#malteses
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Safe - Anna Calleja , 2020.
Maltese , b. 1997 -
Oil on panel , 30 x 40 in.
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Dropping your branding for a boy is crazy imo
Silly lil comic inspired by this tweet
#amazingphil#danisnotonfire#dan and phil#phan#daniel howell#phil lester#phanart#maltesers#bro I can’t even get a text back what chu mean they share allergies
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Leverage 2x15 - "The Maltese Falcon Job"
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What a difference 50 years makes juxtaposition of Lamborghini Bravo, 1974 & Lamborghini Bravo Marcello, 2024. The original Bravo was designed by Marcello Gandini (1938-2024) when he was head of design at Bertone. It was a proposal for a 2-seat entry-level Lamborghini to sit below the 2+2 Urraco. Independent designer Marco Maltese has updated the styling in tribute to Gandini who passed away earlier this year. His proposal would be based on the Aventador using that car's V12 engine
Marco Maltese on instagram
#Lamborghini#Lamborghini Bravo#concept#design study#prototype#1974#Marcello Gandini#mid-engine#tribute car#Marco Maltese#Bertone#what a difference#50 years
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Some of the references in Murders at Karlov Manor! There's probably more that I'm missing, this set is chock full of everything from murder mystery to noir.
#mtg#magic the gathering#mkm#murders at karlov manor#yu yu hakusho#columbo#scooby doo#the maltese falcon#the long goodbye
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if a host isnt obsessed with the random contestant whats the point
#bfb#tpot#4x#x#four#clock#two#i NEED you all to know the original tpot image in the clock shrine is based off the 'me and my maltese boyfriend' image
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curl up & die (i am unwell)
#the song of achilles#tsoa#patrochilles#tsoa achilles#tsoa patroclus#inspired by the titular song from the one and only matt maltese#also inspired by the tumblr post pointing out that patroclus ALWAYS belittle himself and borderline worshipping achilles#i've been deluluing them to this song since forever let me get this out of my system 😭
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on irreversable love
Song Credits: Die Alone, FINNEAS // Graceland Too, Phoebe Bridgers // ur so pretty, wasia project // Kaleidescope, Chappell Roan // My Love Mine All Mine, Mitski // Sofia, Clairo // j's lullaby (darlin' i'd wait for you), Delaney Bailey // Pancakes for Dinner, Lizzy Mcalpine // Everyone Adores You, Matt Maltese // Birds of a Feather, Billie Eilish // So American, Olivia Rodrigo // Glue Song, Beabadoobee feat. Clairo // Halley's Comet, Billie Eilish
Painting Credits: unknown // unknown // Red Almond Blossom by Vincent Van Gogh // unknown // Crested Butte Sunflowers by Laura Reilly // unknown // Rural Landscape by William Kay Blacklock // unknown // The Seine at Argenteuil by Claude Monet // Thrift, Priest's Cove, Cornwall by Mark Preston // unknown // unknown // unknown, John Singer Sargent
if you have any of the names of the paintings, please dm me or send me an ask!!
#luc posts#aesthetic#webweaving#web weave#web weaving#aesthetics#moodboard#finneas#phoebe bridgers#wasia project#mitski#chappell roan#delaney bailey#beabadoobee#billie eilish#lizzy mcalpine#olivia rodrigo#matt maltese#clairo#vincent van gogh#claude monet#if yall let this flop i'll cry#painting#songs#lyrics#music#art
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does anyone else feel music so deeply in their soul that half their life revolves around it and it’s the only thing that can truly save you in your darkest moments?
or am i just weird
#hozier#cavetown#girl in red#mainly hozier i’m a bit obsessed rn#queen#cage the elephant#the smiths#abba#sir chloe#florence + the machine#matt maltese#paris paloma#mitski#the front bottoms#the velvet underground#simon and garfunkel#conan gray#harry styles#peach pit#music#and loads more
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A Maltese Miku???? yea. Here ya go.
#hatsune miku#miku#international miku#every country's miku#challenge#art challenge#maltese#maltafoxart#based on that international themed miku trend#im maltese and couldnt find one based on Malta so I took the initiative
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Embrace - Anna Calleja , 2022.
Maltese , b. 1997 -
Oil on panel , 20 x 25 in.
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Happy Birthday to the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote, who began their great chase 75 years ago, when “Fast and Furry-ous” was released into theaters September 17th, 1949. This short was directed by Chuck Jones and written by Mike Maltese, who would go on to create many more adventures for the pair.
#Spike Brandt#Chuck Jones#Michael Maltese#Paul Julian#Maurice Noble#Robert Gribbroek#Robert Alvarado#Carl Stalling#Looney Tunes#Merrie Melodies#Fast and Furryous#Wile E Coyote#Road Runner#super genius#predator#prey#meep meep#beep beep#birthday#anniversary
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Maltese puppy life
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Nate: "You want to walk away? Walk away."
Eliot: "'M not walking away. That's not my job, my job is to get your back, and Nate, I'm gonna do it, all the way down. But I need you to do your job."
Nate: "And what's that?"
Parker: "Be Nathan Ford! ... Be the person we came back for."
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There is... so much going on in this scene, my gosh. (For context, it's The Maltese Falcon Job, about six minutes in when they're re-evaluating the situation and Eliot calls Nate out for going off the rails.)
First off, the way Eliot completely tosses Nate's perception of what's going on here. Because up to this point, Nate has seen himself as "running a crew." Team-mates, yes, but no real loyalty or bond beyond the next job. He runs a tight ship and if anyone has problems with it, they can leave. (It doesn't matter if he cares about them, all they care about is the next job, helping people yes--he's infected them with morals--but still, it's just a job to them.) They exercise their skills, Nate wrangles them into helping people. And yes, Nate knew that Eliot's role on the team was to protect them, make sure they make it out of here alive, but he didn't see that as actual loyalty, just--again--as far as the next paycheck. He still felt that anyone could walk away at any time. After all, they disbanded after that first year, and Sophie certainly walked away.
And then Eliot reframes it completely. He literally says "My job is to have your back." Which yes, means physically, but generally when we use it, it means loyalty. It means providing weight and aid to a situation to turn the tide. Eliot literally sees his job as being the counterweight to the family: his presence turns the tide of situations in their favor, and that's not something he walks away from. Like Nate said in the previous episode, they don't always win, but they never quit. And Eliot is not the exception to that rule.
But he needs Nate to get his head back in the game, because if Nate starts doing this for ego, the team is lost. He will back a loosing play if Nate wants him to, Eliot is every bit of the boy on the burning deck when it comes to these people he loves, but when Nate's got his priorities straight it means they win. Not unscathed, but they do win.
And then Parker--"you weigh me down you kill me" Parker--does the unthinkable (from Nate's point of view) and backs Eliot. She knows exactly what Eliot's saying because it's what they're all feeling. And her being the one to put it into words is what tips Nate. Because of all the team, Parker is the one least likely to want to stay and most likely to be able to make it on her own. And if she's the one reminding him why they started again, being the moral compass, then that means that Nate's gone way off the rails.
When Nate looks at her after she says this, he's realizing all this and being reminded of when they all first met up in Boston again. He's remembering the realization he had when Eliot was shot and for that half a minute Nate was convinced that infecting these people with morals had killed one of them. And once again he realizes that they will follow him into hell, burn themselves alive--for him--and it will all be his fault. And so yes. He does need his head back in the game. Because these people love him, and he loves them. And if he's not doing this for the right reasons and they die, they will have died as martyrs to his ego and not to a righteous cause.
And so Nate pulls himself together, assures them he remembers they're doing it for Bonnano. And then when the pinch point comes, he throws them out of hell and burns himself for them instead. Because in doing so he can finally admit that they are just as precious to him as he is to all of them.
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everybody adores you, at least i do.
⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺
based on “everybody adores you (quiet)” by matt maltese :)
ship: bucky barnes x reader
word count: 3.9k
authors note: i wrote this after listening to ^^^ on repeat, god i love matt maltese. there are scenes of alcohol intake, a panic attack and brief self harm. please dni if these topics bother, trigger, or make you uncomfortable. this was a pretty long drabble, hope you enjoy :D
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you can act all shy, but you know that i want you.
you aren’t one for flattery, that much was obvious. every time bucky took the time to compliment you, he knew what your next words would be. like clockwork, you would turn red, look away, and sheepishly mutter, “thanks”. you fiddled with your hands, and quickly changed the subject. how desperately he wanted to hold your hands, and kiss them. for years, he pined over you, and you’ve always been almost at his grasp. these past couple of weeks though, it seemed to hit you, that he wanted you.
in the dead of night, i want to live with you.
it all started three years ago, after everyone came back from the blip. people were everywhere, and it seemed that all the noise that lacked from the world came back in an instant. after realizing what happened to you, your environment and your home, you couldn’t help but laugh. how comical, that it seemed like nothing changed. your family hadn’t contacted you, well, the distant family that you still had. you walked to a bar in the hazy hours of the night, and met him. some guys were bothering him about his glove, but he seemed unaffected. he just stared ahead, and drank his whiskey. you devised a plan, to distract the assholes and to maybe introduce yourself. you didn���t want to seem like you were trying to pick him up, but you were trying to make friends in this new world. you asked the bartender quietly to escort the two loud drunks out, and sat down next to him. you didn’t think you’d get this far, so you were at a loss on what to say. did people still talked the same five years later? of course they did, but how do you navigate yourself into talking? your thoughts piled up, and they kept piling up, until his gruff voice interrupted them.
“thanks.” he grumbled quietly.
“hm?” you didn’t catch what he said, as you were too distracted. he cleared his throat.
“i said thanks. for the, yeah.” he pointed to the two men outside. he wasn’t much for words, you realized. you sighed in relief and nodded.
“yeah, dont sweat it.”
he offered to walk you home, as a sign of gratitude. it amused you both that you lived in the same building. small world. you invited him inside, but he hesitated.
“we can take a rain check, if you’d like. ill write you my number.” you assured him, and walked inside to grab a post it. what were you doing? giving a stranger your number? you put those thoughts to rest as you wrote your number.
he awkwardly waited at the half open door. he was glad to have made a…friend? he didn’t know what to call you yet, but he was sure to catalogue you at the back of his mind to let his witch of a therapist know. over the next couple of weeks, you had began to know him better. he had a cat, alpine. he had a past that he wasn’t open to sharing. his apartment was empty, almost ready to be left without a tenant at any moment. he froze at your touch, so you made a mental note to not do that. what a strange person. you knew he disappeared during the blip as well, but you felt as if he had lost more than five years.
so terrified of the road that takes you, me too.
a year had passed for your friendship. you came to his apartment, unexpected, and brought two little cupcakes with candles on them.
“what’s this?” he asked, a little embarrassed to be touched by such a small little gesture.
“its our friendship anniversary, goofy.”
“do we sing happy birthday, or what?” you paused. you weren’t sure, you didn’t really think of singing.
“um, we can have toasts if you’d prefer that. yes, toasts! ill get the glasses.” you sprung to your feet and gracefully navigated yourself in his small kitchen. you had spruced up his place a little, buying him hand towels, candles, and little trinkets that make a house a home, or rather, an apartment into a cozier place to live. you brought the two flutes, and filled them with champagne. he frowned.
“that is definitely not mine.”
“i brought it to celebrate, we need something fancy.” he rolled his eyes, but went along to your little celebration. he sat on his couch and observed you placing the cupcakes on the coffee table, and as you passed him his glass.
“ill go first. um…” you didn’t want to admit that you had started liking him, so you decided to say general statements.
“i hadn’t had a friend since, high school? maybe…so thank you for letting me be yours. err, friend, that is. to many more.” you clinked your glass with his, and motioned for him to go next.
“my last friend died a year ago. you haven’t died yet, so cheers to that.” he said dryly, with a little smile on his face. he thought he was so funny. he clinked his glass with yours, and drank the liquid. you rolled your eyes and mirrored him.
you started watching a movie with him, but you weren’t really paying attention. he started to accept your touch more and more, and you watched the movie with your head leaning on his shoulder. he leaned his head on yours, and tried his best to not move, so as to not bother you. the second act of the movie was commencing, and he had something on his mind. he had to fess up eventually about who he is- who he was, that is. someone he no longer was, someone he despised so vehemently.
“doll?” he tested the waters. he started calling you that, a reminder of how much of a casanova he was when he was in high school. you protested but eventually let him continue calling you that, as it was more effort telling him to stop than you cared to give.
“mm?” you hummed softly, half asleep.
“i wasn’t joking about my toast.”
“i didn’t think you were. you don’t have to talk about it if you don-“
“i want to talk about it.”
you paused. this was rare. you didn’t know what to think, so you gave him the space to talk.
“there’s a reason i’m always wearing this glove, you know.”
“yeah, circulation problems.” you joked, but he didn’t laugh.
“doll, i was born in 1917.”
“…” you sat up. “what? james, you’re not being funny right now.”
he continued tentatively.
“my name is james buchanan barnes and i was born in march 10, 1917.” he recited as if giving a memorized speech, his monotone words hitting you, syllable by syllable.
“i was forced to be the winter soldier, and i was framed for the U.N bombing.” your facial expression must’ve hinted that you put the pieces together, and he stopped.
“and, yeah. i have a metal arm.” he added almost rushed, he wanted to explain that part as well. he gave you space to fully digest everything.
“so…your friend that died was…” he nodded.
“steve rogers.” he finished for you.
“wow.” you didn’t know what to say, you just sat there. everything made so much sense now, why he always wore a glove, why he never had any pictures of friends or family, nothing. suddenly, you smiled.
“doll?” he looked confused. your best friend admitted to lying about his identity to your face for a year, and you’re…smiling?
“the first friend i made in ten years is someone who’s older than me by eighty years.” you giggled.
“i don’t- you’re not mad?” his brain short circuited. you’re not responding the way he thought you would’ve. you shook your head.
“i mean, what kind of friend am i for you not to be able to trust me with that? yeah, im a little blindsided, but i understand. i still see you as my friend.”
he didn’t know what to do. tears threatened to fall.
“pay attention to this part, its my favorite.” you leaned back to your original position, as if nothing happened. you offered your hand, and he took it.
don't modify, every one adores you, at least i do.
“dont look at me like that.” you said, a little tipsy. you had been friends with him for two years now, and you had invited him over to your apartment, for new year’s. you both didn’t really have any plans, or friends, for that matter. of course, he had sam, but sam was with his sister for the new year. he had barged into your apartment with a six case of beer on him, and two little paper hats saying, “happy new year!”. how adorable. you weren’t dressed up, gracing yourself with an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. you sat on the couch with your legs on his lap, his flesh hand holding his beer and his metal hand holding you. he traced small circles on your calves, which felt really intimate. you’re grateful he used his metal hand, because you weren’t sure what you would’ve done if he used his skin to tease you so.
“like what?” he asked. his tone was quiet, his eyes searching for permission in yours. permission for what?
“like you want to kiss me.”
“and what if i do?” there it was. you didn’t want to ruin any friendship you still had left after he threw that bombshell. you paused and looked away. you took another sip of your beer.
“i’m afraid i’ll have to decline your advances.” you quietly said. its not that you didn’t love him, but it all felt so wrong. the only reason he wanted to kiss you was because it was the new year, and that stupid fucking tradition.
“you know i could get lost in those eyes. i’d trip over my words trying to find my way back.” he admitted. he really did love you. god, he loved you.
“if you keep looking at me like that, i might think that you have a crush on me.” you teased, face red. from the intimacy or from the alcohol? you weren’t sure, maybe it was both.
“and what if i did?”
“bucky…” you sighed. you sat up and moved your legs away from him.
“i mean it. would that be such a crime?” he leaned his body towards you. you noticed that his cheeks had their own hue of red, and his eyes felt unsure.
“bucky.” you cut him off. you didn’t know what to say. its not like you could say, “i dont want you to kiss me for new year’s, because i want you to kiss me for real.” you didn’t know what to say, so you just shook your head slightly. he nodded, stood up, and gave you a kiss on the cheek.
“i understand.” he whispered into your ear. you bit your lip, this was the friendliest he had ever been towards you, and you only wished for more. he smiled softly and said,
“happy new year, y/n.”
right where the black wood sighs, i look at you, through and through.
your birthday was coming up, and he decided to surprise you. he researched thoroughly about forests located next to you, and found the one. things had been a little rough post new year’s eve, but your connection through knowing who he was kept the friendship close. you soon were back to your old self, but remained a bit guarded.
your birthday was today. you hadn’t received any messages from him, so you felt a bit let down. you sighed throughout the day as you kept checking. suddenly, around 2 in the afternoon, he knocked on your door with a basket in hand, and flowers in the other.
“happy birthday, doll.”
it’s safe to say that you spent the rest of your day very content, and impressed at the picnic he had organized.
right where your father died I'll hold on to your hand.
you don’t remember much from your father, other than the fact that he died early in your youth. you detested seeing children with both their parents with them, even as an adult. you felt jealous, angry at your father for dying. you knew it wasn’t your fault, but still. you occasionally visited his grave, and the place where he passed on. it was a rainy day, the day he went with you. you asked him to go, as you weren’t feeling so well. he obliged.
the downpour matched the dreary mood, and as you stood near the bench he died on, a bench he felt was familiar. he started to panic, thinking that somehow he was the one responsible for the death of your father, wondering if you taking him here was some sort of ploy to avenge your father.
“he got caught in the crossfire of a crime.” you admitted. “police were chasing this guy, and he meant to shoot the…” you trailed off. he knew what you were trying to say and he nodded. he sighed, partly from the mood and partly from relief that he wasn’t the one that took him from you. you took his hand and held it. he squeezed your hand, and rubbed circles on your knuckles.
“thank you.” what an odd thing for him to say to you, but you knew that he meant for taking him to a place so sacred to you.
“now we’re even.” you smiled at him. no more secrets about the past.
so terrified of the road that takes you, me too.
panic attacks didn’t hit him often. it was around two weeks since his last one, and it wasn’t something he wasn’t thinking of at the time, until now.
he spent so much time at your place, so much in fact, that some of his mail correspondence was sent to your place by the mailman. how silly. he was over for some random dinner, and conversed with you as you cooked. you were making spicy chicken alfredo, or something along those lines. he didn’t really pay attention, he only focused on you. he noticed how fluid you were in the kitchen, as if you were dancing. when he thought you were going to run into a cabinet, you moved away just in time. wether that be for your reflexes or by chance, he wasn’t sure. he had shared with you a couple vinyls, a way of sharing his past with you. he hummed along to the smooth voice of ella fitzgerald, until you interrupted the noise with a yelp of pain. he turned to you, and noticed you had cut your finger with the knife, which confirmed to him that in fact, the reason you didn’t run into cabinets was by chance, maybe some guardian angel working overtime. he kissed your finger, and walked to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. everything was going so well, too. its just a small setback. until, he came back.
you looked to be covered in blood everywhere, with a heavy concentration on your torso. there was a gunshot in your stomach area, and you hunched over the cabinet for support. at least, that is what he saw. in reality, you leaned on the cabinet, waiting for him. his heart dropped and his eyes scanned you so worriedly. he ran to you, inspected your arms, your eyes, your neck, your stomach. your confused expression felt almost like daggers at him, and he started hyperventilating. he felt hands all around him, suffocating him. he knelt to the ground, gasping for air. his hair started clinging to his forehead, his clothes suddenly felt too tight, the air felt too hot, his metal arm too familiar. did he do this? he kept thinking. he heard a voice, his voice, but different. it was him.
“of course you did this.” he said, full of poison. tears fell down his eyes, and they kept falling, even when he shut them so tightly. he clawed at his metal arm, at his reminder of who he was.
you tried your best to make him realize that you were there, and in fact, not dead. no matter your volume, he couldn’t hear you. he was rocking back and forth, and you kneeled to his eyeline.
“bucky?” you kept saying. you kept repeating, kept trying to open his eyes, move his hand from hurting his shoulder. soon, your hands were stained with the blood drawn from where metal met skin. you sat with him, and listened to his cries. you didn’t know what to do, he hadn’t discussed panic attacks with you, so you weren’t sure if you could hold him or not. you decided to take a risk and rub his back, and lean your head on top of his. a few minutes were spent like that, his quiet sobs filling the apartment. eventually, he calmed down enough to the point of hugging you, and whispered “i’m sorry”. that’s all he said, and he kept saying it. his face was nuzzled into your neck, and he kept saying that. your hands held him tightly, your own tears falling as well. he stopped hurting himself, but seeing him in this state broke your heart. you knew why seeing you bleeding affected him so badly. he didn’t often tell you of all the people he killed, but when he did, he was always filled with immense grief. you’d always remind him that it wasn’t really him, and that he didn’t have body autonomy. those words, although comforting, felt like a lie. he was scared you believed differently, thought of him differently. your words and your touch remained the same, though. after his panic subsided, you led him to the sink, and washed his hands. you cleaned his wounds, and wrapped them with gauze. you asked him to stay at your place, and he accepted. you set his bed, and gave him some spare clothing you had. he sat down next to you, and watched you lay down, before looking at you. his blue eyes looked into yours, asking for permission. you held your arms up, and he instantly moved. he laid on top of you, almost tentatively. you ran your fingers through his hair, and he adjusted himself on top of you, holding your waist. no words were exchanged.
you two never spoke of that moment.
don’t modify, every one adores you, at least i do.
three years had passed since you first crossed paths, and he wanted to be the one to initiate the celebration. he didn’t know how surprise you, you two had already done a lot of things. picnics, dinners, sleepovers. he realized he needed to buy a gift. what should he get you? you already had enough jewelry, you always went thrift shopping with him, and you seemed pretty content with everything you had. it clicked in his mind. he got you a photo album for your pictures, and a star projector, showing how the stars looked like on the day you first met. he felt nervous, he hadn’t felt this close to someone in a while, and he was scared to ruin it.
you spent the anniversary gushing over your gift, and kept complimenting him throughout that night. his fears for being a bad friend were eased.
everybody has you up on their wall sometimes.
he wasn’t one for photography. his walls were bare, aside from the decorations you bought for him. you, however, loved your polaroid camera. you took pictures of anything you deemed important, like meeting someone with a similar outfit to yours, a cat you saw on the street, and him. you deemed him important, and he had to pretend like that wasn’t the biggest compliment ever. he had to pretend that every time you snapped a picture of him, he wasn’t blushing so hard, and how he loved being your muse. he started putting more effort into his appearance, so you would take more pictures. you noticed, of course you noticed. you had to keep a solid stream of film. one day, he held your camera. he often wondered how you saw the world, and seeing the little window in the polaroid camera made him smile. you were comically posing in the couch, giggling with every new pose. he clicked away, happily. he then sheepishly asked for a serious picture, for his new collection. well, your picture would be the first in the collection. how fitting, that you would be the one to star in the little joy you shared with him. your face flushed a bit as you sat up and smiled softly at him. he swallowed his nervousness, and took the picture. as he let it develop, he walked away, leaning on the wall. he didn’t want to let you see how red he was. you didn’t know if you were friends or not. of course, you were friends, but you weren’t sure if you were more. you walked to where he was, took the picture from him and placed it on a side table. you grabbed the camera from his hand, and tossed it lightly to your couch. you looked at his lips, his eyes, his scars. you lifted your hand and traced his eyebrows, his nose, his chin, his jawline. his eyes fluttered shut, as he grabbed your hand and kissed it. he pulled you closer, as if you were the air he so desperately needed to breathe, as if you were the water in the middle of the desert. he held you so gently, leaning you against the wall. he leaned his lips towards yours, but didn’t press forward. he just breathed deeply, breathing you in. you looked up at him.
“bucky?” you asked softly, as to not shatter the moment.
“please. you’re all i have ever wanted these three years. i’ve been…you’re…” he couldn’t find the words. he grew a little frustrated at his lack of ways to express himself.
“i love you. from the minute i knew you, from new year’s, every birthday, every anniversary. please, y/n. i need you, like i need air, like i need water, like i need…you.” his eyes looked into yours, waiting for a response in the almost deafening silence.
you leaned forward, kissed him, and were made his that night.
everybody thinks of you when they sleep at night.
he liked waking up next to you. he liked the way your hair ruffled up because of the pillow. he loved the way your eyelashes fluttered when you opened your eyes, and your sleepy smile greeted him.
“good morning, bucky.” you would say.
“dreams?” he’d reply. if you had any dreams, you’d go on in detail about them, and if not, you’d shrug and say,
“my subconscious took the night off.”
he’d tuck your hair behind your ear, and kiss you. how wonderful, that he was able to kiss you, show you how much you meant to him, make you his. how serendipitous, that the first words he ever said to you were “thank you.” fate knew. you knew.
when I say, "everybody", i'm actually referring to mе.
#bucky#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes hc#bucky barnes headcanon#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x gn!reader#bucky barnes x male reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x you#bucky headcanon#bucky x reader#bucky fanfic#james bucky buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#bucky x y/n#bucky x female reader#bucky x female yn#bucky x gn!reader#bucky x male reader#bucky barnes hurt/comfort#chiawrites🕯️#everybody adores you at least i do#matt maltese
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