what WOULD steve’s daemon be though
Ailsa takes a long time to settle.
She’s not a flashy sort, unless she’s angry. She’s usually birds - sparrows, pigeons, seagulls - quick-moving, sharp-eyed. Steve sort of assumes she’ll settle on one of those. “No,” says Bucky confidently. “She won’t.”
"I don’t know," Ailsa says when Steve asks her about it. "I don’t know how I feel." She turns into a small brown cat, twines around Steve’s feet, and then sits down and licks her paws disdainfully. "I’ll settle when I want to."
"Okay," says Steve. He’s fourteen, nearly fifteen. He’s the last person his age he knows without a settled daemon. Bucky’s Dolly settled two years ago into a massive dog, grey fur with icy tips, dark unnerving eyes. She’s a Siberian husky, apparently, according to the theologian up at the church whose job it is to know these things. Her low growl has more than once ended a fight Steve’s gotten himself into without Bucky actually having to throw a punch. Dolly’s pretty scary-looking. If you know her and Bucky at all you know she’s a sweetheart, but Steve guesses there’s something deep in the human mind that just doesn’t like the look of all those teeth.
Ailsa tries a few different kinds of dog, spends a couple of weeks as a big yellow retriever. Steve thinks that suits her pretty well, but she doesn’t agree. “It’s not right,” she says. “I’ll know when it’s right.”
"You’re not a dog," says Dolly. She’s sprawled across Bucky’s feet, head down, panting slightly in the summer heat. Steve’s a little startled to hear her voice. Dolly’s not talkative, even with people she’s known a long time. Ailsa chatters freely to Steve when Bucky’s around, even occasionally addresses a word or two to Bucky, but out of Bucky and Dolly it’s Bucky who got all the charm and people-pleasing. Dolly’s quiet.
"I don’t think so either," says Ailsa. She switches to sparrow - an old favourite of hers, which lets her flutter onto Steve’s shoulder and nudge his hair with her beak.
"I wish you’d just pick something," Steve tells her, exasperated.
"Hey, leave her alone, Steve," says Bucky. "Good things take time."
The day of Steve’s ma’s funeral, Steve gets into a fight with a man three times his size with a wolf daemon. As always Ailsa flies into a rage at the same moment as Steve loses his temper, but instead of one of her usual picks for a battle - bulldog, tigress, dragon - Steve hears a wild alien-sounding scream and sees her dive past him and hurl herself onto the wolf’s snout in a lightning-fast blur of long feathers and sharp talons. The narrow alleyway is almost too small to contain the massive span of her wings.
He knows right then that she’s not going to change again.
She’s too big to sit on Steve’s shoulder.
Bucky almost chokes when he sees her. “Is that an eagle?”
"Suits you," says Dolly, sounding amused.
Ailsa preens. “I know.”
lispetsketches said: //STEVEBUCKY//
(as usual, this spiraled out of control)
It’s his dominant hand, so the first time they fuck, Bucky doesn’t think before he pulls down Steve’s shorts and wraps his metal fingers around Steve’s perfect, blood-hot cock. Only, Steve jerks, a painful grimace crossing his features for the shortest second. It goes straight to Bucky’s heart and out the back, hurts more than any bullet wound, but he doesn’t let it ruin the moment, just shifts his weight and presses his right hand to Steve’s stomach, feeling the warm, human twitch of his muscle.
Steve makes small, pained noises in the back of his throat when he spills, shaking into Bucky’s hand. His entire face and neck is splotchy with blushing and he can’t stop calling Bucky’s name.
It’s good, it’s great, it’s everything he’d ever imagined lying alone in his bunker or faced away from Steve in their mangy, rat-infested apartment in Brooklyn, guiltily fucking his fist under the covers and thinking sinful thoughts, queer thoughts about his best friend. Kissing Steve, touching him, is the most himself Bucky has felt since he woke up with a metal arm and the taste of blood on his tongue.
He’d be more’n stupid to screw that up.
I wrote a thing. It’s too late for shame.
Bucky stared, his fingers tightening around the shot glass. It was incredibly lucky that he was holding it in his flesh and blood hand and not his prosthetic, or it would have shattered and people would have stared and then Steve would have had to stop doing what he was doing.
He’s cheating at cards. The sight was stunningly arousing and Bucky couldn’t even begin to understand why. Maybe it wasn’t just the cheating. Maybe it was the whole thing, the whole change that Steve had almost seamlessly gone through from the second the three of them had stepped through the doors of the casino.
Steve’s body language was so different, loose and confident, even a little cocky. He didn’t look like Steve Rogers, all-American golden boy who only cursed ‘when it was appropriate’ and stood and sat all straight and proper, the consummate soldier. This man, all sleek in a dark suit and artfully tousled hair, slumped a little, like this incredibly high-stakes poker game wasn’t even worth the effort of proper posture. He casually slipped in profanity like it was nothing, sounding perfectly in tune with the rest of the table, who did the same thing. This Steve, who was practically a stranger (a very sexy stranger) didn’t smile, all big and bright like Steve Rogers. He smirked.
And he was cheating. Bucky was forced to admit that that more than anything else made him uncomfortably warm, made little shivers course through his body. Steve, his Steve, being so casually dishonest was almost obnoxiously sexy.
“Are you seeing this?” He whispered into the transmitter, to Natasha.
“I’ve never been more turned on in my life.” Nat replied promptly, and Bucky had to drink his whiskey in one sharp, hot gulp to keep from laughing. “Guess he absorbed more than we thought, huh?”
“Yeah, no shit,” Bucky said quietly, motioning for another glass.
“Don’t go crazy with that, James.” Natasha chided.
“He’s cheating, Natalia,” he said reverently, but quietly, very very quietly, because the second someone realizes Steve’s got cards up his sleeve is the second this whole mission goes to shit and at least one of them gets shot. “Natalia, we didn’t teach him how to cheat. He just knew how to cheat. Captain America knows how to cheat at cards.”
“And you think getting drunk will make you more capable to quell your lust?” She sounded amused.
“Don’t know until I try.” Bucky said cheerfully.
Funnily enough, getting tipsy doesn’t help. After the fourth shot, Bucky was seriously considering just grabbing Steve by the tie and dragging him back to the hotel room.
“Jesus Christ, Nat, I just want him to fuck me into the mattress,” he slurred, just loud enough for Natasha to think it necessary shush him. “Seriously. If he keeps doing this-”
“Believe me, I know the struggle.”
“You know what we should do after this?” Bucky whispered, grinning. “We should fuck him. Together. Just. Fuck him a lot. Till he begs for mercy.”
“No, but seriously. Let’s just… the second we get back to the apartment. We can work together.” He picked up his drink and eyed the amber liquid inside, wondering if drinking it would tip him over the edge into outright drunkenness. “Like old times.” This he said in Russian, flirtatious and sly. It earns him a laugh.
“You sure you can manage it?” she asked, and the way her tongue wrapped around the syllables shot straight to Bucky’s cock as quick and hard as Steve’s nonchalant smirks and dishonest gambling. “I thought you got fucked by Steve, not the other way around.”
“I could make an exception for you, darling.” Bucky replied easily, deciding that one more drink wouldn’t kill him. “Or we could both be your boys for the night.”
“As if your not my boys all the time,” Natasha purred. “Maybe you could make due with watching Steve get fucked into the mattress?” Bucky had to physically bite down on his lip to keep from making a noise. “You and Steve just can’t keep quiet when I talk to you. It’s ridiculous.”
“You should hear Steve sometimes,” Bucky said, the alcohol really shooting to his head. “You wouldn’t think so, but damn does that boy know how to talk dirty-”
“Steve, if you have a good hand, now’s the time,” Natasha said in abrupt English. “Three members of the terrorist cell heading your way. Bucky heard Steve start to ramble about his hand and giggled at the drawl. “James, you operational?”
“Takes more than a few shots to take me down, doll,” Bucky slurred, and he could almost hear the eye rolls. “I’m good to go.”
“Then get in position. We have thirty seconds, tops.”
(submitted by handwritingofgod)
SO MANY GIFTS IN MY ASK OMG
caroldamver said: idk if youre having fic requests but just sam and steve running a marathon for charity and natasha throws gatorade on them at the finish line??? that could be a thing
Steve really wasn’t even competing, he was there, apparently, just to mock Sam.
"I really," pant, "Really,” pant, “Hate you.” Sam glared at Steve out of the corner of his eye as Steve jogged along easily, not sweating, not panting, always just five feet ahead of Sam.
Bucky is a decent cook with a narrow repertoire. He does the boiling thing. He boils meat and vegetables and is okay with eating the same thing day after day after day EXCEPT for sweet stuff. He has this massive sweet tooth he (barely) keeps hidden from the rest of the world. He keeps candy bars in his pockets and eats them casually in the middle of missions (walkin slowly towards this guy, gonna blow his head off, still chewin on that kit kat bar). When anyone asks he gets defensive and says that he has a high metabolism okay!! Offers no explanation for the $100/month he spends on Starbucks frappes.
Natasha doesn’t do the cooking thing. She eats what she can get her hands on. Sometimes it’s caviar. Sometimes it’s McDonalds. Left to her own devices she ends up eating a lot of junk food with some reluctant “healthy” smoothies thrown into the mix. Has a secret fondness for really, really spicy things, though. She’s been known to carry bottles of hot sauce and squirt it liberally on her food so that people (Clint, only Clint dares) don’t try to mooch off of her.
Sam is a total foodie. Doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s OUTRAGED at the pizza chain Natasha always orders from (because it’s the first number she saw when she googled “dc pizza delivery”) and OUTRAGED at Bucky’s boiled meat dinners. Whenever they get together, Sam makes them go to out-of-the-way authentic ethnic restaurants, or cooks fancy things for them all. Everyone is appropriately appreciative, especially Natasha, who specifically learned enough Chinese in order to say, yes, I am a white person but i promise you i want actually spicy spicy food, not white person spicy food to the waitress at the Schezwan restaurant.
Steve … tries. He forgets to eat meals a lot of time, because he’s busy or just doesn’t think of it. His serum allows him to metabolize nutrients super efficiently, but also requires high calorie intake, so when he’s alone, Steve ends up distractedly eating, like, dozens of dense protein bars. When he gets Bucky back, he tries learning how to cook, maybe gets lessons from Sam on basic things like eggs and pancakes but when Sam is not literally holding his hand, Steve always manages to fuck up really, really terribly. The ones that end up setting off the fire alarm goes in the trash. The ones that don’t, end up in Bucky’s mouth, and he has to smile and nod because Steve just looks so darn proud, Bucky’s probably going to die of some kind of poisoning but he’s going to force himself to have seconds.