#nachobuckychallenge

[softbiker]

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: a couple of bad words

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is my submission for @nacho-bucky ‘s writing challenge! My prompt was ‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. As a side note, I drank a whole pot of coffee yesterday and wrote this in one afternoon, so it’s also unedited :) As always, let me know what you think! 

By the time the quinjet is an hour out from New York, Bucky Barnes is in an irredeemably foul mood.

Breaking up terror cells in Germany was supposed to be an easy mission - in and out, with the practiced ease of their well-oiled strike team. Really, they took the mission to spare German special forces the trouble...that, and a potential connection to an old Red Room contact of Natasha’s. With their “dream team” (Sam’s words, not Bucky’s) of Cap, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, this should have been a light op, a scrimmage, Nerf ball.

Turns out superheroing is a contact sport, and they’ve got the bombs and broken ribs to prove it. A train station, a decoy, and an explosive device Natasha failed to disarm. With Sam coordinating civilian evacuation, there had only been a couple dozen injuries, but the suspect had slipped away, leaving them bruised and empty-handed.

Bucky had taken a brutal hit as he pulled Nat to safety, and now he is curled in his seat on the jet, metal hand holding his ribcage. He watches Steve scowl in the cockpit, jaw unflinchingly tight as he goes over the mission in his head. The captain doesn’t know how to let things go - never has, never will. Sam is actually piloting the quinjet, making unreturned small talk about a basketball game he went to last weekend. Natasha sits across from Bucky, a Stark tablet in her hands, dissecting bomb schematics and diagrams of diffusion techniques. There’s a little scab of dried blood on her bottom lip that she pokes at with her tongue, red brows lowered in concentration.

Bucky is exhausted - his hair smells like dust and smoke, his mouth is tangy and dry. There’s dried sweat underneath his uniform and he itches and his feet are hot in his boots and his ribs really fucking hurt. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and wishes they were home already.

**********

She pops her head up over the back of the couch when she hears them. What a sight they make: Bucky, propped up on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha dust-covered and buried in her tablet, Sam still sweaty and tugging at the harness on his suit. She still smiles, tentative but kind.

“Hi guys.” She lifts her fingers in a little wave. “Everyone okay?”

Bucky grunts in response; Natasha says nothing, making a beeline for her room and a shower. Sam, without doubt the most talkative person on the team, props himself on a stool and blows a harsh breath past his lips.

“We’re alright, yeah,” he sighed. “Barnes is a little beat up but he’ll get over it - he’s just  dramatic.”

“Fuck you, too, Wilson.” Bucky flips Sam off over his shoulder as they hobble towards the elevators.

She winces, not yet used to their harsh banter.

“Hey man, be nice in front of the rookie, alright?” Sam hollers, mock-offended. “You’re creating a hostile work environment!”

Steve chuckles a little at that, jostling Bucky’s tender ribs, which makes him scowl at his best friend.

“Bucky is a hostile work environment,” Steve deadpans. They’ve reached the elevator, and shuffle inside, turning to face the common room. Bucky catches the rookie’s eyes as she giggles behind her hand.

“She’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, sparing a wink for the rookie. “When I make it hostile, bird brain, you’ll know.”

The elevator doors close, and he leans on Steve a little heavier, and jabs his elbow into Steve’s stomach.

“Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” he huffs.

“What?” Steve feigns innocence, and very poorly. “Didn’t know you were so worried about making a good impression on the rookie.”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

They meet Dr. Banner in the medical wing where his lab adjoins the clinic; Sam had messaged him half an hour ago that they were inbound with a broken supersoldier, and Bruce had taken the liberty of setting up some of his supplies. Of all the doctors on staff, Bucky favored Dr. Banner - he was mild and soft-spoken enough to not trigger Bucky’s anxiety, in spite of the needles and IV drips and the snapping of latex gloves.

An X-ray and some bandages later, Bucky is removed from the active duty list for two weeks.

“Even with your advanced healing factor, I wanna be careful with this,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses to scratch the side of his nose. “I mean, your medical history is a little blurry, to say the least - and with all the shit HYDRA pulled, who knows what kind of stress your bones have been through before.” He taps away on his tablet, notifying FRIDAY and the admin system to remove Bucky from the roster. “In the meantime, take it easy - no missions, no training, no lifting weights. Probably avoid the motorcycle, too. I’ll check on them again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve is nodding - he never leaves Bucky by himself in medical - and crosses his arms. Neither of them have changed out of their uniforms yet, and in this sterile observation room, Bucky can finally smell the layers of grime and sweat clinging to them. His nose wrinkles when he gets a little whiff of himself, feeling bad for the nurse who bandaged his ribs.

“Oh I almost forgot -” Bruce turns around and reaches for something on his lab bench. A little blue bottle, full of round white pills. “Here. I developed these for the two of you - since you metabolize normal painkillers so quickly, I figured we might need something that would work in the event you sustain heavy injuries which…well, seemed likely. Take 2 every 4 hours, okay?”

His metal fingers grip the little bottle, rattling the tablets inside.

“Sure thing, doc.”

**********

She lifts the hem of her shirt, wiping at the sweat on her forehead, and leans against the wall of the gym. Her breath comes in short pants as her chest heaves, trying to cool down from her last bout with Agent Romanoff.

“Heads up.”

Her hands barely make it up in time to catch the flying water bottle headed for her face.

“Good catch,” Romanoff smirks a little. She’s sweating, too, but in a way that’s decidedly more sexy, little red curls hanging by her face. She looks fresh from a Pilates class, not a suicide workout - the rookie can feel the heat of her own face, the sweat drenching her clothes, and knows she’s not nearly as glowing as her trainer.

“You did really good today,” Romanoff continues. She keeps saying to call her “Natasha” but that is so hard to do with a woman so intimidating her alias is one of the world’s deadliest animals. “Really good. You’ve shown tons of improvement since we started. I’m going to recommend we start letting you shadow on missions in a couple more weeks.”

“Wow, really?” Her face lit up in spite of her exhaustion.

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. “I know it’s gotten a little boring, having you go through all of this.”

“Boring” was an understatement. Despite having a few years of experience under her belt - well, according to Tony Stark, vigilantism barely counts as “experience” - the rookie was assigned to a training program for her first couple of months on the team.

“Too much of a risk to put you in the field right away,” Stark had rattled off, handing her forms to sign and an official t-shirt (‘Look Mom! I’m an Avenger!’) and a tablet with a map of the compound. “Legal says we can avoid liability issues with a training program before we gradually phase you in, and I’m inclined to agree, so! Welcome to the team, but not officially!”

Her days consisted of early morning workouts, followed by combat and tactical training with Black Widow herself, and then...well, not much. There was research, of course, and she stayed on top of the intelligence briefings with the rest of the team. She went to meetings and official dinners and unofficial karaoke nights, but the rest of her time was mostly her own. Frankly, she was chomping at the bit to get back out there, in the action. Helping people.

“Well, hopefully it’ll pay off,” she sighs, giving Agent Romanoff an exhausted smile. “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link on the team.”

“You won’t be, believe me,” Natasha shakes her head. With a glance at her watch, she picks up her own water bottle and heads for the door. “Now I’ve gotta run, Skype meeting with Fury in 5. I’ll see you later, Rookie!”

**********

Bucky Barnes was feeling good.

Like, damn good.

Like, ‘Banner should label his controlled substances’ good.

Thing is, post-HYDRA and post-fugitive and post-cognitive reconstruction therapy, Bucky was more mentally okay than he had been in decades. He had the occasional rough day, and he definitely wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the shrinks that Stark had on retainer, he was getting better at dealing with it all. His physical health, however, was more of a moving target. In spite of receiving a bastardized supersoldier serum, he had been pumped full of so much other shit and gone through so much physical stress that his body had fundamentally shifted equilibrium. Multiple appointments with Dr. Cho and Shuri revealed that his chronic pain may never fully heal - if it did, it would be a very gradual process. Normal painkillers in reasonable doses did nothing for him, so Bucky settled in to his discomfort, carrying it the way he carried his knives and his scars - always.

24 hours into his medical leave, a few doses of pills down, and he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his body - he shifted his awareness to each part of himself, like that guided meditation thing Wanda did sometimes, and he couldn’t find the pain, not even lurking behind the muscle and metal. He might be a little miffed at being off the active duty roster, but if his whole vacation is going to feel like this? Well, he doesn’t mind to let Steve handle the next threat to world peace.

With his schedule suddenly wide open, Bucky wonders what he’ll do with his day. He can’t remember the last time he truly had nothing to do - it’s an exciting prospect. So he lets himself ease through his morning, sleeping in, long hot shower, slipping on those plush Black Widow pajama pants Nat gave him as a gag gift. He knows everyone else will have had their breakfast and moved on to morning briefings and training drills by now, and he wanders down to the kitchen in the hopes that they’ve left him some coffee.

He sees her there, perched on a stool at the island and frowning at the tablet in her hand. There’s a little scrunch to her nose when she does that, he notices.

“Good morning,” he says softly, trying and failing not to startle her.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” she smiles, watches him round the island to the coffee pot on the counter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“S’okay. I’m quiet.”

“You didn’t get tapped for the recovery mission? They’re going after your suspect from Berlin again, I think.”

“Oh, I’m off missions for two weeks.” He turns, giant ‘Don’t forget to be awesome’ mug gripped in his metal hand. “Banner’s orders. You didn’t hear about my smashed ribs?”

“Oh no, I guess not - are you okay?” Suddenly she’s concerned, and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m still a little out of the loop I guess.”

He feels guilty for that - she’s eager, bright, kind, a brilliant recruit. But it can take a while before you’re ‘in’ with the team. Not because they exclude her, but, well - a group made up of outsiders has a hard time adding new faces to the mix.

“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” Bucky digs around in a jar on the counter for a few sugar packets, dumping them into his mug. “Anyways, I’m off the roster for now. Gotta figure out something to do with myself, I guess.”

Her smile is slow, ducked under pretty lashes - he really needs to stop noticing these things.

“Would you - I mean, you can hang out with me if you want?” She chews on her lip. “I’m done for today - my training with Natasha ended early and they didn’t need me in on the briefing so…”

The rookie was lonely - he could see that, anyone could. The fact is, between their own training and missions, it had been a little hard for the team to spend very much time with her. Bucky himself was often a bit of a loner in his free time, preferring to hole up in his room with books and movies rather than go out for drinks or another karaoke night. And yet, he found himself feeling eager at the thought of spending a relaxing day with the new recruit, getting to know her a little, hearing that funny little laugh through her nose.

“Sounds great, Rookie - what did ya have in mind?”

**********

“Okay, I just wanna go on the record and say I called it. I called it!” She’s grinning. “I knew you would love this.”

“Well, hey, in my defense, I’ve never hated beautiful women.”

She just rolls her eyes, kicks her feet out to rest on the coffee table in front of them. There’s a pile of DVD’s, all hers, laying across the surface, picked through and ranked in order of what was most important for Bucky to see. His film education was obviously lacking, considering he missed out on 70 years of movies, and didn’t even know what he liked anymore, so he was content to let her pick. After raiding the kitchen for an array of snacks, they settled in, opposite ends of the same couch with a bowl of popcorn and dark chocolate M&M’s between them.

Approximately 20 minutes into the movie, Steve appears, just passing through for an apple from the fridge. He stops in his tracks behind the couch, the crunch of the fruit in his mouth just above their heads.

“What is this?” he says around his mouthful. If his Ma could see him now, Bucky thinks.

“It’s called ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’ - came out in 1953,” she answers, smiling over her shoulder at him. “It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“That’s - that’s Lauren Bacall!” Steve perks up, smacking Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Betty Grable’s in it, too.”

“No shit!” Steve is grinning now, and he gives the rookie a conspiratorial look. “Y’know, Bucky used to have her pin-up poster. The one in the white bathing suit? Had it in his suitcase when he shipped out.”

“Oh, really?” She’s looking at him now, eyes sparkling at the rosy blush climbing up Bucky’s cheeks. “Betty Grable, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Well, everybody had that picture, I mean...it’s famous for a reason. All the boys had ‘em.”

“No, no, I get that,” she shrugs. “I just had you pegged as more the Rita Hayworth type, that’s all.”

It takes him back for a second, Steve too, that she knows these starlets, that they could’ve been having this same conversation 75 years ago. He can see that look in Steve’s eyes, sly and knowing as they slide towards him. Bucky works his mouth, tries to control his smile.

“Well, nothing wrong with her either,” he drawls, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “But did you see Grable’s legs?”

“I just thought you might’ve had a thing for redheads!” she laughs.

“They’re alright, I guess - now Dugan on the other hand…”

Neither of them notices Steve leave the room, tossing the apple in his hand and a huge dopey grin on his face.

**********

“Tell me again what the recipe says?”

“One cup of pumpkin puree.”

“Oh - shit, I thought you said one can.”

She smacks her forehead. “No wonder the batter is so goopy!” She rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re trying to ruin my bread, Barnes.”

“I swear I’m not, doll - it was an accident.”

“Okay, new plan - we just make a double batch since the can has two cups in it.”

She shuffles around behind him, grabbing her flour and sugar and sour cream and other ingredients, hands flurrying to measure and fix the dough. It’s mid-afternoon now, a couple of movies down, and they (she) decided they needed to get in the fall spirit by baking a ridiculous amount of...breads. The banana bread is already in the oven, the pumpkin will be on its way as soon as she fixes his mistake, and a blueberry bread (made from muffin mix) is next on the list.

“But...what’s so special about making it into breads?” He had asked, causing her to look at him like an idiot.

“Ask me that again after you try them, Bucky.”

So he shut up and cracked eggs and sifted flour, stirring when her arm got tired. He was already regretting his words now that the smell of the banana bread was drifting towards him from the ovens, and he had to admit the pumpkin and cinnamon from her bowl was making his stomach growl. With all the bowls and measuring cups laying around, they were making enough sweet breads to feed an army, but hey - the Avengers are practically a small army of their own. And besides, Bucky intends on taking an entire loaf - baker’s privilege.

He decides that he likes watching her work, bouncing around the kitchen, some oldies playlist on the speakers, her tongue poking out between her lips. She’s got her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows - he had to help with that, after she got dough on them. This song is good, too, and he wants to ask her who wrote it-

“Are you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna help?” she quips over her shoulder. He has no idea when he last smiled so much.

“You’re the boss, Rookie.”

**********

She’s got her feet in his lap now, and they haven’t said a word in an hour, and Bucky doesn’t even remember taking his last dose or two of his pain pills but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

There’s a huge book in her lap, Stephen King - a favorite, he’s learned.

“I read at least one of his books every year in October,” she tells him. “You know, to get ready for spooky season.”

“Spooky season? What the hell is that?”

“You know, Halloween time!” she smacks his arm. “It’s Halloween first, Buck, you gotta get in the spirit.”

“I’m -” he sputters, face drawn in the most adorably confused look. “Halloween first?”

She hands him a book of his own and now here they are - he’s 20 pages into The Shining, but he’s stopped paying attention because she’s yawning behind her book and her eyes are fluttering shut, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

He forces his eyes down to his own page, to Jack Torrance and haunted hotels, but they’re drawn back up when her book finally drops the rest of the way to her lap. Her head slumps sideways onto the back of the couch, mouth open just a little. He draws the blanket down around her feet and tucks it in a little tighter, but other than that, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s just fine right here, thank you.

He’s sinking in again, driving up the twisting mountain road to the Overlook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Carefully - in the way highly trained superspies can be careful - he lifts his hips up and pulls his phone from his pocket, managing not to dislodge her feet or wake her up. She merely sighs in her sleep, nuzzling her face into the couch pillow. A text notification from team group message lights up the screen.

It’s Natasha. A photo, a photo which she somehow managed to take without him knowing, of him and the rookie, practically snuggling on the couch and reading together. Her legs are propped over his lap, and Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at her over the top of his book. Nat has captioned the photo: “looks like Barnes found a good nurse.”

He snorts a little. Natalia. Glances up at her, still sleeping, and tilts his phone upwards a few degrees and snaps a picture to send back.

“She sleeps on the job” he types, thumbs still slow on the phone keyboard. Instantly, his phone starts buzzing with more texts from the team, but he mutes it and lays his phone on the coffee table. He doesn’t feel like talking now. Well, talking to them.

“Hey...Rookie,” he whispers, reaching out and shaking her shoulder a little. She hums in her sleep, but makes no other move.

“Rookie, I gotta ask you something.” He wiggles her leg a little, shaking her feet in his lap, and whispers her name. He’s rewarded with her eyes fluttering open, her mouth drawn down in a pout at being woken up.

“Whatisit,” she sighs, still slumped into the cushions. He clears his throat. Here goes nothing.

“So, there’s a charity gala for the Stark Foundation coming up next weekend,” he starts bravely. “And - and the whole team is going anyway, so I know you’re gonna be there, but - well, maybe you would consider going...with me?” Courage runs out, and his brain backpedals. “I mean, just as a friend?”

She huffs. “I can’t believe you woke me up for that.”

“Oh.” He looks down, hair falling in his eyes. “So...you don’t want to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Barnes,” she sighs. “Now shush. I was napping”

His face hurts from the stretch in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s gonna give Bruce those pain meds back.

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

New Year’s Eve

Summary: Steve and Peggy have a good friend who’s a handyman that comes and helps you out.  Pairing: Butcher/Handyman!Bucky x Female Reader Warning(s): Pure fluff. Widowed Bucky. Word Count: 2,711 Notes: This is my entry to @nacho-bucky‘s writing challenge! My prompt was “The smell of cologne on warm skin”. Thanks for hosting darling Cait!

“Do you need any help washing the dishes?” Peggy calls from your living room. Her and Steve lay sprawled across your couch, fire crackling and spitting in the hearth, spilling warm light in the otherwise dim room.

“I’m okay. The water pressure is still on the fritz. It takes so long to do them that I’ll end up doing most of them tomorrow.”

“It’s still-hic-broken?” Steve asks while rubbing his belly hoping to relieve some of the tension.

You can’t help the soft chuckle. He always got belchy when he overstuffed himself on your chicken pot pie. Tonight was no exception.

“The kitchen sink pressure is busted. The light switch for the second bedroom doesn’t work, my shower scalds me randomly. Ah the joy of owning an old house with charm.”

You’d moved to the small cozy town in upstate New York two years ago. Peggy and Steve lived a couple blocks away. After realizing that you and Peggy both worked at the same hospital, the two of you had become fast friends and Steve came along with her. You were a nurse at the town’s Veteran’s Affairs Hospital, and she helped coordinate the hospitals volunteer department. You were frequent visitors at each other’s homes for dinner.

“Really hun you should get those fixed.”

“I know. I’d fix it myself but electrical and plumbing are where my homemaking abilities stop.”

“I know someone who could help.” Steve chimes in. “I think he’s free tomorrow. He usually takes Sunday’s off from the shop and does some handyman work on the side. I could text him?”

You pause for a moment contemplating. Normally you’d balk at hiring help but if Peggy and Steve endorsed this handyman then he was trustworthy enough to let into your home where you lived alone. Probably kind enough not to comment on any mishaps you’d made in maintaining on your own either. Besides, you weren’t getting anywhere solving the issue on your own. You kept telling yourself that you’d set something up on your days off or take a look at it after your shifts. That had been happening since you’d moved in.

“Fine. Send him over.”

****

“The sink first? No, the shower?” You scratch out your writing and reorder the to do list on the house once more when a firm knock nearly startles you out of your seat.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting when you throw the door open in the late December cold, but it certainly isn’t James Barnes.

He’s a tall man. Nearly appearing to fill your doorway before you invite him in. While he takes off a bright red knit cap and gloves, you take a moment to study him further. He folds the hat and gloves with a delicate reverence and large calloused hands before tucking them both inside the pockets of his jacket.

The planes of his face are that of a different era somehow. Softer. His full cheeks are flush and rosy. A stunning compliment next to the blue of his eyes. The brunette hair that was previously hidden by the winter hat falls nearly to his shoulders and curls at the ends ever so slightly. He’s clearly a strong man but it’s blanketed by a soft belly that strains the waist of his pants where his flannel is tucked.

“James, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stands politely in the entryway of your home glancing around a moment before you realize he’s waiting for instructions. “Steve said you needed some help with plumbing and electrical work.”

“Ah yes! I made a list but I’m not sure what will make the most sense to start with.” You start towards the kitchen but don’t hear any footfalls behind you. “James?”

“I only have my boots,” he says plainly while staring at the footwear. “They’re covered in snow. I don’t want to track it in.”

“Just leave them by the door.”

You could have sworn you saw the rosy blush in the large man’s cheeks deepen. There was something strangely intimate about seeing him pad towards you in his woolen socks, toolbox in hand.

You’d shown James your list and it had been as if his entire demeanor had shifted. He asked you quick questions, took notes, looked at and studied the defective appliances. Gone was the shyness. Instead was a confidence and assuredness you found pleasing. You found yourself wondering why you’d waited so long to get these things fixed in the first place.    

The afternoon had gone by with light snow flurries falling on top of the white blanket already coating the ground. You lit a fire once more and baked some molasses cookies. It was a warm spiced recipe you hadn’t had since your childhood. The task gave you something to do with your hands while a stranger roamed around in your bathroom; dangerously near your shampoo. When the cookies were iced you found yourself placing a small pile onto a smaller plate and walking to the bathroom.

“Cookies?”

“These look wonderful.”

He wipes his hands clean and before you can blink, he inhales two of the cookies. “These are the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”

“I think you’re flattering me.”

“I’m serious! My wife wasn’t much of a cook. She used to burn nearly everything. I had to do most of the cooking, or we went over to Peggy and Steve’s. Before they moved up here of course.”

“I can send the recipe home with you. So, she can try to bake these.”

You aren’t sure what you’ve said but his face falls for a moment before regaining a small sad smile. “I’ll take the recipe, but she won’t be baking them I’m afraid. My wife, Natasha, she passed away five years back.”

“I’m so sorry, James. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. Steve doesn’t talk about her much. He took it really hard. Blames himself. They used to work together you see.”

You absently grab a cookie to avoid saying something else foolhardy. These two years with Peggy and Steve and not once had they mentioned James nor his wife Natasha or this past life. Some wounds must really run deep.

“You’re in your head,” James says nudging your shoulder. You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten in the small space. At this range you could smell his cologne. There was something woodsy about it. Like clean pine needles and amber. You found yourself knowing he’d be wonderful to be wrapped up in on a cold day like today while the snow falls in front of your fireplace. You cursed yourself for the indulgent thought after just learning the fate of his wife.

His smile warms you once more. “I’ll have to come back. The plumbing tasks were more complicated than I anticipated, and I’ll need to go pick up parts. Does tomorrow work for you? I know it’s New Year’s Eve, but Steve said you were eager for it to be fixed.”

“I’m gonna kill that man when I see him.”

“I know the feeling.”

James’s laugh was one you felt reverberate from deep down in his chest. The thing seemed to fill him up and warm his cheeks once more from the inside.

“I’m free tomorrow.”

***

This time when James knocks on your door you’re ready for the blue of his eyes to knock you off your feet. He nearly bounds through the door; following a similar routine as the day before. He folds the red hat and gloves neatly and places them in his jacket pocket, but this time removes his boots and sets them confidently on your shoe stand.

“I was thinking of getting started on the kitchen tasks if that’s okay with you.”

***

“Oh shit. Shit shit shit.”

“Everything okay?” James voice sounds from the cabinet under your sink.

“Well Peggy and Steve asked me if I’m willing to cook this very specific dish for their New Year’s Eve party and I said yes a while back, but I’d forgotten about it until now.”

“And the party is tonight. And all the stores and closed.”

“How’d you guess?”

“Well first, it is New Year’s Eve. And second, I’m going too.” He pauses sheepishly enjoying your mild panic. You hurry about the kitchen opening and closing various cabinets trying not to trip over his tools that are scattered in front of the sink. “What if I finish up here and then you come down the shop and I’ll let you get what you need there?”

“The shop?”

You vaguely remember Steve saying that this was something his friend did in his spare time, but you hadn’t paused to ask what his primary job was.

“My butcher shop. I own the shop on the corner of Miller and Melrose in town.”

“The really beautiful one? Blue and white building? Red letters?”

“That’s the one. But really, it’s nothing. Plus, then I can say I helped and then my store-bought cookies won’t seem like such a consolation dish.”

“Deal.”

***

The shop is dark and quiet; closed for the New Year’s holiday. You’d made several protests on the drive over to James about the inconvenience, but he’d shrugged them all off.

“What’s the point of owning a grocery and butcher shop if I can’t help out my friends when they’re in need,” he said with a bright grin before disappearing into the back room to get you the cuts of meat you’d ask for your braised short rib recipe. You wondered when he’d crossed from your handyman into friend. Then again, he’s Steve and Peggy’s friend. And he is awfully easy to talk to. Perhaps he is a friend already.  

You quickly threw everything you needed into your tote. His shop was small but well stocked with everything you needed. You hesitated at the small old-time cash register. Surely, he’d let you pay. He had to. You set the bag on the counter and, against your instincts, go behind the counter and into the back room.

“James, I need to know how much I owe you. Come ring me up?” you joke.

Your laughter is cut off slightly when you find him hunched over a large stainless-steel table, clad in a black rubber apron, slim sharp knife in hand and a full side of beef on the table. He’s at work slicing and cutting.

It’s a grace you’d never have guessed his large frame and calloused hands capable of possessing. Before, you’d seen the brute strength he’s capable off with the other chores at the house, but this was different. Each stroke was deliberate. Each knick, precise. He could have done this with his eyes closed.

“Just the short ribs or did you want some extras for later in the week for yourself while I have this out.”

You startle a bit clearly engrossed in watching his hands make quick work of the animal. “You really didn’t have to get this all out for me. I feel horrible.”

“Well I knew the boys had already closed up last night, holiday and all. I don’t mind. Really.” His blue eyes finally look up from the knife work into your own. “Let’s get you some steaks and stew meat.”

“Are you coming over for pot roast and steaks?”

“Is that an invite?”

It was hard to guess who was blushing more.

***

“I’m gonna need to be here in the kitchen while you work if these are going to be done on time for dinner. Is that okay?”

“Of course. It’s your house, doll. Besides, I’m nearly finished and I’m sure the smells will be amazing.”

You go along slicing the onions and searing the short ribs until they’re caramelized a deep brown on the outside. The onions get added and a hefty amount of garlic next. It’s about this time that James pops his head out from under the sink.

“All done. Plus, that smell is heavenly. What is it?”

“Garlic and onion.”

You add in the red wine to the heavy bottomed dutch oven and throw the dish into the oven for the next two hours. It’s shockingly easy to pass the time with James until the short ribs are done. The only difficult thing is swatting James away from the oven from “checking” on them every twenty minutes or so.

Steve and Peggy only live a short walk away but it’s blustery cold and halfway down your block you can feel your ears are stiff and red with chill. James has offered to carry the dutch oven full of short ribs and you carry his box of cookies.

“You didn’t bring a hat. Did you?”

“I’ll be okay. The walk isn’t far.”

He sighs before stopping and setting the crock on the sidewalk and removes the knit cap from his head. His mitten covered hands don’t give you a chance to voice your protest before he’s dragging the material onto your head and over your ears. In seconds they could scream thank you for having a barrier to the wind.

“Thank you, James.”

***

“Why are you wearing his hat?” Peggy exclaims before you can get your whole body through the door.

“Because my ears nearly fell off my head?”

“That’s the hat Natasha knitted him. He nearly went on a murderous rampage when he left it on a city bus one time. I know you don’t quite comprehend what that means but it’s serious.”

You glance across the room looking at James.

He’s engrossed in a conversation with Steve. His plump cheeks are a pink as ever. You’d learned that it never really goes away. You found it rather endearing. He looked beautiful with a flush on his skin. Steve must have said something funny because James’s little belly jumps up and down with each chuckle that tumbles from his lips. He certainly doesn’t look like someone capable of murderous rampage.

“I’m starting to think that maybe Steve should have suggested Bucky’s handyman services sooner.”

“Bucky?”

“His nickname.”

“Yeah well...so am I.”

***

The dinner party is small. New Year’s is rung in with drinks, laughter, and friends. Everyone enjoyed the braised short ribs and even Bucky’s (you’d teased him calling him this for the first time) cookies got sufficiently nibbled on.

“Can I walk you home?”

“Is James walking me home or is Bucky?”

You can’t tell if it’s the party jubilations, but you swear you see an eye roll as he playfully pushes you towards the door and your hosts. Steve wraps you in a massive hug, Peggy plants a kiss on your cheek and everyone says their goodbyes and Happy New Year’s.

The blustery wind from before has died down and the snow falls in delicate flakes undisturbed except from your footfalls. The world seems blanketed in a cold snow globe of silence.

“You know you had to walk back to my place anyway, right?” You finally break the silence. “Your truck is there, ya goof.”

He slips an unmittened hand into yours before saying, “Yeah, but I wanted to anyway.”

“Peggy told me about your hat and gloves.”

“Natasha took up sewing and knitting. She was good too; quick with her hands, I guess. She wanted to have a repair shop one day. Said she liked that being a seamstress almost always meant putting things back together and being a fixer.”

“That’s a really beautiful way to look at it. I managed to learn sewing pretty well but knitting I never mastered. Natasha must have been a special lady. I could only manage straight lines and barely that. There’s a graveyard of Frankenstein mittens lurking somewhere upstairs at my place.”

With that you earned what was becoming one of your favorite sounds; his booming laughter.  

James comes in at the promise of a hot toddy; as repayment for saving the day. The two of you are sat in front of the fire on your couch when, in a stroke of boldness, you pull his arm over your shoulder. Leaning into his side you can once again smell his cologne wafting off the warm skin from his neck; sweet amber mixing with the bourbon and cinnamon of the drinks and something deeper.

“Is this okay?”

He sighs a contented sound and nuzzles you closer into his soft side. “This is okay.”

[louhooo]

Father Like Son

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sugar isn’t that bad, right?

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Swearing, pregnancy, FLUFF

Prompt: step away from the cookies

A/N: Did I stay up until midnight even though I had to work the next day to finish this? Mmm YEAH! Does someone (I’m someone) procrastinate way too much for their own good? Mmm YEAH! This is for @nacho-bucky​‘s writing challenge! Cait, even though I don’t know you personally, I feel like you’re one of the sweetest people on here, and I would like to be your friend pls 

Feedback is always welcomed! 💘

You pushed yourself up in bed and Bucky inhaled sharply, still in a sleep-induced haze as he started to sit up.

“What is it? Is it the baby?” His hand went to your stomach and he stared up at you. You grinned and laid your hand on top of his.

“No, it’s not the baby. They’re still sound asleep on my bladder.” Bucky’s defense lowered and his head plopped back onto his pillow.

Pregnancy put Bucky on high alert every time, always increasing in magnitude the closer to the due date you got. You still had a few more months before the baby was born, but you couldn’t wait, if only so that Bucky could finally relax with the baby in his arms.

Well... relax as much as father of three with a newborn could.

You patted his hand and he let it slide to the bed and watched as you rolled yourself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. He glanced at the clock. 6:39. Henry would still be asleep, but Annalise would be waking up soon, and would be ready for breakfast. 

Bucky reached for the baby monitor on the nightstand and clicked the screen. Sure enough, Annalise was laying on her back, playing with her feet. Bucky grinned and set the monitor back down and got out of bed, throwing on some pants before he walked down the hall to his baby girl’s room. He creaked the door open, and Annalise quickly started to stand up, excited that she could finally get out of her crib. Wouldn’t be much longer before she moved to her ‘big girl’ bed.

“Good morning, sweet pea.” She smiled at her dad and reached her arms up for him. He held her close to his chest, her head going right to the crook of his neck as he walked her back to your bedroom. You were just coming out of the bathroom and smiled.

“Look who’s awake…” you cooed softly, the morning still too early for normal speaking volumes. Annalise smiled at you and made grabby hands. You walked over to her and brought her palm to your lips, kissing it repeatedly. “Wanna go to the store with mama?” Annalise nodded eagerly and Bucky pinched his brows.

“The store? What do you need at the store?” You grinned at Annalise, still holding her hand.

“Figured we could bake some cookies today.”

“You’ve already got stuff for baking, though. I don’t think you needta go to the store.” Your eyes finally met his, and your brows arched slightly. Right…. Bucky was ‘too protective’, as you’d kindly reminded him over and over again. He sighed and gave you a despondent look. “I just don’t want you doing too much. The doctor said you needed to rest.” 

“I am rested, Bucky.” A silent command, with a tone that warned of trouble if he tried stopping you. He sighed deeply as he stared at you. 

He had one last resort.

“Henry’s gonna be sad if he finds out you went to the store without him.” The look you gave in return was not amused.

“Really?” You asked sardonically. Bucky shrugged innocently.

“He will…. You know he’s a mama’s boy….” You stared at him.

“Henry will be fine, James.” Uh-oh. He got the first name. He sighed in the back of his throat, accepting defeat.

“I’ll get her dressed and fed for you so you can get ready….” he grumbled. You grinned and kissed Annalise’s hand.

“Thank you, papa.” You turned and went to the dresser and started pulling out clothes for the day. Bucky watched you for a few moments until you met his eyes in the mirror. You walked back over to him and puckered your lips for him. “I love you.” He met your lips and hummed.

“I love you.” Another peck, and you shooed them out so you could get ready. Bucky went back to Annalise’s room and changed her diaper and put on long navy pants and a red shirt that had a sparkly gold reindeer on it. He put on her socks and slipped her tiny feet into her white sneakers. They went downstairs and Bucky slid her into her high chair and placed Cheerios down for her while he cut up her banana. 

You came down stairs ten minutes later, dressed in black leggings and a sweatshirt that was definitely not yours. You stole a piece of unsmooshed banana from her tray and popped it in your mouth before you went to the bathroom off the kitchen and grabbed Annie’s hair brush and elastics and brushed her curly hair into a pony tail. The usual flurry of excitement followed as you carried Annalise out to the car and got everything you would need for the trek to the grocery store. 

Bucky watched you back out of the garage, his hands on his hips, as he tried not to worry. It’s just the grocery store, Buck, not like we’re leaving to go fight HYDRA or anything, you had so lovingly murmured to him just before you left. Now he had that thought in his head. 

The pads of feet coming down the stairs grabbed his attention, and he shut the door to the garage and the negative thoughts.

“Who wants waffles?”

A dull thud landed on the table in front of Bucky. He folded the corner of the paper back and inspected what was in front of him. A brown paper bag and you, an innocent grin on your face, and your hands on your belly.

“Hi.”

Your grin grew. “Hi.” Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the bag briefly, before settling back on you.

“Is there something you wanna show me…?”

“Maaaybe…” you sang. Bucky huffed through his nose, a crooked smirk on his face, and folded the newspaper, setting it down next to his coffee.

He pulled the twine handle, peering into the bag. On top were small containers of sprinkles, in various shapes and colors. 

“That’s a lotta sprinkles, sweatheart….”

“Well, if we’re gonna make a lot, we’re gonna need a lot.”

“I wanna help, mama!” Henry clambered onto the chair beside Bucky and looked at all the cool stuff his mom bought. Annalise squealed in agreement and tugged on Bucky to pick her up. He helped her onto the chair Henry was on so she could look at what her big brother was looking at.

Bucky raised his brows and looked up at you. “I’m not sure how available I’ll be. With the kids and all.” You snorted.

“Nice try, Barnes. That didn’t work last year, either.” You smirked and Bucky instantly felt guilty for trying to get out of helping you. Well… slightly guilty. You were like a drill sergeant when it came to your cookies, one that could control a whole team of superheroes with just a look. 

Especially him.

But it didn’t take much for him to do what you told him to.

You set everything down on the table and walked around and situated yourself on his lap. Bucky sighed and wrapped his hand against your lower back as he sat back against the chair. “You always get mad at me when you bake.” You chuckled and brushed his long hair back.

“Yeah, because you always eat most of the cookies before they’ve even cooled.”

“Do you get a tummy ache, papa?” You turned to Henry and nodded.

“He does, which is why you shouldn’t eat too much of dessert, even if it tastes really good.” 

“Well, make cookies that don’t taste good and I won’t eat ‘em….” he grumbled. You looked back at Bucky and tucked a stubborn strand of hair behind his ear and gently scratched his scalp.

“Not on your life.” Bucky huffed through his nose and gazed at you. “I promise to not get mad, if you promise to not eat all the cookies.” Bucky’s eyes roamed your face as he considered your offer. He wasn’t sure he had the restraint.

“Alright, I’ll help.” You grinned and gave him a soft kiss as Henry and Annie cheered.

“Thank you, Bucky.” Bucky puckered his lips for another kiss, but you were already off his lap and picking up the bags and moving them to the counter. “Do you wanna get started?”

“I-” Bucky was interrupted by the kids screaming in excitement. 

You had the kids help you grab everything you would need and helped them stand on the step ladder so they could wash their hands at the kitchen sink. 

Bucky was making cookies today whether he had a choice or not.

Henry helped dump the measured ingredients into the giant yellow Pyrex bowl, and he even got to help mix it (with mom’s help, of course.) Bucky turned on Nat King Cole and crooned a merry Christmas to you while twirling you around the kitchen. Henry and Annie copied their parents, much to your delight. 

Henry was already on his way to being a mini-Bucky, in more ways than just his looks.

After the cookies had come out of the oven and cooled, you mixed up the frosting while Henry and Bucky cleared off the remnants of the early lunch from the kitchen table to make room for decorating. Piping bags of red, green, white, yellow, and blue frosting sat in the middle of your table with the jars of sprinkles, with plates of unfrosted sugar cookies waiting to be decorated.

You showed Henry how to hold the piping bag, and you helped him squeeze it while Bucky held Annalise in his lap and helped keep Henry’s cookie in place. His designs were more abstract, and mainly consisted of concentrated blue globs of frosting on one side of the cookie, and stray lines on the rest. 

Bucky helped Annalise hold the frosting, wrapping his hands over hers to help squeeze the bag, decorating the cookies with green hearts or blue stars or whatever random squiggles Annie wanted to make. You put some of the sprinkles in a bowl and showed the kids how to turn the cookie upside-down and push the sprinkles onto the frosting, trying to reduce the amount of sprinkles that wound up on the floor.

Henry and Annie’s favorite part was licking their fingers when the frosting got on them. 

The first few times, you and Bucky laughed at their reaction to the taste, but you were quick to notice that tiny fingers were getting more frosting than the cookies.

“Honey, no more frosting on your fingers.”

“It’s an a-cident, mama,” Henry assured as you watched the piping bag go directly on his finger, and then to his mouth. You sighed and looked at Bucky for support, but you watched him do the same thing with the red frosting.

“Bucky!” His eyes went wide and he looked at you, dropping the piping bag on the table. “Kinda hard to discipline when dad’s doing it, too.” Bucky cleared his throat and dawned a more serious face as he lowered to Henry’s level.

“Bub, no more frosting on your fingers,” he turned to Annalise, “you, too, sweet pea. Your tummy’s will hurt if you eat too much.”

“Why?”

“Because when people eat too much sugar, it makes their tummies feel bad because…” Why does it hurt to eat too much sugar? Bucky made a mental note to look that up later. “Too much sugar isn’t good for you. Your body can’t grow big and strong if you only eat sugar.”

“But I like sugar…”

“I do, too, and so does mama, but we just can’t have it all the time.” Henry’s face scrunched up as he processed what his dad was telling him. He turned his gaze to the frosting and sighed.

“Fine…” You weren’t sure how, but Henry wasn’t putting up a fight, and you weren’t about to jinx yourself. You moved to get a wet washcloth and wiped his hands and face, the faint green stain still on his lips. Then, you wiped Annie’s face, taking her from Bucky’s lap and settling her on your hip.

“Okay, babies, let’s go take a quick bath before nap.” Henry slid off the chair and took off to go upstairs. You looked over at Bucky, “You can take a break if you want. It shouldn’t take too long to give ‘em a bath.” Bucky chuckled and stood up.

“It’s cute that you think I’m not gonna help.” You rolled your eyes and chuckled. “I’ll get clean clothes out of the dryer and meet you upstairs.” You smiled and followed Henry upstairs to start the bath. Bucky waited for the squeak of the faucet before he shoved four of the cookies he had frosted into his mouth. 

Bucky would have to sneak Henry a cookie later for taking the attention off Bucky. 

One with extra frosting.

While the kids napped, you and Bucky finished decorating, giving into the temptation and each eating a cookie or two before you put most them away in airtight containers and stuck them in the freezer, leaving just enough out to put in the snowman cookie jar that sat on the counter.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Bucky loaded the dishwasher and nodded.

“Yeah, we can. Maybe we could nap, too.” You hummed longingly and rubbed your lower back. Bucky came up behind you, massaging the spot in your back that always turned you into butter.

You groaned in pleasure, leaning your head back against Bucky. “Oh my god, you’re amazing….” Bucky smirked and kissed the top of your head.

“Let’s go lay down, sweetheart.” You hummed lazily, letting Bucky guide you to the living room. He grabbed a pillow and blanket from the basket behind the couch and laid them down, tucking you in before sitting on the other side of the couch and extending his legs on the ottoman. You turned on a random movie playing on TV and turned on your side, Bucky’s hand almost instantly going to your head and massaging it. You groaned again and Bucky smirked to himself.

After a few minutes, your breathing evened out, and Bucky settled back, closing his eyes for a few quiet minutes.

You opened your eyes and reached your hand back to rub Bucky’s leg, but instead you just rubbed the corduroy of the couch. You looked up and saw that your husband wasn’t there. He couldn’t have been far. Maybe he went upstairs to lay in bed, or- 

You heard the soft clink of ceramic and your head shot in the direction of the kitchen.

That little shit. 

You slowly got up and crept towards the kitchen, taking slow and deliberate steps.

“Bucky, step away from the cookies!” You flipped on the kitchen light and caught Bucky red handed with his hand in the cookie jar. His hand was still in the jar and he was frozen, a look of culpability on his face. He’d already ate more than a dozen, but he couldn’t help himself, they were just too damn good. He slowly raised his hand, a cookie firmly in his grasp. You narrowed your eyes on him, “James… I will come over there.” You watched his hand move slowly, but steadily, in the direction of his mouth. “I’m gonna tell Steve,” you threatened. Bucky snorted.

“Real scary, sweetheart,” he rolled his eyes, “What’s he gonna do? Ground me?” You used the distraction to run towards him. His eyes went wide and he tried turning and running in the opposite direction, but he had no traction on the tile with the socks he was wearing. A loud THUD echoed throughout the house. 

You grimaced and walked over to him and looked down at him, “You okay?”

He groaned and held his head with his right hand. “I think I’m concussed….” You knelt down.

“Here, let me check.” You brushed his hair back from his face and made him follow your finger. You quickly snatched the cookie out of his hand and giggled at the horror that flashed across his face.

“Hey!” He tried reaching for it, but you laid back, putting your legs out to stop him. He gave you an incredulous look at he sat on his knees looking at you, “Really? You think that’s gonna stop me?”

“I know it will.” Bucky squinted his eyes at you, assessing you. “I told you no cookies!”

“I know, I know…” He put his hands out defensively and shrugged off the chastising. He held out his hand for you and helped you up, snatching the cookie back out of your hands. 

“Hey! Bucky! Give me the cookie!” You watched in astonishment as he shoved the whole thing into his giant mouth. You scoffed and walked over to the cookie jar, putting the lid back on and cradling it into your arms. “Fine. I’m taking them with me.” You started walking upstairs.

“Where’re you goin’?” He whispered.

“Go away. I’m hiding the cookie jar.” You whispered back.

“There’re cookies in the freezer, sweetheart. I could still eat them if I wanted to.”

“You hate cookies from the freezer. You like room temperature best.” Hmm… you knew him too well.

“If you hide it, you’ll forget where, and we’ll find moldy cookies this summer when it starts to smell.” You shot him a look. 

“I’ll remember,” you spoke with stubborn determination. Your mom brain wasn’t that bad. You went into your bedroom and quickly walked into the closet, shutting door behind you. You opened the box with old baby clothes of Henry’s snapping the lid shut and hiding it under the clean towels. You came back out of the closet and Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Did you hide ‘em?”

“I did.” Bucky grinned and stood up.

“Ya gonna tell me later?” You shook your head. Bucky hummed and took slow steps, getting closer and closer to you. He stared at your belly and rubbed his flesh hand over your bump, making your resolve waver.

That asshole really knew how to pull on your heartstrings.

“Did you even sleep, or did you wait for me to fall asleep so you could sneak cookies?” Bucky chuckled and kept rubbing, but looked at you.

“I told you I wouldn’t eat ‘em if they didn’t taste good…. Should’ve made some that tasted like dirt.” You sighed and raised a very mom-esque brow at him.

“You can’t eat cookies all the time, Buck. We have kids now, and if they see you shoveling cookies into your mouth, they’re going to think that they can do that, too.” 

“But, our kids are a lot smarter than I am. They know they can’t eat cookies all the time.”

“One, you really are dumb if you think I’m gonna buy that you’re ‘not smart’,” Bucky grinned, “And two, they both want to be big and strong like you. And if that means they getta eat cookies for three meals, I think they’d be okay with it.” Bucky sighed and weighed your words.

“But they taste good…!” Bucky whined. You chortled and rested your hand on his.

“I know they do, but you don’t get to eat them all the time.” Bucky frowned and you sighed. “Try again later. That look only works for the kids.” Bucky sighed in the back of his throat.

“Well, I gave that look to the kids.” You giggled and patted his cheek before turning to walk back downstairs.

“Sorry, baby.” Bucky grumbled and followed you downstairs. “Maybe you can convince the kids to give you theirs.”

He snorted, “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” You sat back on the couch, cuddling under the blanket, and Bucky went to the kitchen to start the dishwasher. He walked in and froze when he saw Henry trying to take a cookie out of the container in the freezer. He watched as Henry slowly spun around, feeling someone’s presence in the room.

He smiled, guilt written all over his face. “Hi, papa.” Bucky looked at the blue cookie in his hand and back at Henry. He quickly glanced at you in the living room, making sure you weren’t paying attention before he walked up to Henry.

“We’ll split it.” Henry stared wide-eyed at his dad, before quickly nodding in agreement and letting Bucky split the cookie. “But we can’t tell mom.” Henry kept nodding his head and held out his pinkie.

“Pinkie promise.” Bucky interlocked his pinkie with Henry’s and shook their hands.

“Pinkie promise.”

Mom would never know....

...At least for a little while.

[elatedmarvel]

Fallingwater

Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: A whirlwind romance takes you on a roller coaster of emotions. 

Word Count: 2,555

AN: I know it’s NYE and I should post a story about NYE but this was due and I’m so proud of it. This is for @nacho-bucky​‘s writing challenge! Thank you so much for hosting Cait, I had so much fun writing this. My prompt was the song Fallingwater by Maggie Rogers (one of my favs songs ever, it was number 2 on my 2019 most listened). I legit did about 5 outlines before i realized I hated them all, and then listened to the song on repeat for a day before coming up with this. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Slightly angsty and mention of sexy times. 

“The moment I set eyes on her, I knew she was the one. I thought I was doing so well, but then I met her and it was like everything was under a spell.”

It was probably too early to be doing shots, but you couldn’t care. You slurred your way through a speech, how hard you worked, how much you sacrificed to become the Director of R and D at Stark Inc. Your friends cheered loudly, some whooping, before you tilted your head back and let the alcohol burn its way down your throat. 

Your face hurt, but you couldn’t stop smiling. Everything you had worked for just came true, and now you were the youngest co-Director of R and D in the company’s history. Drinks with the girls seemed like the only fitting way to celebrate. 

Your friend, Natasha, was letting everyone know how much you deserved this promotion when your eyes caught his. Suddenly, every word Natasha said was drowned out, and the whole bar became fuzzy expect for him. 

His full lips formed into a smile, and he tilted his beer your way. Quickly he turned to his friend before sliding off his chair and walking towards you. Somehow you managed to meet him in the middle, not even sure when your legs had moved.

“Hi” you breathed. 

“Hey, you’re the new co-director or R and D at Stark’s right?” and his charming smiled almost laid you flat on the floor.

“Yeah... that’s me” surprised he recognized you.

“Sorry, I just realized how creepy that must have sounded, I just work there too. Name’s Steve, I’m the director of graphic design. Tony and Bruce were gushing about you at our meeting today.” he chuckled to himself. “I have to say, you’re a very impressive person.” 

“Thank you! It’s been amazing to work at Stark Inc and I still can’t believe I got promoted. It feels like a dream, to be honest.” 

“Trust me, from what they told me, they would be crazy not to promote you.” 

The moment of silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. You took the time to really get a good look at him. Dimples, blond fluffy hair, and a jawline that could cut through pizza. Meeting his eyes again, you blushed at being caught. 

“Do you wanna dance?” he asks, hopeful. All you can do is nod. 

The night passes by fast. One moment your dancing and laughing at the bar, and the next, your kissing his luscious lips and pulling off your own shirt. 

Rolling over the next morning, you were met with the glorious sight of a naked and sleeping Steve Rogers. His hair was fanned out, and the sunlight peaking in hit him in all the right spots. It was torture getting out of bed and putting on your clothes, you wanted to stay and trace his freckles all day. 

The sound of the front door clicking shut woke him up. Squinting from the intrusive light, he blindly felt the bed for your soft figure, wanting to curl up with you and fall back asleep. The paper on the pillow pulled his attention and he opened the note enough to read. 

Thanks for the magical night! Call me sometime XXX-XXX-XXXX.

“She’s the light in the dark places in my life. No one could compare to her.”

Just like that, you’re hooked. 

The next time you meet is at your first meeting with the rest of the Directors at Stark Inc. Excited to be formally introduced, and wanting to make a good impression, you had arrived early with bagels and coffee for the meeting. 

You’re busy thanking Peter, the intern, for helping you, when he waltzes in. The navy suit he’s wearing does nothing for what you know is underneath. Most things don’t do him justice, it’s like he was carved by Michelangelo himself. And just like that, you’re brought back to Friday night, sweaty bodies and sultry kisses played in your mind. 

You jump slightly as Bruce comes in and begins to chat with you. He’s already talking about making improvements to the new AI you’re building, but you’ve zoned out too long to really catch what he’s saying, so you simply nod along

Steve’s eyes flicker to yours, and you can see the mirth behind his smile. Busted. You hope the office lighting washes out your blush. And just as Bruce segways into another project, Tony Stark himself waltzes into the room, officially saving your ass. 

Everyone takes a seat, and the meeting commences, but you’re far less energetic about it now. You try to focus on what Tony is saying, you really do, but you can’t stop thinking about the blue eyed man sitting on the opposite side of the table. It’s hard not to look at him, even his profile is drool worthy. 

Hoping to god your bsing skills are up to par, you ohh, ahh and nod at the right times. Chancing another glance Steve, you find he’s already looking at you. The smile comes easy to your face before you hear Tony clear his throat. 

Looking around, you realize that everyone was looking at you, and you’re racking your brain to see if you remembered to put on deodorant this morning. 

“Y/N, do you want to introduce yourself, or do you want to keep ogling Steve there?” Tony asks, and you’ve never wanted the ground to swallow you more than you have in this moment. 

Clearing your throat and sneaking a sip of water, you gather your wits quickly and introduce yourself, and also give a brief overview of the projects you have and are working on. 15 minutes later, you’re pretty sure everyone had forgotten about Tony’s snide remark as you give the floor back to your boss to wrap up the meeting. 

Everyone takes turns coming up to you and congratulating you, shaking your hands and other pleasantries that you really don’t care for. Of course, Steve is the last person to approach and your heart skips a beat as he pulls you in for a hug. God he smells amazing. 

“You were great! I really can’t wait to work with you.” he states earnestly. You give a weak smile, and chastise yourself for being so smitten with someone you just met.  

“Thank you, I had a lot of great mentors.” you say, cursing your voice for breaking at the end. 

Steve’s hand falls to the small of your back, and guides you out of the conference room. 

“I’m really impressed with the latest model vibranium shield, looks like it could really be useful to someone in combat.” the mention of one of your projects has you lighting up, and chatting up a storm as you enter the elevator

“Yes! Bruce told me you were the one to sketch the design first, and I have to say that it inspired us to go sleek and lightweight. We really wanted--” but you don’t get to finish because his lips are on yours. It takes you a moment to process, but then you kiss back with as much fervor as you can manage. 

His hands find your waist, and work their way up, while yours find his hair and neck. Anything you both could do to get closer, full on making out like high schoolers in the elevator. 

The ding alerts you that the door is about to open, and you break apart. Your struggling for breath, and your lips feel swollen. The women that entered the elevator takes a moment to take in your ragged breathing and Steve’s messy hair before smirking. “I’ll take the next one.”

The moment the doors close, you both burst into laughter. 

“Well, she sure won’t be forgetting us” you giggle. Steve hums in agreement before taking a step towards you and kissing your forehead.  

“10 bucks says that Tony’ll know before lunch” he chuckles. 

“Oh, I’m sure he already knows.” you states, pointing up to the security camera in the corner. 

Steve groans before burying his head in your neck. “Worth it” you hear him murmur. 

The following weeks follow much the same.

Stolen kisses and little notes are passed between the two of you in the halls. Flowers show up more in your office, and Steve has never had as many baked goods in his life as he does now. 

You make a point to keep it casual, not referring as dates, no staying over at each other’s places. It’s supposed to be light and breezy.

Take out when one person is working late, breaks in each other’s office to rant or feel each other up, bubbles baths after a stressful day. It all falls into place and becomes domestic, and you never even realized the moment it had stopped being casual. 

It’s a whirlwind that becomes too much when you hear three words from Steve. 

“I love you” 

“It feels like I’m stuck upstream without her.”

You’re still panting, and you can feel it in your bones. His skin is glistening with sweat, and you both revel in the afterglow. You know the moment can’t last forever, but you hope to stretch it as long as possible. 

You sigh before pressing one last kiss to his lips and throwing the covers off your legs. You can feel his eyes staring at your back as you gather your clothes from the floor, cursing yourself for so carelessly throwing your bra somewhere you can’t find. 

“Stay” he states, and you’ve never wanted anything more. 

“You know I can’t” you say as you pull up your pants and button them, ignoring the way your hands shake.

“It’s getting late, just stay the night.” he begs, sliding from the bed to pull you into an embrace. He knows how to play dirty.

“I need to go Steve.” you state more firmly, his arms dropping from around you as he takes a step back to study you. After his gaze feels too strong, you start to throw on the rest of your clothes, hoping to leave before doing something you’ll regret. 

“Is this because I told you I love you?” he asks, and your heart leaps into your throat. The feeling of panic begins to ebb into your bones, the same feeling you had when the words left his mouth the first time. 

You had gotten ice cream stuck in your hair. He was helping you get the liquid out of your hair while you lamented about good ice cream going to waste. It was so quiet and inconspicuous that if it weren’t for the panic forming, you would have missed them. 

Laughing nervously, you thanked him for his help and made some dumb excuse to go home as fast as possible. The week that followed was so normal that you were sure he forgot the incident. 

Apparently not.

“No, I just need to go home” voice shaking. “Why are you ignoring this?” he asks. 

“I’m not.”

“Stop denying it! I’m sorry that this freaks you out, but I’m not sorry for you knowing how I feel about you!”

“You can’t actually feel that way! We’ve known each other for 2 months!” you yell back.

“It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other because I know how I feel. I love you!” he shouts back, arms gesticulating wildly, it would be funny if you weren’t drowning in the moment.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Say how you feel, say you love me or that you don’t. But say something!” and now he’s pacing back and forth, hands running through his hair. You can tell he’s frustrated, but you can’t seem to feel anything but cold. It’s moving too fast and starting to spiral, and you just want it to stop for a moment. 

“You always tell me just what I’m supposed to say, as if it could be any other way.” you say quietly. It’s not true, you know it’s not, but in the heat of the moment, it’s all you could do to defend yourself.

It’s silent for a moment, he’s stopped pacing and you just stare at each other.  

The stand still is getting to you, and you can’t bare it another second. Grabbing your bag from the chair, you practically run to his door and throw it open. 

The sound of the door shutting feels more like a knife severing your relationship. 

“So, to most amazing woman in the world, I love you Pepper, and I will never stop.”

The applause brings you back to the moment, Tony and Pepper’s wedding reception. Tears you didn’t notice slide down your face, and you dab them away quickly, hoping no one noticed.

Since that fateful night one month ago, you’ve replayed your relationship multiple times. Every time you see him in the halls, you recall a night of passion. Meetings were spent thinking about jokes that you and Steve would have passed back and forth. Laying in bed, you thought of all the things you wish you had said on that final night. 

You excuse yourself from the table, feeling claustrophobic, and make your way towards the bar. You had already seen Steve at the wedding, and if he was going to look so gorgeous, you were going to get drunk enough to forget. 

An arm catches you on the way, and the way goosebumps rise on your skin, you know it’s him. Turning to face him, you could cry at how much better he looks up close. He had grown a slight beard, and the black suit fit him like a glove. You were sure everyone would be staring at him. 

“Hi, dance with me?” he asks, so simple, so loaded. 

You think for a moment before nodding. He gently sweeps you into his embrace, and you melt into him. It feels right, like everything before was unknowingly wrong. 

“I miss you” you breathe, not wanting to disturb the moment. 

“Me too” He hums, the vibrations tickling where your forehead meets his cheek. “I think about you all the time. Life is much more boring without you by my side.”

You both continue to sway, to content to do much else. There hasn’t been a moment that felt as warm and safe as this, this was home. It’s where you wanted to be for the rest of your life, and you’re not scared anymore. 

“I never meant anything I said that night, I was terrified Steve. It was all happening so fast and it was overwhelming. I never loved you fully in the way I could.” tears welling up in your eyes. 

He pulls his head back far enough to look at you before bringing his thumb to wipe the tears that escaped down your cheek. 

“I pushed too hard. I didn’t think about how you felt. I was scared of losing you, and I thought that fighting for you was the way to go instead of catching you.” 

You shake your head and let out a laugh, “we were both idiots.” His arms wrap around you tighter, pressing a kiss to your forehead, he laughs along with you. 

“I’m not scared anymore.” you state. Before you know it, his soft lips are back on his. 

Breaking apart, you know you have the biggest grin on your face.

“I’m like fallingwater.”

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always welcome!

[nekoannie-chan]

Sweet Christmas memories

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Word count: 1320 words

Summary: Steve remembers all the Christmas with T/N.

Warnings: None, its fluff.

A/N: My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

This is my entry to the @nacho-bucky‘s Writing Challenge with the prompt #8:

"You don’t like marshmallows in your hot chocolate? Why do you hate love?

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Christmas was close, it was the first time Steve was going to celebrate it since he woke up at this time after being frozen for almost seventy years, of course, he wasn't going to be alone, he wasn't sure how it would be celebrated now; the agent Y/N was helping him adapt to this era, but he didn't want to ask her, he wanted to surprise her.

Steve remembered perfectly how it was celebrated on those celebrations in his childhood, his mother and he used to go with the Barnes to celebrate, as long as Steve was not sick, as neither of the two families had no money the celebrations were modest.

Other times, when Steve was sick, they had no money to celebrate, but Bucky visited them and brought them some of what Bucky’s family had prepared at his home and celebrated all three together.

He had never been able to decorate a tree, they could not afford it at that time, the money they had used to buy the tree and the ornaments cost the same or more than his medicines; although he could not deny that sometimes he would have liked to be able to do the same as the other children in the school.

He used to receive a single gift, very small and simple, which was usually what his mother can buy, he didn't care about the teasing he received from his classmates at school when they asked him what he had received.

He remembered once, in his adolescence, two years before his mother died, that his gift was a colors box, he had seen them in a store, they were the most expensive, at that time he could not understand how his mother can buy it, shortly before she died, he knew that she had done many double shifts at the hospital and that she chose to leave and walk back to save the bus, he had always taken care of those colors, he did not use them more than on very special occasions, despite that his mother insisted that he use them.

A week before Y/N had proposed that they spend Christmas together, she didn't want that date to be sad for Steve.

Steve had decided to investigate a little, he wasn't so sure that so much had changed since he last celebrated it; however he had a problem, he didn't know what to give to Y/N as a gift.

He didn't know many people either, he didn't know Y/N's friends, he seemed like a lonely person, so he chose to ask the only woman he had seen Y/N talk to Maria Hill, he didn't know if they were friends but maybe Maria knew a little more about Y/N.

He went to Hill's office, knocked on the door, a few seconds later Maria opened and let it pass.

"Captain, what do you need?" Maria asked.

"I-it's something personal," Steve began to say.

Maria stared at him and raised an eyebrow waiting for more information.

"Y/N and I will spend Christmas together, but I don't know what to give her," Steve continued.

"Do you two go out?" The agent questioned.

“W-what? No, we're just coworkers, “Steve replied blushing.

“What plan do you have then?” Maria continued trying not to laugh at Steve's reaction because what was happening was very obvious.

"I don't know, go to dinner or something," Steve said.

At that moment Y/N entered the Hill office, had reached to hear the last sentence.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't want to interrupt, here, the documents that Fury wants you to review," she said as she practically threw the documents at Maria.

"Thank you," Maria murmured.

Without saying another word Y/N left the office, she seemed pretty upset.

"That was weird," Maria said after Y/N left.

"Well, back to the subject, I think she has already organized all that, although what worries me the most is the gift I'm going to give her, I don't understand how it works at this time," Steve continued.

"Hmm it's not like we talk much," Hill said.

"You know her better or at least you've worked longer with her than me, I really need your help," Steve pleaded.

"Maybe a necklace or earrings," the agent suggested.

"Thank you, that's helpful," Steve thanked.

That same afternoon Steve went to buy the gift, he found a beautiful necklace with a rose-shaped pendant, as soon as he saw it he knew it was perfect for Y/N.

It was a few days before Christmas, although Y/N and Steve had not spoken since Steve was in Maria's office, it was as if Y/N avoided him, he saw her in the dining room and sat next to her, stopped her before going.

“So what is the plan for Christmas?” Steve asked.

“Mine? Staying at home like every year”, Y/N replied.

"I thought we were going to celebrate together," Steve said confused.

"I don't want to bother your girlfriend," Y/N said grumpily.

"Girlfriend? What girlfriend?" Steve asked surprised.

"Hill, at least you would have told me ..."

"She is not my girlfriend," Steve said.

“I heard you”

"I was just asking you some questions about this season," Steve interrupted.

“Is that true? Because it seems like a very stupid pretext, “Y/N said.

"Yes, there's nothing between Hill and me, I want to celebrate Christmas with you," Steve said.

Y/N looked into Steve's eyes, the last few days he had been sad thinking that Steve was dating someone.

"See you at 5, I was thinking of walking around a nearby park that adorns with lights and then having dinner," Y/N said.

“Can we decorate a tree?” Steve asked.

"Sure", Y/N said.

Now everything was different, that was what Steve thought as he headed towards the Y/N house, the decorations, the people, everything seemed more lively and festive, and he arrived on time.

They adorned the tree, they had chosen the colors blue and silver, Steve was very excited, and then they went for a little walk to the park.

“Have your Christmas always been like this?” Steve asked when they returned home.

"No, well before my parents died yes, but after I just decorated the tree, I don't wanna celebrate," Y/N explained as they sat on the armchair in the living room.

Steve nodded, he could understand, after his mother died he felt awkward to celebrate, although the Barnes always received him well, he didn't feel comfortable.

"What were you do?" Steve asked.

"My grandmother used to make hot chocolate, we sang, ate dinner, then we opened the presents," Y/N explained.

"What if we do the same?" Steve proposed.

Y/N nodded, went to the kitchen to prepare hot chocolate while humming a song that his mother used to sing, then returned with two cups.

“Why doesn't yours have marshmallows?” Steve asked when he noticed the absence in the Y/N cup.

"I've never liked them, I don't like the texture they have when chewing them," Y/N said.

“You don't like marshmallows in your hot chocolate? Why do you hate love? ”Steve asked, making himself offended.

"I don't hate him, I just don't like marshmallows," Y/N replied.

Steve put the cup on the little table in the living room, approached Y/N, and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips and then separated.

"I like you, do you want to be my girlfriend?" Steve said suddenly.

"Yes, of course," Y/N agreed.

They kissed again, then remembered the gift, handed it to Y/N, who was delighted.

Since that time there was no Christmas that did not happen together, several years had passed, things were different.

"It was worth it and will soon change again," Steve thought.

He turned to see Y/N, who slept next to him, put his hand on the belly of his wife now, in less than four months a new member would arrive in the family so that was the last Christmas the two would celebrate alone.

[ghostsvibes]

“You call this decorated?”

Summary: It's finally Christmas season. Stephen asked Tony over to hangout. Warning: AU where Tony, Stephen and Pepper are together. Fluff. Pairing: Stephen x Tony x Pepper feat Peter Parker Word count: approx. 300+ Dialogue 5: "You call this decorated?" @nacho-bucky

I’m sorry that I couldn’t pass the word count. -- The door slammed open entering the shining Stark with shades on, he lowered it down. His mouth hanged of disbelief of the sight before him.

"Oh hey Stark, come in." Stephen rolled his eyes. Tony has always entered the way he does that Stephen got used to it.

"What in the world- Stephen, what the hell is this?" Tony pointed at the small tree that is set up at the corner of the room. 

"It's a tree Stark, 'A Christmas Tree'." He pointed out knowing full well why his pair is acting in such a diva way.

"I know it's a tree, but why is so so...puny." Tony eyed the tree and with one eye he sized the tree with his fingers. 

"Stark, please, this tree is big enough. I have decorated enough." Stephen sighed knowing what's coming next.

"YOU CALL THIS DECORATED?" Tony's mouth hanged down more. It was enough to look that he dislocated his jaw.

"Look, Tony, we can't have this talk over and over again," Stephen rubbed his eyes.

"This is NOT going to be one of your grand events. We both know how Halloween went down for everyone Tony, never again." Stephen went back to decorating the tree.

Tony walked towards Stephen until he was facing his back. Tony slithered his arms around Stephen's waist and pulled him into a hug. "Come here babe, let's not heat things up the wrong way.

“Where's our Christmas spirit am I right?" He gave Stephen a kiss. Stephen tried to keep his anger but soon with Tony's sweet pursues he smiled and faced Tony and gave him a kiss. The kiss became more and more heated as their body touched closer.

Tony led Stephen to the bedroom and licked his lips.

"Merry Christmas Darling~" He smiled as he pushed Stephen down on the bed. -- Stephen groaned and felt the fabric of the bed against his skin. He reached out to find that Tony's side of the bed was empty. He decided to get up putting boxers on and opening the door of his bedroom. There Stephen stopped on his tracks to find Tony in the middle of the room dressed in red and white Santa Claus. The whole living room decorated in different lights. A big tree bending down due to the length of the floor to the ceiling. 

Tony grabbed Stephen's hands and showed him every decoration he has made. The iron suits were there as well dressed as elves. Stephen couldn't even utter a word and was even more devastated when he sees Peter Parker a.k.a Spiderman in the room. Peter was the star of the whole room. Literally. 

"SURPRISE!" Tony popped some of the poppers while Stephen felt his soul escape his body.

"That is how Stephen and Tony Stark's Christmas lasted last year," Peter explained to Morgan about one of the stories of her dads. 

"Morgan, Peter! Dinner time." Pepper called for her children to come in for dinner. 

THE END

[aspiratixxn]

Flowers on the grave of memories (3/?)

Summary: What it’s like to come back. Or try to anyways. 

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, torture, mentions of death, brainwashing.

Word Count: 1840

Notes: I totally forgot the events of Civil War so I had to rewatch it haha. Guess who doesn’t know what word counts are aha. Continuation from @nacho-bucky‘s writing challenge. Thanks for being patient with me! 

Find Part 1 [here] | Part 2 [here]

New York is really fucking hot during the summer. It’s hot and humid and absolutely disgusting but the winter soldier has fared far worse. Though if anyone asks, he definitely prefers the cold to this awful heat. He’s found a little hole in the wall apartment and through some sneaking around with a fake, he’s managed to put himself down for a lease. Don’t ask where his money comes from, he’ll just cryptically smile and wave you off.

He’s selecting plums, quietly chatting with the farmer when shit hits the fan. The TV blows up with a breaking news report, about a bombing. Normally that wouldn’t even phase him, not with all the bombs they drop on everyone ever in the middle east. But this one catches his attention when they show a flash of his face. His face, which looks hard and vicious and remorseless. Winter’s eyes widen and he’s gone before the farmer even turns back.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit. He’s running, slipping through the crowd with practiced ease. That wasn’t him, it wasn’t him! Every little whisper worms its way into his ear as he bursts into his apartment, grabbing his escape back and wrenching open a window. The distance to the next building is a little long but nothing he can’t handle. Of course that’s the fucking moment that mister America himself comes bursting in, tailed by at least two dozen feds. Winter’s not an idiot, it’s much easier to just run than fight at this point. But obviously things don’t always go to plan.

American man proves to be a suitable fighter once more, which makes it easier for Winter to burn through the Kevlar encased men. But the downside is that he’s not being allowed to just take people out, both by American man and the annoying little sludge in his head, which has receded to only covering the room instead of filling it. There’s longing in it, when it whispers don’t. Don’t kill anymore, you don’t have to.

Don’t have to? The blood drips from his fingers like water. Don’t have to, what a joke.

Whatever, that’s not his fucking problem right now. He darts and dashes, finally making it to another roof top. Even if it does cost him a bit of his ankle’s mobility. It should be straightforward from here but he barely notices the shadow lurking before it tackles him to the ground. He grunts but is scrambling to get up and run because whoever’s chasing him as the reflexes of a fucking cat. Are those ears on his goddamn head? Fuck whatever.

The chase itself is pretty much straight out of a Hollywood movie. Winter manages to pull a sick move when he steals a motorcycle but way too soon (or perhaps not soon enough given the ruckus behind him), all of them have been cornered by the local police of all people. And War Machine but that’s. Irrelevant, really.

What is relevant is being strapped to a fucking chair and being made to talk to a shrink. Like any average shrink would understand. The conscious in the sludge is inclined to agree. After all, who else understands being out of place and out of time? Who else understands being stripped to the nerves and being molded like putty, being frozen and unfrozen repeatedly, having blood dye your very being? Maybe someone does understand that part. But a government shrink? Doubtful.

Except it’s not a shrink that enters the room. Winter’s eyes widen. Fuck aren’t there cameras for this kind of thing? Shouldn’t someone be watching? If he was feeling caged before, he definitely feels it now. He strains against his bonds but these are much tougher than your average run of the mill leather metal straps. Zemo circles like a vulture, licking his lips and whispering the words with reverence that is undeserved.

“Longing.”

His heart thuds. Longing, for blood they had said. Longing for the rush of a kill, for the terror painting his mark’s faces as they die. Longing, the sludge conscious whispers, for home. For him. For the warmth of the sun and the sticky sweet ice cream dripping down your chin. You long to be free again.

“Rusted.”

Blood rust, machine rust, the iron smell invades his nose and he grips the arms of the chair, squeezing his eyes shut. No, no don’t fall for it! Rust like the old garages we used to explore. Rusted like the machines we’d take down together. Rust like the shade of the sun set you’d watch after a mission with him.

“Seventeen.”

A memory surfaces and is torn to shred before he can watch it. Seventeenth birthday, where you-

“Daybreak.”

The time for creatures of the night to go back into hiding. Creatures like him, the winter soldier, trained in the cover of darkness with only the cold twinkling of the stars as company. No, you’re not alone! But the black sludge is being forced back, revealing the all too familiar bright white again. The file cabinets uncover slowly, pristine as ever somehow. The words are getting muddled. The light --- dawn ---- breakfast ----- cranky ---- watch ----

“Furnace.”

It burns, the pain, the cold, it burns through him and he clenches his hands so hard that the arm rest shatters to pieces. He must be baying like a wounded animal right now, but it all feels very far away. He’s being placed in the bright white sterile room again, that burns his eyes, his hands, his chest. No – warm --- winter ---- cuddle ----- orange ----- favorite color ----- hold his han---

“Nine.”

Nine recruits. Nine targets. Nine tests. Nine nein nine nein nine. No! No ---- please ---- you’re not -----

“Benign.”

Blend in, keep your eyes peeled, don’t raise suspicion. Everything must be carried out silently, secretly. Don’t pose a blatant threat. Not ----- threat ---- you -----

“Homecoming.”

Return to us, our greatest creation. Return to your roots, remember who you are. Home ---- Ste --- Please ----

“One.”

It’s only the mission, nothing else matters. One shot. Ple----

“Freight Car.”

The weight of control slams into him and he stops convulsing in his chair, breathing deeply. The room is clean, the sludge once again contained only in a corner. When his eyes open, he is once more the very machine they programmed him to be. He moves mechanically, even as he tears through bindings and concrete and flesh. The flesh that feels so warm under his hands, so invitingly warm. It tears like tissue paper and the ooze of blood is oh so warm and it’s so freeing, to be like this. To tear without worries or cares.

---------

Winter is confronted and captured once more by the American man, who he’s learned is named Steve. But as soon as that knowledge comes, he’s submerged in darkness again, except this time it’s much like a pool and he’s sinking to the bottom. As much as he tries to scrabble up, he can’t. He can’t reach the surface, where his eyes watch but do not see. They’re not his anymore. Not anymore.

---------

Bucky Barnes bursts through to the world and gasps for air, gasps for the tastes of the world on his tongue. He gets his first taste in the backseat of an unsuspecting car, squished by the passenger seat. He grumbles about it but puts up with it if only to help Steve, who is chatting with a really pretty blonde. Sharon Carter, his ears hear. Carter, like Peggy. No wonder Steve looks at her so tenderly, she matches the spirit and fierce face of Peggy. Bucky feels his heart burn a bit but he tries to push it aside. Except that moment of weakness is exactly when Winter bursts out the seams again, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s neck and dragging him back down.

---------

Who is he? Is he James Buchanan Barnes, sergeant of the 107th who fell from a cliff, who drank liquor in the 1940’s and loved? Is he Winter Soldier, mechanically enhanced super soldier who thinks of only the mission and dismisses the dripping wet that permanently stains his hands? Bucky who holds loyalty like a treasure, loves like a flame flickers? Winter who touches everything with a carved dagger, revels in bloodshed? Who is he? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his body weighs heavily, and that he will fight. For Steve, against Steve, always Steve.

---------

It takes him a second to recognize that he nearly punched a twelve year old dressed in bright red and blue pajamas. It takes him another to recognize that the twelve year old stopped his fucking fist. His metal fist, which dents steel and bone with ease, and it was stopped by a child. Maybe he’s losing his touch a bit here. He’s running for a lot of the fight after, throwing some punches but mostly running. The chaos becomes background noise and he sprints, sprints towards the one thing that will make this right. He’s not at fault, not this time, and he has to prove it. He needs to. There’s a bit of a scruff in the plan when miss Russian spy herself confronts them and although they’re both enhanced soldiers, he wouldn’t bet against her for these things. Apparently Steve knows her a lot better than he gave credit for though, and she lets them pass.

---------

For everything that’s happened, it feels strangely detaching when the truth is revealed. Iron man’s voice is low, almost sticky with grief. Did you know. He watches as Steve holds his silence, lip curling in pain. “Yes.” 

Winter has seen that look. Grief, compounded with betrayal. Stark’s mask is on before long and he’s blasting the white beams, and they don’t have time to talk anymore. He loses an arm, but it is not Winter who deals the last blow, instead being thrust aside as Steve pounds his shield again and again into the core of the suit. Lodges it there and takes off running. Sprinting away.

---------  

Steve only calls for a pause when they’re far enough away that the radars can’t catch them anymore. They collapse next to each other, breathing harsh. Steve’s talking, something about breaking someone out, but all Winter, Bucky, can think about is that they’re together again. Together.

And he chooses, by his own will, to leave. He requests asylum and is granted it, generously by the Wakandan king. He apologizes, for everything he’s done. Although T’Challa dismisses it with a wave, the guilt that settles in his stomach is heavy. He chooses to go back into cryofreeze, knowing that he will be away perhaps when Steve needs him most. But it feels like the first real decision he’s made for himself in a very long time and even if he’s being caged again, it’s freeing. He knows that Steve can see it too, with the soft cracked smile he has as he says goodbye to his best friend, his Bucky, again.

[evanstarff]

Sentimental

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1850

Summary: Bucky Barnes gets shaved for Christmas.

Warnings: Mostly fluff with a Barbershop Quartet cameo.

A/N: This is for the incandescent Cait @nacho-bucky​ for her writing challenge! You're the kindest, sweetest bean ever and one of the shining lights of this community. My prompt was "Pulling someone in for a kiss with a scarf" with Bucky.

If you liked this, try the one with Steve Rogers. Masterlist also here, lovers.

---------

“You sure about this?”

“It’s too late,” Bucky breathed, mischief blooming in the corners of his pretty pink mouth. “You promised.”

“Last rites,” you laughed softly, eyes glittering, grin gleaming.

Light seemed to glow behind his mercurial eyes as he watched you, waiting, a little tremor through your body. His skin prickled in anticipation as the silvery, shiny and sharp blade flicked out of its home with a quiet snick.

He shifted beneath you, drawing a scoff from your pretty lips.

"Careful," you told him. "Might need to buckle you down."

"I'd like to see you try, darlin'."

"Would you really?"

You settled warm in his lap to rest the blade against his lathered cheek with a quickening of your heart and a glimmer in your eye. A shiver swept down his spine and you began the blade's slow, agonising drag down the side of his face.

This was a new kind of intimacy, this sweet, heart-in-your-throat kind of fear. An odd comfort in the way he trusted you, adored you, loved you – loved you, loved you, loved you, and in spite of everything, all things, sweet and wild and true.

Bucky was quiet, breath coming slow, peacefully despite the thrilling drag and lift of the blade from his skin. Those blue-stormed eyes grew a little glassy, then this faraway look all sweet astonishment and adoration as he watched you work. You glanced at him, a moment, maybe more, drinking in his exquisite face and the late afternoon light bathing the curves and lines of his nose, his cheek, down his jaw, drawing the whisper of a smile through those lips.

“What’re you smiling at, lover?” you asked, running the blade under the small stream from the tap.

“You,” Bucky replied as if it were the only answer in the world.

"Sweet talker," you said, carefully drawing the blade along his jaw, down, slowly, around the other side now, the sensation most unbecoming as it rippled sweet, hot desire through his skin and straight between his thighs.

"Sweetheart," he breathed, patiently waited for your hands to move the blade back into the sink and leaned up, kissed you, just a touch, his lips all soft and warm and adored. His mouth was a delightful thing, the sweetest and most loving, clever when it needed to be, often between the sheets and deep in the swell and turn of night. Desired and wanting, it was hard to stop once he started and it downright sickened you how utterly taken you were by him.

"Bucky–"

"Baby," he replied, the sentimental idiot, pulling away at last, his loving hands coming up to cup your breathless face, thumb your warm, warm cheeks.

He liked to watch you, watch him, your gaze full with affection, devotion personified as if the world melted away in a haze, cast off and made anew just for him.

"Come on," you whispered, pressing your lips to his forehead, his nose, the dip in his lovely chin. A shudder ran through him, sparking heat through his skin. "I'm nearly finished."

"Better make it quick then," he replied wry as a thief stealing time, knew it was growing thin as it charmed its way closer to the designated moment when your Christmas-spangled doorbell would call for the evening's festivities.

You were warm in his lap, his arousal warmer still as Bucky watched your eyes change and turn, concentration etched through every beautiful curve and swell of your face as you worked the blade deftly. Slowly, carefully, down, down, down – almost done now.

Another shiver through his body, hands of skin and metal on your ass, then your hips, an anchor to some semblance of reality. A moment, then a handful more, and you were done, lifting the towel from the bathroom sink and pressing it down smartly across his jaw, his chin, down his neck.

"There," you said, satisfaction ripe in your voice. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Bucky laughed, full-bodied with warmth and darkness at all once. "Sure, it was," he answered, shifting beneath your lap, spreading his thighs with the trust of gravity, and watched the most devilish smile grow a fiery kind of desire in your face at his growing desire.

The simmering heat turned into bonfire and that clever, delicious mouth was on yours once again, breathless and greedy as you sighed into him with every hungry part of your being.

---

It was a funny thing, this part of him. Shorn off over the years, grown out, sporadic and strange in its haphazard parts – pieces that came to define various parts of his life. Borrowed time in the shadows, the horror, the slivers of joy and good cheer.

The hair was first to go, cut clean and short, closer to the skull, revealing in the way it harked back to a familiar time that didn't quite fit the way it used to – different. Not wrong, not bad. Bucky thought to keep the beard for a while longer, but getting used to the world sometimes meant starting over in some way.

"Hey."

Sam and his warm, familiar face and those warm, familiar shoulders at the door now – the new mantle most becoming on him, fitting him better than Bucky would ever admit out loud to any particular audience. Steve followed close behind, looking more worn around the edges yet his eyes as bright and blue and sharp as ever. He was being helped along despite his protestations – the goddamn imbecile.

"Still alive?" Bucky laughed, wrapping his big, warm form around his oldest companion and glanced at Nat who arrived just behind.

"Still alive," she replied, the slightest curl of smile in the corner of her mouth with her face measured. There was a warmth in her eyes, curious and companionable, and the smile grew sincere, maybe even sentimental. "It's good to see you, James."

"Just can't seem to die," Steve grinned, though his hands seemed to speak otherwise, gripping his walking stick, knuckles going a little whiter, face, brows, hair whiter still from the winter's chill.

"If you die, we all die," you deadpanned in response, seeing the commotion and came to greet them all. A quick kiss to his paper thin cheek and the warmest hug to Steve, then Nat behind him. The biggest of hugs to Sam, wild chatter and otherworldly conversation as you wandered through the apartment, Bucky trailing behind, metal skin rubbing his naked chin.

It was different this year, strange and slightly off-kilter yet familiar all at once. Familiar with each portion of his life sitting round the warm fire beside him. Steve for his past that made him, Nat for his soul, then Sam for his unwavering presence, right here and now.

And you. You in all your quiet splendour, the ease of home, like a light left on outside the front porch, warm and safe and wanted.

"Hey," Steve spoke up sometime later in the night, trying not to fall asleep in the armchair by the fire. He coughed, once, regrettably twice, then gestured to a bag and watched Sam pull out four carefully wrapped packages. The paper crinkled, indicating the likely softness in its contents.

"For us?" Sam asked, palm brushing over the brown paper surface. Bucky glanced at Nat, who shrugged, then Sam who shrugged twice.

"Yeah," Steve's voice had gone husky and crackled, and he coughed. "Open it."

Paper crinkled and crunched as you unfurled it away, heart gone a little softer now as the contents revealed themselves.

"I took up knitting," Steve said, nodding towards the gifts. "Only took a hundred odd years."

Bucky laughed, the sound like something between regret and a yearning for a time that they could never quite have. What could he say for the crimson wool against the grey and gold of his palm spoke volumes more than he might ever try. Bucky was good with his hands, but the simple, even knots and loops were unmistakably Steve. The repetition of the activity must've given him more than something to do, keep his hands occupied, his heart, the peace that seemed to settle through every fibre of the old man's soul.

Maybe it was something to keep him occupied too.

"Red always looked good on you, Buck," said Steve, breaking Bucky from his reverie.

"Yeah, might need to have a word with him about that," Sam chimed in, wrapping his own olive shade of wool around his own neck. "He needs to branch out into new colours that aren't black."

"It suits him," you replied, wrapping the burgundy scarf around your lover's neck.

"WIth that face, he might need it," Nat said with the slyest of smiles, delicately fingering her own black scarf beneath her palms,the hue chosen to match her fire. Her sharp green eyes were now soft on his own. "The hair's gone and now the beard too – no hiding anymore."

"You're right," Bucky agreed softly, then turned to Steve, eyes shining and heart full. "Thanks Steve."

"Anytime."

---

It was nice watching the three of them wander out of the apartment into the crisp, winter's night. Sam and Nat on either side of old man Steve, supporting him despite his protests otherwise. Your home was warmer now as you closed the door, feeling satiated from the evening's delights.

Bucky had started cleaning, collecting the papers from the floor, and fitting them into neat piles. Dishes were stacked for washing – he hated machines, always insisted on handwashing them whenever he could. A habit from this war and that war and living sparingly, he told you once – and he liked the weight of the ceramic in his hands. The scarf from Steve was still wrapped around his neck, loose and comfortable – just like him.

"Hey stranger," you called, clearing the distance between you and rested your hands on his own. "You okay?"

He looked at you, his face still as handsome as the old photos from the museum, the reports on the news from the months before. Different now, but the same too, his eyes blue as ever as they always became when his brain filled to the brim.

"I am," Bucky replied. Something in his voice told you he meant it, meant it more clearly, more surely than he ever had before. He was calm now, content and at peace – happy even, and he knew it deep in his soul.

"Good," you answered, hitching a breath as he drew your hands to his lips, kissed your knuckles, then the top of your head, sending a shiver from your nose right down to your toes.

"Like the scarf?" he asked, watching you, eyes full of mirth.

"I do," you grinned, resting your hands on the crimson, and pulled it just a touch – closer now, the corners of his mouth curling sweet.

"How much?"

Another pull and your lips were on his own, greedy and loving kisses in the incandescent glow of the Christmas tree lights.

---

Feel free to send yelling and lamentations by sending an Ask! 🖤

[nacho-bucky]

Nacho-Bucky Writing Challenge

A masterlist for all of the works submitted as part of my first writing challenge! 

“You call this decorated?” by @ghostsvibes

It’s finally the Christmas season. Stephen asked Tony over to hang out. 

Absolute Magnitude by @panicfob

Getting stood up turns into a cozy evening in with Bucky’s help. 

On The Mend by @softbiker

After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

Flowers On The Grave of Memories by @aspiratixxn 

It’s always been just them against the world. 

Up To Snow Good by @kentuckybarnes

A post-reveal Agent 28 Christmas party, hosted by Clint, 41, and baby Candy. 

Sweet Christmas Memories by @nekoannie-chan

Steve remembers all his Christmases with Y/n. 

The Christmas King by @the-unspoken-rule​

After the events of Halloween, you wait excitedly for what Sam has in store for Christmas. Little did you know about the surprises coming your way.

Sentimental by @evanstarff​

Bucky Barnes gets shaved for Christmas.

Important by @mareli-carter​

Tony’s long-lost daughter’s first Christmas with the Avengers yields a special gift from Bucky. 

Father Like Son by @louhooo​ 

Sugar isn’t that bad, right? Bucky x Reader. 

Fallingwater by @elatedmarvel​

A whirlwind romance takes you on a roller coaster of emotions. Steve x Reader. 

New Year’s Eve by @eyesfixedonthesun22​

Steve and Peggy have a good friend who’s a handyman that comes and helps you out. Guess who? 

Lifelong Love Song by @suz-123​

On the night of his eighteenth birthday, Bucky seeks out a higher form of life - but he hadn’t expected to find an angel in the middle of a smokey bar. One glance and one night, and his whole life will change… for better and for worse.

[nekoannie-chan]

Dulces recuerdos navideños

Pareja: Steve x Lectora

Palabras: 1285 palabras

Sinopsis: Steve recuerda como ha pasado Navidad con T/N.

Advertencia: Ninguna, es fluff.

N/A: Esta es mi entrada para Nacho-Bucky Writing Challenge con la frase #8:

"¿No te gustan los malvaviscos en tu chocolate caliente? ¿Por qué odias el amor?”

No doy ningún permiso para que mis fics sean publicados en otra plataforma o idioma (yo traduzco mi propio trabajo) o el uso de mis gráficos (mis separadores de texto también están incluidos), los cuales hice exclusivamente para mis fics, por favor respeta mi trabajo y no lo robes. Aquí en la plataforma hay personas que hacen separadores de texto para que cualquiera los pueda usar, los míos no son públicos, por favor busca los de dichas personas. La única excepción serían los regalos que he hecho ya que ahora pertenecen a alguien más. Si encuentras alguno de mis trabajos en una plataforma diferente y no es alguna de mis cuentas, por favor avísame. Los reblogs y comentarios están bien.

DISCLAIMER: Los personajes de Marvel no me pertenecen (desafortunadamente), exceptuando por los personajes originales y la historia.

Otros lugares donde publico: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

Si te gusto por favor vota, comenta y rebloguea.

La Navidad se acercaba, era la primera vez que Steve la iba a celebrar desde que despertó en esta época después de estar congelado por casi setenta años, claro que no iba a estar solo simplemente no estaba seguro como se celebrara ahora; la agente T/N lo estaba ayudando a adaptarse, pero no quería preguntarle, quería sorprenderla.

Steve recordaba perfectamente cómo se celebrara en esas fechas cuando era niño, él y su madre solían ir con los Barnes a celebrar, siempre y cuando Steve no estuviera enfermo, como ninguna de las dos familias tenía dinero las celebraciones eran modestas.

Otras veces, cuando Steve estaba enfermo, no tenían dinero para celebrar, pero Bucky los visitaba y les llevaba un poco de lo que habían preparado en su casa y celebraban los tres juntos.

Nunca había podido adornar un árbol, no podían permitírselo en ese tiempo, el dinero que hubieran empleado en comprar el árbol y los adornos costaban lo mismo o más que sus medicamentos; aunque no podía negar que a veces le hubiera gustado poder hacer lo mismo que los otros niños de la escuela.

Solía recibir un solo regalo, muy pequeño y sencillo usualmente que era para lo que a su madre le alcanzaba, no le importaba las burlas que recibía por parte de sus compañeros en la escuela cuando le preguntaban lo que había recibido.

Recordaba una vez, en su adolescencia, dos años antes de que madre muriera para ser precisos, que su regalo fueron una caja de colores, los había visto en una tienda, eran los más caros, en ese momento no logró entender como su madre había podido comprarlos, poco antes de que ella muriera se enteró que había hecho muchos turnos dobles en el hospital y que optaba por irse y regresar caminando para ahorrarse lo del autobús, siempre había cuidado demasiado esos colores, no los usaba más que en ocasiones muy especiales, a pesar de que su madre le insistía en que los utilizara.

Una semana antes T/N le había propuesto que pasaran Navidad juntos, ella no quería que esa fecha fuese triste para Steve.

Steve había decidido investigar un poco, no estaba tan que seguro que tanto había cambiado desde la última vez que la celebró; sin embargo tenía un problema, no sabía que regalarle a T/N.

Tampoco conocía a muchas personas, no conocía a los amigos de T/N, le parecía una persona solitaria, así que optó por preguntarle a la única mujer con la que había visto a T/N hablar: Maria Hill, no sabía si eran amigas, pero quizás Maria conocía un poco más a T/N.

Se dirigió hasta la oficina de Hill, tocó la puerta, a los pocos segundos Maria abrió y lo dejó pasar.

—Capitán, ¿qué necesitas?—preguntó Maria.

—E-es algo personal—Steve empezó a decir.

Maria lo miró fijamente y alzó una ceja esperando más información.

—T/N y yo pasaremos Navidad juntos, pero no sé qué regalarle—continuó Steve.

— ¿Ustedes dos salen?—cuestionó la agente.

— ¿Q-qué? No, simplemente somos compañeros de trabajo—respondió Steve sonrojándose.

— ¿Qué plan tienen entonces?—prosiguió Maria tratando de no reír ante la reacción de Steve porque era muy obvio lo que pasaba.

—No sé, ir a cenar o algo así—dijo Steve.

En ese momento T/N entró a la oficina de Hill, había alcanzado a escuchar la última frase.

—Oh, lo lamento, no quería interrumpir, los documentos que Fury quiere que revises—dijo mientras prácticamente le aventaba los documentos a Maria.

—Gracias—murmuró Maria.

Sin decir alguna palabra más T/N salió de la oficina, parecía realmente molesta.

—Eso fue raro—dijo Maria después de que T/N se fuera

—Bueno volviendo al tema, creo que ella ya ha organizado todo eso, aunque lo que más me preocupa es el regalo que voy a darle, no entiendo cómo funciona en esta época—prosiguió Steve.

—Hmm no es como que hablemos mucho—comentó Hill.

—Tú la conoces mejor o al menos has trabajado más tiempo con ella que yo, en verdad necesito tu ayuda—suplicó Steve.

—Quizás un collar o unos aretes—sugirió la agente.

—Gracias, eso es de ayuda—agradeció Steve.

Esa misma tarde Steve fue a comprar el regalo, encontró un hermoso collar con un dije en forma de rosa, en cuanto lo vio supo que era perfecto para T/N.

Faltaban pocos días para Navidad, aunque T/N y Steve no habían hablado desde que Steve estuvo en la oficina de Maria, era como si T/N lo evitara, la vio en el comedor y se sentó junto a ella, la detuvo antes de que se fuera.

— ¿Entonces cuál es el plan para Navidad?—le preguntó Steve.

— ¿El mío? Quedarme en casa como cada año—contestó T/N.

—Creí que íbamos a celebrar juntos—mencionó Steve confundido.

—No quiero que tu novia se moleste—dijo T/N malhumorada.

— ¿Cuál novia?—cuestionó Steve sorprendido.

—Hill, al menos me hubieras dicho…

—No es mi novia—afirmó Steve.

—Los escuché…

—Simplemente le hacía unas preguntas sobre esta época—interrumpió Steve.

— ¿Es en serio? Porque parece un pretexto muy tonto—aseveró T/N.

—Sí, no hay nada entre Hill y yo, quiero celebrar Navidad contigo—aseguró Steve.

T/N miró los ojos de Steve, los últimos días había estado triste pensando que Steve salía con alguien.

—A las 5 nos vemos, pensaba en pasear un poco por un parque cercano que adornan con luces y después cenar—dijo T/N.

— ¿Podemos adornar un árbol?—preguntó Steve.

—Claro, no veo porque no—afirmó T/N.

Ahora todo era diferente, eso era lo que Steve pensaba mientras se dirigía hacia la casa de T/N, las decoraciones, las personas, todo le parecía más animado y festivo, llegó puntual.

Adornaron el árbol, habían elegido los colores azul y plateado, Steve estaba muy emocionado, después fueron a caminar un poco al parque.

— ¿Tus Navidades siempre han sido así?—preguntó Steve cuando regresaron a la casa.

—No, bueno antes de que mis padres murieron sí, pero después nada más adorno el árbol, no me dan muchas ganas de celebrar—explicó T/N mientras se sentaban en el sillón de la sala.

Steve asintió, podía entenderlo, después de que su madre murió se sentía incómodo para celebrarlo realmente, aunque los Barnes siempre lo recibieron bien, no se sentía a gusto.

— ¿Qué hacían?—inquirió Steve.

—Mi abuela solía preparar chocolate caliente, cantábamos, cenábamos, luego abríamos los regalos—explicó T/N.

— ¿Y si hacemos lo mismo?—propuso Steve.

T/N asintió con la cabeza, fue a la cocina a preparar el chocolate caliente mientras tarareaba una canción que su madre solía cantar, después regresó con dos tazas.

— ¿Por qué el tuyo no tiene malvaviscos?—preguntó Steve al notar la ausencia en la taza de T/N.

—Nunca me han gustado, no me agrada la textura que tienen al masticarlos—dijo T/N.

— ¿No te gustan los malvaviscos en tu chocolate caliente? ¿Por qué odias el amor?—cuestionó Steve haciéndose el ofendido.

—No lo odio, simplemente no me gustan los malvaviscos—replicó T/N.

Steve dejó la taza en la mesita de la sala, se acercó a T/N y le dio un tierno beso en los labios y luego se separó.

—Me gustas, ¿quieres ser mi novia?—dijo de pronto Steve.

—S-sí, claro—T/N aceptó.

Se volvieron a besar, en ese momento recordó el regalo, se lo entregó a T/N, quien quedó encantada.

Desde ese momento no hubo Navidad que no pasaran juntos, ya habían pasado varios años, las cosas eran diferentes.

“Ha valido la pena y pronto volverá a cambiar” pensó Steve.

Él volteó a ver a T/N, quien dormía a su lado, posó la mano en el vientre de su ahora esposa, en menos de cuatro meses llegaría un nuevo miembro en la familia así que esa era la última Navidad que celebrarían los dos solos.

[aspiratixxn]

Flowers on the grave of memories (2/?)

Summary: Meeting the winter soldier and the remnants of one James Buchanan Barnes. 

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, torture, mentions of death, brainwashing.

Word Count: 1670

Notes: I really wanted to play with the idea of some kind of goo because when I’m not me it feels gooey. Continuation from @nacho-bucky‘s writing challenge. Anyways I hope you enjoy!

Find Part 1 [here]

-----------------------

The winter soldier is neat and organized, like beige file cabinets with individual files labeled in square text. Everything is done cleanly, orderly, obsessively. Know only the mission, nothing more and nothing less. Forget no spare detail, not until the report is given. The cabinets sit in an endless white room, blindingly white. Tucked in the corner though, there is a cabinet swathed in black, no handles visible to open. It rattles, at times, but nothing ever comes out and eventually it stops so he doesn’t pay any mind to it.

Except one day it explodes. It bursts open and black sludge pours out, drowning the white floors, crawling up the walls and dousing the room in darkness. The file cabinets are but cubes haphazardly thrown about now. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what’s happening but he knows what triggered it. His target, who could dodge and fight. That man, the one who had looked at him like he was the answer to the universe.

“Bucky?”

Was it someone from Before? He doesn’t know and it’s hard to decipher anything in the sludge. It’s a blanket of pain, pain that stings and burns and aches. Instead, he growls and lunges for the throat.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

It gives him a splitting headache later, that name. Bucky. Who in the goddamn fuck is that? He stares, in the lab, out towards the stains on the wall. Pierce comes in and Winter looks up. Though Pierce is speaking, none of it registers. “I know him.” A sigh, exasperated and definitely not willing to listen. But he can’t stop thinking about it. “But. I knew him.”

“Wipe him and start over.”

The sludge in his mind needs to be shoved back, so he can do his work. He takes the mouth guard and bites down hard, even though they’ve just barely started. The chair restraints fling out and around his arms and he feels his heart race, his breath coming in pants and wheezes too fast. The panic shows in his chest’s rise and falls, in his wide eyes though he might try to be brave. The machine rotates, the terrifying prongs sparking in preparation. They latch into his head and they buzz and he screams. Screams as the sludge is forced back, even as it wriggles and fights. No, no! I’ve finally seen him! No!

The doctors fix it, temporarily every few missions. They use their machines, use their drugs, and force it back into its file cabinet, but it’s sloppy. It bubbles and oozes, trying to see the other cabinets again. They force it back every time and he accepts it, it’s easier than trying to deal with it himself after all. He’s a short-term tool, he knows that.

-----------------------

Each mission is coordinated and scripted, just how it should be. Not like that fight with the curious man. And yet the darkness lurks against the edge of his mind, ready to consume him again. He doesn’t like that. It’s too much of a variable, so he requests that they do the shock treatment just before being sent out on the final mission. Well, perhaps not requests so much as coerces them into it, but the Winter Soldier does not stand for uncertainty. There is only the mission and the mission’s successful completion.

Someone had argued once that this blood lust would come back for him. That someday someone would face him with the same edges and chip at his perfect blade.

It sounds like thunder, but feels like an earthquake and he’s thrown, slamming against the thick glass. If it had been any thinner, perhaps he’d be free falling to his death again. Again? Who? Has he died before? Then he’s pinned under the bars and he shrieks, panic pushing his limbs to action. But as strong as he was made, there are some things he can’t do. Bile rises to his throat and he wildly looks around, looking for something, anything. He can’t die here, not yet, not again.

And there he is again, that man whose very presence drowns him. He swallows thickly, eyes so wide they might just pop out of his head. He won’t beg for mercy, not like this. He refuses, it’s a fate worse than death to be begging for mercy like so many he’s seen before. And he certainly won’t do it to this man, who’s bloodied appearance makes his heart ache and cry (no, Steve, Steve! Steve! I’m right here! Please, Steve!). But the man doesn’t do anything to him, doesn’t try to kill him or leave him there to die. Instead he lifts the bar even an inch up, giving the winter soldier just enough space to dart out, like a cat escaping through a closed door. They wheeze together on the glass, even as everything rumbles around them, collapsing on itself.

The black bursts from the cabinet again, and he’s losing control and he’s there, he’s there punching and punching and punching until there’s blood spattering against the glass. Why didn’t he fight back? Why did he throw away his shield? Why why why why why- The black isn’t just covering things now, it’s filling the room. It’s consuming the cabinets, consuming the fabricated memories, consuming the protocols, consuming everything that the winter soldier is and he screams, smashing his fist into the other man’s face one more time. He grinds out each word, “YOU. ARE. MY. MISSION.” A pathetic attempt to regather himself, as if saying that with enough desperation would make it true.

But it hurts. It hurts, hurts, hurts, it’s cold, it’s cold? The winter soldier doesn’t feel cold. His hand is reared back and he can’t breathe, his chest so tight it might just crush his heart and lungs. There’s buzzing in his ears, whispers from someone who shouldn’t exist. It whispers of darkness, cold, fear, pain, loneliness, nostalgia. And what cut through the buzzing, are the quiet words, “So finish it. Cause I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

End of the line. With you ‘til the end of the line, end of the line, end of the line.  Winter is consumed, in murky memories that blur at the edges. Laughter, bright and lovely and loving. Touches that are firm and kind and warm. Hugs that feel like home. He can’t handle this, these aren’t his to know, and he lurches back, terror firing off every nerve. It’s like he’s been doused in ice water, everything tingles and burns and he can’t breathe and-

He needs to move, needs to go because he failed his mission, he failed. But his body won’t move, doesn’t want to move. The exhaustion and wounds run bone deep, suddenly weighing his bones, and he can’t make himself move. It’s reflex that grabs the railing as the glass caves and the blond man drops, falling without any resistance. Not even an attempt to reach out for the railing. And Winter watches him.

It’s graceful, in the way that battlefields are. With the still smoldering edges of debris and the man slowly vanishing to a blur of blue and red. The small white water splashes that he sees make something inside of him crumble. Crumple like the warping metal around him.

He swallows.

He lets go.

He falls.

And again there’s that sensation of dying. The room in his mind is completely submerged in black, and the memory sparks. Falling surrounded by blue and grey and white, away from that man, falling away and crying out and absolutely surrounded by the bite of winter chill. This time it’s falling from blue skies, warm sunlight, a few clouds fluffy in the sky. The green of the forest blurs past along with some grey-red-orange pieces.

He takes the dive, executed like an Olympic gold medalist. There’s hardly a sound as he hits the waves at near maximum velocity. It’s cold but not like before. He closes his fist around a mop of wet fabric but for a moment, even though they’re in the water, he feels weighted. Like he can never rise to the surface and his body reacts without his brain, clawing for the surface.

If the dive down was simple, the way up is like dragging himself from the fields of punishment in Tartarus. An unending, cruel punishment to always be pulled down when the goal is the surface. When he breaks, it’s like a baby’s first breath. And he wheezes, as he treads water with the unconscious weight in his arms, looking for a shore.

Nothing looks like a shore, but he blindly chooses what looks to be the closest tree and aims there. None of his movements have the same efficiency as before but they’re still smooth as butter.

It would be easy, to just leave him there to die. He’s meant to die after all, it’s the mission. And yet he doesn’t let go, doesn’t let him fall into the water again and into its dark depths. Why? Why is he rescuing this man? The mission- The mission doesn’t matter anymore because I’m with him ‘til the end of the line. Winter stops moving again, bobbing in the water in an almost comic manner. Who was that? Why did it sound so familiar? Why does it ache?

His feet hit the ground and he huffs as he takes the last steps up the shore. The gravel crunches beneath his feet and he drops his luggage with an unceremonious thud. He has to go, he has to hide, he can’t be found like this. The black sludge is half urging him but Winter also can’t risk being found again. They do not treat failures well, and even if he is an elite unit, anything that doesn’t serve its job is dead weight. So he staggers off, into the woods, but it feels like he’s leaving something behind with that man laying on the shore. He swallows the feelings and locks them away, somewhere in the sludge.