?”

You let your book rest on your chest as you glanced over to him, frowning a little.

“How’d you finish it?”

“My parents and I headed to Raleigh a couple of days ago. I stopped in, and found a copy. I wanted my own, as like a souvenir or something.” He was avoiding your gaze, staring resolutely at the ceiling. “Figured that I liked it so much, I should get it for myself.”

“Something to remember me by?” At that, he rolled onto his side to face you.

“Don’t be so full of yourself. I think that I’m going to need a Westley fix at least once a month. It’s got nothing to do with you.” A small smirk slipped across his mouth, making the corners of his mouth twitch up just so. The movement made your insides ache. You realized a second too late that you’d been staring at his mouth.

Friends. You were friends.

“No matter what happens, at least we’ll have Westley.” Steve let out a snort, resting his head against your mattress. The sheets had been pulled up in an effort to get them washed before you left, but that plan had stopped the second Steve had showed up that day.

“At least we’ll have Westley,” he echoed. The two of you were looking at each too long, too intense. He reached out and let his hand fall against the mattress, lying halfway to you. You reached across, letting your hand rest atop his. Neither of you said anything.

But then again, neither of you had to.

0“Steve!” You called, your heart twisting as he turned around to look back at you. His hand rested on the hood of his car. “Have a good year, okay?” He held your gaze for a handful of seconds, the weight of it increasing with each moment that passed. There were a thousand hidden meanings in those five words. And somehow, Steve managed to pick up on every single one.

The two of you probably weren’t ever going to see each other again.

And that would be okay.

It wasn’t okay then, and it wouldn’t be for a long time.

But someday, it would be.

Steve smiled at you. It was sad and made your chest ache, but you committed it to your memory nonetheless. He ducked his head, pressing his lips together as he took his time in responding to you. When he looked back towards you, thirteen years of summer memories sped through your mind.

“You too.” His voice cracked. He rounded the car, opening the driver’s side when you called his name once more. His head jerked up. Everything hurt.

“I’m serious. Have a good year.” Have a good life. I’m sorry that we’re both shit at keeping in touch. I love you. We’re too young for this. I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss every single memory we could have made together. I wish we lived closer. I wish we had the same goals in life. I wish I was braver. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. “Can you do that for me?”

The barest hint of a smirk touched at his lips.

“As you wish.”

taglist: @harringtonhuddle​ @nicospaten​ @selenedarkbloom​ @samuel-maurice455 @lilo-1398​ @thevortexclubposse​ @laurennicole1313​ @deep-greedy @inspiredbynewt​ @ladyrenegade​ @allfandomxreader​ @andyschwamberg​ @myblackwings5 @morgandakotaq​ @rivedale​ @laterg8r​ @buckybass​ @airforcecollins @superanonymousreader @sarcasaticllamasarah @thetragicstory @xanaphorax​ @ambeazyyy​

struck out names are the ones tumblr wouldn’t let me tag.

[captainmarvels]

this was so funny and cute, i loved it!!! thanks for writing an adorable piece, Roo 💘

Pairing: Thor x Reader Words: 1,273 A/N: Hi!!! This was for @sanjariti‘s writing challenge! The prompt was “Holiday dinner - preparations and all that good stuff” so that’s what you’re getting! Enjoy!

“Thor! I think something’s burning!” You shouted from your bedroom as you looked up from your book and sniffed the air. “Like really bad.”

“Uh-I don’t smell anything!” Thor’s voice sounded unsure and just a bit frantic so you figured it was a good time to investigate.

Setting your book down, you followed the burning smell to its source. The kitchen was certainly a sight to behold. Smoke was steadily coming out of the oven and various foods covered the counter. Thor looked lost among his surroundings as he was not used to being in your kitchen on his own for an extended amount of time. It was only a matter of time before the smoke alarm went off so you quickly grabbed a dish towel and started fanning the smoke out of the kitchen.

“How’s Christmas dinner coming along, babe?’ You asked rhetorically as you coughed out some of the smoke that had made its way to your lungs and shut off the oven.

Keep reading

[a-splash-of-stucky]

By Morning Light | ii

Pairings: Steve x Bucky x Reader

Summary: A little stress-relief before a big meeting

Warnings: Unprotected sex (do not follow my example), oral sex (m/r), language.

Notes: As mentioned before, this chapter (and all subsequent chapters) can be read as a standalone piece. I had waaaay too much fun doing the dialogue at the end, y’all. Written for @ughjoekeery’s writing challenge.

I haven’t written enough Steve x Reader smut in my life, so consider this me rectifying that problem ;))

also: the chapter title is from Chasing The Sun, by The Wanted (wow, that takes me back)

[BML Masterlist]

~ i see the light, touch the light, we’re together now ~

How to ensure that someone doesn’t fall asleep? Add a shit-ton of stress to a handful of nerves and boom! Sleepless night, guaranteed.

Goodness. Sleep deprivation really does fuck with one’s ability to think coherently, you muse deliriously.

Theoretically, sleep should be easy to come by, given the position you’re in. Your body is relaxed, comforted by the warmth of your boyfriends on either side of you. Despite this, that pesky sleep just will not come — there are only so many sheep you can count, after all. To make matters worse, thoughts are flying through your brain at a million miles an hour, all clamouring for a slice of your attention. It’s deafening cacophony inside your brain. You can already imagine the kind of migraine you’ll have by the end of the day.

Unwilling to admit defeat, you pull the covers up to your chin and burrow underneath them, determined to get at least another thirty minutes of sleep before you have to wake up officially. You focus on the sound of Steve’s breathing, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Your head is pillows on his chest, his left arm slung over your torso. Bucky’s flesh arm is thrown over your waist and your feet are tucked in between his calves.

Normally, listening to the soothing rhythm of Steve and Bucky’s breathing would be enough to lull you back to sleep. Now, falling back asleep seems like a far-fetched hope. You crack open one eye to peer at the alarm clock on the nightstand, lifting your head to peer over Steve’s shoulder. The display reads 5.37 AM. Almost dawn, then.

“Hey sweetheart,” Steve murmurs softly, his chest rumbling underneath your ear. You exhale slowly as his fingers start to stroke up and down your upper arm. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head and sigh heavily in response. Steve hums in sympathy, wrapping his arm around your a little tighter and pressing a kiss to the top of your hair. “Too nervous?” he asks.

Your head nods vigorously in affirmation. Steve’s unspoken concern is radiating off of him in tangible waves; you’d gone to bed rather late the night before, and with an important meeting taking place in just over three hour’s time, he knows that you being stressed-out and sleep-deprived is not going to end well.

Today is the day that you head into the city, sit down in a boardroom and talk business with some very important people. A huge clothing company wants to collaborate with you — they want you to design some graphic t-shirts and potentially some lifestyle items for their upcoming spring/summer collection.

Their lead designer — a woman whose work you’ve admired for a long time — had seen some of your illustrative pieces being displayed at a recent art exhibition. Apparently, she’d been rather impressed. A few days after the exhibition launch, you’d gotten a call to inform you of this new job opportunity. You’re flattered that such a world-renowned company would want to work with you.

In truth, you’ve been dying for an offer like this ever since you started your career as a professional illustrator. This is a big deal — a global company wanting to collaborate with you? The recognition that you would get as a result both exhilarates and terrifies you.

You need to actually land this job first, however.

Everything’s still up in the air, at the minute, so this meeting is being held so that both parties can get to know each other a little better. You are to meet with the design team that you would be working with, if you ended up collaborating with this brand, to get an idea of what your role in the design process would be. The team would also by trying to get a feel for you; your capabilities, your character, the kind of person they’d be working with for the next few months.

In preparation for your big meeting, you’ve spent the better part of the last couple of weeks — ever since you got that fateful phone call, really — preparing small mockups and sample illustrations, following the design specifications that they had given you. ‘Tropical’, is the theme they’ve decided to go with, which means that most of your artwork incorporates bright summer colours and vivid shades of green. You’ve been working like a machine for these last few days, fuelled almost entirely by sugar and caffeine. You’re working yourself to the bone, barely getting any sleep.

Not wanting you to have a fatigue-induced crash in the middle of your big meeting, Bucky and Steve had had to forcibly bundle you off to bed at 10 PM, so that you could get a few solid hours of sleep in.

You never thought the day would come when you would willingly say no to cuddle-time with your two favourite people, but that is exactly what happened the night before, when Steve and Bucky came into your art room. You’d been in the midst of putting the final touches to your jungle illustration — the ‘final touches’ that you’d been working on for over an hour, admittedly. They’d been insistent, physically dragging you away from your desk when you said no.

They’re enhanced individuals, for crying out loud. How are you supposed to be able to resist their combined strengths?

You’d protested and pouted like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum. In the end, you knew that you’d lost the battle when the boys utilised their fail-safe weapon against you. There’s no way you could’ve said no to one, let alone two sets of bright blue puppy-dog eyes.

They’re the loves of your life, for crying out loud. How are you supposed to be able to resist their combined cuteness?

They’ve got you wrapped around their pinky fingers, honestly.

But, it had all been for the best. Now, seven and a half hours of sleep later, you feel refreshed and alert, ready to take on the fucking world, if you really wanted to. You’re still nervous as hell, but at least the ever-present sense of exhaustion that’s been hanging around for the last couple of days has finally gone away.

Steve’s hand smoothing down the centre of your back draws your thoughts to the present. You tip your head back to look at Steve properly. In the dim, pre-dawn light, he still manages to look gorgeous, taking your breath away with those cheekbones alone.

“Morning, baby,” you murmur, keeping your voice down so as to not wake Bucky up. You stroke your knuckles over his jaw.

He smiles, catching your hand in his and pressing your fingertips to his lips. “Morning, sweetheart,” he says quietly, “I can’t sleep either.”

You hum, twisting your hand around so that you can interlace your fingers with his. “Let’s take a shower together,” Steve says.

The corner of your lips tugs up into a smirk at his suggestion. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You need to get ready, and the stress relief would be good,” he tells you.

You giggle softly, one eyebrow quirking upwards. “Yeah, and you could use the relief, I take it?” you tease, gently pressing your thigh into Steve’s crotch, trapping his semi-hard cock between your bodies. Even with the fabric of his boxers separating you, you can still feel the intense heat being exuded from his body. An involuntary shiver ripples across your skin.

“Killin’ two birds with one stone,” Steve mumbles. You can practically hear the smile in his voice.

You snort quietly, shaking your head as you press your forehead into the hollow of his neck. What the hell? It’s not a bad idea; the sex might actually calm you down, somewhat. Besides — with you working your ass off these last few days, you’ve hardly been able to make time for your boys, and the guilt of that hangs heavy in your belly.

“Go on, then,” you mutter, prodding Steve in the shoulder so that he gets the message. With a grin, Steve gently disentangles himself from the covers and rolls out of bed, loping off to the bathroom to get the shower started. You take a minute to watch him, savouring the way his body is back-lit by the meagre light spilling in through the curtains, making him look like some ethereal being. Your eyes track him as he crosses the room, taking in the confidence and power that clings to him like an aura. Arousal begins to pool in your core.

It takes quite some effort, on your behalf, to detach yourself from your other boyfriend. Bucky absolutely must have as much of his skin in contact with you as possible — he sleeps like a goddamn octopus, wrapping all his limbs around you and holding you close. You gingerly ease your feet out from between his legs, then pry his arm off you, rolling away quickly before settling it back down. Bucky snuffles and stirs in his sleep, but does not wake up. You bend down to press a tender kiss on his nose, then follow in Steve’s footsteps and head to the bathroom.

You lean against the doorframe, a small smile playing on your face as you watch Steve fiddle with the shower knobs. His glorious back is towards you, meaning that you have the pleasure of watching those sinuous muscles flex and ripple beneath a layer of pale skin as he moves. Your eyes travel lower, drinking in that unfairly small waist, and lingering on the simple black boxers he wore to bed. They hang low on his waist and make his ass — an ass tight enough to bounce a coin off — look especially enticing. The sight of him makes something warm and hungry flare in your belly, a simmering need that you ache to fill.

Steve turns around at that moment, his palm outstretched towards you, a beaming grin on his lips. You accept his hand, your own looking ridiculously small in his big palm. He pulls you close. Water thunders down onto the tiled floor of the shower cubicle, steam escaping from the open door and gradually fogging up the bathroom. You have no doubt that the noise will eventually rouse Bucky — if it hasn’t already. You’ve left the door partly open because of this, a silent invitation for him to come and join the two of you, if he feels interested.

A knot of tension unravels inside you as Steve’s hands land heavy on your waist, long, slender fingers spreading over your sides. His touch is electric and hot, even through the fabric of your nightgown. He leans down just as you rise on your tip-toes, meeting each other halfway in a slow and sensual kiss. Soft moans and breathy sighs escape your mouth each time he presses forward. Steve is slowly stoking the fire inside you, the gentle desire of before giving way to something more lustful, needier.

The longer you kiss, the more at ease you feel. All of the stress that you’ve been shouldering these past few days evaporates. Your body melts into Steve’s, relaxing as the tightly coiled spring inside of you eases. Steve’s hands are strong and sure as they roam over you. Your fingers tangle through his hair as you let your mind float, momentarily forgetting about all the work you need to do, all thoughts of your meeting getting pushed aside. The only thing occupying your mind right now is Steve, Steve, Steve — he is where your concerns for the moment begin and end. Nothing else exists in this world beside you, him, and the shower that is begging for your attention.

When Steve pulls away, you’re left breathless, chest heaving and skin tingling with excitement. He’s got a slightly wild look in his eyes, the blue of his irises almost completely swallowed by the darkness of his pupils. His hair is sticking up in endearing tufts as a result of you running your fingers through it.

Steve’s fingers fiddle with the hem of your nightgown, at the same time that his eyes make contact with yours. You raise your arms above your head, allowing Steve to peel the flimsy material off and fling it onto the floor. Your nipples harden into tight peaks, both as a result of the sudden chill and due to the uninhibited lust in Steve’s gaze. He growls under his breath, reaching a hand out to lightly skate his fingers over your skin. You shiver at the contact, your eyes fluttering shut. He touches your collarbone, the side of your ribs, your waist — light brushes in seemingly random places, as if he just wants to make sure that you’re real. Steve crouches down so that his eyes are level with your belly button, thumbs hooked into the sides of the cotton panties that you wore to sleep.

You bite your lip as Steve slides them down your legs, tingles of excitement running up and down your spine. When they fall to your feet, Steve helps you step out of them, plants a kiss to your right knee, then straightens to his full height.

His arms encircle you again and this time, there’s a little more urgency behind each press of his lips, a little more heat behind each swipe of his tongue. Your bare chest rubs against his, making you mewl helplessly into his mouth. Steve growls low from the back of his throat in response. You fingers curl around his muscled biceps, practically melding your body against his.

“Shower,” you remind him, in between kisses.

“Right,” Steve breathes, crashing his lips to yours one last time.

He steps away from you, laughing softly as you try to try to chase his mouth. You watch as he hooks his fingers into his boxers and shucks them off in one fluid motion. Steve kicks them in the direction of the laundry basket, before stepping towards you once more. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his cock, fully hard and curving towards his belly. Oh, how desperately you want that thing inside you. Steve catches you looking at his dick and raises an eyebrow. You shrug your shoulders, unashamed and unabashed by the fact that you’ve been caught. How can anyone keep their gaze in check when their boyfriend looks like Adonis incarnated?

Steve’s fingers encircle your wrist and he drags you into the shower, pulling the door shut behind you. You find yourself thanking the heavens above that your house comes with such a massive shower stall — it has served you well on more than one occasion. You and Steve fit in here comfortably. Even if Bucky were to come in a join the fun, there’d still be room to spare. The space has other features that make it an especially suitable sex spot — there’s a railing affixed to the wall that you can grab onto when you’re getting taken from behind, and the little alcove that houses your in-shower toiletries is the perfect height for you to sit on while someone goes to town between your legs. There are two shower heads installed; one fitted into the ceiling, which is the one that is currently in use, and the second is a detachable one, hanging on the wall. That one is perfect for when you need that extra bit of stimulation. The door and fourth wall is made entirely of glass, which has been completely fogged up by the steam, at this point.

You hum softly as the shower spray hits your back, the warm water immediately relaxing the tension in your muscles. You close your eyes and tip your head backwards, letting your mind drift with the steady thrum of the shower water. You startle when your feel Steve’s hands on your jaw, but smile into the kiss when his lips press against yours, not even bothering to open your eyes.

Steve pushes you into the middle of the spray.  You open your eyes to watch him. He pumps some of your body soap into his hands and works it into a foamy lather, before holding his index finger in the air and turning it in a small circle.

“Let me get your back,” he says.

You nod silently, doing as you’re told and tipping your head forward, so that he can reach your neck. A soft sigh escapes your lips as his big, steady hands land on your shoulder. He works the soap into your skin using circular motions, the action gradually working the knots out of your aching muscles. You find yourself pressing back into his touch, quiet little huffs of pleasure being punched out of you each time Steve hits a particularly sensitive spot. His hands are sure as they work over your back. When he crouches down to wash your lower half, you instinctively widen your stance to give him better access. You not-so-subtly push your ass towards him, a mute plea for him to shift his attention there. Steve laughs, squeezing your ass cheeks affectionately.

You groan at the touch, leaning forward to rest your hands on the wall, allowing your head to hang limp between your shoulders. Steve’s touch is a soothing comfort on your skin as he runs his big palms down your left leg, before working their way up the right one. He spends a suspiciously large amount of time washing your ass, fingers dipping teasingly close to your sex without actually hitting the spots where you need him most. You huff in frustration. Steve chuckles.

“Turn around, sweetheart,” he says, dropping a kiss to your hip.

It takes a moment for you to process and obey his request. Steve’s still kneeling on the floor, looking up at you with a playful smile on his face when you finally turn around. He presses a kiss to the crease of your thigh, then works his way up your body, smoothing his hands over your legs, skimming over your mound, washing your belly and torso. He cups and squeezes your breasts as he washes them, catching your nipples between his fingers and rolling them until you feel like a raw nerve. You whine at the touch, impatient for more. When his face is right in front of yours, you lean forward to capture his lips in a kiss. Steve hums into it, hands coming to rest on your waist as he allows you to lead.

Your lips trail over his jaw and neck, tongue darting out to lick at his skin. Steve groans, momentarily distracted as he reaches back and pumps some shampoo into his hand, working that into a lather as well. His fingers feel so fucking good on your scalp, pressing down on the spots that have you moaning and huffing in a few seconds. He washes your hair diligently, before quietly ordering you to tip your head back to wash the suds out. The head massage you receive when Steve works the conditioner in is as equally arousing, and by the time he asks you to step out of the water to let the conditioner sit, you’re feeling the heat between your legs a lot more intensely.

Steve reaches out to grab some soap to wash himself, but you beat him to it, squirting some of the body wash into your hand. You’re perhaps not as thorough in your treatment of his body as he was with yours — the pressing urge in your loins making you rush through the job — but Steve enjoys the way your fingers press into his skin, nonetheless, eyes slipping shut as a result of your ministrations.

You drop to your knees to wash his legs, peering up at Steve through your wet lashes. He opens his eyes to watch you, desire and lust evident in his gaze. His fingers card through your hair, working the conditioner out of it as your hands skate over his muscled thighs. Your fingers trace his Adonis lines, the crease of his thigh, comb through the thatch of blonde hair at the base of his cock.

Steve growls when your fist closes around the base of his shaft. You give the length a few languid strokes, twisting your wrist each time you get to the head to tease him just right. You lean forward to capture the tip of his dick between your lips, suckling on it absentmindedly as your tongue flicks and swirls over the slit. Steve hisses, hips jerking in an aborted thrust. He leans back, pressing his shoulders into the tiled wall out of sheer ecstasy.

“Wanna fuck you,” Steve grits out, another moan ripping free of his throat as you close both fists around his cock, twisting them in opposite directions as you pump them up and down his length. “Ah—fuck, fuck sweetheart—please, I wanna be inside you.”

You ignore him once again, taking more of his cock into your mouth and sucking him in earnest now, your tongue teasing the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft. With a low growl, Steve finally takes matters into his own hands, grabbing you by your armpits and hoisting you to your feet. You giggle, allowing yourself to be pulled up and into another kiss, this one more desperate and intense than any of the ones you’ve shared before. Steve catches your bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles on it, growling passionately at the moan that elicits from you.

He crowds you against the wall, hands grabbing to large handfuls of your ass and squeezing them playfully. Steve uses his hold on you to lift you up, encouraging you to hook your legs around his waist. His cock is trapped between your bellies, his shaft barely gliding against your wet folds with every movement of his body. Every now and then, the thick veins on it will bump against your clit, causing you to groan loudly, head thunking against the wall in blissful pleasure.

“Please, baby,” you whine, arching your back and pressing your hips into Steve’s. “Stevie, baby, I need you.”

“Yeah,” he pants, shaking his wet fringe out of his eyes, “Yeah, fuck, okay.”

You bite your lip as Steve works a hand between your bodies, gets his fist around the base of his cock. You nuzzle the side of his neck, pressing idle kisses into the wet skin there as he guides the head to your sopping entrance. A loud moan tears from your lips as he presses inside you, the sound echoing off the walls. You dig your nails into his biceps as the sheer girth of his cock stretches you open, filling you up in the way that only he can.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart,” Steve gasps, rocking his hips forward to feed you more and more of his dick. “Ah—fu—god, you’re so good to me, sweetie.”

You whine, trying to roll your hips forward so that you can take more of him inside you. Steve adjusts his grip so that his arm is holding your waist more securely, forcing you to just sit there and take what he gives you. You growl frustratedly and, in retaliation, yank him forward by the shoulders to lay claim to his mouth. You kiss him with wanton passion. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, more a clacking of teeth against teeth than anything else, but Steve’s hips jerk into you as a result of it, burying the last bit of his cock inside you.

“Oh my god, Steve,” you whimper, pressing your forehead into his shoulder as your body adjusts to this new, wholly pleasurable intrusion inside it. You can feel his balls against your ass. Your toes wiggle and curl at the hot, unforgiving pressure of his cock inside you. Steve presses kisses to the side of your neck, murmuring praises into your skin. All around you, the water thunders down, ensconcing you in your own world.

“So good to me, honey,” Steve whispers, nosing at your jaw until you tip your head back, baring your throat to him. “Oh, you’re so good for me,” he mumbles, trailing his lips over your pulse point.

“Steve…,” you moan, rolling your hips insistently. “M’good, c’mon, I’m ready.”

It doesn’t last long once the thrusting starts. You cling to his shoulders for dear life, just hanging on for the ride. Breathless, rapturous, euphoric cries spill from your throat each time he slams home. If Bucky hasn’t woken up by now, you’ve no doubt that that situation will change very soon.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve puffs, right against the shell of your ear, “Takin’ it so good, takin’ my cock like you were made for it, huh?”

“Yeah, Ste—fuck!”

He growls in response, shifting his hands so that the left one is holding your waist and the other is braced against the wall beside your head. Steve rocks his hips forward with quick, staccato thrusts, your body sliding up the wall with each movement. Each surge of his hips stokes the embers inside your gut, intensifying the fire that is burning deep within your body.

“F-fuck, sweetie, ah—touch yourself,” Steve begs, voice choked and strained. “Can’t—last…baby, m’not gonna last, please — ‘m so close.”

You moan at that, your walls involuntarily fluttering around his pumping cock. Steve lets out a string of curses, gritting his teeth and slamming into you with renewed vigour. He pries your hand from its death grip on his shoulder and brings it to the apex of your thighs, pressing your fingers to your clit.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Steve says, voice breaking on a whimper. “Please—I wanna, you gotta…come for me, sweetheart—wanna see it.”

You moan lustfully as your fingers rub circles over your sensitive bud, the pleasure inside you swirling into an ever-tighter ball. The pressure accumulates until you think that you’re going to explode. Steve fucks into you with reckless abandon, hand digging into your waist hard enough that you’ll probably bruise, lips restlessly trailing over your jaw and neck. His breath is hot against your skin, sharp pants a steady rhythm in your ear that is broken every now and then by a muttered curse or feral growl. He’s taking you higher and higher, the pressure of your impending release making your entire body feel as if it is crackling with electricity.

“Come for me, sweetie,” Steve grunts, right against your lips. “Come for me now, right fucking now.”

And you do.

With a sharp wail, your entire body goes as rigid as a bowstring, back arching off the wall. Fireworks explode behind your closed eyelids as the pleasure courses through your veins like molten lava.

It’s glorious.

Steve sobs in relief and slams into you one last time, burying his cock balls-deep inside you as it shoots off, your own orgasm having tipped him over. He buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder, moaning hotly as he empties himself inside of you, his hips grinding into your pussy as he rides out his climax. You loop your arms around his shoulders and hold him close, fingers stroking through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

When he’s utterly spent, Steve pulls out his softened cock and gingerly lowers you down to your feet. You step out of the shower stall and grab your towel as Steve shuts off the water. You pat yourself dry, wrap your soaking wet hair in a second towel, then head out to the bedroom. Steve gives his hair a cursory rub-down, before wrapping the towel around his waist and following after you.

The sunlight trickling in through the curtains casts shadows over Bucky’s form, making him look soft and vulnerable in the morning light. With his eyes still closed and his mouth slightly parted, he looks peaceful, and your heart swells with love at the sight. You cross to your dressing table and sit down, pulling your makeup bag closer to you. Your vanity has a huge square mirror built into it, but you’ve also got a smaller, magnified mirror that you keep on the table itself — this, you pull towards you.

“Sounds like you two were having fun,” Bucky comments, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Sure did,” Steve says, crossing over to the chest of drawers below the window to pull out some clothes for himself. “Just helping Y/N out with some pre-meeting stress.”

“Uh-huh. And she was helping you out with your morning glory, I take it?” Bucky quips, rolling onto his back so that he can look at Steve properly.

“It was rather glorious,” you confirm, watching Bucky through the reflection in the big mirror.

“Shame I had to miss it, then,” he sighs. Bucky lifts his head from off the pillow, then, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “Honey, do I get a turn? You think you got another round in you?”

You glance at your watch that is resting on top of the dresser and sigh when you see the time. “Buck, if I go another round, I’m gonna miss my train and be late.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, flopping back down dramatically. “Knew I should’a hauled my ass outta bed.”

“You can be first in line for the celebration sex,” Steve says, taking his towel off and tossing it onto Bucky’s face. Bucky yelps indignantly.

“Fuck you, Rogers,” he grumbles sleepily, dropping the towel to the floor as he rolls onto his side away from Steve. You smile as he gives Steve the finger whilst simultaneously burrowing even deeper into the duvet.

“Aw babe,” Steve says, clucking his tongue sympathetically. “I’m being serious — you get first dibs tonight. Celebration sex is almost as good as shower sex, I hear.”

“You seem pretty confident that I’m gonna get it, Steve,” you say, tipping your chin up so that you can blend your foundation down to your neck. “Aren’t you being a little presumptuous?”

“I know you’re gonna get it,” Steve says simply, turning to the dresser to yank open a drawer. You’re treated to a view of his bare ass in the mirror. “You’re my best girl, I know you can do it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I have faith in you  too,” Bucky says, from under the blankets. “You’re gonna crush it, sweetie, I know you will.”

“‘’Sides,” Steve continues, pulling out a pair of navy boxer briefs. “I’m always right about these kinda things. I got good instinct.”

Bucky snorts, rolling over to squint his eyes at Steve accusingly. “What lies,” he says, “That’s bullshit, Rogers. Instinct tells you to jump off planes without a para—,”

“I swear to fucking god, Bucky, that was one time,” Steve growls.

“One time too many,” Bucky retorts. As Steve shakes his head disbelievingly, Bucky swivels his head to look at you, catching your gaze in the reflection. “He come inside you, honey?” he asks.

You blink, hands stilling in surprise. “Uh…yeah…?” you answer hesitantly, “Why d’you ask?”

“Steve’s spunk is good luck,” Bucky says seriously. You mouth falls open in shock as Steve seemingly chokes on his own spit.

“Why do you say that?” you ask, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Because this one time he fucked me, like…ten minutes before I left for that mission in Rio, and I swear, that mission? One of the best I’ve ever been on — in and out without a hitch, two hours ahead of schedule, not a single cut or bruise on me. It was brilliant!” he cries, eyes going dreamy at the memory.

“Well,” you remark dryly, fighting the smile that is threatening to creep onto your lips, “That’s encouraging. Thanks, Stevie.”

“Don’t mention it,” Steve sputters.

“I definitely wouldn’t mention it during your meeting,” Bucky agrees.

“Bucky,” Steve says hoarsely. You watch him in the mirror, noting the way he’s white-knuckling the top of the dressers, briefs forgotten about and on the floor. He’s staring at Bucky eyes with wide, shocked eyes, but his pupils having darkened, just a little. “Are you—saying that I should fuck you before every mission?” he asks weakly.

“Nah,” Bucky says rolling over so that his back is to Steve again. “Don’t wanna abuse it or jinx it, y’know?”

“Of course,” Steve mutters, running his fingers through his damp hair and making the front part stick up straight. He looks like a startled cockatoo.

“But,” Bucky adds, shooting Steve a look from over his shoulder, “You could fuck me now. This stiffy ain’t going away by itself, Rogers.”

Steve stills, levels Bucky with a curious gaze. Then, slowly, his lips curl into a seductive smile. “Aw, Buck,” Steve purrs, sauntering over to the bed and leaning one knee onto it, “Hearin’ me and Y/N goin’ at it got you worked up, huh?”

A shiver runs down your back when you hear Steve’s voice, hear how it has gone low and husky, the way it does when he’s aroused. You chance a glance at the large mirror built into your dresser and see that — yep, Steve’s cock is definitely beginning to perk up in interest. Damn super-soldiers and their non-existent refractory periods.

“Damn right it did,” Bucky grumbles, though there’s no heat to his tone — well, not the angry kind, anyway. “You gonna help me take care of that situation?”

“I got a few potential solutions in mind,” Steve replies, putting his other leg on the bed and knee-walking towards Bucky

You sigh heavily and set down your makeup brush, giving the boys’ reflections an unamused glare. “Darlings, could you at least wait until I’ve left the house before you start going at it?”

“Mmm no,” Bucky says decisively, turning his head towards Steve so that the latter can plant a kiss on his lips. “Go get ready in the kitchen, or something.”

With an exaggerated huff, you gather up your makeup bag, pick up the hanger that is holding your outfit for today and stalk across the bedroom. “Fine then!” you grumble, “Have fun, boys.”

“Good luck, sweetheart!” Steve calls over his shoulder.

“Slay those motherfuckers, honey!” Bucky adds, in his most encouraging tone. “And then come home quick so that I can slay your pussy.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, shaking your head in amusement as laughter tugs on your lips. You shut the door just as Bucky murmurs a heated I want you to fuck my ass, baby, against Steve’s lips. Oh, this day has most definitely started off in the best way possible.

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[captainmarvels]

our first submission, friends!

This was absolutely precious and i loved it so much 😭❤️

Everyday the sun comes up and every night it goes down again.

Word count: 955

This fic is for @sanjariti ‘s writing challenge… Enjoy guys! and thanks to @spideytrxsh (Maisy and Gabby) for helping me with the concept and fixing my grammar when I wrote it :) 

A sigh escaped your lips as Ana once again splashed you, this was her subtle way of telling you she wasn’t done with Bath time and that she wanted more time. With Tom being due home any minute, you decided to let her have this extended bath time because her Daddy would be home to read her a bedtime story. Making your way back to the lounge room, you sat in your arm chair absently rubbing the small bump forming as you watched the TV but listened out for a cab pulling up.

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