B e n j i W r i t e s

Benji, 23

[benji-writes]

Masterlist

Steve Rogers: 

The Stoop

In the Tub

Bucky Barnes:

The Laundry Room

Little Star

Cherry Blossom

[benji-writes]

Sammy, and I, and the Soda Pop Shop

Pairing: Sam Wilson x f!reader

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: Best friends since childhood, you and Sammy need to fall a part before you can come back together again. 

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death

Sammy and I always made time for the Soda Pop Shop. On the corner of Smock and Singleton, the Soda Pop Shop was a local institution. Across from Colby Cook Memorial Park, locals would pop in for a soda, a Pop Pop Burger, and a bag of Hot Hot fries. The Pop Hot Combo was not to be missed out on, and Sammy and I would get 2 orders of Pop Hots every Friday night, and head across the street to eat them at the picnic table by Magnolia Trees. They were a treat, and a sacred ritual from the time we were kids till the time he left. 

Wednesday nights we’d sit at our favored booth in the Soda Shop and order Slush Puppies – Green Apple and Grape. Sometimes we’d sit at the counter stools and talk to Mama Nell, who had owned the shop and worked behind the counter as long as anyone could remember. Nobody had a lot of money where we came from, but Sammy always took care of me. He’d buy our slushees and our Pop Hots. He’d do extra chores around the house when we were kids, hoping to get a few extra dollars to spend. When we were older, I’d see him mowing lawns or running errands for the neighbors. I could never understand why he did it. I had an allowance when we were little, and as a teenager I babysat the younger kids in the neighborhood. I could easily have bought my own food, but that was just who Sammy was. 

I tried everything I could to show Sam how much he meant to me. I’d bring him breakfast to school in the morning, even when he told me not to. His favorite was always the blueberry bagels. I’d leave him notes in sidewalk chalk on the pavement outside his house. I cut the strings off the community center yo-yos and braided them together to make us matching friendship bracelets. Sammy and I never took them off. Not ever. 

For birthdays and Christmas’s, I’d save up everything I could. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I gave him tickets to what would become our first concert. Or the Christmas after his sixteenth birthday, when I bought him a video camera. 

The best gift I ever gave Sammy though was the day before he left for the Air Force. It was years of photographs, mementos, flowers. All those special things that I’d saved over the years. I had never been so nervous. 

We’d gone out that night to the Soda Pop Shop. Everyone came by to see him: to say goodbye, to reminisce, to laugh and laugh, and to cry. 

Mama Nell told wistful stories about Sammy. She lived in the house next door, and had watched me and Sammy play in the streets, and run around the park since we were practically in diapers. She had watched us grow up, always made time to ask us how school was going, and what our plans for the weekend were. Gave us free slushees whenever she could sneak us one without the other customers noticing.  

When the night wound down, and even Sam’s family had made their way home, Sammy and I were still sat in our booth by the window. Just sitting there. Quiet. Unwilling to go home. It was then, with the tables up on the chairs, and all the stores on the block closed for the night, that Mama Nell came over and sat down with us. She placed two orders of Pop Hots down, alongside a Green Apple and a Grape Slush Puppie. We’d hardly eaten a thing all night, too caught up in everything to even think about it. Just grabbing a handful of fries, or an onion ring off of somebody else’s plate. 

The food was still steaming. We hadn’t ordered anything, but somehow Mama Nell knew we were hungry. Not just for food, but for more time. For this moment together. For one last Pop Hot before everything changed. 

She sat for a second, all of us just there in the still of the moment, food in front of us waiting to be eaten when she said, “Kids. I’ve never seen anything quite like the two of you,” She took a deep breath, and shook her head. “Won’t be the same round here.” 

With that, she dropped the keys on the table and stood. She was walking towards the door, not even looking at us, “Lock up when you kids are ready. Just drop the key in the mailbox.” 

And then she was gone. Just me and Sammy, alone for the first time all night. On the precipice of a brave new world. One we would have to face alone. 

I was the first to reach for my food. We ate quietly, but together. Sammy would be gone in only a few hours, uncertain as to when we would get to see each other again. 

When I was done eating, Sammy was still making his way through the last of his fries. Eating slow, trying to make it all last. It was then that I finally spoke.

“Hey, Sammy?” It came out quieter than I wanted it to. He didn’t look up. Just kept eating. 

“Sammy?” I said louder this time, and he shoved another fry in his mouth. 

“Sam.” That got his attention. I never called him that.

“Don’t call me that, baby.” He whispered so softly. The way he called me baby made my heart fold in on itself. 

“Then look at me,” I ordered. And he did. A moment went by where we just looked at each other. “I have something for you. I want you to have it.” He wiped his hands off with a napkin and pushed the food wrappers aside while I reached into my bag to pull his present out. It was wrapped delicately in glittery tissue paper. I placed it in front of him, and he looked at it so seriously. And with such care, and the gentlest of hands, he undid the tissue paper. 

A black scrapbook. Nothing on the cover to indicate what would be on the inside. Ever so carefully, he flipped open the cover to see a picture of us two as kids, hugging and smiling for the camera. Underneath, in my handwriting, read the words “ The Adventures of Sammy and I.”

I saw his jaw clench tight. As he flipped from page to page. Picture strewn across each of them, little notes along side. 

“Wishing well we found. Two pennies thrown in. I know what I wished for...”

 “Sittin’ on the dock of the bay. Watchin’ the tide roll away.” 

“Taken after Sammy saw his first pair of tits at Mardi Gras.” 

“Biker wannabe. Sammy during his leather jacket phase, leaning against the Soda Shop, trying to catch the babes.” 

“Prom. Sammy couldn’t get a date, so I figured I might as well take pity...” 

“Under the stars. Slush puppies in the summer time. Biggie on the radio. Nights were never better than this.” 

He ran his fingers across the pages. His eyes watered, but no tears would fall. He laughed at some of my descriptions. Let out a long sigh as he ran his hand down cream soda bottle tops, movie stubs, old sticky notes left for one another. The sun-wearing-sunglasses magnet from my school locker that he always made fun of. Magnolia petals that would fall from the tree and onto our picnic table. The fortune from a cookie he gave me that said “Believe it can be done.” 

Precious artifacts that wove together the story of our friendship. Of our everything. 

“Y/N... baby, I-“ the words caught in his throat. 

“I know, Sammy. I know” I grabbed his hand from across the table. 

He looked up at me. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I had a feeling it was about all the things we’d left unsaid. All the things that would stay unsaid. 

“You’ll stay safe out there, won’t you Sammy?” The words came out like a prayer. 

“I’ll always come back to you.” 

We sat in the park that night. Stayed out till he had to leave for basic training in the morning. We walked to the bus together. His mom and sister were already waiting there with his bag. He hugged them so tight. His mom wept. His sister pretended not to. He took a deep breath, and refused to let his chin wobble. That was my Sammy, alright. Brave face. Always trying to take care of everyone but himself. He hugged me last, shoved his head right into the crook my neck. He breathed in deep, as if he wanted to savor every piece of this last moment. As if he knew things would never be the same. He kissed my forehead, “I love you.” 

I so badly wanted him to mean it the way I meant it, “I love you too, Sammy.” 

He got on that bus, and as it pulled away a feeling settled. It was uneasy. It was empty. Something greater than loss, something more profound than grief. It was a feeling took root in the very fabric of my body. And I just knew I would never see Sammy again. 

And I didn’t. 

Not for many years. 

Not until today... 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Mama Nell didn’t have any kids of her own. No husband to speak of. Just a handful of scrappy kids that came in and out of her shop over the years. She’d helped us out when we needed it. There were months where we spent more time with Mama Nell than with our own families. She was special to us. Family. 

After Sammy left, I spent more time with Mama Nell than I did with anyone – more than my family, more than Sammy’s family. I would help do chores around her house, stuff she “couldn’t” do anymore: wiping baseboards, washing the woodwork, replacing sheets and blankets, scrubbing the tub, vacuuming, dusting, and so on goes the list. Really Mama Nell was just giving me a reason, a guise, to be over at her house all the time. I was helping out. And she enjoyed having the company. We’d play hours of scrabble, and I’d usually lose. I’d show her new movies (anything with Denzel was her favorite). According to Mama, “Men had no right lookin’ that good.” We’d gossip and chop onions, and tomatoes for the Shop. 

I would spend hours with Mama at her house. But I couldn’t bring myself to actually walk into the Pop Shop. Not alone. Not without Sammy. Not for a long time. 

It was probably six months after Sammy had left before I even considered going into the shop. It was eight months before Mama Nell convinced me to help her bring over some containers of vegetables.

 Nine months had gone by, without so much as a phone call from Sammy. Not a single letter of mine replied too. Even his mom had only talked to him on the phone a few times. Said there was a lot going on he couldn’t talk about. But I didn’t care if he couldn’t talk about what he was doing in the military. I just wanted to hear his voice, hear him say my name, or crack a joke. I wanted to tell him about how me and Mama Nell had gotten even closer, and that I missed him. I wanted to see his chicken scratch handwriting, where you needed context clues to tell if he was trying to write a “g” or an “s.” I just wanted him. Something. Anything. I felt like a dog, begging for even the smallest of scraps. But nothing ever came. Any updates I got were passed on by his mom. He was supposed to come home after a couple of months, but he never did. And that feeling I had felt in my stomach the day he’d left, from the moment he stepped on that bus, only grew deeper and deeper. It became more. I was sick to my stomach with the knowledge that my Sammy was gone. 

It was his birthday – just over nine months after Sammy had left – that I really went back to the Soda Pop Shop. I sat down. Alone at our booth. Everything felt too still. Too quiet. The place was closed, but Mama Nell had long since given me a key, not that I’d ever really needed it before. Part of me still wonders if she knew this day would come. Where I’d need to finally have this moment. 

I sat in our booth, like we normally would. I made myself a Pop Hot, just the way Mama had taught me. I poured a Green Slush Puppie. I fiddled with the bracelet on my wrist. 

I ate alone. 

The next day, I started working behind the counter with Mama.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“How was school today, Andy?” I asked from behind the counter, handing him a chocolate shake. 

“Stupid.” It came out all mumbled, and huffy, the way it always does when kids are asked about school. 

“You’re not getting picked on are you, honey?” I couldn’t help but worry about him. It was hard not to worry about the kids that came in and out of here. 

He took a long deep breath, “No... it’s just stupid, and I hate math, and it’s almost summer. So it’s just stupid.” 

He took a sip of his milkshake, and shrugged his shoulders. I nodded, because I remember what that was like. Me and Sammy would sit in this very spot after school, and complain to Mama Nell about how dumb school was. And she’d nod along sagely. And then, if it was one of those rare quiet days, a day like today when no one was around, she’d give us both Pop Hots – on the house. 

“Well kiddo, how’s a Pop Hot sound?” I said smiling at him. 

“Amazing! But can you wrap it up for me? I gotta be home before Ma gets mad.” He put his elbow on the table, and rested his cheek on his hand, still sipping on the straw of his milkshake. 

“Sure thing bud, I’m getting ready to close up shop anyway.” 

A few minutes later, I was wrapping up his burger in foil, and throwing his fries in a baggie. Dr. Pepper was his favorite, so I pulled one out of the fridge and stuck that in there too. 

I handed him his bag, and he pushed the empty shake glass towards me, “Be good, alright. Stay safe on the walk home, and I’ll see you soon. Flip the sign ‘closed’ on the way out.” 

He thanked me and was almost out the door when I shouted, “Tell your mother I said hello!” 

“OKAY!” I heard him yell back, muffled as the door began to close in his way out.

He was a good kid. They all were. All the little ones that came running in and out of the shop. It was easy to see why Mama Nell always took to the little rugrats that came in and out of this place. 

I grabbed his glass off the counter and turned around to start washing. The dishwasher was already running for the night, so I turned the faucet on and waited for the water to warm. That’s when the door opened, the bell above it giving a little ring. 

“Sorry pal, we’re closed for the night.” I kept washing, but whoever it was didn’t say anything, and the bell hadn’t rung again so I knew they were still there. 

I let out a little sigh, shut off the faucet, and grabbed a rag to dry my hands. 

“I’m sorry but we’re –“ I turned around, but the words caught in my throat. My rag fell to the floor, and I lifted a hand to my face. 

There was no one I expected to see less. But there he was. Taller, more angular. He’d lost his baby face, and before me stood a man. He looked sharp, like he’d just been to the barber, and for all I knew, he had. He had on a button down, and a pair of jeans. Nice leather shoes. He was even more handsome than I remembered. 

But those eyes. Those eyes that had always been so soft and hopeful. They looked so tired. Worn. Aged.

Aged... because we had aged... it had been years. It had been fucking years since I saw him last. I long since made peace with the fact that I would never see him again. Not a word from him after he left. Not a letter replied to, not a question answered, not a sight to be seen. He never came home. He never wrote. He never called. Never passed a message along to his mother, never wanted to listen to the messages I asked his mother to pass along. None of it. He promised. He was my best friend – half of my whole, all I had ever wanted, and needed, and begged for from the universe in the late of the evening. 

When we had sleepovers, he would hold me so close. We’d wake up and eat cereal in bed and watch Looney Tunes, or Family Matters, or MTV. After our lucky charms, we’d share orange slices, and grapes, and hang out for hours. I’d go home that night, and pray. I was never religious, but something about Sammy always drove me towards the unknown. I didn’t know who I was praying too, who I was begging. But I was desperate for it to work. All I’d ever wanted was my Sammy. It was always just Sammy and I, falling together in the Soda Pop Shop. 

But now... 

Now. I was angry. 

“Get out.” He looked down and nodded, but made no effort to move, “When my mom said I’d find you here, I didn’t really believe her. But when I dropped by your moms house, and she pointed me here, I figured it must’ve been true.”

“Get. Out.” The words came out through clenched teeth. 

But he just started taking steps toward me, “Listen... I know... I know what I did, okay? I know. But, baby-“ I

 cut him off, shaking my head, “Samuel.” 

That got his attention. His eyes shot straight up to mine. He looked at me for a minute. Then he nodded, real solemn, and stopped. “

I’m staying at my mom’s for a while.” 

I didn’t say anything. 

“I just... I wanted to see you.” 

My breath was shallow, “Well, you’ve seen me.” 

He shook his head, and said “Can you at least tell me where I can find Mama Nell? I figured she’d be here too.”

 I looked down, unable to believe my own ears. It was too much, it took everything in me not to break down as I said, “Luling Cemetery. Row 46, 18 down from the Oak tree.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at me for a long while. Then he sniffled, looked down, shook his head, and shook it some more, before he turned around and kicked a chair. 

“What the fuck, Sam!” I walked out from behind the counter, and picked up the chair he’d kicked over, but he just kept walking. Walked right to our old booth. Sat in his old seat. Covered his mouth and cried. Sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. And I stood by the chair, I’d just picked up before I took a real deep breath. 

I was mad at Sammy. Mad didn’t even begin to describe it. Heartbroken, and infuriated, and in so much pain. But somehow he hadn’t known about Mama Nell. How hadn’t he known? 

I had written him letters after she died. Pleaded with him, please come home. I had never known such depths of emptiness. I had lost my Sammy, and I had lost the woman who had taken me under her wing, and showed me how to live for myself. I felt like I had nothing left to give. At first I just asked him to write me back. 

“Just write me back, Sammy. That’s all. Just this once.”  

Then I asked him to call. 

“Just let me hear your voice, Sammy. I just need to hear your voice, Sammy. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Then I asked him to come to the funeral. 

“Sammy, we have to bury her. Sammy, please. Please, Sammy. I need you here for this. I can’t do this on my own. I love you, and I need you now. I need you, Sammy. Please. Please, Sammy. Please come home.” 

Then I broke down. 

“Sammy... Please Sammy... We read the will today. 

She gave me the Shop Sammy... I own the Shop.” 

He never replied. Didn’t attend the funeral. Why didn’t he come? Why wasn’t he there? How didn’t he know? 

I let him cry for a while. Figured he needed it. Just finished cleaning up, and put all the chairs up on the tables. I walked back around the counter, and filled a glass with water, grabbed a box of tissues from underneath the back counter, and headed over to sit. For the first time in so many years, I sat across from Sammy at our old booth. It didn’t feel real. 

I pushed the water towards him, placed the box of tissues next to it, and let him cry it out. 

I’d never seen Sammy like this, not in all our years. I’d seen him shed tears, I’d even seen him cry a little. But sob? Never in my life had I seen him just weep. He looked like a little kid. But more than that, he looked like a broken man. 

When he started to breathe a little more evenly, and had wiped his face dry, I finally spoke. 

“Oh, Sammy,” I whispered. “How could you not know?” 

He shook his head. Closed his eyes, “No one ever... No ever told me. My mom she didn’t... Why didn’t you write me?” 

He sounded crushed, a devastation in his voice that felt so foreign coming from his mouth.

 “Sammy,” I was absolutely reeling, “I wrote you so many times. Sammy I wrote you for years before I stopped, and when Mama Nell died, I wrote you over and over and over. I... I begged you to come home, Sammy.” It all came out like such a broken whisper. 

He looked at me real hard, “No.” 

“Yes, Sammy. I did.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.”

“No,” He was running his hands through his hair. “No you didn’t. I got three letters from you, right in the begging. And yeah, I was an ass for not replying, but I already felt so guilty for leaving, I just didn’t know what to say. But then they stopped. Hard stopped. So don’t tell me you wrote me for years, because it was radio silence from you.” 

I couldn’t believe my own ears, “Sammy, I wrote you hundreds of letters. Hundreds, Sammy.” 

He shook his head, “I don’t... I don’t understand.” 

“Sammy, are you telling me you didn’t get my letters?” 

“Just three. I...” He shook his head, having a hard time trying to process everything. “Pretty early on they pulled me. They were starting a new program, and I was one of the guys they wanted to train for it. I was always asking them if I got any mail. Only thing they ever gave me came from Mom. Eventually I just stopped asking. I never thought...” 

We were quiet a while. Neither of us really knowing how to handle this information.

 “I promised you I’d write...” I finally got out. 

“ I know,” He said. “I know.”

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sammy stuck around after that, just like he said he would. He stayed with his mom, and started going to meetings at the VA, trying to process what had happened to him. To us. To Riley, and Mama Nell. 

He told me not long after he came back. He was helping me clean up one night. He’d been helping out around the shop whenever he could. It was so strange to turn around and see him again. 

He walked behind the counter, everyone gone, and only sweeping left to do, and poured himself a big grape Slush Puppie.  

He took a loud sip, “Oh man.” 

Then another “Mmm mmm mmm. I forgot how good these were.” 

I couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah, it’s been a while since I had one myself.” 

As soon as the words were out my mouth his cup was left to sit on the counter, and he was turning around to pour me one. A green apple Slush Puppie just waiting for me. He held it out to me like a present. Like a peace offering. 

“Come on baby, you’ve done enough sweeping. Get on back here and sip.” He was so confident it made me roll my eyes. 

But I listened. Walked over, hopped up onto a stool, and let Sammy serve me. He watched as I took the first sip, and as soon as that cool icy slush hit my tongue, I closed my eyes in sweet bliss. It was so much sweeter than I remembered. The kinda sweet only a kid could like. But it tasted like good memories, and I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for that. 

After a minute or two he said, “I got in contact with my colonel, y’know.”

 I took another sip, “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Told him that I was looking for some letters... Since I’m out now, he said he might as well tell me. Since it was such an experimental program. Something kept under wraps, no one got letters from anyone but immediate family. They have boxes for each of us. So he sent over mine.” 

I didn’t know what to say, “Sammy...” 

He just continued on, “So I finally got your letters,” He took a long shaky breath.  “Baby... baby I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Sammy.” 

“You promised you’d write. I should’ve fought them harder on it.” 

“It’s not your fault, Sammy. You hear me? It’s not your fault. None of it Sam.” I hoped he could hear what I was telling him. He’d told me about Riley that first night. He’d just lost him, and then to find out about Mama Nell like that. It was all too much. 

And I’m a reasonable person. Logical, and understanding. I understood that what happened between Sammy and I wasn’t entirely either of our faults, and that most of it was out of our hands. I spent so many years, with so much anger inside of me. So much grief. And don’t get me wrong, I was still angry. Just not at Sammy anymore. 

“Baby...” he said, shaking his head. 

“Sammy. It’s not your fault.” 

He reached for my hand across the counter, and I let him take it. 

“I got your letters. So,” he said reaching into his back pocket. “I wrote you a reply.” 

He sat the envelope carefully down in front of me, one hand still clutched to mine. I stared at it. A letter I’d waited for for so long. A letter that finally arrived. 

But when I looked up at Sammy, who sat watching me with anxious, awaiting eyes, I found myself asking him something, “Will you read it to me, Sammy?” 

His face froze up. I saw him swallow, “Read it to you?”

And somehow his nervousness made me more confident, more desperate to hear the words come from his mouth, “Yeah, Sammy. Will you? Will you read me your letter?” 

He looked very uncertain. 

“Please, Sammy?” I whispered. 

He closed his eyes, “Okay.” 

He was being brave, and I knew it. Loved him for it. He ran his thumb across my knuckles. Then all at once, that warmth was gone and he was reaching for the envelope. 

He took a moment to himself. Just slight shook his had, as if to ask himself what am I doing? And then, ever so softly, he began to read. 

“Dear baby... 

I got your letters today. Reading them made me homesick. Made me miss Mama Nell and the Shop. But really it made me miss you.” 

He paused, and took a deep breath. The words were sincere, but they sound unnatural coming out of his mouth. They were words he never dreamed he’d say aloud.

“I wonder where the time has gone. Reading all your letters, it makes me feel like no time has passed at all, but there’s been so much lost between now and then.

 I’m sure it sounds dumb. God knows most of the things that come outta my mouth are. But I’d do anything to never be a part from you again. And I know, I know, that so much has happened. Things have gone wrong, and I’ve changed, and you’ve changed. I know we’ve grown up, but I think about tomorrow and it hurts to imagine you not being there...” 

He cleared his throat, “I want you to know that I never stopped loving you. I’ve always loved you, and not a thing that comes between us could ever change that. 

All I know is that I want to learn you all over again. Learn who’ve you grown into. I miss talking to you, and holding you. I miss sneaking kisses on your cheek, and tucking you in when we’d fall asleep watching Good Times. 

I want to earn those times back. I mean it when I say I love you. I’ve always loved you, and no matter how many times I’d try to pick up chicks at the mall, I always belonged to you. 

I never knew if you could see how much I loved you. Or if you, like me, couldn’t see past your insecurities. I think I know now. I wish I could find more words to tell you. But I hope you feel it, baby. I need you to. 

I love you. I miss you. Write back soon. Your Sammy.”

He was quiet for a long while after that, and so was I. We sat together, in the silence, sorry for ourselves and all the time we’d lost. I’ve never been more grateful for anything than all the newfound time we’d have together. 

And all at once, I was out of my seat and holding on to, Sam, his arms wrapped around me, and he picked me up to place me on the counter. He stepped between my legs, and just held me, trying to get closer, as if we didn’t become one entity in that very second, we would be torn a part forever. 

It felt good. But more than that it felt right. And now that I had this again, I would never let go. Not ever. No. From now on, it was just gonna be me and Sammy. I loved him so much. And I could feel it in my very bones, just how much he loved me. We had a long road ahead of us, but with him by my side, I knew we’d make it. Just me and Sammy. Just Sammy, and I, and the Soda Pop Shop.

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A/N: 

Hey guys! 

Been gone a super long time, probably a little over a year now. But I’ve been reading some fanfiction recently, I’m in a super positive and loving relationship, and overall, just got inspired and wanted to write again! Wrote this for myself really, just to get some creative juices out, and I’ve been sititng on it for a while. I have a feeling I’ll be writing more soon, and I’ll be sure to share. 

Also thanks to everyone who continued to read my work, even during my very lengthy absence, and like/reblog/comment. I promise I’ve seen them, and they have warmed my heart like nobody’s business. I love you all so much, and am so grateful. 

[t4t4ttt444]

[benji-writes]

Cherry Blossom

Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

Word Count: 4041

Summary: You and Bucky finally find the love you deserve. Underneath the cherry blossoms, everything is beautiful. -- What the two of them find is a fantastical real life dream of mine. I hope you think it’s as beautiful as I do. 

Warnings: Mentions of death, but nothing graphically depicted. Should be edited more, but I literally could not read it again. 

He sat on the steps of the back porch. She sat beside him. He hated that this place was so quiet now. It wasn’t supposed to be. It never was before. He looked over at the woman sat beside him and he could see it. The two of them together, happy, in this same place. He prayed she could see it too. 

“When my grandparents first bought this place, there was hardly anything here. The house they’d bought was this tiny little dump, with rotted wood and broken windows. Mom has pictures. It’s amazing how different it looks now. Nana told me they liked the land, and that’s why they bought it. That the trees and the grass were perfect. That the air smelled just right.”

She looked over at the man she loved. She’d never seen him like this. It was almost solemn. A solemn yearning for something he didn’t yet have. She leaned her head on his shoulder and said, “Will you tell me about them? Will you tell me about this place?”

He looked down at her, this woman he loved enough to bring here, to this sacred place. He was unafraid with her beside him, “I’ll tell you everything. It’s a long story though.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, “Don’t worry. We have time.”

He kissed her temple and her eyes fell closed. She looked out at the garden and said, “How did they first meet?” 

“Well. He fell flat on his face in front of her.”

—

You weren’t sure if he’d noticed you, but you’d long since noticed him. You’d sit everyday at the picnic table by the cherry blossom trees. You could see the pond from where you sat, with it’s geese and frogs and lily pads. In the distance, where the birch trees grew, you could hear the sound of woodpeckers. It was the world’s most perfect spot. 

You were a teacher, and so most days, after you changed out of your work clothes and went home to get a snack, you’d come sit in the park. You’d grade your papers there, watch the geese float in the water. The local geese were familiar with you now. They’d sit by you sometimes during the week, though mostly they kept their distance. On Sundays though, they’d flock to the shoreline when they saw you coming. You’d bring a big bag of rice and corn, and spread it across the ground. Sometimes they’d eat right out of your hand, especially Mister and Lady Goose. You’d fed them as goslings, and years later, they’d sit by your feet as you fed their goslings. You loved them, and you loved that park. 

There we other picnic tables scattered throughout the park and around the pond, benches and lights lined the pathways. There were always people about, and that was how you first saw him. He ran through the park everyday. Morning and afternoon. You’d see him Sunday mornings while you fed the geese, and weekday afternoons while you graded. You’d watch him, hair tied back, long sleeved shirt. He was always sweating. His shirts were long, but he didn’t wear gloves. You paid enough attention to him to realize he had a prosthetic arm. He wasn’t trying to hide it completely, but he didn’t want to call attention to it either. It made you wish the world was kinder. Maybe then he’d be less afraid to show himself. 

He’d noticed you of course. How could he not? You were there everyday, and were half the reason he kept running through that park, even though the path was old and cracking, raised in some parts, and not great if your goal was speed. Fortunately, his goal, at least by the pond, was a leisurely jog. The longer he jogged by the longer he could see you. Sometimes he’d stop there, drink some water, as if he really needed a water break, and pretend to take in the scenery before he went on his way. 

You were usually working on something. Writing on papers, though he never knew what exactly. You were so beautiful and you didn’t even know it. Alone at that picnic table, you’d laugh out loud at something that you were reading. You’d put your face in your hands when it was really bad, shake your head before you continued writing. Sometimes a gust of wind would blow through the trees, and the cherry blossoms, and petals would swirl around you like you were their very center of gravity. You’d sometimes look up from your work, and watch the petals fall into the pond. You didn’t even notice the way they fell at your feet like an offering, and decorated your hair like they’d been destined to land there. You looked like a scene in a movie.

On Sundays, you’d feed the geese. This was amazing to him, not only because you’d get so close to those horrifying birds, but because you’d pet them too, paying no mind to the absurd amount of geese droppings you had to step around. The goslings would nuzzle at your feet, while their parents ate out of your hand. You weren’t like anything he’d ever seen.

The day you and Bucky met, it was a Friday afternoon. The sun fell softly across the pond and you didn’t have any work to do. You sat there, picking the cantaloupe out of your fruit cup so you could save the best for last, and reading a book on your phone. You could hear his steps as he came around the corner, and though you were usually pretty discreet, for the first time, you accidentally made eye contact. You were looking at him, and by God he was looking at you, and neither of you could stop. But with all his attention on you, he had no awareness of where he was going. He tripped right over the raised concrete and fell smack on his face, barely catching himself in time. 

“Holy shit,” As soon as you saw him fall, you were out of your seat running over to him. He rolled over, groaning, hands holding onto his scraped up face.

“Oh my god, are you okay? You’re okay right? Oh goodness, lemme see please.” You grabbed onto his wrists and slowly pulled his hands away from his face. You could feel a little bit of resistance, but could also tell he was letting you do it. 

He was a little scraped up, but looked mostly fine. The words slipped out as he said, “God, you're even prettier up close.”

You felt your face heat up. Nobody had ever said anything to you quite as sweet as that. He groaned again, pulling his hands back up to cover his face.

“Is this as embarrassing as it feels?” His voice came through muffled underneath his hands.

You smiled so bright and said, “Maybe a little, but it’s working in your favor. If it’s any consolation, I find it pretty charming.”

He pulled his hands away, looked up at you and said, “I can work with charming.”

You rolled your eyes at that and said, “That’s the line you’re going with? Really?”

He shrugged, “Yeah, not my best work.” 

You shook your head, “No kidding.” 

You stood up, and reached you hand down to help him up. He didn’t need the assistance, but he thought it was sweet of you to offer. You wiggled your fingers and said, “Well come on then, Prince Charming, time to get up.”

Once he was standing he brushed himself off and said, “So, Princess, what do you say?”

You were confused, “What do I say about what?” 

“Sunday morning. Right about here. I’ll bring the coffee and cinnamon rolls?” He was a little nervous, but something in him just told him this was right.

You looked at him for a minute, arms folded across your chest. You’d hardly spoken, but somehow it already felt natural. Easy. Like when you run into a friend you haven’t seen for years, and fall right back into old patterns. Everything following a natural rhythm as if it had been that way all along. 

“Cream, two sugars. Bring lots of napkins”

He smiled at that, “See you then, Princess.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled as you two said goodbye, “You’re not really gonna stick with that nickname, are you? I mean, Princess? No originality. No flair.”

He barked out a laugh, “Okay. Alright. Listen, I see you in this park everyday. I have a nickname for all the park regulars. I can always call you that instead?”

“Oh God, is it even worse than Princess?”

“Maybe,” he said. “See you later, Chess.”

Your eyebrows and nose scrunched up in confusion, “Chess? I don’t play chess.”

He blushed, looked at his feet with a shy smile and said, “Well not chess like, chess chess. Chess like Duchess. Y'know cause, when the blossoms blow in the wind, and you’re sitting over at your table, it’s kinda like that scene from the movie y'know? The Aristocats? When O’Malley shakes the blossoms off the tree and they fall all pretty around Duchess. I thought that was kinda what you looked like, so.”

Your eyes were glassy, and you clenched your jaw to keep the tears from falling. No one had ever made you feel so beautiful. In a burst of courage, you leaned up and kissed his cheek, “See you Sunday, O’Malley. I’ll be waiting.”

— 

“So that’s why there’s a Cherry Blossom Tree in the front yard?” She asked.

He looked out over the backyard and said, “Once the house was built, it was the first thing they did. There are pictures of Nana at the plant nursery, with this little tree in a pot. It was maybe five feet tall, a little bigger maybe, when they planted it. It’s been growing well over sixty years now. Closer to seventy maybe, not too sure on the math if I’m being honest.”

“Well what about the rest of this place? There’s so much here.”

“Nana used to say you could travel the Earth and never find somewhere with as much love as this place. When I was a kid I thought that of course there had to be somewhere else, but now that I’m older. Now that I’m back here, in this place, I know she’s right.”

He breathed in deep, wishing his grandmother were here to tell her the stories instead, “You see the gazebo?” He asked. “That gazebo is the reason this place happened the way it did.”

— 

It was quiet in your bedroom. In the late hours of the night, a Nuwave Air Fryer infomercial played in the background. The tv was muted, but with your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat was all you needed. 

Bucky’s prosthetic was wrapped around your waist, and the cool of the metal was a nice contrast to his body heat. With his other hand, his fingertips drew lines on your back. That behavior, rhythmic and comforting, like the beat of his heart. The assurance that came with the feel of his fingers tracing up and down and back up again in time.

This was all you’d ever wanted. This peace that came from laying beside someone you loved wholly and entirely. Someone who loved you back. In that bed, in that moment, a sort of quietude took root. You had grown so used to the cruelty of men that to be shown such raw love, such unashamed kindness, from this man brought to you an ease you’d never known. It was strange. It felt like it had always been this way. Like something inside of you always knew you would end up here. You knew he felt the same. 

“Hey, Chess?” He said, his voice fell over you like the comfort of a familiar blanket. 

“Yeah, Buck?” 

“It’s the same for you, right? You feel it the same?”

You patted his stomach, “Yeah, Buck. I do.”

His arm that ran up and down your back stopped for a minute. He took his hand, and turned your face up so you were looking at him, “Will you marry me?”

You smiled up at him. That sweet bedtime smile he was so fond of, “Only if you marry me back.”

The side of his mouth turned up, and he ran his hand through your hair, “Ok, I promise I will.”

You kissed his chest, and knew that this was right. Some people had grand proposals. Elaborate secrets, everything carefully timed, so someone could ask the person they love to be with them forever. And that’s beautiful – for them. It’s what’s right for their marriage, and for each other. But you didn’t want that, and neither did Buck. It felt right this way. The two of you, together as you would be always. You’d sleep like this every night for the rest of your lives, and it felt more special this way. Like there wasn’t a question at all. Like this was always how it would be. Like something inside of him always knew he would end up here. He knew you felt the same. 

He reached over with his hand to the nightstand, head turning as much as it could to see what he was doing, opened the drawer, and pulled out a little box. He opened it with one hand, and held the box close to you so you could get a good look. 

He felt his chest start to get wet, quiet tears falling down your face. You didn’t say anything, just kissed his chest again, and picked your left hand up off his stomach and held it up for him. He took the ring out of it box, and slipped it onto your finger. It fit just right.

He put the box back on his nightstand, and started running his fingers up and down your back again. You burrowed into him as close as your bodies would let you, “Let’s get a house, now. One with lots of windows.” 

You and Bucky had long since talked about what you wanted in the future. A house, somewhere quiet, but not too quiet. Kids, who would run around. Children who you could show everyday how beautiful this world could be. You’d take them to the park where you first met every Sunday, and feed the geese under the cherry blossoms. 

Bucky’s words came right in step with yours, “A big backyard, with lots of grass. When the kids come, me and Sam can build them a jungle gym.”

“With a swing set. I loved the swings when I was a kid. I still love the swings.”

Bucky nodded, “With a swing set.”

“We can have a wrap around porch. One with a porch swing, and we can sit on it together. Maybe we can grow a vegetable garden. With lots of basil and rosemary. Maybe hot peppers, and tomatoes. Behind it we can grow an apple tree. We’ll cook all the time, sometimes with the stuff we’ve grown ourselves.”

“I want a plum tree too. Some blueberry bushes. Or a strawberry patch in the front yard. And I want a big kitchen. Something nice, with all kinds of pots and pans, and a walk-in pantry. One day we’ll teach the kids to make cookies there.” Bucky said smiling.

“With granite countertops. The kind that you have to Windex to keep clean.”

It went quiet for a moment, before you spoke again, only a little hesitant this time, “What if we... What if we got married there? We could... We could build a gazebo in the backyard. Do it up with lights and flowers. Invite just the people we love. We’d get married right there. Maybe have our first dance inside there too, or something. That way there’d be nowhere more special than our home. We could sit on the steps of the back porch, and for the rest of our lives we’d look out at that gazebo and remember. We could dance there all the time and know that no place in the world had known more love. And one day, growing up with the pictures on the walls, having seen the old videos, one of our kids will want to get married there too. If we’re real lucky.”

You looked up at Bucky, after realizing you’d gone off on quite a fantastical tangent. He was already looking at you, silent tears rolling down his face. 

“Our wedding night could be the first night we spend in our new home. I’d carry you into the house. We could... we could plant a cherry blossom tree in the front yard.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile, and neither could he. He laughed through tears, too full of joy to keep it in. 

“I love you, James.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

— 

“Your grandparents really got married here?”

“Yeah. I can show you the pictures when we go back inside. I told you this place was a dump when they bought it. They had a lot of help fixing it up, but when they did, this was where they got married. Uncle Steve got married here too. So did Aunt Becca. Mom and Dad were never married, but that’s probably for the best, since they separated anyways. I wonder if mom knew it might happen. Didn’t want to taint this place.”

Your grandson took a moment to breathe before he kept talking, “Even with how mom and dad turned out though, I never doubted that love was real. So many of my friends who grew up with divorced parents came out of it so scarred. With this fear of love and marriage, like it was always destined to go wrong. But Nana and Grampy always loved each other. When we were little, we’d sleep over, and run around in the yard while they sat together on the porch. I can still hear their laughter echoing throughout the house. I rarely ever saw them argue. And mom says, when they got angry at each other when she was a kid, they’d walk away, and stay apart for the rest of the day. They’d dance in the gazebo that night, and mom says it was like the anger had never been there at all. Like, when they came back together in that place, they agreed to let it wash away with every step.”

“They must’ve been incredible.” She said in awe.

“They were. Not without their faults, of course, but they were really something,” he took a deep breath. “You know, Uncle Steve owns this place now. When Nana passed, Grampy couldn’t take it. They were both in their nineties, but Grampy had more years in him still. But without Nana it was like he didn’t wanna do it anymore. He wanted to be with her again so bad. But when I close my eyes, I can still feel them here. See them dancing, hear their laughter. I’d sit between them on the porch swing sometimes, and listen to them tell stories. It’s like, those stories are still in the walls. Just waiting for new ones to be created.”

He looked over at the woman he loved, and stood up with his hand held out. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“My favorite spot here,” he said.

—

Your kids were growing so fast. Steve was nearly 15 now and it all felt so strange and wonderful to see them grow. Becca had just turned 13, and your youngest, Winnie, turned ten not long after. It hurt in the best way possible, and there was nothing that could have prepared you for that feeling. 

You and Bucky sat on the porch swing, looking out at your Cherry Blossom. It was so big now. It would keep growing of course, but compared to the little thing it was when you first got it, you could hardly believe what it had become. Where had the time gone?

You curled into Bucky and sat quietly. Music played over your speakers, softly in the background, and he hummed along. 

“Hey, Buck. I got a stupid idea. You on board?” You looked up at him, mischief on your mind.

“Always, Chess.”

“Okay, stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You went through the front door, giggling. Steve was sitting on the couch as you passed through the living room, and for some reason, it made you feel like you’d been caught. 

“Mom, what are you doing?”

You slowed your pace and said, “Nothing. Mind your business, nosey butt.”

You made it into the kitchen, and began giggling again. You went to where your purse sat on the counter, and rummaged around till you found your pocket knife. 

Walking back outside, trying to appear very normal as you passed a very suspicious Steve in the living room, you sat back down on the swing. You flicked open the knife and looked at Bucky with the smile that always meant trouble, “Ready?”

You wiggled your eyebrows at him, and he laughed at you, “What the hell do you plan on doing with that?”

You closed the knife for the time being, grabbed his hand, and said, “Just follow me, Buck.”

He shook his head as you dragged him up and over to the Cherry Blossom tree, where you opened your knife again. 

He leaned against the side of the tree watching you as you began to carve a heart into the bark, “Are you seriously carving out initials into this tree like we’re a pair of pre-teens.”

You smiled at him, “Obviously.”

He shook his head, but looked at you like you were the moon, “You are so impossibly dumb.”

You laughed at that, “Yeah, I know. Married you didn’t I?”

He rolled his eyes as if annoyed, but you knew better, “Ha ha, you’re so funny.” 

You had finished the heart and began carving your initials. When you finished, you handed Bucky the knife, and he carved his own. When he finished he closed the knife, and kissed you softly.

Inside, Steve, knowing something was up had called his sisters. All three kids sat watching from the front window. Once you kissed, they all pulled away rolling their eyes. Winnie said, “Do they always have to do that?”

Steve shrugged, “Better that than the opposite, I guess.”

Becca nodded, “Still gross though.”

“Oh, yeah definitely,” Steve said. “Definitely gross.”

Outside, you and your husband looked at each other. In that moment, it was all you needed. 

—

“See, look,” Your grandson said standing underneath the blossom branches. “I used to come out here as a kid, and trace my fingers along their initials. Nana told me she thought it was like something out of an old movie. I just thought it was special.”

He watched as the woman he loved traced her fingers gently around the heart and over its letters, “It’s beautiful.”

The wind blew by, and the petals fell from the trees. He knew, this is what his grandpa felt when he saw his grandma in the park. He understood why he called her Chess right up to the day she died. Cause right here, right now, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen looked up at the petals as they fell. She looked ethereal. Blissful. Soft and dreamy. Just like Duchess.

She was too busy looking at the petals to notice him drop to one knee. When the wind finally stopped and she went to look at the love of her life, she froze. There he was, so handsome, down on one knee. Her hand came over her mouth as he said, “I love you so much. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, and if you let me, I’ll love you till the day I die... Uncle Steve agreed to sell me this house. We could live here, if you want. Get married, just like my grandparents. There would be so much love here. I want to share it with you, if you’ll let me.”

She fell to her knees, kissed him fiercely, and without an ounce of hesitation said, “Yes.”

[buckyreaderrecs]

Bucky Barnes x Reader fic writers on Tumblr: List 16/?

@wowbarnes

@chaoticgoodbarnes

@helaintoloki

@yikeswtfmate

@eoz-stuff

@withlovewriting

@supersoldierslover

@clarkimagines

@buckysforeverprincess

@jadeylovesmarvelmainxo

@benji-writes

@beefcakebarnes

@whistlingwillows

@euphoria-parker

@sophielovesbarnes

Find more recommendations here:  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15. 

I love ya’ll. Keep spreading the love by reblogging this post, and the previous lists. xo Rhi

[benji-writes]

Thank you SO MUCH 💗💗💗

[benji-writes]

In the Tub

Pairing: Steve x Reader, with a fun appearance from Sam and Bucky

Word Count: 1040

Summary: The Golden Girls (Steve, Buck, and Sam), have a little too much fun. It is really so stupid. I could not stop thinking about it, and quite frankly, it is well, and truly, ridiculous. 

Warnings: Drug use, but it’s not crazy or anything. 

When you walked into the kitchen, you were expecting literally anything else. But there they were – Thing One and Thing Two. Bucky and Sam sat on the floor, with their backs against the counter, watching the Harley Quinn animated series and spooning peanut butter out of the jar. 

Stopped in the doorway you said, “Boys? What’s going on in here?”

Bucky looked up at you, eyes red, and gave a lazy smile, “Want some peanut butter?”

Sam looked over once he realized Bucky was talking to someone else and said, “Ohhhh, shit. Here comes you!”

You ignored Bucky’s question, and you tried to hold back your laughter, “Yeah, Sam. Here comes me.”

You walked into the room, and opened the fridge to grab the bottle of iced tea you’d come in for, “So. Who’s idea was it to get high?” 

“WHAT?” Bucky shouted, “I’m not high. I’m low.” He said, drawing out the word as he sunk his body further onto the ground until he was laying completely flat. Sam threw his head back laughing, and accidentally hit it against the cabinets underneath the counter. You saw what remained of chocolate edibles, the wrappers laying next to a bag of Cheetos. 

“Jesus Christ. Okay, boys. Either of you seen Stevie?”

“He’s in your room, I think,” Sam said rubbing the back of his head. 

“My room? Why’s he in my room?”

“He was talking about your bathtub, and stuff.”

“My bathtub? What the fu-“ You didn’t even finish before you turned and left, heading to your room.

When you opened the door, you could already smell your lavender bubble bath. The door to the bathroom was open, and you could hear Mariah Carey playing over the speakers. Mariah Carey?

“Hey, Steve?” You said and crept towards the bathroom, “What’re you doing in there?” 

If you thought seeing Sam and Bucky was a surprising, then this was something else entirely. This was just absurd. You had walked straight into the twilight zone. There was Steve, singing quietly along to “We Belong Together,” fully dressed and in the bathtub. In grey sweatpants, and a white t-shirt, there was a light coating of bubbles scattered throughout the tub, and an enormous pile of bubbles sitting in your sink. He had on sunglasses OVER a sheet mask, and absolutely none of it felt real. You turned the music off. 

“Steve. Just... what?” It was incredible. Absolutely incredible. 

Steve looked over at you, standing in the doorway, “Hey there, pretty girl.”

You couldn’t help that easy comfort that filled your body at the sound of his voice, “Hey there, handsome man. Think you can tell me what exactly you’re doing in my bathtub?”

He lowered his sunglasses like he thought he was the cool kid in an 80s movie. And in the most surreal moment you thought you might ever experience, global superhero Captain America said, “I’m washing me and my clothes.” 

He looked around to make sure no one else would see him when he mouthed, “Bitch.”

 You twisted the cap off your tea and took a sip, “Uh huh. Okay. Uh huh. Yeah, okay. Alright. So you wanna tell me, who the fuck taught you that?”

He giggled, a real little kid giggle, and said, “Peter sends me memes. Says it’ll keep me hip.”

You threw your head back and laughed at that, “Of course he does.” 

You went and sat on the edge of the tub,  placing your tea by the sink, “How long you been in here?”

He shrugged, stupid smile on his face. You felt the water and it was still pretty warm, so you figured it couldn’t have been too long. 

“Uh huh. What about that face mask? You had that on for more than fifteen minutes, you think?” 

With the same stupid smile he said, “Maybe.”

You shook your head, took his sunglasses off, and peeled the face mask off of him. He whined the whole time. 

“Yeah, yeah, stop complaining. You about ready to get out of the bath?” 

He sighed, “I guess. Can we take a real bath tomorrow though? I like when we do that, and you let me wash your hair, and then you wash mine. It feels nice.”

He leaned his head back against the wall, and just looked at you. His pretty girl. You gave him that fond smile, the one reserved just for him and said, “Yeah, Stevie, we can do that.” 

Content with that response, he stood up, absolutely sopping wet, and stepped out of the tub.

“Oh, Steve, come on!” You put your head in your hands as he soaked the floor. Once he stood on the rug, he started undressing so he could towel himself off. 

While he was busy you threw his clothes in the hamper, and went out to get him a pair of the boxers he kept in your dresser. He said thanks when you handed them to him, “I know we usually sleep in my room, but can we just stay here please? My room is so far.” 

“Yeah, we’ll sleep here tonight. Let’s get ready now though.”

So you changed into pajamas, and you after dealing with all the bubbles in the sink, you both brushed your teeth before climbing into bed. Steve was still pretty high, lying under your sheets, laughing at nothing. His laughs quickly became giggles – those same, high pitched, little kid giggles. He reached his hand out.

“Honk,” He said trying (and failing) to keep his laughter in. “Honk, honk.”

You looked at him, and then down at his hand. Looking back up, you very calmly said, “Steven.”

He giggled again, “Yes?”

“Did you just honk my breast?”

He couldn’t contain himself anymore, and burst out laughing. You threw your head back against the pillow with a groan, “Steven.”

He settled a little, and scooched up close to you. He rested his head on your stomach, and wrapped his arms around you, “Yes, pretty girl?” 

He looked up at you with sleepy, dreamy eyes. You couldn’t resist running your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzled into your hand, “Time to go to sleep.”

“Okay,” He whispered with a smile, a small tired smile, and kissed your stomach, before closing his eyes, and drifting off to sleep.

[benji-writes]

Hi, I just read little star and thought I’d let you know that my heart aches but in a good way

Oh my gooooooooodness I am so glad 💗 when I’m in the same situation, I sing to myself like they do. It’s a story with a soft place in my heart and I am SO happy you liked it. Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts, it means the world 🥰

[marvelsangels]

The Bane Of My Existence. (Chapter 1)

“Here’s a truth, you’re a sloppy bitch!”- IT Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers x Pietro Maximoff x Peter Parker x Thor Odinson

Warnings: Bad mouthing, Cursing, Sexual innuendos, Shitty writing.

Summary: You’re Tony Stark’s hired journalist who’s job is to defend him from all the nasty rumors sharks like to spread. Ready to pass the year long written biography he was expecting you to bring in his beautiful New York city home. All was going well until you heard a whistle and ’ i’d tap that ass ’ the moment you step foot in the house hold. And that was just one of his many children.

a/n: Just to make things clear, this wont be a polygamous relationship type fic. I dont know what to say without giving anything away but yeah, this wont be that.

Here’s a little backstory.

Getting this job was an answered prayer for you, after graduating NYU with a Bachelors’s Degree in Journalism you thought it’d be easy to get a job assuming 1. You’re in New York City, Journalists are considered golden eggs in the city, that is if you’re a great one. 2. You are great! You graduated top of your class for christ’s sake! so why was it that you were unemployed for 2 years after graduating? Horny, disgusting job interviewers that’s what’s up. In a total of 14 out of 20 interviews they were men, and much to your disappointment they’re all hungry Hyena’s who’s looking for a rookie journalist they could trick into getting in their pants for the job they very much desire, fresh out of college, desperate for some dough to afford that 600 dollar apartment that was way too small considering the price, who wouldn’t? Not you, nope.

Which is why when you got a call from Stark Industries you were beyond shocked, I mean you were good but were you that good? It felt unreal, but apparently Tony Stark himself read one of your stories on him when you were a freelance writer and somehow impressed him. When you were invited for the first walk-in-interview it felt more real than your doubts, getting interviewed by Pepper Potts herself you had to pinch yourself more than a hundred times after you got home.

The job you were offered was an unusual one? You write articles addressing all of the rumors New York Times, People Magazine, Fox fucking news, say about Stark and whether or not its real, so no its not an 8 to 5 office work, its a 24/7 availability kinda thing, but that didn’t stop you from taking the job no, at this point you were desperate to make a dime, drowning in debts at your 20s? Not a good look.

A year and a half later, you were happy, content and rocking designer eye bags. Throughout the entire year, you’ve gotten closer with the billionaire considering you’re always on the phone or in the office with him confirming all that needed confirming before you got to writing, explaining, and loads of defending due to his uncontrollable mouth filled with unwanted opinions. He’s great really, just a little douchy.

But before all that he gave you your first assignment when you took the job, collect info and write a bio book based on your observations through your times together and do it honestly, The Real Life Of A Billionaire but of course with a little sugar, wouldn’t wanna get fired now do we? Ha!

But that’s all he wanted to be written, based on your observations in office, nothing personal on his side of the story, nothing the people already knew, just from a different perspective.

You’ve never been to his home nor have you met his rumored unruly children, not that its any of your business anyway. That’s why it came to a shock to you when he invited you over to pass the year-long written book instead of just meeting in the office like you usually do.

All caught up? Let’s start with the car ride, shall we?

Grabbing your keys, locking the door, checking if you had everything you needed, you were ready for the hour-long drive. Apparently, it’s not just a "house” that has neighbors after 200 steps to the left, it was a- a how do you say this? A Downton Fucking Abbey property, entering the first gate and driving through the road you thought it would never end.

It was a modern-looking palace with bloody roses surrounding the house and the sides of it, Trees were thick and expanded through the horizon, it was massive, to say the least.

Opening the door to your car, you felt like you were here to clean a toilet with your current attire, black high waisted skinny jeans and an NYU sweater your dorm mate decided to crop over the belly button area for Halloween “Slutty NYU Student” She said. But with your high waisted jeans, it seemed decent enough to leave the house wearing it, leaving not much space to see in between the two fabrics, paired with white sneakers, you were ready to conquer get this task over with, so making your way to the massive black wooden doors you rung the doorbell and waited for someone’s arrival to tend to your nervous form. God get your shit together Y/n it’s just a house, so why the hell do you feel like a vampire will come out and suck the living shit out of you, startled out of your thoughts, a woman with fire-red hair opened the door, she didn’t seem like someone who would just open the door for you assuming Tony has over a 100 worker in the property, with her designer pajama set and Gucci slide on. “Yes?” She asked confused and leans on the side of the door. “Uhm hi, I’m here for Tony Stark? He sent me over to bring his bio book.” Fiddling with your hands, you didn’t know how to react to her lingering gaze as if she was thinking whether or not to close the door on you cause you definitely did not look like someone Tony Stark would incorporate himself with. It’s not your fault okay you barely had time to wash your clothes and it resulted in grabbing the first clean fabric you had available.

“Oh okay, c'mon in he’s inside his office, I’m Wanda by the way.” She said cooly, so she wasn’t evil.. you were overthinking. Ha! How funny, who would want to suck you anyway. That sounded wrong?

“I’m Y/n” You smiled back at her, she returned it and held your gaze. “You’re pretty Y/n, and here we are, just knock. I’ll see ya later” Giving you a wink and a twirl of her hair before strutting down the hallway with a confident sway in her hips. Wow, okay that wasn’t weird at all.

Knock Knock. “Come in” Opening the heavy dark wooden doors you were greeted with another set of doors, and this time they were glass doors that showed the entire office-junkshop thingy tech stuff, knocking against the glass he finally lifted his gaze from the little bomb looking thing he fiddling with. “Ah! Y/n you’re- late, say sorry to me” He said mockingly while he glanced at his watch. 

Scoffing and rolling your eyes at him with a small smile on your face, you replied. “5 minutes late” You replied in the same mocking tone he used. “And it’s a Saturday give me a break, I’m only really here to pass your bio”

“Gimme” passing the book to him with a chuckle. “Should I trust you? Or do I need my lawyers to review this.” 

“HaHa very funny, you can tru-

“Dad I’m home, Mom told me to say hi” A deep voice suddenly cutting you off. Turning both of your heads to look at the intruder, he was wearing black slacks and white long sleeves with three buttons undone, blue eyes, clean shaved, and brushed up hair. Not noticing you were drooling  staring at him, but he did, and he seemed to take pleasure in it when he sent you a smirk. When did he start walking your way, huh? what?

“Hi, I’m James and you are?” It took you at least 3 seconds to realize you were the one he was talking to, and when you were finally out of your trance and ready to reply, someone else replied for you. Talk about rude. “She’s not interested. Y/n I think our work here is done do you want me to lead you out or?” “No no it’s okay I can manage” You smiled to him and turned on your heel, not glancing one bit at the temptation.

You heard it, you could’ve sworn on it, hell you weren’t on drugs, you swore on your mothers’ flower garden, a faint “Fuck me, look at that ass” was heard. Tired of the suspense you turned your head to look for the source and you were greeted with a man built for the gods wearing a white sweater and nibbling on some crackers, his legs crossed, and a smug look on his face, upon noticing eye contact he finally lifted his gaze from.. your ass? wtf- “Excuse me?” Suddenly feeling anger rising up your chest from his malicious comment. “Excused.” How fucking dare- “So are you a new maid or something? I’ve been here for almost thirty minutes trying to ring maria, but she’s not answering her phone. Think you can clean my room on your first day? had a crazy night last night.” Your face red and your mouth ready to burst profanities at his face but before you could another voice filled the room. “What are you doing home so early? And I thought you left already?” 

“Finished all my work earlier than I usually do I guess, and I’m not mad about it at all with the beautiful view I had minutes ago.” You were about to pounce on his face if it weren’t for the hand on your elbow holding you back, and your reaction only seemed to entertain blondie even more. “Oh look it’s mad.” “Listen here you fucker-  “OH KAY lets go, cmon off we go”

You already passed the front door and the steps, and yet you could still hear the faint of his laughter. A.S.S.H.O.L.E. 

“I’m very sorry about that.” He sighed rubbing his eyes, clearly embarrassed by the man. “Lemme guess, your son?” You sighed, leaning on your car door.”How come the other one is not so bad?” He gave you a are you fucking serious look. “Cause I had you leave the room before he became Satan.” That made you chuckle and place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “So it is true then?” He looked up at you confused at first before understanding what you were implying. “Ah, yes they are very true,” He said with a soft chuckle, he seemed too old to be dealing with this kind of bullshit, and you must admit you felt really bad for him. “Don’t quit okay?” Confusion etched your face at his suddenness. “Why would I quit?”

“Because we work here starting Monday.”

to be continued~

-angel 💜

a/n: This took a while but here it issss i hope yall enjoy. Feedbacks and reblogs are much appreciated.

(taglist open): @tonystankschild​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @avarietyofemotions​ @utopiamiroh​ @lokisgoddesofpower​ @gabyer0309​ @thatweirdwalangpake​

[sunfortune]

concept: falcon and the winter soldier but its shot like a reality show x

[fanfictionaries]

His expression at the end is too perfect not to reblog. 😂

[justinripley]

[mischievous-barnes]

WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHTS

[benji-writes]

Little Star

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2807

Summary: You and Bucky find it’s easier to breathe when you’re together. 

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of sexual assault, should probably have been edited more

It’s never pretty. The harsh recovery from battle. It’s leaving one war behind for another – the fight always follows you home. You look over your shoulder in CVS. You’re afraid, and ready at a moments notice to face a threat that isn’t there anymore. You can’t shake the feeling. In the produce section of the grocery store, someone bumps into you, and suddenly you’re trying to hide the fact that you’re having a panic attack in front of the oranges. You turn to look for someone who’s not there. There’s no one to hurt you anymore, but there’s no one to help either. 

You met Bucky on accident. You were on your way home when two men stumbled out of a bar, drunk, and laughing too loud. They were tall. Their words were lewd, and they were walking toward you. You felt one of their eyes on you. Their gaze on your body as if it was theirs to gawk freely at. On instinct you stopped dead in your tracks. He had already looked away, but it still felt like he was staring. 

He wasn’t going to hurt you or anything like that, he and his friend simply walked past you, stumbling home now that they’d had their fill of sports tv and alcohol. But you couldn’t help but freeze on the spot, just waiting for it to happen. Long after they’d walked past you, you remained still – certain that he would turn around and come for you. Your jaw was clenched so tight you thought you might grind your own teeth down. There was no danger for you here, but you weren’t really here anymore. You were there. 

Your breaths were heavy, eyes glazed over. You could hear your own heartbeat. That was how he found you. On his nightly walk, he saw you there, alone on the sidewalk standing stark still. He recognized that look. He understood the tightness of your jaw, the breaths that never seemed deep enough. He didn’t want to scare you, so he kept his distance, but moved into your line of vision. He didn’t know you, or where you’d gone, buried in your own trauma somewhere. But he knew he could do for you what Natasha had once done for him. 

Making sure he was far enough away not to frighten you, but close enough that you’d be able to hear him, he began to sing, “Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are.”

He wasn’t a very good singer, but could keep tune well enough. You hadn’t even noticed him yet. So he sang it again. The fourth time, it was like the melody had finally reached you. He saw your jaw begin to soften, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He sang it again. This time, you looked at him, eyes curious but cautious. Not quite afraid, but definitely unsure. When he finished that time, he didn’t continue. Instead he said, “Can you sing with me?”

You looked at him longer, as if really seeing him now, and said, “What?” 

So he repeated, “Can you sing with me?”

You were clearly confused, but he could tell you weren’t thinking about whatever it was you had been before. He waited patiently, and eventually you said, “I suppose.”

“Good,” he said. “Now ready? One, two, three.”

You watched him sing by himself for a moment, but joined him about half way through.  When you finished he said, “Good job. Can you do it again?”

You nodded this time, and sang with him the whole verse. When you finished he said, “Better?” 

You nodded again, kind of amazed, “How did you... um... how did you know? How did you, um, know to do that?” 

He shrugged, “I had a friend do it for me once. When I’m lucid enough, I do it for myself now. When I need to come back.”

You just stood there, “Thank you.”

Your voice rang with such sincerity, he felt his throat begin to tighten, “It’s no bother, miss. Are you alright to get home? Do you want me to get you a cab?”

You just shook your head, “No. No I’m alright, I don’t live far.”

He wanted to offer to walk you home. If times were different, he would have without question. But you were vulnerable, and probably didn’t want a strange man to know where you lived. So instead he offered this, “Get home safe please. I don’t live far either, and I go for a walk around here every night. So if you ever need someone, just come looking. I start at the fountain in the park at about eight, so if you ever just want to walk with someone who understands, you can meet me there.” 

You felt your chin wobble. It was the first kind thing a man had ever offered you, and there was nothing you could do to stop the tears that ran down your face. You wanted to hug him, but you were so afraid. 

“Thank you,” you said. “Thank you, so much.” 

You didn’t even wait to hear what he said, but you saw the look of distress cross his face as you rushed past him, heading home. 

— 

You thought about him every day. His baby blue eyes, and the soft wave of his long brown hair. He was so big, but he wasn’t scary. It was like he knew how to make himself small. You were both grateful it made him less threatening, and distraught for him personally. You understood what it felt like to be afraid of taking up space. 

It was the following Friday that you went to see him. He was sitting on the edge of the fountain when you got there, almost like he was waiting for you. Hoping maybe that you’d show up. It was 8:05 when you walked over and sat down with him. 

He looked over at you and smiled, and you gave him a shy smile back, but neither of you said anything. You just sat there, arms wrapped around yourself, sitting probably a foot away from him. He sat too, in no rush, just watching the people go by. Maybe ten minutes had passed before he said, “Would you like to go for a walk? If not, we could just sit here if that’s better.” 

You couldn’t believe he’d asked what you wanted. You were so unfamiliar with consideration. As if testing to see if he was really the kind of man you’d hoped, you said, “Is it alright if we just sit here a while longer?”

“Of course,” he replied instantly. No sign of hesitation, or upset with your decision. 

And so you two sat a while longer. You watched the water come up and down. Felt yourself relax at the sound of its steady rhythm. It sounded like rain as the water that shot up finally hit the pool below. 

Curious, and almost comfortable, you asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Bucky,” he said.

Automatically you replied, “That’s a good name.”

He chuckled, and looked down. His foot moved back and forth, and you recognized that anxious tick. He said, “Thanks, my real name’s James, but everyone I like calls me Bucky.”

You liked the way that sounded, “Well, Bucky. I’m Y/N.” 

He looked back over at you, to find you still looking at him, and you watched his feet move back and forth again, “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” 

You couldn’t help the feeling that spread in your chest. It was so unfamiliar. Sweet, like when you pick the plumpest blueberry off the bush and pop it right in your mouth. That shiver that goes down your spine when the waves come up to shore and just tickle your toes. Warm, like the first sip of hot cocoa on Christmas morning. You thought this must be hope.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Bucky.” Your smile was real, and bright. Bucky thought it was so beautiful.

— 

You saw Bucky every day after that. You would meet at the fountain, and sit, and watch the people go by. Watch the leaves fall off the trees as the wind blew them past the streetlights. You grew more and more comfortable with Bucky every day. You began to sit closer. And eventually, you trusted him enough to walk with you. You mostly walked his usual route, which he adjusted only slightly so you two would stay on brightly lit streets. He never tried to touch you. The most he ever did was give you his elbow, so you could walk close to him on the streets. You were surprised to realize you felt safer this way. You trusted him to keep you safe. Alone in your room that night, you cried for an hour over that. With Bucky you felt safe. 

The first time you saw Bucky have a panic attack, you didn’t know what set him off. Much like yourself, one minute he was fine, and the next he wasn’t. You were sharing a bag of pretzels and two Mountain Dews while sitting at the fountain, when all of a sudden, it was like you weren’t there anymore, and neither was he. He didn’t get up. He didn’t move. He just stopped with his ungloved hand in the bag. He stared, eyes glazed over. You recognized that look. You gave him a minute, and then you did for him as he had done for you. 

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high. Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are.”

You repeated it seven times before he tuned in. He finally looked at you, and you could see he was crying. He took his hand out of the bag of pretzels, and reached over for yours. He squeezed so tight, and you squeezed right back. You placed your other hand on top of the one that was holding yours and said as gently as possible, “Can you sing with me?” 

“Yes,” he whispered so quietly you wouldn’t even have heard if you weren’t sitting so close together.

“Good,” you said. “That’s good, Buck. Ready, now? One, two, three.” 

You sang the song together three times before Bucky really came back. His breaths were shaky, but he was with you again. You couldn’t help yourself when you reached up to cup his face. You wiped the tears away with your thumbs.

“There, now. You can breathe easy. I’m here, Bucky.” 

With that he started to cry again, and you pushed the hair out of his face so it would stop sticking to his cheeks. You took the elastic off your wrist, and tied his hair back for him. He fell into you, and you were grateful that the cold had kept most people away from the park that night. He wept into your shoulder, and you held him. He, too, had known so little kindness in his life. To be reassured by someone as soft and gentle as you was enough to do him in completely. He cried and cried, and you didn’t let go for anything. Nothing would hurt him here. Not here. Not with you. You were going to make sure of it. 

When his cries became quieter, and lessened more and more before halting completely, he pulled back. He wiped his face, and looked at you. He cupped your cheek, as you had done to him, and pulled your head down to kiss your forehead. Your eyes fell closed. 

When he moved back to look at you, he didn’t say anything, but you understood. With sudden conviction, you said, “Come on, Buck. Time to go.” 

He didn’t know where you were taking him, but in that moment he knew he would follow you anywhere. You picked the discarded glove up from next to the bag of pretzels, took his hand, and put it on him. He stood there sniffling softly, not enough energy to try and stop, and waited. You picked up the mostly empty bag of pretzels and threw it away, placing the bottles in the recycling. When you walked back over, you took his hand, and led him out of the park. He thought you might be an angel, and he wasn’t sure how he got so lucky as to meet someone as divine as you. 

You led him down streets the two of you had never walked before. It wasn’t long before you entered a residential neighborhood, and led him up the stairs and into your building. You walked up to the second floor, and in the ultimate form of trust, you brought him into your home. 

He instantly loved it there. There were candles, and flowers on all your tables and shelves. You had blankets over the couch, and on every chair. The lights were soft, but warm, and when you lead him over to sit on the couch he thought he might sink into it and never come out. Everything smelled like you. After you sat him down, you helped him take off his coat, so he was just in a long sleeved red shirt. You reached for his hand and took off one glove, then reached for the other. You heard his breath come out shaky, but he didn’t try to stop you. That was when you learned that Bucky had a prosthetic arm. You could see his chest rising and falling, deep and heavy. He was so afraid of what you might think. You lifted his metal hand in yours and kissed his palm. 

“Wait here,” you told him, and you heard the air rush out of his body in relief. 

You went to the kitchen, took the apple cider out of your fridge, and heated it up on the stove. You poured it into two mugs and walked back over to the couch. You put yours on the coffee table, and held out his for him to take. 

“Careful, now. Take small sips.” You cautioned, and he listened because he trusted you.

You picked up the remote and put on something easy. Animal Planet played quietly in the background, and you and Bucky sat close on the couch, sipping on cider. You fell asleep like that. On the couch, with Treehouse Masters on in the background. It was right. It was safe. 

The next morning you woke up near dawn, soft sunlight peaking into the windows. You were half on top of Bucky, and amazed that you had met a man you were unafraid to be near. He was playing with your hair, and you relished in the knowledge that you were being cared for. He was looking at you like the world could be burning around him and he wouldn’t even know. You were the only thing he could see. 

His voice was rough when he spoke, “Thank you.”

You shook your head, “Don’t thank me.”

A while passed before you asked, “Are you ready to talk?”

“Are you?” He asked, eyes boring into yours. The weight of the question burned through you both.

“You know, Bucky. I am. I am, if you are, of course.” The last part came out much softer than the first.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

That morning you and Bucky finally learned where the other went. Your eyes stung, and you wanted to scream. You wanted to break something. How could they have done that to him? To him of all people? How dare they? How dare they use him like that? You knew it was a horrible, terrible thing, but you wished they’d done it to anyone else. Anyone but your Bucky. 

He started crying again when you told him. Wanted to scream, and scream, and kill. He swore no one would touch you like that again. No one would put their hands on you without permission and he made a solemn vow that he would be there to stop anyone who tried. No one would hurt you like that. Not ever again. 

It made sense now. Why you both sang to each other. Why even though your wars were different, you both understood what coming home from battle felt like. You held each other all morning. You understood that it wouldn’t be easy for either of you. It was going to be really hard, and sometimes the singing wasn’t going to help. But now,  when you had a panic attack next to the oranges, someone would be there with you. You had found someone who would stay, and it was all either of you could have ever asked for.

[jeanqrey]

When you see T’Challa bring back Ross, Shuri says, “Great! Another broken white boy for us to fix!” That was my idea. I said to Ryan [Coogler], "Bro, can I say this? Can I say it, because it links to Bucky Barnes being in Wakanda?” and he’s like, “Perfect, say it.” – Letitia Wright

[benji-writes]

The Laundry Room

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3416

Summary: Bucky is soft. He finds love in the laundry room of his apartment building. 

He wasn’t sure what it was like to be in love. He had loved people, sure – his ma, his sister, Steve. But he didn’t really know what it was like to truly love a woman, and to be loved by her in return. He thought it must be beautiful. 

It wasn’t what he’d wanted in the forties. He was so young – handsome. Girls wanted to be around him all the time, looking up at him wide eyed and lashes fluttering. He’d take them dancing, because that’s what they wanted, and he’d walk them home. He’d get a kiss on the cheek from the girls who were looking for a boyfriend, and a kiss on the lips from the girls who were looking for a good time, and he’d walk home alone. 

It was never more than that though. No one ever made it past a few dates, and then came the war, and the dark, and the cold, and suddenly his hair was long. When his hair was short, and his body whole, he was someone else. He didn’t know who that was anymore, angry that he would never get him back. Girls didn’t look at him anymore. No wide eyed women he could call “doll.” No one who’s eyelashes would flutter. And if girls wouldn’t look at him, what did the rest of his life look like? 

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[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Wait this was so well written! Such a simple plot but you made it so much more with your writing. LOVE LOVE LOVE

[benji-writes]

This is so nice oh my god!!!!!!! I love all of you’re writing so much, and I am so so happy you liked it 🥰

[benji-writes]

AHHHHH!!!!! So many of you have said such kind and wonderful things about The Laundry Room. It’s made me deeply emotional, and I just wanted to say thank you all. It fills my heart with such deep and boundless joy to know that something I’ve made has made people happy. I love you all, and I’ll be posting more stories soon 🥰

[vivienvalentino]

CHRIS EVANS What’s Your Number?, 2011

[wkemeup]

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life, Too)

summary: Bucky waits at the end of the aisle for the love of his life (heavily inspired by that scene in Crazy Rich Asians) pairing: bucky x reader warnings: a ridiculous amount of fluff  a/n: This was written for @mermaidxatxheart​​‘s 500 follower challenge! I had the song prompt of Falling in Love with You by Elvis Presley, though I was really drawing off the cover by Kina Grannis in the link in the summary. Congrats on 500(+) Jamie!! 🌸

Bucky’s hands were stuffed into his pockets, pulling at the seams of expensive threads as if the unraveling string could release a piece of tension in his chest, let him breathe a little easier, let his head feel a little less numb. Leather wingtips of his shoes were tight around his toes, the tie draped around his neck a little too snug, sweat beading at his temples. His breaths were heavy in his chest, thick like anvils on his lungs as he swayed from one foot to the other.

It smelled faintly of lavender and incense as he managed to take in a shallow breath; memories of Sunday mornings with his Ma and sister traveling into the city adorned in baggy suits and frilly dresses, a pout on his face through his teenage years. Stained glass windows to his left, marble statues to his right; colorful light filtered through the room and touched against the faces of stone, sun kissed, heaven sent.

His hands gripped to fists in his pockets and Bucky gazed out to the rows of old, wooden pews. It was filling up quickly with women dressed in beautiful gowns and men in black ties, talking quietly amongst themselves, stealing looks to the back of the room and then up to Bucky. Nervous excitement, joyful smiles he wasn’t used to be on the receiving end of.

“You alright there, man?” Steve asked to his left, nudging his shoulder teasingly. Bucky nodded quickly, maybe a little too quickly, because Steve started to chuckle under his breath. “There’s still time to run for it if you want? I can get the car started.”

“Not a chance,” Bucky replied without hesitation, his voice rough and raw like stone, unused all morning. He nodded to himself, pulling in a deep breath as he stared down at the double doors at the end of the aisle. “I’m marrying the love of my life today.”

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