Too Cute 😫😫

the representation + characterisation of yelena in this fic >>>>

for your blurb night, "in case you ever foolishly forget, i am never not thinking of you" with yelena? 🤍

miss luiza, my love, my fellow yel simp, i hope i did this a justice for you, i changed the dialogue a little bit to make it more fluffy <3

sweet in your memory.

pairing: yelena belova x (f)reader

word count: 986

warnings: badly written fluff, weed smoking, nat is alive and well, mention of a past hookup, kissing, slight miscommunication, carol and valkyrie quickly mentioned. 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

The blissful dazed high of the blunt that's pressed to your lips as you take a long inhale, swallow, let it out slowly—is doing the exact opposite of just that. The bliss part getting snuffed out by the nerves that make your stomach sink each time Yelena looks over at you, gives you that lopsided grin; when your fingers brush against each others for the half second when you’re passing the blunt between the two of you, turning that dazed high into hyperawareness. 

The two of you are sat on the fire escape, the sounds of the city and people venturing out late into the summer heat present below you—and the music and laughs of Nat and the rest of the girls from inside flowing through the window. 

But all you can hear, all you see, smell, feel, is Yelena beside you. The weed only adding to the torture of nerves in your belly and the unasked questions fumbling around in your head. 

Your eyes glance over to her, her perched on the window sill, one leg bent at the knee on the frame, the other on the fire escape. The street lights painting her features in a dull orange that makes her even more beautiful. 

You try not to stare at the way her lips wrap around the blunt, or how attractive it looks held between her ringed fingers. Because when she catches you staring it only makes a heat flood your cheeks and a cheeky smirk form across her face, you quickly look away as you try to hide your smile with a cough to the back of your hand. 

The two of you hadn't spoken about what happened a week ago—it seeming more like months ago by how it had left you feeling; confused, flying high, utterly crushing on the woman beside you. 

It's not like you never had the chance to ask her what everything meant, the glances, the smiles, the hand touches, the pecks to the cheek, in the wake of what had happened. But maybe it was the memory of her lips on yours-and other parts of you—the night that the two of you having spent together living like a ghost on your skin; constantly haunting you, yet you were too afraid to exorcize it, to ask it what it wanted. 

And it wasn't Yelena who was stopping you from asking, it wasn't how she was acting-she hadn't changed, she was still the same, still flirtatious and constantly giving you signs that it had meant something, but what you didn't know. And part of you had hoped maybe she would bring it up, because your nerves were pussing out, and you didn't think you could go another week without knowing, without holding yourself back from reaching out and feeling her lips again.

Without staring at her like a lost love sick puppy. 

You had hoped the weed would have helped give you the courage, but now you know it had only made you more of that love sick puppy for her. A rose colored shein over your eyes each time you would steal a glance at her, smelled her strong perfume, heard her laugh at whatever was going on in the apartment-or from how awkward you were being. 

After taking one more puff of the blunt, handing it to Yelena, holding your breath for a second, a minute, three, you finally think fuck it, and go for it, “Yel,” you start, no hint of bravery in your voice whatsoever. When you turn towards her after her hum of acknowledgment, your mouth feels incredibly dry. Your throat itchy. “About…what happened, the other night.” You swallow, try to ignore the corner of her mouth pulling up slightly, amused. “Do you, uh, ever think about it?” 

And now you know for sure the weed was a bad idea, it turning you into a speechless fool. Asking her the question that wasn't even on the tip of your tongue, your mind and mouth on different wavelengths; but both keening for this woman. 

“Do I think about it?” Her accent is deeper when she's been smoking, when amusement is laced in her tone. Her grin growing, the heat in your cheeks feeling like an all out forest fire. 

Before you can nod, or open your mouth to say something—elaborate, stop looking like a deer in headlights—Nat is poking her head through the window, pushing Yelena’s leg out of the way in the process. 

“If you two love birds are done, the pizza’s here.” She gives Yelena a wink and then she’s back inside the apartment. 

Yelena puts out the remaining of the blunt on the windowsill, throwing it in the can specifically put out there for such discarding's. “We better go before Carol and Val fight over the pepperoni.” She smiles, the awkward conversation between the two of you pushed away—your chest only deflating a little (a lot). 

You expect her to pull herself through the window but instead she’s stepping out onto the fire escape, reaching her hand out for you to take to help you to your feet. The weed finally hitting you with that daze now that you’re standing this close to her, now that her palms are cupping your cheeks, the warm metal of her rings searing your skin, as she presses a soft kiss to your lips. 

Her lips smiling against yours when you let out an elongated sigh, when she pulls away that rose colored haze has gone completely red—with love, with other heated things—making a shy chuckle escape you. 

“For the record, in case you are ever foolishly wondering, or forget, I am never not thinking of you.” She presses another kiss to your lips, “or that night.” Her hands fall from your cheeks, “it’s actually highly annoying how much I think about it. Of you, very distracting.” the both of you laugh, fingers finding the others to hold.

GOOD OLD STEVE ☺️🤭😫

earpiece

steve rogers x gn!reader (fluff)

summary: you're undercover.

warnings: brief mentions of drinking

a/n: i'll stop writing about jealous!steve when it stops being my favorite thing ever

“do you have to look at him like that?”

“oh my god," you exclaim—all feigned enthusiasm meant to flatter the target. tilting your head, you wonder if there's a way to press the mute button on your earpiece discreetly enough. “i’ve never been there, what’s it like?”

“what? sweetheart, we were there last month.”

wherever steve sits, monitoring this operation from afar, your sudden burst of laughter probably irks him.

the truth is, you didn't hear the response from the man in front of you; steve's hasty interjection drowned it out. it’s the urgency of his reminder, the childish call for your attention, that amuses you.

you want to tell him: you remember last month just fine.

it was your first real trip. not for work—no mission protocols weighing down your luggage or agents blowing up your phone. and not the kind of weekend-only jaunt where the driving alone eats up eight of your precious hours together. 

it was all sea salt breezes, the polar opposite to new york at this time of year. every sweet treat you spooned into steve’s sunny smile contained at least one tropical fruit, and you’re still finding sand in your shoes.

it was your first anniversary.

your thumb tucks into your palm, itching at your temporarily empty finger.

thankfully, the guy seems charmed, despite your ignorance to whatever he just said. “excuse me.” you stand and straighten your clothes. “i have to use the restroom.”

he nods. “want a drink? on me."

“you pick.” a flirty nudge of your hip earns you a grin.

once you’ve rounded the corner, you pretend to answer your phone. "rogers.”

“sweetheart,” he returns, all drawn out.

of course he would be so lax about this, jeopardizing your performance, your work. “do you want the location of this chitauri weapons operation or not?"

"i’m only—”

“yes or no?”

steve sighs, a gust of wind in your ear.

"good," you mutter, "so you're gonna shut up, and let me stroke this guy's ego until he gives me what we need, or i'm gonna mute your ass."

he sounds a little sad. "don't say it like that."

a moment of confusion. "what?"

"i don't want you stroking this guy's anything, okay?"

you don't know if you're out of steve's sight by now, or if he can see you smile. "you're such an asshole."

even with the tinny audio, steve's laughter still sounds warm. “i love you too.”

— — —

masterlist

pls the way i smiled whilst reading this 🥺😫

and the way it’s written!!

so good <3

Sleepy kisses in the morning with Bucky plsssss 🥰🥰🥰

sleepy

bucky x f!reader

wc: drabble! 665

a/n: why are drabbles so fun!!! reminding me i'm so alone lmao

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

Bucky has always been an early riser. Always.

It's ingrained in his bones– wake when the sun does, sometimes, rest when the sun does.

Until you, he never knew time could be a friend. Not someone to fear constantly looming over his shoulder. The sun wasn’t as cruel as he once revered it, his bones can breathe. Bucky sleeps now– sometimes, later than you. The sun be damned.

Watching him sleep was one of life’s little heavens. The once labored breaths that carried him through so much torment eased, gently warming the insides of his lungs and exhaling to tickle the skin of your neck. His eyelashes twitched faintly, caressing the flush of his high cheekbones as if the sunlight filtering through the curtains was made for him.

And those lips– perfectly pouted, pink, plump, precious– taunted you so cruelly. The sun teasing his skin peeking out of the sheets was always followed promptly by the pads of your fingers trailing his body. Now is no exception, dusting along the black and gold garnishing his bicep, ghosting over relaxed pecs. Your hand travels, tracing along the stubble of his jaw, feather-soft up to outline his mouth.

There is hardly a sight prettier than your sleeping super soldier coming alive at the delicate exploring of your fingertips. As much as you love him in the bliss of his slumber, it was torture knowing what a slowly rousing Bucky meant.

It isn’t until your lips meet the warm skin of his throat that he surrenders to the promises lingering in the morning air.

The black of his fingers slowly spread up your arm, goosebumps and a shiver answering his touch.

“Fivemo’minutes,” he grumbles. His eyes remain closed, but his body trembles in lieu of a slow-moving stretch, wrapping himself tighter around you and bringing your wandering hand to his lips.

Faint teases of the pillows of his lips pepper up your arm. “Jus’five, baby,” he mumbles dancing across your jaw, “w-wanna,” moving to the swell of your bottom lip, “...needa sleep,” he exhales against the corner of your slowly spreading smile, a low whine pressed one, two, three times, needily slanting his eager lips to yours.

You giggle against his mouth, hands carding gently through his short locks and scratching along his scalp, holding him close.

“Mmm. Don’t do tha– s’not fair, m’tryin to sleep baby,” time has also shown him: he’s a really terrible liar.

His body melts against you, sandalwood and warmth overwhelming your senses, his lips showing no sign of ever wanting to be anywhere else, doing anything else but tasting the beauty of another morning with his girl.

You pull away, much to his displeasure, a low moan echoing pitifully within his chest. He reaches for you, lips chasing after your evil little smirk he’d be greeted with if he just opened his eyes. “Oh, okay. M’sorry. Go back to sleep, fivemo'minutes, Bucky.”

One cerulean eye shoots open, a scowl meant to intimidate you mocks your chastising remark. Your eyebrow quirks up, lips curled into a grin that lets him know just how bad of a liar he is. Bucky attacks with a growl against your shoulder, his thick, chorded body pushing you onto your back as giggles and squeals light the room.

“Y’can’t do this to me,” his lips continue, caress after caress greedily melding against your own. And his eyes are open– sleepy, but open. The sun greets him like it always does. Twinkling, heavenly against the blue truths of his honest eyes watching you bathe in his love. “It’s Saturday, supposed to do nothin’ but sleep with my girl between my sheets,” his lips stop for a moment, sleep-ridden cheeks jutting out while smiling down so adoringly at you. Never stop. Thank you. Couldn’t want somethin' any more, five minutes is never enough.

Your fingers tangle within the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him close. Your lips meet his. His eyes flutter closed. A relieved groan leaves his body.

The sun watches.

😍😍

omg this is incredibly adorable. LOVE‼️‼️

✦ CITY OF STARS.

summary : peter swings you to a perfect late-night date.

word count : 0,6k

warnings : tooth rotting fluff, implied fem!reader, pet names, kisses.

a/n : inspired by this deleted scene!! requests for peter are open if u want to send in ur ideas / prompts ^_^ also kind of inspired by that one scene in atsv where gwen & miles hangout by that tower yk

"let's get out of here." peter whispers, his voice tickles your skin again as he places another kiss on your nose.

you sigh, cupping his cheek, "i can't peter, i told you." you repeat — which not surprisingly causes peter to pout. "why not?"

"because. i have.. homework." you shrug. it's true though, the pile of papers near your desk is practically calling you to be read or marked.

he pouts, again. but he isn't giving up.

"don't look at me like that." you chuckle, your thumb caressing peter's cheek, running through his freckles.

"like what?"

"with your big brown doe eyes."

peter tries a bit more. the more you make eye contact with him, the harder it is to say no.

"fine. but you seriously have to get blue contacts, peter." you let go of his cheek.

"yes, ma'am." he nods. you couldn't tell if he's joking or not, but it's funny either way.

he gets up and grabs his backpack, it seems heavier than usual. "grab your jacket, bub. it's gonna be cold."

"where are you taking me?"

"secret."

"that doesn't sound creepy at all."

"come on. trust me." peter's waiting near the window. "are you gonna take me on a swing?"

peter puts his beanie on. "does the hat give it away?" he asks, the spiderman crochet beanie in bright red staring right at you.

you smile. "yeah it kinda does."

peter tucks the loose hair behind your ear before helping you out the window, and before you know it you're one with the wind. and also with new york's pollution.

peter's gentle, one hand holding your waist and the other thwip! -ing away at buildings. your hands are wrapped around his neck, face burried in the crook of it. you could smell his cologne, it's the one you like.

you relax at the scent of it. it almost makes you forget that you're meters up in the air.

but then your shoes touch ground.

it was a ledge of a clock tower. it's not steep, it's actually very spacey up here. if you think about it you could probably fit a picnic up here, a small hangout even with a few friends.

"you good?" peter lets go, "yeah. this is cozy." you say, fixing your sweater. "don't you think people will see us here?" you ask.

"no. but. if they do-" peter opens his bag, "i got back up." he reveals a beanie, like the one he's wearing, it's a spiderman one too but with different colours.

it's white with pink outlines.

"we're matching!" peter puts the beanie on you. it fits perfectly, "that's so cute peter. do i get to keep it?" — "of course. made it just for you. besides i don't think people can spot us here unless they really, really, really squint. and now when they do, they'll just see our hats."

you nod. peter gestures for you to sit.

"i got more stuff." he smiles, teeth showing, teasingly.

you roll your eyes at him before sitting next to the empty space beside him.

he pulls out two takeout boxes, followed by the plastic eating utensils, and some water, and some more.

"oh. wow." you say, impressed.

you weren't kidding. you could fit a picnic here.

"what're you waiting for? dig in!" peter passes your takeout. "i got your favorite too."

"aw. thank you, peter." you give him a kiss. "i'll get you ice cream after this. or whenever you feel like ice cream." you give him another kiss.

"thank you!" he gasps, dramatically. "that is everything i have ever wanted." peter replies.

you smile, "this is everything i have ever wanted."

this so perfect. peter is so perfect. @literaila is so perfect. i have no words.

i’ll tell you in the morning

tasm!peter x reader

summary:

“you’re going to fall through the couch.”

“the couch would never betray me.”

warnings: overly considerate peter, scheming reader, fluff and stuff

*

“you’re supposed to be in bed.”

his voice rolls, like a click on a cassette, and you know that peter is not really there.

because it’s all a little blurry. his voice, the door opening, the feeling when he kneels down next to you, his breath hot in your ear.

it’s all some remanent of a dream. a brief moment where you might wake up, but decide not to.

“i’m serious,” his voice ebbs and flows, waving in and out, like your consciousness. “you know i don’t like it when you wait up for me.”

you groan and roll even further into the couch. your face is smushed, and your hair is a mess, sweaty because you’re drowning under every blanket in the house. it smells like cotton, and peter’s deodorant, and potato chips that you probably dropped through the cushions.

you dig your nose in deeper, trying to get back to that dream.

peters probably not actually there, you think, because if he was he would’ve kissed you awake. his hand would be lazily running through your hair, and his body would be pressed against yours. you would be cuddling by now.

real peter is much nicer than dream peter, who shakes your shoulder, albeit massaging you right afterward. “c’mon, bug, we’re going to bed.”

“sleeping,” you mumble, pulling away from him.

dream peter continues to try and wake you up, while you wonder—amidst the dream, no doubt—when real peter will be home. you want to be drowning in his collarbone instead of your own sweat.

there’s a kiss next to your ear. “you’re going to fall through the couch.”

“the couch would never betray me.”

“we’ll see if you’re saying that in the morning, when your neck is bent the wrong way,” he whispers, and rests his head against yours. you feel it as he breathes out, relaxes. almost like he’s purring into your ear.

so you keen into him, a bit awkwardly, considering that it’s his forehead. “why’d you wake me up?”

“you can’t sleep here.”

“c’mere,” you murmur to him, your hand wrapping around the back of his neck, fingertips just brushing his hair. “cuddle with me.”

“being cute isn’t going to stop me from moving you.”

“peter,” you try and push him away, “go to bed.”

“why are you out here?” his nose trails down your hair, to your neck. “it’s almost four in the morning.”

you ponder this, and decide that you don’t really remember what you were doing before you fell asleep here, with your hand shoved in the crook of your neck. “the beds cold,” you slur, head falling back into the cushions as you doze.

“that’s because all of the blankets are out here. why didn’t you turn the heat up?”

he’s playing with some baby hair by your ear now, trying to lull you to sleep, probably, because he loves you.

“i was waiting for you,” you whisper this like a prayer, “and now you’re here.”

“you waited in the wrong spot. i would’ve come to bed with you. there’s no room for me here,” he smiles when you finally turn your head towards him. he’s got a smudge on his nose, and his eyes are sunken in—aged from exhaustion.

“i know.”

you’re both whispering. trying not to wake that drowsy, lovesick part of yourself right now.

“hmm?” he leans into you, nose brushing your cheek. almost like he’s breathing you in. “what, bug?”

“i wanted to fall asleep with you.”

then his eyes are wide open, and he leans back, brows furrowed in a tight line. “i told you i was going out.”

you muse at his confused face, and lean back towards him. “i know. i didn’t know when you’d be home.”

“you could’ve called.”

“i’m not going to interrupt your repertoire with a burglar at midnight. it’s rude.”

“not to me.”

you tsk, and lean away, back into the pillow comforting you while simultaneously scheming to ruin your morning.

“you need more sleep than i do,” peter adds, trying to keep you awake with his sheer willpower, his hands squirm under your shoulders. “we’ve talked about this.”

“no, you threatened to tell my mom—“

“that’s not what i said,” peter interrupts, groaning into the sofa.

“that i wasn’t getting enough sleep. and i said that you could make your own decisions, but that i wasn’t going to stop waiting up for you.”

“it makes me feel bad,” he ignores your gentle protesting. “i don’t want to keep you up.”

“peter, it’s not like you’re out dancing with strippers.”

he laughs, unexpectedly. and you grin back at him, with a sheer conviction undiluted by any hints of remaining sleep.

“you’re up helping people. i don’t mind waiting for you,” you emphasize this by leaning in to kiss his forehead, tasting sweat and not minding at all.

“you’re going to be tired tomorrow. when did you fall asleep?”

you acknowledge your win for what it is, and sit up on the couch, looking around your apartment like you can’t remember where you are. “probably an hour ago. i didn’t know when you’d be home, and i waited a while, but then i moved to the couch so you’d have to wake me up if i fell asleep.”

“so this was an elaborate scheme, huh?” peter laughs at you as his teeth graze your cheek. his chaste kiss makes you warm.

“i learned from the best.”

peter chuckles against you, and the two of you sit like that for a moment. calculating each others breathing like there’s something you might miss, however brief.

and then you smile at him, and he smiles back. “bed?” he asks you, softly, fingertip running against the skin of your jaw. you nod.

his arms wrap around you as he picks you up, your head rested comfortably on his shoulder, legs wrapped around his waist.

“i’m leaving you on the couch next time,” he threatens as he walks, “just so you know.”

“then we’ll both wake up with sore backs. not just you.”

peter snorts. “i didn’t say i would be there.”

“like you can sleep without me.”

he doesn’t say anything to that, but you feel him murmur in your hair suspiciously.

peter sets you down on the bed softly, pushing your legs so you’ll lay down, then covering you with the comforter. he tucks you in like any average middle aged dad.

when you grin he nods, very satisfied with himself.

“i’m just gonna change,” he says, taking a step back.

“hurry. i’m tired.”

“now, look who’s talking,” he shakes his head, but moves swiftly to the bathroom. you hear it as he runs the sink, as he bangs his foot on something and curses, and when he pads back into the bedroom, looking like a young child sneaking out of bed in his pajamas.

you laugh. “where did you get those?”

peter looks down to himself. to the many cartoon styled spider-man’s dancing across his cotton pajama set. “what? this old thing.”

“i don’t think i can be seen in public with you if you’re wearing that.”

“we are in the privacy of our bedroom,” he points out.

“i don’t think i can be in the same room with you if you’re wearing that.”

peter shakes his head, pouting like he’s disappointed, but he slips the shirt off, a concession he’s apparently willing to make.

though you don’t doubt that there are ulterior motives to this move.

“c’mon,” you whine to him, “i’m cold.”

“you’re so needy.”

you roll your eyes, but sink into him as he shuffles from beside you, laying his head near yours. “you’re not coddling me.”

“i’m so very sorry, my dear,” he whispers, and wraps his arms around you.

“shh,” you nuzzle your nose into his neck, and murmur against his hot skin. “i want to go back to the dream i was having.”

peter must be laughing at you, you can tell, even slightly asleep, because something jostles you.

“what was it about?”

you smile against him, listening to his heart like a hymn you’re devoted to. “i’ll tell you in the morning.”

he whispers something, brief, a whisper in the quiet of the room. but you feel the words as he settles into the bed, his calloused hands running over your skin.

and you fall asleep; hands clutching the others heart.

*

i just love love @earth2bucky’s writing 😭😭

it’s so beautiful and i was always find myself binge reading her masterlist.

angel - bucky x reader

a/n: lisTEN im working on three requests rn and i needed a break so this is the result

word count: <1k

summary: bucky coming to terms with just how much he loves needs you (also ur first kiss aw !!!)

Keep reading

YES.

illicit affairs - natasha romanoff

Summary: your girlfriend makes you happy, but natasha makes you horny.

Warnings: cheating, powerbottom!nat, spanking (nat receiving), strap-on use (nat receiving), face sitting, oral (r giving), swearing, smut 18+ only

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: smh i guess r lost focus also this fic has potential to be turned into a series i just don’t know if I’m gonna commit to it.

No one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

masterlist | kinktober masterlist

gif not mine

Natasha wasn’t an angel, but neither were you. 

She loved the thrill that the two of you could be found out at any time, that your girlfriend could come back early from work or call you or decide to surprise you. She hated your girlfriend. It wasn’t even that she was a bad person, Wanda took care of you and loved you and made you feel content. But god Natasha hated that she could have you, that she could hold your hand and kiss you in public.

Keep reading

so so beautifully written @lovelybarnes <33 i could feel every emotion in my heart 🥲😫

for the one-shot

tired eyes , bucky

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, mentions of shuri warnings: mentions of cryo and death (but no actual descriptions) about: tired eyes a/n: i'm so sorry this took so long to post! i got so busy and i had a really bad day and didn't have any time to edit. i hope you enjoy this either way!

“...in other news, a baby penguin was born at the national zoo yesterday, and the subway goats that i told you about were captured, so that’s good for everyone really,” you laugh, skimming through the rest of the words printed on the newspaper you’re holding. the fingers holding it begin to rub at the edges subconsciously, pressing indents into the typed letters while you flip the page once you’re satisfied that the contents of that one were already summarized. “okay, these are comics and crosswords, so i’ll wait for you on these,” you say, eyes catching on the colored squares, chuckling at the images of snoopy. “i think you’ll like snoopy. you probably haven’t gotten to read much on him since he was created in the fifties, so i’ll save all the snoopy bits for you if you’d like.”

no answer, which you were expecting, but the longing for his voice grows either way, exhaling softly and closing the newspaper you were reading from, bold letters forming the date. you look at the books piled next to your chair, reminding yourself to replace the ones you’ve already read. “so, shuri says she’s close to figuring this out. she thinks you’ll be out of cryo this month, so that’s exciting!”

your smile struggles to stay as a thick silence falls on you and you swallow, looking down at your lap, “um, i-” you clear your throat, forcing your eyes to meet the frozen man. “i don’t know if you can even hear me,” you admit, a small watery laugh falling from your lips. “i can’t really bring myself to ask shuri, because i really hope you can and i don’t know how i’ll do if i find out you can’t. i hope you know how much i love you, and-” you sniffle, squeezing your eyes shut, “and how much i miss you. and how much i know you’ll be okay.”

you smile tearfully, wiping away tears that escape your eyes, watching them soak your sleeve. you run your finger over the fabric, bringing it up to your nose and shutting your eyes shut when you realize the red henley doesn’t smell like bucky anymore. although the rational part of your mind reminds you it's been two years and you’ve been wearing the piece of clothing for most of it. the rest of his clothes also lack his smell, worn so much by you that your perfume seems embedded with the cotton.

“you know how much i miss your eyes?” you ask suddenly, the image of them engraved in the caves of your happiest memories. “you have such pretty eyes- i know i tell you that a lot, but it’s true.” echoes of the azure colors lucky enough to reside in bucky’s irises flood the darkness of your closed eyelids. “they were the first thing i noticed when i met you,” you sniffle, “so blue. it looked like they were glowing in the sun. i completely forgot about the plums i accidentally stole from you.”

“do you remember that?” you question, opening your eyes to see the same image from last time. “i just gave you the plums and stuttered like an idiot. then, when i tried to leave because i was so mortified, you stopped me. i got a really good look at you that time. so handsome,” you pause. “but so tired.”

his image is vivid in your mind, clear enough to combat the actual photographs of him that lay everywhere in your apartment. “you looked so tired, bucky,” you admit, “and i didn’t even know what happened yet- what you had gone through- and all i wanted to do from that point was kiss all that pain away. let you rest until the exhaustion wasn’t clouding the color of your eyes.” your fingers twitch, itching to tangle with his own- desperate to hold him after so long.

physical touch was something bucky struggled with when you both met. his skin was unused to gentle touches, always expecting the worst when your fingertips came in contact with any of him; you showed him gentle touches, tender fingers dragging on his jaw in the morning, careful kisses pressed to his nose to wake him up.

“let me do that when you’re out of there, yeah?” you request, playing with your hands to distract from their want to hold his. “you deserve to just... be, bucky. you deserve to be happy, and i swear i’ll make sure it’s the only thing you’ll ever feel again.” you go silent, picking apart your tangled thoughts and attempting to make sentences of them.

“y/n.”

it takes you a while to notice the voice, its echo reaching you, prying your attention away from bucky. “shuri,” you realize, mouth moving faster than your brain as it falls behind to realize what exactly shuri might be doing here. “it’s ready- he can come out today.”

your eyebrows furrow, the words foggy as your brain decides to take them in late, examining them for their meaning too many seconds after silence has been hanging in the air, waiting for you to break its delicate thread. “what?” you finally say after a moment, not looking for an answer while you jump from your seat, ignoring the items you’d handpicked as they fall to the floor, clatters ignored while you bounce to shuri, “really? he can- it’s really ready?”

shuri nods, beaming smile as the reaction she was hoping for bounds out of you, albeit a bit later than she’d expected. you’ve turned, eyes on bucky now as your anticipation grows, arms motioning towards him gently, “well, then… please- please,” you beg, unable to finish the plead that shuri already knows.

-

your fingernails are in between your teeth from the waiting- a nasty habit bucky had helped you break thanks to his wrapped hands around yours- foot tapping incessantly on the floor beneath you. you have absolute trust in shuri and wakanda’s technology, but the worry grows when you stare at the chamber bucky was once in, bright cerulean of his eyes hidden from yours.

every cell of your body is screaming for him, and it might be embarrassing how much you miss him if it were a different situation, a different man with different eyes.

ayo is with him, observing him while the wretched words are said, and every passing second makes your fear grow worse- that he would go back into cryo, that he wouldn’t ever touch you again, too afraid he’d hurt you with the same stained hands with which he’d hurt others.

you shut your eyes again and took a deep breath, feeling your lungs expand and focusing on that.

“y/n,” he interrupts, the cracked word bringing the air you had been missing for so long, eyes opening as quickly as they could and a sob falling from your throat when you stand. “bucky,” you snivel, foot already stepping closer to him before you can instruct it to. you pause for a second to make sure bucky is okay with it, against the will of every voice in your mind and muscle in your body. the man nods, stepping towards you instead and immediately warming you with his embrace. you reciprocate immediately, winding your arms around him while his flesh arm pulls you as close as he can.

“bucky,” you weep, pushing your face into the crook of his neck and crying harder when your nose touches his warm skin and the soft strands of his hair. bucky only pulls away for a moment to look at you, gentle thumb brushing away your tears. you cradle his face in your hand, scanning every feature continuously until you reach his eyes and your breath catches at the brilliant color, realizing the dark sheen of exhaustion was gone, his tired eyes were no longer as tired, offering solid possibility that at some point, they wouldn’t be at all.

WICKED'S SUMMER FESTIVAL

A writing event based on summer as its main theme!

Hello! I’m hosting a little writing event to bring some inspiration to those who may want to write something new!

Here's a little FAQ if you aren't familiar with writing events (or at least mine!):

What’s it about?

For a lot of people, summer is almost there! Try to write something with what can be considered a "summer topic." EX.: the beach, a vacation, sundresses, swimsuits, a date in warm and sunny weather and so on.

Are AUs allowed?

Yes! Though of course they aren’t mandatory. Mob AU, Modern AU, Royal AU… whatever fits best the narrative you’re looking to do! Here are a couple I’m able to think of right now:

Coffee shop AU

Flower/tattoo shop AU

College AU

Historical AU

Fairy tale AU

Roommates AU

Dystopian AU

Modern AU

Some more questions you may have…

“Event time?”

From June 1st to August 31st! It’s summer where I live during that time and it made me want to organise a fun challenge for fic writers all around to participate in.

“Can I write about any fandom?”

Of course! I am tagging some fandoms though it is obviously not limited to only these!

“One shot or multiple parts?”

That is up to you and where your imagination takes you! I think the event time is long enough to do multiple parts should you want, but a one shot is already wonderful! You can even do multiple one shots if a couple of subjects interest you!

“SFW or NSFW?”

Both can be done! though not mandatory. You can write the fluffiest fluff, the smuttiest smut, or both at once! Even angst if you feel inspired!

Here’s a list of tropes, situations and even quotes that may inspire you along with the summer theme!

Tropes:

Friends to lovers

Enemies to lovers

mutual pining

rivals

Arranged marriage

crossover

fake relationship

Hanahaki disease

Sex pollen

Fake dating

Situations:

“there is only one bed and neither wants to let the other sleep on the ground”

“now is clearly not the right time to express their feelings but they both feel like they’ll never do it otherwise”

“saw the other in a swimsuit/specific outfit they never wore before and they are currently slowly losing it”

“person A invited B to a festival, fair, crowded event and using it as an excuse to hold their hands as to not lose them in the crowd”

“person B asks to go swimsuit shopping to A and A is feeling blood rush somewhere from person B modeling swimsuits to them”

“There’s a firework show going on but person A is looking a person B instead”

Quotes:

“Gimme a sec I’m not drunk enough to listen to this”

“Take another step, and I can’t be held responsible for my actions”

“After all this do you really think I don’t love you?”

“Look at how far I would go in fear of losing you”

“I thought I lost you”

“Let me show you how much I love you”

“I wasn’t sure which flowers you liked so I got one of everything they had”

“Is there a special reason as to why you’re wearing my shirt?”

“I have a name, and it’s not sweetheart”

“I’ll do it. If you do something for me.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep”

“I can’t help it, you’re fun to mess with.”

“If I could, I’d kiss away all your scars”

“prove it.”

“Do I look like I’m messing around? Do I look like I won’t punish you?”

“Show me how much you missed me.”

“What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?”

“Shall we put that mouth to better use?” I hope this brings you some inspiration! you can use #Wicked's summer festival 2023 and I shall reblog (or at least try to) your fics here!

Taglist: @moonyslove78 @rae-gar-targaryen @papaya-047 @drew-garfi @fallensilencefics @petcr3 @squiddtheekidd @albatrossandivys @mortwig @withahappyrefrain @lilacvine