bucky ★ also I love you and your writing so much !! mega congrats on 5k, you deserve it :D
Aww thank you so much, you’re too sweet! I love you too <3
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“Steve, paint me like one of your French girls.”
You peeled an eye open from where you were sitting against one of the paint-covered walls of Steve’s studio in the Tower. The floor was covered in newspapers, old paint spots, and crinkled up notebook papers from Steve’s scrapped drawings. Bucky’s figure was standing across the room by the window that had a brilliant view of Manhattan’s skyline, his arms crossed over his chest as he smirked at Steve.
Steve was holding a paintbrush in his hand and seated at his easel, staring at Bucky with furrowed brows. His sharp features had smears of red, silver, and black on his forehead, jaw, and nose--which was a normality at this point.
“I already am painting you, jerk.”
Bucky looked down at what he was wearing then at Steve’s face, seeing the colors match up. He was wearing a red long-sleeve with black jeans, his long hair pulled back in a small bun, and Bucky’s gaze shifted over to you.
He gestured at where you were seated, a book tucked by your side. “Why didn’t you paint us together?”
Steve sighed, “I paint you guys together all the time.”
“Darling, c’mere,” Bucky insisted and you got up to weave your way through the studio and into his outstretched arms. He hugged you against him and stroked your hair with his metal fingers, pressing his lips against your forehead in a long kiss. You hummed into the warmth he brought and smiled softly when he gave you an Eskimo kiss.
Steve made a disgruntled noise and grumbled, “You guys disgust me sometimes. I’ll go grab my sketchbook...”
“I love her, Steven!” Bucky shouted when Steve walked out of the studio and you just laughed into his chest, knowing he was being ridiculous and a pain in Steve’s ass.
You peered up at your soldier, once Steve was absent, and scolded, “You should’ve let him paint you, you dick.”
“He didn’t need me as reference anymore, darling.”
Bucky unlatched himself from you and you followed on his heels to Steve’s easel. He paused just behind the stool and chuckled, “He was already done.”
