Love In Slow Motion

he can not see

Dada’s Home.

Word Count: 3.6k

Category: Angst to fluff

Warning: A few curse words and not proofread because i’m always too excited

Summary: Christmas isn’t so jolly when Chris misses some of his baby daughter’s first times and she doesn’t seem to remember him.

this was supposed to be super angsty but it got so stinking cute.

..

Christmas has always had many connotations; warmth despite the December cold, love, jolly, and merry feeling of being among your loved ones.

“I’m sorry,” Chris had whispered, 3 weeks before Christmas day, as he hugged you from behind, “I’ll try to be here before Christmas.”

You were in a sombre mood the moment your husband, Chris, had told you about how he was requested to travel for work and there was a chance he wouldn’t be there for Christmas—it also being the first time you were going to be apart since your daughter was born and while you knew his job required a lot of traveling, you relished the domesticity of it all when he was at home with you, working from the comfort of your home and being able to see him that frequently.

It was especially disappointing having to imagine experiencing your 10-month-old daughter’s first Christmas without him.

Keep reading

Restitution Master List

Restitution

Characters: Ari Levinson, Steve Rogers, Andy Barber

Summary: The loan shark fell in love... but so did his brother. And the other brother? He's a ghost from her past.

The enforcer, Steve Rogers is the oldest of the Barber brothers. His poor health caused his mafia family to reject him as an infant, and he was sent to live with an Aunt in Brooklyn.

The loan shark, Ari Barber is the youngest. He's a wild child who came back from his wanderlust travels to help his family when circumstances demanded.

The boss, Andy Barber wanted a life free of the Irish Mafia. He almost escaped before the mantle of leadership was thrust on him. The woman he left is haunted by his betrayal. Will she forgive him?

Chapter List

Restitution - Chapter One

Restitution - Chapter Two

Restitution - Chapter Three

Restitution - Chapter Four 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Five 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Six 🔥

Restitution- Chapter Seven 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Eight

Restitution - Chapter Nine 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Ten 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Eleven

Restitution - Chapter Twelve 🔥

Restitution Chapter Thirteen

Restitution Chapter Fourteen

Restitution Chapter Fifteen

Restitution - Chapter Sixteen 🔥

Restitution - Chapter Seventeen

Restitution - Chapter Eighteen

Restitution - Chapter Nineteen

Restitution- Chapter Twenty 🔥

Can you write #29 with Tom 🥺

❀ home to you ❀

prompts: (29) “honey, i’m home!”

↳ established relationship, my #1 fantasy in writing, tessa steals the show as usual

word count: 829

note: girl i haven’t written anything in over a month and i’m stressed abt this, lmk what you think 🥺

flufftober drabbles (requests are closed!)

From the first day you and Tom spent in this new home, you’d commented on the annoyingly squeaky front door. It shrieks like a cat under attack at the slightest movement and is the subject of many banters between you two. Not unlike a married couple from a 90s sitcom, both of you refused to be the one to fix it, with Tom contending you should do it as you work from home while he travels, and you arguing he’d promised to do it himself first as he’s already got a background in carpentry. Thankfully, the hectic nature of your lives in the past few months have put this tiff on the backburner.

Now, though, a tiny part of you find yourself glad the door still squeals whenever it’s moved. There’s something about the flash of excitement you get when you hear it, the little frog in your chest that jumps at the realisation that Tom’s home. From your laid down position on the couch, a comforting romance book balanced over your head, your ears pick up on it immediately.

Except tonight, it’s a murmur. Hell, if your ears weren’t practically pointed up like an excited dog’s you probably wouldn’t have heard it. The three words come out faint and tired, drooping from the weight on Tom’s shoulders.

Except tonight, it’s a murmur. Hell, if your ears weren’t practically pointed up like an excited dog’s you probably wouldn’t have heard it. The three words come out faint and tired, drooping from the weight on Tom’s shoulders.

Concerned, you slip a library receipt between the pages of your book and get up, making sure you don’t wake Tessa who’s still sleeping by your feet. With a blanket still wrapped around your figure like a makeshift poncho, you quickly shuffle towards the front door. Tom has just crossed the entrance hallway into the living room, where he nearly bumps into your cocooned figure.

“Hey, darl—”

“What’s wrong?” You cut him off, eyes wide like those of a Disney character.

Perplexed, Tom freezes for a moment before his wonky eyebrow curls to meet the other. “Why, what happened?” He asks, a concerned expression making his thin lips furrow into a tiny little line. You yearn to reach up and kiss it away, but that’s for another time, when your stomach hasn’t dropped to your feet.

“You tell me.” You reply, shrugging off the blanket and wrapping it around your boyfriend’s broad shoulders. “You didn’t say it. Not like you usually do.”

Upon reflex, he burrows into the quilt, sighing as your hands rub up and down his arms. “Love, it’s been a long day, the flight back home was torture. and I have no clue what you’re saying.”

Your mouth twists into a pout and you coo, stepping forward to properly hug your boy. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry you had a tough day.” His arms slither around your waist, a cold hand slipping beneath your shirt to press itself flat against your spine. “Do you want to sit down? Or I can fix you a shower—but you’re probably starving, there’s leftovers in the oven. I’ll warm it up, unless you want to order something fresh—I saw this new shawarma place on—”

The coldness of his palms cupping your cheeks cuts you off, and you blink as you find Tom’s eyes, the corners crinkling tiredly in an endeared smile. “Baby, breathe.” He inhales deeply with you, knowing how easily overwhelmed you get, and you release your breaths together, shoulders relaxing. “I already ate, I’m too tired to shower, and the only thing I need right now,” he whispers, leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose, “is my girl.”

Heat blooms in your stomach like a spring garden, and you wrap your arms around him once more, squeezing his torso tightly. With just as much strength, Tom hugs you back, his chin resting on your crown.

“Smooth talker,” you murmur into his overcoat, “you know how much that term affects me. S’not fair.”

His chest vibrates with laughter against your cheek and he gives you a good squeeze just for the sake of it. “How about I make it up to you by volunteering to take your pants off for you and then we see where that goes?”

The sound of his laughter as you step away from him unimpressed wakes Tessa up, and soon enough her short legs flop onto the floor with overexcitement. Colour flushes back into Tom’s skin, and he crouches down to accept the dog’s greeting, one of his hands scratching her ear and the other smoothing down her fur.

“Hi, honey, I’m home.” He coos, grinning as she licks his neck and chin, and you’re pretty if he had a tail, his would be wagging too. “Yes, princess, daddy’s home.”

Deadpan, you glare down at him with your arms crossed. “Bitch…”

the great shirt debate

requested: could you write a fluffy fic about chris and reader (it could be it the futile series or not!) where they are doing laundry together or just doing domestic stuff! thank you so much!

a/n: this is so soft i love it, lowercase on purpose ig because im lazy but wanted to crank this out also it feels like i haven’t written for chris in so long and i miss it lmao

warnings: this is 110% tooth rotting fluff and therefore i am not responsible for your dentist bill ;)

no beta/loosely proofread so please excuse errors!

my main masterlist

the pile of dirty clothes in the laundry room had only grown exponentially over the past two weeks. you and chris had both been nonstop working, which meant that the household chores got pushed aside. luckily, the two of you are both relatively clean people, so the worst was really only the laundry, and the accumulation of dodger’s fur on the floors and couches.

and after a lazy saturday morning sleeping in (and resting up after various intimate reunion activities after almost two weeks of no time together), you and chris finally decided to get on with the chores.

he took on the vacuuming - rearranging the furniture so he could get under and behind things -  while you started on the laundry. you emptied the hampers, stripped the beds, and filled up the washing machine for the first load before wandering back to the living room to check in on chris. from afar, you’re able to hear the soft whirr of the vacuum cleaner, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight that falls upon your eyes when you walk into the living room.

your six foot something hunk of a boyfriend has a pair of headphones over his ears, completely unbothered by the sound of the vacuum, and wiggling around, lip-syncing and dancing to whatever song is playing in his headphones as he sucks up the dog hair from the area rug. he’s sporting a simple hoodie and a baggy pair of joggers, but he’s just so adorable that you can’t help but interfere with his task.

you walk up behind him, then snake your hands around his torso, and he reacts with a small jump, clearly not expecting you. he looks down at you with a smile, switches off the vacuum, then pulls his headphones off his ears, letting them rest around his neck, and you can hear that he’s listening to Neil Diamond.

“boo,” you hum, softly scratching your fingers over his tummy.

“gosh, you scared me, love,” he laughs, cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment as he pauses the music, then pulls the headphones off his neck and tosses them to the couch.

“sorry, you just looked too cute,” you giggle, and he turns around in your grasp, leaving the vacuum to stand on it’s own so that he can wrap his arms around you, too.

“mm, thank you,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to sweetly kiss your forehead. “you’re pretty cute, too.”

Keep reading

first date, last night

summary: You were supposed to go on a date tonight, but Bucky just had to interfere. It doesn't make any sense, either. It's not like there's anything going on between the two of you.

pairing: 40s!bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: good old angsty fluff. banter and miscommunication (it's two painfully oblivious idiots in love, people), socially anxious reader, slightly jealous bucky in the beginning, a lot of cake, sad-ish ending (only if we take mcu canon to be a real thing)

prompt: this was written for the lovely @imaginearyparties' theatre challenge—congrats again on 300 followers, ilana!! (and thank you for extending the deadline) my prompt was "first date / last night" from dogfight. you can and should listen to the whole song here.

a/n: frankly, this has zero rights to be as long as it turned out to be, but the second half of this hated my guts and i had to just roll with it. hope you enjoy x

masterlist | read on ao3

It’s late, and Bucky is pacing.

You can hear it through the ceiling, even though you’ve pulled a pillow over your head to try and block out the noise. He’s been pacing ever since you’ve sent him marching upstairs, slamming the door so hard a bit of plaster fell off your living room wall, and you shouted a name after him your mama would have smacked you over the head for.

But tonight was meant to be lovely, your first real night out in the city, and he just had to ruin it. And once again, you’re left to literally pick up the pieces on your own in an empty apartment. What a waste.

You’re sort of glad your roommate has to work the late shift tonight, though. Angie would’ve found this whole thing hilarious. You can almost hear her.

“It’s just because he wants to be your fella,” she’d have said, soothingly combing her fingers through your hair, and you’d have rolled your eyes. “So he doesn’t like anyone else asking you out.”

“It’s not like that, Ange. We’re past the age of pulling pigtails, you know. This ain’t how you treat people,” you told her last time you had this conversation, after Bucky had frightened away the man at the laundromat who’d asked you out for ice cream. Granted, that guy had been a bit of a creep, so you didn’t think much of it at the time. You can’t let yourself.

No matter what strange unspoken thing there seems to be between the two of you. Surely, you’re just imagining things anyway.

Tommy’s different though. Tommy’s a nice guy. Works for a newspaper, sent flowers to your doorstep last week and asked you to go dancing with him soon after, flushing so deeply it reached his ears. And sure, they might be a bit large compared to the rest of his head and he had a somewhat aloof air to him, but he was sweet enough. Besides, you’d never actually been on a proper date. Of course you’d said yes.

Angie made you get a new dress for the occasion, navy colored with a lovely petticoat. The price of it almost made you weep, but “you never get anything nice for yourself, Y/N,” as Angie put it. “Besides, I have the perfect pair of shoes you can borrow.”

8 p.m. rolled around and you were trying not to wait next to the door. Your hands wouldn’t stop sweating.

After ten minutes, you started to worry. Then again, it had just started to rain. Maybe Tommy’d turned back for an umbrella.

At half past eight, you decided to go downstairs to see if he was waiting for you there. Instead, you found Bucky, wearing his newly issued uniform and peaked cap. He was smoking, half-leaning in the entrance so he’d be sheltered from the weather underneath the tiny wooden porch.

Immediately, you felt the old familiar twist in your stomach at the sight of him, the little flutter and sting. This time, though, it was followed by an immediate sense of dread. He wasn’t even supposed to be home so early. Last you’d heard, he’d found some girls for him and Steve to take to that science exposition the papers won’t shut up about. Neither of them had even thought to ask you, of course, even though you were the one who’d first pointed it out to them.

“Sounds like a crowd puller,” Bucky’d frowned and soon changed the subject to some movie with Hedy Lamarr he wanted to see, not noticing the way your face fell.

“He’s a knucklehead,” Steve had said later with an apologetic smile, and you’d nodded and thrown the flyer in the trash, unsure what you’d expected or how you’d wanted the conversation to go. After all, you’re just the girl from the second floor, a friendly face on rainy days, sure, but also easily ignored. Well, most days, anyway.

Bucky turned when he heard your steps approaching. Your bad feeling seemed to be confirmed, because at the sight of you, he choked on the smoke he was inhaling. Like someone caught. Ignoring his coughing, you glanced past him. Not a single person was out in the rain.

“Has anybody asked for me?” you asked wearily.

Bucky’s eyes were still wide as he took you in. “Well, look at you all decked out,” he said hoarsely.

You crossed your arms. “Just answer the question.”

“Fella came by a bit ago,” he said nonchalantly, turning his head to blow out a puff of smoke away from your face. “Didn’t stick around.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’re not interested?” He made it sound like a question, cocking his head slightly, that little lopsided smile of his dancing around the corner of his mouth but never reaching his eyes. It only irritated you more. “I actually wanted to—”

“Why on earth would you do that?” you interrupt him.

“Why, was I wrong?” He went for another drag from his cigarette, but you snatched it out of his fingers and stomped on it. For some reason, that just made him give a laugh. “Come on, sugar! That guy’s a drip, anyway.”

“You don’t know him!”

“Neither do you, or you wouldn’t’ve agreed to go out with him. He ain’t right for you.”

“Well, you don’t get to decide that! You don’t see me going around tellin’ you you can’t go out with Clara from the flower shop or whatever she’s called!”

That was a slip-up. Bucky’s smile morphed into a smirk. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

“Oh, grow up, Barnes, I don’t care what you do!” Turning around on your borrowed heels, you pushed back inside.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t know either, would ya?” he called after you, still sounding way too amused.

“I don’t give a—” In your anger, you forgot to skip around the broken floorboard. The heel of Angie’s shoe crashed right through it and you could feel yourself rushing towards the ground. At the last second, a pair of strong arms stopped your fall, pulling you back up until you regained your balance, heart thundering.

“Careful there,” Bucky’s voice murmured way too close to your ear. “Don’t want you fallin’ for me like that.”

There was a beat. Neither of you seemed to breathe.

“You alright?”

“Get off me,” you hissed. His hands disappeared as if you’d burned him, but your skin was left cold. With an annoyed growl, you slipped out of the shoes and yanked the stuck one out of the floor. The heel was left all scratched up. Angie was going to murder you. “Look at this!” you snapped at Bucky, jabbing the messed up shoe in his direction.

He caught it in his hands. “Jeez, that ain’t my fault!”

“Yes, it is! Because without you constantly interfering in my life, I’d be out cuttin’ a rug right now!” Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes now, so you turned your back on Bucky and started to climb up the rickety stairs in your pantyhose.

“You really think you’d be havin’ a good time right now if you’d actually gone out with Dumbo back there?” Bucky called, taking two steps at a time behind you. “Look, I’m sorry but I think—”

“You know what, Bucky,” you interrupted him, turning around sharply in front of your apartment door. “You might fool all those other girls with that fancy uniform of yours that you’re so keen on showin’ off, but underneath, you’re a jerk. And I just want you to stay the hell away from me.”

A look of genuine shock flashed over Bucky’s features for just a second, revealing something else under the layer of jovial swagger you usually saw him wear. Something that almost looked like hurt. It was gone in less than a second, though, replaced by an unusually cold sneer that seemed unnatural on his handsome face.

“All right,” he said, brusquely handing you back the shoe you’d left behind. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, anyway.”

“Great,” you shouted as he made his way upstairs, “can’t wait for the peace and quiet!”

The door slammed. The plaster fell.

Angie couldn’t be more wrong, you think as you lie there in bed. You know the way Bucky acts around girls he wants to be with, charming and funny and confident. You’ve seen it too many times, each of them another tiny stab because he’s never been like that with you. Not once.

The pacing finally stops and you breathe a sigh of relief. You emerge from underneath the pillow and drag yourself in front of the little vanity you share with your roommate. In the silence, you wipe the smeared make-up off your face and start pulling the pins out of the elaborate updo you’d spent half the afternoon on. Your hair tumbles down in an unruly mess.

You think about dropping by Tommy’s agency tomorrow to explain your situation, but you don’t think you’re that desperate quite yet. Besides, the thing that really annoys you about Bucky’s words is that he’s not wrong.

You weren’t that interested in your date in the first place. You’d just welcomed the distraction from your actual feelings, because it’d felt nice to get positive attention for a change.

Because despite of his meddlesome ways and his sometimes thoughtless actions, you still care about Bucky. Probably more than you should, and more than he cares for you anyway, no matter how high Angie raises her eyebrows.

Matter of fact is, these past couple of weeks, he’s barely even talked to you, your interactions limited to brief nods in the stairwell and the odd word or two, with him never quite meeting your eye.

Lost in your tangled thoughts, you’re about to start unbuttoning your dress, when a knock on the door brings you back to reality.

You frown. It’s not the rhythmic knock Angie uses when she’s forgotten her keys again, and it’s too timid to be your landlady. Probably Steve trying to talk reason about his best friend’s behavior again. You’re not keen on the speech, but you don’t want to keep Stevie standing in the drafty hallway. He’s stubborn enough to catch pneumonia out of spite and misguided loyalty. Again. Rubbing your cheeks one last time, you go to open the door.

You almost slam it again immediately when you realize it’s not Steve who’s standing on the other side at all. It’s Bucky.

He’s changed out of his fatigues into something more casual, and his hair looks as if he’s dragged his hands through it several times. The disheveled look of it almost has your heart fall over itself and you inhale sharply to keep it firmly locked in your chest.

“What do you want?” you try to snap, but it comes out toneless. You’re too tired for anger.

Bucky clears his throat. He keeps shifting under your gaze, keeps moving, his fingers pulling at a loose thread in the hem of his sweater. Little cracks in his carefully crafted façade that have you pause.

“I was wonderin’ if you’ve eaten.”

Confused doesn’t quite cover your feelings. You’re at a complete loss. “Excuse me?”

“Seein’ as your plans tonight, uhm—fell through, I just thought I’d … ask. In case you’re hungry.” Never, in all the time you’ve known him, have you heard Bucky stumble over his words like this. It’d be endearing if you weren’t still annoyed at him.

“I’m not,” you lie. Truth is, you’ve only had a late lunch and your kitchen cabinets are basically empty since no one was supposed to be in tonight.

“Right,” Bucky says, swallowing. He pushes his hair back again. “Or maybe we could get some sodas down the block, there’s this shop on—”

“Is this some kind of joke?” you interrupt. His eyes finally stop their constant wandering and find yours. There’s an ache in them you haven’t seen before, one that doesn’t make any sense at all. You shake your head, ignoring the flutter. “First you scare off my date and then you want me to come out with you?”

“That’s not what I—it’s not a joke,” Bucky says. “Look, you’re angry with me, I feel rotten, let me make it up to you! You gotta believe me, I’m sorry.”

The sad thing is, you do. When he looks at you like that, you do. You can’t help it.

You sigh deeply. “Go to bed, Bucky, it’s been a long day. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

But when you move to close the door again, he holds it open with his foot. “See, here’s the thing,” he says, his voice wavering ever so slightly, “that’s not exactly an option as I’m being shipped out first thing in the morning.”

Another chip, another crack, and the puzzle pieces are starting to fall back into place. It’s your heart that breaks instead, the last of your anger dissipating into thin air.

“You’re leaving,” you say softly, and Bucky nods curtly. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Only found out yesterday myself.”

Obviously you’ve known this day would come. You’ve known ever since you first saw him in that damn uniform, and even before then. You just thought he’d have more time. You feel your heart trying to pound out of your chest as you look at Bucky, suddenly desperate to commit his face to memory before … you don’t want to think about it.

“What about—does Steve know?”

“Said goodbye to him at the expo. He wanted to try enlisting again, but I don’t know …” He laughs humorlessly. “At this point, they’ve either taken him or booked him and there ain’t a thing I can do about either. Don’t even know which one’s worse.”

You’re glad you’re still holding onto the door, because you feel slightly faint. In the past months, you’ve gotten so used to living downstairs from Bucky, to having both him and Steve always lingering somewhere nearby, always close, reliably inseparable. And now, from one day to the next, neither of them is going to be here anymore.

“I could eat,” you say abruptly. Bucky seems as surprised about it as you feel, but your heart is still beating fast and you’ve never felt more resolute about anything. “Let me just get my shoes.”

You slip into your everyday oxfords with the flat heels and grab your purse off the floor next to your bed where you’d dropped it earlier. As you pass the vanity, you notice the worried flicker in your eyes. With a deep breath, you try to soothe it away. Not yet. He’s still here.

Bucky is leaning next to the door as you lock up and straighten your back. When you meet his gaze again, he holds it as if he thinks you’ll change your mind any second.

“Where to?” you ask with forced joviality, dropping your key in the bag.

He gives you a tiny crooked grin. “I know just the place.”

“And where’s that?”

“It’s a surprise, sugar.” He sticks out his elbow slightly as you get to the stairs as if he wanted you to take his arm. Bewildered, you look at it for a second before you move past him and start descending. You think you hear him sigh before he follows you.

“You know I hate surprises,” you say, ignoring it.

“You’re gonna like this one. Trust me?”

You hum noncommitantly and hop over the hole in the floorboard. “I still think you’re a jerk, by the way,” you tell him. Because it’s safe. Because that’s what you are, that’s what you do, the two of you, shallowly bickering all the time like neighbors do.

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly as he holds the door open for you, “I know.”

The rain has stopped, but the air still feels like there’s a storm incoming. The milky glow of the street lamps dimly lights your way through your empty Brooklyn neighborhood. Most shops are closed by now, bedroom windows darkened. Only once you get closer to the larger streets are there still a couple of late-night strollers dotting the alleyways.

You don’t talk, hiding again in the heavy silence that follows an argument. Neither of you seems to want to be the one to come out of it. Personally, you don’t know how.

Stealing a glance at Bucky, you find him already looking at you. Hastily, you avert your eyes again, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. Every ounce of your earlier determination seems to have vanished; you feel more unsure with each step. Bucky stuffs his hands into his pockets, coughing. You wonder what cat caught his tongue.

He looks more like himself in his own street clothes. He even walks differently, back less straightened, more relaxed. The uniform suits him well, but it makes him look younger, somehow. A bit lost in its ironed edges.

But now, like this, he’s just Bucky. Just Stevie’s best friend. Just your too-charming-for-his-own-good upstairs neighbor who can’t ever make his rations last and comes knocking for eggs and cups of sugar at ridiculous times, making you threaten to tell the landlady. You never do, though, not when he flashes that little lopsided grin at you, his eyebrows drawn together in an almost bashful expression.

You’ve started drinking your coffee black, instead.

It’s little things like that that sometimes make you wonder whether there actually might be something between you two that he’s just decided not to tell you about. It’s certainly enough to make Angie hide a knowing smile, no matter how often you tell her—and yourself—that it’s not like that.

A seawater breeze makes you shiver and you realize you’ve almost reached the bridge. You just start thinking that you should have brought a cardigan when suddenly Bucky stops, muttering to himself.

You halt, too, and half-turn to him, about to ask him what’s wrong when he shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. The gesture is so gentle, so unexpected, that for a moment the words get stuck in your throat.

“Aren’t you gonna be needing that?” you ask softly.

Bucky smiles, and for the first time tonight, it reaches his eyes. You hate the effect it has on you. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “But it’s still a bit of a walk.”

His fingers linger on the collar for another second or two before he slowly pulls back. He inhales as if he wants to say something else, but stops himself at the last moment.

“What?” You pull the jacket more tightly around yourself.

His eyes flicker down your body and back to your face. “Looks better on you than me, anyway,” he says.

You feel the warmth spread to your cheeks, and it isn’t just because of the additional layer. Even though he doesn’t mean anything by it, because it’s not like that between you. Right?

You hurry to catch up with him and once again, silence envelops you both, but it feels different now. As if something in the air has changed.

“Bucky, is this—”

“Listen, Y/N, I—”

An awkward laugh falls from your lips when you both start and stop talking at the same time.

“You go first,” you decide. Maybe he’s just saved you from embarrassing yourself by outright asking him what it is he’s doing.

Bucky chuckles quietly, even though you fail to see what’s so funny. “This isn’t how I expected my last night to go, is all.”

And there it is. “What are we doing here, then?” you ask, crossing your arms even tighter. “Why aren’t you getting dinner with flower shop girl?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m not interested in Connie.”

Right. That’s her name. “Then why’d you even ask her out?”

“Because I can’t well walk up to a gal and her friend sayin’ ‘hello, either of you interested in accompanying my pal and me to this exposition while the other one stays behind?’”

Why didn’t you ask me?

You don’t want to say it out loud, but apparently you do, because the next thing Bucky says is, “What, to go with Steve?”

“To go with you.” The sentence is out of your mouth before you can stop it, the hurt still palpable on your tongue. Your heart gives another nervous flutter.

Bucky doesn’t even blink. “Didn’t think you’d say yes.”

You frown. “I like science.”

“You don’t like crowds. Hell, most of the time you barely like me.”

“That’s not true.”

Bucky snorts. “It is. You almost fainted the other week when that fella had the whole laundromat starin’ at you, remember?”

That’s not the part you were protesting, but you do remember. Your sweaty hands holding onto your laundry basket for dear life. Your breaths coming in faster with every passing second. The way your vision started to blur slightly, as if your eyes were trying to protect you from the prying eyes you felt piercing every inch of your skin.

You hadn’t realized that Bucky noticed that, though.

Thankfully, he keeps talking before your thoughts can go down that road. “Besides, you already had a date for tonight.”

Your lingering irritation at his earlier behavior again seems like a much safer topic, somehow. “A date you managed to shoo off before I even got downstairs,” you remark dryly.

He kicks a pebble and you both watch it tumble across the empty sidewalk. “I wasn’t gonna,” Bucky sighs. “I only wanted to say goodbye to you before I left, cross my heart. He just—he got under my skin.”

Now it’s your turn to grin. “And how on earth did he manage that, Buck?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he blushes. “Would ya look at that, we’re here,” he finally mutters, nodding up ahead.

You follow his gaze. “Did you drag me halfway through Brooklyn to get murdered in a roadside diner?” you chuckle nervously.

In your defense, it doesn’t look promising. Cold lights and a sadly flickering sign, the windows fogged up with the humid wind blowing through from the docks. When Bucky holds the door open for you, the broken sound of the brass bell has you cringe.

“First of all,” he says, “I couldn’t drag ya anywhere you didn’t want to go if I tried.”

You hide a laugh behind the sleeve of his jacket. The smell of him lingers in the fabric, but not enough to block out the stench of burnt eggs and stale air.

“And second of all,” Bucky continues, sliding into one of the booths next to the window, “I happen to know this fine establishment has the best dessert selection in the city. Do you want coffee?”

“Sure,” you say, sitting down opposite him. Your back is to the wall, which gives you a nice view of the whole of the diner.

Apart from the smell, it’s not as bad as it appears on the outside. The tables are clean, the menu is surprisingly extensive, and the only other customer is a bespectacled elderly man nursing a milkshake with a surprising amount of whipped cream at the bar. You can hear quiet music coming from the kitchen.

You push the half-empty sugar dispenser over to Bucky’s side of the table with a slight grin as a tired looking teenager makes his way to your table with the coffeepot and two mugs. Bucky watches you with curious amusement, but doesn’t seem to pick up on the joke.

“You guys want anything else?”

“Yes,” Bucky says with a charming smile. “However much cake we can get for one dollar and seventeen cents.”

“Are you nuts?” you hiss while you get your coffee poured.

“And give us a variety, please.” He turns back to you. “What?”

“You’re not serious. He’s not serious,” you tell your waiter. “You can’t spend that much money on cake.”

Bucky shrugs. “Not like I’ll get much use out of it come morning. I am very serious,” he tells the teenager.

“Doubt we have that much left, anyway,” the guy says with a yawn and leaves for the kitchen.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you snort, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I did tell ya I was gonna make it up to you.”

“Yeah.” You lean your head against the back of your seat. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

His eyebrow twitches, but he keeps his eyes on his mug, swirling the contents. “I’ll live, sugar.”

“Promise?”

The painful uncertainty makes the air seem to crackle when he looks at you, then. This time, you don’t pull up the walls protecting your heart immediately, because slowly but surely, you’re running out of time.

You’re sure Bucky notices the emotion on your face, because there’s something similar lingering in his gaze, something you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s like there’s still a puzzle piece you’re missing and the answer to all of it is hiding somewhere in the blue depths of his eyes.

Have they always looked so soft?

For once, Bucky is the first one to look away, and you hastily clear your throat and lock your heart away again.

“So,” you say, “how was the expo?”

“Good,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “It was good, it was fun. Lots of people.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Well, if I tell you about the flying car we saw, that just makes me seem like a bragging arse.”

“Language,” you say automatically, then bite your tongue when he looks at you, amused. You think of the plaster on your living room floor. “A flying car, huh?”

“Yeah.” His eyes sparkle like the light reflecting off the sea, and it’s beautiful. “Though it did break on stage, so maybe you didn’t miss that much.”

“What a letdown,” you say sarcastically.

“I know. Steve was so disappointed he left.” He taps his fingers against the rim of his mug.

“He’s gonna be fine, you know,” you say, sensing the leftover worry in his voice. “Even if trouble follows him.”

Bucky snorts. “Steve follows trouble, not the other way round.”

“Still. Bad weeds grow tall and all that.” There’s a pause again and you hum to fill the silence. “Also, he’s not gonna wanna miss Stark’s next grand brain child.”

“I’ve got a feeling that’s not gonna be a good enough reason for that righteous punk to stay outta bad business.”

“You’ll see. Next time, he’ll be front row.” You hesitate, but only for a second. “I’m fine with crowds, by the way. Long as they’re not looking at me.”

Bucky nods slowly, that little lopsided smile making another appearance. His eyes crinkle with it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The arrival of his cake order turns the flutter in your stomach into a growl. Coffee cake with cream and steaming apple pie, jam filled vanilla sponge and cheesecake are placed in front of you, each slice about twice the size of what Angie is allowed to cut at the automat.

“We are so gonna turn our stomachs,” you laugh.

“It’ll be worth it,” Bucky answers and ceremoniously hands you a fork.

He’s not wrong. For a couple of minutes, you don’t talk at all, just tasting your way through the different plates in front of you, each bite more delicious than the one before. You have to control yourself hard to not make any obscene noises.

“I’mma miss this,” Bucky says, washing another bite down with the rest of his coffee. “Doubt they’re much for dessert in Italy.”

You watch him over the rim of your own mug. Your eyes flit to the untouched sugar dispenser, and it just irks you.

“Do you bake?” you ask with a doubtful expression.

“What?” Bucky chuckles. “No. Why, do you want me to?”

“Then what are you doing with all that sugar you keep borrowing? Do you eat it raw with a spoon?”

“Ah, you noticed that.” In the harsh light, the pink on his cheeks is all the more visible this time.

You snort over your fork. “Of course I noticed that, how was I not gonna?”

“Well, forgive me, but you have a tendency to wilfully misinterpret my intentions. Or outright ignore them.”

“I do not.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans back in his seat and takes you in for a second. “You look stunning in that dress, sugar.”

You look down at yourself, his jacket still thrown over your shoulders. “You can’t even see it.”

“All right. So when was the last time you changed the water on your flowers?”

You narrow your eyes at the change in topic. “Yesterday.” He stares at you blankly until your eyes widen. “So that wasn’t—”

“Nope.” He takes another bite of cheesecake.

“Right,” you say, slowly putting your fork down. You’re starting to feel a bit queasy, though not in an entirely unpleasant way. “Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Are you makin’ a pass at me?”

His cheeks darken a little more. “Been tryin’ to do that for weeks now, but thanks for noticing.”

Your mind is racing, trying to form a single coherent thought, but all that manages to make its way out is, “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Bucky says. “Because I like you, that’s why.”

“No, you don’t.”

His brows draw together. “I don’t?”

“You went out with a different girl hours ago, and now you’re telling me you like me?”

“I told you before that I wasn’t interested in her.”

“Because you’re interested in … me.”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” His hand is in his hair again and you’re not sure whether he wants to push it back or make a mess of it. You wonder if they’re going to cut it, and the thought stings. It’s ridiculous, really, but it’s also easier to worry about his hair than about him.

“I don’t …” You trail off. Your heart is beating so loud it’s making it impossible to hear your own thoughts. For some reason, Angie’s voice seems to drown out all the noise inside your head. Told you so, she singsongs.

“Look,” Bucky says, and there’s a pained sort of cadence to his voice. “I know you don’t feel the same and this is just about the worst timing, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t risk … but I also didn’t want to leave without …” He huffs quietly and just like that, the final piece of the puzzle falls into place.

You’ve guarded your heart too closely around him.

You stand up with a jolt and he doesn’t even lift his head, as if he thinks you’re just going to leave him sitting there. Instead, you slide into the booth next to him, your body turned towards him.

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice reaches barely above a whisper. Bucky’s breath hitches when you touch his shoulder to have him look at you. “Say it again?”

His eyes flit between yours, still uncertain, still searching for something. Permission, maybe.

You hold your breath.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

And this time, you don’t have to question it. You see it in his eyes, clear as day now, no longer hidden in covert glances and friendly banter. It’s warm and soft, and you’ve never seen this particular expression of his directed at anyone else. He’s looking at you as if you are the only thing on earth that’s real. So you let your walls crumble away.

“I like you so much it terrifies me.”

The changes on Bucky’s face are imminent, the realization as your words hit, the same relieved sort of disbelief that courses through you as well. You pull him in until you can wrap your arms around him and bury your nose in his sweater, breathing him in. He holds you as if you’re something precious, his heart racing as much as yours.

“God, you’re an idiot, Barnes,” you mumble, and you can feel him chuckle.

“I’d say we’re on par for that, sugar.” He presses the tiniest kiss to your head. “We still have the whole rest of the night. About three more slices of cake to go through.”

He doesn’t let you out of his embrace, only draw back enough to face him. His eyes have little specks of gray and brown in them. You’ve never noticed them before, but you’re already committing each and every one of them to memory.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“It’s gonna be fine, you’ll see,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll be back in a couple’a months with some small scars and a medal or two. And then I’ll take you out proper, wherever you want.”

“I’d like that,” you say quietly. “I’d settle for you coming home safe, though.”

“‘Course I will,” Bucky says, and that beautiful little lopsided grin returns. You’re dizzy with the weight of his gaze, and when he leans in closer, your eyes flutter shut. You feel his breath on your cheek when he speaks again, sweet like cake. “Can’t keep my best girl waitin’ too long now, can I?”

Ever the optimist.

And yet, you’re the first one to lean in, as if he still doesn’t believe you’d let him.

You restore his faith, again and again. It almost feels like a promise.

Deadpool arriving in the Marvel movies, scenes like this become possible:

I can easily see Ryan Reynolds & Andrew Garfield interacting. 🤣❤️

*would be my dream?*

andrew’s spiderman and ryan’s deadpool WHEN

✧ SEBASTIAN STAN 80th Annual Golden Globe Awards January 10th, 2023 | Beverly Hills