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spideyfic · 5 years ago

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I’ll Sign My Name on the Rooftop in the Snow

For @seek-rest, who is a delight and an actual ray of sunshine, and also happens to write wonderful, beautiful stories that either break my heart or make me smile. Merry Christmas, lovely. Thank you for welcoming me into our little corner of fandom with open arms. <3

When swinging home after a late patrol on the first Christmas Eve post-Blip, Peter spots someone suspicious on a rooftop.

Peter hadn’t planned to stay out so late, but as Christmas Eve ticked over into Christmas Day, he found himself crawling up the side of an apartment building, buffeted by an icy wind that carried the promise of snow.

“KAREN, would you please text May and tell her I’ll be back by 1am?” he whispered as he neared the roof.

“Message sent, Peter.” His AI went silent for a moment. “May has replied ‘OK baby see you soon x x x blue heart emoji, red heart emoji, Christmas tree emoji’.”

He set his web shooters to restrain before hopping over the wall and landing silently on the roof, creeping up on the man who’d caught his attention when he was swinging back to the tower.

Short, round and dressed entirely in red with a black leather belt wrapped around his domed belly, the man was trying to cram himself into a chimney without much success. A bulging red velvet sack tied with a thick gold cord sat on the roof within his reach.

He was really committed to his Santa aesthetic, Peter had to give him that. Even if he was a lousy thief breaking into homes on Christmas.

Peter took aim and hit his target, binding the man in a cocoon of webbing, his arms trapped against his sides. He released the webs, circling to stand in front of Bad Santa, who smiled at him from behind the most magnificent white beard Peter had ever seen. His eyes twinkled, circled by gold wire-rimmed glasses, and a bushy white pompom dangled from the end of his red, fur-trimmed hat.

“Dude. Sneaking down the chimney on Christmas Day to steal things? Not cool. And like, I admire your effort, but we both know you’re not gonna fit in there.” His Spidey-sense flared, like something was breathing down his neck, and he swore he heard a snort, but when he turned to look behind him there was nothing to see other than the first few flakes of snow drifting lazily in the air.

“Dear Spider-Man, I can assure you that I am not planning to steal anything,” the man said, his voice gently jovial. “I’m merely delivering.”

“So you’re a reverse-thief? You break into people’s homes and leave stuff? What’s your name – ‘Santa Claus’?” Peter scoffed, crossing his arms.

The man nodded. “Yes, that’s one of my many names. You may call me Nicholas, if you prefer.” He was entirely too composed for someone wrapped in web and stuck in a chimney.

“Like Saint Nicholas, right?” Peter nudged at the sack with his foot. “And I guess this is full of gifts?” The bag topped sideways with a solid sounding thump that was disproportionately loud for its size.

“Correct on both counts, Peter.”

It took a moment for Peter to register that ‘Nicholas’ had said his actual name. “Uh – what did you call me?”

“Your name, Peter. Unless you’d prefer I call you Mr. Parker, but that feels a little formal, given that you have me restrained in a chimney.” Nicholas chuckled, a deep, rich ‘ho ho ho’ that made his belly jiggle beneath the webbing like – well, like a bowl full of jelly.

Peter crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “How do you know my name, Mr. Nicholas?” The snow was falling harder, thick, wet flakes that were perfect for snowballs and snowmen, and he turned on his heater to ward off the chill.

“I’m Santa Claus. I know far more than just your name.”

That sounded a little threatening, but Peter shrugged it off, brushing snow from the top of a maintenance hatch and sitting down. “You’re really expecting me to believe that you’re Santa? I’m sixt – uh, I’m not six. It’s been a long time since I wrote a letter to Santa.” He made a show of nonchalantly writing ‘Spider-Man’ in the snow he hadn’t swept away, the warmth from his heater melting the icy crystals beneath his finger. Even though the man couldn’t see his face, he didn’t look up, worried that he’d lose his composure if he made eye contact.

“Seventeen years, to be precise. For me, at least. For you, it was eleven years ago.”

Peter’s finger stopped, and he looked at the man in shocked disbelief. “Mister, I don’t know how you know that, but I’m pretty sure tampering with the mail is a federal offense.”

Nicholas had lost his twinkle, his face sad. “In 2006, you wrote five letters to me. The first was dated July 23rd.”

“Stop,” Peter whispered. “You can’t know that. Nobody knows that.”

The man pushed on. “The second letter followed on your birthday, August 10th. Another, November 23rd, then again on December 15th.”

Peter was suddenly on his feet, fists clenched and his breathing rapid. “Stop. Stop it. Just – just don’t. Don’t.” His voice broke, and he blinked away the prickle of unexpected tears. “Please. Please don’t say it.”

“You wrote your last letter to me December 26th.” Nicholas’s voice was so kind, so gentle, but Peter wanted him to shut up. “You were five years old, but your intellect meant you were able to write at a standard far above your peers, and you made it very clear that you didn’t believe in me any longer. But you asked me for something I couldn’t possibly deliver, despite how very much I wanted too.”

Peter dragged his mask off. Nicholas knew his name, so the man seeing his face was the least of his worries. He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, the pressure making flashes of light dart across the black. “I don’t understand how you know all this,” he rasped, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer. “Who are you?”

“Open your eyes, Peter,” Nicholas said, sounding closer, and Peter did as he asked, finding the man standing next to him, free of the webbing and holding out a handkerchief. “You know I’m telling you the truth, Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Peter scrubbed at his face with the handkerchief. “You can’t be Santa Claus. He’s not real.”

Nicholas snapped his fingers, and Peter flinched at the sound, momentarily taken back to a battlefield and the sight of Tony on his knees, but that was forgotten as the snow suddenly stopped falling. Not because it had stopped snowing, but because the snow hung motionless in the air, a million bright white flakes suspended in a moment of time. It was beautiful.

“You first asked me to bring your parents home for Christmas the day after they died,” Nicholas said, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and it was oddly comforting, full of love and compassion. “The first four letters were full of hope that I could bring Mary and Richard back to you. The last was full of grief and anger, written the day after your first Christmas without them, when you realized that you weren’t going to get what you wanted.”

Peter vividly remembered that first Christmas without his mom and dad, five years old and suddenly realizing that he was never going to see them again, and that Santa Claus couldn’t be real, because if he was, his parents would have been waiting by the tree for him on Christmas morning. He remembered feeling a crushing sense of betrayal, and it was like losing his parents all over again, for good this time, finally understanding that there was no bringing them back. Years later, most of his early childhood memories - including those of his parents - had faded, but that one was almost crystal clear, kept fresh by his adamant refusal to go visit Santa every Christmas that followed.

He'd never told May or Ben about his letters, written in the small, still hours of the night when he was supposed to be asleep. He’d left them on the windowsill of the spare room that hadn’t felt like his, with its oatmeal-colored walls and a floral comforter on the Queen-sized bed that was too big for him. The letters had disappeared by the time he woke up, and he’d always assumed that his aunt or uncle had found them when checking in on him, but apparently not, if Nicholas was to be believed. And a part of him was beginning to think the man was telling the truth, as crazy as it sounded.

“I just wanted my mom and dad,” Peter said, twisting his mask in his hands. “They weren’t religious, so I didn’t pray or anything like that when they died, but writing to Santa just seemed right.” He shrugged, but didn’t feel self-conscious admitting something so personal to a complete stranger. It felt easy to talk to Nicholas, like he’d known him his entire life.

“Many children see me as someone who can grant impossible wishes, Peter. Those are the letters that stay in my mind, the pleas for something I can’t give, knowing that my seeming indifference will cost a child a portion of their innocence, take away the magic of Christmas.” Nicholas sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and he felt like an old friend, reassuring and familiar. “I wish I could have given you what you wanted, Peter. You, and the millions of children who make similar requests every year. But death is final. Immutable.”

Peter wanted to argue that death wasn’t final - he’d died five years (two months) ago, turning to dust in Tony’s arms on an alien planet, and he’d returned to life, but he knew that hadn’t been a natural death or even an actual death; it had been more like being put on indefinite pause.

“I miss them,” he confessed quietly. “I don’t remember their voices or their hugs or their laughs but I miss them. All I remember is that they loved me.”

“They did love you. They loved you very much, and they would be so incredibly proud of you,” Nicholas said. “They were always on the Nice list, just like you.”

Peter turned to face Nicholas. “You’re serious about this Santa thing, aren’t you?”

“I am. Just listen to that boundlessly loving heart of yours, Peter Parker. It knows.”

He was actually starting to believe Nicholas. He’d seen and accepted weirder things, and that wasn’t even including the stuff he’d experienced as Spider-Man. Aliens and Gods, and time travel and magic – with all of that, who was he to say that Santa wasn’t real?

He laughed, breathless and wonder-struck, giving himself over to just believing. He gestured at the snow, still hanging motionless in the air, reaching out to poke a flake. He was on board with the whole Santa thing, but he was still a scientist, couldn’t resist learning whatever he could. “Can you manipulate the space/time continuum? Do you use quantum tunnels, or are you present in multiple planes of existence simultaneously? I guess you could use magic like Doctor Strange. You must have to visit thousands of homes per second.”

Nicholas clapped him on the shoulder, letting out another of his wonderful chuckles. “Yes.”

“Yes to what? The quantum tunneling? Because quantum physics would totally allow you to be in multiple places at the same time, but it doesn’t explain why you go down chimneys when you could just phase though walls. Unless it’s for the …”

“The aesthetic,” Nicholas finished. “I don’t need to use chimneys, but I like to every so often, because I do so enjoy popular culture’s artistic interpretations. And to answer your question - just yes. Yes to everything you said, and many things you didn’t.” He waved a hand, and the snow began to fall again. “I placed us in a little pocket of time, just a Yoctosecond for the rest of the world, but about thirty minutes for us. It may take me nearly seven months to complete my deliveries, but that’s thirty-one hours in real time.”

Peter felt something breathe down his neck again, but when he turned this time, he saw a reindeer standing behind him. He didn’t even question why a reindeer would be on an apartment rooftop, because that was just how his night was going, and he’d made a decision to surrender himself to the impossible and go with it.

The reindeer huffed at him, and pushed its muzzle against his face, nuzzling his cheek. Peter gently stroked its snout, receiving a lick in return. “Hey, big guy,” he cooed, smitten with the animal, who had absolutely no business being on the rooftop, but whatever. He was stroking an actual reindeer. “He’s beautiful,” he said to Nicholas as he sank his fingers into the reindeer’s mane, scratching gently and making it toss its head in delight.

“He’s a she,” Nicholas corrected. “This is Prancer. She’s an inquisitive one, aren’t you, girl?”

Prancer snorted, bumping her nose into the palm of Peter’s hand. He could feel the damp heat of her breath even through the fabric of his suit. “Where did you come from, buddy?” he said, stroking her ears.

“She’s been here the entire time, Peter. You just couldn’t see her until you believed.”

Peter had obsessively watched The Polar Express as a child, despite his low-grade animosity towards Santa Claus, and he’d thought that the mark of belief was hearing the ringing of a golden sleigh bell, but apparently it was seeing reindeer in Manhattan. “How was I able to see you before I believed? If people could see you all the time there’d be photos of you all over the internet.”

“I wanted you to see me. I have a message for you to pass on to someone who requested something I could fulfil but couldn’t gift-wrap or deliver.” Nicholas stood, brushing snow off his rear. “When you see Morgan Stark in a few hours time, please tell her that her Christmas wish has been granted.”

Peter watched Nicholas take hold of Prancer’s harness and lead her across the rooftop. As they walked, the air shimmered and a sleigh and eight other reindeer appeared, who snorted softly as Prancer took her place back amongst them. “Mr. Nicholas?”

Nicholas turned to look at him, his hands working to secure Prancer’s harness to the reins. “Yes, Peter?”

“What’s Morgan’s wish?”

Nicholas tapped the side of his nose. “That’s top secret. I’d never disclose the nature of any Christmas wishes I receive. She’ll know what you’re talking about, I promise you, and you’re the very best person to deliver the message.” He picked up the sack that had been left next to the chimney and slung it over his shoulder. “Forgive me for rushing you Peter, but I have deliveries to finish, and it’s getting late – your aunt is waiting up for you.”

Impulsively, Peter caught the man up in a hug. “I won’t remember any of this, will I?” He didn’t know how he knew that he’d forget, but he was certain that he would.

Nicholas patted his back fondly. “No. You’ll remember to tell Morgan about her Christmas wish, but you’ll forget our conversation, and what you saw this evening. I do hope you’ll think more fondly of me, however.”

Peter stepped out of the embrace. “I hope so too,” he said quietly. “It was nice to meet you, Mr.Nicholas. I wish I could remember this.”

Nicholas touched a gloved hand to his chest, just to the left of the spider emblem. “You’ll remember right here, when you’re with your loved ones. Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas,” Peter echoed, as Nicholas climbed back into the chimney. This time, the brick work expanded to accommodate him, and he slid smoothly in, pausing to smile at Peter.

“Goodbye, Peter. You’re a good boy, and you’re going to be a great man.”

“Bye, Santa.” Peter suddenly felt much younger than sixteen, full of awe and wonder.

Nicholas disappeared completely down the chimney, and with a faint sparkle, the reindeer and sleigh disappeared from view once more, leaving Peter seemingly alone on the rooftop.

He looked around him, wondering what had drawn him there. Nothing caught his eye; it was just a deserted, snow-covered roof, with only his footprints disturbing the otherwise pristine blanket of white.

With a shrug, he tugged his mask back on and jumped up onto the wall, flicking through his web shooter settings and letting out a test burst of web fluid before stepping over the edge, a web catching on the building across the street. As he swung through the falling snow, he happily hummed Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer under his breath, staying close to street level and trading Christmas greetings with people heading home. Spirits were high ten weeks post-Blip, the world still celebrating the return of half its population, and Peter found himself filled with fondness for his fellow New Yorkers.

The tower was bright in the distance, calling him to his temporary home, and he swung faster, wanting to pull on the Christmas Eve pajamas May always bought him and drink a cup of hot chocolate before heading to bed.

His aunt was waiting for him in the cozy little living room of their borrowed apartment, and two mugs of hot chocolate sat on the coffee table. The soft warm glow of the tree lights was the only source of illumination in the room, adding to the coziness. “Hey, baby. Good patrol?”

He flopped next to her on the sofa, pulling his mask off and resting his head on her shoulder. “Yeah. Pretty quiet. Sorry I’m back so late, I thought I saw something, but it turned out to be nothing.”

She pressed a mug into his hands. “It’s only a quarter after twelve, you’re back earlier than I expected. Fifteen minutes is fine if you give me a heads up.”

He felt like he’d stayed out at least an hour past his curfew, but he wasn’t about to argue with his aunt. “Thanks, May. I’m gonna go get changed for bed.”

She sent him off carrying his new pajamas, which matched hers – made of soft, warm, green flannel, with a pattern of tiny candy canes. A hasty shower, and he returned to the living room and the blanket nest May had constructed in his absence, snuggling in beside her. She wrapped her arm around him, pulling him close, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as she played with his damp hair.

They sat in contented silence, watching the yule log channel playing on the TV, the gentle crackle and pop of the virtual burning wood filling the room and making him sleepy.

“We should go to bed so Santa can come,” he yawned, his mouth running on autopilot.

May laughed, throwing the blankets off and pulling him to his feet for a hug. “Haven’t heard you say that for a long time, sweetheart. But you’re right, we should call it a night. Morgan will probably wake us up at the ass crack of dawn.”

They each went to their own room, making a valiant effort to pretend that Peter wouldn’t crawl into May’s bed in a couple of hours seeking comfort after a nightmare. He was sixteen – he was Spider-Man – and he hated that a bad dream made him act like a child, but May was the only way he could calm down, banish the memories of disintegrating on a dead, orange planet, a billion miles away from home.

He curled up under the comforter, closing his eyes and listening to the faint rustle of May carrying bags of gifts out of their quarters and over to Pepper’s apartment. He’d offered to help before heading out on patrol, but May was insistent on keeping that part of their Christmas tradition going, even in the unfamiliar luxury of Stark Tower. She liked to set the gifts out after Peter went to bed, then get up before him to turn the tree lights on, keeping the magic going even though he was a teenager.

He was full of quiet, drowsy contentment, and an almost nervy anticipation for the morning, excitement he hadn’t felt for years. He loved Christmas and the way his world slowed down for a while, allowing him to spend time with May eating too much food and watching cheesy holiday movies. Their shared losses meant they doubled down on trying to make it special, keenly aware of the fragility of life and how it could all change in (the stopping of) a heartbeat. But it had been a long time since he’d felt like this – desperate for the morning to come, convinced that he was never going to be able to fall asleep because he was just too excited.

But he did sleep; deep and dreamless for the first time since being Blipped back to life, not even stirring at the soft, delicate peal of bells from the roof of the tower. He only woke when a pair of bony knees pressed against his lower back, and a shrill little voice shouted his name directly into his ear.

“Petey! Petey, wake up!” the voice screeched, as the blankets were pulled down from around his shoulders. “It’s Christmas!”

He opened one eye to look at his phone, groaning when he saw how early it was. “Mo, it’s not even seven yet. You should be in bed.” He turned underneath her, catching her around the waist, and she shrieked as his fingers brushed against the ticklish spot right beneath her ribs, turning into three feet and thirty pounds of wildly squirming four-year-old.

“FRIDAY opened the door for me,” she said, laughing fit over. “Mommy told me to come and get you.” She was wearing pajamas that matched his, and brand-new Tsum Tsum Spider-Man slippers, which he was going to need a Peter-sized pair of immediately, because he was never going to get over the fact that there was actual Spider-Man merch.

He flung a blanket over her, making her giggle again. “Oh she did, did she?”

“And May said you need to get your lazy ass out of bed.” Morgan dragged the blanket off, her hair fluffing out around her head in a cloud of static, and frowned at Peter. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He schooled his face into a look of mock seriousness and swept her up in a bearhug before rolling them out of bed, Morgan clinging to him like a koala, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Sorry, Morgie.”

“Your breath smells,” she informed him, and he threw her back onto the bed with a mock growl.

“That’s because you woke me up and I haven’t cleaned my teeth yet.” He left Morgan bouncing on the mattress and hurriedly used the bathroom, freshening himself up before returning to catch her mid-bounce, swinging her up onto his hip. He huffed a breath out right in her face. “Better?”

“Better,” she nodded. She planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, then squished their faces together and began to twiddle one of his curls around her finger. “You smell like candy canes.”

He’d only known Morgan for two months, but he already knew he’d die for her without a second thought. She was a loving, affectionate, scary-smart ball of crazy, and he absolutely adored her, had done from the very first moment he met her, when she’d crawled into his lap, called him Petey, and demanded that he tell her what it was like to swing from a web. Tony had apparently been telling her bedtime stories about both Peter Parker and Spider-Man since she’d been born, and she’d grown up thinking of Peter as her big brother. He was more than happy to fill that role in her life.

He carried her out of his and May’s quarters and across the hall to the rear entrance of the Stark suite. The door opened up into the back of the apartment, and the two of them padded silently along the lushly carpeted hallway, past the bedrooms and then out into the huge living room with its floor to ceiling windows and twelve-foot Christmas tree. May and Pepper were waiting, both wrapped in fluffy dressing gowns and hugging cups of coffee, and the bottom foot of the tree was completely hidden by presents.

He looked down at Morgan, expecting to see a look of wonder on her face, but instead he saw her dark eyes welling up with tears, her bottom lip trembling, and she hid her face in his shoulder as she began to cry. “Morgan?” he said, looking desperately at Pepper for help. Something was sparking in the back of his mind, something he needed to say, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

Pepper swooped in, taking Morgan from Peter and holding her close. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Morgan was sobbing incoherently, her shoulders shaking with the intensity of her cries. Pepper sssh’d her, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her as she cried for her daddy. They’d known this was going to be a difficult Christmas, but they’d hoped her age would protect her a little, even though Peter knew from his own experience that it likely wouldn’t.

He suddenly knew what he needed to say, the message bursting out of him without any conscious effort on his part. “Morgan, your Christmas wish has been granted.” Even as the words left his mouth, he made a face. “Huh?”

She stopped crying, a look of fierce determination on her features, and she wiggled in Pepper’s arms. “Put me down, Mommy.”

Pepper did as she was asked, and then Morgan was off, heading for the elevator with purpose. “FRIDAY, take me to the med bay, please.”

The three of them gaped at one another, and then moved as one to Morgan’s side as the elevator doors opened and she marched in.

Pepper crouched in front of her daughter, wiping her damp cheeks with the cuff of her dressing gown. “Baby, it’s too early to go to the med bay. They won’t be ready for us.”

“Peter said my Christmas wish has been granted, so I have to go to the med bay,” Morgan said, and Peter hoped his face and shrug conveyed just how very confused he was. He didn’t know why he’d said that – the words had sprung fully-formed with no thought, but they felt right.

Before they could make a move to leave the elevator, the doors closed and the cab began to smoothly descend. “FRIDAY, please take us back up to the residential level,” Pepper said.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Boss, but I do not seem to be able to override Little Boss’s original command,” FRIDAY apologized as the elevator reached the med bay floor, the doors opening automatically.

The med bay was usually quiet and hushed, the silence broken only by soft music and the sporadic bleeping of medical equipment, but this morning, it was quite the opposite.

“My family. I need – where are they? Please. Let me – I need to see them. Let me up.”

The four of them collectively froze in the doorway of the elevator at the sound of the familiar voice. A voice they hadn’t been sure that they’d ever hear again, a voice that had fallen silent on a battlefield as an arc reactor dimmed and died, leaving a badly injured man barely clinging to life.

“Mr. Stark –“

“Don’t Mr. Stark me. I need Pepper. Where is she? And Morgan. Pete. Happy and Rhodey. Please, I have to see them. I need to know they’re OK.”

“Daddy!” Morgan was the first to move, running into the bay and heading straight for the screened off area at the back of the room, Peter and Pepper on her heels as she fought with the curtains. “Daddy, I can’t find you.”

Pepper pulled the curtain back and her hands went to her mouth, her knees momentarily buckling as Peter supported her with an arm around her shoulders. “Tony,” she whispered brokenly as Morgan scrambled up onto the bed, tucking herself against her father’s side.

“Hey Pep,” Tony croaked, and that was all she needed to stumble towards his bed and fall against him, his one remaining arm coming up to cup the back of her head, Morgan squished between them. “You’ve caught me a little unarmed,” he joked, and Pepper made a little sound that was half-cry, half-laugh, grasping at the front of his pajamas.

Green, candy cane bedecked pajamas.

Peter looked at May, who was talking quietly with the two nurses on duty, and tearfully watching the family reunion. She smiled. “What? I couldn’t leave Tony out. I snuck them down here last night and asked Candace to put them on him.”

He moved to stand next to her and she linked their fingers, her other hand coming up to wrap around his arm. “We should go,” he said quietly, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, but then Morgan was there, tugging on his free hand.

“Daddy wants to see you,” she said, pulling him towards the bed. “Come ooooon, Petey.”

He stood awkwardly next to Tony and Pepper, Morgan still clinging to his hand. “Hi, Mr. Stark.”

“What happened to calling me ‘Tony’, huh?” Tony held out his hand, Pepper moving to sit by his knee. “Bring it in, kid.”

Peter was drawn into an awkward one-armed hug, one knee up on the pressure mattress so he could lean in, ending up half-sprawled against the man’s chest. “You’re awake,” he said, Tony’s chuckle rumbling under his ear.

“Astute as ever.” Tony patted his back, and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Uh – why are we all wearing matching pajamas? Is it Christmas?”

“Astute as ever,” Peter teased, pulling away. “But yeah, Merry Christmas. You can thank May for the PJs.”

“You’re my Christmas wish,” Morgan piped up from her seat at the foot of Tony’s bed. “I asked Santa to wake you up and he did.”

“Is that right, Maguna?” Tony said distractedly, looking over at Pepper. “I’ve been out of it what, ten weeks? Longer? It’s still ’23, right?”

“It’s still ’23,” Pepper confirmed, her fingers stroking the now smooth side of his previously burned face. “We got you back from Wakanda last week. They fixed you up as best they could, and sent you home to finish your recovery. We’ve just been waiting for you to wake up.” She noticed Tony picking at the adhesive dressing holding his NG tube in place, and pushed his hand down. “Leave that alone,” she scolded.

He instead reached across to touch the empty sleeve hanging from his right shoulder, the excess fabric neatly folded up on itself. “Guess they couldn’t fix everything.” His face betrayed nothing of how he was feeling, but his fingers twisted tightly in the sleeve, and the numbers on his heart monitor began to climb.

Morgan crawled up the bed to snuggle up against his right side, resting her head against the stump of his arm without any hesitation. “You’re like Mrs. Nesbitt,” she said, fiddling with one of his pajama shirt buttons.

Tony’s face went soft, gazing at her with a look of awestruck tenderness. “Yeah baby. Just like Mrs. Nesbitt.” He glared at Peter. “I blame you for this. I showed her Toy Story because I knew you’d insist it was part of her classic movie education or some shit like that.”

“’Shit’ is Mommy’s word,” Morgan chirped, making Peter cackle.

“Yes, and only Mommy gets to say it, remember? And May, May gets to say it, but not you, or me, or Pete.” Tony did a good job of hiding his amusement, but Peter could see it in the way the corner of his mouth twitched. “Pete, don’t suppose you’ve started designing me a new arm yet?”

Pepper shot Peter a fond look. “Started? He’s on, what now Peter, Mark V?”

“VI,” Peter said. “But I have a few ideas for Mark VII that should improve the grip force regulation.” He noticed Tony staring at him, slack jawed, and he blushed. “School hasn’t started up again. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I was joking, kid,” Tony said. “You really designed an arm?”

“He basically taught himself how to build a neuro-prosthesis in a week,” May said proudly. “We could hardly get him to eat or sleep, and then he crashed for two days solid. He’s picked up too many of your bad habits.” She didn’t mention that the week in question was immediately after the battle; Peter had dealt with his grief and trauma by hyper-fixating, and his sole focus had been creating an arm for Tony, unwilling to face the fact that he might never recover enough to use it.

Channeling his inner Elle Woods, Peter brushed the praise off. “What, like it’s hard?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the snark. “Thank you, Pete. When they let me up out of this bed, we’ll have some lab time, give your designs a test drive.” He paused. “Wait, you’re both living here, right? Pepper wouldn’t let me buy you an apartment, so the plan was that you’d live here when you came back until you could find a new place for yourselves.”

“That’s because Pepper knew I’d kick your ass if you bought us an apartment,” May said. “But yes, we’re living here. We should be able to move into our new apartment by the end of January, so we’ll be out of your hair soon.” She stepped forward, and quickly hugged Tony. “Thank you. If it hadn’t been for you and Pepper, we’d have been out on the streets.”

“You might have noticed we’re pushed for space around here, so it was a slight inconvenience,” Tony joked. “Seriously, you’re welcome. You and Peter, you’re part of the family, you know that, right? I wouldn’t let many people get away with dressing me in off-brand flannel pajamas.”

“Walmart’s finest,” May sniffed haughtily. “100% cotton for your delicate rich-person skin, I know polyester gives you hives.”

“You know what else gives me hives? Being in med-bay.” Tony gave Pepper a look that was truly pathetic, and she rolled her eyes at him. “Pep, spring me out of here, wouldya? It’s Christmas.”

“Tony, you’ve been unconscious for over two months. You’re not going anywhere until a doctor has checked you over, and even then you’ll need rehab, PT.” At her husband’s crest-fallen look, she continued. “I’ll make you a deal. You try and sleep for a while, and we’ll move the celebrations down here. Deal?”

“Deal,” Tony agreed. Peter could see that he was starting to tire, his face losing the little color it had, and his eyes heavy. “Morgan, what do you say to having a nap with your dad?”

Morgan answered by burrowing under the covers, her head on Tony’s chest. “Mommy, can you bring Daddy’s presents here?” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and let out a fake snore. “We’re nappin’.”

Pepper tucked the blankets around her husband and daughter, and kissed both of them on the forehead. “We’ll bring all the presents here, baby. Make sure Daddy stays out of trouble, OK?”

“OK,” Morgan echoed. “Daddy, you need to be good.”

Tony was all but asleep, and he murmured his assent, his hand coming up to stroke Morgan’s hair. “Hmm. Be good.”

Once she was certain that Tony was resting, Pepper checked in with the nurses to tell them the plan and ask for Helen Cho to be called in, and the three of them returned to the penthouse to start the mammoth task of moving the gifts down to the med-bay.

They began grouping presents by person, sorting them into the heavy-duty trash bags Pepper had grabbed from the kitchen. Peter glanced up to find Pepper staring at him. “You OK?”

She gave him one of her piercing looks, the kind that Tony had always said he found equal parts scary and attractive. Peter found it 100% terrifying. “How did you know Morgan made a wish? She didn’t write ask to write a letter to Santa, and she wouldn’t tell me what she wanted this year. She said it was a secret and it wouldn’t come true if she told anyone.”

“I – I don’t know. I just knew I needed to tell her that her wish had been granted.” He fiddled with the ribbon on a parcel addressed to May, rubbing the smooth satin between his thumb and forefinger. “But Santa really came though this year, huh?”

“For a kid who stopped believing in Santa at the age of five, you sure have talked about him a lot since last night,” May said, from behind a stack of gifts. “You made a Salvation Army Santa cry once. What’s with the Santa love all of a sudden?”

“I decided he’s not that bad after all. It’s not his fault that he couldn’t bring my mom and dad back to life.” He saw May’s face fall and realized what he’d said. “Uh – that’s what I asked him for when they died. I wrote him like five times that year, and when Mom and Dad weren’t there that first Christmas morning, I wrote to tell him I didn’t believe in him anymore. Which doesn’t make any sense when I think about it, writing to someone I was sure didn’t exist, but I was five.”

“Oh, baby. I didn’t know.” May swiped at her teary eyes and sniffed. “You were so little, just Morgan’s age. I thought you figured it out because of how smart you are.”

“Hey, it’s OK. He was never going to be able to make my wish come true. He’s Santa, not – not Jesus or Bruce Banner. He can’t bring people back to life.”

Pepper was squinting at him again. “You’re talking about Santa like he’s real.”

“He is.” For the second time that morning, Peter was surprised by the words leaving his mouth, but he knew they were true. He felt it in his gut, despite the lack of empirical evidence. “I can’t tell you how I know. I just do. Santa’s real.” He finished packing up the gifts and looped multiple bags along his forearms, the sacks completely surrounding him as they settled alongside one another like knots of dough in monkey bread.

May and Pepper wore matching skeptical expressions as they picked up their own sacks, one in each hand, clearly humoring him as they headed back down to the med bay.

They’d been gone a little less than an hour, and Tony was softly snoring. After two months of seeing him unconscious and completely still, it was reassuring to notice the little shifts and movements of his body in natural sleep.

Morgan was still curled up against him, wide awake and watching a projection of The Polar Express, the sight making Peter momentarily pause, like a thought had slipped in and out of his brain before he could catch it.

There was a small Christmas tree – well, it was six-foot tall, but small compared to the one upstairs – in the corner of the room, and as Morgan carried on watching the movie, they piled up the gifts around the foot of the tree.

Peter had just finished emptying the last sack when one of the nurses walked up to Pepper with a hessian bag in her hand. “Ms. Potts? I found this behind the nursing station. I don’t know how it got there, I don’t remember seeing it earlier.”

Pepper took the bag and looked at the tag. “’To the Stark and Parker families – Merry Christmas. Love from Santa Claus’,” she read out, before smiling. “Peter, was this you?”

At his blank look, Pepper put the sack on the floor and stepped back. “FRIDAY, please scan this for anything suspicious.”

“Scan completed, Mrs. Boss. Nothing suspicious detected,” FRIDAY said. “The sack contains five parcels.”

Pepper undid the red ribbon bow that cinched the neck of the back closed, and slid five beautifully wrapped gifts out onto the floor. “There’s one for each of us,” she said, examining the gift tags.

“They’re from Santa,” Morgan said, sitting up as the movie credits began to play. Tony stirred as she moved, opening his eyes and stifling a yawn.

“Time is it?” he asked, knuckling sleep from the corner of his eye. “Did I miss Christmas?”

May helped him sit up, dropping right back into nurse mode and supporting him with carefully placed pillows. “It’s just after nine. All you’ve missed is Peter showing off and carrying a dozen Hefty bags full of gifts. I took a video for you, he looked ridiculous. He had to do this weird little shuffle because the bags were bouncing around his legs.”

Tony snorted as Pepper placed his mystery gift in his lap. “I’ll add it to the ‘Preposterous Pete Playlist’, we’ll have a screening later.” At Peter’s noise of protest, he grinned widely, before his smile became something softer. “God, I missed you, kid. You’re gonna have to stick close for a couple weeks, until having you back doesn’t feel like something I dreamed up in my coma.” He winked at May. “Missed you too, Aunt Hottie.”

She tutted at him as Pepper passed over her gift. “I was gone five years and you still know how to grind my gears, Stark.” There was no heat in her words, just affection, and Tony gave her his trademark smug grin as he began to pick at the tape sealing his present shut.

Following his lead, they piled on his bed, Morgan and Pepper at his shoulders, Peter and May by his feet, and started tearing into their own gifts.

Tony somehow managed to open his first, holding the edge of the paper and letting the weight of the present unfurl the wrapping, the contents dropping into his blanketed lap. He picked his gift up, a little frown of confusion knitting his brows.

“Is that a 1977 Kenner Star Wars Han Solo figure in its original packaging?” Peter moaned, his own gift sitting forgotten. “And a Leia? What the fuh … uh, heck.” He moved to pick one up, and Tony bundled them protectively against his chest.

“Back off, Underoos. These are mine.”

“But you don’t even like Star Wars,” Peter pouted, trying to get a better look at the packaging.

“Uh, says you. Kid me thought Star Wars was amazing, Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher were my first crushes. I really wanted action figures that Christmas, but my dad said I was too old.” Tony let the blister packs rest back in his lap, and ran his finger across the plastic. “These look brand-new.”

Tony would have been seven the year Star Wars came out, and Peter felt a moment of sadness for the little boy who’d been told he was too old for something he loved. That same little boy was looking out through the eyes of his adult self, childlike wonder on his face.

May had finished unwrapping her gift. She laughed, and held the box up. “A Bionic Woman wrist radio! My mom and dad tried to get me one but it was sold out.” Much like Tony’s gifts, the packaging was in mint condition and looked like new.

Pepper showed off her gift, and Peter had another bout of fanboy envy. More vintage action figures in their original packaging – Egon Spengler and Slimer from The Real Ghostbusters. “Pepper, you liked Ghostbusters?” He couldn’t picture Pepper as a child – she was the most grown-up adult he knew, so composed and polished that it was easy to imagine she just appeared fully-formed one day, wearing a pair of killer heels and a tailored suit, completely skipping childhood and marching into Stark Industries to make Tony sort his shit out.

“I had all the comics and recorded the cartoon every week. I was in love with Egon.” She turned the boxes over, looking at the back cards. “Mom didn’t have much money when I was growing up, so I never asked for anything for Christmas. She always got me a few little things, tried her hardest, but she couldn’t afford things like this.” She choked up, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I’ve never told anyone I wanted these.”

Morgan was already hugging her gift – a Spider-Man plushie that matched her slippers. “How did Santa know?” she murmured, wide-eyed. “I only asked him to wake up Daddy for Christmas.”

All eyes shifted to Peter, the only person yet to unwrap his gift. He felt the weight of expectation as he peeled the tape away from the small parcel.

A simple silver photo frame lay nestled in the paper, displaying a picture of Peter as a toddler, sitting on Santa’s lap with his mom and dad standing either side of him, the three of them wearing matching sweaters and cheesy grins. He hadn’t seen the photo before – his parents had lost almost all their possessions in a house fire the year before they died, so the only pictures Peter had of himself before the age of four were limited to the few May and Ben had taken.

He wordlessly held the frame out to May, and she took it, letting out a little gasp. “Oh, Peter. Look how tiny you were.”

Something tinkled inside the discarded paper, and when Peter shook it out, a gold sleigh bell about the size of a tangerine tumbled onto the mattress with a soft chime, followed by a slip of paper. He picked the bell up in one hand and the paper in the other.

The paper had one word on it – ‘believe’.

“Told you,” he said, shaking the bell next to his ear and listening to the sweet, gentle peal.

He knew it in his bones. Santa Claus was real. He had his tangible evidence now, in the form of gifts that were meaningless trinkets for most, but full of sentiment and nostalgia for the recipients, things that represented their childhood longings, left behind but never forgotten.

Tony gave him an odd look as he continued to ring the bell. “Kid, I think it must be broken. Doesn’t matter how hard you ring it, it’s not going to make a noise.” He held his hand out and Peter leaned forward to place the bell in his palm, watching as Tony shook it. “Nope. It’s a dud.” He tossed it back to Peter, his aim pretty accurate given he was using his non-dominant arm.

The bell jingled again as Peter caught it. “How can you not hear it? It’s really loud.”

May gestured for the bell, and it was her turn to shake it. “Nothing.” She passed it on to Pepper, who repeated the motion.

“Sorry Peter. I can’t hear a thing.” Pepper handed the bell back.

Morgan left Tony’s side to deposit herself in Peter’s lap, and she took the bell from him. It was big enough that she needed to hold it with both hands as she made it ring. “It sounds really pretty,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at him. “It’s OK, they’re grown-ups,” she whispered conspiratorially.

He held her close as she played with the bell, the chime pure and clear, something magical in its tone. Their little shared jumble of a family regarded the two of them with obvious affection, Tony in particular watching with a fierce intensity that Peter could see was a mixture of pride and love.

He didn’t know what had changed, why he suddenly just knew that Santa was real, but he knew one thing for certain.

He believed.

#My fic #christmas fic #spider-man

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lothirielswanmarvel · 5 years ago

Link

Chapter 1 of Avengers: Love and Lightning

Love interest: Thor (+ a Peter Quill love triangle later introduced in the series)

“Vision, what's next on the list?”

“Blueberries, sir—boss—tiny man with lots of money,” Vision stuttered as we walked on the aisle. Tony Stark, famous billionaire and world-saver, sat in the shopping cart that I pushed, munching on an open box of pocky.

“Tiny Man better not squish my M&Ms,” Rhodey muttered. Every now and then, Rhodey would reach out and steady himself against the edge of the cart. The metal casts that encased his legs were bulky, and I couldn't imagine how irritating they were. I noticed Vision wince every time Rhodey stopped to gather himself.

I sighed. My family had gone through a divorce recently (and you can imagine how crappy that was, given Director Nick Fury was practically the priest that united the match). The Avengers had separated, leaving all parties in broken pieces. All of the people I cared about in my incredibly tiny yet fulfilling social circle were in pain. How was someone like me, an introvert with zero superpowers, supposed to fix that?

“Oh! Can we pick up some cucumbers?” Shuri asked. Her voice was light and had a hint of an accent to it. She wore bright colors and had a chipper air to her. Sometimes, I swore she was a character from an anime brought to life.

“No,” T’Challa said sternly.

Our group took up the entire aisle, and as we slowly inched towards the end, I daydreamed about the book I had stashed under my bed in the Compound. But I forced myself out of my comfort zone, more than a regular amount: I felt like they needed me. And I honestly cared too much to forsake any of the Avengers right now.

“Ms. Angie, can I have some cucumbers please?” Shuri turned to me with a polite smile on her face.

I blinked. “You’re the princess of an entire continent. I'm pretty sure I have no say here.”

“Sure you do, Ms. Angie,” Peter Parker, another random kid that Tony adopted off the street, raced up to our party. He stuffed a bunch of doughnuts in our cart. Tony nodded his approval, “ ‘Atta boy. Now go steal the bananas by the ‘kids get free snacks’ sign.”

“Don't listen to him, Peter. Tony can go by himself,” I said. “And what do you mean, I have a say?”

Peter shrugged. “Well, you’re an adult, right? You’re old enough to drink, that's pretty old.”

I stopped pushing the cart abruptly and gaped at Tiny Man 2.0. “Wait, hold on a minute, did you just call me old?”

“You read books all the time,” Shuri replied.

“You always prefer your free time in solitude,” Vision interjected.

“And you look…” Peter trailed off as he studied my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony making cutting motions with his hands.

“You look, uh,” Peter swallowed. “You look really young. I mean, you dated Thor and he's like a thousand years old. You're practically dating the elderly.”

“Woah, that is not cool, man,” Rhodey shook his head.

“We need to work on how you talk to women,” Tony told Parker. Then he turned in the cart to glance at me, and cowered behind a jar of Nutella. In the background, T’Challa started hitting his head on a box of cereal.

I sucked in a breath as I processed all of this information. “Okay, a few points to be made here: I am a young woman in the prime of my life.”

“Who radiates youth and beauty,” T’Challa offered.

I continued, trying not to blush, “Right...er, thanks. Number two: I never dated Thor. If I wanted to date the elderly, I’d call up Bucky in Wakanda. Last thing,”

I stared down Vision, Peter, Shuri, and Tony. “if I am the adult, that means you are the child.”

I continued down the aisle, tugging Tony along in the cart. “Rhodey, pick up some Minute Maid juice boxes for the kids.”

“But I like Juicy Juice more…” Parker whined.

“Tough!” I turned around the corner, and crashed carts with someone. I winced at the sound. Tony squirmed in the metal basket, “Hey—oh, they visited the liquor section.”

Tony reached out to steal the pack of beer and yelped when three long blades came before his hand.

“I’m so sorry! Hi, Logan,” I said, facing most of the staff of the X-Men. Professor Charles Xavier was sitting in the cart, giving Tony a disapproving look. Erik Lensherr pushed the cart without even touching the handle, who offered an unfriendly sneer to Vision. Hank McCoy was nearby, studying the shopping list. Sometimes he glanced up at me and quickly looked back down at the slip of paper.

“Our deepest apologies, Ms. Green,” Charles wore a friendly smile when he met my gaze. “Do excuse us. Mister Wade Wilson has been draining our supply of snacks for the students, so we’re here to pick up more biscuits.”

“That's british for crackers,” Hank McCoy translated.

“They don't need to know our life story, bub,” Logan grunted.

“Right. We must be off,” Charles waved as his cart started moving by itself. “Good day to you, Avengers.”

Erik sneered at Vision as they passed. “Next time you touch my daughter, remember: I can control metal.”

The group marched off to raise havoc in the bakery department.

“The other side of the pond is crazy,” Rhodey remarked, watching them go.

Tony held up a beer in victory, “Ugh, why is this warm? We’re getting some Aviation American Gin.”

I started pushing Tony again. Both him and the doughnuts had some weight to them. “No alcohol around kids.”

“But mom!”

“No dice,” I said. Our group kept walking. My mind wandered back to what Peter mentioned: he thought Thor and I were dating. We were intimate—I mean, we were close, not in a romantic way, but...he always came up to me first when he returned to Earth. Thor sent me exotic flowers from Asgard sometimes, when he was away—he called me his “earthen goddess” on the tag, and it always made me feel all warm and tingly.

Thor and I had struck up a system while he was away, too: to make sure he was alive, we sent letters through Heimdall for each other. I felt bad bothering the poor Watcher of the Nine Realms, but at least I knew Thor was okay. He was off doing space stuff, and I did my earth stuff: I just...I missed him sometimes.

Only when fiery sparks filled the air did I return to reality (only Thor could make me forget what planet I was on). Doctor Stephen Strange appeared before us.

“Hey,” I was the first to recognize him. I probably knew him better than everyone else; my health history wasn't...pristine.

Tony stuck his tongue out at him like a five year-old. “What, you got tired of your blue telephone box?”

Peter and Shuri gasped. “Can I be your companion?”

“I asked first! I got dibs! Ha!”

“No fair! You didn't even get your Hogwarts letter!”

Stephen smirked, and despite Tony, leaned on the front of the cart, holding my gaze. “Hello. Food shopping with the family?”

“And pursuing other condiments, including feminine hygiene products and alcoholic beverages,” Vision added.

I plastered a smile on my face. “Just an ordinary day living among superheroes. Very boring.”

Shuri nodded vigorously. “It's true! All Ms. Angie does is sit on the couch and play video games and cry over made-up people. There is nothing interesting going on in her life.”

I gripped the handle to the cart tightly, silently vowing never to have children. Stephen’s cheekbones were sharp and taut like they were held up by internal wiring. He had a regalness to him. I was one of the few around that he actually joked with, “I disagree. I think there are plenty of interesting things about you.”

I made a face at him, wondering if this was a hint to a new health crisis—or even worse—an attempt to flirt with me. Suddenly T’Challa was right next to me. “What is your motive in this visit, Strange? Perhaps you have run out of money, and cannot afford basic necessities.”

I groaned at the two of them. “Please play nice. I think I’ve finally reached the temptation to buy Aviation American Gin. Tony, direct me.”

“Yay!” Tony pointed Logan’s stolen beer bottle towards the end of the aisle. I followed my soon to-be tipsy compass.

Stephen still lingered in our group. I glanced over at him, “If there’s anything you’d like…”

“I wouldn't want to impose,” He said.

“Angeline, I think you are too kind to the misfortunate,” T’Challa mused.

“Guys, please. I get enough bickering as it is: I'm surrounded by four kids,” I motioned again across our group. “Let’s just be nice, and enjoy Tony’s black card.”

We reached the end of the aisle and a curse flew from my mouth. I crashed carts with someone else.

“I'm so sorry—” I trailed off when I looked up at the person.

“Intruders!” Scott Lang raised his nerf gun from his seat in the shopping cart. “Make way, people! It's the White Jets to our Latino Sharks!”

Steve Rogers sighed. “Scott, you have to stop watching musicals with Cassie.”

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ifoundkylo · 8 years ago

Text

Liberty Pt.4

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

AU: Pirates of the Caribbean Universe

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Natalia Romanoff, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker, Baron Zemo (mentiones briefly)

Warnings for this fic: Angst, eventual smut in future chapters (slow burn), running away, profanity, violence (future chapters).

WARNINGS: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT AND IT WILL MAKE YOU BECOME A BLUSHING VIRGIN AGAIN, ALSO BUCKY X READER PRACTICE SELF DEFENSE, AND THERES SWEARING

Word count for this chapter: (4362) {i promise it’s worth it}

A/N: So here’s chapter 4, it’s long af BUT its worth it! dedicated to my babe @papi-chulo-bucky for motivating me and telling me spoilers for delta ily. I also pinched the SING idea from Miss Congeniality.

I listened to this whilst writing

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Captain James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was a peculiar man, how he sailed the seas for most of his 27 years. He was born at sea, he would most likely die at sea. All pirates, including those in the farthest corners of the maps, had heard of the infamous Captain. You? You were the governor’s daughter, secretly hoping to be taken out to seas and to be set free.

You slowly broke apart, his hands leaving your body.

“I’m sorry miss, I-”

“Go back to sleep, Captain. You’re delusional.”

You didn't sleep much that night, Bucky's light snores weren't the problem; you had pondered over what had happened between the both of you. He wouldn't remember what happened, you thought. He was delusional, half asleep, groggy, in another world, maybe?

Only he would know, in due time he would tell you.

It was a time before dawn, and the sun stained the sky different shades of pinks, reds, and oranges. The crew below were slowly starting to wake up and you made your way into Bucky's cabin, you were greeted with a sight only a married woman should have, but you didn't complain. Bucky was dressed in only a night shirt of which he had worn the previous night, nothing else

"Good morning, Captain, did you sleep well?" You asked gruffly, as your hands covered your eyes.

Bucky sighed, "I believe so," Liar. "You needn't cover your eyes, darling, I'm decent." He laughed.

"Sir, back at Port Royal that is FAR from bloody decent!" You continued to have your eyes closed and under your palms. Bucky laughed at your exertion.

"You really are so innocent aren't you?" You heard a rustle of fabric, followed by a clinking of buckled boots. You felt a pair of large hands gently wrap around your wrists and peel your hands from covering your face, your eyes squinted shut, even more, making your nose scrunch too, making Bucky snort lightly, "You can open your eyes now, kitten, I'm decent, I promise."

You opened one and alas, he actually WAS decent! To your dismay, obviously, to see a man as beautiful as this one, naked, would be a blessing.

"Did you dream at all? Anything pleasant?" You made light conversation as you walked over to the Globe, tracing the equator.

"Indeed, I was kissed by a beautiful woman in my bed, she was light, different, her hair was splayed across my pillow and her hands were in my hair, I could swear I apologised for being so bold," You blushed as he continued. "but it was enjoyable and so surreal, I could smell her and feel her. I..." Your breath hitched in your throat and you disguised it as a cough. "Sorry for getting so detailed, what about yourself, Y/N? Any reveries?" You looked up at him, as he mixed leaves and hot water in a metal bowl.

"Pleasant would be an understatement, Captain." You returned his smile. "What is that you're making, Bucky? It smells very strong."

"Ah, yes, it's a mix of mint leaves and hot water, I like to keep my teeth and mouth clean and fresh, it also clears the sinuses if you're sick. I go to the main deck and spit it out over the side once I'm done, would you like some too? I'd assume you're used to brushing your teeth back home." He scooped some of the liquid into two goblets as you nodded in thanks.

You grabbed the compass and figured where the higher northeast would be, in the night the wind had picked up and the crew members switching between shifts at the helm hadn't bothered looking at one themselves, judging their instincts. It wasn't good enough.

The ship had ended up going southeast, in the direction of the Western Sahara. Bucky was not happy at all, he had banished them to the brig for being so idiotic.

You were sat on a crate as your captain walked passed you, you were further studying the charts- even though you didn't have to- you knew it by heart.

"Miss Y/L/N, do tell me, have you ever helmed a ship?" You snapped your head up as you hear Bucky call your name from the quarterdeck. You thought for a second, trying to reach back in time to when your father had taken you with him on his voyages, it seemed you hadn't.

"No, sir, I haven't had the privilege of doing such a thing, my father always kept me to the stem, so I didn't get in the way!" You slowly walked over to your captain, holding the rolled up charts in your hands.

"It's a simple task, I'll show you if you'd like." He smiled and you returned the kind gesture.

"I'd be delighted, Sir."

He never had a woman steer his ship before, he was told many times that a woman's hands were made for the most fragile of things, like sewing, lace work, caring for a baby, etcetera. But he believed you to be tough, that you could handle the roughest of seas and the most brutal of enemies and it was just hidden behind your gentle facade- you had yet to grow out of your cocoon of welfare, for until the previous day, you had never had to injure violence or act upon self-defense.

"I've seen many people steer before, and it looks as easy as breathing without a corset- but that's easier said than done." You admitted, Bucky simply laughed at your comment, walking you to the helm.

"Here is a simple fact you might have heard the helm is the heart of the ship, it takes her wherever she desires. But he is not light-hearted. The wheel is weighted, it takes fifty percent of a man- or woman's- strength to turn it, here-"

Bucky maneuvered you to stand behind the wheel, and he behind you. He grasped your elbows and lifted them both at a ninety-degree angle.

"At all times it is crucial that the helmsman has his or her arms at a ninety-degree angle to steer the wheel, they will receive the most leverage from this." You nodded timidly and wrapped your hands around the handles. "Now, stand with your legs a shoulder width apart this is crucial also." Bucky gently nudged your legs apart with his feet.

"Hard to starboard, Miss Y/L/N." He mumbled lowly.

You put all your weight on your right leg and turned the wheel, Bucky was right, although the wheel was the heart of the ship- it wasn't light at all.

"Ah, very good, Y/N. Now, gently to port- don't want to run off course." As a lady who had no reason to gain heavy muscle in any part of your body, you were only slightly struggling, those who were fit enough to endure this should definitely do this instead.

"Mister Wilson! You can take over now- I have plans for Miss Y/L/N and I." Sam jogged up to where you were standing and got straight to work.

As Bucky led you throughout the ship, he showed you different knots in and around the masts. "I'm going to show you 30 different ways to tie knots, are you up for that?"

"Should I stretch my fingers first, Sir?" You laughed, Bucky had picked up 2 long pieces of medium width rope and led you back to his cabin.

As the hours went on, Bucky had taught you almost 20 knots, as a beginner, he was impressed with how fast you picked up some of them, seeing as some were tricky ones that involved a lot of loops.

The trickier the loops became, the closer he edged his chair to yours. He leaned his elbows on his knees as his fingers slowly tied a bowline knot.

"You see, the easiest way to describe how to do this one is to make a loop, or a rabbit hole by a tree, as some would say, so watch my fingers and the bottom end of the rope. The rabbit goes up the hole, round the tree, and back down the hole, and voila, bowline. Can you do that for me, darling?"

You sighed as you finished the bowline, gently placing it in Bucky's upturned hand, "This is correct! Many don't achieve it on the first try. I wonder what else your hands can do."

You breathed a sigh of relief and blushed at the same time, you were never complimented so many times by a man. You were only complimented on your beauty and elegance, never your handy-work and skill.

"Thank you, Bucky, I've never been complimented on my work before, only my looks and physique." Confessions, it made him smile so wide and his eyes lit up to be the first to compliment you on something that meant a great deal to you.

You hissed as you went to grab your goblet of water.

"What's the matter? Have your hands cramped?" You grimaced and hummed, attempting to flex your fingers. Bucky grabbed your hand in his large ones and started kneading small circles into your palm and wrist and you closed your eyes. He was so gentle yet firm and you rolled your head back to let out a sigh of relief.

You were knee to knee and as Bucky finished with your left hand he placed it on his thigh, picking up your right and continued with his ministrations, occasionally looking up to see you smiling in content, eyes closed and shoulders back, and you so succumbed to the pleasant feeling that you let out a small moan, and Bucky felt it.

"Does that feel good by any chance, doll?" Bucky smirked, his voice sultry and low, you became flushed and hot.

"Give it a couple of weeks, you can get to know the ship some more, learn the ropes, no pun intended, and I'll show you the art of defense, does that sound good, Y/N?"

"It does indeed, Bucky, I'm looking forward to it. Now, shall we have lunch?"

A couple of weeks had passed, the ship had come up and passed the Spanish Canary Islands. You had taken the time to know Bucky more intimately, learning his favourite knots, colours, routes and places, etcetera, he asked the same with you, and confessed your favourite knot was actually the bowline because it was the one he complimented you on, though you didn't say it aloud.

It was about 5 in the evening and Bucky was briefing you on the main aspects of self-defense.

SING.

"Now, I don't mean actually sing like Francesca Cuzzoni, SING stands for solar plexus, instep, nose and groin. The solar plexus is here," He placed a light hand on your lower stomach. "if you are in front of the attacker, you elbow them there and they will double over if they are weak- the same with the instep." He pointed the inside of his foot. "You step harshly onto there. This will cause them to double over yet again, giving you a chance to spin around and punch them in the nose- stop giggling! This is serious!" He scolded.

You couldn't help but giggle, he was in nothing but his shirt which was rolled up at the elbows, pants and trouser stockings, and twirling around punching the air.

"I-I'm sorry It's-it's just you look so funny doing this! It's like you're battling a ghost!" You giggled, this made Bucky smile, seeing this side of you; less timid and shy, more free, like a bird attempting to spread its wings for the first time.

"Ha ha, at least I'm making you smile," He ushered you over to him, you unlaced your boots and cautiously walked over to him, "now, this is the groin part, you... do know what the groin is, right?" You rolled your eyes and muttered a yes. "Good! Well, the groin part is after you've socked the fucker in the nose, you're still facing them, so what you do is raise your knee in between their legs, giving you the full advantage to kick them to the ground afterwards. Now, we're going to practice, okay?"

Bucky grabbed you by the hips and slightly tugged you to him and spun you around, trapping you flush between his chest and strong arms.

"Hit me in the stomach, it's the only way you will learn." He mumbled gruffly in your ear.

You raised your elbow and hit him and he didn't move an inch, you could swear the man was made of stone, so you stomped on his instep. and alas, he bent over in pain, but he kept a vice-like grip on you bending you over with him. "bugger" you mumbled, you wriggled your left arm out of his grip and your hand caught in his hair, tugging harshly.

"Ugghhh!" Bucky groaned, getting distracted and letting go of you, giving you the chance to spin around and raise your hand to his nose, but he was too quick and caught your fist in his.

"No fair!" You gasped.

He wore a shit-eating grin and chuckled at your attempt, but he didn't realise your knee was about to make contact with his groin.

"OH FUCK!" He yelped, dodging your knee and grabbing it with his free hand instead, bringing it around his hip and crashing you both to the floor of the cabin. "See, if I were an amateur you would have succeeded in that little attempt to ruin my crown jewels..." He grumbled.

You panted heavily as you noticed him nestled between your thighs, a compromising position. He felt your embarrassment and hastily raised to his feet, offering you a hand to get up.

Jokes on him, as you grabbed his hand you yanked hard and sent him tumbling to the floor with a strangled 'meep'. You rolled over and trapped him underneath your body, your thighs either side of his hips and your hands holding his against the ground.

"You're brilliant, doll, where did you learn that?" Bucky questioned, looking up at your heaving form. He licked his full lips as he felt your soul dripping with much-needed confidence as you straddled his hips.

"I...I didn't? It just came naturally?" You smiled.

"You intrigue me, Miss Y/L/N, there's so much more about you that you haven't discovered yet." He whispered, squeezing your hands. "Although, I do have something I must confess if I'm not too bold."

You let go of his hands and sat up, he sat up too, the feeling of him against you sent that pleasurable tingle through your body again, without realising, you let out a light 'oh', which made Bucky bite his lip, his long arms came behind you and his hands rested against your hips. Yours stayed against one another, twiddling your finger tips.

"I've come to feel a most ardent admiration for you, the need to show you things and to protect you at the same time is strong, and I- I have a confession. There's this... this thing I have. I have the ability to detect the way someone is feeling, and I've noticed you have taken a liking to me as I have to you," You raised your brows and your lips parted slightly. "And it wasn't my fault that I had found out- honestly. I hope you aren't upset. I knew how shook you were when you saw Wanda use her powers. I didn't want you to be scared of me." He raised a hand to move a strand of hair from your face and tuck it behind your ear, his fingers tracing ever so lightly against your skin as if he thought he would break you. "And.. the first night of the voyage, I knew of the kiss, I knew it wasn't a dream, I woke up that morning hoping you would be there, and I grew worried that I had come on too bold, so I told you it was just a dream, I felt your anxiousness and didn't want to embarrass you further, if you were."

You looked at him straight in the eyes, "I understand, Sir."

"I must say, I do love it when you call me that..." His hands came to rest on your hips, and squeezed gently.

"B-Bucky I need to ask you something, I feel, er, embarrassed, though."

"Go ahead, sweetheart, don't be embarrassed." He rubbed small circles against the fabric as you shifted against him.

"When... oh bloody Jesus... When I look at you, or we're close, and you're touching me or something I- I get this warm feeling right at the pit of my stomach, it-it travels to my...my..." Bucky shushed you, resting a slender index finger against your lips.

"I know, you're too shy to say it, that's okay. That feeling is the need, and desire for sexual contact, oh look, darling, you're blushing." You were indeed, and you felt butterflies in your chest. You felt so vulnerable but you knew you could trust him.

"I have a question for you, doll, you don't have to answer, but I'm just curious, now... Have you ever touched yourself, down there?" You gasped at his question and panicked, you had never done such a thing; it was frowned upon by the church. You heard only MEN done that sort of thing.

"No, I've never done it." You silently thanked Wanda for magically removing your body hair, you had confessed it was god awful and uncomfortable after talking to her about your feelings for Bucky.

"May I kiss you, Y/N?" There was no point saying yes, you were leaning down already.

As your lips connected, you felt his hands in your hair and on your body, you timidly placed your hands against neck and shoulders, not knowing where to put them.

Bucky's lips glided against yours, you felt him gently suck your bottom lip between his, his tongue swiping against yours, coaxing a moan from your chest as your arched your back and pressed your chest against his. He took advantage of your open-mouthed moan and glided his tongue against yours with perfect pressure. You felt his hand leave your hair and grip your other hip, moving them so your center ground against his crotch. You let out a quiet squeak as you felt pleasure building in your core.

Bucky disconnected your lips, "That's it kitten, let me hear you, be audible." The vibrations from his chest going straight through you. He drug your hips down, his hard cock making contact with your soft clothed core, you let out another high pitched sigh and threw your head back. Bucky took advantage of the expanse of skin and attacked it with his lips, tongue, and teeth, covering your neck in pinka purple splotches. You picked up a rhythm and rocked your hips against his groin as your hands slid up to tug on his hair, making him groan.

"Would you like to try to touch yourself, doll? Or would you like me to help you?" You grew nervous and went rigid against him, you weren't married, this is something a married woman does with her husband. You shouldn’t have, but you wanted it.

"If you don't, we can just continue what we're doing, Y/N, I don't mind. Only when you're ready." Bucky whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

"I- I want to. I just don't know what to do." You gulped.

Bucky slowly rolled you both over, resting between your soft hips in which he gripped gently. He continued to kiss from your neck to your lips, purposely neglecting them and kissing over your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your jaw. He finally connected your lips as he ground his clothed cock against you.

"Bucky I... Please take my clothes off, I- I need some real friction."

"Your wish is my command, beautiful."

He kneeled up and took in the state of you; ruffled hair, swollen lips, and flushed cheeks, paired with a heaving chest. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he deftly untucked your shirt from your pants, feeling the whale-bone corset against his fingertips and dug his teeth into his bottom lip. He traced his fingers against the waistband of your pants and undone the buttons at the sides, slowly etching them down your thighs, when they got to your knees, he pulled your stockings with them, lifting both your legs up.

He kissed paths up to your ankles until you were bare. Your knickers were next, he took it slow, making you whine and squirm against him. He watched as your breasts heaved against the restraining fabric of your corset, so he reached behind you and unlaced your corset, pulling it over your head. (A/N you know them frilly short pantaloon lingerie things?? yeah okay carry on just google them after)

"Look at you, you're beautiful from head to toe. I'm guessing Wanda helped you..." You blushed at his words and he kissed you deeply. "Now, darling, I'm going to need you to relax, can you do that for me? I need you to use your words."

"Yes, Bucky." Your voice was small but you were panting from anticipation, and he planted a soft kiss upon your lips as he nudged your thighs apart with his large hands.

"I'll be gentle, I promise." He mumbled, his lips ghosting against yours. He rubbed a single finger over your slit, spreading the wetness across your lower lips, you arched and gasped at his movements. He circled your clit with the same finger, dear god this feels so good, you thought. You moaned into his kiss and he groaned right back, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

He rubbed two fingers against your entrance, making sure you were wet enough and inserted his middle finger into your tight heat.

"Oh gods, Y/N, you're so wet, and tight- fuck..." He continued to rock his fingers back and forth, curling them upwards, and he hit a spot that made you moan so loudly he had to cover your mouth with his own.

"Oh- Bucky please, k-keep going, don't stop." You panted, you were throbbing and it was unbearable, there was a knot building in your tummy and it was so intense you thought you might sob.

"Do you want to cum, kitten?" He cooed, you squirmed against the carpet of his cabin floor, "You want my fingers inside you as you feel yourself release?" You nodded and moaned again as you felt him add another finger and made them curl against you, his other hand coming up to your face, his placed a thumb against your mouth and you sucked on it, flicking your tongue against it, making him throw his head back in pleasure, you had no idea why he liked it so much.

He grabbed your hand from his hip, and placed your fingers against your clit, moving them in circles, you kept this up and made a joined rhythm as Bucky's fingers hooked inside of you, hitting that special spot and you could feel the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter and-

"Oh-oh my goodness gracious, BUCKY!" You screamed as you came over Bucky's fingers, your juices coating them as he continued to pump them in and out of you, milking your first orgasm. He crouched over you and kissed you with such passion your heart felt like it was about to break out of your ribs.

As you came down from your climax, you felt Bucky slip his fingers out, they were slick with your wetness.

“Bucky..what was that?”

“That, doll, was your first orgasm.” He sucked on one of them and moaned whilst keeping eye contact, it was the most erotic thing you had ever seen. He then brought the other down and teased your lips.

"Taste yourself, sweetheart."

You hesitantly opened your mouth and let his finger slide in, you sucked the juices off and moaned, it was a different taste, but it was good, and as you sucked harder and swirled your tongue around the tip of his finger, Bucky replaced it with his mouth.

You became curious and reached to stroke the hard line in his pants, but he pulled your hands away and pinned them above your head.

"No, no, no, darling, this evening was about you, I will teach you how to pleasure a man soon, but not now."

As he pulled away, you reached for your clothing. He ushered you to the bedroom where he retrieved a clean damp rag and wiped between your thighs, he then helped you dress again, gently squeezing your breasts and planting kisses amongst them before helping you with your corset.

"You know, I could always ask Wanda if she could lend you some clothes." He pondered, as you pulled your stockings up your hips, followed by your pants.

"I would appreciate that very much, thank you, Bucky." You hummed as you felt him come behind you and placed kisses against your naked shoulders; you had yet to retrieve your shirt.

"I'd like to teach you how to handle a sword, dear. Would you like that?" Bucky's voice was low, like a whisper, as if he only wanted you to hear.

"Of course! Most pirates fight with a sword, don't they?"

"Indeed, let me show you the multiple swords I possess, I have one in mind for you." He lead you by the hand to the cupboard by the door of his cabin. He plucked a large sword with a black handle from a row.

"This," He held it out from handle to blade. "is Renee, she will be your new companion and second in command if things get dirty." He placed the sword in your hand and stepped back, letting you examine it.

"She's beautiful, so... When do we start training, Captain James?" You smiled up at him, he bent down and kissed you deeply.

"After supper."

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