imagine modern day stevebuckypeggy trying to explain to a real estate agent why they need a master bedroom big enough for three

everyworldneedslove:

fieldbears:

imaginebucky:

“And the closet space, I really gotta stress that. We’re trying to fit in two standard wardrobes plus one die-hard shopaholic. Isn’t that right, Peggy?”

Peggy purses her crimson lips and glares. “Good point, James. I hardly know how Steve and I are going to fit our clothes in beside your dozen leather jackets.”

"How big is the bath tub?” Steve blushes right to the roots of his hair as the words leave his mouth. “I mean, I need a lot of, uh, room when I bathe. All by myself, obviously. With my, uh. Long legs.”

“And with me and Peggy,” James adds cheerfully. He does not blush. “I mean, we gotta have room to relax a little, you know? Last place we rented had this tiny little tub, I had to sit right in Steve’s lap just so the three of us could -“

"Yes, precisely,” says Peggy, cutting him off with a crisp little smile. “Do you think you can accommodate us, Mr. Wilson?”

Sam busies himself with his papers to hide the smile that’s creeping across his face. “You know,” he says, “I think we might have a couple of properties y’all are gonna want to see.”

“No, James, we cannot ‘adopt’ the fetching real estate agent.”

“Steve, c’mon, back me up here.”

“Steve is not going to ‘back you up’. …Steve, what’s that face all about?”

“Well, I mean. He seemed very… friendly.”

(Meanwhile)

Sam flopped onto the couch and put his feet in Clint’s lap. “Man, you would not believe the day I had.”

Clint did not look appropriately sympathetic, but he did start rubbing Sam’s feet, which was all Sam really wanted.

Natasha prodded Sam to sit up so she could slide onto the other end of the couch. When he put his head back down onto her lap, she said, “Tell us.”

“Got a triad looking for a place — stupidly hot, all three of them, by the way — and god, I swear they made me take them to every. single. property I’ve got that even halfway met their specs.”

Natasha hummed soothingly and petted Sam’s forehead. Clint dug his thumbs into the arch of Sam’s foot and said, “…How stupidly hot?”

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