#ibwhellospringday6

[notimetoblog]

Photograph

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Category: fluffy

Warnings: nothing but fluffy fluffy fluff!!

Day 6: Photograph from @ibwhellospring ‘s Spring Short Story Writing Event [hosted by @itsbuckysworld ].

 “You look like one of those male models that are on the picture that come with the frame,” you laughed, not even trying to hide the way you let your eyes rake over Bucky’s figure.

  He was in a suit that was entirely unfair. In a deep navy-blue suit and a black shirt that made his eyes stand out so much it was impossible to tear your gaze from them. As if that wasn’t enough, he had the audacity to send a smirk your way as he took in how flustered you seemed.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Barnes,” you playfully hit his arm, something he took advantage of by grabbing your hand, pulling you close to him.

  “Like what, doll?” he said in a husky voice that made your knees buckle.

  “You know exactly how. With that little smirk of yours.”

“Can’t really do much else when you throw such a nice compliment my way,” he said, breath now fanning across your neck as he gently kissed his way up to your jaw, peppering kisses there too. It took everything in you not to push him back into your bedroom in the hopes he forgot all about the event he was scheduled to appear in.

  “You’re not playing nice,” you giggled, letting your hands get tangled in his hair. “You’re kissing me but you’re leaving in a few minutes and that is just not fair.”

  “You wanna know what’s not fair,” he chuckled, his lips searching for more places to kiss. “The fact that you’re not coming to this thing with me.”

 “You know I can’t go,” you pushed him back a bit, laughing as the distance caused him to pout.

 He could be way too adorable for his own good.

  “Yeah I know,” he sulked. “Guess this male model is going to have to go alone.”

  “I really shouldn’t have said that,” you said throwing your head back to laugh. “Your ego is big enough as it is.”

  “You love me and my gigantic ego,” he teased. “Wouldn’t have me any other way.”

  “Is that so,” you giggled.

  “Absolutely.”

  Checking his watch, he begrudgingly left your side, picking up a few things Steve had asked him to let him borrow for the event. Taking advantage of him being away from the living room you quickly raided the closet looking for that instant camera you had gotten him a few Christmases ago.

  “Alright, doll, I gotta go,” you heard him approaching the living room once again. Tossing the camera aside you went up to him to give a quick peck on the lips.

“Have fun, love,” you said with a smile.

  “I’ll try,” he said returning your kiss.

  As he made his way to the front door, you quickly grabbed the camera once more, before following him to the door.

  “I’ll see you later, “ he called out, his back to you as he opened the front door.

  “Hey Buck,” you said, camera ready.

  As soon as he had turned just enough to face you, you snapped the photograph, the flash catching by surprise.

  “There,” you laughed, getting the picture, “now you really will be the male model that comes with the frame.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #IBW: Hello Spring 2019 #ibwhellospringday6

[ciarawritesmarvel]

one photograph (a million dresses) - bucky barnes x reader

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k (hell yeah)

Warnings: Okay so this is basically all angst but with a pretty sweet ending if I do say so myself. Safe from language, and set from CA:TFA all the way through to Avengers:IW so safe from Endgame too

A/N: Welcome to Day Six of Hello Spring by @ibwhellospring! This is a slightly more angsty piece, as stated, but please stick with it, I like to think the ending kind of makes up for it?? Maybe?? I’m a bit confused myself with where I went with this one, so feedback would be super appreciated! Love you guys <3

Prompt: Photograph

masterlist in my bio and tags in the reblog! please drop me an ask to be tagged in bucky, steve or all the hello spring pieces!

---

Bucky sat on his bunk, elbows on his knees as he leaned over, head in his hands. He rubbed his hands over his face, once, twice, three times, before he sat up properly. There were soldiers all around him, most lying in their own bunks, though he doubted that they were actually asleep. Sleep was scarce here.

He’d been here for months. At least he thought he had. It felt like months upon months upon months since he’d been at home, surrounded by his friends and his family rather than a bunch of random strangers that he’d had to become acquainted with.  He was still getting used to that.

Almost without his conscious knowledge, he reached under his pillow and his hand curled around the flimsy piece of paper he’d stashed there months beforehand. He pulled it out and held it up to his eye line. A smile graced his features at the sight, one laced with an underlying sorrow, but a smile nonetheless.

This was his favourite picture of you.

You twirled down the street in front of him as he laughed at you, your skirt flying every which way as you did so. Eventually you stopped and leaned your arm on a lamppost.

“I told you this was the best time to be out, James,” you sing-songed, turning to him with a sly grin and he shook his head with a fondness that only came with years of being irrevocably in love with someone.

“5am in the morning?”

“There’s no one about! It’s like a beautiful ghost city,” you giggled as he caught up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up and around until you were on the other side of him, eliciting a gorgeous squeal from you that had his heart skipping a beat or two.

“Only you would ever say something like that, dollface,” he said and you shrugged, squirming out of his grip and hitching up your skirt to run ahead again when you saw a puddle from last night’s rain. He grabbed his camera out of the bag he’d brought with him just for that purpose and fiddled with it for a few seconds to get the settings right. He aimed it at you and you noticed, throwing your arms in the air and grinning at him as you span to face him. He caught you at just the right time.

The photo slowly edged out of the camera and he shook it rapidly, watching as the image slowly took shape on the paper. He smiled. You looked gorgeous. Carefree. Happy.

He was glad he’d brought his dad’s camera.

He could still smell the perfume he’d bought you for your last birthday if he concentrated hard enough and he could still imagine just how the skirt flew out around you when you span this way and that. Your dresses were bound to be the death of him. Not this war.

And with that thought, he stroked the picture once, made a silent promise to it and tucked it back under his pillow again.

---

Everything was pain. It washed around him, flowed over him like a tsunami, again and again and again. Everything was pain.

His brain felt heavy in his head, swimming with fog and teaming with demons, poking and prodding sections just to see how he’d react. His screams echoed in his own ears like those of somebody else. Sometimes he thought he was screaming and he wasn’t, or he thought he wasn’t but he was. His thoughts merged in his own head, swirled into amalgamations that he no longer recognised. His vision plagued by invasive white lights and dark spots.

“James! James!” you shouted for him desperately and watched as he ran out of the house, eyes full of worry until they landed on you and he rushed over, kneeling down beside you and cradling your head with one hand.

“God, what happened?”

“I...I fell out of the tree,” you laughed at yourself briefly but then the pain spiked in your ankle again and you winced instead, “I was trying to save the cat!”

He looked upwards and saw a gorgeous little silver grey tabby on one of the low branches. It meowed at him as he stared, as if in welcome. He glared up at it.

“You tried to save a cat in this dress?”

“Well I wasn’t going to change first, you silly boy!”

He rolled his eyes at you, a genuine annoyance showing through. You were too kind. Too selfless. It was the quality he loved most about you, and the one he didn’t like all too much. It was going to get you in trouble one day.

Or hurt, like this time.

He lifted you without much effort, hands under your knees and back, a half-smile directed at you as you wrapped your arms around his neck and absentmindedly played with the hair at the back of his neck.

“Let’s get you some ice, doll.”

“Not until you save the cat, James!”

He groaned.

There was one thought reverberating around his mind incessantly, not letting up and he chased it desperately before finally grasping it.

Keep her safe.

He couldn’t make sense of the words, who the her was, what safe meant anymore. He couldn’t keep track.

But his hand that had been gripping the sides of his chair - his prison - suddenly switched to gripping his leg and he felt a crinkle inside his pocket.

That was enough for the thought to be satisfied, but he still didn’t know why.

He didn’t have long to think about it before he was screaming again.

---

All that remained was the next mission. And then the next mission. And then the next mission.

And that photograph. And...Bucky? Someone called Bucky.

He panted as he stood rigidly upright, back against the wall, ears trained for any movements, any signs that he might have been followed.

Bucky. Why did that feel like...something? He couldn’t think. He couldn’t think. His brain was cloudy and unhelpful, a large thought of the next mission crushing any other thought in his head, crushing them down until they were shards for him to attempt to put back together. It was impossible.

“Steve picked a fight again. Found a stick to fight him with,” Bucky sighed as he recounted his day to you and you handed him a cup of cocoa, smiling as you sat down on the chair next to him at the dining table.

“I’ve always told ya, that kid’s resourceful,” you joked but Bucky didn’t bat an eyelid. You put your own cocoa down on the table and reached an arm around his back, rubbing smooth circles between his shoulder blades, “You shouldn’t worry about him so much, James.”

“I can’t help it. He wants to join the army, y’know? He’s so determined,” he relished in your soft touch, letting one of his hands fall to your knee, covered by yet another one of your dresses. Red with a sweetheart neckline. One of his favourites.

“If Steve’s determined, I have no doubt he’ll do it,” you said honestly and Bucky looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “Oh come on, you know Steve! He’ll do it. You take my word for it.”

“Whatever you say, doll,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder and you moved your head a little so he could get comfy.

He decided to wait until another time to tell you he was going to sign up himself.

He glanced around, eyes darting and suspicious, making sure there was definitely nobody here, watching him. When he was absolutely sure, he reached inside the pocket he tried to avoid delving into and pulled out the photograph. His nostrils flared as he looked at it.

He willed his mind to think about it. To think properly.

He knew there was something there, something hidden behind the overwhelming commands in his head, something lurking that might just free up his mind a little bit. But he couldn’t get there.

The photograph. That man. Bucky.

He knew them all.

And yet all he knew was the next mission.

He pocketed the photograph, again with a silent promise, but this time one that told him not to look at it again. It was a distraction.

All that remained was the next mission.

---

He’d never really had the chance to mourn. Not that you needed mourning, he supposed, seeing as you’d lived a full life, one with laughter and love and happiness, as far as he could tell. But he’d never mourned what could have been. What the two of you had lost, together. He’d spent years without the memory of it, after all.

And as soon as he could remember who was in his photograph, he learned his photograph was of a dead person.

Because you were dead. Of course. It had been a lifetime.

As he sat on a tattered sofa in a safehouse that Steve had found for them, he looked at you again. At your photograph. He knew he shouldn’t, knew it probably wasn’t helping. It didn’t stop him.

The blue of your dress didn’t come through in the black and white image, but he could remember it now. A deep blue, a nine o’clock in the evening sky and a fifty foot deep ocean all rolled into one. He closed his eyes and willed the tears away. He could see you looking down on him, calling him silly as you always did and it helped him to keep himself under control.

“I get why you’re doing this,” you said tentatively, hands on his chest, an anchor, a support, “But that doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

“I know, Y/N, you’ve told me many times,” he said, trying not to show just how much it affected him every time you hinted that you wanted him to stay, “But we’ve talked about it now.”

“I know.”

You looked up at his face and reached up slowly, a hand making its way up his chin, over his cheek and into his hair, messing up his cap. Not that you cared.

“You’re gonna be fine without me, doll,” he said, like he really meant it, “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better be,” you said, fiercely, the same fierce protectiveness he’d seen from you before over cats, over Steve, over food. But never over him before. It made him shiver involuntarily, “Oh so help me, James, I will come to the front line and drag your ass back home myself.”

He grinned, pulled you in closer until your face was buried into his neck, his chin resting against your temple.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He truly meant it. You wiped your tears while he couldn’t see you. You had a bad feeling about this.

The interaction was seared into his mind like his programming had been. And the dress you were wearing. He suddenly wished he had a million more photos just like his own, wished he’d taken one every single day you’d been together. Every single dress you ever wore, every single smile he ever elicited from you. He wanted them immortalised in print.

He was terrified of forgetting even a single one.

Again he pictured you sat beside him, nudging him playfully and telling him to stop worrying about everyone and everything. It was enough for him to tuck the photo away again, to smile at no one in particular and stand up from the sofa, walking over to the table where Steve and Sam were planning their next steps.

He needed to stay in the present now. He could hear you saying it over his shoulder.

---

He hadn’t looked at the photograph in years.

He hadn’t looked at it when he was in Wakanda. He thought about it a few times, but he thought it might just ruin the peaceful life he’d made for himself, or rather, that others had made for him. He kept it, of course, how could he not, but he didn’t look at it. Last time he had, he’d made a silent promise that he wouldn’t, a silent promise to you, a silent promise he intended to keep.

So he had.

This felt different.

He stood in between Nat and Steve, behind him an army of the people he’d been living among for a long time now. A new and improved metal arm on his left. One without memories and pain and death associated with it, instead with gold engravings and a smile at it was attached. And a photograph in his hand, one that he just had to have one last look at before the battle of his life.

“This is the best day of my life,” Bucky said, and you could hear the truth laced within his words, the genuine happiness that hid beneath them. You turned your head so that you were no longer staring at the sea but up at his face, your head planted firmly in his lap.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Mine too,” you said, a cheeky grin spreading across your face and spreading through Bucky’s veins. He leaned down to kiss you, softly, sweetly, before sitting back up again and resuming his gentle stroke of your hair, methodical and soothing. The sounds of the shoreline were vaguely distant but still there, the waves lapping against the sand and returning again. Bucky had laughed when you’d run downstairs in your lilac dress (the one that flared at the waist, reached your ankles and was covered in white spots) that morning and announced you were going to the beach but you had been deadly serious,

He couldn’t deny you anything.

Before he could do anything to stop you, you had sat up, your head leaving his lap as you grinned at him, standing up and holding up a hand to pull him up too. He allowed you to.

“Do you trust me?” you asked teasingly, your hand wrapping around his with a grip so secure he was sure you’d never let him go, sure that he’d never let you.

“Always.”

You pulled him with you as you ran straight towards the sea and he laughed loudly at the suggestion. But you weren’t slowing down. He looked at you as you ran, the smile on your face, the hair whipping around your neck.

He couldn’t deny you anything.

The water had been freezing and your dress had been ruined, he remembered. But he’d bought you a new one. Green with white spots. Square neck. You’d loved it.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked him, a hand on his shoulder. Grounding him. Bringing him back to reality. He had one of those sad smiles on his face, as his eyes flicked from Bucky’s own to the photo in his hands. He knew Y/N. Knew how special he was. Bucky smiled. Put the photograph in his top pocket and tapped it twice.

“Not bad, for the end of the world.”

The answer from earlier had his friend’s smile becoming less sad, as he removed his hand from Bucky’s shoulder.

He let out a long and steadying exhale.

It was time.

---

Steve dropped to the ground, the ground where Bucky, his Bucky, his best friend, had just turned to dust. His fingers stuttered through the ash, his face a grimace, the tears stinging his eyes threatening to spill over into harsh sobs at any second. His chest constricting, his whole body shaking.

And then he saw it. Amongst the ash, his fingers brushed over a piece of paper and he knew what it was before he even looked at it. He didn’t even want to look at it.

The first thing he thought about was whether he had found you. Whether the photograph being left behind meant something about Bucky finding the real thing elsewhere. It brought him no comfort.

The sheer force of looking at the photo knocked him from his knees, falling into a sitting position on the ground with a soft thud as he steadied himself. He looked around at the others, saw the piles of ash that surrounded them, the grey and lifeless body of Vision taunting him from a few metres away. His voice came out strained and strangled.

“Oh god.”

---

Your arms tightened around him, your hands clinging to the fabric the covered his back. His own hands were around your waist, so tight that it hurt, hurt, hurt, but you didn’t care. You looked younger than he thought you would. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. Not now.

“James.”

It was more of a breath than a word, but he didn’t care, just took your face in his hands as he pulled back, thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks, collecting the tears that spilled onto them.

“Y/N.”

He noticed her wearing a new dress. He committed it to memory instantaneously. It was white. Shorter than her usual ones. Just above the knee. Off the shoulder. She’d clearly updated her style since he’d last seen her.

It had been nearly 100 years, after all.

“You kept that photograph safe, eh?” you joked and he laughed.

“I kept you safe,” he corrected firmly, because it was never just a photograph. Not to him, “I kept you safe.”

#IBW: Hello Spring 2019 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky imagine #bucky drabble #bucky angst #bucky oneshot #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #ibwhellospringday6 #hellospring

[itsbuckysworld]

HELLO SPRING DAY 6

Pairing: Teacher!Bucky x Teacher!Reader Category: Teacher AU! Warnings: fluff bomb! Two idiots in love acting like preteens with crushes. Word Count: 2K i went sooo ham. Guest Appearance: Steef and Sammy

Summary: It’s picture day at their Middle School. Mr. Barnes is wearing his best definitely not to impress Ms. Y/L/N, and Ms. Y/L/N is wearing her best, definitely not to impress Mr. Barnes.

Day 6: Photograph, for my Spring Short Story Writing Event

YOUR OUTFIT \\\ /// MR.BARNES

Bucky fixed his small bowtie with a wide grin as he looked at the kids walking in, being dropped off by smiley parents, and wearing their absolute best. It was picture day at St. George’s Middle School, and his class had won both first and second place at the state science fair, so besides taking individual photos, the kids had earned their own page on the yearbook, a photo congratulating their success and their teachers’ as well, so he’d insisted they come dressed to the nines and ready to have fun, promising them he would come in his best outfit as well.

He got chuckles and comments from Sam and Steve, his coworkers, when he walked into the teacher’s room early that morning in search for coffee, but he kindly reminded them that only teachers with award winning classes got to dress as fancy as him. “Ya sure that’s the only reason you’re spiffed up as if you’re going to the met gala?” Steve commented with a slight raise of his eyebrow, half ignoring Sam’s confused glance at his choice of words. “Spiffed up, it means well-dressed” “Don’t use complex words in front of Wilson, you know how he gets” Bucky mocked, trying to avert the focus of the conversation off of him. “I understood, what I don’t understand is why you and Y/N haven’t jumped each other bones yet”

Ah there it was, Bucky rolled his eyes over the rim of his coffee mug.

Y/N the newest addition to St. George’s teacher council, a science teacher, been there for a little over a year and had already won his kids the top spots at the competition last month by being the catalyst for their newfound love for science. Ever since she had accidentally spilt her coffee all over him during a lunch period, back when she was only two months into teaching at this school, Bucky had been smitten, but that’s something he didn’t want anyone to know, more specifically Steve or Sam. So he evaded every Y/N talk with his two friends, at all costs.

Except Steve could read him too well, and he wasn’t able to keep the secret from Sam, who wasn’t blind either, and so the teasing was always present. Specially when he was so easy to read, exiting the teacher’s room as soon as her name was mentioned, setting way to greet his students coming in.

Was he extra dolled up for his photo with both his class and Y/N? Maybe, but he was not going to admit it out loud.

“Good morning Mr. Barnes!” claimed little Harrison, giving him a high-five as he was coming in. Bucky was just finishing answering the young boy when he heard Steve call his name barely above a whisper from down the hall. His blue eyes shot up, only to find his childhood best friend using his head to point not so discreetly to his right. As Bucky straightened up and looked, his breath was knocked out of his lungs.

There you were, coming in the school grounds with your books clutched tight to your chest, the characteristic blue pen you always kept behind your ear. Your blouse was adorned with butterflies, much like the ones fluttering in his tummy, a flowy summery yellow skirt complementing the outfit and you looked so young and bright and beautiful that he’s sure his heart is not going to be able to contain itself in his chest.

You walk down the hall, wiggling your fingers in his direction as a hello, and giving him your brightest smile. It’s not until you’re almost walking right past him that he shakes his head and blurts out an excited “Hi! Morning!” to you. Your giggle is like music to his ears and watching your figure walk away down the hall is all he can do – that and try not to drool – as he sees the swish of the skirt with each step you take, your hair free and bouncy as you say hello to everyone you encounter down the hallway. His eyes meet Steve’s knowing ones when he stops looking at your distant frame, and he’s smacked back to reality, clearing his throat and shrugging at Steve – as if saying “pshh, I was not staring at her, im totally cool” – and fleeing his best friend’s intense stare when the bell rings.

He has the reddest cheeks when he begins his morning announcements.

Steve and Sam’s banter doesn’t end, it only resumes as they stand in line waiting to get their picture taken for the yearbook, it only subsides when you walk in and join them, talking about anything and everything. Even though they are not verbal about his huge crush on you, he can feel it in their glances and their inside jokes that keep coming up now and then. His contributions to the conversation are minimal and space-y. It’s difficult to make whole sentences when you’re around. How did he become a teacher again? He’s supposed to know how to fucking talk. “Now best dressed award goes to you Y/N” Sam implies, smiling over at Bucky all too knowingly. You blush slightly and laugh, fanning your face jokingly. “Why thank you, Mr. Wilson” “Looking to impress anyone?” Steve continues and it takes everything in Bucky not to step on his friend’s foot and shut him up. “Hmmm, maybe, maybe not” you say and the glance you give Bucky has his mind reeling. Did that mean anything? No way, no fucking way. He stammers, but the coy glance is over before he can fully register what just happened. “We’ll see” you say and walk over to the table with refreshments to get yourself a bottle of water.

He can’t get it any harder even if he tried. You already had your photo taken and of course you look amazing in it – he has yet to see it, but he just knows – and now here you were making light conversation with him as you waited for the kids to take their photo. You don’t have to, but you like his company and he’s weak at the knees when you tell him so, thinking back to that look you spared him. He really does try his best to maintain a logical conversation that doesn’t showcase how lovestruck he is over you, but it’s so damn hard. He’s sure he’s complimented your outfit a good three times in the course of the day, but each time he does, he wins one of your giggles and it’s worth it. He also takes note that you didn’t giggle the same way when Sam had told you you looked cute and he has to almost slap himself to not look too much into it.

His class walks in, all of them in an organized line, all prim and proper, two of them holding onto the trophies they had snatched and it feels his heart with pride. You grab his arm and squeal, equally happy they’ve done such an amazing job, and his heart flutters in his chest. That’s got to be some medical condition he needs to get checked, but at the same time, you two look like proud parents at their kid’s graduation and the image doesn’t go over his head.

Breathe Bucky. Breathe, he tells himself as the two of you stand behind the posing kids, shoulder to shoulder and you decide to wrap your arm around his for the photo. “Mr. Barnes should hold the trophy for one photo!” one of the children says and he’s quick to retract. “No, no. This is all your effort. If anything, Ms. Y/L/N should hold one” your hand tugs at his when he finishes his sentence that has caused the kids to debate up a storm on which adult should hold what. He looks back at you. “No no. I agree with Mr. Barnes” you say and he’s always adored how you say his last name, probably more than when you call him by his first. “The trophy is yours guys” “Miss, we want you to hold it for a photo, you too Mr. Barnes” Morgan, one of the preppiest and smartest in the group speaks over everyone else, and they all agree as they place one of the trophies in Bucky’s hand, the other on yours.

You give him a shrug and a quick wink, and all he can do is stare with a dumb grin on his face, but you’re looking right back at him and he really likes it. He could look at you for hours, his eyes dancing over your features, memorizing them, appreciating them. “Could we get the teachers looking at the camera?” the photographer adds, snapping you out of your trance, getting you to turn to look at the camera. He stammers and chuckles nervously through an apology, and your giggle is in his ear, causing him to have trouble breathing.

He’s got a tight grip on your hand as he helps you down the stacks placed to organize the kids on the frame and not have anyone covered by someone taller on the front. The kids are all laughing and murmuring, their pitter patter fading in the back, exiting the gymnasium and on their way to the next class. You trip slightly and his hands rush to your waist to stabilize you, the apples of his cheeks red as they have ever been and the sight is endearing. “Thank you” your voice is barely above a whisper as he slowly lets go of you, but remains close, at half arms reach. His blue eyes find yours. Your smile mirrors his, shy and nervous. Flirty. And in a quick spurt of confidence, you stand on the tip of your toes and press your lips to his cheek, a millimeter away from the corner of his mouth.

Ok, now his cheeks are redder than ever. Warm and fuzzy is how he describes the feeling that small peck gave him, from the tip of his toes to the last strand of his hair.

The two of you stand there, for who knows how long, because time is irrelevant right now as Bucky processes and rehearses something to say. Meanwhile you beat yourself up in your head. So awkward, so awkward so awkward! You have ruined everything!

The school bell cuts the moment short, making him almost jump a foot away from you and you both clear your throats. “I should… I-” he points over his shoulder making a silly face and dancing on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, yeah, sure! I have uh…” you laugh nervously. “Class and, and, and-” “Exams to grade!” you hum in agreement, raising your arms and looking at the ceiling as if saying sooo many exams “And, you know…” he chirps in, clapping his hands awkwardly and rubbing his palms together. You sway to and fro, playing with the hem of your skirt and nodding obsessively at nothing. “Totally! Me too” he starts to walk away, cursing himself under his breath. What in the world was that? No, fix it Barnes, fix it now.

He’s halfway the distance to the door when he does a 180 and returns to stuttering, his hand nervously and furiously scratching at the back of his head. “Hey so…” “Yeah?” the response is too quick for your liking, how silly of you, why are you such a mess when he’s around? “Uh, maybe we- we could… you know grab some coffee after? And grade! Grade those assignments” “Yeah! Grade ‘em! Of course!” “Yeah, it’d be easier, right? If we- If we” “Got it, yeah... I’m free” “You are?” you nod frantically, cheeks blazing hot. “Good! Good, good” he stares at the patterns on his shoes “Great” “Awesome”

Bucky bites at his bottom lip, hands sunken down deep in his pockets and you’re no different, fingers intertwined behind your back to keep yourself occupied. In a few short steps, Bucky’s regained the distance he put between the two of you, pressing the quickest peck on your cheek before rushing back away, he clears his throat, letting somewhat of a laugh escape, and then is out the gym with his shoulders up to his ears.

He feels like a schoolboy once again, and you’re not far away, swishing your skirt from side to side, your lip between your teeth and a coy giggle deserving of the schoolgirl with a crush award, hand on your chest as you sigh in relief. Oh, finally.

feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged!! I WENT HAM WITH THIS AND OH THE FLUFF. I ALSO EXPECT TO WRITE MORE TEACHER!BUCKY IN THE FUTURE. Be it college, high school or middle school teacher, I have a lot of mr. barnes inspo, and Ms. Y/L/N as well. 

Hope you enjoyed it!

#IBW: Hello Spring 2019 #ibwhellospringday6 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #teacher!AU #teacher!Bucky #AU #fanfiction #fluff

[captainamericasbeard]

Photograph

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 550 Category: angst Warnings: none

A/N: This is my entry for Day 6 of @ibwhellospring ‘s 31 day short story writing challenge. Today’s prompt was photograph.  I’ll put links for each day on my masterlist if you want to catch up.

Masterlist

Bucky’s arms stretched across the length of the bed, searching you out. But you weren’t there. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at an errant strand of your hair across your pillow. You should be there, but you’re not. Bucky rolls over numbly and crawls out of bed, forcing on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

In the training room he goes through the motions. Treadmill, punching bag, weights, mat. The team says little to each other. It’s all dead thuds of fists on leather and the clank of free weights. Natasha’s feet beat out the seconds on the treadmill. Bucky picks Steve up off the mat and leaves wordlessly to take a shower. Nat and Steve exchange a glance.

Bucky spends his day going through his routine. Breakfast, reading, lunch, a mission brief. An argument breaks out as to whether Bucky should go or if it's too soon. “I’ll see you on the jet,” he mumbles gruffly as he stalks off toward the tack room. A last minute flight to a Hydra base in the Montana mountains. Bucky paces the quinjet restlessly while the others sit and stare at their hands.

The team pours off the jet and into the fray. Bucky launches himself at 6 Hydra agents, ignoring the voices in his comms. His motions are furious, ruthless as he takes his revenge. Agent after agent falls and Bucky’s pupils are blown black with the pain of it. He rushes the entrance and moves through the twists and turns taking down the base and searching for victims.

Back on the plane Bucky uses your knife to clean the dried blood from under his fingernails. Steve stands next to him, his mouth forming soundless words. Bucky grunts his response and eventually Steve goes back to his seat, tears forming a sheen across his clear blue eyes. When they land Bucky is the first to strut off the plane with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He turns the knob to the room you two share and still you’re not there.

He pauses in the doorway and forces himself into the room. He drops his duffle bag at his feet and decides to skip debrief for his second shower of the day. The hot water rushes over him, burning his chest. He stands there until the water runs clear and then a little longer. Finally he turns the water off and wraps himself in a white towel slung low across his hips. After drying he pulls on boxers and a thin white t-shirt and climbs into bed. His eyes fall on your strand of hair again.

Bucky rolls over and opens his bedside pulling out a worn photograph. You and him on the last night you spent together. You pulled onto his lap, your arm slung over his shoulders. His hands on your waist. Your head is thrown back in a raucous laugh at something someone just said and his eyes are adoringly fixed on you. Bucky looks brighter and warmer here than he’s looked in recent months.

Tears finally run down Bucky’s cheek. Silent tears he’s cried a thousand times. He traces the lines of your face with his thumb as he grieves. You should be here. But you're not. And you never would be again.  

#ibw: hello spring 2019 #ibwhellospringday6 #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel drabble #marvel imagine #Bucky Barnes #Bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky drabble #bucky barnes reader insert

[supernaturallymarvellous]

Photograph

Author: @supernaturallymarvellous

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader 

Word Count: 491

Warnings: None

A/N: I’m taking part in the Hello Spring 31 Day Fiction Short Story Event being hosted by @itsbuckysworld.  The prompt for Day 6 is “Photograph”.

Tag Lists are also open for this series of fics - Marvel fandom, characters to be decided as I get inspired by each prompt. 

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The photograph has been on your desk for almost three years.  When you first began working as the official Press Liaison Officer for the Avengers, Tony had insisted on gathering the troops for a picture, capturing your first day on the job, immortalising the moment for all eternity.  More used to being behind the camera, the image of you that stares out from the frame has an almost rabbit caught in the headlights quality to it.  The others look like they’re more used to a camera being thrust at them; Steve and Natasha both have forced smiles on their faces, Thor is grinning like a Cheshire Cat, Clint looks as though he’s barely paying attention, while Bruce smiles in a way that you barely thought possible for such a serious and academic man.  

And then there’s Tony.  No one could forget about Tony – for one thing, he would never let that happen!  He’s standing right next to you in the picture, one arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, the other raising itself as high as possible to put bunny ears behind Cap’s head.  God, he can act like a hyperactive toddler at times but you wouldn’t have it any other way, even though it would make your job significantly less stressful!

It’s not the only photograph in the room.  Far from it.  While one wall is entirely taken up by filling cabinets and another by full length, floor to ceiling, windows, the wall behind your desk is covered in pictures taken at various points over the previous few years.  Some are official press photographs, others are informal snaps taken at parties and functions.  These informal ones are your favourites; they seem to show perfect little moments of happiness.  There’s one of Wanda, cheekily using her powers to manipulate the balls in a game of pool against Sam.  Another depicts Natasha behind the bar at one of the many glamorous parties thrown by Tony. The photo, taken by you as you wandering through the event, captures Nat as she spins around to grab a bottle from the shelf behind her, her hair flying out in an almost perfect arc.  It’s beautiful – she looks simply stunning, like a goddess sent to earth.  

There’s one further photograph, one that, out of the many that adorn the wall, is your absolute favourite.  It’s a simply image; just a man and woman sitting and talking at the edge of a lake, their feet gently dangling into the clear water below.  It’s your favourite because it shows your first date with Steve. It’s the first thing you would grab if someone told you that you had to evacuate the building immediately and, as you sit at your desk desperately trying to finalise the wording of the latest press release to pass through your office, you make a mental note to take Steve back there as soon as possible – perhaps on your upcoming anniversary…..perhaps to make a proposal?

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Tagging:  @ibwhellospring  @waywardimpalawriter    @zepppie     @helvonasche  @xxloki81xx    @redlipstickandplaid

#IBW: Hello Spring 2019 #IBWHelloSpringDay6 #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve x reader #Steve Rogers #Marvel FanFic #Marvel Imagine #Marvel Reader Insert #Steve Rogers Fanfic #Steve Rogers Imagine #Captain America

[justagirlinafandomworld]

remember

For itsbuckysworld’s Hello Spring Short Fiction Writing Event! @ibwhellospring

Day 6: Photograph

Fandom: Supernatural

Warnings: None

Word Count: 487

A/N: A drabble for the sake of writing. 

You didn’t know what to say when Sam handed it to you. Eyes flashing up to him and mouth gaping wordlessly.

Shifting the strap of his bookbag back higher on his shoulder, Sam only smiled, lay a comforting hand on your shoulder, then proceeded out of the motel room to the parking lot.

You wanted to ask when. But eyes flashing back to the photograph, the faded image of you with your shorter hair and carefree smile, no bags under your eyes helped pinpoint the time to at least ten years ago. Sitting atop a picnic table, wearing a zippered gray hoodie, blue jeans, and muddy boots, you were staring down at Dean seated on the bench on which your feet rested.

Twisting to face you, his mouth partially open and eyebrows high on his forehead, Dean was in the middle of laying down some ground rules.

You could make out the pillars of the tiny pavilion, the distant mark of highway hidden behind a thicket of trees. A picnic area at a rest stop.

Standing motionlessly in the doorway of the motel room, your eyes kept going back to Dean. A different time, a younger face. A man clueless to the nine circles of hell he would eventually plummet through.

The pungent smell of honeyed flowers, freshly mowed lawn, and gasoline fumes come at you all at once. You remember laughing, and teasing him so that he eventually got frustrated, threatened to leave you behind and stomped back to the Impala.

You then wanted to ask why. Why take the picture? Why keep it for so long? Why give it to you now?

Finally dropping your hands to your sides, you walked after Sam, steps slow and deliberate once he was in view again. He busied himself, packing his bags and yours in the back of the borrowed car. His eyes forcefully downcast and his shoulders stiff. Exhaling sharply, he must have decided his packing job would have to do as he shut the trunk and rounded the vehicle to open the driver’s door.

Looking up at you, he hesitated before sliding in behind the wheel. The setting sunlight danced golden on his face, his eyes sparkling amber as the tip of his tongue pulled his bottom lip in under his teeth.

You were his family. Just like he was yours. And right now Dean was off the deep end, lost to the darkness and seemingly liking it that way.

Clutching the photograph tightly between your fingers, you moved to the passenger door, swinging the door wide open and stepping inside. The sun burned into your face as you stopped in your decent to look at Sam over the roof of the car.

He needed you to help bring his brother back. And he needed you to remember in the darkest moments that were sure to come that there was a genuine soul worth fighting for.

#IBW: Hello Spring 2019 #ibwhellospringday6 #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #spn reader insert

[buckys-old-habits]

Photograph

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Category: fluff Warnings: none

Word Count: 433

Day 6: Photograph  from @ibwhellospring ‘s Spring Short Story Writing Event. 

Bucky stands in front of the wall beside your bed, you walk up behind him and put your arms around him, your head resting on his back. He pulls you beside him, wrapping his metal arm around you, pressing a soft kiss against your temple. “What's that?”, he points towards the wall and you follow his gaze. “That's my pinboard”, you answer and he rolls his eyes, scoffing at your cheeky tone. You look back at the green, soft cushioned pinboard in front of you. It's littered with postcards, photos, tickets of all kind, bracelets and other knickknacks. Sometimes the things overlap because there is just so much on it. “I see that, smartass.” He lightly tickles your side and you smile, squirming and trying to pull back, but he catches you again and wraps his arms around your waist. 

“So?”, he asks and you giggle and cuddle into his embrace, relaxing with his smell and warmth surrounding you. “I started to put my little knickknacks from events with my beloved ones on there. Every little thing has a story behind it. Just like you do with your journals, collecting and keeping your memories.” Bucky hums lowly in understanding and studies the board, searching for something he knows. Interest sparks in him and he wants to know every little story about the things you treasured on this pinboard. “What's that?”, he points towards a ticket from the cinema, one of a few others.  “My favorite movie I watched with my mom and my brother”, you explain and he asks about a few other things, you answer sincerely and with a smile on your face. 

“I know that one”, Bucky says and you laugh, swatting his arm lightly. “You were there, idiot.” It's a ticket for the zoo, dated only two months ago. It was an awesome and relaxing day, you squealing over the animals and Bucky watching you fondly. “You nearly fell into the little lake”, he laughs and you turn towards him, glaring at him. “I tried to take a picture of the scenery.” “Looked like you wanted to take a swim”, he teases and you pout at him. Bucky laughs again and presses a kiss onto your lips, wiping the pout away with a bite onto your bottom lip. “Buck”, you protest and touch your lip in surprise. “We should make more memories for you to put on the board”, he kisses you again and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss. “And for your journals”, you whisper against his lips before claiming them again.

#ibw: hello spring 2019 #ibwhellospringday6 #bucky x reader #reader insert #franca-writes

[boom-its-chris]

Trouble

Pairing: none Category: fluff Warnings: none Word Count: 1075

Day 6: Photograph from @ibwhellospring ‘s Spring Short Story Writing Event

Peter swung into his apartment after a successful outing of fighting bad guys as Spider-Man. He collapsed on his bed before pulling off his mask.

“Peter? Are you back?” Aunt May called from the kitchen.

“Yes, May!” he shouted back.

“Okay, dinner’s ready.”

“I’ll be out in a few minutes!”

Peter rolled over and reached for his backpack that was sitting on the floor. He dug through it for his phone. He left school rather suddenly and wanted to see if any of his friends had texted him.

He quickly scrolled through his notifications until something caught his eye. It was a text from an unknown number. He opened it and dropped his phone on his face in shock.

“Ah, shit!” Peter winced and rubbed his face before picking his phone up again.

Oh his phone was a photo of him changing into his Spider-Man suit in an alley and a text saying “I know your secret, Peter Parker”.

“Oh god, what do I do? What do I do?” he whisper-shouted to himself.

He had tried really hard to keep the whole Spider-Man thing a secret because he didn’t want to put himself, May, or his friends in danger. He’s seen what happened to the rest of the Avengers, and he knew he didn’t want that for himself.

He quickly texted back “Who is this?”.

He got a fast response.

“Someone with eyes.”

“What do you want?”

“To make you squirm :)”

The smiley face almost made Peter throw his phone across the room in a fit of rage. Someone knew his secret and was messing with him. It was joke to them, but it was Peter’s life. It made him extremely upset.

“Peter? Are you ever gonna come eat?”

He quickly hopped out of his bed and ran to the kitchen, phone in hand. May gave him a quizzical look when she saw he was still in his Spider-Man suit, but Peter just shoved the phone into her hand.

“May, I need help. I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, letting a bit of worry slip out of him.

“Okay, don’t freak out,” she warned as she read over the texts.

“Too late!”

She pulled Peter into a hug and stroked his head in an effort to calm him down. Peter hugged her back and took a deep breath.

“It’s gonna be okay, Peter. I think you should go talk to Tony about this and see what he thinks you should do. He knows a lot more about this stuff than I do, but I do know this isn’t the end of the world.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll go do that.”

“Tony! I need your help!” Peter shouted as he ran into Tony’s lab, visibly upset.

“Woah, kid,” he exclaimed as he turned around and saw Peter, “Calm down. Tell me what happened.”

He patted the chair next to him. Peter sighed and collapsed into the chair. He pulled out his phone and opened the conversation with the unknown number before handing it to Tony. He watched nervously as Tony read the texts.

“Oh… this is bad.”

“I know! What am I gonna do, Tony?”

“Okay, I’m gonna see if I can track this person down, but in the meantime you should lay low. Worst case scenario: the photo leaks and you can pass it off as photoshop or something.”

“What do you mean by lay low?”

“I mean take a break from being Spider-Man for a couple days while we figure this out.”

Peter groaned dramatically. The last thing he wanted to do was sit around while people needed his help.

“But Tony-“

“I’m serious, Peter. Unless you want everyone to figure out your identity, lay low.”

He sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

The next day at school, Peter was moping around. He was upset he had to take a break from being Spider-Man and helping people. He was going against his nature by laying low and he hated it.

“Hey, Peter, is something wrong?” Ned asked, “You’ve seemed upset all day.”

Peter glanced at his two best friends sitting across from him and sighed.

“Something is wrong.”

“What is it?” MJ questioned.

Peter just pulled out his phone and showed them both the conversation with the unknown number.

“Dude, you are screwed.”

“Thanks, Ned. I’m just scared that they’re gonna expose me. Tony told me to lay low for the next few days while he tracks down who sent the text.”

“I’m sorry, dude. That’s sucks.”

MJ was unusually quiet and looked a little nervous. Peter picked up on it and gave her a curious glance.

“I have a confession to make,” she blurted out.

“What is it?”

“That was me. I got a new phone yesterday and I thought it would be a funny joke, but now I can see that I let it go for too long. I’m sorry.”

MJ looked genuinely ashamed and upset. Peter was surprised to see her like that. It was a new side to her, but he was also very glad to find out it was all a joke. He was terrified something bad would come of the text, but knowing it was just friend made the whole situation better.

“It’s okay, MJ. I’m happy to know my secret is still safe.”

MJ smiled in relief.

“Well, Peter, while I’m glad this was a harmless joke, it’s kinda obvious you’re not that good at hiding your secret if MJ could just take a picture of you changing into your suit without you noticing,” Ned pointed out.

“Yeah, don’t you have powers that alert you when people are around?” MJ questioned, “I literally just stood there and took a picture of you. I wasn't even hiding.”

Peter blushed in embarrassment. It didn’t occur to him he was so oblivious, even with his powers.

“I don’t know, they never tell me when May is behind me. That’s how she found out. I don’t think they work on like family and friends.”

“Regardless, you need to be more careful. Next time, it could be someone with bad intentions taking pictures of you,” MJ warned.

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter waved them off.

He promised himself he would start to be more careful and aware of his surroundings next time he went to change into his suit. He was just really happy to learn his secret was safe and he could go back to being Spider-Man. He had people to help.

Also posted on Ao3

#IBW: Hello Spring 2019 #ibwhellospringday6 #Peter Parker #May Parker #Michelle Jones #Ned Leeds #Tony Stark #Spider-Man #my fic