Prompt: S/he showed up at his door soaking wet, bruised, and covered in glitter.
Steve had just gotten himself comfortable in bed with a fluffy blanket, a cup of hot chocolate, and his art supplies. It had been a rough few weeks of nonstop missions and debriefings, and even though he was a supersoldier, he still required some down time just like every other member of his team. His guilty pleasure had always been his sketching and with the new colouring book craze he found his new favorite thing was to create his own doodles and colour them in himself. Something about the mindless ease of creating intricate designs to fill in helped ease the tension in his shoulders and secretly Steve couldn't help getting excited over using his coloured pencil collection.
He had just finished creating his personal kaleidoscope and was pulling out his prized pencils when a resounding thump of heavy boots coming up the stairs and rapping at his door interrupted his plans. It was coming close to one o'clock in the morning and Steve wasn't expecting any visitors, so he warely made his way to the door.
"Stevie? Come on, I know you're awake, the lights are still on," the familiar voice called out through the door.
Swinging it open without hesitation Steve was stunned at the sight before him. Bucky was standing at his door completely soaked from head to boots, small scratches fading on his flesh arm, and bright purple glitter stuck to his clothes, hair, and prosthetic.
"Bucky? What the hell happened to you?"
A string of pouty mumbles came out of the brunette, and Steve stood in his way with a cocked eyebrow.
"Just, can we talk about it after I take a shower?" Bucky pleaded already pushing himself through the doorway.
"Sure, come on. I wasn't expecting company but"
"It's fine," Bucky cut him off hurriedly stripping off his shirt and boots, "Do you still have that bag of my spare clothes? I really want to get this shit out of my life forever," he slumped his shoulders and grunted.
Bucky made his way around Steve's apartment with ease and made himself at home in Steve's bathroom. After a shower and a string of curses for having to wash his hair three times to remove all of the purple specks of glitter, he finally emerged dressed and less grumpy than before, but no less defeated.
Bucky found Steve sitting on his couch with the television turned on and a bowl of popcorn for the pair and plopped down beside, laying his head in Steve's lap and burying his face in Steve's beefy thighs.
"You wanna tell me what happened, pal?" he prodded, running his fingers through the damp strands now resting on his legs.
"IblameNatashaandClint," came from the muffled reply.
"Natasha and Clint?"
Bucky nodded his head sending water droplets flinging in every direction.
Steve chuckled and left it at that knowing that once Bucky had a chance to relax he would end up telling the whole situation. Eventually Bucky turned to face the television and slung his arm around Steve's waist.
"Apparently Clint set up a play date for his daughter and Natasha while we went to take care of a quick situation and the girls thought it would be funny to glitter bomb us when we came back. Clint pushed me in front of him at the last second and I got the worst of it. I swear he knew what was going to happen. I blame him."
Steve grinned and tried to suppress his giggles as Bucky groaned out his explanation but failed miserably.
"Shut up, punk. It isn't funny! Have you ever had to pick that shit out from in between the plates in your arm? No, that's right, you haven't. "
"Oh, come on, jerk. It is a little funny."
Bucky pouted and hid his face once again in Steve's thighs and sighed dramatically. Steve continued to chuckle and run his hands through Bucky's hair. "At least there were no pictures."