all are currently Bucky Barnes snz, I am very single-fixation-y. In order of oldest to newest. Earlier ones are basically gen but with strong hints of potential Stucky; later fics and the AUs are more definite stucky romance
Cold Watches of the Night : Prewar, pre-slash if you squint. Sick Steve makes it through a rough night and Bucky goes from caretaker to sickie.
Chill : Early-WS-recovery Bucky, and the 'caught a cold from getting cold trope,' two of my very favorite things
Turned Tables : Modern AU with Shield Agent Bucky dating Pre-serum Art Student Steve
Novelty : Allergy fic set post-CW in Wakands
Debrief : early-recovery WS Bucky my beloved
Yes, Nurse : tiny drabble of pre-war Stucky
A Walk in the Rain : WWII sick grumpy Bucky trying and failing to hide his cold
Soup Weather : post-WS, Bucky doesn't live with Steve but comes over for some warmth and fussing
Operation Bucky Blanket : post-mission fic, stucky, lil bit of softkink Steve
Bees : Modern AU age difference rom-com (i don't wanna be a bad fic parent but this is undeniably my favorite)
+ this lil ficlet set in the same au some time later
Modern Times : post-WS fully-recovered Bucky with a cold and Steve pining like mad
A common pastime of mine is looking at old-web sites, like late 1990s to early 2000s, and one search engine for this that i frequent is Wiby. Their "surprise me!" feature pulls up a completely random old web page, and after many times of hitting that button, I found an *ancient* snz webpage. They call it "the third such website to exist." I was so gobsmacked to see it.
I feel like you all in the snz community would find this site extremely charming. Some highlights:
I feel like you all would be as entertained as I am by this, and I don't even go here. The link, if you want to explore the page for yourself!
SUMMARY: I/lya and Kink!S/hane get stuck hiding in a very dusty closet together. Featuring: a very allergic I/lya, S/hane teaching I/lya how to stifle (or trying to), and huge messy sneezes. 1.65k words.
“And how do you feel about today’s win, Mr. Rozanov?”
Shane glanced over to look at Ilya, who was smirking, rubbing his nose.
“Feel great about it. Obviously.”
Reporters laughed, and Ilya smiled at them. Cameras flashed, and Shane hurried to look straight ahead again.
Ilya was always doing that. Charming everyone. Even if they all thought he was an ass, they thought he was a lovely one. He was so much better at this part than Shane was.
He left the room in a hurry after the interview, allowing himself one glance over his shoulder to see if Ilya was watching him go. He was, his blue eyes focused on Shane even as he was being swarmed by reporters.
-----
He walked down the corridor towards the exit, thinking about nothing in particular.
That was a lie. He was thinking about Ilya. These days, he was always thinking about him.
“Shane,” someone called down the hall. Well, not someone. He knew damn well who it was.
“Why do you run away? Sad about loss?”
Shane turned to face Ilya, rolling his eyes so hard it made his head hurt. “Rozanov. Can I help you with something?”
“Rozanov,” Ilya parroted in an exaggerated imitation of Shane’s Canadian accent. “No one is here, Shane.”
Shane looked furtively around. It was true. They were in a long, empty hallway.
“Fine. Ilya. If you must know, I’m going back to my hotel room. I’m expecting a visitor tonight, and I wanted to get ready.”
Ilya beamed and opened his mouth to say something.
“Rozanov? Where’d you go?” Heavy footsteps were getting closer.
Ilya’s smile faded. “Is Marleau.”
Shane stopped dead in his tracks. Ilya sprang into action, pushing Shane a little further down the hallway. He opened a door to a closet that Shane hadn’t even noticed was there, and ushered him inside.
Neither of them were by any means small, and the closet was certainly not large. They squeezed in, bodies pressed together. Shane could feel all of Ilya’s hard edges, feel every breath he took.
They stood there quietly, listening for the voice that had followed them.
“Marleau?” A familiar voice rang out as though far away, and then there was the sound of jogging feet.
No fucking way.
“Have you seen Shane?” Hayden asked, coming to a stop right in front of their closet.
“No. I was looking for Roz. Thought he went down this hall.”
“I thought I saw Shane come down here too.”
Shane was so still he didn’t even breathe. Ilya stood frozen against him.
“Hey, good game today, man.”
“Thanks. I hope you guys do well in the playoffs,” Hayden said earnestly.
The pair sounded like they were moving down the hall, their voices getting farther away.
Another thirty seconds passed as the two continued to talk about every possible inane thing on earth.
“Christ, are they going to stand there all day? Don’t they have places to go?” Shane groused under his breath.
Ilya just sniffed. This wasn’t particularly remarkable. The more time Shane spent with Ilya, the more he realized the man never went more than a few minutes without a little sniffle, or rubbing, or having to attend to his nose in some way. It was incredibly distracting, and no matter how much Shane attempted to build up resistance to it, he was always half waiting for the next time Ilya would be overcome by whatever tickle or itch had taken him over this time.
Yet another minute passed. They had now moved onto league gossip. Hayden could be chatty, and usually Shane didn’t mind because it filled the silences that he could not. Now though? Ilya’s sniffles were getting wetter and wetter.
“Everything okay?”
“Is dusty, I think. In here.”
“Are you allergic?” Shane demanded, voice getting a little shrill.
Ilya pinched his side. “Shh. You are too squeaky; they will hear you. And no. Not allergic. Just makes me itch.”
“So…allergic then.”
“Dust makes everyone itch,” Ilya informed him, sounding as though he thought Shane was an idiot.
Shane sighed. Ilya was getting that mulish tone in his voice again. He would argue with him more thoroughly later.
Ilya tried to reach a hand up to rub away the tickle, but found that they were packed too tightly in for either of them to move their arms above their waists. Shane could just barely see him flexing his nose in the dim light coming from the gaps around the door.
Before Shane could fully realize what was coming, he felt Ilya’s nose pressed against his Metros shirt. It was a thin fabric, and he could feel the man’s nostrils flaring through it.
Shane knew objectively that this was a bad situation. They were one of Ilya’s inevitably massive sneezes away from being caught.
It didn’t seem to matter.
“You are getting hard right now?” Ilya demanded in a congested whisper that straddled the line between irritated and turned on.
“No!” He lied.
“I can feel your cock on me.”
Shane sighed. “Maybe. A little bit.”
He heard the blond start to wind up, hitching furiously.
“You absolutely cannot sneeze right now.”
There was an aggrieved stuffy gasp. “But-”
“Okay, fine. You can, but you have to be so quiet.”
“HAH…how?”
He nearly bit his tongue off. Get it together, Hollander. Not the time.
“Okay, so you need to breathe out right as you feel the tickle get really bad. And…I don’t know, do it through your nose?”
There was a sudden inhalation, and then a sound like a spray bottle. It happened a few times, and it sounded awful. Shane swore that if they got out of this, he would never let Ilya do it again.
There was another, bigger squirting sound, and then Ilya let out a tiny groan.
“What? What’s wrong?” Shane was a worrier at heart, but even more so when Ilya complained. Ilya never commented in any way on any illness or injury, just kept on barreling through.
“Hurts. Do not know how you do it,” Ilya said in a low voice.
“Mine aren’t as big as yours,” Shane whispered back, trying to pretend he hadn’t had wet dreams about this exact thing happening.
Ilya’s nose was going to come off at the rate he was rubbing it on Shane. By now, the dampness was starting to sink into the cloth of his t-shirt. He just barely stopped himself from shuddering with pleasure at the thought of The Ilya Rozanov using him as a tissue.
“HAH…””
“Jesus, Ilya, another one?” Shane hissed.
He could feel Ilya nodding, apparently rendered speechless by a tickle.
He jerked against him violently, once, twice. They were almost completely silent, and Shane couldn’t help but be impressed. Ilya paused for a second, and he could feel his chest taking a deep inhale.
“HARUMPFFFFH!”
Spray was…everywhere. His shirt where Ilya had fruitlessly been rubbing his nose? Soaked all the way through. Shane’s cheek had a heavy mist on it from where the explosion had escaped the confines of the shirt.
“I am sorry,” Ilya whispered, sounding forlorn.
Shane turned his head so he could kiss Ilya on his cheek, which was damp with a mix of allergic tears and more remnants from the sneeze that had blown back on him. “It’s okay,” he mumbled.
“They are gone now, I think. No more talking.”
Shane grimaced. Ilya sounded so soggy and uncomfortable.
“Okay. Let’s get you out of here.”
He opened the door and poked his head out. Hayden and Marleau were indeed gone. Shane stepped all the way out into the hallway, adjusting his pants so his ridiculously hard dick wasn’t as noticeable, should he run into someone, and turned back to look at Ilya.
The blond was feeling around on the shelf he’d been pressed into. He emerged into the hallway holding a cloth rag victoriously. Only for a moment, though, because the second the light hit him, he staggered forward, crushing the cloth to his face.
“YASSSCHOOOO!”
“There might still be people around,” Shane warned frantically.
Ilya gave him a dirty look over the top of the rag. His eyelids started to flutter.
“Please. Please try to be quiet.”
The Russian nodded distractedly, rubbing at his nose through the cloth.
“HARUMPFFFFH! HEHRUSCHHH!”
The itch should’ve been settling down now that they were out of the closet. What was…
Shane looked closer. There was a thick layer of dust plainly visible on the cloth Ilya had pressed to his nose.
He ripped the cloth out of his hands. Ilya lifted his head, lids heavy with need.
“N…HEH! HEH! Need to…”
Shane looked up and down the hallway. There really was no one. Even if someone heard (which they probably would, Ilya was loud even at the best of times), they would be gone by then.
“Go ahead. Sneeze.”
Ilya’s head reared back, his nostrils flaring.
“HARSCHOOO! YISCHOOO! RISCHOOOO! HEHISCHOOO!” If Shane had thought he was loud before, it was nothing compared to now. Sneeze after sneeze filled the hallway as Ilya rocked back and forth, spraying the air, the ground, and Shane.
Finally, he stopped, looking up blearily.
“All done?” Shane asked.
Ilya shook his head.
“RAAASCHOOOOO!”
He stood there panting, looking surprised by himself.
“Bless you! Are you okay?”
“Am so itchy. So so itchy.” Ilya was rubbing his eyes furiously. His voice sounded hoarse.
Shane reached up and pulled his hands away from his eyes. “You’ll make it worse.”
Ilya pouted, nostrils flaring again. Shane waited for yet another sneeze to come, but Ilya managed to chase it away with a strong sniff.
Now that he could see the blond properly, with his eyes red and irritated and his nose slick and pink, he wanted to coo at him. He yearned to say “poor baby” while running his fingers through his curls.
He didn’t. He just said, “See you tonight?”
Ilya nodded, shoving his nose upwards to get at the itch that would surely linger for a few hours.
This took me six months to write yeesh! Hopefully it’s worth it <3
-PLS DONT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS!!-
***
All it takes is a single sneeze for Bucky to realize he’s getting sick. Whether it’s because of his super enhanced sensory system or the fact that he’s always been really in touch with his own body, he isn’t sure. Regardless, he can just immediately tell when his normal sneezes turn into his “I’m fighting something off” sneezes- even at the very first stages of a cold. There’s a few main differences between the two, namely harshness, volume, amount and how relieved he feels afterwards. One of the biggest tells for him, however, is control; whether he’s able to hold back or completely stifle a sneeze- especially when he’s in public- gives it away pretty much 100% of the time.
Therefore, the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from sneezing loud enough in the middle of Tony’s presentation (a whopping heH’dtshhiYIEW!! of a sneeze) that the people around him felt inclined to turn their heads and mumble a blessing really raises a flag.
In that moment, Bucky feels his face heat up.
“Sorry, ‘scuse me,” he mutters then sinks further into his chair, trying to make himself invisible as he sniffles quietly. An all too familiar fuzzy sensation begins to settle in his head, and Bucky knows for certain that he’s in for a long week.
***
Sure enough, two days after the first sneeze, Bucky wakes up in full blown coldish misery.
He can’t breathe at all out of his right nostril, and the very little air he can get through his left tickles his nose so much that he’s practically sneezing with every inhale. His sore throat and pounding head do not appreciate the constant sneezes, and to make matters worse, a painful cough is already well underway.
As he blearily stumbles through his morning routine in his little living quarters in The Tower, he can’t help but feel anxious about the day ahead. The thing is, he knows people are still getting used to him. It wasn’t even that long ago when people knew him as The Winter Soldier and not Bucky Barnes (hell, he didn’t even see himself as Bucky for a while, and every so often he still needs some reminding). That being said, he’s very aware of his presence and spends a great deal trying to be as low profile as possible- whether it’s for his own sake or for others- and being sick with a cold isn’t exactly subtle. He’d rather just hole himself up in his room until he’s healthy, but that’s not really a possibility. He doesn’t have much in his apartment, not even coffee and god he really, really needs some coffee.
So, Bucky hauls his ass into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, ties his hair into a shitty ponytail and steps into his sneakers with laces already tied, and does the whole thing while coughing and sneezing like he’s auditioning for the lead role in a DayQuil commercial.
He’s just about to shuffle his way to the door when a particularly nasty coughing fit makes him grasp onto his dresser for dear life.
A sudden electronic ping sound fills the room as the tablet screen built into the wall lights up blue and orange.
“Detecting acute respiratory distress and elevated temperatures,” JARVIS says. “Sergeant Barnes, would you like me to alert the med bay?”
“Doh— ugh, degative. I’b fide,” Bucky attempts to tell the disembodied voice, but he doesn’t know if he’s even intelligible. He just needs to catch his breath first, then maybe clear out his sinuses.
“Shall I contact Captain Rogers?” JARVIS suggests.
“Doh,” Bucky repeats. “He’s on a bission. Doesn’dt deed di… distractions. Heh- heh’DSSCHH’iiieww!!”
Although he’s aware how gross it is, Bucky lets himself sneeze out into the open, full force and unrestrained. It is his own room, after all, and holy shit did he need that. His nose feels all warm and satisfied, like a pesky itch has finally been scratched, if only temporarily.
“Oh, sdf, god…” Bucky moans, nostrils streaming. He grabs onto his tissue box, pulls out whatever’s left and passionately blows his nose. When he’s all done, he straightens up with a sigh. “Guh, fu’gg mbe…”
“Sergeant Barnes?”
Bucky nearly jumps out of his skin, having forgotten about JARVIS.
“What?”
“Would you like some more tissues?”
He sheepishly looks between the empty box on his dresser and the soggy clump clutched in his hand.
“…yes, please.”
***
Finally, coffee. Probably the only thing worth dragging his sick and mucus-filled body away from the comfort and privacy of his own room. Thankfully, he’s managed to avoid running into anyone on his way to the kitchen area, which- again, thankfully- is completely empty.
Bucky sniffles repeatedly while scooping coffee grounds into the silver coffee press, feeling chills climb up his back. He shivers and shakes, causing him to accidentally spill brown coffee dust onto the white marble countertop.
“Shit,” he swears.
He bends down to grab some wipes from under the sink. When he stands back up, he immediately turns away from the coffee press and coughs harshly into his arm, his chest crackling with congestion.
“Oof, that doesn’t sound good.”
Bucky whips around and finds Natasha leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed. If he wasn’t so brain-fogged and if his ears weren’t so stuffed up he would’ve for sure heard her approaching. This damn cold.
Bucky waves her off, swallowing hard with a wince. “It’s dothing,” he says then cringes at his voice.
“Hm, not sure I’m buying that,” Natasha says. She joins Bucky at the kitchen counter and studies his face with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “I thought super soldiers couldn’t get sick.”
Bucky just shrugs. “Yeah, well, guess Hydra’s serum wasn’t a perfect copy.”
“Guess not.” Nat takes a beat, eyes briefly flickering to the mess of loose coffee grounds on the counter. “Go sit down. I’ll finish making the coffee— that wasn’t a question,” she adds when Bucky opens his mouth to object.
Only, Bucky doesn’t move. Instead, he stares hazily past her shoulder, mouth ajar.
Natasha frowns, confused. “Bucky? Are you—”
Suddenly, the former Winter Soldier snaps forward, metal knuckles pressed firmly under his nose.
“ngk’tiew!!”
Natasha raises her brows. “Oh, you’re going to—”
“h’ngktt! h’mpftsh!!”
“—sneeze. Again?” She asks as Bucky takes heavy, measured breaths, his nostrils twitching like crazy.
Bucky nods his head, then continues the movement into one last expulsion. “ih’ddsst’chiew!! Snnff! Oh, god.”
Natasha chuckles as she watches Bucky gruffly wipe his nose with his sleeve. “Будь здоров! Bless you.”
“Спасибо,” he mutters while looking at the tiles on the kitchen floor. His nose feels as big as a strawberry and is probably just as red.
“Is there anything I can get you?” Natasha asks, although she already knows his answer.
“D- sdfff! No, thank you.” Bucky emphasizes the “n” so as to avoid sounding as miserably congested as he actually is. “Just the coffee. snfSNF!! Please.”
“You got it,” she grins. “And don’t stifle your sneezes. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
Cheeks almost certainly as red as his nose, Bucky sheepishly nods before going to sit at the kitchen table. So much for being quiet and inconspicuous.
***
“So,” Sam says. “I hear you’ve got the plague.”
Bucky glances up from tying his boots. “Guess word travels fast.”
“Round here it does,” Sam shrugs. He retrieves a roll of boxing tape from his gym bag and begins wrapping his right hand. “But to be fair, I did hear you coughing from the hallway.”
“Great,” Bucky mutters, then straightens up with a soupy sniffle.
For some reason, Bucky had felt that it would’ve been more inconvenient to take a rain check on training with Sam than to show up exhausted, pale, sick and miserable. Was it a dumb decision? Absolutely. Unfortunately, by the time he’d considered getting up and leaving the combat studio, Sam had already dropped himself down onto the wooden bench across from him. There was nothing he could do but get on with it and hope for the best.
Sam rips off the end of the tape with his teeth before getting a closer look at the soldier’s face. He clearly doesn’t like what he sees, considering the way his eyes soften and eyebrows scrunch closer.
“Are you… feeling okay enough to spar?” Sam asks before lifting the back of his hand to Bucky’s clammy forehead.
Bucky recoils and pushes Sam’s hand away. “I’b fide, Sam. I’b… I…” he trails off, distracted by a sudden quivering of his nostrils. “huh- huH’EHSSCHH!!”
“Jeez. Bless you,” Sam frowns. He gets up from his bench and moves to sit right next to Bucky. “You know, I’m sure Banner would be able to develop some ‘super’ cold meds for you, or whatever. The guy’s sorta a genius.”
“Didn’dt he turn himself into a green mbonster?” Bucky asks, jaded, while scrubbing his nose with his forearm.
Sam raises his eyebrows and puts on an incredulous expression. “Hey, being a genius doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes.”
Bucky considers Sam’s point for a moment while the latter finishes wrapping tape around his other hand. When he’s done, he nudges Bucky’s shoulder with a grin.
“C’mon, let’s go warm up.”
They both start out strong with stretches, jumping jacks, pushups and sit-ups, with Bucky only needing to pause a few times to blow his nose or drink some water when he gets hit with a bout of coughing.
However after an hour, his symptoms take a turn for the worse; a pulsing headache has grown increasingly hard to ignore, matching the rate at which his sinuses have become astronomically stuffed up. His nose and ears itch like crazy and his brain feels sluggish. But it’s only after failing to block- and in turn receiving- three straight punches to the face that Bucky finally taps out.
“Time… time out,” Bucky says, breathing heavily. He puts his hands on his knees and squeezes his eyes shut.
“Shit, Buck, are you okay?” Sam asks.
“I’b… snfffk! I’b okay,” he answers, though his voice sounds unsure. He pinches the space between his eyes and waits for the room to stop spinning. “Mby head’s just swimming. SnfSNF!”
Sam goes to Bucky’s side and lays a supportive hand on his back. “It’s alright, Buck. Let’s just call it a day, ‘kay?”
Bucky straightens up and nods. Suddenly, his face scrunches up, making him look like he’s about to--
“huh’gxxt!!”
The sneeze comes over him quickly, only giving him just enough time to turn away from Sam and loosely press his nose into his shoulder.
“Bless you,” Sam says.
“Th-thank—” Bucky starts, but another sneeze bursts from his nose before he can even get the word out. “hUh’pdtsshh!!” He hastily swipes at his drippy nostrils, suddenly conscious of the fact that a lot more sneezes are on the way. “Sorry, Sam. I deed to- hih’hih— shit, I g-gotta- huh—!”
“It’s alright, man, do what you gotta do.”
Bucky nods, trying to keep himself together until he can put at least a little distance between himself and Sam. He stumbles across the studio toward the rack of folded towels and snatches a small one off the counter. He turns his back to Sam and holds the cloth at the ready before letting his nose go completely ballistic.
“hEH’ddszzh!! Ugh… hih’hih… hIH’DSSCHH!” Bucky lifts his head with a gruff exhale, his eyes teary and nose trembling. Despite the fact that the first two sneezes had come out harsh and vocal- even with being muffled into a towel- his nose still feels as itchy as ever. “God— tsh- g’dtsh- gxxt- h’gxxt!!”
This fucking cold. He really should’ve just gone back to his room after getting his coffee, and he definitely should’ve just canceled his session with Sam despite it being at the last minute. Sneezing all over the place is arguably much, much worse than flaking out on plans.
The feeling of a hand landing on his shoulder catches him off guard. He blearily looks up to Sam giving him a sympathetic yet concerned look.
“Buck…” Sam starts, but Bucky cuts him off.
“Hih… h-hold on…” he says, shakily raising the towel to his face as one final sneeze crests. He rears back with a gasp then pitches forward, doubling over at the waist. “hiH’DTISSHHyiew!!”
Sam winces at the sick sounding sneeze and subsequent nose blow Bucky unleashes into the battered cloth.
“I really think you should go get some rest, Buck. We’ll pick up again when you’re feeling better, alright?”
After some snuffling and stuffy groans, Bucky sheepishly lifts his head, a bashful expression painted across his face. “Okay, yeah… I deed’a go lie dowd.”
***
Almost as soon as Bucky crawls into bed, he’s out like a light. He probably could’ve slept for 24 hours if something hadn’t caught his attention and pulled him from his sleep.
As he opens his eyes, he realizes his head feels heavy as hell. When he sits up, his upper body overshoots the trajectory, causing him to loll to the right like a boat in troubled waters. He props himself up with his arm and steadies his body back to equilibrium. It takes him a second to remember what caused him to wake up in the first place until a sound outside his bedroom door snaps him out of his brain fog.
Bucky stealthily slips a knife from his pillow case before getting out of bed. He silently creeps across the hardwood floor and slowly opens the door…
…only to find Steve putzing around his living room.
“Sdeve?” He croaks. Is he actually awake or still dreaming?
The captain pauses halfway through putting a book onto a shelf and turns his head. He notices the knife clutched in Bucky’s hand, grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white, and immediately adjusts his body language. He drops his arm, stands up straight and softens his demeanor, keeping his arms at his sides with palms facing up to show that he’s not a threat.
“Hey Buck,” Steve says gently. “It’s all right, it’s just me.”
Bucky relaxes with a stuffy sigh. He sets his knife on his dresser and completely emerges from the bedroom. Wordlessly, he makes a beeline straight into Steve’s arms.
Steve lets out an “oof” as Bucky crashes into his chest before wrapping him in a tight hug.
“Hey baby, hi,” he says softly, cheek smooshed against Bucky’s fever-warm forehead. “How’re you feeling?”
Bucky coughs roughly into Steve’s shirt, his whole frame shaking from the force.
“Better,” he chokes out, “with you here.”
“Honey, you sound terrible,” Steve says just in time for Bucky to let out a desperate, helpless sneeze aimed into his shoulder.
“Guess I’ve been healthier…” Bucky admits, sounding a tad apologetic, as if he had any control over his immune system or the germs he’s been exposed to. A sudden harsh, phlegmy coughing fit comes over him.
“Sam and Natasha really weren’t exaggerating…” Steve tsks to himself while continuing to rub Bucky’s back. “Let’s get you back into bed, alright?”
He nods, still coughing, and lets Steve guide him back into his bedroom and under the covers.
“Is there anything I can get you, sweetheart?” Steve asks once he takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “A cold towel? Some tea?”
“Just want you,” Bucky says, eyes glassy and fatigued from fever. Suddenly his nose twitches, causing him to hitch softly yet helplessly at his boyfriend. “A-and maybe some tih- hih- h’GXXTJCH!”
“Tissues, got it,” Steve chuckles fondly, finding his boyfriend endearing even when he uses his blanket as a snot rag.
***
Later, after Bucky’s gotten some sleep (Steve definitely indulged in a little shuteye himself), the two super soldiers eat dinner together. They sit on Bucky’s couch surrounded by a growing collection of tissues and sip on ramen while catching each other up on the last week of their lives.
“D’othing really eventful- sdfff!” Bucky grabs another tissue, pinches his nose and drags it in a forward motion, collecting the moisture dripping from his nostrils and clinging to his septum. The steam from the soup is making his nose extra runny. “Boring meetings and- sngfff! Ugh. Drowning in mucus.” Keeping his tissue handy, he takes a spoonful of soup and swallows with a slight wince. “How about you?”
“Hm, let’s see,” Steve ponders. “Met a few aliens, almost broke a few of my ribs, stopped some bad guys.”
“So the usual,” Bucky says.
“I guess so,” Steve laughs and shrugs. “But this time I was lucky enough to be sent on an extra special mission,” he adds, eyes sparkling in the way they do whenever he says something cheeky.
“Mm?” Bucky hums curiously.
“Once we caught word that a certain someone was down with a nasty flu, I was sent on the first flight home.”
Bucky pauses in the middle of bringing another spoonful of soup to his mouth. Furrowing his brows, he returns the spoon to his bowl and gives Steve a concerned look.
“What?” His brain feels hot like an overheated computer as his thoughts scramble to make sense out of what he’s hearing.
Steve reaches over to cup Bucky’s cheek against his palm, looking at him like a lovesick puppy. “Sam and Natasha made damn sure I’d be back to look after you, make sure you’re okay ‘n all that. Best mission I’ve ever received.”
“Why?” Bucky asks, genuinely perplexed.
Steve snorts. “Because they care about you, Buck.”
Error404 not found. Bucky mumbles an ‘oh’ and fixes his gaze on his soup bowl.
Huh. That’s… wow. He didn’t even consider that as a possibility. To be honest, he’d half expected Steve to come back from his mission, sit him down and explain to him as gently as possible that the people in The Tower have found him and his cold to be an imposition on them. Realizing that he’s not only not been a menacing inconvenience to everyone around him, but that he actually has people looking out for him and caring for him… fuck… he’s going to blame his fever for the tears welling up in his eyes.
“Aw, Buck,” Steve says softly, setting aside both his and Bucky’s bowl on the coffee table. He uses his thumb to wipe a tear from Bucky’s flushed cheek. “Come here.”
Bucky sniffles, helpless against the wave of emotions pouring over him and his vulnerable state. His nose feels all warm and buzzy as the urge to cry manifests into actual tears, and he knows he’s going to start sneezing again while Steve pulls him in for a hug.
“Steve…” he murmurs shakily, his nostrils quivering with that maddening, ticklish headcold-induced craving for a big, messy sneeze.
“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” Steve says, cradling Bucky’s head against his chest. “You can sneeze.”
It’s as if Bucky’s nose reacts full force once given the go ahead. His whole body shivers as he takes a single deep inhale, then—
“huh’EIIISHHHOO!!!”
He curls into Steve cotton t-shirt, feeling wet in every sense of the word. He lets out a pleasured moan and immediately feels his face heat up with embarrassment.
“‘m sorry,” Bucky apologizes and buries his nose deeper into Steve’s shirt. “Felt good…”
“You’re alright,” Steve says warmly. “Bless you.”
He rubs the sick guy’s back until muffled, congested breaths become stuffy, content snores.
yes in the sense that I totally want to hear them! I just beg you to forgive my incredibly sporadic writing and general shyness, I am not going to be the greatest fulfiller/responder. But I want to be more active as a writer and in this community and I'm working on getting better at it!
heyyyyy I've been so inactive on here and in my inner snz headspace too I miss it and yall!! But here is a small fic set in the same AU as my Bees fic, don't need to read that (but you should :D), just a little scene brought to you by me getting my second cold of the summer which is not fair but inspired me.
This turned out SO schmoopy so I hope you like affectionate bedtime snuggles and couple talk bc that's all there is here
Set idk at least 6 months after the events of Bees, Bucky and Steve live together, Steve is older and a divorced dad
.......
Bucky tried to deny the ache in his ache in his throat as he went to bed last night, but he wakes up with it feeling a little worse, and with one nostril blocked. He goes through the day feeling tired, swollen in the back of his nose and throat, and a little frustrated. He already got sick, less than two months ago. One cold per season is plenty, in his opinion. Two colds, in summer no less, is just nature playing dirty. Or he needs to sleep more, or eat more of Steve’s salads or something.
The thought of Steve as he gets to the end of his shift at Sam’s fills him with a now-familiar fuzzy happy fondness, and also renewed irritation at his health. He’s starting to have to catch an occasional itchy single sneeze in his elbow. This better not get much worse. They have plans: spending the day with Billy and Tommy, taking the twins to the Orange County Fair to see if a carnival could disrupt their dedicated teen nihilism for a few hours. Steve said Billy made a Euphoria reference when he first suggested it, which Bucky then had to explain to him without traumatizing his poor innocent dad heart.
It’ll be fun. The twins are funny, and it tugs at Bucky’s heart how much they and Steve mean to each other, and Steve told him they like him, and seemed earnest or desperate in wanting Bucky there for fun and also backup as the other—at least nominal— adult. Being sick and gross and miserable, god forbid crapping out on the whole thing, are shitty options.
The city air tickles a few sneezes out of him on the walk to home, but his nose calms down when he gets there, and he just feels a little tired and sinus-inflamed, and like he doesn’t want to start complaining about it to his boyfriend just yet. Steve is absorbed in lesson plans and preparations for substitute art teaching he’s trying his hand at for the first time in the fall, and it feels so good to just lie next to him in bed and be quietly tired.
…...
It takes a few hours for Steve to notice, and once he realizes, he feels a rush of chagrin.
Next to him, in bed, Bucky just sneezed: a small, soft, sharp “hh-chshoo!”. Steve was still absorbed in his reading when he heard it, but now a few moments later the tired sigh that followed it registers, and on the heels of that, the fact that it’s the fifth or sixth time he’s heard his boyfriend sneeze this evening. Definitely more than usual for him.
He looks over and notices another thing: Bucky curled on his side, eyes half-mast, not reading or messing with his phone. He sniffs quietly and swallows with a subtle wince.
And that’s when Steve finally connects the dots, and chastises himself.
Laying his reading aside, he turns and shifts down and curls himself around Bucky’s back, hand on his shoulder. “Hey. You feelin’ okay?”
Steve presses his mouth to his shoulder, barely a kiss. “Yeah?”
Bucky blinks his eyes open and looks back with a reluctant expression. “Yeah, just, tired, and…” he sniffs again and rubs his face. “Honestly, feels like I might be getting sick.” He gestures at his face with a frown. “Back of my nose and throat feel swollen and annoying.”
“Honey…” Steve nuzzles a kiss to his cheek and brushes a strand of hair from his forehead. Bucky squirms and blushes a little but his mouth curls in a helpless smile. “Can I make you some tea?”
“Steve, I’m fine, really, I just—” he trails off with a frown as his eyes close and he presses his wrist to his nose. “hhh—esschoo! Snff. Ugh. I guess I need tissues.” Steve kisses his forehead, trying to sneak in a temperature check, though not subtly enough going by Bucky’s scoff, brings the tissues, then darts to the kitchen to make tea over his protests. When he comes back in Bucky’s blowing his nose lightly.
“I already had a summer cold. This isn’t fair,” he grouses, then gives another bashful smile as Steve sets the steaming cup on his bedside table. “Thanks for the tea.”
Steve gets under the covers and snuggles up to him again. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling great. And that I didn’t notice till now.” Maybe it’s silly to feel guilty but he does, and annoyed with himself.
“Psh, I’m basically fine.”
“Still.” It bothers him. Bucky doesn’t need taking care of, but Steve treasures the little ways he lets him do it anyway, the way he feels good at it, usually. “I’ve been distracted tonight. I’m sorry.”
“Steve.” Bucky turns fully to him, chuckling, perplexed. “You really don’t need to get mad at yourself for— not taking my vitals all evening. For being focused on something?” He’s smiling like Steve is being a dumbass, but his eyes are serious. There’s this undemanding, patient depth to Bucky: just quietly looking at Steve with those eyes. It makes it easy to talk about himself in the way he’d always considered himself barely capable of.
“It’s just...something Peggy pointed out to me, years back. In a moment of frustration. That I’m not always the best at paying attention to what I should.” He shifts, uncomfortable.
Bucky nods, thoughtful, then kind of shrugs his way closer in. It feels warm, and safe, and so different from the last time he shared a bed and home with someone, and Steve feels the weight of his baggage lighten.
“I guess you do get absorbed in stuff. You’re absorbed in this teaching stuff right now, but that’s not all. You really think about something when it matters to you. If you get involved in something you give it all you’ve got. But, y’know?” He runs a hand up Steve’s arm. “I like that about you. I wanna be more like that. And I don’t feel like I’m getting overlooked, no matter how much you’ve got going on.”
Steve smiles, and pecks him a soft kiss. “Thanks. Let me know if that ever changes, even for a second.” Bucky just hums happily, and then sniffles.
“Ugh, my n-nose, hh-hang on—” he twists as far away as he can and snaps forward with another sneeze, “hh-ehshu!” still small but stronger than the others, and sighs.
Steve wraps his arms back around him. “I think you feel a little warm.”
“Aw, whatever, snf, it’s barely anything.” Bucky rubs his nose, then wrinkles it ticklishly when Steve plants a light kiss on it, and laughs when he keeps peppering his face with kisses. “Get outta here, Captain Fuss.”
“You like it,” Steve accuses cheerfully, and Bucky grins back, turning pinker.
“Yeah, yeah, maybe so.”
.........(the end)
I wanted to keep going with the next day but my writing juice kinda petered out so who knows. But I do have more ideas for this AU and want to write them because I love this version of these two and if anyone wants to write their own or send asks do it do it!!
Oh boy okay, never put me on a five hour flight again, because I nearly leapt out the window. Okay, let me set a scene really quick; the lineup from window to window was a girl (who might be turning me bi), me, Husband and Russian professor, then two other professors. Behind us was a group of three other students and two more professors. Got it? Good.
Obs you actually care about under cut
So somehow Husband, Professor, some other professor buddies got to the airport first, the girl that was next to me drove all us students in her obnoxiously big truck. Anyway, everyone gets there and one of the other professors takes one group through security then its just Husband, Professor, one other guy, and me (the weird passport gang). So now Russian Professor takes charge to get us where we need to be, and oh brother does he sound awful. His voice is all congested and raspy and every few sentences he breaks off and has to cough. Since hes wearing a mask, his glasses keep getting foggy so he has to continously take them off and put them back on. Before we even get to TSA, he's grumbling about how badly his head hurts which is when Husband becomes the most nervous Ive ever seen him. Obviously, hes worried about Professor and our plane, but me and this other kid lock in and we hustle through this airport.
Now for the actual fun part, it's like the second we all sit down that everything decides to go wrong. (Not with the plane, the ride was actually fine). Except Professor is suddenly sneezing in double every two minutes and he's so apologetic about it. Even the flight attendant is like 'are you good?' which Husband has to answer because guess what? Professor is sneezing again. He keeps doing that insane thing where he stifles so hard and then let's out the most rated R sigh afterwards. Husband is doing a very good job doting on him while I have a mini crisis and try to hold conversation with the girl -ugh this girl!- next to me.
Its pretty calm once we take off, everyone is kind of doing their own thing; Professor is fully knocked out and laying on Husband's shoulder, snoring away. At some point I pull out my laptop to do some work and Husband leans across the aisle and inserts himself into my essay revisions. This wakes up Professor who is very blearily confused and sneezes almost immediately and complains about his sinus headache. Husband basically forces him to go to the bathroom and blow his nose, which we can all hear despite being five rows back. That same thing happens like 100 more times throughout the flight and it's always just as noisy every time.
So Husband and I are working and eventually, Professor decides to help as well by essentially laying himself over Husband to read my screen. It works for a solid five minutes before Professor pauses, makes a face, and turns into Husband's chest to stifle three sneezes in a row. Husband starts bugging him about not stifling at this elevation when he already has a headache. It's so obvious that Professor is not feeling his best and he's very apologetic and upset at himself about the whole thing.
After five hours of being tortured, we land and everyone gets off the plane, through the airport, and to baggage claim. At this point, Husband is basically dragging Professor who just wants to go back to sleep. Everyone gets some form of transport to the hotel where I find that the room I'm sharing is directly next to the room of Husband and Professor. Paper thin walls, by the way. How do I know the walls are paper thin? Because now that no one is around, Professor is sneezing his damn lungs out at full volume.
Overall, vastly uneventful compared to how nervous I was this morning. Will keep you all updated on this. There's also a fic coming soon and maybe more wavs.
Can you write something Bucky and yelena related? Maybe them remodeling the dusty headquarters?
Oh anon you have a Big Brain!! This is a perfect idea, hope you like it!! <333
-PLS DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS!!-
***
Bucky takes a step back from the work table and rubs his nose against his wrist. God dammit. None of these renovations are gonna get done anytime soon if his nose keeps distracting him. It’s nearly six in the morning, which means it’s been almost an hour since he’s been at headquarters attempting to get a head start on the day’s project, yet all he’s really managed to do is scrub his nose raw— which, by the way, has not done anything to make it stop tickling.
He sniffs harshly upon feeling moisture drip onto his upper lip. How the hell is anyone supposed to breathe in here without a goddamn hazmat suit with all this dust floating around? He takes a moment to glare at the little flecks hovering all around him, suspended in the beams of the early morning sunlight, and his nose gives an involuntary twitch.
Okay, Bucky, focus. The rest of the Thunderbolts won’t be here until eight, so that gives him at least two hours to pull himself together and get things a bit more organized before—
“Shit.”
Distracted by his ticklish nose, Bucky wanders back to his work table and clips his vibranium arm against the leg of a 12-foot scaffold, knocking loose a sawdust-covered tarp. As if in slow motion, he watches with horror as the tarp hits the ground with a heavy plunk, sending a cloud of dust billowing in all directions. He tries in vain to fan the dust away, but he can already feel the needle-sharp itch blooming from deep within his nose with a flamelike intensity.
“G-hih-gonna- huh- s-sneeze,” Bucky says to himself, voice trembling.
Holding himself steady against the concrete wall with his metal arm, he hitches once- twice- three times before his nose explodes into a volley of itchy, fittish sneezes.
“heh’tshii! tsh! tshiew! h’ptshh! h’tshihh!”
The sneezes echo throughout the room, yet his nose still twitches like it has more damage to do. He hitches for a good ten seconds, nostrils quivering rapidly, before the second wave of sneezes hit.
Bucky vigorously scrubs his index finger against his nostrils, taking deep, measured breaths. His eyes are blurry with tears and the front of his dark grey t-shirt is covered with wet spots. That’s what he gets for not covering his nose.
He slumps against the wall and ties his long hair into a semi-bun, breath hitching like crazy. He’s too preoccupied with getting the last remaining sneezes out of his system to pick up on the sound of the elevator chiming.
“h’tshhiiiew! hih’hih… ih’tshuu!! hih’hih’hih… H’PTSHH’uu!!! Snf! Ugh, god dammit.”
“…Bucky?”
“Who the hell—!?” Bucky practically jumps out of his skin as he whips around to find a short, blonde, former-Widow looking up at him with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. He sighs, pinching the space between his eyes. “God, Yelena. Don’t do that.”
Yelena shrugs. “I thought you could hear me coming.”
“Well, clearly I didn’t. I was, you know, SNF! Busy,” Bucky sheepishly says. With his head still hazy from his ticklish sneezing fit, he struggles to reach his usual level of sarcasm that normally gets him out of situations like this.
“Busy,” Yelena repeats, looking over the minuscule amount of progress made since yesterday.
“Yes,” Bucky snaps, turning to the table. He immediately scrunches his nose once his back is turned, sinuses still buzzing from the room’s dry, dusty air. “Busy.”
“Uh-huh.” Yelena wanders to the window overlooking New York City— the one they had just gotten repaired after Sentry threw Alexei through it like a bewitched rag doll— and closely inspects the coat of dust on the glass. She draws a smiley face with her finger before wiping the dust off on her pants. “Busy… sneezing?”
Bucky really shouldn’t be surprised that she’s decided to take joy in teasing him— he’d probably do that same if the roles were reversed— yet he’s still taken aback. He turns to face her, floundering for a response.
“W-wait, what-?”
“That was you I heard, wasn’t it?” She tilts her head, the right side of her lip quirking into a smirk. “I didn’t see anyone else up here.”
Shit. Why can’t he think of anything to dig himself out of this hole? Usually his lack of adequate sleep only serves to fuel his sharp, snarky attitude… so why the hell isn’t it working? Maybe the dust is just really getting to him.
“I just- it wasn’t- you don’t-” he drops his head and sighs defeatedly. “Look, just forget it. Alright? You got me, you win. Happy?”
“Yeah, a little,” Yelena says, her smirk telling Bucky that it’s definitely more than a little.
Bucky scrubs his hand over his face and reclines against the work table before checking his watch. “What are you even doing here anyway? It’s like six in the morning.”
Yelena shrugs again. “Couldn’t sleep. You?”
Bucky sniffles. “Same.”
Yelena joins Bucky in leaning against the table. She crosses her arms and looks at the half-remodeled, half-torn-apart room that will soon serve as their new headquarters. To think that this room used to belong to The Avengers, to her sister, is something she doesn’t think will ever feel normal to her. She knows Bucky probably feels similarly. Had Steve and Natasha stood in the same spots as them, side by side, not even ten years ago?
“Nightmares?” Yelena asks.
Bucky exhales. “Always.”
“Me too.”
The two ex-assassins stand there, silently observing the room and taking in their fresh positions as heroes. The New Avengers. The name itself holds an impossible standard to live up to— and maybe Val had chosen the title maliciously, to get under their skin…
Whatever. This is their life now, and the only way through is forward.
“So,” Yelena says, breaking the somber silence, “where did you leave off?”
“Oh, um…” Bucky takes a few steps forward and vaguely motions at a pile of plywood. “I was going to organize this by size. Maybe cut some more wood if I had time. I didn’t really get very far.”
Yelena nods. “Alright.”
Bucky turns to look at the floor plan on the table, picking up a pencil to tally up how many planks of wood he needs to cut. Meanwhile, Yelena looks over the haphazard piles of wood and rubble on the ground and spots the fallen tarp on the floor, practically waiting to trip someone.
“Here,” Yelena says, pulling the edge of the tarp, “let me move this—”
Bucky turns around and freezes, eyes wide.
“N-no- wait! Don’t— heh…!”
It’s too late. Yelena drops the tarp, having already kicked up an entirely new heap of dust. She watches as Bucky’s head tilts back, his nostrils twitching in a way that resembles a bunny rabbit, before letting out a burst of wet, desperate sneezes.
By the time Bucky lifts his head, Yelena’s practically beaming with amusement.
“Okay, that was pretty adorable,” she says with a shit-eating grin. “I’m actually impressed.”
“Shut up,” Bucky groans, cheeks matching the blush on his nose. He sniffles back a trail of mess, immediately setting himself off again. “iH’sshiiew!!”
Yelena looks between the dusty workshop and Bucky’s flushed, damp face. “Do you have allergies?”
“No,” he quickly shuts down. He wipes his nose against his forearm. “I can’t… I mean, I don’t think I can get allergies.”
“Mm, I suppose anything is possible-”
“h’tshh’uu!”
“-like the Winter Soldier having the sneeze of a baby kitten.”
“That’s redundant,” Bucky grumbles.
“What?”
“You can either say kitten or baby cat, but ‘baby kitten’ is redundant. A kitten is already a baby cat.”
Yelena stares at him, her expression eerily blank. Then without warning, she takes the tarp and shakes the dust off in Bucky’s direction.
“Have fun!” Yelena calls as Bucky rushes off to the bathroom. She leans against the wall and crosses her legs, hearing his sneezes get quieter and quieter. “Let me know when you’re done!”
She laughs to herself. There’s no way they’re gonna get any work done.
Bucky catches a cold prior to a mission in the rain but the rain makes it worse
This has been sitting in my drafts since I was hoping to make this longer but alas I think this is all I have. Hope you enjoy this little drabble!
***
“He looks like Rudolph,” Yelena says, head tilted to the side.
“I see it,” Ava says, head identically angled as both she and Yelena observe the condition of a sick, cold-ridden Bucky asleep in the back of the quinjet.
Yelena suddenly points her finger towards Bucky's face.
“Oh, look at that.”
Bucky's nose has begun to twitch, the corners of his rouge nostrils quivering precariously. Ava makes a sympathetic sound.
“What's he doing?” John asks, joining Yelena and Ava's watch party.
“I think he's going to-”
“h'ngkxxtchh!!”
“—sneeze.”
John makes a disgusted noise and recoils, causing Yelena to shoot him a dirty look.
Sniffling into his sleeve, Bucky wearily sits up. His eyes sport impressively dark circles that only seem to elevate the brightness of his red nose.
“Bless you,” Ava says.
“Snfffk! Ugh, pardod be,” Bucky mumbles, voice rough and gravelly.
“Jeez, you sound terrible,” John says rather bluntly.
Bucky blinks at his teammate. “Yeah, well-”
“You look terrible, too. Maybe you should stand in the back when we take our press pictures.”
“Walker,” Ava hisses. “Go be an asshole somewhere else.”
John rolls his eyes before stalking over to help Alexei unpack their supplies.
“Are you doing okay?” Yelena asks. “You were very quiet on the flight home.”
“The rain... made my throat too sore to talk. Then I guess I fell asleep,” Bucky explains before getting a full body shiver. “Is anyone else cold?”
“Hang on, I'll grab you a towel,” Ava says just before phasing out.
Yelena reaches out to hold her small, nimble hand against Bucky's forehead. “You might have a fever,” she says. “You should change. Take a warm shower. Wet clothes will make it worse.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Bucky sighs.
“When am I not?” Yelena says, smirking.
Ava reappears out of thin air barely a second later, holding a neatly folded towel. “A lot of times,” she says to Yelena while handing Bucky the towel. “Literally not even two hours ago.”
The short blonde rolls her eyes. “I told you I was sorry.”
“I don't need an apology, I just need you to make sure there's not a whole death squad in the next room before I teleport through the wall.”
“I'm just gonna, snf, head inside,” Bucky says awkwardly, slipping past the two of them as they begin to bicker.
OMG pls give us more obs from Russian professor and his possible sneeze fetishist husband WE NEED TO HEAR THEM
I have had this professor for three years now and I'm working on my master's thesis with his husband so there is a loooooot to tell.
Which is good news for you bcs Ive also written most encounters down simply because of the unbelievable nature of these events. ☝️🤓
Obs under cut
The whole class can tell when Russian professor is sick because he has such obvious tells.
It always starts with him coming in and apologizing because 'something is bothering' his nose. Throughout the two hour class, he abuses his poor nose; pressing the heel of his palm against it, pulling at it between his thumb and index finger, and the insane habit he has of covering his nose with a tissue and continuing to teach like that.
Two days later he'll start to sneeze. Obviously he has some deeply ingrained habit of stifling in front of people but they get harsh enough to bend him at the waist. He'll be talking, pull a tissue, pause talking, turn away from the class, THEN stifle. Usually its only one or two when he's sick and that holds him over for about ten/fifteen minutes.
Five/six business days later and he develops a really crackly cough and starts bringing tea to the lectures.
A little over a week in and our TA is the one teaching while this guy sits at his desk trying to be quiet and looking absolutely miserable. Hes so apologetic about it, which helped us master the pronunciation of 'excuse me' in Russian. This is also around the time his husband will start pretending to audit (hes just sitting there) our classes.
He's snippy on a good day but once we've crossed the week long sickness mark he gets even worse. Ive never stayed for his business hours but there are stories of him being really critical and even more strict than usual.
The whole class knows, we all feel his wrath, but he looks fine asl doing it sooo...
oh nothing, just thinking about someone getting sick for the first time since starting their relationship. like. there’s so many ways it could go. do they attempt to hide it? become super needy and clingy? are they weepy and drippy? withdrawn? how does this partner act? LIKE I COULD GO ON FOR DAYS ITS JUST TOO GOOD
I feel like the part where his husband just audits to watch is so crazy???? I need to know more about their dynamic. Also teaching with a tissue over the nose IS just crazy. I am eating this up!
IT IS CRAZY! I mean, its definitely practical but also the most distracting thing ever. Unfortunately, because I never took a class with his husband, Im not sure what he's like as a teacher. HOWEVER, allow me to ramble off a few dynamic obs about them.
Obs under cut
Having class with Russian professor then going to my internship with his husband gives me such insane whiplash. They work at two different colleges about 25 minutes apart and just hop between buildings during their breaks. Dont ask me how it works, I have no idea.
Not only are they nearly polar opposites of one another, Russian professor is insanely different outside of the class. He has a reputation for being critical and having unobtainable standards, I nearly failed his class my first year. His husband is the exact opposite, he still has that strict professor vibe but he's more gentle and understanding in his teaching. Again, not sure how he is in the classroom, but Ive been able to sit down and have an actual conversation with him on many occasions.
Anyway, SNEEZE TIME
Im often working with the husband late into the night; comparing notes, writing reports, updating databases, etc. This means that Russian professor almost always stumbles in while Im still there, makes himself some food (God bless that microwave), and pulls up a chair next to his husband. This is where the interrogation begins- 'how are you feeling? Still coughing? You take anything? You looked poorly during class, I have more tea and tissues on my desk'. Hearing my professor answer these questions is like taking multiple bullets to my soul. He goes so in depth about every symptom, PLEASE BE QUIET (keep going).
The even crazier part is he knows I know what theyre saying even if Russian isnt my first language or speciality.
But the ACTUAL craziest part is how much his husband tolerates while I'm literally right there observing all of this. One of husband's quirks is that he will catch professor's sneezes in a tissue. Like fully, if professor were to show any sign of sneezing (and they're obvious) his husband just holds a tissue to his nose and let's him use it. This is why Im convinced he is one of us, I cant be the only one going insane over this.
A few times when I was in his office at even later ungodly hours than usual, professor will sort of lay his head on his husband's shoulder while we work and turn to bury sneezes against his shoulder or neck. I just know hes lurking on this side of Tumbleweed. Do you understand my insanity? The worst part, even though Im a personal victim of his bad attitude, hes so docile when its just me and his husband. He doesn't talk much at all, but thats still a major improvement from how he usually treats my work.
Hope you enjoyed, these are so fun to think back on. I also might go back and expand on some of my asks with @empresskaze
I was painting alone at a studio and was sat next to this young adult couple. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop since I had no headphones and they seemed to be newly dating. This part of their conversation made my eyes go😳
A: Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.
B: Me too. I have a really crappy immune system.
A: I do too, actually. So when you get sick I’ll probably get sick too.
B: Oh (their voice goes downward)
A: That’s ok though! We could take care of each other.
I’m sorry what? WHAT?! Contagion and caretaking pls I cannot
In the middle of the woods somewhere between Austria and Azzano, Steve walks the perimeter of the Howling Commandos’ campsite. He’s just finished chopping some wood and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to do another survey of the area just for security measures— and, if he’s being honest, to keep himself sane. It’s been over 24 hours since Bucky and the team had set out through the snowy woods on foot to stake out their next target.
Of course Steve had wanted to go along with them, but they couldn’t risk being spotted by their enemies with Captain America in their arsenal. The plan was for the team to go and scope out a Hydra base and gather enough intel to then coordinate an attack-and-rescue mission. With Steve as their secret weapon, Hydra would be toast. But also, there had to be someone to stay behind and keep an eye on the camp, so why not kill two birds with one stone?
As Steve makes his way back to his tent, he realizes that the entrance had been left open. With his shield on his arm, Steve silently creeps across snow-covered ground and presses his back against a tree. He peeks around the trunk and zones in on the sound of rustling coming from the tent’s interior.
Steve looms closer to the dark green nylon entrance, knees bent and fists at the ready. As soon as the intruder emerges from the tent, Steve swings his arm.
“Jesus!” Bucky swiftly dodges the punch before stumbling back with his hands held up. “Easy there, hotshot, it’s just me!”
Steve immediately lowers his arms and stands up straight. “God, I’m so sorry Buck. I didn’t know you were back.”
“Just got back. The others aren’t that far behind,” Bucky says, swiping his forearm under his nose before sniffling sharply. Besides his boots, cargo pants and olive green thermal, he wears a navy blue blanket around his shoulders like a cloak— a fashion accessory he had no doubt just retrieved from inside the tent. A gust of icy wind blows by, making him shiver and pull the blanket tighter around his body. “Damn, it’s cold as hell.”
“Well, I just finished chopping up some wood. Should I build a fire?” Steve asks, then laughs as Bucky eagerly nods his head. “Alright, one campfire coming right up.”
It takes less than five minutes for Steve to get a good fire going. He puts his hands on his hips before taking a step back to admire his work. Behind him, he hears Bucky sneeze twice— two quiet, soft squeaks muffled into his blanket.
“Bless you,” Steve says without even turning around. Bucky clears his throat before mumbling back a thank you.
After a few seconds, Steve sighs contently and turns to join Bucky on the damp log beside the fire pit.
“Whew, she’s a beaut,” Steve says after sitting down.
“S-s-sure is,” Bucky says, noticeably shivering.
“Still cold?”
Bucky nods, teeth chattering, before giving a couple of light coughs.
“Aww, c’mere,” Steve coos, extending his arm. Bucky takes the invitation and snuggles into Steve’s side.
“You used to fit under my arm,” Bucky says once he gets his body to stop shivering. “I was the one always keeping you warm.”
Steve smiles fondly. “Well, now it’s my turn to return the favor.”
***
It’s the middle of the night, and Steve can’t sleep. Or rather, he can, but every little sound keeps waking him up. He’s still getting used to the whole super-hearing thing that came with the serum. Hell, he’d probably have trouble adjusting if he’d only developed the ability to have two fully functioning ears, considering he’d spent practically his whole life with a fair amount of hearing loss. But this… he swears he can hear the snow falling off the leaves of a tree three miles away.
He sits up and tosses the sleeping bag cover off his legs. It may be the middle of winter and he may be living in a goddamn tent but he’s still somehow warm. Perhaps it’s not the biggest issue, but nonetheless it’s yet another thing he has to get used to. At least he’s been able to keep Bucky warm throughout these bitter cold nights.
Speaking of Bucky…
Steve looks over to the poor guy as he stirs uncomfortably in his sleep. One wouldn’t even need enhanced hearing to pick up on the obvious congestion that’s built up overnight. The sound of his little snores let out between whistling exhales practically fills the tent.
“Aw,” Steve murmurs as he watches Bucky’s pink-tinged nostrils quiver with every inhale and flare upon each exhale. He reaches over and gingerly rubs the crease between his eyebrows.
After a few minutes, Bucky’s nose begins to twitch. Steve removes his hand and waits, but the twitching doesn’t stop. In fact, it only seems to grow more and more intense to the point where the poor thing looks like it’s practically bouncing— until suddenly, Bucky sits up, eyes wide and frantic. He takes in a big, shaky inhale before jolting forward with a desperate sneeze.
“Bless you,” Steve whispers as Bucky snuffles into cupped hands.
“Mmpf…?” He lifts his head and squints, trying to orient his eyes to the dark and clear his mind from sleepy bleariness. “Oh, Steve,” he sighs as if there’d be anyone else laying beside him. “Sorry to wake you.”
Steve shrugs. “I was already awake.”
Bucky nods, and Steve gathers from the way his eyelashes start fluttering closed that he’s gearing up for another sneeze.
“huh-UH’tshh! ‘tshh! ‘tshhiiiew!”
Or rather a few sneezes.
“Bless you!” Steve exclaims. He gently places his hand between Bucky’s shoulder blades while the guy sniffles urgently, palms tented over his nose and mouth. “Sure sounds like a bad cold you got there.”
“Is there ever a good cold?” Bucky huffs while lowering his hands.
“No, certainly not,” Steve hums.
Bucky coughs then sniffles thickly. “Ugh, d’you have a handkerchief somewhere? My nose is just…” he scrunches his face and roughly scrubs at his tender nostrils.
“There should be some…” Steve rolls over and begins rooting through a sack of linens. “Ah! Right here.” He pulls out a red paisley-patterned bandana and holds it up proudly.
Bucky takes the handkerchief and utters a small distracted “thanks,” clearly focusing more on his nose than on anything else. He sniffs harshly before giving his nose another forceful scrub using the knuckle of his index finger. Even in the dark, Steve can make out the frustrated expression on his face.
“God… snnnfk! Keep feelin’ like I have to…” he trails off, taking shaky, measured breaths, his nose approaching the edge of the tipping point. “Hih…” Stiffly, he raises the paisley cloth just a couple inches from his face, eyes narrowing and lips parting slightly. “Hih… hihH— hih’TIH’huhh!”
Bucky’s head bobs into the handkerchief, his sneeze coming out restrained and oddly dry considering the amount of gunk in his sinuses. On all accounts, that was a seriously lackluster sneeze that not only failed to relieve the tickle in his nose but also managed to scrape his already sore throat.
“Bless you..?” Steve offers while the sergeant’s shoulders slump.
“Dammit, Stevie,” Bucky curses hoarsely. “I’m too stuffed up to even fully sneeze.” The added emphasis is apparently too much for his throat, and winds up setting off a coughing fit.
“Shhh, I know, Buck.” Steve pats his back the same way Bucky did for him all those years before the super serum eradicated his asthma and frequent cases of pneumonia. “Easy, now,” he consoles. “Here, take my pillow. Ma always propped me up with a ton of them to help my chest.”
As the coughing gradually stops, Steve hands Bucky a canister of water. Bucky takes a few careful sips before leaning back against the pillows, his whole existence feeling exhausted.
“Thanks, Stevie,” he mumbles.
“It’s no problem, Buck. Cold?” Steve adds when Bucky shivers.
“Little bit,” he smiles shyly.
“Alright, come here.”
Steve pulls Bucky’s sleeping bag and pillows closer to his own, making sure not to jostle him too much. He sidles up and curls around the sick guy, his super soldier body heat warming him up like a toasted marshmallow.
“Much better,” Bucky says before a yawn.
“Go back to sleep now,” Steve smiles, watching Bucky’s eyes fight to stay open. “I’ll be right here in the morning.”
