#wash and fold laundry Brooklyn

[octuscle]

Exchange Student: Brooklyn (NY)

Chuck was a simple country boy. He had graduated top of his class in agricultural mechanics—of course, he had. Giving your best was just the way things were. That’s what his parents had expected of him. And now, that’s what he expected of himself. He was giving his best. And now he had to give his best at the New York City College of Technology. Because he had a scholarship there.

His hometown had 684 people. More people lived on the block where his dorm was. Shit. He wasn’t built for the big city. Not at all.

His dorm room looked like the room of a guy who had never had to clean up after himself. Back home, his mom did the laundry. His mom cleaned. His mom picked up after him. And when she didn’t, his sister did. It wasn’t about patriarchy or anything (not that Chuck even knew that word)—that’s just how things were. Men didn’t clean, just like men took cold showers without body wash.

Chuck picked up a tank top from the floor and sniffed it. He’d worn it to the gym yesterday. Probably not for the first time. Good enough for today’s lectures.

By Friday, even his gym buddies had started complaining about how bad his clothes smelled. That meant there was no way around it—he had to do laundry. Somewhere between his dorm and Washington Hall Park, where he sometimes played ball with some guys, there was a laundromat on Myrtle Avenue that looked decent enough. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone.

So, he threw on the least smelly basketball jersey he could find, grabbed his gym bag stuffed with dirty laundry, and headed out. He stopped in front of the laundromat, took a deep breath. He was nervous. Rightfully so. The place was packed. Dozens of washers and dryers spinning. He had no idea what to do. And apparently, it showed.

“First time?” A guy asked him. Slim, buzz cut, tattoos, colorful outfit. Chuck knew guys like him. Art school types from across the street. Normally, Chuck would at best spit at their feet. But now? He needed help. And this guy seemed willing to give it.

“Dude, you’re a lifesaver, bro!” Chuck said, giving the guy a fist bump. The guy returned it, amused, and told him his machine would be done soon—Chuck could take it after.

Martin, as he introduced himself, walked Chuck through everything—how to separate his mess of gray-beige towels, bedsheets, socks, jockstraps, tank tops, tees, shorts, and jeans, where to get detergent, how to use the dryer afterward, and so on. Chuck’s head was spinning.

“Relax, big guy, it’s all on the wall,” Martin said, pointing to a board covered in instructions.

Damn. Maybe it would’ve been easier to just drive home and have his mom do it.

Once his machine was running, he thanked Martin, who was neatly folding his own laundry fresh from the dryer. Chuck had to get out of here. He needed to sweat, to prove he was a bro—not some laundry-doing wimp. According to Martin, he had 90 minutes.

When he got back, sweaty from shooting hoops, his washer was already beeping like crazy. He stuffed everything into a big dryer and let out a sigh of relief when the drum started spinning. Drying only took 25 minutes—just enough time to grab something quick to eat at the Chinese spot next door.

Back in his dorm, Chuck realized laundry wasn’t over yet. He had to make his bed, shove his clothes into his locker… Damn, getting the duvet cover on was torture. Definitely women’s work. Even the pillowcase was fighting back. Maybe because Martin’s tie-dye shirt was stuck inside. Not that Chuck noticed.

He didn’t care how the bed looked. He was wiped. He crashed onto the fresh sheets and was out almost instantly. And Martin’s shirt did its thing.

That night, Chuck dreamed in wild colors. If you could paint his dreams, they’d look like some psychedelic trip. He saw places he’d never been—Paris, Berlin, San Francisco—everything spinning in a massive vortex.

He woke up drenched in sweat. Half-asleep, he reached for his sketchbook. He had to capture this. He had to paint it tomorrow—big, bold, powerful. He stumbled into the bathroom, chugged a glass of water, and caught his reflection in the mirror.

Shit. He looked awful. He needed more sleep.

If you wanted to piss him off, you called him “Chuck.” There was nothing Charles hated more than hillbillies butchering the beautiful name Charles. He was Charles—pronounced the French way, please. Yeah, maybe that was a bit ridiculous for a guy born and raised in Chicago, but ever since his semester abroad in Paris, he stuck with it.

According to his professors, Charles was an insanely talented young man. He had proved his artistic skill on his own body—most of his tattoos were his own work. A bunch of his classmates were walking around with his ink, too. That alone had made him a bit of a legend at Pratt Institute. But what really stirred things up was his latest series of large-scale, vibrant paintings—whirlpools of color with subtle critiques of toxic masculinity, as he put it.

Not that Charles had much of that in him. Unless you saw him playing basketball in the little park around the corner. There, he took no prisoners.

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[tonystarksfavoritedaughter]

Crazy Rich Avengers

Chapter 1:

Summary: You and Peter have been dating for a little over 6 months and have not yet met the Avengers. You were getting curious as to when you would meet them, until you get an invitation from Tony Stark himself, inviting you and Peter to Wanda and Vision’s wedding in Hawaii over Spring Break. You thought that it would be nice to go and finally meet everyone, but what will you think after you’ve been tested by the team?

*Based on the movie Crazy Rich Asians, each chapter will be a different scene from the movie. There will be 15 chapters. Also includes a GIF from the movie scene at the beginning of each chapter.

A/N: I’ve had this series planned for a little while now, and I just got this chapter done and edited and I feel really good about it. I didn’t know if anyone would want to read this until I posted about it yesterday and got some really good feedback, so thank you all who liked it and asked to be on the taglist so much! This chapter is the first scene of the movie, just some things are switched up to fit Peter and the Avengers. Just note that this one is kind of short and nothing much really happens in this chapter since it is just the beginning, but hopefully the next one is a bit juicer. 

Warnings: swearing and fluff 

Word count: 2166

Chapter 1

“Okay class, make sure to email me those presentations by Monday. I don’t want to keep reminding you guys over Spring Break because I’ve still got a life outside being a professor.” The whole class laughs at your professor’s bluntness. It kind of reminds you of your friend from high school, who would always spoke her truth, even when no one asked for it. You packed your things and waited for a clear space to exit your row. Who knew so many kids would be in a business class? Not you apparently. You were a culinary student at the Institute of Culinary Education or ICE for short. Your dream was to become a baker and own your bakery, hence the business class. This was your last class of the day, and you couldn’t wait to see your boyfriend. You two had been dating for a little over six months and it was the best six months you could ever ask for.

You exited out of the classroom, finally, and made your way towards the elevator. On the way down, you looked through your messages and saw that you had five new texts from Peter.

Peter: Hey babe! I’m out of my photography class now. (1:15)

Peter: Waiting by the couches (1:15)

Peter: I miss you (1:17)

Peter: I’m hungry. Let’s go to that pizza place for lunch. I really want some of their cannoli’s (1:20)

Peter: Y/NNN!!! WHERE ARE YOU??? (1:23)

The elevator stopped at the lobby and you walked over to Peter, who sprang out of his seat and practically ran over to you. He hugged with the force of what you assumed felt like ten tons just based on how tight he held you. You laughed at his clinginess and pushed him off of you.

“Dude my class ran like ten minutes late. What’s the matter with you?” you laugh.

He held your hand in his own and smiles at you. “Just missed you is all. Did you see my text about the cannoli’s?”

“Yeah I saw it.”

“And?” he asks hopefully.

“Aaaaaand what?” you played dumb just to see his cute pouty face.

“Can we get cannoli’s?”

“Yes, we can get a cannoli.”

“Ah! You’re the best! Cannoli’s!” he yells at an insane volume for someone who’s just walking down the street. This earns you both a weird look from the people on the sidewalk. You were about to kiss his cheek until he just took off down the street with your hand still in his. You guessed you never knew he liked cannoli’s so much. Maybe you should try out a recipe and make him some one day.

You get into the pizza restaurant and sit down across from each other and waited for the waiter to take your order. You order your drinks; Peter gets Diet Pepsi and you get a Sprite. Both of you talk about how your classes went and held each other’s hand while you talked.

“So, I’ve got to do this project for my class,” Peter began, “And my camera is at the Compound, so tomorrow I’ll be a little late getting home.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Oh! Speaking of which,” you slam your palms on the table, which makes Peter jump a little. “When am I going to meet them? I mean we’ve been dating for going on seven months now, and I still haven’t met them. And I know they know about me because I got a message from Nat telling me happy birthday two weeks ago.” You raise an eyebrow at him waiting for his answer.

“Speaking of said topic, that reminds me. We got invited to Wanda and Vision’s wedding. And it is next Friday in Hawaii, which is perfect because a) we don’t have classes because it’s Spring Break, and b) I know Hawaii is one of your bucket list places.”

Your jawed dropped for several reasons. One, it’s Wanda and Vision’s fucking wedding! You never met them, but from the way Peter talked about them, you could tell they were meant to be. You always thought that they were like what you and Peter had times one hundred.

“Are you serious? They’re having their wedding in Hawaii?”

“Yeah. They thought that since Mr. Stark – “

“What can I get you two today?” the waiter asked breathless. You didn’t even realize how busy they were.

You looked up at him, “I’ll have a slice of the cheese pizza please?”

“And I’ll have two slices of the meat lovers. And can I get three of your best cannoli’s please?” Peter smiled at the waiter as he wrote down your order.

“Alright that’ll be right out.” He walked away almost jogging to get your order in. Goodness they were slammed.

“As I was saying,” Peter continued. “Mr. Stark has one of those beach houses in Maui and so, they thought that it would be the perfect place for them to tie the knot.”

“Wow, so, we’re invited? Like we’re going to Maui and attending the wedding? And meeting everyone?” you asked now slightly worried.

“Yeah,” he drags out confused. “That’s what kind of what ‘You’re Invited’ means.”

“I know, it’s just…this will be the first time I’m meeting them and I always imagined it would be at a like Sunday dinner type of thing. Not a fucking Avengers wedding!”

“It’s okay, I know they’re gonna love you no matter what.”

You take a sip of your drink, “This is also works out for another reason because MJ has been asking us to come see her ever since she moved to Kahului.”

“All the more reason to go.”

You both get your food and Peter immediately starts on the cannoli’s that he’s been longing to eat and practically moans at the taste of them. You get the check and pay and tipped extra for your waiter, because they need to be paid way more than minimum wage. The two of you walk out and head home so you can spend the rest of the night together.

“So, when do we leave for Maui?” you ask, swinging your intertwined hands between the two of you.

“Umm, I believe on Saturday.”

Today was Thursday so that means that you only had tonight and tomorrow to pack for a whole entire week. “Shit! I have almost no clothes washed, are you kidding me?” you yell. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I just found out this morning!” he yelled back.

“Okay, well it’s a good thing tomorrow I don’t have classes because now I have to do laundry all damn day.” You reach your shared apartment and go to change clothes and you go straight to the laundry room, faster than Peter could imagine. All of your good, cute clothes had to be air dried and so that’s what you did first. After half hour of folding, and drying, and hanging up clothes non-stop, Peter came in wrapped his arms around you.

“Baby, you’ve been here for forever, come sit down with me,” he pleaded.

“I will once I have all the clothes done, but until then,” you pat his cheek. “I can’t.”

He sighs an ‘okay’ and plants a kiss on your cheek and walks away. About twenty minutes later you had gotten all the laundry done and went to join Peter on the couch. He was watching reruns of Brooklyn 99 which was one of your favorite shows. He put his arms out and made grabby hands and you leaned into his touch. You laid your head on his chest with the rest of your body sprawled out on the couch. He put his arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. You looked up and kissed his lips and sat up just a bit straighter. One of his hands went to the back of your neck and the other rubbed your thigh, and you relaxed even more into him. Your right hand carded through his hair and the other sat splayed on his peck, slightly gripping his shirt. You two stayed like this for what felt like hours, just basking in each other’s comfort. You pulled back to breathe and gave him one last kiss before going back to your original position, laying on him.

“What do you wanna watch?” He yawned.

“Well since your yawning and –“ you yawned this time. “And so am I, let’s just take a nap.”

He hummed in agreement and led you to your shared bedroom and he changed into just a pair of sweatpants. You laid down and he did shortly after. You turned, facing him as your chests were touching. You stared at him for quite a long time before you even realized that you were. His face scrunched up that was so cute you wanted to take a picture.

“What?”

“Nothing. You just look cute,” you said back.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Nope. I do,” he challenged.

“That’s impossible because I love you to Jupiter and back,” you kissed his nose, ultimately shutting it down because you were tired. School had kicked your ass this week and you hadn’t really had anytime to just lay with Peter. You scooted down a bit so, you could lay your head on his chest, your legs intertwined, as he held you against him so tight that nothing could slip in between you two.

The next morning you had woken up extra early to make some French toast for you and Peter. You got out the bread and butter and the rest of the ingredients and started cooking. Since you were the one who was in the culinary department, the silent agreement between you and Peter was that you would cook, and he would clean your mess. You tried to not make too much of a mess, because you weren’t that mean. After a couple more minutes you got breakfast done and at that exact moment you put the toast on the plate, Peter comes waddling out with his hair a mess. It was almost like it was scripted like a scene in a movie.

“I smelled French Toast,” he smiled.

“Mhm, I thought that I would be nice and cook breakfast for you this time.” You pecked his cheek and gave him the syrup.

“Eat up and get ready for a long day of packing suitcases, babe,” you winked at him.

“Oh boy.” You didn’t hear his sarcasm often, but when you did it always made you chuckle.

He went over to the couch and you followed setting up the coffee table and turning on Spongebob to watch as you ate. You turned towards him and smiled and received a kiss on the nose. Today was going to be a good day, you thought.

It was now four thirty in the evening and you and Peter were packing up all your belongings into your suitcases. “Okay so you need your swim trunks, flip flops, sunglasses, and what else?” You ask.

“Is that just for swimming?” You nodded. “Then yeah I think that’s it.” You went over to his drawer grabbing his trunks out along with your swimsuit. You had all your clothes spread out into separate piles consisting of swimwear, pajamas, nice shirts, casual shirts, and wedding attire. Peter grabbed all of his clothes and stuffed them into his suitcase and you did the same. After that you went to the bathroom to grab all extra stuff that consisted of teeth and hair products, and everything in that category. Peter went into the kitchen to the medicine and started to pack anything that might be needed for allergy’s and whatnot. You figured you would pack your purse of carry on items before you left tomorrow morning.

After two hours of packing and double checking, and once the bed was cleared, you flopped down face first and groaned. “I’m so exhausted,” you huffed.

“Aww, is my baby tired?” He asked this as he pressed feather-light kisses to your neck that always made you shudder.

“Yes,” you say as you awaited a kiss on the lips. He happily kisses you, slow and lovingly, and you feel like you could stay there for eternity. He pulls away for minute to catch his breath. “We should probably figure out what we want to do for dinner.”

“How ‘bout leftovers? There’s still some enchiladas or lemon pepper chicken in the fridge.”

“Ooooh, let’s do chicken.”

You get up from the bed to heat the chicken up in the oven. “Imma make some garlic cheesy rice too!” You shout from the kitchen.

“Sounds good, baby.”

You two make your dinner and eat in a comfortable silence, watching TV. You both decided to watch one more episode of Parks and Rec before calling it a night, and Peter figured it would be smart to go to bed early since you would both have a long day of checking flights and meeting the Avengers tomorrow; and that was tiring by itself.

Tag-List: @randomstufflol29​ @spideyspeaches​ @binnotjin​

[auro-ora]

Friend or Foe

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2,144

Summary: what happens when two enemies are stuck in quarantine together?

Warnings: enemies to friends, language, angst, quarantine problems, arguments. 

Notes: @jobean12-blog​ here we are babes, thank you for wanting to read this and sorry if this sucks. :c I haven’t written in over 3 years <3

There was no doubt about it that Bucky Barnes, your roommate, your enemy, your rival, your whatever else you wanted to label him as, was officially driving you to the point of insanity. It didn’t help that you were quarantined with the man in question since the beginning of March, three months. Three months of being locked in your spacious two-bedroom Brooklyn apartment with him. Neither of you were free to leave, neither of you were allowed to go to work, the compound was out of the question, your family lived in a different state, you had no choice but to stay here under this roof with him.

Some days, you believed he was doing most of his antics on purpose, such as leaving his dirty dishes in the sink for you to clean, leaving his dirty laundry on the floor in your shared bathroom, cooking his own food and leaving you to make your own food, playing his music too loudly, only one of you were allowed to go grocery shopping and he often went, forgetting to pick you things up even if you did ask him nicely. It was your worst nightmare and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time when the weather was starting to get warm, the heat causing more arguments between the two of you, which often ended with him screaming at you.

It wasn’t funny anymore, at first you would probably admit you loved to piss him off on purpose, but as the months passed, it was becoming upsetting. You wondered what you did at the beginning to make him dislike you so much, he was talkative when you first moved in, a steady foundation for a friendship but then it went downhill after day 5. Bucky wasn’t a man you could talk to, he wouldn’t listen and he would often ignore you and pretend you didn’t exist, and it was much easier for him to do that when he brought other girls home for the night. But you? Bucky made the rule when you first moved in that no other men were allowed in this apartment, which at the time you agreed to because it was his apartment and you were grateful to have found a room in Brooklyn.

You overheard him say to a friend just the other week how he wished some girl named Natasha was living here, which made you upset and since then, you have tried to avoid him as best as you could. You would use the shower when he was in his room listening to music, you would cook when he was in the shower and then you would sneak back to your room. It was like two strangers sharing a space, and you were sure roommates weren't supposed to act this way. You did try to find another apartment, but unknown to you at the time Bucky was the one sabotaging everything by contacting the person advertising the apartment and falsely warning them of your partying habits, which resulted in your viewings being canceled at the last minute. They never told you the reason why, you assumed they had found someone better suited, financially. Was Bucky proud of his actions? No, he wasn’t, but he didn’t want you to leave, he didn’t want to go through the hell of replacing you with someone else who he might really hate next time.

Today would be a good day, you were almost sure of it. The light from the sun created pretty patterns on your wall, you pulled yourself up from your bed and walked out into the living room, scoffing by the sight of your roommate sprawled across the couch with his arms spread out on the back of it. You mumbled a good morning, he ignored you as usual. You rolled your eyes and walked into the bathroom, making sure to slam the door a little harder than necessary.

“Stop slamming the fuckin’ doors!” he yelled from his spot. You could feel the anger building up inside of you. The frustration from having a complicated roommate and no means of fixing the already broken relationship. You peeled your pajamas off your body and turned the water on the shower to a comfortable temperature, pulling your hair tie off, your hair falling loosely over your shoulders. You step into the shower and sigh, making the most of your time here because this is the only time you get peace and quiet from Bucky. You lather up your loofah with your favorite shower gel and wash every inch of your body, at least twice. Then working on removing your body hair and finally, shampoo and a deep condition. Meanwhile on the couch, Bucky was scowling towards the bathroom door, the steam started to appear from under the door. He knew you were taking your sweet fucking time on purpose to avoid him, but 40 minutes to wash yourself? No, he was not having that. He stood quickly and walked to the bathroom door, surprised to find it unlocked. He saw your form behind the shower curtain, and swiftly yanked it to one side where you screeched, using your hands to cover your private parts.

“BUCKY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?” you yelled at him, but the jerk just stood there, his eyes trailing and you wanted to smack the smug grin off his stupid face. 

“Thought you drowned in ‘ere or something. What’s taking you so fuckin’ long to wash your damn body?” 

“GET! OUT!” you threw the soapy loofah at him which he easily batted away. 

“Hurry the fuck up!” Bucky spat.

Fearing Bucky would return sooner than later, you hurriedly washed the conditioner out of your hair and stepped out of the shower, wrapping the white fluffy towel securely around your body and stepping out into the living room once again. This time your pain-in-the-ass roommate was busy making himself breakfast. Your room was warm from the heat of the sun and you sat on the edge of your bed, staring longingly into the mirror opposite you. The towel pooled around your waist, you sighed and walked to your closet for some clothes, putting them on quickly just in case Bucky decided to walk in once again. You towel dried your hair, putting it up into a messy bun. You went back to the kitchen, this time to prepare some breakfast for yourself, only to find Bucky had left you no eggs or bacon and the bread was gone.

“You ate all the eggs?” you rubbed your temples, this couldn’t be happening. It was supposed to be a good day and it was already going to shit.

“I did.” came his nonchalant reply. “There’s no milk either.”

“Okay.” you sighed knowing he wasn’t going to be helpful. “Can I borrow a face mask and some latex gloves please?” you rubbed your temples with your fingertips and watched as your roommate leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his wide broad chest. 

“No.” he deadpanned, his tone and eyes were stone cold.

“I said please!” now your eyes were filling up with tears, and you were completely helpless, unable to go out to buy your food with protection, because if you went out without a mask and gloves, you risk catching the virus. 

Bucky steps in front of you, his large frame towering over you forcing you to crane your neck upwards. His breath fanning across your face as he spoke.

“Make me a list of items you need and I’ll go and get it.”

“Why? Each time I’ve asked in the past, you’ve always refused!” you shouted a little louder than you intended.

“Y/n, come on. Don’t be an asshole and make this difficult. Just write the fuckin’ list so I can go!”

“Not when you speak to me like that. Get out of my way, I’ll go my damn self!” you attempted to shove him but he didn’t even budge.

“You’re not goin’ out there, it’s too dangerous.” 

“I don’t know why you even care!” you yelled. Weeks of built-up anger and frustration all coming out.

“Because I care about you!” Bucky yelled back. And then there was silence, neither of you spoke a word, just staring and blinking at each other. He cared about you? Since when? Since when does ignoring someone, yelling at them and picking arguments count as caring about someone? 

“No you don’t.” a single tear rolled down your cheek, you nibbled on your lip, mulling over his words in your mind like a loop.

“I do, y/n. I was just scared… when you first moved in, I didn’t even think you’d like me as a friend, then I saw the way you looked at me like you were trying to figure me out and I panicked. I’m sorry.”

“All I wanted was to be your friend Bucky. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I know and I’m so sorry for everything I ever did and said to you, I’m an idiot and it wasn’t my intention to drag it out for as long as I did.”

“You really hurt me. All those times you screamed at me and made me feel like I was the problem, that you hated having me here and you made me feel like if I suddenly died, you’d throw a party!” you attempted to shove him again, but he stepped closer instead grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his chest.

“Don’t you EVER say that. I’d be lost without you honestly, because you’re so argumentative and you amuse me.” his heart thumped against your ear and you didn’t actually understand what was happening. One second you thought you two hated each other which turned out not to be true, you learned Bucky did care about you. You pulled back after a while, wiping your wet cheeks with your palms and a wet chuckle came out.

“I never wanted you to see me cry.” you admitted through some deep breaths.

“You’re still pretty. I really hope we can start again from the beginning, though I don’t expect you to forgive me right away.” he smiled sheepishly.

“It’ll take some time, you have been an asshole.”

“Alright, don’t sugarcoat it.” he teased

“No but seriously, we both have been pretty stupid, so yeah. During this quarantine, let’s work on a friendship.”

Later that day, Bucky kept his word and did your grocery shopping, picking up everything that was on your list and more. He bought some snacks and chips in hopes you’ll agree to watch a movie with him later, which you did. The pizza was taken out of the oven and the chilled beers were on the coffee table waiting to be cherished. You contemplated on lighting some candles, but didn’t want to give Bucky the wrong impression since you weren’t interested in a relationship (at this time). You went with the other options and switched the lights off entirely, the only light was from the TV screen. Bucky chose a movie, an action he had found on Netflix and the two of you settled into the couch. The pizza was eaten, the beers were gone and you were halfway through the movie when a loud knock sounded on the front door. 

“Oh, I’ll get it.” Bucky said squeezing your thigh as he stood up. You paused the movie and placed your hands under your thighs. You heard a harsh laugh boom through the apartment and you cringed. 

“Nat! What are you doing here?” Bucky joined in on the laughing as he invited her in. You narrowed your eyes, remembering no visitors were allowed in people’s households so why was she here?

“I came to see you. Couldn’t wait to see my man any longer!” she laughed and pulled him into a hug, looking over his shoulder towards you and smirking.

“Uhm, Bucky? The movie…?” you interrupted them. Bucky offered you an apologetic look as he took Natasha’s hand in his and led her to his bedroom door. 

“Sorry doll. Maybe another time.” your heart sunk, you knew this was too good to be true. The slam of his bedroom door caused you to tense up, as you sat on the couch in the dark listening to their giggles behind the door and then the loud music started.

“Thanks for nothing.” You mumbled to yourself, turning the TV off and sheepishly walking into your bedroom, allowing the tears to fall down your cheeks. You sank to the floor, raising your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs. You wished this time you were good enough for Bucky, but clearly his priorities were the wrong way around.

Maybe this time you’ll be lucky enough to be approved to rent a different apartment. Now you were more sure that you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t want to be near Bucky any longer.

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[pocketfulofrogers]

The one with all the notes

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Text messages are far too impersonal for Old School Steve Rogers.

Note: So this is just a quick drabble, me dipping my toe back into writing. It’s technically a part of a series? More like a string of ideas that take place in the same world with a character I created long ago and shoved into my re-writings of the movies. 

Part 2

Project Acclimation was going well. Mostly. Some aspects Steve grasped quickly; food was a given. You had almost cried when you came home to find him grilling chicken. That time you found him boiling an entire meal still gave you nightmares. 

Surprisingly, he wasn’t that bad with technology. However, Steve Rogers was not a texter.

The first note you find in the apartment is a messy ‘Fury called 911, be back later. -S’ scrawled on a page from a sketch book you had bought him and stuck to the fridge with a Brooklyn magnet. 

You roll you eyes and pull out your phone.

Texting is almost the exact same as a note except texts are more legible. 

He doesn’t respond until later that night when your phone rings.

“Notes are more personal and my handwriting is not that bad.” He sounds half asleep, drained from a long day. You hum a halfhearted agreement, unwilling to admit that he’s probably, actually, mostly right. “I’m bringing home food, want your usual?”

“Please. Any injuries I need to prepare for?”

“Bruised ribs, ice pack would be nice.”

You find more over the next few months in various places around the apartment.

‘Went to the store’

‘Out of milk’

‘Why do you set your alarm so loud if you’re just going to sleep through it’

‘I think you’ll like this book’

‘How hot do your showers really need to be’

‘Fury needs that report when you finish it’

‘Seriously Y/F/I, I hate cold showers’

He leaves them often enough that you purchase a small spiral notebook so he doesn’t have to keep using his sketch pad pages. You place it on the breakfast bar ledge, a few pens beside it. He writes a ‘thank you’ with a doodle that makes you laugh and you keep the page in a drawer in your desk.

The first note he finds from you is a threatening ‘eat all of my ice cream again and I’ll make you wish you had stayed frozen -Y/F/I’ elegantly written and taped to his door. You come home that night to a new pint in the freezer, an apology sketch taped to the top. You tuck that one into your drawer as well.

The notes evolve as your relationship does.

‘Grabbing dinner on my way home, text me your order’

‘Fury’s on a rampage’

‘Unlike your shield, my toes are not made of Vibranium, stop leaving it in the hallway’

‘Rumlow is a dick, punch him in the face for me’

‘You’ll like this record’

‘Your clothes are folded in the laundry room’

‘I’m pretty sure our neighbor has the hots for you’

‘It’s Dugan’s birthday, we can visit his memorial if you’d like. Let me know, I’ll be home early’

‘If I’m not back by midnight, Natasha has gotten me arrested please post bail’

‘Be safe’

‘There’s a milkshake waiting for you’

‘Washed that shirt you stole, was starting to smell. It’s on your bed’

‘Wake me when you’re home’

You grow fond of them and him, both never failing to bring a smile to your face.

[sarcasticbabywhispererjess]

I really need to fold my laundry and wash some dishes. Instead I reorganized some of the furniture in my room, then put on a face mask and started watching Brooklyn 99. My clean laundry is still piled up and I’m currently making more. For shame. 

[feminarrie]

quiet

au where bucky’s settled down in the quiet suburbs and y/n’s much too loud with bucky’s hands on her

If someone had told James Buchanan Barnes, the pride of Brooklyn, that he would be settling into a four bedroom, two story colonial in Leavittown, he would have scoffed—openly and proudly. Even in the first few years following the end of World War II, Bucky had settled back into the same neighborhood of his youth. Content to move into a single occupant apartment while he transitioned back into civilian life. Maybe he would meet a pretty girl to settle down with somewhere along the way, in a more scenic part of the city.

He had met a pretty girl, too. Though, she had hardly been impressed by his charm and good looks when they had first met. It had rattled Bucky. Sure, Peggy hadn’t paid him any mind upon their first meeting—but, he had assumed she was cut from a different cloth. One that was hardier, more focused than any other girl that he had met before. So, he brushed it off.

The shock of it had warn off days later, months before they came back home. It was why Bucky had agreed to a night of dancing when Steve had suggested it. He had said something about a promised dance once Peggy had returned from the war. Bucky had clapped him over the shoulder and agreed without question.

Y/N’s disinterest in him, at the time, had him questioning that decision. Steve hadn’t mentioned that Peggy would be dragging along a former classmate that night. Bucky had thought she was beautiful, if he’s honest. And she had been kind at the start, but her mood quickly soured when an arrogant smirk had graced his features. He had kissed the top of her hand, lips pressed to her knuckles in a way that—years later she would admit—that made her heart flutter and her stomach clench with arousal. It had been sensual, but portrayed his arrogance. As if he was so sure that she would be confessing her love to him before the night was through.

As that night continued, she became more callous with him. Even when she agreed to dance with him, her face remained stoic and answers short. Bucky had given up at that point. Not at all pressed to get to know her any further or attempt to change her attitude. But, as Bucky and Y/N continued to cross paths, something more blossomed. Though still not keen of the arrogant war hero, Y/N grew to tolerate him--perhaps the beer and whiskey helped a little too. 

Bucky began to wear a hole into Y/N’s heart, though. Just big enough that she knew it was there, but she could ignore it if she really tried. But, it grew bigger and bigger the more they were alone together--the more she began to see softer side of the former soldier. The one that had tears swimming in his eyes after one too many drinks and a detailed story of the first time he had seen Steve during the war. The one that pleads for her to stay with him when she’s walking him back to his home after the distant sound of a tire bursting makes his eyes go wide with fear. 

Then one night turned into many when Bucky found comfort in Y/N after repeated night terrors. The warmth of her body and the safety he felt nuzzled into her neck as he attempted to ground himself in the now was enough to create a space for Y/N within his own chest. 

Bucky can feel the space in his chest now as he looks at her from the threshold of the back door. Though, it is the furthest thing from an empty space in his chest. Rather, he has never felt quite as whole as he does now--watching her hang laundry to dry on a thick wire that stretches from a panel on their home to a pole some fifteen feet away. Her hair is piled up at the top of her head in a messy bun and she’s in the yellow sundress he had bought for her when he had gone into the city.

He’s content to watch her, too. His head resting against the threshold and arms crossed over his chest. She’s quite honestly the best thing to have happened to him, he thinks. Never afraid to be stern when he’s let his temper run away from him. But, equally as patient when nightmares and triggers resurface. 

“Can feel you staring at me, Buck.” She says, clipping a clothespin on the left shoulder of one of her dresses.

Bucky watches as the material flutters in the wind, a quiet laugh cutting through the air. Y/N is glancing over at him, a soft smile on her features.

“’s because you’re so beautiful, doll.” He says, pushing off from the wall with his  shoulder and slowly making his way down the concrete steps.

Y/N simply shakes her head at him before turning back to the work in front of her. She’s nearly done with the washing, only a few of Bucky’s shirts left to be hung out to dry. She’s bent over, grabbing another item of clothing, when she feels Bucky behind her. He’s not quite touching her, but he’s close enough that she can feel the body heat radiating off him. 

“Most beautiful thing I’ve seen,” he says, his arms coming to wrap around her waist when stands up. 

It’s innocent enough. Bucky had developed a habit of being wrapped around her when she’d doing the most mundane of tasks--washing up after dinner, baking, or even when she’s stood listening to the radio. She steps back a mere few centimeters before her back is pressed to his front. The top still in her hand as she lets her head fall back to rest against his shoulder. 

“I don’t know about that.” She says, eyes closing as she relaxes further into him. 

“I do,” Bucky says, tilting his head down to place a kiss at the junction between her shoulder and neck. “Everything about you is beautiful.”

“Your soft skin.” 

He places another kiss at the top of her shoulder. She smiles at the softness of his kiss and the way his lips linger in the same spot. 

“Your smile.”

Y/N can feel the way his lips stretch into a smile, the light press of teeth against her bare skin. It’s a fleeting touch, though. Bucky’s lips create a path across her shoulder to her neck, Y/N head lulling to the side to accommodate it. The kisses are becoming less innocent as he nears the space just behind her ear. Each one more teasing than the last. 

When he reaches the expanse of skin just behind her ear, she feels him nip at the area before running his tongue over it. She lets out a soft whimper before she’s biting her lower lip to quiet herself. Y/N knows she should stop this before it escalates. But, she’s never had much control over herself when Bucky’s lips are on her. 

“The noises you make,” Bucky whispers, brows furrowed and his hands beginning to bunch up the material of her dress. 

Y/N lets the shirt fall from her tight grasp, arms coming to rest over his in an effort to slow him. 

“We can’t.” Her voice is breathier than she would have liked. “People could hear.” 

Even with a tight grip at his wrists, she isn’t strong enough to stop Bucky from hiking the yellow fabric up further. Bucky knows she’s right, of course. The fence surrounding the backyard is high enough to preserve their privacy, but Y/N is hardly quiet when she’s close to the edge. But frankly, Bucky doesn’t really care about the opinions of others. 

“And?” He says, pressing Y/N more against him and he’s positive she can feel the way he’s hardening against her. “The world deserves to hear those pretty little moans.” 

Y/N’s shaking her head, but the way she’s grinding back against Bucky suggests that she has no intention of stopping him. Bucky attempts to test his theory, hiking the material to sit just below her navel. He expects to feel the hem of her panties, but he’s met with bare skin. 

“Fuck,” he’s mumbling, his large hand coming to cup her. “Got the prettiest cunt, too.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat with her increasing arousal. A wetness pools between her legs only for Bucky to collect on his middle finger when he dips between her slickening folds. A noise that can only be described as a growl lands on her ears.

“What do you say, doll?” He asks, the pad of his middle finger rubbing light circles over her clit. “Gonna let me fuck you outside?”

Breathy moans fall past bitten pink lips while she juts her hips in search of more friction. Bucky laughs darkly as he circles her clit with slightly more pressure, knowing her resolve is faltering. He can see it breaking away, piece by piece, as her chest rises and falls with her quickening breaths. 

“We have to be quiet,” she sighs, eyelids fluttering against the top of her cheeks.

Bucky’s free arm moves from its position at Y/N’s side to drape over her shoulder. His nimble fingers making quick work of the top buttons, only undoing enough to slip his hands past the fabric. He knows she’s typically without a bra when she’s wearing the haltered sundress, but it doesn’t stop his cock from twitching when he brushes calloused fingers over her nipples. 

“It’s not me we have to worry about, doll.” He says, pinching at the hardening bud and pulling. 

The mild pain it causes is enough to pull a whimper from Y/N’s throat. It’s a quiet, desperate noise that stains the apples of her cheeks pink and draws yet another quiet laugh from Bucky.

Y/N presses her lips together in a hard line, desperately trying to keep the noises rising in her throat from ever rolling past her tongue. But, Bucky knows how to wind her up until she’s a quivering and begging for him to do something, anything. Because he knows her body better than he knows his own.

Bucky’s managed to walk them a few steps backwards without so much as a stumble over a loose pebble or the basket of clothing that Y/N’s completely forgotten. Each step brings him closer to the side of their home until his back is pressed flat against it. (He’s done it for selfish reasons, really. The war hadn’t been kind on his body, weakening his knees and straining his back).

Y/N is only vaguely aware that they’ve come to stand against the crisp white panelling. She’s much more attentive to the way Bucky’s fingers are spreading her apart, his middle finger dipping into her opening only for her walls to flutter at the loss seconds later. 

“Always so ready for me,” Bucky says, lips grazing the outer shell of her ear. 

Y/N whimpers and nods her head. Bucky has hardly touched her and she’s practically dripping with her arousal. Never someone that was interested in voyeurism, Y/N doesn’t know why the thought of getting caught has her in such a state. But, she doesn’t really mind it. Not now. Not when all she can think about how he fills her until he can feel him in her tummy. 

Whimpers of please and soft moans fall from her lips, slick with her spit. Bucky’s ears perk up at the sounds, a soft chuckle rumbling from his chest. It’s a sinister noise that makes yet another pitiful noise roll off her tongue. 

“What is it that you want?” He says, circling the sensitive bud beneath a mound of hair. “You’ve got to tell me, doll. Use your words.” He presses when she simply juts her hips forward in search of more pressure.

“F-fuck me.” Her words are broken, seemingly having been caught at the back of her throat.

Bucky would be lying if he didn’t love it when Y/N’s guard dropped like this. When she became so desperate and scatter-brained because of him. He rather prides himself in being able to break down those barriers and turn her into an absolute mess.

“All you had to do was ask, darling.”

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[chrysolina]

Mi familia

Summary - In a world where copious women throw themselves to the oncoming path of he mobster King of New York himself, the strain on yours and Steve’s relationship was growing by the day - how long would it be until you two both snapped and gave in?

Word count - 2.5k (and I wanted this to be under 1k..)

Warnings - unexpected happenings

A/N - Hey y’all!! I know I’ve got like tonnes of asks still left to do - of which I am going thro, pls be patient with me on - here’s a little fic that’ll keep you guys warm through the cold. Enjoy!! <3

M A S T E R L I S T

"Yes I'll get someone to do that right away, thank you." Steve ended the lengthy call with a sigh and a hand through his lightly gelled golden hair. It would be an understatement to say that business was booming for Steve - the notorious mafia king of Brooklyn, Manhattan, the Bronx and now the whole of New York.

After arduous months of battling the Black Order for the rest of New York, the shrinking mafia group conceded defeat a little under a week ago and were currently being flushed out of all the systems in New York City - the security and public safety of the city now in good hands. His parents would've been proud.

What his parents wouldn't have been so proud of however, was the way he was treating you - the golden girl, the new Queen of New York; his one and only. With his appearance in high demand from his lackeys, the city officials, residents and others who worked under his ruling, he was neglecting you of even the mere opportunity of seeing him.

For days and nights at a time, he would be out and about securing deals, having drinks with his most loyal lackeys and doing the job he was destined for - the King of New York.

Steve could never match up to his father, he knew that for a fact. His father was so skilled in handling the worst situations the city had faced; whether it'd be the Black Order causing chaos to dishonest lackeys slagging him off from behind - he always seemed to have enough time to spend with Steve's mother and himself.

But there again, he was a father of one - Steve was a father of three that was soon to be four.

A knock on the wooden doors of his elegant office brought Steve back out of his head and called out to the person to come in. Much to his chagrin, the newest member of his lackeys - Flash - had come to visit him and the thoughts of you and the children plagued his mind again.

It was known by all who had met Flash that he was your assigned lackey that would protect you from any danger that may or may not come your way whilst you were out running errands. Although he was assigned to your months ago when the Black Order were fighting back against Steve and his reign, Flash couldn't find it within him to part ways with you and found himself falling under your beauty and charms like a moth to a flame.

And god did Steve know this.

With a grunt, Steve stood from his chair and wandered over to the young man and snatched the papers he was holding right out of his hands. Flicking through them absentmindedly, Steve focuses more on the topic of where Flash was going next; he could always read over the papers again another time.

Before Flash could turn to walk out of the office door, Steve's deep voice caught the sneaking lackey on a whim and made him freeze in dread. "Where are you off to now, Bolton?" Flash froze at the sound of Steve's voice and creeks round on the spot to face him with a pleasant grin.

"It's two o'clock sir so I'm off to pay a visit to your wife." Flash smiled and fished a thin cigarette from the insides of his trouser pocket in an attempt to relieve the tension between the two.

Steve's face was cool and unemotional, his eyes drifting to the floor as his hands toyed with a corner of the paper clipped papers, his mind deep in thought. For what could've been an act out of mercy or something else, Steve allowed Flash to swagger off to the main double doors and called out to him again, his voice a deadly river of demand.

"That won't be necessary, Flash."

Flash stopped again and paled at the tone of Steve's voice that led to no room for bargaining. With scrunched brows, Flash turned to look at his boss again and found himself catching the end of his icy blue glare that could've froze hell if he tried hard enough.

"But you have meetings all day sir!" Flash stammered with the cigarette hanging limp from his fingers and a hand scrunched up tight in the other trouser pocket, his nerves begging him to just run out to the car and drive off to see you.

"I cancelled them." Steve spoke with no emotion.

"But-" Before Flash could counter anything Steve had said, he was silenced with a deathly glare and took notice of the tapping of Steve's finger on his bulged trouser pocket, the personalised gun you had got him on your first wedding anniversary was his favourite weapon and wasn't afraid to use it whenever possible.

"I'm sure you'll be able to spend the rest of the afternoon with Bucky won't you?" Steve question left the boy speechless and disappointed, he wasn't keen on the boss' closest and longest lackey - he always had a way of finding out the truth from someone as quiet as a huff of wind and flash knew that he was the one who'd ratted him and his crush out to the boss.

With a short yes, the young recruit scurried away to light his cigarette in shame and left a slightly triumphant Steve to finish what he was doing and close up for the foreseeable two weeks - if no jackass got on his nerves and ruined his plans.

———————

It's a universally known fact that every house has a specific smell, a scent that brings you back to where you need to be without the necessity of spoken reminders of beautiful memories. Steve knew this to be all true as he stepped through the threshold of the elegant house that situated itself in a very secluded estate on Long Island. 

It never failed to make him smile, the lingering scent of laundry detergent, not-so sickly vanilla and whatever pleasant scent that touched his nose - and even now, as he threw his car keys into the bowl on the counter next to the door he couldn't help but think why the hell he didn't come back to this?

Although nobody had heard his entrance, the sound of cartoons playing on the TV caught Steve’s attention and found himself being drawn to the arches leading to the sprawling living area.

With a grin on his face, he couldn't help but stop to watch the most heart-warming sight he'd seen in weeks unfold before him; swallowed into the large fluffy beanbag with a bowl of half-eaten snacks either side of the bag was his two children, his first daughter Charlotte Rosaline and his first son, James Thomas, their two opposite coloured tresses nestled together in a engrossed mistaken embrace.

Much like her father’s unaccquired ‘third sense’, Charlotte could feel a stare on the back of her blonde head and turned to look who it was, scrambling to her small feet once she realised who it was standing there in an all smart, black suit. "Daddy!" The now four year old screeched out and threw herself into her father's crouched down body, her brother soon following suit at the mention of his dad.

"Hey sweetheart, daddy missed you." Steve chuckled and kissed at her rosy red cheeks whilst tickling her sides lightly, her laugh a symphony in his ears.

"Daddy!" Three year old James similarly yelled out and collided into his father's other arms welcomingly, his little arms finding their way around Steve's neck in seconds.

"There's my man, how are ya bud?" Steve turned and kissed one of James' cheeks over and over whilst still tickling his sister out of his embrace. Under a giggle, James told his father of his mood and slipped out of his father's ticklish hold, making Steve rise to his feet again and look around the living room for anyone else.

"Charl, James? Where's mommy 'nd Sarah?" Steve asked whilst dipping his head into the joined kitchen and dining room to see where you were. Instead of finding your melodic voice calling him, he was met with the buzzing of the dishwasher and washing machine instead.

"They upstairs." James chirped out in a muffled voice, to which Steve turned around and found his kids already settled in their rightful beanbags, apple chips stuffed in their tiny mouths. With a roll of his eyes, Steve took to the stairs and wandered silently along the threshold of the landing to see if he could hear any such noise of you or Sarah.

It wasn't until he was nearing your shared bedrooms that Steve could hear the tell-tale sounds of Sarah's dolly plucking a tune out from its insides. As quietly as he could, Steve stepped into the room and found himself sliding towards you ever-so carefully, your back turned to him absentmindedly as you folded up his freshly washed shirts on the dresser. 

Without the need for words, Steve slid his arms around your distended torso and slid himself firm against your stiffened back with a sly grin - thank god, he still had it. Placing one lone kiss to the skin behind your ear, Steve found his hands wrapping their way around your five month bump and warmed it for safe measures.

"Missed me much doll?" Steve coaxed your eardrums with his tantalisingly low toned words and made you relax ever-so slightly into his touch, the craving for his touch making you slightly giddy in the head.

"Mm think the question is, did you miss us?" If it wasn't by your beauty and charming elegancy, Steve could’ve fallen for you just as easily by your tendency to quip back at others that made you feel less than your worth.

In all his days, not just the days back when he met you, nobody spoke back to the Monster King; it just wasn’t heard of. Everyone followed the wording of him and only the close few challenged him on his words, that only one being Barnes - now imagine his shock when you snapped back, telling him you’re not some possession anyone tan take for the winning.

Yeah, you impressed him alright.

With a tired sigh, Steve hoped that you knew the answer to your own question - that you did ever-so slightly - but much to his distaste, you didn’t respond immediately.

“If you’re hinting at Kathrine again then you already know the answer to that question,” Steve gripped your shoulders and made you lock eyes with his, your eyes never leaving his as you read them like a book.

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe your words Steve,” You spoke in a mumbled tone that made Steve sigh in defeat, ever since he got that new assistant that just had to have goo-goo eyes for him his marriage was cracking day by day.

Instead of getting himself stuck into the same argument as last week, Steve removed his hands and paced over to Sarah, scooping her up in the process and cooing at her - the sight making your heart flutter although it felt so heavy.

“Give me five sweetheart.” Steve spoke in a calm yet pointed tone and made quick work of taking Sarah and her belongings out of the room, shutting the door in the process. With tears threatening to spill, you distracted yourself and made a point to fold all the shirts still left on the dresser before Steve had come back from ‘cooling down’ - of which he always did when the touchy conversation arose.

After folding all the many coloured shirts and Steve had not returned, you paced to the door and went to stick your head out to see where he had escaped off to. Although to your shock, just as you were going to touch the door handle Steve opened the door again and shut it again in his wake.

“Sit on the bed,” In a tone that could’ve paralysed any newbie on the block if it had reached their ears, you slowly did as your husband said and sat as best as you could on the bed and watched as he undressed himself carefully, right until he was standing before you in only his tight black boxers.

Judging by the look in his eyes as he stalked back to you, you 100% believed this was going to turn into a sexual escapade that involved you being the Sub to his Dom - the thought made you queasy as of now.

However, like he always had a tendency to do Steve didn’t ask you to do anything but only scooped you up into his arms and lowered you down onto the thick plush bedding with gentle hands.

In a bid to reconnect with his distant wife, Steve clambered up the bed and held you and the bump as close to his body as he possibly could. A gentle hand soon ran through your locks and you found self soon losing your memory to the past conversation, your hands winding their way up Steve’s muscular back.

“Steve? Where‘d you put Sarah?” You mumbled into your husbands slightly hairy and freckled chest with a confused look.

“I called your mom and dad and they’ve taken them for the night.” Steve shrugged his reply with a knowing smile.

“Wha—“ You hesitated as to why the sudden departure of the kids. “Wha—why?” You looked up at Steve’s stubbled jaw in shock - did he really just send his children away for the first night he’d spent at home in almost three weeks? You bloody hoped not.

“Because I need you Y/N. Call me selfish and ol’ fashioned but I love you, and only you - ‘nd it’s about damn time I started showing you that.” Steve tenderly caressed your face with his hand as he spoke. “ I wanna show you not only how much I love you but how insignificant Kathrine is compared to you.”

If his eyes couldn’t tell you the truth he was trying to convey them you didn’t know what would, instead of choosing to doubt him like you did as always you squeezed Steve tighter and smooshed your face into his bare chest at the bubbly feeling in your heart.

“But seriously,” You interjected and looked back up at him after a minute. “What about the kids? They haven’t seen you in forever.” You made a point to look him dead in the eyes and grabbed his chin by your thumb and index finger.

“And that’s why I’ve taken all of this week and the next off to be with them and you,” Steve smiled whilst he kissed your forehead tenderly, sweeping away the hairs that framed your face with a gentle hand. “And the week after that. I just wanna spend one night with my wife if that’s okay with you.”

“If you order a curry and naan bread from that takeaway down on seventh, you’ve got a date.” You smiled with elation at your husband whilst cupping his cheeks in your small hands.

“Deal but first, I want my starter.” Steve grinned like a Cheshire Cat and rolled on top of you in a flurry of kisses all over your face, a hand dipping into your leggings and tugged at your panties.

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Chris / Steve rogers tags - @patzammit @tacohead13  @youreahandsomedevil @thisismysecrethappyplace 

Permanent tags - @multireality @its-a-pretty-interesting-wall​ @coffeebooksandfandom​