Art and Ice
Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.
Summery: This might a 2 or 3 parter. College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that troupe and couldn't help myself)
Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing I think, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Derogatory use of the word puck bunny. Bucky is a playboy. There is not interaction be MC and Bucky quite yet.
Word Court: 1935
Likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!
Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3
“I don’t know what to do,” you groaned as you threw your head back against the worn couch.
“I want the project to focus on movement, but lifelike movement. Human movement.” You mocked your professor. It not being nature themed had to be a jab just for you. All your projects were nature related or still motion.
“Professor Grace wasn’t targeting you,” Wanda said, letting out a chuckle at your dramatics.
“Are you sure you’re not a drama major?” Pietro laughed as he threw a butter packet at you.
“You two are the worst,” you sighed as you threw your arm over your eyes. Twins, why did my best friends have to be twins. The world is cruel, your thoughts drift.
“Why don’t you come to the track and draw me?” Pietro wiggled his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes in response.
“Eh,” you sighed. You didn’t want a solution at the moment. You just wanted to complain.
“She just wants to vent guys,” Natasha said as she came through the door holding a couple bags of takeout and a box of wine. “And I doubt she wants to see you and the rest of the track team in those tiny little running shorts you call clothing,” she sassed at Pietro. He just laughed, and stuck a pose with his leg up on the bar stool next to the island counter causing you all to laugh with him.
“Thank you,” you exclaimed as she handed you your food. You threw a 10 at her and settled back down into the couch.
“You know, you could come by the rink and draw a couple of the guys,” Nat mentioned. Her long term boyfriend was on the hockey team, Clint, a sharpshooting winger nicknamed Hawkeye.
“Pfft,” you scoffed. “I’m not going to have them think I’m one of those, puck kitties, or whatever they’re called.”
“Puck bunny,” Wanda chimed in, you pointed your chopstick at her and smiled.
Natasha let out a loud laugh, one of those full bodied ones, “god they won’t think that.” You raised your eyebrow at her and gave her an incredulous look.
“I can’t have them showing off because I’m there. I need to get them in their element. Not focused on what I’m doing,” you groaned again. “Biggest issue is I will need permission from the person or people. So they’ll have to know.”
“Like I said Princessa, draw me. You have my permission,” Pietro winked, you rolled your eyes at him.
“You’re too obvious of a choice. And as much as Wanda insists that Professor Grace doesn’t have a personal vendetta against me, she’ll love pointing out I picked the safe option,” you whined.
“Wanda, you haven’t seen Grace in class. She will take any chance to criticize her pieces. Nitpicking to the extreme.” Natasha chimed in, “if it wasn’t for Dr. Rain I think our resident artist would've failed out of this course by now.” Dr. Rain was the head of the art department and after a wholly undergraded piece you submitted last semester Prof. Grace was on thin ice. So she graded you fairly but took every chance to tear you apart in front of the class.
“I’ll think about the hockey team. It would be the least expected from me anyway,” you signed and got up from the couch taking everyone’s garbage and throwing it out. Football season was over, but the hockey season was in full swing right now and our team was top of the league.
“They have practice tomorrow night, you should come by and look at it,” Nat said, giving you a knowing look.
~The Next Day~
That's how you ended up in the rink. Underdressed because you didn’t realize how cold an ice rink would be in the stands. You were right though, about the type of girls that hung out there, they were scantily dressed and leaning over the tunnel that the players exited and entered from. How they weren’t frozen baffled you.
Nat was sitting reading a chemistry book across from you near the bench, as you didn’t want the team knowing you knew her. Well everyone but Clint. You’ve hung out quite a few times over the past couple years. You took a seat a few rows up opposite the bench near what Nat called the Sin bin (penalty box.) It gave an excellent undisrupted view of the rink and the players as they practiced.
The sounds of skates gliding over fresh ice and sticks bouncing off it was an almost soothing sound. The puck skittered across the ice as it was passed between teammates and shot toward the empty net. The goalie, a guy named Quill, was performing some kind of ritual at the opposite end of the rink. Nat mentioned he was a bit of an odd duck. But according to her all goalies were odd in their own ways.
The movement was fluid and easy to follow. How these giant men moved so weightlessly across the ice left you in awe. The Captain of the team was a blonde center named Steve Rogers, better known as Cap. Most of the school knew him, he was in a few of your art classes over the semesters. His girlfriend Peggy, was the student union president.
The star of the team was his blurry best friend James “Bucky” Barnes. He was a “winger,” with good prospects for the NHL according to Nat as she gave you a lowdown of the team as you guys went there just after practice started. He was nicknamed the White Wolf. How a man of his size moved that easily was mesmerizing, he almost floated over the ice and it looked like he was dancing. He was sinfully handsome as well. Every other week he had a new girl hanging off his arm. Undoubtedly one of those puck bunnies as they were called. He was the talk of the school after the football season concluded.
It made you dislike him on principle. The sports were definitely more priority in the school and the art department lacked thanks to these overgrown toddlers on skates. But you couldn’t deny his natural handsomeness, he looked effortlessly handsome and it was almost unfair.
You looked down at your sketch pad that you had been absently scratching at. Bucky seemed to be your muse because you couldn’t take your eyes off him as he effortlessly skated around the rink. You were in danger and you knew it. You gulped and closed the book before quickly gathering your things and leaving.
It didn’t take Nat long to text you and ask where you went. You sent her a quick message back saying you were cold. Not that Bucky, the school's playboy, had quickly become the muse of your piece.
“Nat, I thought you said your friend was coming by,” Clint asked as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“She did, she left because she was cold,” Nat chuckled.
“Anyone know the pretty one watching by the sin bin?” She overheard Wilson ask. “And what she was doing?”
“I think I was in a couple art classes with her,” Steve mentioned missing your name.
“I won’t complain if she comes by again,” Barnes said. Wilson raised a brow at him.
“What, so you can break her heart well?”
“Look doll, it’s not you,”
“It’s me.” Wilson and Stark said together. Barnes shot both men a glare. Then the high pitched whine of Barnes newest fling squealed his name and that was Clint and Nat’s queue to hightail it out of there. The collective groans from the rest of the team matched her thoughts.
~A couple days later~
“Loki, I don’t know what I’m going to do, this project is worth too much for me to go safe,” you sighed as you laid your head on his lap. He was reading some classic novel for his English class in the student commons. His fingers nimbly moved through your hair as he held the book in the other hand.
“Darling, just go back to the ice rink,” he knew almost immediately when something was up when you were walking together a couple days later. The perspective bastard. Loki was your best friend since middle school, his brother Thor was the star quarterback for the football team in both high school and here.
“Why would I do that,” you pouted.
“Because you clearly want to draw this man, and it will ruin you for months just like that piece you did of Helena,” he said shortly. Helena or Hela was his big sister and she was absolutely stunning. You had pined over drawing her for a piece for months before Loki forced you to ask her. It fixed everything and life back to normal after you painted the piece.
“I hate when you do that,” you whined, his eyes flicking down to your face.
“Hate what darling,” he mused.
“That, being reasonable and knowing what I need before I admit what I need to do.” He laughed and ruffled your hair affectionately.
“Comes with years of experience,” he sighed and placed his book down next to his leg. “Do bundle up this time will you,” he called as you walked away, you quickly flipped him the bird as you rounded the corner.
And there you were back at the rink again. Although tonight was a game night and the rink was packed. “20 dollars,” a nasally boy said as he pushed his glasses up, he looked bored out of his mind.
“Pardon?” You asked, looking at him.
“It’s 20 dollars to get in the game,” he said in an annoyed tone.
“Oh, I’m a student,” you showed your ID card, he rolled his eyes, “5 dollars.” You nodded and placed the five down. Only partners of the team got in free. Perk of fucking one of the team members you guessed, that must have outweighed the fear of them cheating or getting bored. You knew that wasn’t fair. At least two of the guys were in committed relationships and one was in an on again off again relationship. The rest though you weren’t sure, you shock your head at the thought.
You caught the flaming red hair of Nat in her reserved seat next to the bench, Peggy was next to her. There were a few open seats at the top of the rink, not great from getting a good view of what you needed to draw. But it would have to do. Instantly your eyes were drawn to Barnes, number 17, flying up the ice leaving the opposing team in the dust, snow? With a quick flick of his wrist the puck was shot sideways and Barton scored. The crowd stood and cheered loudly. You wished you had ear plugs now. The buzzer was insanely loud and made your ears ring. How Nat enjoyed this you’d never understand. Barton. You thought, Nat wasn’t big on sports, but she was big on her sweet boyfriend.
You focused on Barnes as he showboated around the rink, celebrating his assist. He moved so fluidly, you were mesmerized. You drew many little pieces focusing on the movement trying to capture the effortlessness of him skating. You were startled from your drawing when the buzzer screeched again the crowd roared in applause. The team scored again and it seemed to be Barnes that scored this time. Hats flew onto the ice as he skated around. That was odd, you squinted at the action. His eyes caught yours for a split second as he rushed past and it felt like eternity.
Read Chapter 2 here
Feel free you send me a message if you have a request or would like more <3
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Fever
Clint had just finished decorating the Christmas tree when he heard a knock on the front door.
He grins, quickly moving from the living room to the entryway and unlocking the door. Natasha stands there, shivering. Her eyes brighten when they lock with his. “Merry Christmas,” she says, wiping her runny nose with a kleenex. “Merry Christmas, Tasha,” Clint smiles, leading her inside. “You okay?” he says, turning around as she takes her jacket off. “You don’t usually have a runny nose.”
She shrugs, hanging her jacket on an empty hook, saved specifically for her. “Just cold,” she answers, snuggling into his arms. “Feel free to use my shirt as a kleenex,” Clint teases, kissing the top of her head. “I just did laundry.” Nat laughs, turning around to grab a new kleenex and blowing her nose, then tossing both kleenexes in the garbage can under the sink and returning to Clint. She presses a couple fingers to her temple, wincing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Clint asks. “Head hurts,” she mutters, leaning heavily into him. He puts the back of his hand to her forehead and sighs. Hot. “Come on,” he grunts, picking her up and carrying her to the couch. “I’m fine,” Nat protests, struggling weakly against him. “You’re burning up,” Clint replies sternly, pushing her back down on the couch cushions. He grabs a blanket (black with alternating red hourglasses and purple arrows), then a damp cloth, checking on Nat every few seconds to make sure she isn’t trying to leave.
In fact, when he gets back to the couch, her eyes are closed, arm hanging limply over the couch. “Nat!” he exclaims, concerned, kneeling on the floor beside her. “I’m fine,” she slurs, eyes blinking open slowly. He sighs and shifts her so that he can sit in the corner and rest her head and shoulders in his lap, putting the cloth on her forehead and pulling the blanket over her.
“It’s dumb that I’m sick on Christmas Eve,” Nat mumbles after a while. Clint rubs the back of her hand with a thumb, wiping sweat off her forehead with the cloth in his other hand. “At least you won’t get called into work,” he offers. She laughs tiredly, tugging herself up so that she can rest her head on his shoulder, spooning herself on her side against him. Clint sighs happily and readjusts the blanket over both their legs. “I love you,” she murmurs. “I love you too,” he answers, kissing her head.
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Nightmare
Clint’s eyes open suddenly, apparently to nothing.
He sits up, wrinkling his nose at the familiar woke-up-at-3AM yuckiness, and looks around. Window’s closed, so it wasn’t a gust of wind that disturbed the curtains. Both Lucky and Liho are sleeping on the bed, so it wouldn’t have been one of them moving around, leaving, or entering.
Nat shifts beside him, whimpering softly, and his eyes widen with understanding. She’d only just moved in, and they’d rarely slept in the same bed together. Clint had never really thought about it, but he should have realized Nat had nightmares.
“Hey,” he whispers, leaning on his elbow next to Nat. She cringes away from him, hands coming up defensively. “It’s okay,” he continues. “You’re safe. You’re… you’re home.” Nat shakes her head. “Don’t have a home,” she mumbles. “Don’t have a place in the world.” Clint’s heart breaks and he ducks his head, sighing. How do I deal with this? he wonders. If I shake her shoulder, she might think it’s an attack. But I can’t convince her that she’s home when she’s dreaming that she’s back in the Room. Dammit.
All of this goes through Clint’s mind in only a couple seconds, as fast as strategizing during a mission. Finally, he decides to take Nat’s hand, hoping the touch will wake her. Her fingers twitch around his and she inhales shudderingly, on the brink of tears.
“Clint?” she asks after a long, long moment. “Nat,” he breathes, immensely relieved. “Clint,” she repeats, her voice breaking, and she removes her hand from Clint’s to wrap both arms around his neck. He shifts onto his back, resting Nat on his chest. “You’re home,” he murmurs, playing with her red-gold curls. She nods, burying her face in his neck. “Я дома…”
— — —
Я дома = I’m home
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