Notes: Something short to get back into writing. No major warnings – mentions of smoking, slightly broody Remus, and lots of fluff! No reader pronouns. Join my tag list here!
“Hold still, yeah?” Remus chides from his place behind the time-weathered frame of his easel.
You’d been sitting in the same spot all morning, hands draped in your lap and facing the window across the room so that the light from outside fell gently onto your face. Remus had positioned you perfectly, and you wouldn’t dream of disrupting his vision.
“Rem,” you huff. “I haven’t moved an inch.”
“Not so sure about that, love,” he chuckles as his eyes flicker contemplatively between the canvas and your features. “The lighting’s all different.”
“Maybe that’s because you’ve been working for so long that the sun has started to set.”
Remus grins slyly as he returns his brush to the messy palette in his hand. A medley of blues and purples had permanently stained the plastic, peaking through the blend of fresh paint that he swept his brush through.
Remus would’ve been content spending the entirety of his days hidden away in his studio. The room was barely big enough to hold the litter of canvases that he’d stockpiled, and the tabletops had all but vanished under a mess of frayed brushes and unfinished sketches, but you appreciated the ingenuity written into the chaos.
Your presence filled the room like a shrine after meeting the sandy-haired artist – sketches of your side profile scrawled on paper; new paint palettes to match the color of your eyes; and canvases with your likeness hung proudly on every wall.
Remus had always been an insightful painter – finding inspiration everywhere he looked – but there was nothing more enthralling than the muse that he’d found in you.
The sound of Remus striking his lighter pulls you from your thoughts, eyes flickering in his direction in time to see him balancing a lit cigarette between his pursed lips. Sunken into his seat, Remus’ lanky legs were stretched in front of him and sticking out past the frame of his easel in a comic manner, making you stifle your laughter at his relaxed state.
Smoke filters from his lips as he sighs deeply, assessing the canvas before him. You can’t help but watch closely as he works, intrigued by the sight of him so at peace.
“I don’t see how you can smoke while you’re painting.”
He turns his attention towards you for a moment, humming thoughtfully in response.
“I’m good at multitasking. Besides, ‘ve got two hands for a reason,” he quips, flicking his ashes into an old paint water cup as he brandishes his paintbrush teasingly.
You scoff at his remark, fighting the urge to shake your head. Remus offers a grin in your direction before returning to the portrait before him.
“I think it’s finished,” he says decidedly, eyes roaming his work for any unsettled flaws.
You breathe a sigh of relief, relaxing into your seat and rolling your shoulders to ease the subtle ache that had been building in your muscles.
Remus flicks the remainder of his cigarette into the coffee cup before reaching for the canvas. Cautious of the wet paint, he grabs the portrait from its place and carries it across the room to compare his artwork next to you.
“Perfect,” he boasts, gaze landing on you with a glint of affection in his eye. “The painting’s not bad either.”
You roll your eyes playfully in an attempt to fight the heat rising to your cheeks.
“Can I see?”
He nods affirmatively, turning the canvas to show you his painting. No matter how many times you’ve played out this same scenario, the result of Remus’ work always leaves you in shock.
“It’s wonderful,” you praise, awe evident in your voice. “You have so much talent.”
A content smile tugs at Remus’ lips as he considers your words.
“It’s not about having talent – its about having the right muse.”
Summary: Husband!Steve wakes reader in the best way possible
Notes: 18+ content below the cut: nudity, slight somnophilia, p in v, clit play, sleepy sex, creampie, nicknames (sweetheart, pretty girl) female reader. Very fluffy smut!
The first thing that Steve Rogers does every morning is kiss his wife.
He’s up before the sun, hand running through his mussed hair as he leans over to press light kisses to your cheeks, your lips, anywhere that he can reach.
It’s a simple act of affection, something that’s just for his knowledge. This brief moment of hazy bliss is what sets his day off in the right direction, it’s what he looks forward to when he closes his eyes at night. Because Steve doesn’t rise for the rest of the world – he does so for you.
Today, Steve had slept in far longer than he should’ve. He woke to the warmth of early morning gleaming through the sheer bedroom curtains, heating his flushed skin as he fought the urge to return to his slumber.
He cracked his eyes open, finding the clock on the wall that read just past eight in the morning. With a languid sigh and a stretch of his limbs, he rolled over to find you asleep on your side, facing away from him and bare except a thin pair of underwear.
Your practically-nude figure seemed to glow in the early morning, a dream of radiant seduction bathed in golden sunlight. Steve’s gaze flitted over your body, lingering on the peaks of your breasts and the curve of your scantily-clad backside.
Even in your sleep, you seemed to seek Steve’s presence, retreating backwards until your hips pressed snugly into his. Steve’s hand came to rest on your waist, his large palm splayed across your bare stomach in a soothing, protective manner. He pressed his fingers against your warm skin, feeling your shallow intakes under his touch.
Steve’s other hand smoothed your hair, moving it over your shoulder to place kisses down the back of your neck. His lips traced over your heated skin languidly, a pleasure that Steve often had to forego in his busy morning routine.
A content smile graced your sleeping features, filling Steve with a sense of appreciation for the life he had created with you. This was how he wanted to start every morning, this was where he wanted to spend his days.
Steve’s lips traveled up your neck and over your jaw, leaving hungry, open-mouthed kisses in their wake. He felt himself twitch in his boxers, his growing need tenting the fabric as you pressed yourself closer to him.
His grip on your middle tightened as he began to rut against your backside, small groans leaving his throat as he continued to nip and suck at your skin. You sighed deeply, rocking with Steve’s motions as your eyes fluttered open.
You surveyed the room, disoriented by the glare hitting your face and the presence of Steve behind you so late in the morning. Usually by this time, he’d be returning from his morning run, dripping sweat from the tips of his hair and mumbling under his breath to avoid interrupting your sleep.
Deciding to take advantage of his salacious behavior, you placed your hand over top of his, guiding it down until his fingertips pressed against your clothed core. His digits slipped under the thin fabric of your underwear, instantly finding your clit and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Scrunching your features at the groggy pleasure, your grip on his wrist tightened, surely leaving red marks on his skin. His movements were languid, almost teasing as he continued to toy with your clit idly.
“G’morning, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your ear, voice raspy and heavy with sleep.
You moaned in response, bucking your hips into his hand in search of more friction. Even in your sluggish state, you could feel Steve press his erection against you, desperate to remove the barriers that separated you from him.
“Looked so peaceful laying in the sun, couldn’t resist playing with my pretty girl.”
His pointer continued its ministrations against your clit while his middle and ring fingers dipped into your dripping core, curling until you were mewling under his touch.
“Steve,” you gasped, fighting to keep your eyes open.
“Feel good?”
You nodded, unable to form a response as you concentrated on finding your release. Just as you were nearing the edge, Steve withdrew his fingers, peeling your underwear down your legs and discarding them on the floor. His boxers followed in their path, tossed towards the end of the bed aimlessly as Steve took in the sight of you completely bare before him.
“Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy?” Steve asked, running his hand over his hard cock.
“Please,” you begged, turning your head to find Steve’s piercing gaze.
“Please fuck me, Steve. Need to feel you,” your speech slurred with want, head still foggy from waking up moments ago.
He hummed at your pleading, tapping the head of his cock against your opening and collecting the slick that covered your folds.
Steve slid himself in, biting back a moan and nudging his nose against your cheek.
“So good for me,” he whispered under his breath. “Always so good.”
You gasped at the feeling of his slow thrusts filling you from behind, a taunting promise of more pleasure to come.
His hand slid under your thigh, holding your leg up to give him a better position to drive into your cunt with a steady force, hitting your g-spot each time before pulling out quickly.
“Keep your eyes open for me, sweetheart.”
Steve’s words broke you out of your haze, realizing that your eyes had fallen shut with the pleasure that he was providing. He rocked his muscular thighs against your backside, hurtling the two of you towards a quick release.
The knot in your stomach snapped suddenly, mouth falling open as you shuddered through your orgasm. Your walls fluttered around Steve’s length, causing him to groan as he plowed into your tight channel, reaching his own high just after yours.
Steve’s hips stuttered to a stop, grip tightening around your thigh as he flexed inside of you, filling you with his warm cum. The two of you shared a satisfied sigh as Steve lowered your leg, hand finding its place on your waist and pulling you close.
“Good morning to you too,” you simpered, trying to avoid jostling Steve’s length that was still buried inside of you.
He offered a leisure grin in response, memorizing the rapture that he felt in that moment. The two of you were completely swathed in warmth from the rising sun, huddled together in a mess of tangled limbs and balmy skin.
“I wish we could spend all day like this,” you spoke, feeling Steve’s erratic heartbeat against your back. He hummed in agreement, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek.
Summary: snowed in after a mission, Steve and reader are forced to confront their unspoken feelings for one another
Notes: No major warnings; love confessions, kisses, and a canon divergent plot. No reader pronouns. Lots of fluff! Join my taglist here
“This might be my least favorite mission so far.”
You spoke through chattering teeth, holding your coat tight to your chest in hopes of blocking the onslaught of thick snowflakes that whipped through the air.
“S’not so bad,” Steve spoke from beside you, his cheeks tinged pink despite the super serum keeping him warm. “Besides, we got the information we came for. We’ll be home in no time.”
You huffed in response, knowing that Steve was right. The two of you drudged on in silence, Steve’s hand on your arm to guide you through the thicket of snow-covered trees that crowded your path. The only sounds to be heard were the whistling, freezing wind and the crunch of your boots over untouched snow.
It seemed almost ironic knowing that the two of you had volunteered to be here – a simple intelligence mission was almost rudimentary for two Avengers to take on together. Everything had gone according to plan until the weather turned treacherous, leaving the two of you stranded until the snow settled enough for retrieval.
The Hydra base had been located in an obsolete village in the Swiss Alps, a hundred miles from civilization and seemingly immune to the passage of time. The cobblestone roads were lined with small, wooden homes – hand-built and resilient to the harsh weather that haunted the eerie locale.
Tony had given you the coordinates of the closest safehouse beforehand, knowing that the erratic climate held no promise of aligning to his schedule.
A foretelling smirk plastered itself across the brunet’s face as he jotted the location on a slip of paper, adding it to the information that he had prepared for the two of you.
“It’s a nice place,” he mentioned offhandedly. “Very romantic.”
Color rose to Steve’s face as he grabbed the papers from Tony, changing the subject before he could comment any further.
You and Steve had been gravitating around each other longer than you’d care to admit, and your teammates had each tried their hand at interfering with your hesitant affinity. Steve was nervous enough about being alone with you – the last thing he needed was Stark’s goading voice in the back of his mind throughout the trip.
Now, as the two of you approached the secluded safehouse, Steve realized what Tony had meant.
The small cottage rested in the valley of nearby hills, completely concealed from the outside world. A tall chimney disrupted the symmetry of the rustic home, accompanied by a pile of snow-covered logs leaning against the side of the house. Simple frosted windows sat on either side of the doorway, offering a look inside the dusty, idle cabin.
“Looks cozy,” you noted. “Let’s get inside before we freeze.”
Steve led you to the doorway, partially blocking you from the snow as he typed the entry code onto the keypad installed into the door handle. The cabin’s appearance might’ve matched the archaic countryside, but you were unsurprised to find that Tony had fitted it with such a high level of security.
The door swung inward with a groan, light filtering onto the dark hardwood floor. You stepped inside with a sigh, glad to be out of the cold. You were quick to shed your coat, shaking the snowflakes from the material and hanging it beside the door.
“Looks like it’s been a while since anyone’s been here,” you said, eyes wondering over the outdated furniture.
Taking a quick scan of the safehouse, you appreciated the homey interior. A small couch sat in front of the fireplace with a matching arm chair off to the side. In the kitchen, you found a two-person dining table with chairs tucked in opposite each other.
You were fond of the open floor plan, imagining what the cabin might look like with life running through the stagnant air.
Steve had shed his outerwear, propping his boots on the faded welcome mat.
He secured the door, double checking the locks before moving further into the dimly lit space.
“Hopefully, we won’t be here too long,” Steve spoke in a low tone, almost afraid to upset the stillness that blanketed the cabin.
You wandered into the living room, dropping onto the couch with a huff as Steve offered you an amused look. Leaning your head back onto the stiff cushion, you met his gaze with your own sly grin.
“You know,” you started, “If I had to be stranded on a mission with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”
-----
The hours passed slowly as you and Steve sat together in front of the fireplace, ignoring the heaviness of fatigue in favor of sharing a moment of stillness.
The two of you had started the evening on opposite ends of the couch, eventually travelling to the floor to be closer to the fireplace. Resting against the front of the sofa, you stretched your legs towards the source of the heat, mirroring the super soldier beside you.
The glow of the fire casted an orange hue over the two of you, making you blissfully oblivious to the heavy snow continuing to fall outside. With every look in Steve’s direction, you could see the reflection of the flames flickering in his eyes, further eclipsing everything beyond the walls of the pinewood cabin.
Steve’s shoulder brushed against yours as he talked animatedly about life before the war, recalling stories that he reserved for only those closest to him. The bravery that he talked about was something that you admired most about him; Steve was the hallmark of valor, even before he’d found his calling as Captain America.
The heat radiating from Steve’s bulky frame was something addicting – more so than the fire, which had begun to dwindle under your distracted care. You flexed your fingers to ease the stiffness in your joints, drawing Steve’s attention to your shivering frame.
“Are you cold?” he asked, frowning inwardly for not noticing before.
“A little,” you replied, rubbing your hands together in search of warmth. “Just my hands, really. They can’t seem to get warm.”
Steve’s larger hands found yours, the heat of his palms enveloping your icy skin and drawing a relieved sigh from your lips.
“Is that better?” he asked, eyes fluttering between your face and your hands cradled in his hold.
You nodded feebly, heat rising to your cheeks at Steve’s proximity. “Much better.”
A comfortable silence stretched between the two of you as Steve’s thumb traced absentmindedly over the back of your hand. You couldn’t help but imagine this situation differently – no longer hiding in the Swiss Alps with your teammate, but instead fighting off the chill of winter in your shared, quaint home.
“What’re you thinking about?”
Steve’s low voice interrupted your trance, his eyes roaming your face as if he could read your thoughts from just the twist of your features.
“Why did you volunteer for this mission?” you asked, turning to face Steve fully.
His eyebrows furrowed in question. “What do you mean?”
“I offered to go with a field agent, but Tony said that you insisted on coming with me instead.”
Steve pursed his lips, mulling over his response. He knew that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, but the thought of you being alone in the field had made him uneasy, nevertheless.
“I wanted to know you were safe,” he spoke unabashedly, as if the answer was common knowledge.
“I always want to know you’re safe.”
Your eyes fell to your hands still in Steve’s grasp. What had been an unspoken accord between the two of you was suddenly something real. You wondered how many stolen glances had led to this moment, how many whispers had fed the notion in your mind.
Without another thought, you brought your face up to Steve’s, lingering for a breath before connecting your lips with his. Steve’s hand came up to your jaw, cupping your face gently as he returned your affection.
Too soon, you pulled away, a wide grin gracing your heated visage. You couldn’t help but feel grateful for everything that had aligned perfectly to bring you here – to bring you together. The harsh weather outside was no bother to you, knowing that you had everything you needed in this remote, pinewood hideaway.
Summary: Reader surprises Bucky wearing nothing but his dog tags
Notes: 18+ only under the cut. Body worship, nudity, p in v, established relationship, creampie, fem anatomy for reader, too many pet names. My first time writing smut so be nice :)
3 weeks. 21 days. 504 hours.
Bucky had been gone for three weeks, and you were counting every second until he came home again. His mission had taken longer than usual, and you were beginning to feel the effects of his absence.
With little access to a phone, Bucky hadn’t been able to call more than twice since he’d been gone. The specifics of the mission weren’t important to you, but Bucky’s return was all that was on your mind.
Bucky had gifted you his dog tags a while ago, a covert promise that he belonged to you, and you alone. Now that he was halfway across the world, the tags served to anchor you in place, to remind you of his vow to always find his way back to you.
The metal chain rarely left your neck, often hidden behind layers of clothes and away from the prying eyes of others. The tags were a tribute to you and sat over your heart where Bucky had made his home.
Early this morning, Bruce had found you in the kitchen, telling you the news of the mission’s end.
“They’ll be home before midnight,” he had said before wandering back to the lab.
Your day was jumpstarted, like a shock had run through your body. You made quick work of preparing for Bucky’s return, cleaning and trying to contain your excitement at the thoughts of having him next to you again.
The day passed and you were practically buzzing as you sat in your spot on your shared bed. You had received the notification that the jet had landed, and you knew there was nothing in the world that could keep Bucky away a moment longer.
You sat on your haunches, feet tucked under you like a picture of serenity. A chill ran through the air and you shivered, bare to the world except Bucky’s dog tags around your neck.
They clinked together with every movement and shifted against your skin as you took in a shuddering breath. You knew Bucky would appreciate the sight of you waiting for him so patiently.
With that thought, light filtered in through the doorway and Bucky appeared in front of you. All at once, the weight of the situation hit you; Bucky was safe, and he had come home to you just like he had promised.
The two of you shared a small gasp as Bucky looked over your exposed body. You had both waited so long for this reunion, and you could practically feel yourselves gravitating toward each other.
Bucky slowly closed the door behind him, hoping that this was more than a pleasant dream. He thought about pinching himself to make sure that this was real but didn’t want to wake himself in the case that it wasn’t.
“Welcome home, Sergeant.”
Your voice was quiet and sultry, a beacon of desire that that guided him to where he belonged.
Bucky approached you with orchestrated steps like he had planned this entire moment in his mind.
“I missed you, doll.”
He stopped just out of reach, watching the light reflect off the dog tags around your neck.
His eyes trailed down your frame, admiring the eloquent pose that you had taken. With your chest pushed out towards him, you looked like you were trying to close the distance between his body and yours.
He reached forward to run his fingers over the metal chain, stopping at the disks that rested between your breasts.
“Missed a lot about you.”
“What did you miss, Buck?”
“Everything.” His answer was instant.
“Missed the way you feel in my arms, missed your lips on mine, your hands running over me, touching me like you know exactly what I like.”
“Sounds like we have a lot to make up for.”
He sent you a lopsided smirk, hands ghosting down your ribs and over your naval.
“I think you’re right, doll.”
In that moment, everything was perfect. His lips found yours in a devastating kiss, making up for every second that you had gone without his touch.
You groaned into the kiss as Bucky’s tongue met yours, passionate in this unity.
Wordlessly, his hands began to memorize your body, brushing over your shoulders, your spine, your thighs — everywhere except where you needed him most.
Your fingers twisted into his shirt, gripping the material tightly to bring him impossibly close. You couldn’t stand this barrier between the two of you and you began pulling at whatever fabric you could reach.
Bucky’s hands left your body for just a moment, pulling a breathy whine from you in objection. His hands joined yours in hastily removing any offending article of clothing before pushing you back onto the bed and joining you there.
His warm breath puffed over your face as he laid over you, drinking in your dazed expression.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he spoke gruffly before pressing open mouth kisses down your neck and across your collar bone.
“Missed this,” his teeth grazed your jaw at just the right spot.
“Missed this,” he bit down on your skin softly, pulling a moan from you as his tongue laved over the red mark he had left there.
“Missed these the most.” His hands grabbed at your breasts roughly before his lips settled around your left nipple. The combination of his lips and fingers pulling at your breasts was something indescribable, leaving you writhing in place below his domineering frame.
Before you could catch your breath, Bucky had moved further down your body, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake.
“Never leaving again, doll. Not when I’ve got a pretty thing like you waiting at home for me.”
You couldn’t produce much more than a whimper in response, bucking your hips into his face in a restless plea for attention.
His hands pressed down onto your hips, keeping you in place as he worked his way back up. Bucky had always been one to appreciate your body, showing attention to every inch of skin before he would finally give in and devour you whole.
“S’pretty for me.”
“For you, Bucky,” you echoed, already slipping into a blissful state.
He hummed at your response, sitting up and moving his hands to your knees.
“Gonna take care of you, darlin’. Gonna make up for leaving you all alone.”
He tightened his grip, pushing your legs apart and reveling in the sight before him. He had dreamed of this very moment for almost exactly three weeks, and he couldn’t contain his groan in anticipation.
One hand snaked down your thigh, leaving goosebumps over the warm skin.
He wanted to make you beg. He wanted to hear your euphonious pleading, to tease you until tears threatened to spill past your waterline. And if it were any other night, he would’ve. But he had been gone far too long, and he wanted to hear you sing.
His fingers plunged into you without warning, quickly working you open with his digits.
“You like that, sugar?”
Your soft moans filled the air and Bucky pressed into you harder, hoping to pull more of the sweet sounds from your open lips.
His fingers curved just the right way, always hitting that spot inside of you perfectly. Your arousal dripped down the inside of your thighs and over his knuckles, leaving Bucky transfixed by the sight.
He pulled his fingers out abruptly, leaving you gasping and just short of being thrown over the edge.
“Can’t wait any longer, gotta feel you,” he rushed out, returning to his knees and pulling your legs around his waist.
One hand went to his cock, running over the head once, twice, three times before tapping it against your clit.
You held your breath as he placed the tip at your entrance, waiting for that exultant feeling.
He filled you up in one swift motion, the sounds of your shared groans blending together until they became one.
Bucky leaned over you again, trapping you with his forearms pressed into the mattress on either side of your head.
His face hovered directly over yours, sharing in the warm pants that you gave off.
“Missed you so much, doll. Missed this pussy – my pussy.”
His thrusts became fast, pounding into you with fluid movements.
“Dreamt about you. Every. Single. Night.”
His words were accentuated with harsh thrusts and you tightened your legs around his waist in hopes of enduring his quick speed.
The sound of Bucky’s dog tags clinking together had been a constant throughout the evening, but it still brought the two of you a sense of belonging.
Leaning his weight onto his metal arm, Bucky reached down and grabbed the disks, bringing them into your line of sight.
“You kept these on the whole time I was gone, doll?”
You nodded in affirmation, barely comprehending his question in your hazy stupor.
“Uh-huh. Never taking ‘em off.”
Bucky gave you a toothy grin, pleased with your response.
“That’s good, darlin’. Want everyone to know you belong to me.”
He inspected the dog tags for a moment before reaching them up towards your face, his cock still sliding into with vigor.
You puckered your lips, leaning up to press them sweetly against the dog tags that Bucky held between the two of you.
He groaned at the sentiment, dropping his head and trying to stave off his impending orgasm.
“I’m close, sweetheart.”
Your head nodded erratically in time with his thrusts. “Me too.”
He abandoned the dog tags against your chest, moving his hand down to circle against your clit.
“Wanna feel you cum around me. Let go, doll.”
“God — Bucky,” you cried out at his actions, hitting your peak with a blinding pleasure that sparked through your entire body.
Bucky’s thrusts faltered, following you in your state of rapture. His cum filling you and leaked out with his last sporadic thrusts.
In your post-orgasmic bliss, you barely registered the kisses that Bucky pressed against your balmy skin.
You reached up to place a hand on his cheek as your legs tangled with his, not ready to let him go just yet.
“I missed you, Bucky.”
Your voice was peaceful, like the torment of the last three weeks had been forgotten.
His lips curled into a hint of a smile, cherishing the sentiment behind your words. Bucky had someone to come home to, someone who loved him without hesitation.
He leaned down once more, leaving a soft kiss against your lips, a contrast to the intensity your reunion.
Notes: a short comfort fic to make up for my recent creativity drought; no major warnings, descriptions of eating and cooking, tooth-rotting fluff. No reader pronouns.
Sitting at the kitchen table, one foot tucked under your leg and the other swinging softly through the air, you decided that you wanted to live in this moment forever.
Bucky stood a few feet away, filling you in on his week while he prepared breakfast. You bit back a smile as he started another story about his adventures with Sam, waving the spatula in his hand while he spoke.
The warmth of mid-morning had crept into the room, leaving you grateful for the thin, mismatched pajamas that you had worn to bed the night before. The sunlight streaming through the kitchen curtains stole your attention momentarily as you traced the spots where the rays landed on the wooden tabletop in front of you.
“Blueberries or strawberries?” Bucky spoke, drawing your attention to the plate of golden-brown pancakes held in his vibranium hand.
“Bananas,” you answered decidedly.
The first time Bucky had attempted his hand at cooking, you’d spent the morning scraping pancake batter from the cabinets, consoling your chagrined counterpart and his wounded ego. After countless attempts, he’d managed to fine-tune his technique, proudly showing off his skills with any chance he got.
“Bananas,” he echoed, grabbing the fruit from its place on the countertop.
This had become a tradition for the two of you – spending Sunday mornings away from the rest of the world, enjoying each other’s company in secluded bliss.
Bucky slid your plate in front of you, placing a kiss to your hairline before settling into his seat. You grinned gratefully at him, mumbling your thanks and grabbing the maple syrup from the middle of the table.
Fixing your plate in silence, you appreciated the familiar clinking of silverware against porcelain – the sound of good company and simple pleasure.
Bucky poured his coffee, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his mug. To anyone else, the hint of sweetness would go unnoticed; you thought the saccharine undertone was the perfect analogy for your brunet counterpart.
You passed the syrup over to Bucky, licking the sticky sweetness from your thumb with a pleased hum. He accepted the bottle from you, mindful of the molasses trailing down the side.
“This looks amazing,” you praised, eyes wide as saucers as you admired Bucky’s work.
The fluffy pancakes were perfectly centered on your plate, framed by the green ivy wreath that adorned all of your dishes. Bucky had picked the set himself, noting that the print reminded him of the chipped, faded set that his mother had owned. Still sometimes, he imagined her joining the two of you for Sunday breakfast, like two lifetimes melded together over tiny, shared details.
“Thank you, sugar,” he replied from behind his steaming mug.
You grabbed your fork from the table, digging into your breakfast happily. Bucky followed suit, picking a strawberry from the edge of his plate and popping it into his mouth.
The two of you shared light conversation through mouthfuls of food, appreciating the moment of stillness in your everchanging lives. No matter what you were faced with, Sunday would always meet you again.
Bucky finished first, pushing his plate away with a groan. “I always make too many pancakes,” he noted, running his hand over his face.
“There’s no such thing as too many pancakes,” you laughed, pointing your fork in his direction.
You finished eating just after Bucky, praising him again before gathering the dishes to wash.
“Let me help,” Bucky offered, grabbing the mugs and following you to the sink.
The two of you worked in tandem, close enough that your shoulders touched while standing over the soapy water. You took over scrubbing the dirty dishes while Bucky stood beside you with a towel over his shoulder.
“What should we do today?” you asked, handing Bucky a plate to dry.
“Maybe a nap,” he suggested after a thoughtful pause.
You shook your head playfully, laughing at his plans. “We just woke up.”
He left your side momentarily, putting the clean dishes away before returning and wrapping his arms around your waist.
“It’s Sunday,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “We deserve to relax.”
“That’s true,” you agreed, drying your hands and leaning into Bucky’s frame behind you. “I can never argue with your logic.”
The two of you were quick to settle on the couch, a pile of blankets pooling over you and Alpine curled up at your feet. The feline had joined you just after breakfast, purring softly at the notion of a midday nap.
“Are you comfortable?” Bucky asked, his thumb tracing over your side as he held you close to his chest.
You hummed your approval, eyes fluttering shut with a sudden lethargy. You were exactly where you needed to be – wrapped in Bucky’s embrace on a lazy Sunday morning. Tomorrow, you return to your tumultuous lives; today, you revel in the quietude.
Summary: Decorating the Christmas tree with Regulus and teaching him about muggle holiday traditions
Notes: First blurb of my Christmas Advent Event. No warnings, no reader pronouns. Just tooth-rotting fluff <3
“And where do these go?” Regulus asked, picking up two silver bulb ornaments to add to the tree.
This year, you were determined to give Regulus the perfect Christmas.
Stockings were hung over the fireplace, soft Christmas music played throughout the day, and a fresh-cut tree stood tall in the living room of your home.
You’d discovered shortly after moving in together exactly how much Regulus had missed out on by following Black family traditions. The holidays were a time for merriment and joy, and you were more than happy to show Regulus a new way to celebrate.
“They go wherever you want them to,” you replied, placing a handmade ornament on a branch of the tree. “It’s Christmas. As long as you’re having fun, it’s perfect.”
He hummed contently, eyes roaming the tree as he considered where to place the ornaments. The Black family Christmas tree had always been adorned with precision and expensive trinkets – he’d watched the house elves decorate every year, but never had he been so enchanted by the process.
Hesitantly, he placed one ornament onto a branch, jostling the tinsel that you had already woven around the tree. Regulus had been fascinated with the ease you held while decorating; he’d decided that there was no greater work or art than something made with love, and that made your Christmas tree a masterpiece.
“That looks great,” you said, moving to stand behind the brunet as he hung the second ornament on the tree.
He glanced at you with a small smile, eyes gleaming with pride. “You think so?”
You nodded surely, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” you murmured into his sweater.
A warmth spread over the apples of his cheeks at your affirmation, and he dipped his head down to hide the blush that dusted his features. With the soft tune of Christmas music filling the air and your head resting on his shoulder, Regulus decided that he finally understood the meaning of the holiday.
The two of you went back to work, hanging ornaments on the tree and sharing stories of past Christmas celebrations. He was enthralled by tales of carolers and the idea of Santa Claus, a muggle myth that seemed better fit for the wizard community than the world beyond.
“But they don’t have magic,” he’d interjected, brows furrowed in concentration as he listened to your story.
“They have something just as special – dreams.”
After adding the finishing touches to the tree, Regulus stood back to admire the monument of your first Christmas together. The ornaments were uneven, and the star on top sat slightly crooked, but it was cherished, nonetheless.
“I have one more thing to show you,” you said, moving beside the tree to plug in the string lights that you had added as a surprise.
A constellation of multicolored lights lit up the tree, reflecting off the ornaments and creating a brilliant mosaic. Regulus’ eyes widened at the sight; he’d never imagined that something so delightful – so important – could belong to him.
Joining Regulus in front of the tree, you were quick to intertwine your fingers with his, appreciating this moment when everything felt right. You leaned into him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and admiring the look of awe that he wore.
“Muggles might not have magic, but they have wonders of their own.”
Summary: Two resident insomniacs find company in the quiet hours of Stark Tower
Notes: no major warnings, brief mentions of Bucky’s past but mostly fluff. Avenger reader, no reader pronouns.
It wasn’t often that Stark Tower was silent. Between the ongoing science fair in Tony’s lab and the busy Avengers that occupied the space, there was always a cause for commotion.
You didn’t mind the noise; the chatter had become a constant over the years, filling the open spaces and leaving no room for unease.
The clamor would usually subside sometime around two in the morning, the quiet hours lasting until the sun rose again a few hours later. The majority of your teammates took advantage of this stillness; it was a time for rest and relief, two things that did not come easy to the encumbered heroes.
For you, the quiet was daunting. With the blissful moon overhead and the world at rest, there was nothing to distract you from the shadows in your mind. You preferred to spend your nights in the dimly lit common area, avoiding the thought of sleep altogether.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at the empty stools tucked away neatly, you counted down the hours until normalcy found you again. A stifling silence filled your ears, interrupted only by your quiet breathing and the pot of coffee brewing in the background.
The clock on the wall read just after four; another hour or so and Steve would join you before his morning run. Natasha would follow, then Sam, and the rest of the Avengers would eventually trickle into the common space.
You sat in wait, fingers tapping the ceramic mug in your hands. No amount of caffeine could make the time pass faster, but your hands felt empty without the warmth that it provided.
Your gaze shifted to the floor-length windows overlooking the city, wondering how many people sat awake in their homes below, matching your state of restlessness. Your attempt to count the lit windows was interrupted when you heard the careful footsteps of your teammate coming down the hall.
Bucky paused in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure of whether to enter or to turn around and retreat to the safety of his bedroom. The dim overhead lights did little to disguise him, reflecting off the austere titanium prosthetic and making you aware of his furtive presence.
The super soldier hadn’t been at the tower for more than a few months, in which time he had been practically glued to the side of his lifelong friend, Steve Rogers. You had yet to become acquainted with the impassive brunet, but that didn’t mean you welcomed him with any less acceptance.
“Coffee’s hot, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
He regarded you blankly, eyeing the mug in your hand before offering a gruff ‘thanks’ in return. You gave a tight-lipped smile in his direction before turning your attention to the clock.
4:25 a.m.
Bucky fixed his coffee in silence, debating whether you’d like him to stay now that he’d interrupted your respite. He might have enjoyed small talk before the war, but the world was a different place now, and he found himself tongue-tied and useless in most modern-day exchanges.
The mug that Bucky grabbed was deep red in color, intricate in its design and surely more expensive than necessary. He’d learned quickly that Tony loved subtle displays of wealth, and he yearned for the simplicity of the chipped, faded dining set that his family had owned in the 40’s.
He snuck a glance in your direction while stirring creamer into his coffee, mind racing in search of something to say.
“D’you think Tony has ever bought anything that wasn’t luxury?”
Your eyes widened at Bucky’s sudden inquiry, turning to find him leaning awkwardly against the counter beside you, separated by a few feet of open space. Without hesitating, you replied, “He’s been known to enjoy some pretty cheap booze, but his shot glasses are crystal, so I don’t think that counts.”
Bucky snickered softly, raising the mug to his lips to hide his amusement. He had heard you before, murmuring to yourself or pacing the living room while the rest of the tower was still. Even when distant memories clouded his mind, he felt safe under your tireless watch.
You glanced at the clock again. 4:28 a.m.
Bucky cleared his throat softly, wishing that he still possessed the charm that he did in his youth. If he was twenty-something again, he’d know exactly what to say; if he was twenty-something again, he wouldn’t be awake in the first place.
You seemed to sense his unease, moving towards the kitchen table and gesturing for him to follow. He did so without question, taking a deep breath and sliding into the seat across from you.
“So,” you began, moving your mug across the dark wood. “What’s on your mind, Sergeant?”
He felt the apples of his cheeks heat up at your use of his ranking, and he hoped that you couldn’t see the blush that undoubtedly covered his visage. Only Steve knew of the events that plagued his mind , but he felt the urge to tell you anything you wanted to know.
“Just the usual insomnia. I smelled coffee and figured the caffeine might help with the day ahead.”
You nodded in agreement, wondering how long Bucky had suffered from your shared malady. Had he sat in bed, waiting for the sun to rise while you did the same just down the hallway?
“S’nice to have someone to talk to. Usually I talk to myself – or Tony when he’s pulling an all-nighter.”
He hummed at the thought, remembering the few times he’d heard you pestering the genius over midnight coffee breaks.
“I hear you sometimes,” he confessed, eyes going wide with the realization of what he’d said. You’d surely find him off-putting now. Maybe the rumors that he’d heard floating around the tower were right after all.
You smiled softly, amused by his revelation. “You should’ve joined me earlier.”
Bucky blinked at you incredulously, surprised by the lack of disdain in your response.
“I should’ve.”
An easy silence came over the room, as if the two of you were age-old friends with no secrets left to share. Bucky sipped his coffee thoughtfully, wishing that he could go back to the nights spend in a rigid panic, thoughts of Hydra weighing him down. He knew you would’ve been a source of comfort, even if he was too timid to ask.
“This can’t be healthy, y’know,” Bucky spoke, almost afraid to ruin the sudden blissfulness that came with the quietude. “I mean, do you ever sleep?”
“Do you?” you quipped, raising a brow in question.
“Good point.”
You laughed softly, a euphonious sound that made Bucky light up with pride. Maybe his self-imposed isolation was in vain; the world couldn’t be terrible with people like you filling the empty spaces.
The two of you talked quietly across the table, recounting past missions and telling anecdotes without regard for the time passing by. Eventually, the sound of Steve’s alarm rang through the air, much to your shared chagrin.
Bucky leaned back in his chair, sighing and running his hand over his face. Soon, Steve would stumble into the kitchen, surely confounded by the relationship that had bloomed in the still hours of Stark Tower.
You fidgeted with your empty mug, tranquility written across your features as you watched the super soldier across from you.
“I’m glad you joined me, Bucky.”
“I am too,” he affirmed, lips pulled into a small smile. The sound of Steve’s shuffling footsteps could be heard down the hall, signaling the beginning of a new day.
Summary: Falling in love over cigarettes and bad weather
Notes: Friends to lovers fluff; smoking, mentions of drinking, slight cursing, short and sweet.
“That’s it,” Remus spoke, standing and rubbing his hands over his face.
“I need a cigarette.”
Quitting a bad habit is always harder than you think; it’s an impulse to reach for the bottle, to stay up too late, to keep a lit cigarette burning between your fingers.
You’d been staying with Remus for a few days now, helping him quit the nasty fixation that he’d sustained over the years. Even in his time at Hogwarts, Remus was known to keep a pack of cigarettes hidden in the bottom of his trunk, sneaking drags out the window in the middle of the night.
He'd spent so many conversations clouded in smoke that his fingers twitched to flick imaginary ashes now that he was going without. Remus had asked you, his dearest friend and biggest supporter, to keep him company until he could manage his cravings on his own.
Remus reached the entryway of his apartment, shrugging on his coat and grumbling under his breath about the miserable London weather. The days had long turned cold, leaving a thick blanket of ice and snow over the city. You hated the thought of him shivering outside alone, just for the pleasure of the stale, crushed cigarette that sat in his last pack.
“Wait,” you called, scrambling from your seat. “I’ll come with you.”
Remus glanced over at you incredulously, fastening the buttons of his coat while he spoke. “Why would you want to do that? It’s dreadful outside.”
“You asked me to keep you company,” you pointed at him playfully. “You’re not tired of me already, are you?”
He simpered in return, removing your coat from its hook and holding it in your direction.
“Never.”
Grinning proudly, you accepted his help in bundling up before you followed him out the door.
The first burst of icy wind took your breath away, making you gasp in surprise. Remus chuckled at your reaction, pursing his lips around the cigarette and lighting the other end.
“S’fuckin’ frigid out here,” he mumbled, blowing a puff of smoke into the air and shoving one hand into his pocket.
You nodded in agreement, swiping at the stray snowflakes that had landed on your shoulders.
“Wouldn’t be so cold if you stopped smoking,” you teased. “We could be sitting under a pile of blankets with a bottle of whiskey, enjoying the warmth of your apartment.”
Your breath fogged in the air, mirroring the smoke that filtered from Remus’ slightly chapped lips. You tittered at the resemblance between your breath and his, holding your coat tightly to your chest to block the harsh wind. Even in the middle of a snowstorm, you were more than happy to join Remus outside, enjoying every moment with your phlegmatic counterpart.
“S’just replacing one bad habit with another,” he quipped, flicking ashes into the air.
Rolling your eyes, you crouched down to touch the snow that had accumulated on the pavement. Your trips outside had lessened in the past few days, the result of gloomy weather and Remus’ diminishing cigarette stash, leaving his isolated stoop a blank canvas of freshly fallen snow.
You watched as the snowflakes melted against the warmth of your fingertips, and you wondered how long it would take to count the individual dots that laid at your feet.
With furrowed eyebrows and chattering teeth, you drew lines in the snow, forming a small R.L. with your set of initials just under the first.
Glancing up at Remus, you found him peering curiously at your work.
“What’s that for?”
You shrugged, still tracing shapes into the snow.
“Figure we’re out here so often, might as well claim this as our spot.”
Remus hummed in contentment, thinking back on the countless times that you had followed him outside, no matter the weather or the hour on the clock. He’d always been grateful for your presence, even if his appreciation went unspoken.
“Won’t be our spot for much longer,” he pointed out, taking a draw from his cigarette before finishing his thought. “There’s no point in sitting out here once I quit smoking.”
Returning to your endeavors, you realized that he made a good point. You traced a large heart around the two pairs of initials, finishing the drawing with a satisfied grin.
“Then we’ll find a new spot –”
“Preferably somewhere warmer,” Remus interjected.
You nodded in agreement, standing to examine your work.
“Warm, or at least somewhere with gloves,” you said, rubbing your freezing hands together.
Remus tore his gaze away from your artistry, smiling fondly at the thought of having something special for just the two of you. No matter the reason, no matter the place, Remus wanted you by his side, drawing hearts in the snow and disapproving of his bad habits.
Surely your presence was a drug of its own, a dependency that Remus could never break. He trusted you more than anyone else he knew, on good days and bad. Maybe you were the perfect remedy to replace his habit with something much better.
He drew the last puff from his cigarette, no longer interested in the sickly-sweet nicotine that he’d chased for so long. Snuffing the end against the snow-covered stoop, Remus felt satisfied with the end of this era.
“C’mon,” he said, taking your freezing hands in his. “Maybe whiskey’s a good idea after all.”
