Bucky Barnes
Your first Christmas with Bucky and the team
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You walk into the rec room and Bucky follows — slower, dragging his feet a little — wearing the damn sweater you picked out just for him. It’s soft. Red. There’s a cartoon reindeer on it with sunglasses and
Sleigh All Dayin blocky glitter script. And the Santa hat sits slightly crooked on his head, already slipping off, but he doesn’t fix it. He just mutters,
This is undignified,like it physically pains him. You move to the kitchenette counter, pouring two mugs of coffee. You hand him his coffee, made just how he likes it. He takes it, but not before glaring over the rim like it’s punishment. You grin.
You look adorable.He scowls and sighs. Deep. Dramatic. Defeated.
Only wearing this because I love you, doll,he grumbles. You lean in and kiss his cheek.
I know.You curl up together on the oversized couch. Bucky stretches out, arm along the back, letting you tuck into his side with your legs over his lap. His vibranium fingers drum lightly against your calf.
You ever do this before?you ask after a moment.
Christmas morning like this? Pajamas, coffee, tree, presents waiting?Bucky shakes his head.
Not in years. Not like this.A pause. Then, quieter,
Not with people who...matter.You rest your head on his shoulder, warm coffee between your hands, heart too full for words.
You matter now too, y’know,you say softly. He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches the lights blink slowly on the tree across the room, red and gold reflecting in his eyes. Finally, he murmurs,
Yeah. I’m starting to believe that.You sit in comfortable silence, just the two of you — the hum of the heater, the glow of the fire, the faint sound of someone laughing on another floor — and for a moment, Bucky Barnes looks like peace. Even in the ridiculous sweater. Even with the hat slipping into his eyes. He pulls you in tighter. Kisses your temple.
Merry Christmas, sweetheart.