#stevebuckysecretsanta

[drowningbydegrees-fanworks]

This is my @stevebuckysecretsanta gift for @edible-crayon ! I hope you like it <3

It was supposed to be art, but then it gave me an idea for a drabble, so there’s a link to AO3, and the drabble itself is under a read-more. 

It Was Always You Rating: T Word count: 1516 Warnings: None

Bucky and Steve laughed their way up the staircase of the house Bucky had grown up in. That was the thing about friendships like theirs. It didn’t matter that Bucky hadn’t seen Steve in person since the year before. They just picked right back up where they’d left off.

Well, mostly. Bucky didn’t remember wanting to reach out and touch Steve quite so badly the last time he’d come home. Steve had reached the doorway to Bucky’s old bedroom before he got much of a chance to think about it, though.

“When you said your ma kept it the way you left it, I didn’t think you meant it was going to be like a time capsule,” Steve teased, nudging at Bucky’s side. “Where are we, sophomore year of highschool?”

The observation didn’t seem that far off. A significant portion of the bedroom wall was covered with old sci-fi movie posters, and the top of the dresser was littered with model spaceships and gaming miniatures Bucky had forgotten ever even owning. They’d spend the better portion of their free time throughout high school in this room. Wherever they’d gone, whatever else they’d done with their lives, standing here with Steve felt more like home than anything had in ages.

“Hey. Earth to Bucky.” Steve was waving his hand emphatically in front of Bucky’s face. Bucky could practically hear the grin that Steve’s mouth had pulled up into. “Are you still with me, pal?”

“What? I was just thinking.” Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and shoved it down, leaving him face to face with his best friend. Had Steve always been so gorgeous? Bucky didn’t remember ever thinking that before. He definitely didn’t remember ever wondering how it would be to close the foot or so of empty space between them to kiss Steve. Standing there with Steve staring at him most certainly was not the time to start.

“You kept that?” Steve asked, pointing to something on the wall behind Bucky. He didn’t know what Steve was referring to and mostly didn’t care if it rescued him from his current predicament. Bucky turned to look where Steve was pointing anyway, his gaze settling on an old sketch of his face that had been carefully taped to the wall in an empty spot next to his old Matrix poster.

“Of course I kept it. I kept every drawing you ever gave me, you goon,” Bucky scoffed, falling into the familiar rhythm of affection and teasing. “At the rate you’re publishing comics, they’re gonna be worth a fortune someday.”

“Well, I got real estate on your bedroom wall. That’s pretty high praise.” Steve was laughing again, and oh heaven’s, Bucky had missed that sound.

“Is this the part where I’m not supposed to tell you my mom must have found that and put it up?” There was a protest coming, Bucky could feel it, and he was quick to head it off. “Come on, I don’t have that kind of ego. Who hangs up pictures of themselves, anyway?”

“Yeah… I guess that’s a fair point,” Steve agreed. He stared intently at the drawing and then looked back at Bucky. “That was what, right before we left for college? You haven’t changed a bit.”

“And you have?” Even before the words were out, Bucky knew that was all wrong. Steve had changed. Something had changed. It made his stomach flop nervously, so Bucky turned his attention to the models on the top of his desk, which felt like a much safer thing to be staring at. “You’re still a dork.”

“I grew a beard,” Steve protested. Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve was trying to say that his appearance had changed, or if that was meant to be an accomplishment, but it cut through the nerves that had grabbed ahold of him and left him snickering.

“Okay? Now you’re a dork with a beard.” Bucky looked up long enough to stick out his tongue at Steve. If he just didn’t look, maybe he wouldn’t say or do anything too humiliating.

“You take that back!” Steve squawked indignantly.

“Or what? You’re gonna make me?” Bucky taunted, falling so easily back on years of friendship.

It was exactly the wrong thing to say if Bucky wanted to preserve any shred of dignity. They’d always been rather rough and tumble, so there was nothing at all strange about the way Steve playfully pushed Bucky. Given the instinct to catch oneself when falling, it also wasn’t out of the ordinary that Bucky grabbed Steve to keep from falling. It didn’t work, and both of them tumbled onto the bed, laughing all the while.

Maybe if Bucky hadn’t opened his eyes, it would have been fine. Steve had managed to prop himself up to keep from squishing Bucky and hadn’t seemed to notice Bucky’s palms still lingering where they’d been clutching at his waist. They were happy and together and Bucky was pretty sure he’d never wanted to hang on to a moment as badly as this one.

Steve shifted, and Bucky was suddenly acutely aware of how very close they were. Their laughter had quieted down, but Steve hadn’t gotten up, and he was pressed so close Bucky could feel the taut plane of his stomach and the slight jut of his hips. He tried to say something to break the nerve-wracking silence that had fallen between them, but all that came out was a soft, “Um…”

If Bucky could have melted into the blankets right then, he might have. He had no business wanting anything more than the friendship Steve had given him practically all their lives. Whatever tender, fragile thing was blossoming in his chest, he needed to yank it out by the roots and forget it had ever been there at all.

“Oh god. I’m sorry, I…” Steve’s frantic apology interrupted Bucky’s self-flagellation. He looked up to see Steve’s whole face had gone red as a tomato. As Steve started to jerk away, it was practically impossible for Bucky not to notice the rather telling physical response his friend had had to their proximity.

“Wait!” Bucky clutched impulsively at Steve’s shirt. Steve winced like it physically pained him to do so, but he stayed, and before Bucky could talk himself out of it, he blurted out, “You too?”

“That’s not funny,” Steve muttered, his irritated tone utterly ruined by the way his eyes had gone wide and startled, and the embarrassed flush that still stained his cheeks. It managed to be endearing, no matter how nervous and unraveled Bucky was feeling.

“Of course not,” Bucky agreed, biting his lip as he worked up the courage to finish. “I wasn’t joking.”

For a second, no one did anything. They lay in stunned silence, both trying to wrap their head around what the other was saying. Then, all at once, they caved. Bucky’s fingers were curled in the fabric of Steve’s shirt and Steve’s palm cradled Bucky’s jaw. Their mouths met somewhere in the middle, clumsy and eager, too overwhelmed to manage any sort of finesse.

Distantly, Bucky was aware they should probably talk about this. Steve broke off when they couldn’t breathe anymore, and between shaky, gasping breaths, Bucky meant to cobble together words. There was a wide chasm to leap between best friends and whatever this was. There were thousands of miles between them for most of the year. Where were they even supposed to start?

Apparently, Steve’s idea of where to start was lips nudging Bucky’s apart for another kiss. Steve’s tongue delved into Bucky’s mouth in a way that made his toes curl. After. They’d talk after.For the moment, Bucky forgot about all the complications and turned his attention to getting closer, the inside of his thighs dragging along Steve’s hips as he wrapped his legs around his friend.

Downstairs, the front door swung open, startling them both. Steve scrambled off of Bucky like he’d been burned, both of them wide-eyed and trying to get their breathing under control before someone came up and noticed the state they were in. No one came, though. Bucky’s mom only called up from the bottom of the staircase. “I’m back! Would you boys mind helping carry in the groceries?”

“Be right there!” Bucky shouted back, hoping she didn’t notice the strained note in his voice.

Bucky got up and started to straighten his clothes. He’d never heard Steve sound as nervous about anything as he did just then. Without the mindless forward momentum to keep them preoccupied, he was tense and frowning. “Buck. It… it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want.”

All the logistics Bucky had been worrying over didn’t trip him up for even a moment. “And what if I do?”

Steve grinned, not that Bucky had much of a chance to appreciate it. The smile was drowned out by Steve leaning in to kiss Bucky, a softer echo of before. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

“Good. And Steve?” Bucky hooked his arm through Steve’s tugging him towards the open doorway. “You’re still a dork with a beard.”

[trish-argh]

Aw, come on Rogers, when did you ever back away from a challenge? It’s the day before Christmas and they meet in the common room to decorate the pompous tree Stark has set up and to put their presents under there. Bucky spots the mistletoe from a mile away, and hey, it’s Christmas, they are in a good mood, a guy can feel a little daring and wtf he’s not getting any younger. At this rate he’ll be 120 before Steve gets over himself and finally admits his feelings. So her grabs Steve’s hand, drags him under the conveniently placed little plant and watches in delight the red that spreads from Steve’s face down his neck and.. huh, he wonders how far down it goes.

My @stevebuckysecretsanta gift to the lovely @mesira-nexos Frohe Weihnachten! Ich hoffe, du hast eine schöne Zeit mit deinen Liebsten <3

[whatthefoucault]

The Littlest Balsam In Brooklyn

“Well Stevie, whaddya think?”

Bucky had already decorated the tiny, crooked sapling by the time Steve returned from the last errand-run before Christmas dinner.  Steve set the heavy shopping down by the door, and puzzled at the tree.

“Was it the last one on the lot?” he asked.

“Nah, there was plenty of choice,” Bucky told him.  “I liked this one.  It’s got character.  Gumption.  Chutzpah.  Reminded me of this scrawny little hot mess of a kid I used to pal around with.”

Steve blushed.  “Very funny,” he said.

“It was love at first sight,” Bucky said softly, curling an arm around Steve’s waist.  Steve snuggled in, nuzzling against Bucky’s softly bearded cheek.

“I love you too,” whispered Steve.

“Besides,” Bucky continued, “everything else would have been too big to fit in our apartment.  We do still live in Brooklyn.”

Steve chuckled.  He was not wrong: their home was cozy, but the square footage was creatively limited at best.  But it was warm, and it was theirs, and so was the tree, and it was perfect.  He pressed a slow, soft kiss to Bucky’s brow.

“Merry Christmas, Buck,” he said.

“Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

---

And a very merry Christmas to my @stevebuckysecretsanta recipient, the lovely @splinteredwinter.  Season’s Greetings and Merry Happy to you!

(society6 | commissions)

[icantbelieveitsnotlucy]

We’re a Couple of Misfits

Hooray, it’s gift fic time! This fic is for @frau-argh as part of the Steve/Bucky Secret Santa. I had so much fun writing it in all its fluffy, schmoopy, holiday-y glory. I hope you enjoy! 

Title: We’re a Couple of Misfits

Link: AO3

Rating: Teen-ish to mature? I went with mature because various sexy thoughts are had, but I was wavering between the two.

Summary: Working retail can be unforgiving, especially around the holidays. Luckily, Steve works in a store that has a view of Santa’s Village, the happiest spot in the mall - the place where dreams come true, children never cry, and parents never lose their tempers. Oh, and the place where there may or may not be a hot-ass elf assistant Steve can’t stop daydreaming about.

Warnings: All the fluff! Seriously, a lot of fluff.

Other Major Characters: Sarah Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanov. Maria Hill makes an appearance and Tony/Pepper/Clint are mentioned but unseen.

Word Count: 5797

@stevebuckysecretsanta

[madara-nycteris]

“What do you think Stevie? Good enough for our famous chocolate cookies recipe?”

“Yummy!”

Happy holidays to @downwarddnaspiral​!!! . (As you might have suspected) I’m your Secret Santa!! Hope you like this piece. I tried to include everything you wished in this drawing =D 

*Full view is better

[little-nutmeg]

Finally, for @deepspaceprincess my Steve/Bucky secret santa gift! @stevebuckysecretsanta

Here’s some soft and warm cuddles for you, hope you have a wonderful winter and have socks as warm and fuzzy as theirs!

[smdarling]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Natasha Romanoff (mentioned) Additional Tags: Christmas Fluff, Reunion, mention of homelessness, Cats, Magic Christmas Cat, Brooklyn, Happy Ending, Stucky Secret Santa 2017 Summary:

It's cold in Brooklyn when Steve Rogers rescues a very special cat from a tree.

The cat decides to return his kindness by finding the only thing Steve wants for Christmas - Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: 4854

Stucky Secret Santa present for @drowningbydegrees!! 

And a HUGE THANK YOU to @stevebuckysecretsanta for running all this!!!

Happy Holidays everybody!!!!! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3 

[stevebuckysecretsanta-blog]

This is the official signup page for the Steve/Bucky Secret Santa!

How to sign up: - Register here! - Reblog this post (likes do not count but feel free to use them to “bookmark” this post) - Follow the blog here  - Read the rules and schedule to be sure that you fully understand the expectations and deadlines  - Track the tags to stay up to date: #sbss #stevebuckysecretsanta

[princess-of-the-worlds]

a splash of cerulean

For the wonderful @sunrow. I was their Secret Santa. Happy holidays!

Also, shoutout to @marleymortis who inspired me with a similar prompt.

ao3 link: here

word count: 1352

warnings: none

summary: Art historian James Barnes has the fortunate misfortune to not look where he's going at an art showing.

When Steve was six, his mother took him to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for his birthday, and Steve fell in love with the concept of art and being an artist.

He was a precocious boy, already well-established in his kindergarten class for having drawings that were more color-coordinated and realistic than his peers, but Steve vowed to be featured in a gallery or museum of the likes of the Met.

Sarah literally had to drag Steve away from Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Night; Steve’s feet were glued to the floor as he stood, transfixed by the painting.

In the end, it took two decades, and, while it isn’t the Met, SHIELD Gallery is still one of the top contemporary galleries in Manhattan, and Steve is the youngest artist to ever have his work displayed here.

So, when Sam asks him how he felt on the opening night of his very first showing, Steve smiles and tells his best friend, “I’m the happiest I’ve ever felt for a long time.”

Indeed, it’s perhaps the happiest Steve has felt since his mother died six long years ago.

Sam’s lips curve up into a handsome smile as he slaps Steve on the back. “That’s great, man! You deserve this; you really do.”

Steve pulls the other man into a hug and allows himself a moment to breath in the light, woodsy scent of Sam’s cologne. “Thanks, Sammy,” he whispers into Sam’s ear before releasing him.

“Steve, Sam, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Claire calls as she makes her way towards them, looking radiant in a brilliant green gown. When she reaches Steve, she plants a kiss on his cheek before linking hands with Sam, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Congratulations,” she tells Steve with a gorgeous smile.

“Thanks, Claire,” Steve replies gratefully, ducking his head bashfully, as Claire laughs kindly.

Sam nuzzles his nose against the curve of his girlfriend’s head, and she responds by leaning closer to him and sliding her other arm around his waist.

“I’m going to go get us some drinks,” Steve announces softly, not wanting to disrupt the pair of soulmates. He ignores the prickling of the skin around his collarbone, where his own soulmark is hidden by the collar of his dress shirt.

Sam nods in silent acknowledgement, and Steve quietly backs away, wandering in search of a server.

He’s passing by a wall displaying a few of his paintings when his eyes are caught by a splash of stunning cerulean. It takes only a quick glance to the side for him to confirm which of his paintings it is, and his heart clenches painfully-tight with grief before he abruptly turns and walks away.

Steve’s briefly swept up into a conversation with a local restaurant owner interested in commissioning him just as he spots a server hoisting a tray of glasses nearby. He politely excuses himself from the conversation and heads after the server.

He’s just grabbed two glasses of red wine and is swiveling around to finally return to Sam and Claire when someone bumps into him, jostling his arm enough that the wine spills all over Steve and the floor.

Steve stares at the wasted wine on the marble tiles of the gallery for a moment before slowly glancing up in bewilderment.

“Oh, shit,” the frazzled stranger says, blue eyes widened in alarm. “I ruined your suit.”

Steve knows those words by heart; they’re sprawled across his collarbone in messy cursive.

Rewinding to only ten minutes earlier, art historian James Barnes is trapped in a conversation with a woman in her mid-fifties that he barely recognizes despite her claims that she and Winnie Barnes are “closer than sisters.”

“You have to tell me, James,” the woman says, stepping closer to Bucky like she hasn’t heard of personal space, “how do you stay so fit? You could be that one actor, the handsome one, from those movies. The ones about spies, Mission Improbable.” She draws a scaly hand across his bicep, and he tries very hard not to shiver.

“You mean Mission Impossible?” Bucky asks, taking a light step back.

The woman follows him. “I believe so. But, enough about that. We really should meet outside of society events such as this. Maybe lunch one day?”

Thankfully, Bucky’s liberator comes in the form of Natasha, his best friend and the director of the gallery, dressed elegantly in a gown with a lot of lace and straps.

“Mrs. Perry,” she says politely as she greets the woman. “Has James been boring you? He sometimes forgets that not everyone wishes to hear about Picasso’s penchant for Cubism.”

“No, no, Ms. Romanoff,” Mrs. Perry replies. “James has been treating me incredibly well. In fact, we were about to arrange a da-”

“Mrs. Perry,” Natasha states in a conversational tone, “have you seen the works on display? They are truly remarkable; the artist is very talented. Let me give you a tour.”

Despite Mrs. Perry’s protests, Natasha sweeps her away, not allowing her to glance back at Bucky while he uses the moment to sneak away.

Finally, alone and on the other side of the gallery, Bucky takes a moment to sigh with relief. He has always been charming and a social butterfly, but his one true weakness is people his parents’ age. Compared to George and Winnie, well-known New York millionaires, or even Becca, Bucky is the one who is always stuck in awkward conversations and strange encounters, even at family holiday parties or society events like this showing.

“One day,” he tells himself, “one day, Barnes, you won’t be able to make your mistake, and you’ll end up stuck on a date with one of these cougars.”

His soulmark, printed along his left forearm, takes a moment to burn, and Bucky unconsciously rubs at the sleeve covering it before adjusting the cuff of his shirt.

Slowly, he roams the gallery, examining its displays and exchanging snippets of conversation with some colleagues or acquaintances he recognizes.

Bucky’s just about to search for Natasha when his eye is caught by a splash of stunning cerulean from a painting opposite him. He moves until he comes to a standstill in front of it, taking every careful detail in with contemplative eyes.

The painting, titled Sarah, depicts a woman in her early forties with plain features and light, sunshine hair and radiant, cerulean eyes. The overall style is somewhat simplistic, but it is obvious that each brushstroke was made tenderly; the subject is clearly near and dear to the artist’s heart.

From all the paintings that Bucky’s seen today at the gallery, Sarah appears to be the artist’s best but is displayed in a corner of the hall, almost as if the artist wanted to keep this portrait private.

Bucky smiles gently before stepping distractedly to his right and bumping into a nearby stranger.

More quickly than Bucky can fumble and grab for it, one of the glasses of wine that the man was carrying tilts, splattering wine everywhere.

In horror, Bucky’s gaze travels from the polishe”d floor and up muscular legs in well-tailored cotton, over a white shirt made nearly-opaque by the wine that is plastered to a well-define torso, and past broad shoulders before it finally rests on a face that is familiar to Bucky because of two reasons.

The first one is that the man’s face resembles that of the woman’s from Sarah; they share the same gorgeous eyes and sunshine hair.

The second reason is that the same face was printed on a poster stuck out front of the gallery, advertising DEBUT ARTIST STEVEN G. ROGERS.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky says softly. “I ruined your suit.”

Steven G. Rogers’ facial expression flickers widely between bewilderment, shock, and joy before he finally says, awkwardly, if not a bit earnestly, “I was the one carrying the wine.”

The skin on Bucky’s forearm prickles almost painfully, just as it had on the day his soulmark appeared, bearing the very words said only a moment before.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky repeats.

“Well,” Steve says in response, “I guess that we should talk.”

[edible-crayon]

Here’s my secret santa gift for @falcon-hill! Every world in every way Word Count: 2740 Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: Bucky wasn’t mad. Really, he wasn’t.

Bucky wasn't mad. Really, he wasn't. It wasn't Steve's fault that these mishaps sometimes happened; Steve was, after all, a Creator, and while his primary medium was art, sometimes he just couldn't help it when the picture he painted in his head decided to slither out.

So, Bucky wasn't mad, not at all. He was simply…frustrated.

“A fucking manticore, really, Steve?”

Steve ran a hand through his tousled blond hair, looking adorably flustered. The manticore in question was currently winding itself around his legs like a giant house cat, purring like a motorboat. Despite its size and dangerous nature, so far it had proven to have the temperament of a kitten.

“Buck, I'm so sorry,” Steve babbled, face red and hands flailing. “I just got this idea in my head and I didn't have any materials on me so I started kind of just--sketching in the air with my fingers? And then when I got home it was just <em>here.”</em>

Bucky absolutely did not facepalm. “But a manticore?”

“I had this great idea for a nature scene, and I wanted her to be at the foreground so she's the first thing I started out with!”

“She?”

The manticore licked a rust colored paw, eyeing Bucky with disinterest. Her spine tail twitched back and forth when Steve absently scratched behind her ears. “Her name’s Kahlo,” he mumbled, the tips of his ears pinkening.

Bucky tossed in hands in the air. “Of course you would name a man-eating hybrid beast after a famous painter.” He scrubbed both hands down his face. “Where exactly are we supposed to keep her, Steve? We can’t keep her in the apartment, and I am not scaring away my customers by having her roam around downstairs.”

“The back halls,” Steve blurted out immediately. “She doesn’t need a gateway, so she can traverse realms and through the rifts whenever she likes. She’s not likely to run into anyone but the Nomads, anyway. Plus, Natasha would love her.”

“Christ, you’re right. I hate all of you.” Bucky sighed heavily into his hands, then raised his head with a look of resignation. “Fine. But you’re responsible for feeding her.”

Steve gave him a mock salute. “Aye aye, sir.

What a little shit.

“Look, I have to go open up the storefront, and then I have to prep the gateway. Speaking of Nat, she feels like she’s on her way.” Bucky wasn’t exactly high ranking in the gifted department, but he had a sixth sense that rivaled even the strongest seer. And that was before the whole curse thing.

When they were kids, Bucky had been cursed by a bloodstone from the black cult, Hydra. The stone had embedded itself into his left arm, spilling its poisonous magic into his body. They had managed to negate the bloodstone--it sat embedded in Bucky’s shoulder, cracked and terrifying and beautiful-- but the dark magic has cost Bucky his left arm. Two of their friends, T’Challa and Tony--both Creators themselves, T’Challa of science, Tony of machines and technology--had managed to rebuild what was left with vibranium and gold alloy. They had done a stunning job, and Bucky absolutely loved it.

After the whole incident with Hydra, Bucky had felt an immeasurable amount of guilt for the damage--minor, as Steve would frequently remind him--and within the next few days had volunteered to become the next gatekeeper once he came of age. Gatekeepers surveyed whoever crossed through their realm; there were a nine realms altogether, but an infinite number of timelines and universes. It was a great honor; the only issue was that the gatekeeper was bound to their gateway, and as such wasn’t able to travel far from it. Luckily, Brooklyn’s gateway was located in the depths of Soul Brew, the local coffee and book shop that Bucky managed as well. There wasn’t exactly a shortage of visitors between their friends, family, and the Nomads that traversed the realms, so it was, Bucky had to admit, actually a pretty sweet gig. Not to mentioned that once he became Gatekeeper, Steve has immediately declared himself Bucky’s roommate, (“End of the line, remember? Where you go, I go.”) and the two of them lived comfortably in the upstairs apartment.

“I’ll come with you,” Steve offered, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I have some commissions to work on anyway, the Jamesons want a five panel replication of their wedding day for their twenty-fifth anniversary.”

Bucky grabbed his keys. “All right, let’s drop the princess off in the back, and then we can head downstairs.

* * *

“I hear you have yourself a new pet,” Natasha greeted as she stepped through Brooklyn’s Gateway. “Interesting choice, by the way.”

Bucky groaned, sealing the portal behind her. “How would you even know that? You literally just got here.”

“Thor,” Natasha said matter of factly. “Apparently when Steve sent her off she headed over to Asgard. Thor adores her. Says she’s a fine beast for such a finely matched pair,” she added smugly. Her expression softened a fraction. “You really would do anything for that boy, wouldn’t you?”

“Course I would,” Bucky said evasively, as they weaved through the maze of hallways that led to the shopfront. “He’s my best friend.”

“Who you happen to be madly in love with.” Natasha hummed thoughtfully. “Has it ever occurred to you that he may feel the same way?”

Bucky stiffened. “Not an option. Steve’s only ever been in love with one person and it ain’t me.”

Peggy Carter had been a Nomad of a different time from a different Brooklyn, a sharp-tongued woman stuck in a war between men. She and Steve had hit it off instantly, and he had been utterly heartbroken when she had to return to her own time. Last Bucky checked on her, she had made it to the ripe old age of eighty-seven; partner, two kids, a gaggle of grandbabies. She had lived a long, happy life, but it was obvious she has never forgotten about Steve. She had named her eldest Steven Grant, and Bucky both loved and hated her for it.

“There are different kinds of love,” Natasha admonished, surprisingly gentle. “Of course Steve loved her, was in love with her, and she loved him. He could have left, become a Nomad and followed her.” She slid her eyes towards Bucky. “Now tell me, James, I wonder why it was he chose to stay here?”

“Because he feels like owes it to me.” He spat the words like acid, fists clenching. Of course Steve felt guilty; he still blamed himself for Hydra’s curse, even after all these years. That was one of the main reasons why he took it upon himself to be Bucky’s personal guard dog and babysitter. It was love, yes, but a misguided love, and not the kind Bucky wanted.

Not like how he loved Steve.

There had been a time, ages ago, when he had actually thought he might have a chance. Steve had been bitching and whining about having two left feet, and so Bucky had offered to teach him to dance. Steve had flashed him a thousand watt smile, brighter than the sun, and said “That’s great, Buck! Can’t let Pegs show me up now, can I?”

And that little wisp of hope had snuffed out like a candle.

They finally reached a heavy oak door. Bucky slid his key into the lock and murmured softly, and the door eased itself open in response, revealing the spiral staircase that led down to Soul Brew.

Once they reached ground level, Natasha took off towards the coffee bar, while Bucky glanced around for a different target. The shop was as busy as always, but he was able to spot Steve’s hipster glasses and muscular physique a mile away. Hell, everyone could have been painted grey and Steve still would have stuck out to him like a suit at a pride parade.

He was seated on one of the plush chairs, tongue between his teeth as the outline of a wedding came to life before him. His glasses were slipping down his nose and he has smudges of ink on his cheek, fingertips, and t-shirt. One shirt sleeve was rolled up, showing off a colorful array of tattoos, the knees of his jeans were ripped, and he was wearing mismatching socks. He was an utter disaster.

And still the love of Bucky’s life.

He swallowed hard, tamping down on the swell of emotion that squeezed his chest. It was no use pining for something, <em>someone</em> he would never, could never have. Steve deserved better, certainly better than the life Bucky could provide. A cramped apartment, The Gateway, a cluttered hipster joint that couldn’t decide if it was a book or coffee shop.

Then Steve happened to glance his way and turned on that beautiful smile, as though it was all for him, and it was too much. Quickly, Bucky headed over to the counter, ducking his head on on the pretense of drawing his hair into a messy bun.

It was time to get to work.

* * *

All in all, the day went rather well. Thor came thundering through The Gateway sometime around noon after Natasha had continued on her way, bringing with him a barrel of Asgardian mead and some sort of pheasant for Kahlo. Business was booming and the day’s customers were actually decent. Between the coffee and book sales, profits weren’t looking too bad either.

So of course, it was that evening that things went to hell in a handbasket.

It’s was Bucky’s fault, really; him and his traitorous heart. He had stopped by to drop Steve off a mocha during a commission break and had found him drawing a woman in with brunette hair,, painted red lips the perfect match to her stunning dress.

So of course when Steve turned that big, stupid smile on him, Bucky had shoved his coffee at him and ran. Which led to Worried!Steve, which led to Pissy!Bucky. Which of course ultimately led a shouting match about Bucky carrying too much weight on his shoulders and Steve helicoptering like a mother hen.

Which is how Bucky found himself on Natasha’s sofa, tea in hand and cat spread out across his thighs, Natasha herself sat in the window seat.

“You need to tell him.”

Bucky stared miserably into his tea. “No, I don’t.”

“Pray tell, why not?”

“Because he doesn’t love me, Nat!” Bucky knuckled at his left eye. “He loves Peggy, and whether he ever sees her again or not doesn’t matter, I’m not going to take that away from him.”

Natasha hummed, turning from the window and crossing her legs together when Liho jumped into the crook of them. “And what makes you think he doesn’t feel the same way?” she asked cryptically, tilting her head to one side. “He loved Peggy, yes, but not in the way he loves you.” She poised a finger when Bucky made to interject. “He chose to live here, helping you guard the gateway, when he could have done anything else. It’s not because he feels guilty, James, it’s because he can’t bear to be apart from you. You’re tied to the Brooklyn gateway, and though you can cross through others, your travel range is otherwise pretty limited save for those and The Underground.

The Underground was a seedy, dark netherrealm located beneath the Brooklyn gateway. It extended throughout the other eight realms, and served as a black market of sorts, as well as a place of dark magic. So, naturally, that meant Natasha had a hideout here.

Bucky glared into his tea miserably. “How am I supposed to do this, Nat? What if I lose him?”

Natasha’s green eyes glimmered knowingly as she scratched Liho’s head. “You won’t. Stop worrying, James. Everything will fall into place.”

“So you say.” Bucky took a swig of his tea and promptly gagged. “Christ, how much vodka did you put in this?”

* * *

When Bucky opened Soul Brew the following morning, Steve was noticeably absent. His door has been closed when Bucky returned the night before, as well as that morning; perhaps Steve had spent the night elsewhere? The thought made Bucky’s stomach plummet.

He kept an eye out for broad shoulder and paint-stained blond hair as he worked, there was no sign of Steve, and none of their friends had seen him either. By the end of the day Bucky’s chest felt like it had been stepped on and his stomach filled with lead. Dejected and resigned to another stressful night, Bucky closed up the shop and headed upstairs towards the empty apartment.

It was quiet and dim as he walked through the door. The faerie lights were lit, illuminating Kahlo lounging on the fluffy cushion Steve had wrangled up for her; but as Bucky stepped further into the foyer he realized several inked fireflies were fluttering about the strands as well. The place was just as cluttered as usual, and nothing seemed out of place, but the crisp breeze flowing through from the balcony indicated otherwise.

Buck kicked off his shoes, then padded across the living room, cautiously stepping over the sliding frame and onto the cool concrete. Steve was seated on the ground against the barrier, expression inscrutable. Two figures, unmistakably male--one broad with thick glasses, the other with shaggy hair and a metal arm--danced at his fingertips in a perfect waltz. Bucky watched, mesmerized, before Steve spoke.

“I never did get that dance from you. Figured this was better than nothing.”

Whatever melody the figures waltzed to must have ended, because they broke from position, hands still linked, before embracing one another. Bucky’s throat tightened as it dawned on him; Steve always <em<had</em> been better at expressing himself with his art rather than words. And this?

This was a promise and a love confession, poured from the depths of Steve’s heart into strokes and wisps of ink.

Steve closed his hand and the figures vanished, pulling Bucky from his stupor. He cleared his throat, shuffling his socked feet. “Well,” he announced, with a bravado he certainly didn’t feel, “Let’s go, punk.”

Steve blinked stupidly. “What?”

Bucky swept some stray strands back into his bun. “What do you mean “what”? I owe you a dance.”

Steve flushed, eyes downcast. “Buck, I want you to know I don’t expect anything. I just couldn’t--”

“Shut up, Steve.”

“Buck--”

“I said shut up.” Bucky reached down and tugged Steve to his feet, pulling him in so they were chest to chest. He then slid his arms loosely around Steve’s neck; Steve’s hands fluttered in the air for a moment before coming to settle on Bucky’s waist. “Now since you’re not a bean pole anymore, there’s no music, and we both know you can’t waltz for shit, we’re going to improvise.”

Steve smiled, soft and crooked. “Okay.”

They both swayed to the melody of the wind whistling through the trees, the clatter and bustle of what few people were still out in the city this time at night.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Stevie?” Bucky murmured, tipping forward so that their foreheads touched. “You had to know, pal, there’s never been anyone but you.”

Steve’s eyes slid shut, and a hand came up to cup Bucky’s cheek. “I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “And you were so hung up on me and Pegs, I didn’t think you’d give us a chance.” He opened his eyes again, exhaling slowly. “I loved Peggy, Buck, but it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t you. I loved you first, and you’d best damn believe you’re going to be the last. In this universe; in this realm, and the next, and all the others beyond that.”

Bucky buried his face in Steve’s neck, preening a little when Steve dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “Same goes for you, pal.”

When he pulled back, Steve’s smile was blinding. “We did promise each other. End of the line, and all that.”

Bucky gently nosed against Steve’s cheek, before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Shit. What was I thinking.”

Steve flicked his ear, causing him to yelp. “You weren’t. Just like always.” He grinned, raised Bucky’s vibranium arm to plant a kiss on each knuckle. “And now you’re stuck with me.”

Bucky gnawed at his lip, heart bursting.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

[murderonthemattress]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Maria Hill, Winifred Barnes, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton Additional Tags: Christmas AU, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, not really winter solider bucky, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Miscommunication, Fluff and Angst, Wham!, no really, Wham! was my inspiration on this one Summary:

Last Christmas, Steve Rogers gave Bucky Barnes his heart and...

Well, that was last year. They haven't spoken since that night. It's a year later and everyone (Ev-er-y-one) has been trying to get them to talk. To reconcile. At Sam and Maria's annual holiday party, Steve stops being so pig-headed and Bucky finds his voice.

For @lillupon for the @stevebuckysecretsanta!  I hope you enjoy!

[splinteredwinter]

@bustybarnes, here’s your slightly belated Secret Santa gift. I hope you like it, and Happy Christmas!

[krycek-asks]

Caught

A Steve/Bucky Secret Santa gift for @captainamerica97 - hope you enjoy! It was certainly fun to write.

Title: Caught

Summary: Luis and the gang catch Steve and Bucky celebrating the holidays without them. Memorably.

Warnings: Explicit, smut with fluff and humour, I dare say domestic. There are many mentions of food, hunger and appetite. Short Luis rambles ;D

Word Count: 5559

@stevebuckysecretsanta

[tyranttirade]

Not Anymore

Rating: Teen 

Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers

Tags: Soulmates, College Au

Warnings: Light angst and a whole lot of swearing

Words:1973

Summary:  Steve sighs, dropping his phone, trying to be as monotonous as he can as he looks up, mumbling, “I didn’t do anything with your stuff.”

For @superfandomdqueensnook for the @stevebuckysecretsanta

Merry Christmas, I hope you like it!

[superfandomdqueensnook]

Steve’s a DUFF and Bucky’s the Hot Popular Asshole(That’s Secretly a Softie) (Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers, M/M

Summary: Bucky’s parents are at it again. Steve takes Bucky to his thinking spot.

Word Count: 505

Warnings: Parents Arguing,

A/N: The Duff AU, Bucky is Wesley and Steve is Bianca. This is for @chvystiel for the Steve Bucky Secret Santa. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Masterlist

Steve walked out of his house, crossing the driveway between Bucky’s and his house. He could hear Bucky’s parents yelling.

Bucky was sitting on the porch reading the Art History book Steve instructed him to read for Art.

“Hey, Barnes,” Steve greeted, leaning his short figure on the white picket fence of the Barnes��� residence.

“Good day, Stevie.” Bucky hopped off of the step of his house and made his way to Steve’s car. “What are we doing today?”

Steve smiled, “You’ll see.”

  “Where are we going?” Bucky asked for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. Steve was leading him through the trees.

“Here!” Steve announced proudly, leading Bucky into a meadow of flowers. “This is my thinking place! Where I go to think, draw, and you get to see it. So feel special, Bucky.”

Bucky blinked, shocked. “You called me Bucky. You never called me that before, so I do feel special, Stevie.”

Steve pulled a face at the nickname, but didn’t say anything. Plopping down, he dragged Bucky down beside him.

“Are your parents like that a lot?” Steve asked, picking at one of the wild flowers absentmindedly.

“Yeah, I wish they would just divorce and be over with it. That’s why I need the scholarship, ya’ know,” Bucky answered, looking at his hands. “This place is really nice, peaceful. No wonder you come out here to draw, Steve.”

“It is a really good place to draw, I have a painting of it in my room.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, “Could I see it?”

Steve looked surprised. “Really?!”

Bucky nodded, smiling, “Sure.”

Steve gave him an excited smile. Bucky was leaned in, pressing his lips to Steve’s. Bucky pulled back in shock.

Coughing a little, “That was part of your training, ya’ know. Kissing is the next step, if you’re going to date someone, you need to know how to kiss.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “That’s how you kiss? No. No, no, I’ll show you how to kiss. How people like to be kissed. The right way.”

It was Bucky’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? Go ahead, I mean after all you’re an expert. Obliviously.”

Steve took up the challenge, taking Bucky’s right hand and placing it on his waist, then Bucky’s left hand and placed it on his jaw. Bucky leaned in, Steve gave him a disgruntled look, “You’re going too fast. You need to go slower, anticipation.”

“Okay, you lead this kiss then, oh great one.”

Steve set his hands on both sides of Bucky’s jaw, cupping his face. As he leaned in, Bucky could feel butterflies in his stomach and warmth in his chest. Just as he was closing his eyes, they snapped open. Steve licked his cheek!

“That’s how you kiss!” Steve stated, smiling proudly.

“Ah, well. Impressive, however did I not learn this. Thank you very much!” Bucky sassed, laughing. Steve joined in. Bucky shook his head at Steve, this guy was nothing like Bucky remembered or expected. In a good way, Bucky thought, maybe.  

Taglist: @smdarling

[smdarling]

Hello, it's your Secret Santa here! Hope you're doing well, I was wondering what you'd prefer as a gift? I can pretty much do everything but I'm not so great at graphics and editing videos, if that's what you'd like though I'll do my best. What are some themes and such you'd like in whatever work you'd prefer. Looking forward to getting to know you! xx Secret Santa

Hi!! Honestly I love everything, but especially fics and art!!! I’m a big fan of the “everyone lives in the Tower as one big happy avenging family” trope, I just want everyone to be happy haha lately I gravitate toward a lot of humor and fluff and occasionally hurt/comfort, heavy on the comfort! Thank you!