#softstuckyweek2016

ONE LAST ENTRY FOR @softstuckyweek!

Once again, this can be read as a standalone vignette (and you can pay little mind to the prologue. Also you do not need to’ve read Re-establishing Contact to understand anything here). This is basically just schmoopy Christmas fluff with no warnings (except for maybe one reference to alcohol consumption) so please come read and make merry! no seriously please come read I’ve been working on this fic for months and it’s gotten so little love

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Captain America (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Skinny Steve, genie Bucky Barnes, Christmas Fluff, Artist Steve Rogers, Maybe the tiniest bit of angst, like so small, but then soft, Soft Stucky Week Series: Part 4 of If Wishing Made It So, Part 4 of Soft Stucky, Warm Stucky, Little Ball of Sass Summary:

It's not technically Steve and Bucky's first Christmas together. It's not even their second. It is, however, going to be their first Christmas together, their first real chance to celebrate it right, and Steve wants to it to be perfect. But it does leave him with the minor problem of: what exactly do you get for the golden-eyed immortal genie who loves you?

Steve finally thinks he has an answer, but it may involve a wish.

My last @softstuckyweek fic. If you haven’t read the rest of the series you can probably still read this one and have it make sense? I put a basic summary under the cut if anyone wants one.

“You’re three minutes late,” Steve says, and flashes his phone.

The screen says it’s 4:18 PM, and Bucky had texted earlier that he’d be back at quarter past four. So technically Steve is right, as well as exactly the kind of an asshole that would point it out. Bucky loves him more than he sometimes thinks should be possible.

This year Bucky wants a quiet Christmas at home.

Words: 2121, Chapters: 1/1

Part 9 of an approximation of domesticity series

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes,  Steve Rogers

Relationships: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Christmas is knocking on their door, softstuckyweek2016

Notes:

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3500 Summary:  It’s not like the two of them planned to get caught in the bathroom at King T'Challa’s New Year’s Eve celebration, dressed to the nines with their cocks out, a mess between the two of them, and one very vibrant red fluffy thong on display for all to see.

(this has been so many months in the works that @slaughterme-barnes probably doesn’t remember that time I suggested beardy!Steve and spectacles!Bucky at her, but this is the result of that brainstorm.  It’s also my official contribution @softstuckyweek, which has been such a gift.)

It was quiet for a Friday.  Some scientists on the television were examining the continuing search for life on Mars.  Bucky leaned into Steve's side on the sofa, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.  It was one of those idle sorts of days where Bucky's mind worried over things more than usual.

"What was my grandma's name?" asked Bucky, apropos of nothing.  He could tell he had that slightly pained expression he got when he tried to remember things that remained just past the veil of obscurity, no matter how hard he concentrated.

"Hmm?" Steve blinked.  It took him a moment to catch up to the question.  "Which one?"

"The one you met," clarified Bucky, "at least I think you met her."

Steve thought a moment before the answer came to him.  Bucky wondered if Steve puzzled at the way Bucky would sometimes pluck questions out of the air like fine, invisible cobwebs that hung undusted in the ceiling corners of his tired mind.  "Esther," said Steve, settling warm against him, the beginnings of a soft beard tickling against Bucky's neck.  "Your mom's mom?  Her name was Esther.  Your mom invited me to dinner once when she was visiting.  She overcooked the roast, but we didn't mind."

Bucky nodded.  "That was a few months before she died," he said, resting his hand on Steve's leg with a light squeeze.  "I think it was a stroke.  She made the nicest hamantaschen, Steve.  She called me... her little prince."

Bucky had always loved spending time with his grandmother when he was small: he remembered her sat at the kitchen table with his mother, drinking hot tea and speaking and arguing together in hushed tones and words he did not understand, but then, she would turn her attention to him, because it was time to bake.

She had always been so patient with him, telling him step by step everything she did, as he watched with rapt attention, balancing on tippy-toes to peek over the kitchen counter, until it was his turn.  Under her guidance, he would carefully press circles out of the sheet of dough, then place a spoonful of jam into the centre of each - not too much, just enough.  If a few stray spoonfuls of jam were mysteriously eaten in the process, his grandmother was kind enough to pretend not to notice.

"The boy's got a future as a baker," she told his mother.

"I'm sure he'd love the idea," his mother replied, "until he finds out how early bakers have to wake up in the morning to start the bread."

Bucky remembered how much smaller she had seemed only a few years later, when Steve met her.  She was so frail by then, but smiled at the boys, turned to his mother, and said,

"Winnie, since when have I had two grandsons?"

"Grandma, this is my friend Steve," Bucky told her.

"Pleased to meet you, Ma'am," said Steve, with a shy smile.

"I like this one," she replied, clapping a hand softly on his shoulder.  "I think we'll keep him.  Welcome to the family, Steve."

After she died, Steve would take Bucky to the little neighbourhood bakery that made those little cookies - not quite as good as Grandma Esther's, but delicate and sweet and delicious in their own right.  Bucky picked up the remote from where it had wedged itself between the sofa cushions, and paused the programme.

"That bakery we used to go to," he said, "Kate said she was pretty sure it's still there."

He had asked her about it in Los Angeles, when he learned she had lived in Brooklyn.  He had thought about going back on his own, but back then, before Steve found him and they found their way home, the thought of trying to go back on his own, so tired and still confused, the prospect of so many landmarks that lived as signposts in his memory being gone, was overwhelming.  Steve said nothing, but smiled that little smile that made Bucky's heart do backflips, and told him Steve was having ideas.  Steve stood, taking Bucky by the hand.

"If we go now, we should be able to make it before sundown," he said.  "I wonder if they'll remember us."

"Yeah, that sounds realistic," grinned Bucky, shrugging on his coat.  "Come on, punk."

redraw of this old piece because @softstuckyweek happened and i thought it would be a good idea