#cinematicmarvels

@cinematicmarvels asked: “ i’ll get blood on your shirt… “ - From Bucky!

" I don't know what you're talking about, " natasha doesn't even bother to look up, half on their couch, half on the floor scrolling on her phone.

it's the kind of position clint calls her a disaster bisexual over.

               HER NOSE SCRUNCHED when Matt kissed the top of her head; her nose always scrunched when he did that and reminded her just how short she was and just how TALL he was. He was a giant. She flicked his arm in benign irritation before she turned, leaning against him. 

“No,” she said firmly. “Didn’t have anything to paint up here.” She tapped the side of her head, only an inch or two away from where he’d just pressed his lips.

In truth, she was still frightened off of painting too much. When he’d first convinced her to get back behind the canvas, it had been a floodgate opening, and she’d feverishly painted for days. But when the heat had worn off, she’d been reluctant to do any more once again. She still held the frustration of feeling like she had already buried that part of herself and Matt was digging up an empty grave. She loved him; she loved him with everything, but he was a dog with a bone. When he set himself to something, his mind couldn’t be changed. ...It was too like someone else she saw in the mirror in the morning. 

               “JUST STOP IT.” She didn’t want to hear it that night; she’d closed the door on him for a REASON, and it hadn’t been to invite him to climb her fire escape. But Matt had done just that, and she had glared at him when he’d pushed her window open before turning her back on the man climbing back into the room he’d just been kicked out of. 

Before he could say another word, a bubble of anger popped and Becky grabbed a pencil and threw it at him, wishing he hadn’t come back, wishing he had let her wallow, wishing he’d gotten the hint that she was too broken and too ANGRY to be good for any good upstate boy with upstanding parents. 

“You can’t keep shit at bay,” she replied, angry at him for his poetic words, for his face, for his height he’d had to fold in order to fit through the window. She was mad at everything about him because she was mad at EVERYTHING.