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marvelfansince08love · 3 years

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Cookies to make you smile

Word count: 1.5k

Pairing: WandaNat x MaximoffSister!Reader

Warning: none, Pure Fluff

A/N: So I stupidly answered this request privately lmao but for my incredible spidey <3 @nervousspiderling. Not well edited I do apologise! x

This is technically part of my Wanda Wednesday but alas I can never do anything on time lmao 😂

Permanent tags: @waitingfortheendtocome @natasha-danvers @natasharomanoffswife @creepingwolfberry

Title: Cookies to make you smile

A calming atmosphere settles across the living room space as the snow flutters lightly outside during the December month, you sit with your back to the arm of the couch and a book open across your thighs. Your sister sits opposite you with her legs crossed as she leans against the back of the couch reading her own book in peace. You bite your lip as you contemplate your thoughts, fidgeting in place, itching to do something more productive; the silence of the room coming too unbearable.

“Wanda, can we please make Natasha those Russian Gingerbreads?” you beg your sister, pout in place as your eyes widen for extra effect. Wanda rolls her eyes from the comfort of her seat, book in hand as she tries to desperately avoid your doe-eyed expression knowing she’ll crack under them.

“When you say ‘we’ you mean me right? Because the last time you wanted to make something for Tasha you left me to do all of the work, Sestra.” Wanda complains, sighing as she places her book onto the coffee table knowing the last few sentences hadn’t sunk into her brain. You quickly throw yourself over her lap and look up at her with a sad expression.

“Hey! I tried to help, it’s you who told me to sit nicely and wait for you to finish making the damn treat,” you grumble, folding your arms across your chest. Wanda laughs at your expression knowing full well why you were told to sit and not touch anything. Over the last few months you’ve been training with your sister and her team to help control and home in on your powers, your body still trying to adjust to the changes surround your chemical imbalances, that it’s making any form of stress or anxiety spiral to chaos and as a result having a very angry Tony pay for the damages; The kitchen event from last week still remained a no go topic of conversation between the team.

Wanda quickly pushes you off her lap leaving you in a heap on the floor as you yelp out loud at the sudden change of position. Glaring at her you stomp off towards the kitchen that’s shared between your sister and her girlfriend prepared to make the treat yourself. Natasha had been working hard with new shield recruits lately, training them up and making sure they stay out of Fury’s way; ‘Punishment’ is what Nat calls it after her and Clint decided to pull a prank on the Director two weeks ago. The prank had been worth it apparently she had told you, grinning like a menace as Wanda laughed next to her, the clear image of the event playing in her mind. She had been coming home grumpy and tired ever since, leaving it up to you and Wanda to cheer her up whenever possible.

“Fine but you are helping this time and they’re called Tula Pryanik, they are Nat’s favourite Russian treat,” Wanda explains, a sense of fondness appearing in her green eyes making you cringe at her puppy love expression.

Your sister had been dating the redhead assassin for a while, when they came to rescue you from the hands of Hydra a few months back you had seen it then, the sheer panic in Wanda’s eyes as she watched Natasha fall to the ground from a nearby explosion as she carried you out of the building and through the crossfire. You had been in and out of consciousness when they headed back to base in the Quinjet but you had heard snippets of their conversation and their soft tones, whispering like lovers. In a way you had been relieved that after everything; the destruction, the pain she was able to find some light at the end of the tortuous tunnel. Over time it almost seemed inevitable that you would also grow close to the redhead, having similar experiences with monsters who want to keep you under lock and key until they use you for their dirty work. You had grown fond of the avenger and confined in her when you couldn’t with your sister.

Soon enough, you’re both covered in flour as your nose fills with the smell of cinnamon and ginger. Wanda shows you how to roll the cookie dough into perfect balls before placing them onto the baking tray and into the pre-heated oven. The oven pings an hour later as you and Wanda continue to eat from the tub of ice cream to pass time. You both tilt your heads as you inspect the small baking tray full of freshly baked gingerbread cookies.

“You think we can make up another batch? Maybe take some upstairs for the rest of the team,” you suggest, already grabbing the ingredients to make another batch of cookie dough as Wanda hums in agreement.

“Well considering we haven’t completely messed up, we may as well.” she murmurs, placing the already made up tray into the oven . You pause from setting up the ingredients, a subtle smirk gracing your lips as your eyes sparkle with mischief. Quickly scooping up a handful of flour you flatten your palm softly across Wanda’s cheek watching as her mouth widens in shock as the white flour covers her cheek, you stand in silent shock trying to hold in your laughter.

“Oh it’s on!” Wanda exclaims, reaching for the open egg carton and cracking the egg shell above your head, making you gasp at the slimy texture that drapes down to your face.

You both continue to laugh and run around the kitchen, throwing the odd dash of flour at one another unaware of the amused figure who stands not far from the open kitchen.

“Oh I’m sorry I thought I left the kids at work today,” Natasha’s voice teases, causing you to turn in fright at her sudden presence making you halt on the spot. Wanda who was already aware of her girlfriend’s presence decides to strike her final attack on your distracted form causing you to slip and fall groaning as your behind hits the hard cool flooring, Wanda not far behind. Nat watches as you both giggle to yourselves leaning against the kitchen counter, moving forward she eyes the one batch of Gingerbread cookies and takes three from the tray before crouching down to join you both on the floor, settling herself in between you both as Wanda kisses her sweetly in greeting. Grabbing the tasty treat from her offered hand, you all take a bite of the treat chewing for a moment before scrunching up your face, you eye the other two and notice their similar distaste.

“Jarvis, set a reminder for me to never make these again,” you look up to the ceiling as you address the A.I.

“Certainly, Miss. Maximoff.” his voice echoing throughout the room. Natasha laughs before leaning her against yours, lacing her fingers through Wanda’s.

“Thank you both for trying though,” Her voice filled with sincerity.

“Anything for my favourite sister in-law,” you smile at your preferred title for the assassin as your sister smiles back fondly at you both.

#wandanat #wandanat x reader #sister!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x wanda #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #wanda wednesday

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barnesandco · 4 years

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Nikah: October

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slight language, mild angst.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. Only two more chapters left! Thank you for commenting and reblogging on the previous chapter - I’m sorry I haven’t been able to respond to it all yet. It’s been a busy Monday, but I’ll get around to it. I hope you enjoy the rest!

It's quiet, all acoustics numbed by the blanket of snow that surrounds them, untarnished for miles on end with the exception of the bunker they're observing. Bucky and Peter lay on their stomachs, the former's fingers adjusting his rifle, and the latter fiddling with his mask, twisting and turning it between nimble fingers. The gigantic block of cement that will soon house their targets is a sitting duck below the hillside they are situated on.

Bucky can see the hazy outline of the quinjet cloaked by the invisibility shield above the bunker, where Sam and Clint hover like eagles awaiting the rabbits they are to prey on. Wanda and Vision are on the adjacent hill-top, camouflaged to the best of their ability. No red coats or blue skies today, amidst the white world and gray sky.

Whoever is orchestrating an arms deal in Greenland of all places, is bearing the brunt of all of Bucky's curses. They've been hunting this particularly nasty international gang for months, and the finish line is now in sight. Can't come quickly enough for Bucky, as the snow is more a sheet of rock under his body.

Still not as stony as Peter's attitude, however. The teenager has hardly spoken a word to him since they left the Compound, clearly disgruntled and wearing it on his face like the special white suit crafted specifically for snowy climates. From his peripherals, Bucky can see that he's giving him a displeased side-eye, but the moment he turns to look at him fully, Peter shifts his eyes forward. Wordlessly proclaims innocence.

"What's the matter?' Bucky asks, caught between frustration and concern, turning off the mic in his communications device. Peter shakes his head, brown curls somehow bouncing, the only live thing left in miles of desolation, aside from the coniferous bushes they're using as cover. "Listen, kid. I don't know what I did but I want to fix it if it's makin' you-"

"I can't believe you split up," Peter says suddenly, his downcast gaze indicating that it isn't disbelief he's struggling with, it's agitation.

"This was the plan, Peter. I vouch for her as her husband so she gets her permanent residence, and then we separate." He ignored the fact that they know full well that the plan was to divorce, not separate in the quiet of the night, like burglars in the dark. However, when the time came, she had pointed out - and rightly so - that divorce would paint a bad picture of both of them. The media has yet to discover that their marriage has ended, because legally speaking, it has not.

"That was before you two caught feelings," Peter grumbles against the fist he's pressing to his chin. Bucky's eyes widen, eyebrows rising to meet the hem of his hat. He composes himself.

"Son, I hate to say it, but there weren't any feelings. She never-"

"Never what, Mr. Barnes? Liked you? Loved you? And they say us kids don't know how to communicate in real life." The last comment is delivered under his breath, passive-aggressive, soul-burning anger and irritation radiating like waves of heat from him. Sighing heavily, Bucky navigates the battlefield that feels more dangerous than the one he's laying on.

"Peter, I'm sorry, but me and her were never meant to be. Life is like that, y'know," He says, distant, eyes focusing on the crosshairs of his scope. Life is like that - throws your hope out the window and forces you to live with the feeble remains you have left. All he has left is a broken heart and cold feet, but hell, that could be the names of his memoir, for all his heartache and cowardice.

"And you think that this is what you were meant to be? You're lonely and she's miserable, and you both act like it never happened. Like everything never happened." Peter rants, whisper-yelling at him as he shifts to sit up on the snow that's now a good way into melting below them, creating Bucky and Peter shaped indentations in the hillside. Like a fish, Bucky's mouth opens and closes for a response, no words.

"I know you think I'm too young to understand any of this, but I know that losing people you love hurts. And you know as well as I do that life is too short to stay away from those people. So yeah, confessing that you need her is hard, but it can't be as hard as living without her."

---

Bucky gets home bruised from the barrel of an intergalactic weapon and craving pakoray and chai, but has no energy for anything other than the bathtub. He's using the bath bombs she bought for him because he was reluctant to pamper himself in any way. The lavender scent envelopes him but he misses her jasmine perfume, the scent of her lemon-tinged shampoo, the hint of raspberry from her lip-balm if he got close enough.

It's a damn shame that he'll die without tasting her lips. Without feeling the skin on her hip against his lips the way his hand has so many times in the past few months, her palm on his chest, his arm, when they wake up. Rarely entangled, but perennially connected.

It takes a grand total of fifteen minutes in the warm, purple water for Bucky to suspect he's losing his mind, his delicate, butter-fingers grasp on a reality already so fragile. A reality that balances like a car on the edge of a cliff in one of those action movies. The kind that only takes a pigeon to land on the hood before everything goes tumbling down. This is, in part, due to the ineffable silence.

He used to appreciate it, letting his eardrums rest after years of hearing fists meet Steve's face, the cracks of gunshots in the blood-infused trenches of the War, Hydra's orders barked angrily at him. Silence was a blanket of peace, but it's now waging a war against him. Wrestling with his mind to suffocate his sanity. So he does what he always must do ground himself - he thinks of her. Of the best way he remembers having his silence broken.

Her taste in music is... eclectic, to say the least. Bucky learns this upon returning deon a post-nightmare walk he insisted on taking alone to find his wife planting seeds in windows boxes at two in the morning.

The cotton shalwaar kameez she's adopted as her night suit dances in the wind to the ending notes of Laung Lachi. That in itself wouldn't be unusual, if the next track on the playlist wasn't a fifties jazz song. The one after that, a Latin hit. Shakira, Bucky guesses. Eleven minutes and three genres later, he makes his presence known.

"Doll?" He calls, walking onto the balcony. She gives a soil-stained wave. "I thought you said you couldn't garden?" He asks, taking in her work. Three out of five boxes have been filled with soil, and she's tenderly brushing soil over the seeds in the second box.

"Did I?"

"You were quite clear about it, darlin'. My thumb's as green as Trump's environmental policies, I think you said," He teases gently. She opens her mouth to rebut as the beginning notes to Summertime start up, and his feet itch with the will to join Ella's voice in dancing to the melody. He decides to skip the words - he knows he doesn't have the right ones right now - and holds out his hand, palm up, interrupting her explanation.

"I can't dance, Bucky."

"I'm pretty damn sure I've forgotten how to, too. Let's learn together?"

She makes to wipe her hand on a nearby cloth but he takes it before she can. Grasps it in his own gently, places her other on his shoulder and his own on her waist. The balcony is black, dark, the scent of earth and her shower gel driving away the top-note of his nightmares as they sway, still a fair distance apart, but hearts growing closer.

Dancing on the balcony now feels like nothing more than a ghost of a dream, coming back to haunt him like a wicked lover. Bucky recalls her moonlit face, her star shine eyes, and thinks: Peter's too smart for his own good.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer @redhairedfeistynerd @geeksareunique @samingtonwilson @alyxkbrl @bucky-smiles

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader

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surrounded-by-superheroes · 6 years

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Queen Epilogue

Chapter Twenty-Three here.

Summary; A shape-shifting girl with a bad past is recruited by Nick Fury into the Avengers. It’s there that she finally starts learning to let people in again and she’s especially intrigued by a blond haired and blue eyed Captain America. Will she learn to let him in? Will her past actually stay in the past?

A/N; I had to add Christmas. Thank you so much for reading! Reblog and comment please!!

Warnings; Language, cuteness.

Words; 3,273

Epilogue

*Christmas Eve Night*

I roll over in Steve’s bed when I hear the door open. Bucky stands just inside the door, looking at me without surprise. I sleep in here more than my own anyways, my room is more of an art studio for me now. He walks over silently and crouches beside the bed.

“…can I..I mean…would it be okay if…” Bucky whispers and struggles to get his words out. I blink a couple of times to wake myself up a little more before addressing him.

“Bucky, you don’t have to ask. Just get in.” I croak as quietly as I can to avoid waking up Steve. Steve and I were on one side of the bed huddled together, leaving the other side open. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, not in the least. In fact, it almost always happened when Natasha was out on a mission. Bucky hadn’t been cleared to work yet, so he had to stay behind. Ever since it had turned cold Bucky had gotten more fidgety than usual. The cold reminded him of his past. He would find either Steve or me and stay with us during the night. More often than not it was with both of us. Neither of us minded at all. Bucky’s a heater. I’d even woken up with my arms wrapped around his metal arm to keep me cool between the two men.

“Are you sure? Would Steve-”

“Buck. Shut the hell up and get in the bed.” Steve tells him firmly. Even in the dark I can see Bucky’s white smile. He climbs in and gets under the covers, letting in a cold breeze that isn’t welcome. Steve’s arms tighten around me when I shiver, but as soon as Bucky settles I’m warm again. We all fall asleep again easily with each other for company.

I wake up in the morning to Steve getting out of bed, jostling Bucky and I in the process. We both groan and I move closer to Bucky, now lacking warmth on one side. We curl together, keeping the warmth between us. Steve chuckles and I hear him moving around the room as he changes.

“You two should get up too. It’s time for our run.” He tells us quietly. Bucky and I both groan at him, making Steve chuckle again. I open my eyes and sigh at the morning. I pat Bucky’s chest and his arms open, like pressing a button for the elevator. I roll out of bed and am greeted with a kiss on the lips from Steve. Despite myself I smile at the trouble maker. I head to the top drawer of Steve’s dresser, my work out clothes were kept in here. I rarely work out without Steve anyway, so it just made sense to keep them here. I change, not worrying about Bucky getting up and seeing me. He’s always the last to get up. Besides, Bucky’s like my brother. I really wouldn’t care if he saw me butt naked, it wouldn’t matter. I finish changing as Steve tugs Bucky out of bed, like always. “Come on, Buck. Sam’s going to be here any minute.” Steve plays on Sam and Bucky’s playful rivalry to get him up.

“Already here.” Sam says, leaning against the door frame. “Late as always, I see. Am I the only gentleman on this team?” He teases. I walk over and punch his shoulder for the comment, but he just laughs. Bucky’s up in a second after hearing Sam, and is ready in less than a minute after changing in the bathroom.

“It’s the only time you’re first at anything, so I’d say cherish our lateness.” Bucky quips, grinning and suddenly wide awake. Sam rolls his eyes and walks out. We all follow him, Steve and I in the back, stretching, and Bucky and Sam in the lead, arguing. When we reach the door that leads outside I groan.

“Does anyone else understand how crazy and I don’t know…CRAZY it is for us to run in New York city, in the winter, when it’s icy and snowy?” I ask, staring out at the winter wonderland in front of us. I love winter, I really do. But I love the warm fires, the snuggling, the sweaters, the hot chocolate, and the occasional snow ball fight. I’m not a fan of freezing my ass off at seven in the morning from running with two assholes. Two assholes who run ahead, and Sam who I willingly stay beside. Sam whispers yes under his breath but Steve and Bucky are grinning, excited for the competition that’s about to start. Sam drops back beside me and lets Steve take his place next to Bucky as the doors open. Instantly, they both take off, both trying to outrun the other. Sam and I both sigh and start jogging leisurely. We follow our normal route through the city and Steve laps us twice with Bucky, before I start feeling the urge to compete rise up in me. It isn’t unusual that they lap us, but this time every time they do they tap Sam and I’s shoulders.

“On your left.”

“On your right.” They both say as they pass us. I huff after the second time and look at Sam.

“Do it for the both of us.” He pushes me forward and I start to sprint. I shift the muscles in my legs so they’re stronger and catch up with Bucky and Steve in a pinch. I put myself between them and shove both of their shoulders, hard. They end up toppling over and landing in piles of snow. I skid to a stop and shift my muscles back to normal as Sam gains on us. I hear him laughing long before he gets there. Dazed, Steve and Bucky sit up and shake the snow out of their hair.

“That’s what you both get for being such jerks.” I huff, placing my hands on my hips. They stare up at me, Bucky pouting and Steve half-smiling. Finally, Sam catches up and wraps his arms around me. He embraces me, picks me up off the ground, and spins me.

“Yes! Finally!” He shouts, then puts me down as I giggle. All of a sudden, Sam staggers backwards when a snowball hits his face. We all laugh quietly before we’re disturbed by the ringing of someone’s cellphone. My nose scrunches up as I pull mine out. Tony had given it to me a while ago so I could always reach him. Of course, he’d already put everyone’s contacts in it and had personalized each ringtone. The one screaming at me right now is Black Sabbath’s Iron Man, telling me it’s Tony calling. I roll my eyes as the guys giggle, but answer the phone.

“Hey, T. What’s up?” I ask, stopping the ringtone in the middle of the song.

“Queen, where the hell are you and the boys? It’s Christmas morning! Everyone’s already in the living room distributing gifts!” Tony shouts at me through the phone. I laugh and point back at the tower to signal to the boys that we need to go back.

“Okay, okay. Calm down. We’re on our way back right now. Don’t open anything until we get there!” I assure him. We both hang up and all of us start to jog. This time, Bucky and Steve stay next to us. As soon as we get back to the tower I shed my coat and boots, but keep my red long-sleeved T and navy sweatpants. We all head up to the normal gathering room and are greeted by noisy hellos and big hugs. Then, we all sit in a large oval, going to wherever our piles of presents are. Steve and I are beside each other, then Bucky, Wanda, Vision, Rhodes, Tony, Sam, ending with Grant next to me to complete the circle. Clint had left a little after Nat to spend his holiday elsewhere. Bucky glances sadly at Nat’s pile of presents under the tree, but smiles again when Steve claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay!” Tony starts and we all quiet, turning to listen to him. “Now, we’re going to do this nice and civilized. Grant over there will start, then we’ll go clockwise until everyone is done. As per tradition, everyone has one gift from everyone that they made themselves, basically so I don’t kick everyone’s ass by buying everyone the best gifts.” Tony says cockily then sits down on the couch and nods at Grant to tell him to start.

“Swear jar.” Everyone shouts and Tony rolls his eyes, rolling up a couple spare bills in his pocket and tossing it in the ever-growing money pile in a large jar on the mantle. Grant had started it a while ago. I’ll give it to the kid, he’s smart. He’s made at least a thousand dollars already, mostly thanks to Tony. I smile at Grant’s messy head of hair as he grabs the gift on top of his present mountain. His pile is significantly larger than anyone else’s and that makes me ridiculously happy. Everyone has really taken him under their wing.

“Alright, this is from Uncle T.” He grins and I can’t help but smile when he uses a variation of the nickname I call Tony. He rips open the shiny, red paper to reveal a plain looking box about the size of a loaf of bread. He takes the top off and groans in happiness. “You’re kidding me!” He exclaims and jams his hands down into the box. When his hands emerge from the box they’re covered in black and yellow metal. I immediately look at Tony who’s already looking at me with a sheepish grin on his face.

“How could you?” I mouth at him and he smirks at my reaction. Grant apparently saw me because he rushes to assure me.

“Aw, don’t worry Victory. I’ll be super safe when I’m using them and Uncle T will watch me the whole time. Until he’s sure I’ve got a handle on them.” Grant says, his eyes big and pleading. I stare him before sighing and giving in. “Yes!” Grant exclaims and everyone chuckles at his excitement. My turn now. I grab a small yellow box by my side and put it in my lap.

“Hey, that’s from me!” Sam bellows, leaning forward in his seat. I giggle a little at him and open the box carefully, unfolding the paper instead of ripping it. There’s a little navy box inside. I open it and smile instantly, a laugh bubbling out of my lips the next second. Inside the box is a bracelet cuff, shiny and silver. Where it connects are wings, like an angel, or a falcon. “Now, you can show some proper respect to your brother from another mother.” Sam says happily. I laugh at him and put the cuff on my upper arm, adjusting it so that the wings are facing outwards.

“Thanks Sam, I love it. I really love it.” I tell him genuinely. He nods in acknowledgement. I look over at Steve to find he’s already dragged a large box in front of him and has untied the large bow on it. I laugh as he rips open the shiny, red paper like a kid. Soon a box is revealed and this one isn’t blank. It’s a record player, the picture on the box is beautiful, cherry wood one. Steve caresses the box before looking up at Tony happily. Tony shrugs.

“I thought you’d like something from your past. Other than your friend anyway.” Tony teases Bucky who narrows his eyes at the use of old. Steve chuckles.

“Thanks Tony. I appreciate it.” Steve tells him, but Tony just waves a hand at him.

“You’ll find some records in that pile there soon enough too.” He tells him and Steve just can’t seem to stop smiling. Bucky’s turn. Immediately, he picks up a box wrapped in newspaper. I have a hunch this gift is from Steve. My hunch is confirmed when Steve looks away from his new toy to watch Bucky open it with a nervous smile. It’s a shoe box, but seeing Bucky’s face when he opens it makes me think that there aren’t shoes inside.

“Uh, they’re letters.” Steve starts to explain. “I wrote them from the day you…fell…up to when you came back. I lost the letters from the forty’s, but I copied them from memory. I’d write one whenever I wanted to tell you something or just needed to talk.” Steve ends, a slight pink tint appearing on his cheeks. Suddenly, Bucky puts down the box and wraps an arm around Steve. They hug for a moment and when they both pull away they smile like fools.

“Just kiss.” Tony says under his breath and everyone laughs quietly. Steve rolls his eyes and leans over, giving me a quick kiss instead. Bucky gets up and kisses me on the cheek too, making everyone laugh again. “Alright, alright, moving on.” Tony groans. Wanda uses her powers to pick a present in the middle of her pile.

“From Vis.” She reads and smiles softly. Vision sits up a little straighter in his seat and swallows. I’ve never seen him look so nervous. She opens the tiny box and pulls out a SD card. She picks it up and looks at Vision expectantly.

“It has all the pictures of you and your family I could find, as well as music that’s native to your home country. I thought you’d like a bit of your home to hold onto.” Vision explains, his nervousness fading when he sees Wanda’s big smile. She puts the SD card into her pocket and nods at Vision.

“Thanks, Vis.” She tells him. He smiles and it’s surprisingly charming. It’s his turn next. Sadly, his pile is the smallest because no one had any ideas as to what to get him. Gingerly he takes one off the top; a long, thin box covered in gold paper and wrapped with a thin, sheer red ribbon. It’s mine. I twist a piece of my hair between my fingers as he opens it, nervous he won’t like it. Steve places his hand on my knee and squeezes lightly to reassure me. Vision opens it very carefully and smiles when he unrolls the paper in his hands. He looks up at me and I’m shocked to find that his eyes are touched.

“It’s, uh, it’s a painting of you and the team made from computer code. If I did it right, it should repeat-”

“Family.” He finishes and runs a thumb tenderly across the bottom of the page. “Thank you, Victoria. It’s breathtaking.” He compliments and I let out a sigh of relief then smile brightly at him. Rhodey is next and he looks straight at Tony as he picks up the gift from Tony.

“Oh, so this is how it’s going to be?” Tony asks playfully as Rhodes smirks.

“Yeah, this is how it’s going to be.” He continues opening the present and pulls out a small strip of paper from a tiny box. Rhodes reads it, then laughs and sends Tony a knowing look. “Is this the number-”

“Of that brunette you ran into last week? Yeah, you’re welcome.” Tony responds and starts opening his gift, Rhodes staring and smiling at the strip of paper in his hands. The gift Tony’s opening is from Grant, I’d helped him wrap all his gifts to the team. The minute Tony can see what’s in the box he laughs and it does my heart good to see Grant’s bleach white smile. “Is this what I think it is?” Tony asks, running a hand lovingly down whatever’s in the box. All I can tell is that it’s circular by the way Tony’s arm is moving. Grant nods and Bucky groans.

“Can we tell the not geniuses what’s in the box?” He says and I nod in agreement. Tony takes a circular mechanical thing out of the box, then sticks his hand under his shirt. We all hear a slight click and Tony’s reactor suddenly starts emitting a green light, then pink, red, purple, yellow, then disco. Grant’s grinning like crazy and so is Tony. God, they really found each other. Tony waves Grant over and tugs him into his arms, giving him a tight hug before launching him back into his spot next to me.

“Damn, we’ve all been out gifted.” Sam whispers under his breath.

“Swear jar.” Everyone says in unison and Sam rolls his eyes. He contributes, then realizes it’s his turn.

“Well, I think I’ll open this one.” He says dramatically and picks up the gift from Bucky.

“Oh, geez here we go.” Bucky breathes and I cover my mouth to mask my giggle. Sam rips open the brown packaging with vigor and a bright grin on his face and throws the top at Steve, who catches it of course. As soon as Sam’s eyes land on what’s in the box Bucky bursts out laughing as Sam glares at him. Everyone stares at Bucky, no one but Steve and I have really seen him express emotion like this. Sam fights his smile, but it wins out. He pulls out a black steering wheel and shakes his head.

“This is the same damn model too. Barnes, you’re a little bastard.” Sam partially scolds and rolls up a few dollar bills to put in the swear jar before we can yell at him to do it.

“You’re welcome.” Bucky responds and takes the top from Steve to throw it back at Sam. He catches it and puts the top back on in one swift move. I shake my head at the three of them. Troublemakers.

“Go ahead mini me! Your turn!” Tony exclaims at Grant, making Grant’s teeth flash in the light as he grins cheekily. We keep going around the circle until everyone has opened all their presents. At the end I push our present piles aside and put my head down in Steve’s lap, then shut my eyes. Steve instantly lifts my head up and lays my hair out so I don’t pull it. He plays with it absentmindedly as he talks with Bucky about Natasha. I hear Vision and Wanda whispering quietly to each other while Tony and Rhodes talk about the brunette Rhodey met. Grant’s explaining how he made Tony’s gift and Sam is asking if he can make something similar to put on his wings. I grin and sigh.

“Hey, babe?” I say quietly, but instantly gain Steve’s attention.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He answers and I open my eyes to see his pretty blue ones.

“Let’s make every Christmas like this, okay? Family around, crazy gifts, minimum amount of fighting. Okay? Every Christmas.” I tell him and his sweet smile just grows as I go on. He nods and leans down to give me a sweet kiss.

“Alright, Ria. Every year it’ll be like this.” He promises and I grab his hand in mine happily. “Maybe we’ll even have more additions in the years to come.” He proposes and my eyes widen, but so does my smile. I nod, then hear a small explosion to my right. I sigh and pop up to find Grant with a blackened face, wearing the gauntlet Tony gave him. Steve stands too and wraps his arms around me. “Every year.” He repeats and gets a hearty laugh out of me. I shake my head as he releases me to deal with the slight mess. Every year, I chuckle to myself.

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thassalia · 6 years

Text

Agent and Reagent

@kernezelda asked for: Avengers/MCU / pipette, wrench, tea / cyclone :D

Post- AOU, pre-CW. Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers. On hobbies and science and rain.

The facility felt particularly frigid in the rain despite the preprogrammed temperature. Natasha pulled the heavy sweater on over her head as wind lashed the trees against her windows and rain beat hard on the glass. It was worse than snow, which somehow transformed the gleaming modern monstrosity into something cozy and a little timeless. This kind of driving, torrential storm just upped the sense of isolation out here, although Natasha had never been bothered by solitude. A branch flew across the field, smacking into a telecom pole loud enough that she could hear the crack. So, more than a little rain. A shiver ran through her and she rubbed her arms, put her hand to the back of her cheek, but her skin was warm even a little dry. Maybe the cold was psychological. She grimaced, dismissing the thought. More likely, she was just getting the damned death flu that Wanda had brought back with her from Indiana.

She’d showered after morning maneuvers, held out in the elements because Steve was often an asshole who used the term “field conditions” to justify his sadistic streak. Eventually, the zero visibility and escalating gales had been too much for even Rogers and he’d called it, leaving them to their own devices. Of course, it being Saturday, this only meant an hour shaved off an already shortened schedule, but it was a concession nonetheless. Now, despite an extra ten minutes under the hot water, cold crept into her bones. Natasha dug out thick socks and tall boots, hoping to stave off the chill.

She’d passed on a group lunch in the canteen but she was due to meet with Steve in half an hour and wanted a sandwich. Beyond that, she didn’t have any plans for the day and she felt unexpectedly aimless. Downtime was in short supply with training drills, tactical planning, and the seminars she ran for the others on infiltration, disguise, intel gathering, skills she was better suited to impart than Steve. But there was nothing on the agenda today. Saturday afternoons were always free. It wasn’t like she had a rash of hobbies. String arts had been a bust, she didn’t enjoy playing an instrument although she was relatively accomplished at several, and while she’d taken dance classes in the city, out here it would just be herself and the music and decades of hazy memories, most of which she could live without. The thought was unappealing.

She didn’t want for entertainment, exactly. Sometimes she went to the movies with Sam and Wanda on Saturdays, into the city for dinner with Pepper, hiking with Steve. Once a month the facility held a potluck and bingo night. Natasha wasn’t bored, per se. It was simply that being trapped in this building reminded her of what she could have been doing out there in the world. What she should be doing. Running missions. Paying penance. That for most of her life, she hadn’t had hobbies because any free time she’d been granted had been filled with keeping her skillset fresh -- practicing languages, martial arts, programming and hacking, brushing up on deadly variations of chemistry and comportment.

There’d been exceptions to the rule of course -- weeks and weekends spent with the jostling, jovial Bartons, time spent cooking and cleaning and carousing with rambunctious kids, or drinking beer and bullshitting with Laura, silent shoulder-brushing companionship with Clint. Time in the tower, slowly building trust with Tony over anthropomorphized robots and delicate programming. Stolen moments with Bruce in coffee shops and boutiques, the art house theater in Greenwich and the galleries in Dumbo. Or in bed, his skilled, beautiful hands tracing along her spine, counting her ribs with his mouth following as she leaned her cheek against the pillow and rainwater trailed along the glass.

Things that she’d given up with her decision to live as an Avenger, to mentor a new team. (Given up, given away, been abandoned by...) Things she’d promised Steve that she’d refrain from pursuing unless absolutely necessary because this had to come first. Steve wanted to be the first line of defense, not the back up called in during desperate times. Christ, he and Tony really were two peas in a pod, despite their inability to look at an apple and see the same color red.

She really must be getting sick. This was maudlin and foolish, sentimental in a way she was loath to admit herself capable of. Natasha shook her head and grabbed her phone, headed to the cafeteria.

***

Steve’s room was keyed to allow her access during certain hours, but she still called out to him as the door slid open.

“In here,” he answered and she made her way to the little studio he’d set up in the second bedroom of his quarters. The light was excellent for drawing and drafting, but more often than not the pneumatic table was used as a hold all for the tacticals plans Steve still preferred to work out on paper.

Today, however, he was bent over a textured palette, brush in hand. It warmed her, somehow, seeing him paint. A sign that normalcy was possible, even if rarely exhibited. If Steve could occasionally remember how to paint, maybe she had it in herself to develop some outside interests.

Unfortunately, emotional warmth aside, it was fucking freezing. Steve kept his quarters on the ball-crawling side of uncomfortable since he ran hot. Natasha put down the roast beef sandwich she’d brought him and picked up a soft, camel-colored throw he kept for guests and wrapped it around her shoulders. It helped a little.

He nodded at the sandwich, mouth tilting up and said, “I’m almost done, sorry.”

She shook her head, and went behind him to get a look at what he was working on.

Banded greens and yellows separated by slim open spaces occupied squares outlined in terra cotta. They looked strangely familiar and at first it seemed like they were simple repetitions, gradation exercises, and then Natasha noticed subtle variations.

The memory hit her all at once as she took a bite of her sandwich and her hand dropped slowly, placing the sandwich on the chair as her stomach clenched against more food. Fuck that, she thought, more useless, rebellious sentiment.

Steve washed the brush through the rinse water, and glanced over his shoulder.

“Nat,” he said softly, and she shook her head.

The striations looked like little garden plots, strange ombred root vegetables growing in a row, but they weren’t.

It had been raining that day too. Less gale force hurricane than spring showers, but the water running down the side of tower had kept them inside all the same. She’d been curled on Bruce’s lab couch because she liked the light and the company, and because they all had a tendency to drift into his space like dinner guests into a kitchen. The state of the art coffee maker and obscenely good sound system had helped, but some of it was also Bruce’s solid, stoic presence.

Steve’s big hands had dwarfed the pipette as he dropped the mixture into the test tube, then inserted the little filter papers. Bruce had been doing a basic chemistry course with Steve over the past weeks when he’d expressed an interest in filling up the gaps in his secondary education. Today was chromatography, with a little history lesson on the development of the Pasteur pipette.

“Now we wait,” Bruce had said.

While the pigments separated from the solution to travel up the little papers, Bruce had brewed espresso in tiny cups and Natasha’d roused herself to excavate a box of Danish butter cookies that she’d seen in one of the cupboards.

“I never thought much about science in school,” Steve had said, “but so much happened during the war, so many new things...”

“Yourself included,” Natasha had to add, but he’d ignored her with a raised eyebrow as Bruce covered a smirk.

“This seems so benign. It’s beautiful.”

Bruce had brushed over the little papers and shrugged, shoulders hunching. “It’s a tool, but yeah. It’s pretty. My mom loved this kind of stuff,” he’d added, hesitant and then growing more certain. “We lived in this little apartment with a wonky radiator. It was always too hot, and you’d have to bang on the valve with a wrench to get it to budge at all so we’d go outside, even in the winter. Collect leaves and sticks and stones, bring ‘em home for experiments. Classifications. She had a little garden out there that we’d weed, make potions to discourage the bugs.” Bruce had looked a little embarrassed at the reminiscence, and she’d sidled just a little bit closer at the way his voice deepened with memory.

Bruce never shared childhood anecdotes, and the anomaly had been too much for her to resist. The insight a precious thing she could add to her understanding of him. She’d relished it.

“It’s a kids game really,” he’d said, gesturing to the beakers. “Grinding up leaves, dissolving them in alcohol, watching the pigment travel up the coffee filter.”

“Sounds nice,” Steve had said, “Reminds me of my mom. She was a nurse, always busy. Our radiator was always busted, too. Although we did fewer experiments and more rolling bandages. Or yarn.”

Everyone knew about Steve’s family, Steve’s home, Steve’s transformation but Bruce smiled at him like he’d shared a secret. Natasha had basked in that smile, bittersweet as ever, in Steve’s answering grimace as he made a winding motion with his hands. “So much yarn.”

She’d leaned gently into Bruce’s space until her hip pressed against his, hidden behind the lab bench, keeping the physical closeness just between them. She’d felt the shift in Bruce’s body as he first stiffened, then relaxed, just a fraction, as his shoulders unhitched when he’d brushed his arm against hers, adjusting his glasses. She ignored the way Steve glanced between them, eyes soft. Anyone else and she’d have ruined the moment, stepped away from Bruce, derailed the conversation, but at the moment, she just wanted the heat of his body, Steve’s steady regard.

There’d been no need to say that she hadn’t performed experiments as a child, that she’d been the experiment. That the punishment for failing to perform her required chores had been corporal. Not here amongst these other miracles of science and tragedy. It was funny, she’d thought at the time, that while Clint had given her a place to go home to, she’d found an unexpected sort of solidarity here with these two men, with their warped reflections: monster, and killer, and savior, all variations on a theme. Transformative beings, with the serum drawing up through each of them, breaking down into their own colored striations.

“It looks like water color,” Steve had said, drawing one of the little papers out of the solution, tracing over the separated pigment. “Making art of out science.”

Now, Steve was making that statement literal.

“The rain,” he said, hunched into himself a little, and maybe she didn’t give him enough credit for continuing to absorb loss, pulling it into himself, thinning it out so that it barely touched those around him. He missed Bruce too. Tony...Steve kept losing people. “It reminded me of that day with the leaves, and of turnips. I don’t know, maybe I was thinking about the war.”

“Turnips?” she asked.

Steve nodded. “And radishes. Bucky’s mom used to talk about weeding them when she was a girl. And we ate them in France, with butter.”

She too had spread thick pale butter on slim radishes speckled with salt. Memories of a crisp, sweet bite followed by a bright wine bloomed on her tongue.

“Banner talked about growing things, pruning and thinning and...well, It’s hard to believe it’s almost spring.” He trailed off, cheeks pink from the ramble.

Natasha swallowed hard, and picked up her sandwich. “A garden,” she said, and her voice sounded completely normal, nothing odd there, no sentimental rasp, no wash of memory. “We’ve got the space. When the rain stops, we can plant things. Watch them grow.”

She put her hand on Steve’s shoulder, and he covered her fingers with his for just a moment. Comfort that she idly wondered if he could afford to offer. He dropped her hand and she came around to the other side of the desk.

“Carrots,” he agreed, “And arugula. For Sam to get his hipster on.”

“Potatoes for Wanda. Herbs for Rhodes. He’s apparently quite the chef.”

“Flowers for Vision.”

“We can compost.”

Steve barked out a laugh, and Natasha shrugged the throw from her shoulders, warmed through finally.

She touched the edge of the watercolor, cleared her throat. “When you’re done,” she said, “Could I have it?”

#writing prompts #for kernezelda #MCU #Avengers #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #Bruce Banner #Science

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