The Winter's Witch || Bucky x Reader

Chapter 2

Note before reading:

Thank  you to everyone who has already started reading the story. I am having a blast editing this. I have been loving getting the occasional notification on my phone of votes and comments. You guys are the best. Anywho- have fun meeting some of my favourite characters in this story.

Love,

Nina

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You shrieked as, suddenly, you found yourself woken up by a loud bang. The bang was quickly followed by a signature strong smell that could only mean that your auntie Bell was up to something nefarious and, possibly, deadly.

As it was Sunday morning, you had no choice but to put on an oversized knitted jumper and found some warm woolly socks for your feet. As you were pulling on your socks you could still imagine the blood on your feet even though you had scrubbed them raw only yesterday. You rubbed them briefly, as if to double check that they were actually clean, and then moved on, telling yourself you were being paranoid.

So, you bounded down the creaking staircase, through the hallway and into the dubiously foggy kitchen. It truly was a witches' kitchen; the white walls were almost invisible under the offensive amount of shelves filled with pots, pans and jars of spices. On the left wall was a large drying rack which was filled with so many herbs that your aunties had started hanging their greenery on the ceiling to accommodate for the loss of space. There was always that time of year, after a harvest, when you felt like you were having breakfast in a forest rather than a kitchen.

But, your favourite thing in the kitchen by far was the massive cooking island which was used for just about anything; you could sit by it for breakfast; you could make vast quantities of candles; or perform the occasional summoning ritual – your aunties will never forget about the puffin incident you had caused when you were only twelve years old. Currently, the well-worn and loved cooking island was overrun with baking trays, herbs and cookie dough. The instigator was a plump short woman, who was so colourfully dressed that it often created a sensory overload, grinding herbs like she was trying to squash the patriarchy into oblivion. Her curly red hair bounced up and down as she worked.

"Morning auntie June," you smiled to yourself as you looked at the newly knitted cardigan your auntie was wearing. She was all long skirts, warm colours and sweet smiles. She was like a tropical bird of paradise that had decided to build herself a comfortable little home where she would bake spiced cookies every other day. She was the kind of person who could tell you needed a cup of tea before it had even crossed your own mind. You loved people like that.

"Good morning sweetie," auntie June smiled back at you as she added the pulverized herbs to her bowl and started to knead the mixture into her cookie dough. You grabbed a glass of apple juice from the fridge before you hopped onto one of the barstools to watch her work.

"Did you sleep well darling? You look a little pale," Auntie June observed as she was spreading flour on the wooden counter. "Did you drink too much yesterday?"

"No- I just-" you started, wanting to talk about what had happened yesterday night, before another loud bang echoed through the house, followed by dark grey smoke wafting into the kitchen through the open door that nearly had you cough up your own lungs.

"BELLADONNA!" your auntie June exclaimed, but before she could even move a tall dark-haired witch dressed in a black cloak, which matched the black soot on her face quite well, entered the kitchen. You coughed while you tried in vain to whisk the smoke away by waving your hands around like a demented penguin.

"Sorry Juniper, I mixed up the chokeberries and chokecherries again. I swear we really must relabel some of the jars in the scullery," the woman said calmly, completely unbothered by the smoke as she walked past you and briefly kissed your forehead, mumbling a calm '-morning darling' as she moved on to one of the shelves to get the jar she actually needed.