#sergeant-barnes

@sergeant-barnes: People who follow your work are no strangers to the fact that you are probably one of the best actors who can act with your eyes alone. Whether you’re the Winter Soldier, Jeff Gillooly… so, given the limited screen time you had in the role, how do you prepare for a role where so much of what you say is actually unsaid? You were saying one thing, but your eyes were saying five hundred other things. How much of that was on the page, and how much of that was your awesomeness?

To honor the victims of the shooting at Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, I’m writing fics and doing tarot readings to benefit HIAS, an incredible organization that’s done so much good for refugees around the world. @sergeant-barnes asked for a Stucky bakery AU. Thank you for your generosity, sergeant-barnes!

Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes | Rated G | 1145

A vampire pushes the door to The Pastry Place two minutes before they’re supposed to close on the Saturday before Halloween.

“I need one hundred and fifty ladyfingers before midnight,” the vampire says, looking exhausted beneath his pointed teeth and slicked back hair.

“Shouldn’t you have to ask permission to enter?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow, then looking back down to the cookie he’s halfway through icing. It’s an intricate skeleton design, something he’s trying hard to perfect before a big order for a company Halloween party next week. Icing isn’t his best skill, so he’s gone through quite a few misshapen skeletons, though this one is looking okay.

“What?” the guy asks, voice sounding more like “wut" in deadpan confusion. He obviously wasn’t expecting Steve to respond to his question that way.

“You’re a vampire. Don’t vampires have to ask permission to enter a new place?”

The guy blinks. “Obviously not,” he says.

There’s a beat and then Steve snorts. Honestly, he’d expected the guy to get flustered and deny being a vampire. Apparently they both surprised each other.

“Okay, I’ll bite—”

“Ha ha,” the guy says, still in that charming deadpan voice.

“Why do you need one-hundred fifty ladyfingers by midnight?”

“It has to do with a redhead, a bet, and a Halloween party that begins at the stroke of midnight.” He pauses. “Look, I know you’re going to close in…” He looks down at his wristwatch. “Negative two minutes, but I have cash and I look devastating when I cry. You’re the last bakery open in town. Please help me.” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to work up some tears. It doesn’t appear to be effective.

“Your watch is four minutes fast,” Steve says, setting down his icing. “We still have two minutes before close.” He takes a good look at the guy; he does have very devastating eyes, even if he can’t seem to cry and they’re coated with some bad costume make up. “I’m going to charge you twice my normal rate,” he says.

“That’s understandable.”

“And you need to go get me coffee from the place I like down the street. It’s going to be a late night for me.”

“I can do that.”

“And I’ll need it in writing that you will not, at any point this evening, attempt to suck my blood.”

“That’s obviously a blow given how delectable your neck looks underneath that pink apron, but if that’s what I need to do to get these ladyfingers, then I am willing to do that. Where do I sign?” He smiles, revealing the false vampire teeth he has on. “And should I do it in blood?”

Steve smiles. He’s beginning to like this vampire.

— —

Forty-five minutes later, Bucky has his fake teeth out and on a napkin as he sits on the bakery counter, happily eating a messed up skeleton cookie. Their no-bite contract — signed by both parties in red pen — sits next to him, drafted on the back of a crumpled up receipt. Steve’s hard at work on the ladyfingers — the kind of recipe that’s easy peasy for him at this point in his baking career — and Bucky is providing entertainment. Or, that’s what he calls eating Steve’s skeleton rejects while making the occasional observation.

Even though Steve typically prefers a more solitary work environment, he kind of likes having Bucky there, asking him questions about the process.

“So you don’t bake at all?” Steve asks when Bucky starts asking him about how he learned the baking basics.

Bucky shakes his head. “Not really. I can find a way to fuck up a box mix.”

“Just switch out the oil for melted butter, milk for water, and add an extra egg. That’s how you elevate a box mix.”

“So now I know the secret to your bakery?” Bucky asks with a raised eyebrow.

Steve levels him with an unimpressed look. “I make everything here from scratch.”

“I won’t sully your good name to the papers, don’t you worry.” He pauses. “I fuck up the box mixes,” he adds, a little sheepish. “I think I’m doing them right, but something always goes wrong. It comes out like a pancake or bubbles over. The thing is, I can cook decently. I’m no Wolfgang Puck but I can feed myself. But as soon as I try to bake something, all hell breaks loose. I’m outlawed from doing it in my apartment kitchen. My roommate’s had to help clean up too many messes.”

“You follow the instructions?” Steve asks, inserting the last ray of raw ladyfingers into the oven. He sets the oven for eight minutes, then looks over at Bucky.

“Of course.”

“And you don’t try to mess with the measurements?”

“Never.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “Scout’s honor!”

Steve frowns. “I’m not sure what it is, then.” He pauses. “We have time, if you wanted me to decorate the ladyfingers as actual fingers.”

Bucky perks up. “Would you?” he asks.

Steve nods, then gets to work setting up his icing.

“So is there a secret?” Bucky asks a few minutes later.

“To what? Decorating?”

“No, to baking. A general secret. Something passed down from generation to generation that I just don’t know.”

“There are plenty of baking secrets out there, some of them good, some of them bad.” Steve’s heard plenty of bad ones through the years, many of which include applesauce. “But I don’t think there is.” He pauses. “Well, maybe something about the power of love.”

“Love?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, it’s just like anything you do. If you love it, you’ll get better at it. I love baking and I love sharing the things I bake with people I care about.”

“People in general,” Bucky says, which makes Steve look up. He shrugs. “I may be a fan of this place. You’re just not usually at the cash register.”

Before Steve can think up a response, the oven dings. He takes out the trays of ladyfingers, which appear to be cooked perfectly.

“We’ll need to let them cool,” he says.

“We’ve got time.” Bucky looks down at the ladyfingers, then up at Steve. “Hey, if you wanna see some people loving your stuff, you could come with me to the party.”

“This isn’t some way to get me into a dark alley to bite me, right?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “We signed a contract, didn’t we?” He pauses. “Unless you want to get into a dark alley and be bitten, because that could definitely be arranged.”

Steve blushes, but he doesn’t say no.

— —

I’M SORRY I DIDN’T GET TO THIS LAST NIGHT I FELL ASLEEP HALFWAY THROUGH WRITING IT. Also this is the kind of prompt my dreams are made of, CHEEK/FOREHEAD KISSES MAKE ME WEAK. 

routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing

It starts when they’re young and stupid and blissfully happy sharing a shitty apartment and an equally as shitty bed. It’s not anything intentional, just, Bucky’s going to work and Steve, without thinking about it lifts his cheek up as though expectant and Bucky without questioning it dips down and brushes his lips across a waiting cheekbone, grabs his coat and is out the door with a quick “See ya later Stevie.”

It becomes a thing after that.

-

The guys tease them mercilessly for it during the war.

Dugan calls Steve “Mrs. Barnes” for a solid week the first time Bucky takes his leave and Steve, without thinking about it, tilts his cheek up for a kiss that Bucky leans up to give on automatic.

Steve would be a lot more annoyed by it if it wasn’t a blatant sign of just how unbothered by the Steve&Bucky aspect of Steve and Bucky their whole unit was.

“Listen Rogers, I don’t give a rats ass where either of you sticks your dick,” Dugan says once when Steve attempts to bring it up, “Just as long as Barnes doesn’t shoot me in the ass for giving you shit about being his wife.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t shoot you in the ass Dum Dum.” Bucky says, “I’d aim for your dick, though to be honest, even I might miss with how small that thing is.”

Dernier laughs like a hyena and Dum Dum makes a noise so outraged the whole group of them know it’s fake, “You’re a real bastard Barnes, you know that?”

“Funny, that’s not what your Mom told me.  Now, gentlemen and assholes, I’ve gotta take a piss. I know it’ll be hard on you all, but try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.” Bucky says and heads off into the woods surrounding them, though not before he brushes a kiss to Steve’s waiting cheek as he passes by.

-

Steve doesn’t expect it to start up again after everything is the thing. Things change, and sometimes old habits die when exposed to 70 years of separation and ice and brainwashing. He can’t go around expecting Bucky to be exactly who he was before it all, and that includes silly little habits like a kiss before he leaves.

No matter how much Steve wants them.

And so it’s a shock when Bucky stops in the middle of putting on his coat to bend down and brush a kiss to Steve’s cheek as he’s saying his goodbyes and heading out the door. It’s not quite timed right, because Steve wasn’t expecting it, and it hits the corner of his eyes more than his cheek, but it’s still a kiss, it’s still one of their kisses, one of their things, and Steve spends a long time staring at the door with a stupid smile on his face after Bucky leaves.

-

Natasha notices first, because of course she does.

“So you and Barnes, huh?”  She asks after Bucky’s out the door, Steve still rubbing absently at the spot on his cheek where Bucky had bestowed the traditional goodbye kiss.

Steve stares, a little baffled as to how this is a question that even needs to be asked. “No, we fucked up his HYDRA programming with the power of friendship.”

Natasha doesn’t react visibly to Steve’s sarcasm, instead waving it away with a “Stranger things have happened.”

-

“You know, when we were chasing your long lost murder boyfriend around I didn’t expect you two to be so damn domestic.” Sam says the first time he sees it, when Bucky goes to get dinner out of the oven and presses a customary kiss into Steve’s cheek as he goes.

“Wilson, just because I can think of twelve ways to murder you from right here doesn’t mean I can’t be domestic.” Bucky says from the kitchen.

“We lived together. We just invited you to dinner. Bucky’s cooking. How does that not read as domestic?” Steve asks at the same time.

“Hey, I’ve seen your cooking Steve. I figured we were going to be sitting on your couch watching shitty documentaries and eating Chinese food, not eating whatever the hell Barnes is cooking in there.” Sam says, very much ignoring Bucky’s vague threats. It’s probably for the best, even if Bucky always seems disappointed when Sam doesn’t take the bait. 

“My Ma’s pot roast.” Bucky says as he emerges from the kitchen with the roasting pan and places it in a point of pride on the table.

“It’s the best.” Steve says as Bucky brushes past, squeezing at Steve’s shoulder on the way back into the kitchen.

He returns with a pot of gravy, gets that settled, and then proceeds to pull out the electric carving knife that Scott had given him and that Bucky takes every opportunity to use, a look of glee on his pretty, pretty face. Steve’s pretty sure that that look on Bucky while holding a weapon would fill most people with at least a vague sense of terror, but mostly it just makes Steve want to kiss him.

“Dad knife.” Sam whispers.

“Huh?” Bucky’s nose is just slightly wrinkled in confusion. It’s stupidly adorable and Steve dislikes him immensely for it.

“Nothing.”

“Riii-iiight.” Bucky says before taking great relish in carving the roast into chunks and then slapping piles of food onto everyone’s plates.

He gives Steve the most, because apparently all of their old habits die hard.

For Sam he puts a tiny slice of roast and a single potato, a shit eating grin on his face when he says “I know birds can’t eat a lot.”

“You know what man? Fuck you.” Sam says, only sounding a little offended as he shoves his plate back at Bucky until he gives him a proper serving of food.

“Nah, that’s Steve’s job.” Bucky says, finally shucking off his apron and sitting next to Steve, pressing a kiss into Steve’s hair as he goes and seeming to relish in the disgusted groan from Sam.

jen im the biggest nothing, UNLESS we’re talking biggest jen stan or biggest dork, then i am both of those. i thought you were so cool (still true), your sebastian meme photo went viral and then you TALKED to me and im like WHOA SHE’S SO COOL and i’m so so so glad we’re friends ilu <3

aah hey, jen! and haha spreadsheets can be annoying but they’re hella useful; i’ll give him a listen!! sorry for the wait, and your rate is under the cut :)

no more, sorry

STEVE “THE MOST EXTRA” ROGERS DESERVES AN EXTRA AF PROMPT TBH. 

Here, have a Modern No Powers Stucky AU in which they still somehow turn out to be superheroes. Except it’s less focused on superhero-ing and more focused on Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Being Ridiculous. 

Steve never quite planned to be a masked vigilante if he’s entirely honest, and he especially never planned to have the public go all weirdly Thomas Paine on him and pair him in their collective consciousness with some dude he’s never met, dubbing them the Summer and Winter Soldiers. 

He blames The Winter Soldier. Steve hadn’t even had a name before ol’ Winter decided his name was going to be seasonally themed. What’s next? An Autumn Soldier? The Spring Soldier? Are they going to become a foursome of people who have never even met each other? 

Jesus Christ. 

“You’re just mad they wouldn’t call you Nomad.” Bucky says, taking up all the space he’s physically possible of taking up on their couch. Bucky, of course, knows, because how the hell is Steve supposed to hide a thing like this from his roommate and best friend? 

He’s not. There’s no way to hide that kind of thing. So Bucky’s just like, Steve’s totally and completely platonic Lois Lane in the comic book that is Steve’s life. 

“Nomad is a perfectly valid name.” Steve insists, bent over his sewing machine as he adds some reinforcement to the panels on his suit. The fabric’s stiff and a bitch to sew and Steve’s definitely using the wrong needle, but he’s also not willing to walk a million blocks in search of the right type. 

“Uh-huh, sure it is.” Bucky says like he’s indulging Steve. Which is rude as hell and Bucky knows it. 

“Perfectly. Valid.” Steve says again, this time with more insistence and the flourish of him pulling his suit from his sewing machine. He holds it up so Bucky can see it in it’s entirety. “What do you think?” 

Bucky lets out a low impressed whistle as he looks at the costume over his book, “Lookin good Sunshine Soldier.” 

-

After awhile Steve even stops feeling so damn incredibly annoyed by the name he’s been given. He still bitches occasionally, and Bucky’s always quick to say something like “Nomad was a stupid name Rogers.” or “Captain America was even worse. You can’t just go around claiming to be the Captain for an entire country, I’m pretty sure that’s an earned rank.” 

So, okay, Steve can accept that he’s the Summer Soldier and some random dude fighting bad guys on his turf is the Winter Soldier. He can even lean into it sometimes. 

The Winter Soldier dresses like a goth assassin and wears a red star. The Summer Soldier wears red, white, and blue and wears a white star. The Winter Soldier is brunette and presumably broody. The Summer Soldier is blonde and makes spangly comments to the press about ‘Just another day on the job,’ while flashing a megawatt smile to the camera. 

It’s a working system and Steve’s mostly pretty okay with it. 

At least until he ends up in an alley with The Winter Soldier, who has the most dramatic first line Steve’s ever heard in his entire life. And Steve’s known Bucky Barnes since he was a goddamn toddler. He suffered through Bucky’s painful emo phase in highschool. He’s heard drama. 

“A bold move for the Summer Soldier to show his face here in the shadows of night.” The Winter Soldier says as they stare each other off in the shadows of an alley way at 3 am on a Friday night. 

Steve would be incredibly busy laughing if he didn’t know that voice. 

“Bucky?” 

“What? Who the hell is Bucky?” It comes out suspiciously high, like Bucky’s trying to lie and has suddenly realized this is Steve he’s talking to. 

“You, you asshole!” Steve says before wacking Bucky right across the shoulder with his shield. 

Bucky winces and rubs his shoulder, then with all the eloquence one could expect of him says “Uh?” 

“You’re- You- You’re the- You!!” Steve, for once in his life, feels an extreme loss of words as he jabs an accusatory finger at Bucky. 

“In my defense-” Bucky starts, which is the exact moment Steve finds his words. 

“You never told me! You knew, all this time, exactly who I was and you couldn’t be bothered to be like ‘hey Stevie, guess what?’ You asshole. You total asshole! You’re a goddamn jerk James Barnes and this is the jerkiest thing you’ve ever-”

And then Bucky does something that could either be very stupid, or very smart, and cuts Steve off by smashing his face against Steve’s face. 

Or, well, Steve guesses it’s technically a kiss, but Steve’s still talking when it happens and he jerks his head forward hard enough that they quite literally smash their faces together at first. There’s a minor adjustment, and then they’re kissing, properly kissing and Steve somehow ends up against what is probably a very dirty wall. 

“Is this- You want to- with me? Or is it just to get me to stop yelling at you?” Steve asks when they break for air. 

“Yes.” Bucky says and does something very distracting that involves his teeth and Steve’s jaw.

“To the first or the second?” 

“Both.” 

“Right.” Steve says, and then “Right. Okay. Good to know.” 

“And you?” Bucky asks, the very distracting thing done to Steve’s jaw becoming a very distracting thing done to Steve’s throat. 

IMAGINE, Steve and Sam are kicking around, searching for Bucky after the events of CA:TWS, and somehow, to Steve’s surprise and Sam’s delight they end up in like idk, the Caribbean or Barcelona or somewhere nice and beachy. 

Steve’s restless as hell, wants to keep going, wants to find his Bucky, but Sam seems so happy to just like, take a goddamn break that Steve can’t even think about bitching about how they gots to go. 

Okay, he thinks about it. A lot. But he doesn’t actually do it. No, instead he sits on a beach with his goddamn friend and wears the stupid Hawaiian print swim trunks Sam bought him and drinks fruity drinks and argues about whether the captain’s platter at the local seafood restaurant would actually be the best bang for their buck or not. 

“Yeah?” Steve nods. “That’s, uh, I should go grab my jacket, and we can, uh…” Bucky makes like he’s gonna leave, and before he knows what he’s doing, Steve raises his legs up, blocking Bucky’s way out from the bar. “Hey,” Bucky says.

“One sec,” Steve says, grabbing the sleeve of Bucky’s shirt. “Could you just…” He tugs Bucky over and straightens his own posture. Legs still up, and fingers clenching Bucky’s shirt, Steve closes the distance between them and kisses Bucky.

He hears Bucky give a small breath of surprise, but then feels him relax. Bucky pulls in, places a gentle hand on the side of Steve’s face and lets the kiss linger. When they pull apart — just inches — Bucky says, quietly, “Wanted to kiss the cook for a long time now.”

“Me too,” Steve says.

Kiss the Cook

HOO BOY. This was The Scene. Like, this was the twinkle in my eye before this fic was a thing. Steve putting his leg up to block Bucky from leaving the bar and then kissing him was like... what kept me going through the whole thing. I was like... what a cheeky Steve thing to do, how charmed would Bucky be by that. All the romantic tension throughout the fic leading up to this very quiet moment, just the two of them at the bar, leg up, no escape. 

Looking back, I’m not 100% thrilled with how it’s written. (The joke after where I left off is Bad.) By that point, I’d written the epilogue, which I think is the best part of the fic. (I also think that Bucky’s vows are possibly the best thing I’ve ever written. I remember hand writing them while I was sitting in bed in my senior year dorm and actually weeping as I wrote them, because I was an emotional mess at the time.) But I think it also represents like... a Lot for me. I started writing Kiss the Cook at the beginning of my senior year of college. I was Very Depressed and suicidal for a lot of while I wrote it. But after I got into grad school in January, things started improving. The last couple chapters of the fic feel like a celebration for me, personally, as I got through that period.

It was a stressful experience writing a chaptered fic. I hadn’t done it since I wrote fics on fanfiction.net, and most of those are still incomplete to this day. So it also represents like... finishing a fic like this.