#beefybuckyswap

[ladywintersoldat]

Something Hidden in the Heart

Here’s my gift to Taylin @chvystiel (it won’t let me tag for some reason) for @beefybuckyswap‘s gift exchange!

It’s a little fic I whipped up and hopefully the recipient will like it!  They suggested the Avengers throwing Bucky a birthday party with Steve and him sneaking out for their own celebration. A wee bit o Stucky thrown in as well! Had some help from @abovethesmokestacks for beta reading and encouragement.

Words: 4273

Warnings:  Just some cursing, a suspicious Bucky, and a brief appearance by almost every superhero in an Avengers/Cap movie 

Bucky padded around the quiet, empty apartment in his socks and pajama pants with the inexplicable feeling that something was up.  It was rather unsettling considering the fact that if there was one thing in his awful skill set he could be proud of after all his unnaturally long years, it was his ability to figure shit out.  But in this instance, he hadn’t the foggiest.  He knew Steve was acting weird, hiding something from him.  Nothing terrible, he could tell, maybe because he seemed to have a sixth sense for that sort of thing when it came to Rogers; always had, if his patchy memory served him at all these days.  Still, this went beyond his favorite blond bombshell.  The whole damned team seemed to be in on it and that was bothersome.  Definitely not conducive to a happy Friday morning.

Keep reading

[dietraumerei]

Fic for @iamteambucky

Here’s my fic for the @beefybuckyswap! @iamteambucky requested Steve/Bucky/Darcy, and I tried to do it justice. My love for early women’s health history might have snuck in too. I hope you like it!

“That's the problem with sold-state drives,” Darcy explained. “They don't heat up, and my laptop no longer doubles as a hot-water bottle.”

“Yeah, wow, living in the future really sucks,” Bucky deadpanned. “Here's my Advil.” He handed over the little bottle and a glass of water, and watched Darcy suck them both down. “You want an actual hot water bottle?”

“Nah.” Darcy slumped back on the sofa and closed her eyes. “You free to hang out?”

“I think I can manage that. You need some petting?” Bucky teased, poised and ready to cuddle.

“Eurgh. With your eyes,” she commanded, and laughed when he made a sad noise. “Okay, fine. Sit here and I'll use you as a pillow.”

She sat up for a moment while Bucky took his spot, and then took great joy in snuggling down on his thighs. They were very, very nice pillows.

“You're still nicer to deal with than Steve,” Bucky assured her.

“...that's not really a high bar there, kiddo,” she said, cracking one eye and peering up him.

Bucky shrugged. “I take what I can get in this world.”

Darcy grinned at him, and settled back on the sofa. At least her boys had had the sense to get nice furniture. And nice legs.

Admittedly, they'd only been her boys for about a month now. She'd met Steve before, mostly noticing him as an attractive and infinitely sad lump of supersoldier. He was nice enough, she supposed. And she'd heard that Bucky had been found, and come home with Steve, and was adjusting.

Thor had dragged her along to Tony's 'because I want to' party and she'd gone with great huffs and sighs. Everyone was fine. They were fine. But a gal could only take so much super-powered white-boy angst, before needing to find Nat and go into a corner to do shots.

She had been rescued this time not by Nat, but by first an utterly transformed Steve – he was glowing. He was alive, and funny, and dweeby in a charming sort of way. And he'd introduced her to Bucky, who was quiet and charming and made the mistake of asking her what she did.

(Also he was gorgeous and his bicep was the size of her head and he was gorgeous. Exactly the way she liked her men. He'd turned around at one point, his waist twisting and hips moving into relief and her mouth had gone dry.)

“Really?” she had wound up saying about sixteen times that night. “You want to know this detail? Okay, man, your funeral.” And she'd explained some weird aspect of her research or another, or told him how they knew things, or told him her instagram feed so he could add her, because this was the life of someone who interned for someone who dated a sorta-kinda god who was definitely a superhero.

She and Bucky had hit it off that night, and Steve, popping in and out of the conversation, had been sweet and funny and deliciously sarcastic. So had Bucky, for that matter. And, somehow or other, her science talk and her instagram feed and her promise to show Bucky where to get coffee that didn't involve standing in line while someone fretted about coconut milk had landed them...here.

Well, had landed them in bed first. Her and her boys. There was nothing super-serious yet, and Darcy was one million percent okay with that. The feelings between Steve and Bucky were super-serious enough for about six people, and she was just a gal trying to make it in the big city, as she often told them. Dinner and drinks and some heart- and other things- pounding sex was about all she wanted.

She reminded herself of this, having found herself practically in Bucky's lap, on their sofa in the Tower, waiting for the Advil to work and for her back and belly to stop aching quite so horribly.

“What did women do about this shit?” she asked, desperate for distraction. The usual wasn't really going to swing it that moment, even if her head was like two inches from what she knew was a very, let's say, proportional dick. “When you were little, I mean.” Something occurred to her. “Did you know what women did?”

Bucky laughed out loud. “Not when I was really little. But I've got – I had – sisters.” he corrected himself and Darcy pushed herself up to hug him because Christ that was a horrible sentence to say.

“You have,” she informed him, and went in for another hug. Some things were way, way more important than not really wanting to be touched.

“Lie back down,” he said, and pushed her gently into his lap. “Right. Yeah, so, Mom was relatively young, plus three sisters, plus, I mean, everybody and their brother lived on top of each other.” Bucky smiled down at her. “It sucked, if you were wondering. My littlest sister, she was like you. Every time of her month was hard on her, poor thing. Hot water bottles, Midol, you name it.”

Darcy brightened. “You had Midol?”

“Uh huh. Kinda cool that's still around,” Bucky said. “But for what they actually did...” He shrugged. “Mom made pads out of rags, I remember watching her sew them. And I had a girlfriend who did the same, and made a kind of belt that she'd pin them to.”

Darcy nodded, relaxing a little at his soft, rough voice. “Yeah, I read about them. Before pads were sticky.”

“Uh huh.” Bucky touched her hair, but no further, because he was a mensch like that. “My sisters saved up and bought pads though – I remember the old Kotex boxes, even though they tried to hide them.”

“No tampons?” Darcy asked.

“Not that I knew of,” Bucky admitted. “Ask Steve, his mom was a nurse, she'd know more.”

Perfectly on cue, they heard the front door open, and Steve appeared a few minutes later, having already shed his jacket and shoes. He kissed them each hello, and settled on the floor by Darcy's waist, leaning in to give her side a little kiss. It was far more charming than it had any right to be.

“Speak of the devil,” Bucky said. “She was asking about period stuff, back when we were young. Were tampons around?”

“Uh huh. Not popular, though,” Steve confirmed. “Mom once brought some home for a neighbor girl. You having a rough time, honey?”

Darcy shrugged. The Advil was starting to work, although she still felt pretty gross.

“Yeah, it blows. I remember Edith, Bucky's little sister. Every month, just absolutely miserable,” Steve reminisced.

Bucky's smile could light a room. “Edith, yeah. Hey, I remembered right.”

Darcy head-butted his belly. “'Course you did.” She gave a cautious stretch. “Sorry I'm sucky, guys.”

“Whatever, this one's always sucky,” Steve advised her, nodding towards Bucky.

“He wishes.”

Darcy giggled, and settled back to listen to them bitch each other out, happy to rest in Bucky's lap, even happy when he forgot and draped an arm over her chest. It was a nice weight, anyway, and she felt...a part of things.

Yeah, she could deal with that.

[tisfan]

Hey there! I'm your mysterious beefy Bucky exchange fic writer. You haven't requested anything specific for your fic and I have a couple of ideas. So, without giving too much away, how would you feel about a guardians of the galaxy crossover?

Hello anonymous!I would love a guardians of the galaxy crossover piece. (Seriously, pair him up with Quill, that’d be awesome!) I’m pretty easy. (I don’t like mpreg and ABO is not my jam) but aside from that, everything’s good… smut or non-smut. @beefybuckyswap

[crow-sizna]

My gift for @trappingsofzed for the @beefybuckyswap

I wanted to draw a alternative version of the scene where Steve is rescuing Bucky. I really hope you like it

[phoenixgryphon]

Some super belated Beefy Bucky exchange art for @lasenbyphoenix

I ended up pinch hitting for them after a few people were unable to, Izzy and I are super sorry you had to wait this long and are really greatful you stuck with us.

I shouldnt be typing this up at like 2am because my brain is potato but they wanted some Bucky in bedclothes. I’m sorry it wasn’t drawn by Steve as mentioned in one of the previous asks lalskdng but I don’t think my style + pencil brushes would have fit so I ended up doing some artistic liscence with it. However I was able to add in the Monty Python reference and quirky mug (thank you izzy for mug inspiration B) ).

I hope this is okay asdfasdf

@beefybuckyswap

[comedicdrama]

He’s Shy, by comedicdrama (x)

Then, an unfamiliar face. Someone new. Someone previously unseen—the man behind the camera. The man behind the keys. He's shy, the text reads, followed by a chain of emojis: a few blushing emojis, a grinning emoji, and most puzzling, a monkey covering its eyes and grinning. What the See No Evil monkey had to do with the situation, Steve couldn’t decipher, but of his immediate concerns, that was somewhere near the bottom, given Bucky. "Say hi to the internet!" Kamala’s voice says, from behind the camera. Bucky glances up briefly, flicking his eyes up towards the camera and smiles, coy, into his long, fluffy-looking hair. "Hi, internet," he replies, not taking his eyes off his notebook, but smiling, nonetheless. It’s a notably perfect smile, even ducked into his hair. Steve takes particular interest in that. From “the lions”, by Spacedog. For @softpunkbucky, for the Beefy Bucky Exchange 2017 (@beefybuckyswap).

[little-nutmeg]

Here’s the big reveal for my Beefy Bucky Exchange ( @beefybuckyswap ) in honor of Bucky’s birthday! My son deserves a break and something fluffy like a relaxing bath was requested. 

My recipient was @frau-argh, and I hope you enjoy it! 

[also let me know if you want me to post it on ao3 as well. I’ve never posted art there before so I wasn’t sure it would work. :P]

[trish-argh]

Happy Beefy Bucky Swap to @dietraumerei <3 I really hope you like it <3

click for a larger view

And Happy Belated 100th Birthday to Bucky. All I want for him is to spent his birthday somewhere deep in the Wakandan jungle, just being happy and lazy and crazy in love.

Made for the @beefybuckyswap exchange :)

[steverogersnotebook]

The Intruder

gift for @phoenixgryphon from the @beefybuckyswap

(or read it on Ao3)

Gen / Bucky Barnes and Lună / Fluff, VEry Fluff

Bucky stirred the stew on the stovetop, exchanging cautious glances with the cowering mess of fur and pale green eyes in the corner. He’d been distracted, trying to get the reclaimed items he’d found for future projects through the door and the thing had streaked in ahead of him too fast, even for his reflexes. He tried to tell it to go away, but that didn’t work. It had immediately shrunk to half its size and hadn’t budged from the corner the entire time it took him to put his jacket away and take off his shoes.

Not even the soft lamp light and quiet melodies coming from the small radio could soothe it. He ignored it entirely as he settled into his kitchen to tend the stew that had been simmering most of the afternoon. His indifference didn’t seem to reassure the little ball of fluff either.

The clatter of dishes as he pulled a bowl down from the shelf made it curious, he thought, since it stuck its neck out a little, allowing Bucky to see how thin the cat was. Before, it could simply be dismissed as small, but the poor thing wasn’t very well filled out for what appeared to be a mature cat. It wasn’t a very big mature cat, but it – she – wasn’t a kitten. Bucky filled a bowl and walked around to sit at the table and read the paper he’d picked up while he was out.

This wasn’t going to happen. No way in hell was he going to become attached to the mangy, thin, dirty… he looked at her again… He groaned, standing up and crossing cautiously in front of her, and pulled out a chipped plate.

Bucky scraped half of his stew, really good stew that he’d made from Mrs. Constantin’s recipe, onto the plate and stuck it under the pink nose of the thin gray cat. She sniffed and daintily licked at the sauce.

“Picky little punk.” Bucky shook his head, moving stealthily to avoid spooking the sad interloper. “I know how you feel, you gotta take it slow if you ain’t had a lot to eat. Don’t wanna press your luck.” Bucky walked over to the mismatched sofa, “and now I’m talking to a cat.”

No, it wasn’t happening! Bucky thought. It had already happened.

He pulled the large knitted blanket around his shoulders, tucked his toes under the floppy pillow at the end of the couch, and opened his notebook. He groaned when he remembered the other half of his stew, abandoned on the kitchen counter. He was always finding things stashed on shelves and in other odd places, forgotten for some other project.

Hunger outweighed coziness for the time being, and he tossed the soft blanket aside, setting his notebook on the cushion so that he’d remember that was what he’d been doing when he was there last. Bucky scooped another partial ladle full into his dish to warm what had been allowed to cool.

“MEOW!” the large voice coming from his small guest demanded.

“Really?” Bucky pushed his hair back over his shoulder as he stooped to drizzle more stew onto the brightly colored plate. “I didn’t cook for two, you know.”

She was staring at him with a completely different attitude, regal and expectant. He opened the cupboard, pulling out a chocolate bar and a bag of chips. “You shouldn’t have any of this, but maybe this one time, huh?”

Bucky moved around the cat, back to his spot on the couch. He had the packaged snacks under one arm, his bowl in his left hand. He picked up the discarded notebook and sat. The books and snacks were relegated to his lap while he ate his dinner.

What was he going to do about the vagrant currently lapping up stew in his kitchen? He should shoo her out with the broom – but as a boy, that had always seemed so harsh when his mother (or was it one of the neighbor ladies?) did it.

The crinkle of the wrapper as he opened his candy brought the little thing over almost faster than when she had let herself in in the first place. He didn’t hear her as much as he experienced her manifestation in the middle of his lap. She sat tall, stretching her skinny neck up high. He supposed it was to make herself noticeable. He tugged on the blanket that engulfed him and she stumbled before unsheathing claws from all four feet into the muscles of his thigh.

He could take it, he gritted his teeth, he’d taken worse hits than a scrawny cat and her merciless knife toes. “Dammit,” Bucky cursed, “you don’t need to do that.” She plunged her front claws repeatedly into his thigh, kneading at the bulk of it. Bucky nudged her hind end a little and she looked up at him, bumping the hand with the candy bar in it. “Oh no you don’t.”

Bucky set the candy on the arm of the sofa and opened the chips. He broke a small piece off and stuck it in her face, waving it under her nose. “You’re a real menace, you know?”

She ate the little piece and nudged him again, rubbing along the length of his metal forearm. Bucky pulled out a full-sized chip and set it in front of her. She tapped it and patted at it before knocking it off his leg and onto the floor.

“Well you little sh…” He watched her go pouncing after the chip, chasing it as it skittered across the linoleum. Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle, which startled the cat. She froze, hunched over the chip. Bucky knew that feeling all too well. He looked away from her, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders, and buried his thoughts in his notebook.

Before long he heard skittering and a crunch. Then silence. He smiled readily and continued writing, this time, making a list. If he was down to stew, it was time to do some shopping. He was thinking about the things in his cupboards and fridge when a paw crept up over the edge of the couch. Bucky set another chip on his leg and waited for his visitor to do something about it. Two tentative paw swipes later, the cat’s claw hooked the edge of the chip and it landed on the floor under the couch. Bucky looked over the edge to see the small animal slink underneath. He heard and felt part of the skirmish as she bumped her head along the underside of the couch before slinging the chip across the floor.

Bucky set the pen in the center of his notebook before closing it. He set it, and the chips and empty candy wrapper on the arm of the couch before pulling the blanket tighter over himself. He wasn’t in the mood to finish the list, or to go shopping. Maybe tomorrow. He pulled he hair off his neck, letting it splay across the pillow, and closed his eyes, listening to the soft swoosh and skitter of the cat and her makeshift toy. She was going to have to go, but for now, she wasn’t hurting anything. ‘Maybe tomorrow’, for that as well.

When Bucky awoke and couldn’t move his head, he started to panic. He found that his head was restrained, but he couldn’t figure out why or how. He looked to the ceiling recognizing the textures, the images he’d seen in them on sleepless nights. He was in his apartment. He took a breath and tried to move his head to the side. There was a tight tug on his hair. He blinked, reciting his name, the date, what he could see in front of him, while reaching tentatively for the top of his head. What he felt was warm fur wrapped around a bone-thin body, and his own hair. Only then did he remember the hobo kitty that had started calling the shots. She was lying across his hair, butted up against his head, effectively rendering him useless.

Bucky was frightened to move her, remembering how frail she had looked. He hadn’t touched something that delicate and living for much longer than he could imagine. If he picked her up, would he crush her? He tried pushing her away from his head with two fingers and received a shove in the head as she stretched.

She started kneading the top of his head, much the same as she’d abused his thigh earlier. Oddly, he found the repetitive movements, and even the prickle of her claws, comforting. The shockingly loud purr emanating from her tiny body and wrapping itself around him was equally reassuring. Bucky nearly let the cat lull him back to sleep, bundled in his blanket, it would be nice just to stay that way all day.

Lying there, stretched out on the couch, swaddled in a blanket, Bucky’s eyes drooped closed as he thought about how he might pick the cat up and move her. What movements and pressure would be required to pick her up gently but effectively? Then he remembered the chips. He reached over his head, beyond the combination of hair and cat, to the folded over package. He pulled a chip from the bag and dangled it over what he hoped from this angle was her head. The kneading stopped, the purring grew quieter, and she let out a “mew”. Bucky tossed a chip across the floor and the cat chased after it using his head as a springboard. Once he was freed from her hold, he had no choice but to get up.

Bucky threw off the blanket and stretched, groaning at the pain that shot down his spine, just another reminder he was alive, he thought. He stood up, stretching again. This time, a nice fulfilling full body stretch. Not quite yoga quality, but open enough to get the blood flowing. Next step, he gathered up the wrapper, the half-bag of chips, and his journal and put them on top of the fridge. He remembered the wrapper should actually go into the trash, so he grabbed it and put it into the bin. There was no more skittering, no crunching, so he looked around for the cat, and discovered her poised in the only sunny spot on the floor, openly cleaning herself. “Yeah, good idea.” Bucky muttered, folding the blanket and draping it across the back of the sofa.

Bucky scratched his neck and pulled his fingers through the length of his hair as he made his way to the bathroom. He started the hot water, allowing it to warm up to a nice, comfortable temperature, before putting the stopper in the drain. He looked at the crate on the back of the toilet, filled with colorful bath supplies. He pulled out a blue bath bomb and an orange one, sniffing each. He decided on the orange one and dropped the homemade Lush knockoff under the water, proceeding to take care of the rest of his morning needs while the tub filled and the steam carried the energizing citrus scent around the room.

He pulled a lemon yellow washcloth from the crate and set it on the side of the tub, tossed a pink and white scrubby onto the water, and set a jumbo-sized clean towel on the toilet lid before stripping out of his pants and tugging the t-shirt over his head. He stepped into the water and sank down, letting the warmth and the soft, fragrant water blanket him. The tub was a little snug, but not uncomfortably so. Many minutes were spent luxuriating in the heat and aroma with his eyes closed.

When Bucky did open his eyes, he could see the length of his hair fanned out in the water, floating around him. He looked down the ripples of his chest and poked his toe out of the water, turning the faucet off. He reached across the surface of the water for the floating pink scrubby. After the dreary darkness, a lifetime of everything being dark and gray, he really liked the bright colors that swirled in his bath. The foam and iridescent colored water pooled in the divots between his muscle groups as he swished the soft nylon mesh over his skin.

The silence of his bath, with the occasional swoosh of water, was interrupted by a tiny “meep”. When Bucky looked up, the little cat was sitting on the edge of the tub where the washcloth had been. The cloth was sinking into the water by his hip, and she looked at him as though daring him to tell her “no”.

“What am I going to do with you, doll?”

Bucky watched the cat as she gracefully traversed the rounded edge of the tub, around to his head, where she sniffed his temple and head-butted him while purring. The bathroom acoustics enhanced the sound.

“So, you want a bath too, do you?” Bucky grinned. “You’re gonna have to wait. You know you have to go today, right?”

She didn’t understand, or she didn’t care. She continued to bump his head until she started fishing strands of his hair out of the water.

Bucky continued to wash himself with the scrubby, until the string caught the little cat’s eye and he started dangling it in front of her, watching her practice her boxing, while balancing on the edge of the tub. He squeezed out the excess water and tossed the scrubby across the bathroom, toward the sink, and the cat leapt from the tub. She landed on the back of the toilet, walked in front of the crate to the sink, where she batted at the scrunchy thing and called out to it with varying meows.

He shook his head at her antics and smiled. Since the scrubby was no longer an option, Bucky dredged the washcloth from the bath to finish washing before lathering his hair and sinking under the water to rinse. When he surfaced, pushing all of his hair back, the cat was perched on the edge of the tub again, waiting for him.

“Ok, you’re gonna have to move. I’m getting out, then it’s your turn. Best way to start your day is to get whatever that is all over you, off. I promise it won’t hurt.” He thought about how he’d still not managed to pick her up, “I hope.”

Bucky chanced picking her up, holding her gently, and set her on the toilet lid after he grabbed his towel. He toweled his hair first, and then the rest of his body. He wrapped the towel around his waist and decided on the sink for cat-bathing duties. He also decided that if she changed her mind, he’d let her.

Halfway through filling the sink he pulled out the half-used bottle of baby shampoo he’d used for months before finding a better option, “what the hell am I doing?” he asked the tiny cat. Of course, by then, she was walking along the edge of the sink, arching her back, purring, and even pawing at him. He figured he had picked her up once and hadn’t crushed her. Maybe he could manage this.

One wet, clean cat later, Bucky was considering an old blow dryer he’d repaired. What would she do? She’d loved the bath, but that was completely different from a screaming, heat blasting electronic device mimicking a shitty windstorm. He decided to pull it out anyway, bending over, and blowing out his own hair. He laughed when she wandered in and out of the long strands, not giving the hair dryer a second thought. He blew it across her back quickly once and again as she wandered around his legs She didn’t seem to mind, so as soon as his own hair was relatively dried, he blew a puff of air across her butt and tail, and then into her face when she turned around. She looked up at him defiantly.

“You’re beautiful. What a way to start the day.” Bucky teased as the tugged the towel from around his waist and dropped it into the hamper. “I, on the other hand have a lot more to do.” Bucky regarded his face and torso in the mirror. Older than he remembered, more tormented than he’d asked for, but he could see some good things too. His eyes landed on the scars at his shoulder. “Just another reminder that you’re alive.”

It was surprising how many times Bucky thought about his little silver colored visitor while he was out getting his shopping done. She’d followed him out the door, which had been a relief, because he didn’t want to traumatize her by chasing her down. She’d scurried away as soon as he’d kick-started the motorcycle that he’d built from parts. He’d even given in and picked up some cat food while he gathered his staples. He figured that if she came back, it had to be better food for her than just feeding her chips and stew. If she didn’t, he could always give it to one of the ladies in the building who were always caring for the neighborhood’s feral cat community. That’s when the thought hit him. He was becoming one of the ladies in the building.

Not that it was a bad way to be, they were vigilant, took no guff from anyone, and looked out for the other residents. Maybe that was what was keeping him from becoming one of them. He didn’t do anything of the sort, only looking out for himself; and Mrs. Constantin, and maybe the young single mom on his floor and her little girl.

Fuck it. He was one of the ladies in the building.

Outside the grocer, Bucky balanced and tied everything down, securing it on the back of this motorcycle, tucking the smaller items and the eggs into his backpack before setting off for home. He couldn’t help but look around for the cat as he went through the door. As he started putting his groceries away, he decided that she was probably on to her next adventure. He could admit to himself that he felt a little bit of disappointment.

As soon as everything was in its place, Bucky considered changing into workout clothes and running to the railyard, instead of driving. He’d just had a nice bath not that long ago and he honestly didn’t want to get sweaty again so early. Maybe he’d go later. It would be better to go around dusk anyway, fewer people to question his workout choices. He would have gone before dawn, but that little cat had put him straight to sleep and he’d never looked back.

Bucky grabbed his journal off the fridge, picked the blanket up from the sofa, and wrapped it snugly around his shoulders. He sat cross-legged in the corner of the couch, and started writing. Every once in a while he’d jot a name for the cat in the margin, “Ash”, “Lună”, “Cenuşă”, “Cenușăreasă”. Each time he realized what he was doing, he’d scratch a line through the name and return to his memories, thoughts, speculation, and paragraphs of fiction. Those he’d outline with double borders, and put a question mark next to them so he could check and see if it was something he’d read or something he’d authored right there on the spot. His track record was about 3:1 original content.

Bucky stuck flags on the fiction and a few of his speculations, with the word “library” and the date that his current books were due written on them. He then padded across the tile floor in his stockinged feet to the shelf where the library books sat. He pulled the top book off and turned it over, and then he selected the next book in the stack. He put his journal on the fridge, grabbed a package of cupcakes and a glass of water, before returning to his blanket on the couch.

He read and nibbled, engrossed in the story, until the light coming in was dim enough that he had trouble reading comfortably. Bucky looked around, the color of the light indicating that it was nearing time to head out for his workout. He thought about getting workout clothes on, putting his cozy feet into structured shoes, unwrapping from his blanket, and though none of those things sounded appealing to him just then, he pushed himself to do them. Starting with the blanket, and a frown, he folded the blanket neatly and geared himself up for at least a run. If he was able to entertain the notion at all, it was better to get out and just do it.

The run to the railyard was uneventful, and the evening air was cool enough to allow him to enjoy it. With the streets on this route sparsely populated at this hour, he was able to push himself a little, getting to his hidden cache of improvised workout tools a little sooner. This wasn’t the first time the irony of his choice of makeshift gym made him laugh.

The abandoned shipping container was the perfect “building” at least on cooler days. The 200# railroad ties, even heavier train wheels, and the various other heavy-duty rail supplies made lifting more challenging. He often wondered what the crews thought when they found their maintenance cars moved anywhere from a few yards to a few hundred feet from where they’d left them. He was going to have to keep an eye out for added security cameras, or maybe he should stop pushing the speeders along the track.

Sweaty and hungry, Bucky paced his return trip by running through the quieter streets and walking through neighborhoods. He picked up speed as he reached the alleyway to his building’s back door. He stripped out of his shirt and used it to mop sweat from his face as he mounted the stairs. He was pleasantly surprised by the silvery surprise at his door, looking up at him with pale green eyes. She had the audacity to “Mew” at him.

“Really?” He begrudgingly smiled. “I guess you can come in. No home cooking tonight, we’re both eating conveniently. You get cat food, and it’s freezer fare for me.”

However, the last half of his statement was only half-true. It was from the freezer, but it was a wonderful home-cooked dinner Mrs. Constantin had sent home with him. Bucky put the frozen meal into the oven before putting some cat food onto the chipped plate from the night before. “Humble apologies princess, but I’m not about to start a kitchen project.” She pawed at his thigh as he crouched, holding the plate aloft. He watched for her possible retreat and chuckled when she didn’t budge. He and scratched behind her ear, finding an injury that hadn’t been there when he’d bathed her. “Well what did you do? Did you go out and get into trouble?” Bucky inspected it before setting the plate down. “I think you’ll live.

Bucky went into the bathroom, leaving her privacy to eat. For his own privacy, he closed the door and drew his second bath for the day. This time, he chose the blue bomb. He held it to his nose and inhaled. “Lavender should get the job done.” He sat on the side of the tub, watching as the water ran, dissolving the bath bomb, and turning blue. He decided tonight might be a good night to check the roof garden. He could see if there was more lavender to harvest, as well as some chamomile. He was going to need to dry more for tea soon. Maybe he’d even treat himself to some fresh chamomile tea, if the blossoms were plentiful enough.

Sinking into the water, he thought about the little cat, and how excited he’d felt when she appeared at his door. It made exactly no sense, because she had to go. He swished silky water over his abs and chest with a scrubby sponge, this time a green one, and settled his shoulders against the back of the small tub. He felt the warm water slosh and lap over his skin as he moved. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of his best copycat recipe yet. As the splish-splash sound of the water eased, he heard a thunk on the other side of the bathroom door and jumped. Surging to a seated positon and splashing water over the side of the tub, he grabbed the knife from behind the cute, color-filled crate.

Wary and anxious, he caught his breath when two silver paws darted under the door and the thunk repeated. “Lună”. He scolded. Apparently, that was her name now, “Don’t fucking do that.”

His tone was tender, but his heart was still pounding. He coolly replaced the knife and decided his bath was done. With a sigh, Bucky let the water drain away and dried himself before tossing the towel onto the spill on the floor. Warm, clean clothes were his consolation prize. He opened the bathroom door and “Lună” made her signature “meow” as she leapt up onto the sink, she watched as he tugged his jeans up. He laughed at her, scratching under her chin. She responded with a purr, and put her paws up on Bucky’s left shoulder. “I guess that makes you the prize. You do realize I can bathe without you. What? I gave you food.”

Her paws slipped along the metal at his shoulder, unable to sink her claws into anything. Bucky touched her pink nose with his index finger, and she sat, balanced on the edge of the sink. “I don’t know what to do about you.”

“Mew.”

“No, I don’t think it’s that simple Lună, I just don’t.” Bucky saw his smile in the mirror. “Want to come out onto the roof with me?”

Bucky tugged his shirt on and led the cat from the bathroom. He turned the oven off before grabbing a hoodie, two large bowls, and his garden shears. He led the parade of two up the stairs and through the door, out onto the roof. The city sounds were clear, but not as loud up here. It made him feel at home, as he wandered around his reclaimed wood planters, built one at a time inside his apartment over the colder months. The herbs had grown tall, or bushy, or low, all depending on the variety. Bucky set the bowls down next to the chamomile pots and started meticulously harvesting each blossom. The fairy lights that hung above the rows of containers were just enough light for him to sit comfortably on the edge of the pot and be able to see what he was doing.

Lună wandered between all of the containers and found the edge of the roof. Bucky’s heart hitched when she jumped up onto the wall. It wasn’t his place to scold her; she clearly knew what she was doing. It had been a long, long time since he’d had to scold someone for doing something stupidly dangerous. He’d learned that everybody had their own threshold and it wasn’t up to him to make sense of it. That didn’t stop him from looking over in her direction from time to time between harvesting.

Once his biggest bowl was full of chamomile blooms, Bucky moved on to the lavender. Lună followed him slyly, keeping to the wall, but tracking his movements. She wandered down the decorative staggered brick and leapt toward the lavender container. Bucky watched as she pressed one paw into the stems and then withdrew it, before putting both front feet in the center of one of the large plants. He smiled as she made three concentric circles and curled up right in the middle of the lavender plant he was trying to work on. She yawned up at him when he sighed. Bucky shook his head and grabbed a bunch of lavender stems, bunching and trimming, as the cat rolled onto her back, fast asleep.

“Is it the lavender? Or just a long day? I get it Lună,” Bucky looked up at the moon, “I still have some work to do before I can join you.”

Once the lavender was carefully pruned, Bucky clipped a mint sprig for tonight’s tea, and made a mental note to come up for more in the morning. He had a recipe for mint jelly he wanted to make, as well as some sweet treats. He gathered his harvest, and was content to leave the small sleeping visitor in her lavender bed beneath the three-quarter moon, but as soon as she heard the door click open, she was at his ankle with an accusatory “meoooow”

“By all means.” Bucky held the door and watched as she scurried ahead, and turned back to him with a peevish look. “What did I do? Who even said you were invited?” He chuckled as they made their way down to the next level.

Bucky started preparing the flowers for drying, hanging lavender bundles from his shelves, spreading chamomile flowers across a fine screen. He popped a handful of flowers and the mint sprig into a length of cheesecloth, which he tied off with twine. He set the makeshift teabag into his oversized mug and put the kettle on to boil.

Lună wandered between his feet and legs, making small, squawking noises, so Bucky found a bowl, and filled it with cool water. He set it down where her plate still sat, which reminded him that his dinner still waited in the oven. He picked up the plate and set it into the sink before opening the oven to inspect his food. He turned the heat back on figuring that by the time his kettle boiled, his dinner would be warmed up again.

Bucky continued tying and hanging lavender stalks while the stove worked its magic on his water and dinner. Lună went from lapping up water, to batting a fallen chamomile flower across the floor. Bucky pulled open the junk drawer and found a straw. He peeled the paper away, revealing bright green plastic. A sharp whistle got the cat’s attention, and he started wiggling the plastic over her head. She reached up, batting and pawing at it. Bucky withdrew it, snipped it in half with the scissors, and flicked one of the halves across the room. He laughed quietly as she chased it and cornered it by the door, then bounced it off the wall and chased it across the floor again.

Bucky ate his dinner standing over the sink, watching and listening as the cat chased the straw across the linoleum. She’d get very mouthy if she managed to get the straw stuck in the corner, but for the most part, she was able to free it on her own. He’d only had to kick it across the floor a couple of times. His laugh still startled her, and when it did, she’d freeze and cower. Once he’d laughed at her rolling somersault and she’d skittered under the couch to hide. His quiet singsong voice didn’t help, but the crinkle of last night’s chip bag sure brought her around.

While his tea steeped, Bucky washed the four dishes. He pulled the tea bag out and opened it up to let the flowers dry. He decided to sweeten tonight’s tea with a bit of honey. He could still smell the lavender on his fingers from harvesting, and in his hair from his bath. Tomorrow he’d use the rest of his dried herbs and make some more bath bombs after the jelly and mint treats. He was thinking maybe a strawberry tart. Possibly multiple small tarts he could share with Mrs. Constantin, Julia, and her little Ava.

With his tea still in hand, Bucky sat on the couch and took one shoe off at a time. He tucked his feet beneath himself and drew the blanket over either shoulder. Once he was comfortable, he opened the book he’d been reading earlier, and started reading more about Greasers and Socs.

Before long, Luna gave up on her toy, content to groom herself on the opposite end of the couch. She didn’t rest when she was done, instead crossing from the couch to the coffee table. Bucky shifted to lie across the couch and shooed her off the table with a quick hiss. She bravely hopped down, wandered around the coffee table, and rose up on her hind legs next to the couch, patting Bucky on the arm. “Mew…” pause; pat-pat. “Mew…” Bucky turned from the book to look at her narrow face. He reached past her, careful not to spook her, and pulled out a chip. He held it out to her and grinned when she licked it, appearing to try holding it between her paws.

“Listen, you already have built up expectations. You can’t do that. I’m not the guy for you. I’m not reliable, I’m not always this quiet, and I might forget to feed you. Nope, scratch that, you keep reminding me. It did take me almost twenty-four hours to think to give you water though. You’re doomed if you stay here.”

She nibbled the chip while he held it, ignoring every word he uttered.

“I give you chips, cat. That has to be the first rule of not being qualified to keep an animal. If the water thing isn’t the first rule, that is.” Bucky dropped the chip and watched her nibble on it before he sat back on the couch again. “I can’t have a cat Lună. You just don’t understand. I’m still working on keeping myself.”

“Mew.” She disagreed, jumping up in the middle of him. She sat on his midsection and bumped her head against the book he held.

Bucky lifted the book and looked at her under the roof it made. “Yes? Your complaint has been lodged.”

She stepped under the book tunnel and curled up in the center of his chest, flipping his chin with her tail until he laughed. He held the book so that he could still see it, trying to read, despite the hour and the rhythmic purring resonating in his chest. Before long, his eyes drooped closed, and the arm holding the book relaxed, dropping to dangle over the edge of the couch. When the book fell to the floor with a light clatter and a swish, it didn’t bother either sleeper.

Bucky yawned and stretched, rolling onto his side, and got four sharp claws buried in his pec for his trouble. Lună didn’t weigh enough for him to realize she was still there. “I’m sorry.” He offered in a sleepy voice as he eased back onto his back and scratched her ear. “How’s your wound?”

He looked toward the window, there should be enough light to inspect it, if she’d cooperate. Lună flicked her ear when he tried to look at it.

“I guess it’s fine then.” He chuckled. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, princess. Today you have to go.”

The silvery cat with the cool green eyes disagreed by hunkering down and purring against his chest.

“You don’t believe me? I’ve told you repeatedly, you’re better off without me. I promise I’ll miss you. You can come visit me in the garden sometimes. That would be nice.”

“Meow.” She was firm; maybe more firm with him than he was with her.

“You can’t. The boss will make you go. You know, the landlord? He’s gonna make me get rid of you, so you might as well make yourself scarce before I have to make a scene. You’ve never seen a pet movie, have you? There’s way too much crying.”

“Mew.” She stretched her front toes out ahead of her, pressing them against his mouth.

“Lună. Oh, Lună, Lună.” Bucky said, not moving the pink pads from his mouth. “Please don’t make me fight the landlord.”

The cat stretched her legs farther than he thought she could, pressing against them his lip again before standing and giving a full stretch. He watched her stand up and walk along his left side. She stepped off from his shoulder and sat down on the cushion next to Bucky’s ear. She bumped her little head against the side of his several times before he reached up to pet her head. He smiled as her purring started in.

“You’re just buttering me up for food.”

Deeper purring and she lay down between his ear and the side of the couch, putting her chin on his shoulder, pushing against it with her paws

“You’re gonna make me fight the landlord aren’t you Lună?”

Bucky knew the cat wasn’t going anywhere, he’d known it that first night. This wasn’t happening. It had already happened.

[sarsaparillaswords]

A gift for @comedicdrama​, my partner in the Beefy Bucky Gift Exchange!

I don’t actually know anything about chess so I borrowed the setup from a famous game, http://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1067175

I hope I got all the pieces in the right place, but the boys don’t seem to be looking at their game so they probably won’t notice if I swap a few around.

Happy 100th Birthday Bucky Barnes!

(@beefybuckyswap)

[evildeen]

little talks

My Beefy Bucky Birthday Exchange ( @beefybuckyswap) for @therothwoman! It’s a whole bunch of fluff with a pinch of angst (or maybe the other way around?). Hope you like it! c:

Brooklyn, NYC Steve’s apartment 5:51 AM

Who knew Captain America snored so badly?

Bucky left Steve to his horrendous snoring after being woken up by the hibernating bear not once, not twice, but four times throughout the course of the night. Sorry there’s only one bed, Steve said when they first started crashing here. I’ll take the couch.

Which was stupid. Steve barely fit on the couch. So Bucky took the couch, at first, then realized he was hardly sleeping anyway (being cryofrozen for six months in Wakanda seemed to be affecting his sleep, and he refused to acknowledge anything else as the culprit). For the past few nights they sat up in bed together talking until they both fell asleep. That was all fine and good until Steve got so deep asleep that he started sounding like a freight train.

Steve snored on and on, kind of sounding like he was drowning. Bucky decided in that moment, if he ever came across a time machine (which was entirely possible with The Way Things Were), he’d go back in time to the science team that made Captain America and make sure they added No Snoring, Ever to the super soldier serum.

They’d spent a week in this Brooklyn apartment. A little R&R, Steve called it. For six months, Bucky stayed in cryo before Steve and T’challa woke him up with news that they found the red Hydra book that contained all of the Winter Soldier’s secrets. They thought it might put Bucky at ease to destroy the Soldier’s trigger words and let Bucky decide to do with the rest. In some ways, it did, but with Hydra it was always something--which was why when Tony Stark offered an olive branch to get Steve leads on Hydra’s whereabouts, Bucky decided he was in for the fight, too.

Turning onto his side, Bucky propped up his head with his hand and watched Steve snore for a minute or two, somewhat relieved that his distressingly handsome friend could look so ugly while he slept. Last night, they sat up laughing and talking, and it had been ages--years, he feared--since Bucky allowed himself to laugh so freely. At first, the motions felt almost foreign to him, like riding a bike again for the first time since being a kid.  Turns out, he missed being able to smile like he used to--like he really meant it. And he did, now, here in Brooklyn with Steve.

Two years on the run, being alone, squatting in an abandoned apartment, dumpster diving, making barely enough money selling scrap metal and doing odd jobs to get by, took a different kind of toll on him. He wasn’t living--he was surviving. It wasn’t Hydra but it wasn’t good, either. Bucky dragged a hand over his face and ignored the tiny nagging thought that things weren’t “the way they were,” and that fighting Hydra meant a different kind of servitude. But Bucky had a lot to atone for.

Bucky’s eyes drifted from Steve to the faint outline of the shield stowed behind one of the curtains. Tony returned the shield, and Steve accepted it, but immediately tucked it out of sight. The mantle of Captain America left a bad taste in his mouth, but he wouldn’t admit it out loud. It showed in the way he looked at it warily, distrustfully--touched it like it would explode on him.

“Steve.”

Bucky pushed on Steve's shoulder. The man stirred, rolled onto his back, and continued breathing with his mouth open. A faint skein of drool scaled from the corner of his mouth to the pillow.

“Ah, geez. Come on, man.”

Bucky tap tap tap tapped Steve on the forehead with his metal finger. Steve reacted by scrunching up his face and muttering “butterfingers.” So Bucky escalated his attempts at waking him by flinging off the covers and placing his full metal hand on Steve's bare chest.

Steve’s eyes flung open and he shot up straight in bed. “Jesus, Bucky!”

“I was checking for signs of life.”

Steve pressed his palms into his eyes and rubbed. It wasn’t like him to sleep in late like this. Usually both of them were up and moving by five. “Sorry,” Steve mumbled.

“For what? You needed the sleep, man.”

“We gotta meet at seven for a mission brief at Avengers Tower.”

“Seven? Seven? In the morning?”

“Yeah.” Steve sat up and grabbed his pillow, tossed it at Bucky’s face. “We’re supposed to go on a recon mission, you know.”

“Ooooo,” Bucky said, the pillow sitting on his face and muffling him. “I thought recon missions would be beneath the great Captain America.”

“Buck,” Steve said. Bucky moved the pillow away and stared up at him with a smirk. “We talked about this. I’m not--”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re not Captain America anymore. Until you start acting like you’re retired, or you find a replacement--you’re not Captain America. I don’t make the rules.”

Steve folded his arms, inhaled as if to say something, before Bucky sat up and interrupted him. “If you’re so-called retired, then you’ll let me go to the meeting without you. How’s that?”

“But--”

“You can do some ‘retired’ ‘stuff,’” Bucky made air quotes with his fingers, “while I’m gone.”

---

“People hate pigeons, you know.”

Bucky smiled and turned his head to one side so Sam couldn’t see. Then he tossed another handful of breadcrumbs onto the sidewalk for the gaggle of pigeons that gathered to feast. “Yeah, I know.” A particularly fat pigeon body checked a smaller pigeon away from some crumbs and Bucky chuckled out loud. “You don’t, though.”

“Anyway,” Sam said, clearly ready to change the subject, “I didn’t call you to a secret meeting in Prospect Park for nothing.”

“I wouldn’t have shown up for nothing.”

Sam folded in his lips for a second as if physically holding in a snide remark. “It’s about Steve.”

“Of course it is.”

Sam sat back on the park bench and lifted his head to the sky, mere inches from wanting to hit Bucky in the face. “This is serious. He’s spent the whole week putting out fires when he said he was supposed to be spending time with,” and Sam made sure to roll his eyes so Bucky could see, “you.”

Scrunching up his face, Bucky folded his hands in his lap and nudged a pigeon away from pecking his shoe. “Oh.”

“He doesn’t know how to be anything but Captain America. What did he even do before the war?”

The question was probably rhetorical, but the answer still made sense. “Get into fights, mostly. Read a book. Fight the book.”

Sam laughed and it surprised him to laugh at that, so he covered his face with his hand and settled down enough to bring up his next point: “Steve thought finding you would let things fall into place.”

Bucky snorted. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them, as Bucky turned his head toward Sam, he saw a matching bitter smile on the other man’s face. “Well, that was a mistake,” Bucky said.

“You’re kind of a mess, yeah.”

Bucky shoved Sam, and Sam shoved him back. For a second they were just shoving each other on a park bench until Sam hissed fuck you and scared enough pigeons that they all took off at once in a mess of loose feathers and pigeon trills.

Both of them sighed in unison and hated themselves for it, then Sam folded his arms and nudged Bucky with an elbow. “I’ve tried--believe me--to get him to let me in, but Steve swears up and down nothing’s wrong.”

“He does that.”

“Can you try?”

“Sam… if he won’t talk to you…” Bucky shook his head. “I’ve been trying way longer to get Steve to open up.”

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s the worst.”

“Well… I’ll keep trying if you will.”

“Deal.”

---

Bucky could smell whatever Steve had done to the kitchen from halfway down the stairs.

“I bet you twenty bucks Steve had to use the fire extinguisher,” Bucky said to Sam.

“You’re on.”

Bucky opened the door and fully expected to get hit in the face with a wall of smoke, but the apartment was surprisingly devoid of any fires or smoke damage.

“I made lunch!” Steve announced. He had plates out on the breakfast bar for the three of them and he was wearing an apron that was suspiciously clean. “How was the meeting?”

Sam shrugged one shoulder, sat down at the counter and eyed the plate in front of him. “It went well. Nat is taking the lead and she told us to stay home.”

Taking the seat next to Sam, Bucky twisted on the swivel stool back and forth and kept watching Steve with a little too much interest.

“What?” Steve finally asked.

“Nothin. So what’s this?” Bucky motioned toward their plates.

“Grilled cheese sandwiches. And there was supposed to be tomato soup, but I accidentally cut open the can and--nevermind.”

“What happened to that one?” Sam pointed at the sandwich that looked like a piece of charcoal.

“That one’s mine. I--uh--forgot to turn it over.”

Bucky picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Toasted bread with half-melted cheese in the middle, but Bucky wasn’t picky. Sam ate his too and Steve added a lot of ketchup to dip his charred sandwich in.

“So Nat’s gonna do the recon solo,” Steve said between bites. “Tony texted me some updates earlier about the warehouse. Something about stolen vibranium and--”

“Steve,” Sam interrupted. “We got this.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” Bucky said.

As if on cue, Steve’s phone started ringing from the living room. Sam looked at Bucky, but Bucky was way ahead of him--he practically jumped out of his seat, shoved Steve out of the way, and dove over the back of the couch to grab the phone.

“Who’s calling?” Steve asked, still a little stunned and clueless as to why Bucky shoved him.

“Doesn’t matter! You’re on vacation!” Bucky held up the phone and tried to crush it with his hand. “What the--” The phone casing barely even bent against the pressure of his fingers. Bucky’s eyes went a little wide. What the hell kind of cell phone was this?

“Give it back!” Steve was on top of him leaned over the couch and grabbing for the phone before Bucky could slip away.

“Barnes! It’s a fuckin’ Nokia! Over here!”

Bucky  lobbed the phone over Steve and Sam caught it. He was in the kitchen and shoving the phone in the microwave before Steve could get to him. Sam hit the one minute button, and it was all over.

“You just--microwaved my phone--”

“Yeah, your super soldier phone.” Bucky looked down at his metal hand, unfamiliar with the idea that he couldn’t crush stuff with it. “I thought your phone was from the late 90s. Why’s it so strong?”

“Nokias, man,” is all Sam said, a little reverent, as Steve’s phone melted in the microwave. He hummed Amazing Grace as Bucky and Steve joined him to watch the phone melt. It caught fire, which prompted a frantic search for the fire extinguisher, and to this day Sam swears Bucky owes him twenty bucks because Steve didn’t use it while cooking lunch.

---

“Sam says we gotta watch at least two movies off the list while he’s gone,” Bucky instructed Steve as they settled down on the couch. Sam left after lunch to pick up his cousin from the airport, who was apparently visiting the city since Sam wasn’t working or on the other side of the world for the first time in a while.

“You pick,” said Steve. “I’ve already watched some.”

All they had was a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook with movie titles and release years, and only a few of them had notes from Sam. Independence Day had “THE BEST!!!” written next to it, which made it an obvious choice.

“Plus it takes place on your birthday,” Bucky added. It took approximately fifteen minutes for them to figure out how to turn on the surround sound system and queue up the movie.

“Wait,” Steve said after a while. “Isn’t your birthday coming up?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He had his legs curled up under him and he leaned against the back of the couch with his arm stretched out behind Steve. He hadn’t actually noticed he’d put his arm there until that very second. “Uh,” he said, “I think so, yeah.”

“The 10th! That’s in two days, Buck. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno. I thought we’d be out on a recon mission so it didn’t seem important.”

“I’m gonna call Sam--” Steve paused and let out a sigh. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine was set on fire and melted.”

---

Steve wouldn’t tell Bucky what he talked to Sam about, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with his birthday and some sort of secret plans for going out on the town. Steve grinned at him as they got into the taxi to meet up with Sam and his cousin.

“Remember all those times you made me go out when I didn’t want to?” Steve asked.

“No, not at all. I knew you wanted to go out, you were just too chickenshit about it.”

Steve swatted at Bucky’s arm. “Consider this payback.”

They met up at a cocktail bar near Times Square. The place was dark inside and small, and it only took them a second to find Sam and his cousin sitting at a table by the front windows. Sam got up to greet them.

“Hey, man.” Sam hugged Steve and looked at Bucky. “Hey.”

“Hi,” said Bucky, peering over Sam’s shoulder at his cousin who was staring at them with wide eyes.

“This is my cousin Mel,” Sam introduced. “Mel, this is--”

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you!”

Steve and Bucky shook hands with Mel and sat down across from her. Bucky felt a little silly--maybe because this was his first time meeting anybody outside of the immediate circle of the Avengers--and he was terrified he’d have nothing to talk about with Mel. She explained that she was studying computer science at MIT and had come into town on spring break. She seemed rather shy around Steve and Bucky, but Sam assured her over and over again that she needn’t trouble herself with acting a certain way around them.

Bucky could have ordered a cocktail, but everything sounded weird (gentian bitters? The fuck?) and why bother with anything fancy when he could just order whiskey?

And drink three of them?

“Oooo, Sammy, take us dancing,” Mel said when they left the cocktail bar. “I wanna dance!”

“I’m too old for that shit, Mel. And these two--”

“I’ll go dancing,” said Bucky. Steve’s head whipped around to glare at him. “It’s only been, what, sixty years?”

“You’re really milking this whole ‘it’s your birthday’ thing, aren’t you, Buck?” Steve grumbled. “All right. Let’s go dancing.”

---

The club Sam and Mel picked out was loud and dark and smelled like sweat and old cigarettes. It was so loud that Bucky could almost forgot about the smell. People didn’t dance like they used to, he knew, but this was something else entirely--bright lights and fake smoke, bodies colliding and moving, drinks spilling and shouting over the loud bass.

“I hope you’re happy,” Bucky said to Sam at the bar, which was only slightly less loud and aggravating as the dance floor. “I can’t dance to this music, and yet Steve’s out there dancing his ass off.”

“Happy birthday, Barnes,” Sam replied with a chuckle, and slid him a beer. “On me.”

“Thanks.” They pushed their way to the edge of the dance floor, and Bucky could see Steve and Mel dancing together in the crowd. While part of him resented how quickly Steve took to this “dancing,” Bucky was actually quite pleased that Steve finally enjoyed dancing. That is--until Mel started grinding on Steve.

“You’re not jealous, are you, Barnes?”

Bucky took a long drink from his beer and Sam was like a shark smelling blood.

“What’s with the long face, huh?”

“For your information, I’ve danced with Steve before, and it’s nothing to write home about.”

Sam almost doubled over laughing. “You what? You danced with Steve? Who lead?”

“I was teaching Steve how to lead, so I was the dame--y’know what, fuck you Sam.”

They both drank long swigs from their drinks.

Mel eventually dragged Steve over to them. They both looked sweaty and tired. “Sammy! I wanna go to the next club!”

“I think I’ve had enough dancing for one night,” Steve said, and even he was still catching his breath.

“Fine, fine. One more vodka Redbull for the road, then.”

“That’ll kill you, Sam,” Bucky warned him.

“Worse things have tried. Bye.” He hugged Steve. “Bye, Barnes.” He thought about hugging Bucky, but instead just awkwardly patted him on the shoulder.

“Nice meeting you,” Bucky said to Mel. Mel hugged him, then Steve.

“We gotta hang out again before I leave. Okay? Promise?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a small smile. “Promise. Maybe you can teach me how to dance.”

“Oooo.” Mel winked at him. “I’d love to.”

---

They hadn’t walked more than a block from the club when Steve reached out and grabbed Bucky by the hand. “Hey, I’m sorry if--”

“Sorry? Shut up. You were great back there. I’ve never seen you dance before.” Bucky ignored how hot his face felt with Steve holding his hand.

Steve stopped Bucky from walking and stepped in front of him, that earnest concerned crease in his brow that looked annoying and cute all at once. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Jesus, Rogers. Of course not. I had fun. Did you?”

“Yeah--I--Mel’s cute--uhm--”

It didn’t normally take a lot for Steve to get so flustered that he couldn’t form a sentence, but it did surprise Bucky when Steve bent down and kissed him on the mouth.

Bucky made a muffled sound of surprise against the kiss, his whole body stiffening up, and he put his hands on Steve’s chest and meant to push him back, but he didn’t.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured when he pulled back.

“Would you quit saying that?” Bucky could taste a hint of mint on his lips from the cocktail Steve had even though it was hours ago, or maybe he was just imagining it. “You’re--such an idiot, Steve. God.” Bucky grabbed a fistful of Steve’s shirt and pulled him in for another kiss, just to try it again, see if it felt like his feet had left the ground again.

Steve made a noise Bucky never heard him make before, something deep in his chest, then he yanked his lips away. “We, uh, should head back.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bucky said it almost like a question, an invitation.

“I mean, if you want. It’s your, uhm, birthday night--thing.”

Bucky flicked his tongue over his lips and knew for sure he tasted mint. He inhaled sharply and grinned at Steve. “Let’s not go back yet. You wanna get milkshakes first?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

---

“Sorry about before,” Steve watched as Bucky grabbed the cherry off the top of his vanilla shake. “I didn’t mean to--”

“I swear to God, if you apologize one more time, I’m gonna kick your ass.” Bucky’s face burned. He couldn’t say it out loud--that he liked the fact Steve kissed him--because nothing made any goddamn sense right now and he didn’t want to think too much about it.

“It’s just… I’ve had a little more time for thinking lately, and… When I was dancing I got this, I dunno, feeling?”

“Feelings? From Steve Rogers? No.” Bucky’s words oozed with sarcasm because it was so, so much easier to torment Steve than it was for him to let him continue.

“Yeah. You know what? Nevermind. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Cool. Okay. It’s all right. I mean, I--” Bucky shrugged, ate a couple of spoonfuls of his banana milkshake. His face might as well have caught fire at this point, and it would have been a welcome release from the feelings that wanted to explode out of his chest. He realized why it was so hard for him or Steve to talk about their feelings--they either allowed for mutual silent understanding or they called each other names until nobody wanted to open up. So Bucky tried being open. “It’s cool if you want to kiss, or whatever.” He failed.

Steve nodded at him, his eyes getting narrow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, talked himself out of it, and went back to drinking his shake.

“We just have some shit to figure out,” Bucky said after a minute of soul crushing silence. “You and your friends, the shield… me with the…” Bucky tapped the side of his head. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Steve was still silent.

“Unless you think it is.”

“I dunno. I don’t have any good ideas.”

They both smiled bitter, self-deprecating smiles. They drank two milkshakes each and eventually waddled back to the apartment. Steve said he’d take the couch, but Bucky didn’t want to sleep alone that night, and neither did Steve. As Bucky settled in beside Steve, Steve took his metal hand in his and interlaced their fingers. They laid like that in silence for a few minutes, Bucky’s head buzzing with all kinds of thoughts like: was this really happening? Did he want this to happen? How long had Steve thought about doing that? Since Bucky got back? Before the war?

“Remember in Independence Day when the guy punches the alien in the face and says ‘welcome to earth’?” Steve asked completely out of the blue.

Bucky snickered. “Yeah.”

“That’s the kind of birthday I want.”

“Punching aliens in the face?”

“Yeah. I mean… I think I wanna keep doing what I was doing. Being Captain America.”

“Oh.” Well, shit. Bucky turned his head and looked at Steve, really looked at him, maybe figured deep down it was the only way Steve knew how to be. Maybe that was okay, maybe it wasn’t. “You’re too young to retire, anyway.”

“Shut up,” Steve chuckled.

“Make me.”

So Steve kissed him again, much bolder this time, and maybe things didn’t have to make perfect sense for them right now, but at least Bucky knew that he and Steve made sense. Kissing Steve sparked something in him he barely recognized, and he felt more alive than he had in a long time. Almost as carefree and weightless and happy as the time him and Steve went to a Yankees game together. They drank milkshakes that night, too. 

This was good, and Steve was good, and Bucky relished in the sensation of their lips touching and the way Steve kept holding his hand. For now, this was enough. Steve was enough. They’d sort the rest later.

[therothwoman]

Hi @through-shadows-falling, I am your @beefybuckyswap gifter! Little Domestic Stucky comic, as promised!

[tisfan]

The Fall of Hydra

for @hawkguyz and @beefybuckyswap

Stanza

Bucky was the third hatched child of Medusa, the only surviving boy, and half-god, half gorgon. Despite that, he was born with a very human-style body, strong and fit. He was beautiful, even in the moment of his hatching, and he only grew more glorious as he aged. But he aged very slowly; he was not immortal, but the ichor of the gods flowed in his veins, and he was near enough.

He’d been hatched from an egg formed of adamantium, the silver metal of the gods, the son of the Gorgon Medusa and the god of the sea, Poseidon. He was the only son that lived; of the initial clutch, his mom had obtained four daughters and several sons who took one look at Mom and turned to stone. Bucky, on the other hand, with his stone-gray eyes, had been immune to the gorgon’s stare and thus was able to enjoy his mother’s beauty and the stupid faces his sisters pulled from time to time without any harm.

When Bucky got older, he’d gathered those tiny, pathetic statues and laid them to rest on the far side of the cavern. After Athena had gone all bugnuts on Mom -- something about Poseidon and Athena’s temple, Bucky never really paid attention because the thought of someone fucking his mom and then abandoning her never failed to piss him off -- they’d moved into the caves below the sea and had as little to do with the topside world as possible.

His sisters were all different from Bucky. The youngest two were like Medusa; beautiful, with the crowing glory of snakes instead of hair. The older two had tails like great fish, and they swam out in the ocean to hunt down fish and gather delicacies from the shore. All of them had the same deadly gaze. One day, his oldest sister, Keto, saved a ship of humans from drowning, but in the process, accidentally turned the king’s son to stone. The men geared up, hunted her down, and cut off her head.

Years after that, the second oldest found a way to control her gaze; she made glasses from polished crystal and so long as she never took them off, she was safe. She met a man from the surface who claimed to love her, and she went to him as wife. But after some years of laying with him as his wife and bearing him several children (who were human enough, although two of the girls has gills like fish, and the other two had the same stone-gray eyes as their uncle) the man snatched the glasses off her face, wanting to see what secrets she hid in her eyes.

Bucky’s sister returned home, widowed, with her children and vowed never to set foot on the surface again.

(mobile readers, ware the readmore, or you can check it out on Ao3)

Pepper, the other fish-tailed gorgon, was Bucky’s constant companion. He could not swim as well as she could, but he could hold his breath for a powerful amount of time, and he hunted with her as he grew older.

He learned to throw a spear, to fight the great beasts that lurked under the waves -- especially the terrible hydra that bit and clawed and chewed and gained another head, each time one was cut off. Hydra was a terrible enemy, and one that Bucky and Pepper went out of their way to avoid whenever possible.

Bucky grew fond of these excursions out into the greater ocean, and was delighted by the chance to collect sea-smoothed stones and pretty shells. His sister led him to the shipwrecks and they enjoyed taking the human things and bringing them home. Except for mirrors; Bucky always went first, to make certain that there were no reflective surfaces that might harm his sister, before they explored.

Even with the best intentions and the most care, Bucky and Pepper accidentally woke the Hydra, drawing its attention as they raced and cavorted beneath the waves, and they smelled just good enough to the beast that it decided it was hungry.

The beast had chased them, one time, nearly to shore, before Bucky distracted it by gutting open an enormous sturgeon as they swam past and Hydra had stopped to feed. The stupid thing was well sated, but Bucky and Pepper lingered near the shallows for quite some time, terrified to go home, worried to cross Hydra’s path again. They rested on the rocks and watched the shore, their demi-god eyes keener than humans, and therefore, they could see much further. It was safe for them to observe, knowing that from a distance, the humans would see only sealions basking.

It was there that Bucky first discovered men.

Truth, he’d been the only man he’d ever known. His father certainly didn’t come to them, and although Medusa had described the god to her children, Bucky had never been able to picture anything like it. For reasons of safety, gorgons did not have mirrors in their home, and Bucky had never seen himself. He knew he was different from his sisters in the shape of his body, but that was nothing surprising; he had neither gills nor fins, not snakes in his hair.

But from the first day he saw the blonde boy at the ocean’s shore, Bucky had known something else entirely.

Love.

The boy was beautiful, and like all beautiful things, Bucky had the immediate desire to collect him and take him home.

The first months, Bucky only looked. Pepper was horrified at the idea of him exposing himself to humans; she had learned to hate them with the death of their two sisters, and Bucky couldn’t blame her, but at the same time… he wanted. And Bucky had never known want before.

Pepper tried to drag him away, to prevent him from coming to the rocks and watching, but Bucky grew into manhood and he was faster than she. And she was timid; she would never come closer than the rocks, and so Bucky made his way to the shore, to watch behind the seagrass there.

He learned that Steve was the son of Sarah, a human woman with a bad cough, and that her husband had been a soldier, lost in war.

War was a concept that Bucky had not learned before, and he lingered near the hut sometimes at night, to listen to Sara tell stories to the boy, between the choking rasp of her cough.

After some time, it occurred to Bucky that Steve and Sarah did not have enough food, and Bucky started collecting for them, as well as for his sisters. He brought gifts of raw oysters and left them outside the door. He slew the enormous sturgeons and cut half the flank to leave for the mother and son. The sea was generous and he was a son of Poseidon.

And so it came to pass that Steve waited at the door one night, to see who their benefactor was, and that was the beginning of the story.

Dactylic Hexameter

When Steve had been born, the signs and portents were all aligned that here was the birth of a hero. Joseph, a simple soldier, had made the trek to Delphi, to meet with the Pythia. He paid the sum of gold due as a supplicant and bathed in the spring waters to purify himself.

The Pythia, clothed in a purple robe, was a maiden of only some sixteen years, and she spoke not heralds of glory, but of doom.

The child would, someday, become a hero and rid the world of a great evil, but only if one who went to his aid would be sore wounded and lose a part of himself forever. If the sacrifice did not come to pass, the child would die in obscurity and the line would end with him.

Word spread, rumor traveled faster than horses, and by the time Steve’s father returned to their small village, the entire township had turned against them. No one wanted to lose a great part of themselves, no one wanted to be mistaken for that person in the prophecy, and thus, they were exiled to a tiny hut on the sands.

Joseph was bitter and angry. After so much gold and time, the family was near to starving, and the child was ill and small, not hero material at all. The soldier gave himself over to the solace of drink and blaming his wife for her ill-conceived child. In the end, Steve’s father decided that the child was not his, and abandoned the family for the glories of war. He died in the first battle, not even from an enemy strike, but from being crushed accidentally under a supply wagon.

The child and the mother suffered many hardships, but one spring day, they received a gift of food, bounty from the ocean. Steve brought the food inside and helped his mother to cook and prepare it for storage, and then they ate their fill and Steve knew what it was to not be hungry for the first time in his short, child’s life.

And so many moons passed until one fair night, the land bathed in endless moonlight, that Steve laid a trap for their benefactor, not from maliciousness, but so that he could be thanked as he deserved.

When Steve reached out from his place behind the laurel tree, he grabbed the stranger’s wrist.

“Wait,” he cried, “don’t go!”

And found himself face to face with a beautiful boy; dark hair and stone-gray eyes, with a perfect bow of a mouth and skin like golden silk.

“I only wanted to thank you,” Steve said.

The boy touched Steve’s face, traced the line of his cheek. “Thank me, then, with a kiss.”

And that is where our story begins.

Stichomythia

From that moment forward, the boys were nigh inseparable. Bucky returned to the sea to hunt, to bring food to his mother and sisters, and then he was on the shore ahead, hand in hand with his friend.

As time passed, the boys, as boys always do, grew into men. Bucky was tall and strong, his body taking on the dimensions of the child of Poseidon, muscular arms and broad-chested. And at his side, the tiny, golden Steve, was noble of spirit and quick of mind. Together, they faced the world and won it.

Until there came the Hydra. A creature that could live both in the ocean and on land, the Hydra was one of the monsters of Tartarus, evil and cruel. The Hydra delighted in not just hunting and killing, but it also played with its food, relishing each cry of pain and taking great glee in leaving part of a family group intact to mourn.

Thus it was when it happened across Steve. The Hydra knew that the child of Poseidon loved the blonde man, and knew also that Bucky was one of the few creatures that had ever escaped the Hydra’s grasp.

So the beast plotted and planned, and in its evil heart, a strategy for both feeding it (and the young that it hoped one day to hatch, egg upon egg as far as the eye could see in its frozen and desolate home) and for destroying the child of Medusa in repayment for that long ago humiliation.

The Hydra knew that the man, Steve, was pure of heart, and despite those who had cast him out, he burned full of righteous fury. The man, with little strength or stamina, could not let an evil pass unchecked, and it was in this manner that the Hydra drew him out.

It was, after all, a monstrous beast. It severed heads and sent them to walk as men in the world of mortals. Some were sent to hurt and harm, others were sent to promise aid to one hero brave enough to face the monsters, brave enough to risk it all.

Steve, hearing about the great wonders a prophet of the gods could deliver, snuck away. He knew that Bucky would never let him take the risk, and while he desperately loved his friend, Steve also desperately needed to prove himself. He journeyed to the temple of Ares where Erskine was, and asked for help. But because Steve was also honest, he told Erskine of the doom that had been set upon him. Back in its lair, the Hydra rejoiced and knew exactly what to make of this information. Hydra set another one of its heads to the temple of Ares.

Erskine promised Steve that he was willing to help, no matter the sacrifice, because Steve was a good man, and his magic amplifies everything inside, so good becomes great; bad becomes worse. He claims this is why Steve was chosen. Because the strong man who has known power all his life, may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of strength, and knows compassion. Steve consented to the magic and drank the wine that Erskine provided. He slept overnight in the bower and woke strong, dexterous and bursting with energy.

Steve exited the leafy circle, blessed by the gods, to tell Erskine of the success and discovered nothing but a body. Erskine had been slain, and when Steve asked, he was told that the great Hydra had killed Erskine. He learned that the Hydra was vast and dangerous, and that when one head was cut off, two more grew in its place. Only the bravest and the strongest could defeat the Hydra.

Steve believed, now, that the curse of the gods was lifted, that Erskine had dared to help him, and in return, had lost everything. Grieving for the man he believed was his friend, Steve returned to the cottage where his mother lived to find that she, too, had been destroyed by the Hydra. Bucky was there, cradling the body, and grieving for his friend’s pain.

Steve was filled with a great rage against the Hydra and would have set off that moment to destroy the beast. Bucky put a hand out to him and pleaded with him to stay, to bury his parent, and to wait for Bucky.

“I can do it on my own,” Steve said, his rage great enough to squeeze his heart.

“Yeah, but the thing is, you don’t have to,” Bucky said, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Because I’m with you til the end.”

The two men put Sarah to rest, and then armed themselves for the battle to come.

To aid Steve, Bucky braided a lock of his hair, tied it around Steve’s wrist, that the mortal could breathe in the ocean as well as on land. “It will protect you,” Bucky said, and kissed the soft skin of Steve’s palm.

They ventured into the ocean, with Bucky leading the way. They stopped, briefly, by the gorgon’s cave, where Bucky had grown up. Steve was forced to blindfold himself that Medusa and Bucky’s sisters would not turn to stone, but he did so gladly, and Medusa allowed the young man to touch her face that he might recognize her again, and her snakes wrapped around his wrists and smelled him and knew who he was.

Medusa gave her son her blessing, and more than that, she passed along to Steve the enchanted shield of the mortal, Perseus, who had attempted to use its highly reflective surface to slay Medusa and her daughters. He had failed and Pepper had painted the shield over, so that the magical protection could remain, but that it would never harm anyone. Steve took up the shield with gratitude and kissed Medusa’s hand in thanks.

Steve and Bucky were kissed each by Medusa and Bucky’s sisters, and then they ventured out into the deep sea, to find the Hydra. On their way to the Hydra’s lair, their adventures were great and mighty. They faced many trials and hardships, but eventually came to face the great beast.

Tragodia 

To one side of the Hydra’s lair were the gates of Tartarus, bold and made of copper, stained green and covered with barnacles. The gates hung open, just a little, just enough for one soul to pass through. Behind those gates was madness, despair, and chaos. Steve shuddered and dragged Bucky past as fast as he could, even if Bucky could not help but stare back at the gates that stood, alone on the ocean floor, and the only way to get to Tartarus was through the gates that lead to nowhere. Exactly how chaos should be, Bucky felt. It was right, deep in his soul, the rightness of the gates. 

The chorus would eventually sing of the two young heroes who braved the Hydra's lair, and they would tell how dark the cavern was, under the ocean, the air stale and hot and foul, and they would tell of the bones of men that littered the blood-stained sands. They would tell of the eternal darkness and the sound of their breath, matching up, as they moved through the cave. 

What they wouldn’t tell of, because no one would ever know, was how terrified they were. Their hands linked together in the darkness and they each felt bracer for the presence of the other. Stronger, for the presence of the other. 

The Hydra was stealthy, faster than something that size should have been, and the first warning they had of its approach was that it neatly tore a strip out of Steve’s back with one razor claw. 

They couldn’t fight in the darkness, and Bucky found himself praying to Poseidon for the first time in his young life that his father would give them aid. And from the stones and the sea came a gentle glow, the bioluminescence of hundreds of tiny sea creatures, that the men not face their deaths in the darkness. 

The Hydra towered over them, rage and scale and snapping teeth. Hundreds of heads lunged at them, tangled together in knots with their necks. There was nowhere to run that several of the heads would not follow them, and it was only because there were so many heads that the two survived for more than a few moments. One belly of the beast, but hundreds of heads arguing for the privilege of being the one to bite. 

Steve swung his shield to great effect, knocking back the heads and stunning them, while Bucky engaged the main trunk of the beast; the heads were useless, but Bucky used spears to pierce the body and make it bleed. The stupid thing was so senseless that some of the heads, scenting blood, bit and tore at the wounds, making them worse. They were winning. They were winning. 

Bucky slipped closer to the beast, hand on a dagger, with the intent to find the beast’s heart and cut it out, when a head, sensing movement, lowered and snapped at the blade. Bucky’s arm slipped between the massive jaws and when the head bit down, his arm was torn clear off. 

His screams echoed in the cavern. 

“Bucky! No!” Steve charged in, shield wild, driving the creature. The Hydra attempted to retreat, with Steve close behind, brutal in his rage. The beast retreated, and Steve found himself outside the Hydra’s lair, forcing it back, toward the gates of Tartarus. 

Bucky slowly got to his feet, clutching the stump where his arm used to be. He staggered out of the cavern, clutching his last spear in his remaining hand. 

The Hydra was forced into the doorway, but resisted, tangling its heads around the great columns that supported the gate. Steve methodically bashed them. When two alone remained, Bucky was close enough. He threw his spear, piercing the last head and cutting it loose from its grip. The final head grabbed at Steve and dragged him toward Tartarus. 

“Steve!” Bucky ran, fast as he could, but he was too late. A mortal crossed over the divide between the earth and Tartarus, freezing him solid in an instant. 

Bucky dragged Steve from the depths of Tartarus, frozen and stiff as the statues his mother formed with her gaze and pushed the gates until they closed. He slumped to the ocean floor, blood still leaking from his wounds, his friend lifeless in his arm. 

“Til the end,” he said, softly, stroking Steve’s hair from his face. He closed his eyes. 

Eromenos

That his beloved son would not perish, Poseidon sent to them a great sea turtle to carry them on their way. He roused his daughter, Pepper, and had her meet the heroes, carrying the remains of Bucky’s egg with her, the strange metals that formed it carried in a sack over her shoulder. 

When Bucky woke, he found a strange metal arm where his hand used to be, shiny and strong. “What is this?” 

The man in the room, dark haired, and impossibly fair of face, turned to him. “Hey there, Venus de Milo,” the man said. “I’m Tony, son of Hephaestus and Aphrodite. Which is why I am infinitely clever and fabulously good looking to boot. Good genes, my friend. So, how are you feeling? Arm working okay? That’s good, that’s good. By the way, do you think your mom would mind if I married your sister, because one, she is smokin’ hot and two, she’s really quite clever, and three, did I mention she’s hot?” 

Bucky raised the metal arm to stare at it, admiring the sleek movements and the easy flexibility. 

“Where is Steve?” 

“The Iceman cometh,” Tony said, solemnly, then grinned with a Hades-may-care twinkle in his eye. “He’s thawing by the forge. Should be good as new in a day or so.” 

Tony walked over, grabbed Bucky’s metal wrist and started pulling the arm through various testing exercises, which had Bucky gritting his teeth as he adjusted to the new limb and the weird humming sounds it made. 

Pepper entered the room, carrying a tray of food for her brother and a bottle of wine for Tony. “Face it,” Tony said, as Pepper stared at him, “this is not the weirdest thing you will ever walk in on me doing. Ah, wine! Fantastic. You are a blessing and a goddess, my dear.” He kissed her cheek and took the bottle of wine from her hand. 

Pepper rolled her eyes and gave Tony the brush-off, but Bucky could tell, there was something special in her smile for him. “I don’t have time for your insincere flatter today,” she said. 

“Excuse you, my flattery is always sincere,” Tony said. “You are the light of my life, the apple of my eye, the -- ooh, look, cheese!” And Tony started snitching things off Bucky’s breakfast tray. 

“Sir,” a disembodied voice said, and Bucky jerked back, staring around. There was no one there. 

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Tony said, “that’s just my Peitharchia spirit; I call him Jarvis. He’s kinda a servant slash reminder slash watchdog slash nag slash best friend --” 

“Enough, Tony,” Pepper said, covering his mouth with her fingers. 

Tony kissed Pepper’s fingers, then said, “What’s up, J?” 

“You wished to be told when the other young man was feeling better, sir,” Jarvis said. 

“Oh, ding ding, microwave dinner’s done!” Tony exclaimed, clapping his hands together once. “Shall I take you to him?” 

Bucky was already out of the bed, feet on the floor, by the time Tony finished talking, and a moment later was being shown into another room, near the force, where Steve was sitting on a bench, soaking wet and shivering. 

Bucky ran to him, snatching up a blanket to wrap it around Steve’s shoulders and stop the shaking. “Steve!” 

Steve made an enormous effort and raised his head. “Bucky?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, drawing his friend, his love, into his arms, one hot flesh, the other cool metal, and resting that fair head against his chest. “It’s me, pal. You’re alive, you’re here, you’re safe.” 

“Til the end, pal,” Steve said. He twined his fingers with Bucky’s and they sat there, in perfect harmony. “I love you.” 

#beefybuckyexchange17

[lisa-in-the-sky]

take a good look around you

My gift for @starmaki for the @beefybuckyswap this year! It was a lot of fun to write, sorry it’s late. I got halfway through and realized i had no idea how to write a meet cute. Hopefully you still like it!! :)

There was a dog in the gym. It was sitting near the free-weights, across from the treadmill Steve was jogging on, half-hidden by a bench. It was pretty big, a German Shepherd or something probably, so Steve could see the top half of the service dog vest it was wearing.

That wasn’t a problem, except for the fact that Steve couldn’t pet it. His list of ailments was probably as tall as Steve himself, but pet allergies were, thankfully, not on it. A working dog though. Steve sighed. It’s ears looked so soft.

He couldn’t see the dog’s person, he realized after he’d been staring for a while. He wasn’t worried or anything, because the dog was just sitting there, watching the space in front of it, perfectly behaved. Steve wanted to tell it how good it was.

Still, it was nice to be able to look at it while Steve labored along at his slow, prescribed pace on this treadmill. It wasn’t like he could actually go that much faster, with his back and his asthma and his arrhythmia but still. Slow. Steve was bored.

He watched the dog, even though it wasn’t doing anything, until a few minutes later, a man sat up in front of it. Steve could see the movement of it’s tail where it thumped on the ground when the man reached out. It sniffed his hand once, then licked his palm.

Steve squinted a little, curious about the guy now and wondering vaguely if he’d let Steve pet the dog even though it was working. He glanced down at his time on the treadmill. He still had another twenty minutes, and he shouldn’t cut it short, even for a dog. They’d probably be back, he reasoned.

All thoughts of going and talking to the man at all, ever, ground to a halt when he stood up, leash in one hand. Only hand. His left arm was little more than a stump at the shoulder, covered by the sleeve of his t-shirt, but that wasn’t the problem, at all.

The problem was that the guy across the gym, with his dog and his man-bun and his stubble, was so astronomically hot Steve thought he might have to stop running to calm his heart down.

Once past the missing arm, the guy was huge. Like, built, and solid, not like some guys who had big shoulders and tiny little waists and legs. This guy was all rectangles, broad shoulders and thick waist and strong thighs. He would dwarf Steve in so many ways, and Steve had always claimed he didn’t have a type but wow. His mouth was dry.

While Steve was staring, the guy set the leash on a bench, then leaned down to pick up a sweater and water bottle. He slipped the bottle into a little pouch on the dog’s vest, clearly ready to leave, and started to wrangle the sweater on.

Steve knew he should stop staring but. Jesus.

“Tired already, Rogers?” Sam came over to lean against the arm of Steve’s treadmill. Steve looked at him, then down at the display. He had slowed almost to a walk.

“No! I’m just...no, I’m not tired.” Steve couldn’t resist another glance up to where the beautiful man was zipping his sweater and taking the leash and leading his beautiful dog out.

Sam raised his eyebrows, then turned to look. He smirked. “Ah. That’s Bucky and Terry.”

“Which one is which?” Steve muttered reluctantly, watching them leave.

“Which one were you staring at?” Sam asked. He knew Steve too well.

“Fuck off,” Steve muttered, and then sighed. “The dog first. Then the guy. Because whoa.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, fair. Terry’s his service dog, great dog. She’s a sweetheart. Bucky got discharged a little over two years ago. He’s been coming here for a few months.”

“You train him?” Steve asked. Sam worked with a lot of non-standard exercise needs, like Steve’s, so it wouldn’t be surprising.

“Nah,” Sam said. “He works with Nat. They knew each other.”

“Oh,” Steve said, feigning disinterest. Sam stared at him with an eyebrow up until Steve finally said, “Fine, asshole, knew each other how?”

Sam grinned. “Don’t know exactly, but I don’t think it was like that. It isn’t anymore if it ever was, though.”

“That’s cool,” Steve said. Sam obviously didn’t believe Steve’s nonchalance and they both knew it, but Steve was going to preserve what little dignity he had, dammit.

Sam finally laughed and rolled his eyes. “Jesus man. You gonna ask to pet his dog or just keep staring like an idiot across the gym?”

“Fuck you,” Steve muttered.

“You know he gets stared at enough,” Sam said, sobering. Steve glanced at him, then down.

“Yeah, because he’s sex on legs,” he said finally. Sam chuckled.

“You’re alright, Steve, you know that?”

“Oh, you’re so kind,” Steve said.

Sam patted him on the back. “Pick up the pace buddy, you’re not working those lungs enough.”

Steve stuck his tongue out at Sam’s back and didn’t think about Bucky or his dog for the rest of his workout.

***

Avoidance as a tactic could only work so long, which in this case meant until the next time Steve saw them at the gym. Obviously. Which - well. It was fine, really, except the next time Steve caught sight of Terry and Bucky, Bucky was sitting at the leg press machine and Steve had the perfect angle to watch his thighs flex as he pushed up, watch them shake a little as he slowly lowered the weights back down. It was torture.

This led Steve to briefly consider changing his own gym schedule, before deciding that the teasing he would get from Sam and Nat would not be worth it. He pushed himself a little harder on the treadmill as a distraction.

A few weeks passed like this. Steve jogged on his treadmill for 45 minutes and stared at the vet and his dog across the gym and internally whined about how beautiful they were. And so - soft. It seemed weird, maybe, to think a war vet who was missing an arm and could leg press two Steves was soft, but he was so sweet with Terry, and so quiet. And Natasha liked him, which was definitely a point in his favor since Natasha’s general thoughts on men were that they were unnecessary. So, he was soft, and he was beautiful, and Steve really wanted to pet him and his dog. He ran harder.

It was fine. And Steve definitely wasn’t taking as much flack from Sam as he would have if he’d switched days at the gym. Even when he spent a solid twenty minutes watching Bucky do one armed pushups and almost fell off his treadmill. Sam laughed himself silly, and Steve flushed and sped up to compensate, stuffing his earbuds in and ignoring Sam.

This probably would have gone on forever, because no way in hell was Steve ever going to work up the nerve to actually talk to Bucky. But then Bucky changed things up, and after stretching for several minutes while Steve pretended not to stare, Bucky straightened up, picked up Terry’s leash, and headed towards the bank of treadmills Steve was running at.

No, Steve thought desperately. No, please, do not let that man and his dog get too close to me, I will die. Please.

The universe didn’t listen. Bucky chose the treadmill one away from Steve’s, which meant there was now only a measly six feet separating Steve from the man of his dreams. Terry laid down next to Bucky’s treadmill, and that was almost as bad. Her brindle coat was glossy and she stared at Bucky while he started to run, perfectly attentive.

Steve, on the other hand, could not stare like that, not if he didn’t want to look like a creep or an asshole. He bit his lip, forcing himself to keep his eyes ahead, and picked up the pace on his own treadmill. He wasn’t going anywhere, sure, but Steve could still damn well try to outrun his problems. No one could stop him. He would just - just run until he collapsed on the treadmill, that would make him forget all about Bucky and Terry.

Sam would strangle Steve himself if he caught him going like this on the treadmill. He had told Steve that they would speed him up as he showed improvement, but it was alright to try to push himself - a little. He had glared at Steve when he said it, because he knew exactly how liable Steve was to push himself beyond his own limits.

You’re not invincible, Steve, Sam told him all too often. You’re human just like the rest of us.

Sam was right, of course. He was right a lot. Steve wasn’t particularly smart with his own body, and he pushed himself a lot harder than he should but...well, today he just really needed the distraction. It was that or just slide straight off the end of the treadmill while he stared at Bucky’s perfect jawline. No thanks. He’d rather focus on his breathing.

Which he wasn’t even doing well now, he realized, feeling a familiar burn in his throat and chest with every breath. He reached for his water bottle and took a small drink, and almost choked. Nope, shit, wrong idea. Steve fumbled for his inhaler, sitting in the little cubby on the treadmill, and...dropped it.

“Fuck,” he coughed, slapping a hand at the console. His chest was starting to hurt, his throat burning, tightening around nothing.

Steve finally managed to turn off the treadmill and stumble off the end, plopping down on the one next to his when he scooped up his inhaler. He wiped the mouth-piece hastily before pushing it into his mouth and squeezed to release the little puff of steroids. He held his breath, counted to ten slowly, then breathed out. His throat stopped burning and feeling so tight, but his lungs still ached. Steve took another puff and dropped his head between his knees with a sigh.

“Hey,” a soft, gruff voice said. “Are...you okay?”

No, Steve thought bleakly, already knowing it was Bucky crouching next to him. If my own air passages don’t kill me, hopefully I can sink into the ground in three seconds instead.

It didn’t happen, but before Steve could look up, a dog head slid into his view, and then her wet nose was snuffling up Steve’s leg to lick his face. Steve sat back, shocked, and laughed.

“Terry!” Bucky said, sounding scandalized. “Terry, off. Sit.”

Terry backed up a few steps and sat, staring at Steve with a big doggy grin. Steve smiled at her.

“It’s okay,” he said, heart rate already slowing. “I like dogs. Can I pet her?”

“She’d love it,” Bucky said. Steve reached out to scratch Terry’s ears - just as soft as they looked - and her tail thumped. Bucky shifted from his crouch to sit on the treadmill across from Steve, and Steve finally forced himself to look up.

Bucky was just as beautiful up close as Steve had thought, so he didn’t feel completely unprepared for clear grey eyes and perfect cheekbones and stubble. A few hairs were escaping his little man-bun, framing his face.

He was soft, though, just as Steve had thought. Muscular and broad, sure, but there was a softness to his eyes and his full lips that made him strangely pretty for someone so masculine. Steve almost sighed. What an asshole.

“I’m okay,” he said finally. “Thanks.”

Bucky nodded. “My little sister has sports asthma,” he said. His voice was rough but just as soft as he looked. “She plays softball, annoys the hell out of her. Think she’s growing out of it, though.”

Steve sighed. It didn’t hurt too much to inhale. “That was what I always hoped, but I grew out of my weak immune system instead, I guess.” He shrugged. “Rather have asthma than pneumonia.”

Bucky’s smile made his eyes crinkle up at the corners and it was really - it was nice. Steve thought about taking another hit from his inhaler.

“That’s fair,” Bucky said. He looked like he was going to continue when Sam appeared at the end of the treadmills.

“Steve? You okay?”

Steve sighed and held up his inhaler. “I’m fine,” he said, before Sam could start to worry. “Just - pushed myself too hard.”

Sam stared at him, completely unimpressed. Steve readied himself for the lecture, one hand still buried in Terry’s fur.

And then Sam said, “There are easier ways to get a guy’s attention, Steve.” He smirked, gave Bucky a meaningful glance, and walked away.

Steve stared after him, mouth open in shock, and then he started to feel his face get hot. That was - Sam was - Steve groaned.

“Oh my god,” he said, leaning forward and burying his face in Terry’s neck. She licked his ear. “Jesus, I - I’m sorry.” Now would definitely be a good time to melt into the ground.

And Bucky just...laughed. It started off as a quiet snort, and then slowly became a full sound, bright and happy but not the least bit cruel.

“He’s right though,” Bucky said after a moment. He scratched Terry’s ear, letting his hand linger near Steve’s. “You could definitely have asked to pet the dog a lot sooner.”

Steve looked up to find Bucky blushing too, eyes fixed on Terry’s ears.

“Would maybe have saved you weeks of staring,” Bucky added, and Steve groaned again.

“This is the worst day of my life,” he said, and Bucky laughed again. “You knew?”

“Why else do you think I came over here to run?” Bucky finally looked at him, and his tentative smile reflected Steve’s nerves. “And...I may have had some encouragement.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sam and Natasha should learn to mind their own business.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. But I got to talk to you.”

Steve blushed, ducking his head to press his face into Terry’s neck again. She didn’t seem at all bothered, even with all the embarrassment going around, which probably meant that Steve and Bucky were going to be just fine. Steve smiled into her fur and sat back.

“Do you want to go get lunch?” He asked. “I don’t feel like running anymore.”

“Me neither,” Bucky said. “Lunch would be great.”

[phoenixgryphon]

I can finally post these B) these are part of the Beefy Bucky Exchange and are for @steverogersnotebook

HAPPY BEEFDAY.

They wanted some Bucky baking things and I was only too happy to oblige. I also did a bonus sketch because it was one of the alternates that I really liked.

He has some Nutella Donut Muffins because I was watching a ton of cooking videos before/while doing this alksdng

@beefybuckyswap

[matcha-chocolate]

For @buckyskillingme , for the @beefybuckyswap Beefy Bucky Exchange! BAPPY BIRTHDAY, BUCKY! I hope you enjoy your fic. It’s barbershop quarter fluff featuring animals! ANIMALS!!!!!