They’re in bed together when it happens. Curled up around each other, ‘til Steve can’t tell where he ends and Bucky begins.
On nights like this, it’s easy to pretend they’re back in Brooklyn, that it’s 1939 again. The war hasn’t come yet, Steve’s got his sketchbook stuffed under his pillow, and a couple times a night Bucky’ll roll over and mumble “Love you, Stevie,” into the crook of Steve’s neck.
But then something’ll happen—Bucky’s metal arm will tense against Steve’s stomach, Steve will shiver against a chill that simply isn’t there—and he’ll remember all over again. This is Washington, D.C., 2015. The war is long gone, with a handful of others following to wash the taste of it out of the nation’s mouth. Steve hasn’t drawn anything in over seventy years, and Bucky, well, Bucky hasn’t spoken since—
The man in question sighs, shifts closer to Steve. “Love you, Stevie,” Bucky mumbles into the crook of Steve’s neck, then stiffens, seems to realize the enormity of what’s just happened.
Steve wants to cry. He wants to laugh, scream, call up every single one of Bucky’s many therapists, call Sam and Nat. He wants to kiss Bucky, hot and possessive and passionate in a way their kisses haven’t been since the war.
But he doesn’t do any of those things. Just whispers “I love you too, Buck,” and smiles at how Bucky relaxes against him.
Tag: imaginesteverogerss
Imagine Steve bringing various men home to the tower and then leaving in the morning hair mussed and disheveled. Unlike what the avengers thought, Steve was bringing models into the tower so he could draw them and they usually stayed over for early morning finishing touches.
Steve knows perfectly well what it looks like, it’s just that, well, he doesn’t really care what the other Avengers think, and plus Tony choking on his spit every time it happens just never gets old.
Sometimes he even pauses before entering rooms so he can listen in on the discussions about what the hell he’s been doing with these young men.
The best one is when Jeff, the dark-haired guy with the scar that bisects his eyebrow, stands on tiptoe to kiss Steve’s cheek on his way out. He says, “thanks, sugar. Let’s do this again sometime,” and Steve watches in the mirror beside the door as Clint coughs into his coffee, spraying it all over his face and the chair behind him.
He tries not to smirk as he shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Gonna head back to bed for a bit,” he says, “didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
He thinks he might have cracked a rib trying to hold in his laughter as he heads back to his room, listening to Clint sputter behind him.
#steve trolling the rest of the avengers is my l i f e b l o o d#not your goody two shoes#straight up honest to god troll#he can see the shadows of the others moving behind his door#and just#pointedly says ‘yeah darling move up a bit just like that oh you look gorgeous like so#appreciatively grunts#ofc he warns his models he doesnt want them to get uncomfortable#but cmon anyone presented with the chance of pulling any of the avengers’ leg#would be so in cahoots#bless their souls#txt it#shrinkalink
Headcanon accepted.
knitting in the dark 