#everyone pls appreciate tonys curls w me

[carlpalmer]

genesis performing the musical box on the midnight special, 1974

[mavengers]

Date Night

Okay so this isn’t the fic I’ve been writing but I whipped up this one to put out until I can finish the other one. This one’s just pure fluff (kinda leads into smut but not too far, you’ll see.) BUT THANK YOU. Obviously the past couple months have been difficult for me (just by reading Sleeping Bags, you can tell I was dealing with some pretty heavy stuff), but THANK YOU for not giving up on me and continuing to give my fics some love and send me some love. Your words do not fall on deaf ears, this one is for you guys, from the bottom of my heart. 

Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: pure fluff, the warnings will give the story away but I promise its nothing bad!!! Pls trust me!!!

Word count: 2.3k

April 6, 2017, 9:17 pm.

“Captain Rogers, is there anything I can help you with?” The officer asked politely, coming around the desk to stand next to him. Steve looked at you and Bucky, the two of you soaked and looking guilty as ever.

“Yeah, I’m here to bail these two idiots out.”

 *23 Hours Earlier*

April 5, 2017. 10:29 pm.

“Y/N, we’re stuck in a rut.” You stopped short as you walked from the kitchen and into the common room, your hands busy with two glasses of wine and balancing a bowl of popcorn between your teeth. Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he stood up, picking the popcorn bowl from your mouth as you pouted.

“What do you mean?” He placed the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table beside you and took the two wine glasses, putting those next to the food before pulling you down on the couch with him. You sat on his lap, waiting for him to elaborate.

“This is the eighth time we’ve ‘netflix-ed and chilled’ this month.” Your pout grew more prominent.

“I thought you loved cuddling and watching movies with me.”

“I do, but doll, I don’t think we’ve actually gone on a proper date since your cousin got married last August, and we hardly stayed after they handed out the cake.”

“What are you trying to say, Buck?” Your eyebrows raised up in question as you twisted in his lap to straddle him, looking up at him with doe-eyes. His hands slid up your thighs to settle loosely on your hips.

“I’m just saying that maybe we should actually go out; a night on the town. Just us.” You lifted your left eyebrow, pushing his hands off you and spinning in his lap to slide off. You grabbed both wine glasses as you turned back towards him to briefly press a kiss to his cheek.

“Alright, Sergeant. You can plan tomorrow night. Show me how you stole the ladies’ heart in the 1940s.” You walked off to bed, sipping at one of the glasses.

Bucky grinned to himself, knowing that tomorrow night, he was going to give you a night you surely would never forget.

The next morning, you woke up to the all-too-blinding sun warming up your exposed skin. Groaning, you turned over in bed, ready to bury yourself in your boyfriend’s side to stave off the morning. Except there was no warm, muscular body next to you. Only cold sheets and a pillow with a pink sticky-note on it. Sitting up in bed, you plucked the note from the pillow.

Rise and shine, gorgeous. Breakfast’s waiting in the kitchen.

-Bucky

You hated to admit it- because admitting it would mean Bucky was right- but your heart fluttered in your chest. Slipping out of bed and into a pair of navy blue sweatpants and a white tee, you wondered what his idea of “breakfast” would mean today.

To say you were stunned was an understatement. Laid out on the kitchen table, where the rest of your team was also eating breakfast from the huge buffet, were chocolate chip pancakes, a giant bowl of strawberries and cool-whip, a pot of coffee, applewood bacon, and eggs, sunny side up. “Morning, Y/N.” Steve said, taking a sip of his coffee. You took your seat next to him, almost cautiously.

“Morning, Steve,” you picked a pancake on to your plate and Nat poured you a cup of coffee, Wanda adding the cream and sugar. “Where’s Bucky?”

“Told us not to tell you.” Sam said, trying his best not to smile.

“Back in our day,” everyone at the table groaned upon hearing the dreaded phrase come from Steve, but he continued. “We didn’t see the girl until the night of the date.” You furrowed your brows.

“So he’s just going to hide around the compound all day until he takes me to dinner?” You jumped when hands came around to shield your eyes.

“I don’t have to hide because you’ll be out with Nat and Wanda all day.” You smiled brightly, trying to twist in your seat to follow his voice and kiss him. But his palms held your head in place until you were basically just doing torso twists on the bar stool. He pulled your head back until you could’ve been looking at the ceiling, and he placed a kiss on your forehead. “Enjoy breakfast, baby girl. I’ll see you soon.” His hands left your face but before you could turn to look at him for the first time today, Steve’s hand shot out to cover one eye, and Nat’s hand shot out to cover the other one.

After breakfast, you got dressed. You pulled on a pair of your favorite jeans, a black tank top, and slipped on a pair of vans. Nat and Wanda insisted that you didn’t do your makeup or your hair, so getting dressed was all you got the chance to do before a red glow was nearly pushing you out the front door of the compound. “Not fair, Wanda, maybe I had to pee.” You said, once you reached the parking lot where they were waiting for you in Sam’s jeep. She laughed as you climbed in.

“Buckle up,” Nat said from the driver’s seat, smirking. “You all know how I drive.”

The three of you nearly fell through the front door after hours of shopping. Each of you had at least eight bags from various stores at the mall. Wanda helped you pick out your outfit for your date- a short red wrap dress with a plunging neckline with a pair of classic tan heels. But Nat was the one to drag you into Victoria’s Secret. Originally, you had only planned to buy one set of lingerie. Originally.

That wasn’t the case when you couldn’t decide what you looked better in- the black, the white, the baby pink, or the royal blue.

Then the rest of your trip was spent at random stores that just seemed to call out to you.

Tony’s credit card took quite the hit, to say the least.

It was around 5 pm when you got home, which according to Steve, meant you had two hours to get ready.

And then that meant that you rushed to shave almost every hair that wasn’t on your head off your body while Nat and Wanda eagerly waited to help get you dressed and do your hair and makeup.

Once you were dressed in the dress, Wanda began curling your hair in big, relaxed, perfectly tousled curls, while Nat did your makeup. “Stop moving or I’ll get eyeliner in your eye.” She warned, but you couldn’t help it. You had been dating Bucky for almost two years now, and you’ve never felt this much pressure about a date. Things between the two of you had always been fairly relaxed. The dates that you guys had actually gone on had been trips to Wrigley Field for baseball games or dinner at a crowded pub a couple blocks over. And you’ve never let Bucky plan the whole date- you had no idea what was up his sleeve for tonight, but you had no choice but to relax when you were pushed to stand in front of a mirror.

How is it possible to look classy and downright hot at the same time?

“You’re gonna give the old man a heart attack, Y/N.” Clint said, as you stepped into the common room. And by stepped you mean that Natasha and Wanda had nearly thrown you down the stairs for everyone else to admire their handiwork. Sam whistled as he walked in a circle around you. Steve’s eyes were everywhere except you.

“Problem, Steven?” You asked, smirking. Steve finally looked at you, almost pouting.

“Yeah, I’m finally realizing I’m old. I can’t help but want to tell you to change.” You laughed loudly, Clint and Sam quietly joining in as they snickered from their spots against the wall. They all quieted down when footsteps took everyone’s attention to the stairs. It was as if the air had been sucked out of your lungs, you felt your heart stop.

Bucky was coming down the stairs, dressed in a dark blue suit with a black button up underneath. He hadn’t touched the stubble on his cheeks and upper lip that you adored, but his hair.

HIS.

HAIR.

It was shorter, and pushed back. It had just enough volume that it didn’t look completely slicked back, which you appreciated. You couldn’t even describe it. He just looked so sexy. And you had only seen him with this hair once before:

World War 2. The pictures that him and Steve had shown you. The pictures from the museum.

But never in a million years did you think you’d ever see it on him again. He smirked as he realized your mouth was parted open in a gasp and that you just couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He approached you, but you couldn’t move for the life of you. “Doll, you’re going to catch flies.” Taking his middle and ring finger, he lifted them to your chin, effectively putting your lips back together. He grasped your hand in his, walking towards the door with you trailing behind him. You quickly turned your head back to Wanda and Nat, giving them a look that silently told them that you were grateful for your purchases at Victoria’s Secret.

“Did you grab the car keys?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“You told me to plan the date based on how I dated in the 1940s.” He said, stopping and pulling you to him by your hips. You tipped your head up to him, relishing in the feeling of his hard chest pressing against yours.

“And that doesn’t include a car?” You asked as he gently pressed his lips to yours.

“Walking leaves more room for conversation.”

And so you did walk. You two walked to the restaurant, laughing and talking the whole way. He told you about life in the 1940s and how different dating back then was. When you asked him if he preferred dating back then than dating now, he told you no because dating now meant he got to be with you. He told you that despite anything Steve had told you about his dating experience back then, Steve knew how to flirt when he saw a girl he was interested in enough. Before you knew it, Bucky was holding the door open for you at the fanciest restaurant in New York.

You talked some more, laughed some more, and definitely drank maybe too much champagne over dinner, but honestly, you didn’t have a care in the world. It felt like you two were the only people in there. You were absolutely transfixed on Bucky and Bucky only.

And Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off you, nor did he want to. It was as if you had made everything else fade away into insignificance. All he wanted in that moment was for you to never lose that smile that only he could ever bring to your lips- the smile that reached your eyes and practically lit up the world around you. Your smile could move mountains, he was convinced.

You gasped as you stepped out of the restaurant, sputtering water out of your mouth. It was pouring. Bucky was next to come out of the restaurant, ready to ask why you were soaked when he stepped out of the protection of the awning. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. “So maybe a car was a good idea.” He said. You shook your head, smiling at him as you pushed some of his hair from his forehead. You grabbed his hand, and began the trek home. You loved the rain, and you loved tonight- maybe this wasn’t the perfect scenario to anyone else, but to you- you couldn’t have imagined a better one.

As you passed by nightclubs and bars down the avenue, you realized that instead of blaring loud, energetic music, they had slowed it down to music that you recognized Bucky had shown you. You stopped short and turned to Bucky.

“Dance with me.”

“Doll, its pouring rain. If I don’t get you home soon enough, you’ll catch a cold.”

“And have you take care of me? I don’t see a problem with that,” he smiled and yours got brighter, if that was even possible. “Please, Bucky.” You pouted at him and you watched giddily as he took his bottom lip between his teeth, giving in to you. You giggled as he lifted his arm and yours to spin you in his grip and dip you. Pulling you back up, he continued to dance slowly outside the bar with you, in the pouring rain, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. You bit your lip as he looked down at you, eyes full of adoration, and you couldn’t help but slide your hand up from his chest to the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours.

Once his lips were on yours, it was as if neither of you could stop yourselves. His hands slid down to your hips as he led the both of you into a nearby alleyway. His arms caged you in against the brick wall of a building and one of your legs slid up to wrap around the back of his knee, urging him closer to you until your body was touching his anywhere you could get the contact. His hands slid down from your hips until they reached your thigh, and he began urging your dress up around your waist as your hands went to his belt buckle. Right as things were about to escalate, a loud booming voice reminded you where you were and what you were about to do.

“Hey! You two!”

[tonystarktogo]

would you write anon-romantic fic where when tony is extremely and unusually nervous he starts to stutter? he always did it, since he was a child, but he rarely gets /so/ nervous that the stammer comes back. but then there's some kind of public thing and he gets incredibly nervous and starts to stutter, which only makes him more nervous. the avengers, who were in the audience as well, come to his rescue when they realize what's happening.

Of course I don’t mind! I decided to use an outside perspective for this one because I was in a bitchy mood and Clint demanded to be written. His solution to the problem is a /bit/ unconventional as well. Nevertheless, enjoy!

“This is gonna be a disaster!” Clint loudly proclaims as their driver opens the door of the limousine, a wide grin on his lips that says he plans to bullshit lots of important people and enjoy every second of it. 

Later Natasha will punch him twice. Once for jinxing them and once for grossly underestimating the situation.

As far as fundraisers go this one starts out surprisingly uneventful—especially considering the amount of trouble each of the guests of honour tends to attract individually, never mind as a group. Pepper Potts welcomes everyone without getting interrupted by an impromptu villainous attack even once—a pity, if Steve’s facial expression is anything to go by.

Out of all of them, Steve Rogers is definitely the one who appreciates these public outings the least. Too much of a soldier, too little of a politician, as Natasha tends to say, albeit lacking most of her usual air of frostiness. Clint can’t help but agree.

It’s a shame really because Steve has a way of speaking that reaches people’s hearts, makes them stand taller, makes them stand proud. It’s an ability that many a man would kill for, not that Clint would ever admit to being one of them. It’s also the sole reason Steve is the one doing the we’re-doing-our-best-to-save-the-world-please-don’t-be-too-pissed-if-we-obliterate-your-front-yard-in-the-process part of their official speech. Not only is Steve the only one capable of saying the entire thing with a straight face, he’s also the only one capable of making other people believe it.

And hey, Clint even manages to restrain himself from making an inappropriate dick joke for the sake of watching Steve blush on national TV. Not that anyone appreciates the sacrifices he makes, just to avoid getting on Pepper Pott’s bad side. Personally, Clint prefers Natasha’s wrath, at least with her he knows exactly what kind of violent end he’ll get.

It’s when it’s Stark’s turn to dazzle the crowd into giving him whatever he so desires that things start to fall apart.

Which is in itself unexpected because if there is one thing Stark can do whilst half-asleep and with a severe head-wound it’s playing a crowd. The man wields words like they are his sharpest weapons and dances verbal circles around opponents many years his senior. Stark is as much of a manipulator as Natasha, and it says a lot about Clint’s life that he considers that to be a compliment. Watching the man work a crowd is a thing of beauty.

Perhaps that’s the reason it takes them so long to realise something is wrong.

It’s a cheap excuse as far as explanations go because the truth is, when Clint really thinks about it, Stark’s been off for weeks now. Some of it is nobody’s fault, simply more stress and longer hours at Stark Industries because their stock value isn’t increasing the way it should. Then there’s been some tension in the team as well, thanks to the sporadic sightings of Steve’s way-ward BFF. Apparently the Captain is incapable of being rational where a certain Bucky Barnes is concerned, which really doesn’t help anyone at all. And finally they’ve had three bad missions in a row now, all of them involving too many civilian causalities, one of them nineteen dead children.

So yes, when Clint thinks about it, the pallor of Stark’s cheeks isn’t so surprising after all, nor is the faint tremor in his hands. The problem is, Clint doesn’t think. Not until Stark starts talking, his voice devoid of the energy and cutting edge that usually draws people in and keeps them on their toes simultaneously.

Clint’s head snaps up at the uncharacteristic lack of vibrancy from his friend, instinctively scanning the room for threats and coming up empty. He’s not called Hawkeye for nothing though, and it takes Clint but an additional second to spot the dark shadows under Stark’s eyes that even the professionally applied make-up doesn’t fully hide or the slight flittering of his eyes from one side to the other, a nervous habit he’s never seen Stark indulging in before. Especially not in such a public setting.

“Stark Industries will- will-,” Stark stocks, which finally draws the attention of the other team members as well because Tony Stark doesn’t stock. Clint watches his friend blink down at the stand before him, up at the crowd and down again. His eyes are empty in a way that deeply unsettles Clint, mirroring a confusion that goes deeper than simply having lost the point Stark’s been trying to make.

Stark clears his throat, visibly rattled as his eyes flick back and forth between indiscernible faces in the crowd. He looks increasingly like a mouse being cornered by a vicious predator. Clint’s gut clenches uncomfortably at the analogy.

“With the… the…” Stark’s voice, even enhanced through the microphone, is barely audible by now. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint sees Natasha expertly weaving through the crowd, focused in a way Clint usually associates with life-threatening missions that just got out of hand.

The guests are getting restless, clearly thrown-off by Stark’s unusual behaviour, and their rising murmurs aren’t helping Stark regain his self-control. If anything Clint notices the tremor in his hands worsening.

“W-we’re p-pl-planing to-“ Stark stutters, impossible wide eyes tracking his surroundings like they’ll swallow him up any second now. He looks less like a mouse and more like frightened rabbit now and Clint doesn’t know why, but somehow this is worse.

Clint is still more than twenty steps away but he can clearly see the panic in Stark’s eyes and knows with grim certainty that the man is so far passed calming down it’s not even funny. Clint also knows what he’s going to do next will either drive Stark into a full-blown panic attack or snap him the fuck out of whatever it is. He catches Natasha’s eyes over the heads of people too important to loose their trust in the Avengers, nods once.

Then Clint pulls a small handgun from its hiding place in his obnoxiously pink boots and fires. One bullet shatters the window furthest away from the mass of people, one destroys a lamp that probably costs more than Clint’s yearly salary and one just misses the tip of Stark’s left ear and hits the wall behind him instead.

Seven people get hurt in the resulting chaos, Clint’s headache from the screams not included, but with the worst injury being a fractured ankle Clint isn’t too bothered. Natasha has managed to smuggle a near catatonic Tony Stark out of the building unseen and Steve and Thor kept the mass panic from escalating, so all in all the impromptu rescue mission can be called successful.

Which means the two hour lecture from Fury is entirely undeserved, as far as Clint is concerned. But no, he’s been reckless. He’s knowingly risked the lives of important people that are currently running down Fury’s door, wanting answers the director can’t give because there is no super villain to take the fall for the mess.

“So make one up,” Clint shrugs unrepentant, predictably causing Fury to yell some more.

“It was necessary to protect the credibility of the team,” Clint says.

Stark catches me every single time I jump of a crumbling building and argues over Britney Spears’ greatest hits at four in the morning, is what he doesn’t say.

Barring a world-wide emergency, Clint is pulled off missions for five months, stuck on the most mind-numbing paperwork jobs Fury is capable of digging up. But when Clint finally arrives back at the tower it’s to find Stark on the couch, covered by a truly ridiculous amount of fluffy blankets Steve seems to keep on hand at all times, Natasha curled up around his feet, a deadly predator watching over him attentively, the smell of Bruce’s infamous hot chocolate heavy in the air, Clint can’t bring himself to regret a single thing.

He bodily throws himself over Stark instead, and ignores the sharp satisfaction that flares up when Stark, after a reflexive flinch, promptly melts into his half-hug, half-tackle. Natasha huffs but drapes one arm loosely around Clint’s calves and it says a lot about the team that Bruce doesn’t even blink when he enters the room, just asks Clint whether he prefers herbal tea or hot chocolate.

Stark doesn’t say a word for the rest of the night but when Clint insists on watching Tangled again, there’s a tiny smile on his lips and that’s a decent enough start.

I hope you enjoyed the team feels as much as I did! Thank you for this sweet prompt!