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swan-of-sunrise · 3 years

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Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Nine)

Summary: (Y/N) and Jack pay a visit to Officer Henry Zhang of the L.A.P.D. and after they’re nearly caught by Chief Sousa, tensions begin to rise.

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Nine Los Angeles, California (Previous Chapter)

“Ooo turn it up, this is one of my favorites! Oh, Johnny, oh Johnny, how you can love! Oh Johnny, oh Johnny, Heaven’s above…!”

“Ah, geez, not again…”

“You make my sad heart jump with joy, and when you’re near I just can’t sit still a minute…!”

“You know you’re crazy, right?”

“I’m so, oh, Johnny, oh Johnny, please tell me dear, what makes me love you so?”

“Yep, definitely crazy.”

“You’re not handsome, it’s true but when I look at you I just, oh, Johnny, oh Johnny, oh…!” With a bright smile on her face, (Y/N) began humming along to the lively tune and tapping her fingers on her steering wheel; her smile only widened when she glanced over and caught the exasperated look on Jack’s face. “What? I love the Andrews Sisters!”

Jack rubbed his face tiredly, but (Y/N) could see that he was having a difficult time repressing his grin. “I know, you sing along to every single one of their songs whenever they come on the radio. Seriously, I’m gonna have to call up every radio network in the city and get ‘em to stop playing the Andrews Sisters just so I can get at least a little break from the gals!”

Rolling her eyes at his dramatics, (Y/N) returned her gaze to the road. “Well, you don’t have a car and since you refuse to borrow one of Howard’s, it looks like you’re stuck riding with me, my music and my singing. In other words, you’d better get used it, Flyboy.”

For the duration of the car ride, they continued to debate about their favorite and least favorite singers and groups; they reached the police precinct before anymore Andrews Sisters songs could play, much to (Y/N)’s disappointment and Jack’s elation. They had arranged to meet Officer Henry Zhang to discuss the result of the L.A.P.D.’s search of Fieldman Family Orangery; since they had no probable cause to search the orangery, Officer Zhang had suggested they phone-in an anonymous tip about a suspected breach in fire safety protocol. That way, the L.A.P.D. – but more importantly, Officer Zhang – would be free to search the premises for any sign of the strange devices meant for shipment. Fingers crossed that the whole thing wasn’t a bust, (Y/N) thought to herself as she parked and switched off the engine before getting out of the car.

“You know, Specs, you’re a pretty decent singer, even if you only ever sing the Andrews Sisters.” Jack remarked on their way up the steps that led to the precinct; (Y/N) snorted in amusement and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just that you’re the first person to actually compliment – well, half compliment – my singing; when I first began working with the Howling Commandos, Dum Dum Dugan used to say that my ‘goddamn caterwauling’ could deafen the entire German army if properly weaponized. As I recall, the other guys got a good laugh out of that one.”

Jack scoffed. “Dugan’s hearing must’ve been damaged from all those ‘Wa-Hoo’s’ he shouted in the war.” She laughed loudly at that; the large man’s deafening war cry was definitely an acquired taste, so much so that during her first couple of months with the Howlies, she used to stuff small pieces of wax into her ears whenever she went on missions with them. They reached the doors of the precinct and Jack was quick to hold the door open for her. “And for your information, that was a full complement I just gave you. You’ve got a really nice singing voice, Specs.”

His unexpectedly kind words combined with his trademark lopsided grin caused (Y/N)’s heart to jolt in her chest and try as she might, it was impossible to keep the growing smile off her face as they entered the building. Once they had checked in with the officer stationed at the front desk they made their way downstairs to Officer Zhang’s brand-new office, which turned out to be the building’s boiler room but with a small desk crammed into the corner.

“Sorry it’s such a tight squeeze in here, this was the only empty room the precinct had.” Henry winced as Jack bumped his elbow hard against the boiler and (Y/N) removed her hat to prevent it from being crushed against the pipes beside her head. The young officer’s frown quickly shifted into an excitement-filled smile. “But I’m the youngest officer to ever get their own office in this precinct, so that’s a plus! Did you guys want anythin’ to eat or drink? I think I’ve got-”

“We’re good, Zhang, but thanks for the offer.” Jack abruptly interrupted as he eyed the boiler beside him that had just made an ominous noise.

(Y/N) smiled patiently at Henry while surreptitiously elbowing Jack in the ribs for his rudeness. “How did everything go yesterday at the orangery? Did you find any evidence that the business is a front for weapons manufacturing?”

Henry shook his head, reaching over his desk and handing her a file; after pausing a moment to slip on her reading glasses, she opened it and began scanning its contents with Jack peering over her shoulder. “You were right, it looked like they packed up shop after your run-in with ‘em last week. I took a few photographs of the place for you guys to look over, though; since you saw it before, you might be able to spot somethin’ I didn’t.”

“The stunt we pulled must’ve really shaken ‘em if they went through all the trouble to pack up and relocate their entire operation.” Jack let out a frustrated sigh. “I hate it when criminals think fast. Any sign of Adam Fieldman?”

“Nope, his old man said he left town on business the other night but couldn’t say where; since you told me to be discrete I didn’t press him for details but he sounded like he was tellin’ the truth.” He gestured to the file (Y/N) was still examining. “I also included anything the L.A.P.D. has on Fieldman’s background, but it’s not much. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more to help you guys…”

Hearing the normally boisterous officer sound so downtrodden caused (Y/N)’s heart to lurch; despite how cramped the room was, she managed to reach a hand out to clasp one of his. “You’ve done a great job, Officer Zhang, we couldn’t have asked for anyone better to help us out.” She elbowed Jack again as she gave Henry an encouraging smile. “Isn’t that right, Chief Thompson?”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, you’ve really helped us out, kid.”

Henry’s face reddened at their praise, and (Y/N) had to stifle a giggle as he leisurely leaned back in his chair in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “Well, if you two ever need anythin’ else you know where to find me.”

They bid the young officer goodbye and as they left the precinct, Jack tilted his fedora on his head and grumbled, “I think that elbow of yours might’ve punctured a kidney.”

“A miraculous feat, considering your kidneys are near your backbone and not your hip.” (Y/N) jokingly retorted, carefully pinning her hat back onto her hair and tucking her reading glasses into her purse as they walked back down the steps to the sidewalk. “Henry didn’t give us much but it’s a lot more than what we had before; that counts as a win in my books.”

Jack shrugged. “I guess so, but have you noticed that our secret investigation isn’t much of a secret anymore? I mean, Stark knows about it, the Jarvises know about it and now this kid’s in on it; who’s next, Samberly? I-son of a bitch!”

Without warning, Jack ripped the file from her hand and disappeared around the corner of the building; before she could move or speak, she heard a familiar voice calling her name and she turned to see Daniel Sousa limping towards her. Her heart hammering in her chest, (Y/N) raised a hand in greeting and silently prayed that he hadn’t seen Jack with her. “Hey there, Chief Sousa! Are you enjoying your lunch break?”

“Not exactly, I had to finish up some paperwork on a joint case and deliver it to this precinct’s Captain.” Daniel gestured to the building with the hand holding his briefcase. “I thought I recognized your car when I pulled up. What’re you doing in this part of town?”

She gave him a tight smile and tried her hardest to stop her hands from nervously fidgeting. “I just had lunch at the diner around the corner. If you’re looking for something to eat later, I’d definitely recommend the chicken noodle soup.”

“I’ll be sure to give it a try,” The chief’s grin faded a little as he examined the steps leading up to the precinct with obvious apprehension. “If I survive these steps, that is.”

“Well, um, would you like some help getting up?”

“So, Agent, you’re presuming that since I’m handicapped I automatically need help doing things?”

(Y/N) felt the color leave her face and all thoughts of concealing Jack’s presence flew out of her mind as she hastily replied, “O-of course not, Chief, I just-”

Her rambling was interrupted by Daniel’s chuckle. “Relax, (Y/L/N), I was only messing with you; I lost my leg during the war, not my sense of humor! And to answer your question, yes, a little help would be appreciated. I don’t have any trouble getting down steps with this thing, but going up? It’s a genuine pain in the ass.”

“Okay, then.” (Y/N) slipped her arm into the crook of Daniel’s before they began making their slow trek up the steps, the clicking of his metal crutch on the stone filling the silence. “Do you mind if I ask you-?”

“-How I lost it?” Daniel finished the question and she sheepishly nodded. “Well, I was a reconnaissance scout in the 28th Infantry and during the Siege of Bastogne, a few of us scouts were pinned down by enemy fire. I got hit in the leg by some shrapnel and by the time the others got me to a medic, there was no saving it.”

(Y/N) nodded again. “I’ve heard stories about that battle. You’re one of the lucky ones, you know.”

That made Daniel grin. “Oh, I know. Peggy never lets me forget it. Somedays it doesn’t feel like it – like when I have to navigate some tricky steps or when Thompson takes one too many jabs at my leg – but when I remember that everything that’s happened to me in the past has led me to her, well…it makes things a little bit easier.” They finally reached the top of the steps and (Y/N) released his arms once she was sure he was steady. “Thank you for the help, but do you think you can keep this under wraps for me? The last thing I want is Thompson to make some more cracks about us in the office…”

“Of course.” Although she had kept her gaze on Daniel the entire time, (Y/N) knew that Jack had seen and possibly heard everything that had transpired; good, she thought to herself, he deserves to hear exactly how his careless words can affect others. They’d forgiven one another for the things they’d said out of anger, true, but a small part of her was reluctant to forgive the hurtful jab that had only served to remind her of her traumatic past. “Well, I should start heading back to the office. I’ll see you later, Chief Sousa.”

She turned to head back down the steps but halted when Daniel called her name once again. When she turned back around, he had an awkward expression on his face. “I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you alone since you re-joined the SSR but since you’re here now…Peggy told me a little about what you went through during the war and what happened to…well, I just wanted to offer you my condolences.”

“T-thank you, Chief.” (Y/N) gave him what she hoped had been a smile of gratitude before turning on her heel and hurrying back down the steps, ignoring the twinge of pain her quick movements brought the almost-healed wound beneath her skirt. By the time she reached the car, Jack had already gotten in and based on the clouded expression on his face, he’d heard everything they’d said on the steps. I can’t deal with this right now, she sighed inwardly but got into the driver’s seat with an overly-cheerful grin. “Ready to go, Flyboy?”

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Later that evening, (Y/N) and Jack sat in the cozy living room of Stark’s mansion and worked on the case, Jack lounging on a sofa as he read through the files Henry had provided them and (Y/N) sitting cross-legged on the floor as she flicked through her translation journals. At the other end of the room were Edwin and Ana, entirely focused on their Benny Goodman radio program as they sat together on another sofa.

The familiar strains of music helped (Y/N) relax and after a while, she noticed that the tension between her and Jack seemed to have disappeared altogether. The silence during the ride back to the office and to Howard’s mansion had been incredibly awkward, and (Y/N) knew it had been because they both were thinking about her and Daniel’s exchange. I’m not going to discuss it unless he brings it up first, (Y/N) thought firmly as she pushed her reading glasses back up the bridge of her nose, we’ve only just moved past our differences and something that touchy might send us right back to square one.

“Another excellent program by Mr. Goodman!” Ana’s exclamation brought (Y/N) out of her silent rumination and she looked up from her work just as the couple stood and yawned. “Well, goodnight Miss (Y/L/N), Chief Thompson.”

“Yes, and try not to make too much noise; tomorrow is silver-polishing day.”

Jack mumbled distractedly, his eyes still trained on the files, so (Y/N) gave the tired couple a small wave. “Goodnight.” Once she heard the faint sound of their bedroom door being closed, she fell sideways with a small groan and rolled so that she was laying on her back. “I think I’m starting to hate codebreaking.”

She could hear Jack’s smirk in his voice as he replied, “I take it Michael’s got you stumped again?”

“…Maybe. I’m sure I’ll have better luck if I look at this tomorrow.” She rolled to her side and rested her head in her hand to look at him. “Have you had any luck with those files?”

“Not really, I think I’m in the same boat as you right now. I’ll give Agent Cabrera a ring tomorrow morning and see if he can’t dig up anything more on Fieldman in the New York files; it’s a long shot, but our office has a bigger collection of files than the West Coast SSR does so something might show up.” Snapping the file closed and tossing it onto the ground, he sat up on the couch and stretched out his arms. “You know, back in New York, Sousa and I would go out drinking if we ever got stuck on a case. We’d put the case out of our minds and relax so that when we took another crack at it, it would be with a fresh perspective.”

“As great as that sounds, Chief Sousa asked us to come in early tomorrow to help catalogue the records room; that means no drinking tonight, Flyboy.”

Jack let out a frustrated sigh. “Sousa’s turned into a real stick in the mud since moving out here.” They began silently putting loose papers back into their files and just as (Y/N) finished packing up her briefcase, Jack cleared his throat to get her attention. “I remember Carter mentioning the other week that you solve easy codes to relax and unwind so I was thinking…well, if you ever need a break from Michael’s codes, you could always teach me a little. About codebreaking, I mean.”

Taken aback by his words, (Y/N) turned to face him. “You want to learn about codebreaking? You, Lieutenant Junior Grade Thompson, want me to teach you about codes?”

“You don’t have to sound so goddamn surprised about it.” Before he turned away from her, (Y/N) caught a glimpse of the look of annoyance and hurt on his face, and she quickly realized she’d inadvertently touched a nerve with her teasing. “Just forget I said anything, okay?”

“Thompson, wait-”

“I said forget it.”

“But I didn’t-”

He whirled around to face her again and the next few sentences seemed to explode out of him. “You know, everyone thinks that I’m just this big dumb war hero, that all I’ll ever be is some fat-head bully with a Navy Cross, and I’m getting sick of it!

“Jack, I didn’t mean to-”

“They all think that I’m this guy that I never was! They expect me to act a certain way, to be a soldier always and forever without thinking about what I want!” Breathing hard through his clenched teeth, Jack’s eyes searched her face and after a moment, his tense shoulders sagged and his blue eyes lowered. “And…it’s getting harder and harder to live with the shit man I’ve become because of it.”

The tension in the air was thick as they both stood absolutely still, Jack staring intently at the carpeted ground and (Y/N) studied her clasped hands. Being confronted by his past words and actions earlier that day had obviously caused Jack to feel guilt, something that was also gnawing at (Y/N); since the moment she’d met him, she had a very specific and narrow idea of who he was that had been based entirely on her past experiences with men in power and the opinions of others, but now it was clear to see that she’d unfairly and prematurely misjudged the man before her. Along with the rest of the world, it seems, she thought to herself with a twinge of sadness and shame.

(Y/N) glanced up and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached forward and rested a gentle hand on Jack’s forearm. His gaze quickly rose to meet hers and an understanding seemed to pass between them as Jack’s eyes softened; (Y/N) didn’t realize she was softly smiling until she spoke. “We’ll start with the Caesar Shift code and go from there.” He gave her a nod and she moved away to grab her hat and briefcase, murmuring a quick farewell before turning to leave.

“Hey, Specs.” She turned to see a hint of Jack’s familiar grin light up his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t go easy on me, okay?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Flyboy.”

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW

Chapter Ten

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @fluffymadamina @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @theserenityspace @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent @momc95 @brooke0297 @kinda-c0nfused @outoftheregular @mads-weasley

#jack thompson x reader #agent carter #jack thompson #daniel sousa #michael carter #marvel cinematic universe #strategic scientific reserve

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captainjimothycarter · 4 years

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Soft steggy prompt: the first time Steve gets flowers for Peggy

Soooo not what you wanted but ??? this is what came out.

Steve took in a deep breath as he looked down at the rows and rows of flowers, all arranged in beautiful bunches. Around him, there were a few people still in the store in the late evening. He knew the owner was getting ready to close soon, he had to make his choice and go.

But what was the perfect choice then?

This was Peggy they were talking about. She would know the language of flowers because she taught him. He understood the basics and didn’t want to show up with a bouquet that said ‘i hate your guts.’ He wanted to show up with the perfect one that said everything he couldn’t.

That would take the words right out of his mouth. He wanted Peggy to just know exactly how he felt.

When he chose the flowers, the florist simply stared at him for the longest second of his life, looking thoroughly annoyed. Maybe it was because Steve had been over here for an hour and he chose some of the most awkward looking flowers for any bouquet that made no sense.

“Special night?” he asked, using scissors to cut the flower stems and neatly arrange them in a bouquet.

“Yeah, actually. It’s our anniversary,” Steve laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “First time getting her flowers too.”

The man blinked, trying to connect the two before his shrug told Steve it wasn’t his problem. “Well good luck with that. Here we go.”

Steve got the sense he wanted him out of there. Thanking him and taking the bouquet underarm, the blonde found himself stepping outside the shop in the brisk, cold air. The sun had long set, making the walk down the street cold and empty.

The flowers seemed to be the only thing of color in this place. The only thing that brought joy to an otherwise dreary neighborhood.

Kneeling by the gravestone, his fingertips brushed the fallen leaves off and set the bouquet in their spot. His eyes fell onto Peggy’s name, tracing over it before a shuddering sigh left his chest.

“Seems to be that I’m always late, darling,” he whispered, bending down to press his forehead to the cold marble. Just a year too late for her, just a year too late to tell her he was alive so she could go in peace.

She died, believing he was dead and Steve didn’t know which was worst.

Peggy didn’t deserve to die at all. She deserved to be immortal. To live a long, healthy life, not to die in her sleep.

“Hey, Pegs,” he breathed, sitting up to look down at the white marble again. “Things are-are going okay, I guess. SHIELD is working me pretty hard, but it keeps me busy. Don’t get much time to think about anything, so I suppose that’s good. Looked up Bucky’s family - his sister is still alive. Just barely, she’s a fighter, like she’s always been. She’s been telling me about all that you did for her after...after the war ended. They wouldn’t have survived without your help.”

The marble is cold to touch, the sun has done nothing to warm it. The evening wind and the threat of snow sap any warmth that should’ve been there.

“Looked into the-the Howlies. They’re all gone, Pegs. Dugan died shortly after you did, ole fucker didn’t want to...to be the last, I bet. Hurts like hell, but I-I suppose that’s life. People grow old and die and forget and...and…” His breath hitched and he bit the inside of his lip, trying his best not to cry.

“I shoulda told you I loved you from the start. Or maybe it’s best I didn’t, maybe it’s best the way this happened, me crashing the plane and waking up here and wondering what could’ve been. Not leaving you with the reality that I-I said I loved you. Would that had been harder to move on from? Hell if I know. Feels like anything I know is taken from me. The whole world knows me and yet I don’t know a damn thing about it. Truth is…”

He adjusted the purple bow and stroked over the soft material before dropping his hands.

“Truth is, Pegs, I do love you. I ain’t gonna stop loving you. Been goin’ to therapy cause I know that’s what you’d want of me, to get better for myself, to stop this moping. Ain’t much but a bunch of us veterans sitting around in a circle. They do most of the talking. I can sympathize with them, but I don’t know much of what they went through. Found a few World War II veterans and we’ve been talking it’s...so odd to see faces I barely remember in the 107th...they can relate more.”

The tears are the only thing warm on him, not for long. They dry and nearly freeze to his skin. He’s not even aware he’s crying right now. He doesn’t want to cry. There’s no point in crying.

“I don’t know what to say, what I-I should say. There’s so much I want to say but I can’t find the words. So much I wanna ask about you, about your life. Did you know Howard has a son? Of course, you do...you were on top of him. Or-or...that I love you. Gods, Pegs, I love you. I think about you far too much and yet not enough. I think about what could’ve been. Our dance. I would step on your shoes. You would laugh. Our life. Working together to make a better future. Peggy, I...am so proud of your work…”

The bouquet bristled in the wind and Steve sniffled, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. Right, the bouquet. He nearly forgot about that.

“I gotcha a bouquet. Promised you I’d get you flowers back in the war, but they were...never right for you. It’s got daisies, means innocence, right? Sunflowers cause you said my hair reminded you of sunflowers, but-but it means loyalty, adoration. Tulips they-they means love too and oh roses because you...you deserve the best. Shoulda saw me, Pegs, I was helpless choosing…”

Steve could sleep here. He had before when he first woke up. Slept right on top of her grave, didn’t mean to either, his body just felt too exhausted to walk home. He’d taken the time the next day to clean hers and his ma’s, even take time to clean Bucky’s. He carefully avoided his own. It felt wrong to look at when he stood outside of it here.

The moon was high above them by the time Steve left, nose dripping with snot and eyes burning with tears as he stumbled out of the graveyard. Too dark to try to see around him, too much into his head to check his surroundings.

He didn’t see the figure that stepped out from the trees or watch it approach the newly laid bouquet. Later that night, he would be fast asleep, unknowingly aware that someone was in his room. Fingernails that were painted red would stroke through his blonde hair before adjusting the sheets around him. They will lay the rose and bow on the bedside table, directly over the compass.

A soft kiss, the barest of touches would be laid on his temple, and for once, Steve’s face smoothed out of all wrinkles, for once he looked so at peace.

#Steggy #Stevepeggy #Steggy Prompt #@womenarethesequel #For womenarethesequel

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hydrasweapon · 3 years

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@weaponizedembrace gets the longest starter in history for our thing

Howard doesn’t find Steve. Even after days, after months, he doesn’t find Steve. He keeps on searching, though – maybe because he cannot stand Bucky’s face whenever he comes back empty-handed. In the meantime, Bucky’s injuries heal up. Way quicker than should be possible, he’s as fresh as a daisy – minus the arm, of course. They want to send him home. He tells them very sincerely fuck you and that’s it. He guesses it’s also Carter’s and maybe Colonel Phillips doing that they leave him alone, but he doesn’t care. To be honest, Bucky doesn’t care about a lot of things anymore. VE-day comes and goes and he toasts with the other Howlies but then he walks back to the barracks, surrounded by screaming, partying people, and he feels nothing. The war in Europe is over and he has never felt more lost, not even in the trenches with shells detonating right next to him.

He reads about the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and wonders what Steve would have said to that. Then he has to put the newspaper away because it feels like his heart is going to give up on him. He gets a lot of letters from his family but doesn’t know how to respond, so he only puts them in his duffel or sometimes in the pocket of his jacket and feels bad for never finding the right words.

In late August, Carter tells him that she’s going to go to New York City to continue the SSR’s work and also that there’s going to be an official state funeral for Steve in Arlington. Nobody, not even a super-soldier, could survive months without food or shelter in the icy, windswept wasteland of the Arctic. Bucky listens and doesn’t answer but he turns up the day Carter and Stark leave for the States in Stark’s private plane.

The ceremony is pompous. The Arlington National Cemetery is bursting at the seams because every politician wants to say goodbye to a hero and hopefully get some good publicity while doing that. Bucky has to puke three times behind a tree before he is able to walk up to President Truman to get his own Purple Heart medal and receive Steve’s Medal of Honor because there is no other family member left to take it for him. They even conjured a fucking statue up out of nothing. They want to take photos in front of that statue. Bucky is glad his stomach is already empty or he would have puked on the shoes of the President himself and wouldn’t that be something to put on the front page.

He doesn’t stay longer than it takes to get the medals, do some hand-shaking and take some pictures. There is a speech. The President said some words, too, but the real speech is by Colonel Phillips himself and Bucky can’t listen to that, he just can’t. They will think he’s rude but he’s pretty certain Phillips understands. He leaves the cemetery and promises himself to never come back to this place.

Bucky takes the train up to New York. After half an hour, he feigns to be asleep because people keep thanking him for his service and welcoming him home and it makes his already empty stomach roil again. His parents and Becca are waiting for him at the train station. It’s when Winifred Barnes wraps her son up in her arms, that something breaks inside him. Bucky takes a deep, shuddering breath, and now the tears, finally, come. They stream down his face, soak his mother’s blouse, and he cannot get enough air into his lungs, everything is hurting, the pain squeezes his chest, his insides, his heart, and he falls to his knees and Winifred sits down next to him on the cold, hard ground, and just keeps him close and rocks him back and forth like a child, but he will always be her child, won’t he? No matter what.

Bucky doesn’t manage to get a grip on himself for half an hour. All the time, his mother’s tight embrace doesn’t waver; Becca shields his vulnerable left side and his father’s hand is heavy and protecting on his shoulder. George Barnes glares at every passenger even thinking of making a stupid remark concerning this scene on a public station platform.

Then, somehow, Bucky manages to stop crying, or maybe he is just – empty. His father bundles his family up in the car and they drive through Manhattan and back to Brookly, home. Bucky is too tired and exhausted and falls asleep with his head on his sister’s shoulder. He doesn’t even notice when George picks him up carefully and carries him inside as he used to do back when he was a young boy and drifted off listening to the wireless in the evening. His and Becca’s child room changed into Winifred’s sewing room years ago but there’s still his old bed and when his father puts him down there and covers him with a warm quilt, he curls up and sleeps for hours.

During the next couple of weeks, neither Bucky nor his family knows how to treat each other. Winifred bakes a lot, George urges Bucky to play cards with him in the evenings. Becca comes over whenever she can. Bucky visits his grandparents' grave; they had died while he'd been overseas. Apart from that, he doesn't really leave the house: There are always people on the street he knows. They welcome him back and either tell him how sorry they are for his loss or ask where Steve is (if they didn't put 2 and 2 together yet).

He stays in his family home and stares out of the window and lets his mother put some meat on his bones and wonders what on earth he is supposed to do now, without his best friend and without a left arm besides.

It’s shortly after Christmas (a rather silent affair) that Margaret Carter knocks on his door and kind of bullies him into joining the SSR once more. She knows all the perfect words for him to agree -- that Steve wouldn’t want him to spend the rest of his life this way, that he cannot live off his parents forever, that he is still a useful member of society. He agrees just to get her out of his room because she makes him feel scraped raw. Shortly after New Year’s Day, Bucky starts to work for the New York office of the SSR.

The years pass. They are -- mostly a dull succession of days. His sister marries in 1949, a guy called William Proctor, who works for a shipping company and never saw the European Theater due to really bad eyesight. Dancing with Rebecca on her wedding day is one of the few memories Bucky will cherish for the rest of his life. She is so happy.

Unfortunately, being a married woman seems to mean that she absolutely has to marry her brother off, too. She introduces him to friends at least once a month and invites him over for dinner with -- what a coincidence! -- single ladies all the time. She also makes him visit the dance halls with her every other week. He doesn’t mind the last one -- it’s really nice to watch all the couples dance, learn this new Boogie Woogie thing. He is not interested in the gals, though. He simply cannot bring himself to think of love again.

He's no longer working for the SSR but for an agency Carter, Stark, and Phillips formed of its remnants: the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. The acronym makes Bucky want to both puke and cry. It doesn’t change much, workwise, though.

1954 is a big year. He attends the weddings of Dum Dum Dugan and Jim Morita and it’s almost as if the Howling Commandos are back together. Even Falsworth comes to the States for the occasion, him and Gabe sharing pictures of chubby Montgomery Junior and little Steven. Gabe looks a little sheepish when he tells Bucky the name of his son and Bucky might be a little choked-up but he’s certain Steve would have loved this little, full-faced namesake. Only Dernier doesn’t make it.

1954 is also the year Bucky has a vocal dispute with Peggy Carter and quits his job quite aggressively. But what else is he supposed to do when he’s down in former Camp Lehigh for a work thing and crosses paths with Arnim godfuckingdamn Zola? It’s only due to three coworkers that he cannot bash Zola’s face the moment he spots him in the corridor. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about Operation Paperclip. Carter’s words are like poison in his ears. He doubts she believes them, herself. But she has the greater good in mind and was probably overruled in Zola’s case. Bucky does not care. He will not work for an agency hiring this piece of dirty shit. He has nightmares for weeks, always seeing that grubby little face with its evil smirk in front of his eyes.

It’s complicated to find another job. Nobody wants to hire a cripple. Labor work is impossible for him, too. Shortly before Thanksgiving in 1954, Bucky notices for the first time that something is off. That he is -- wrong. When he asks for a job in a nearby factory, the boss asks him how he lost his arm. He doesn’t believe the war-story. “Look at you, you’re too young to have been in the war, son.”

That evening, Bucky stares into the mirror. The guy is right: He looks like he came home from Europe yesterday. He looks like a guy in his mid-20s, not like a man going on 40. His younger sister looks older now. There’s not a single white hair. There are no wrinkles. He drinks a whole bottle of whisky and tells himself he’s having excellent genes.

Shortly before Christmas, he gets a new job thanks to his brother-in-law and works as an accountant in the same shipping company as William Proctor.

1958 is both a joyful and terrible year. Becca gives birth to her first child after years of trying to get pregnant. Little Emily Sarah is the cutest thing on earth and Bucky loves her with every fiber of his being. He tries to ignore the women gushing at him ‘being such a young, handsome father’ when he takes her out for walks. He turned 40 two months ago. He should not look like this.

In late August, George Barnes dies. The doctor speaks of a heart attack. Bucky cries late at night, in his bed, when he doesn’t have to be the strong one anymore. He moves in with his mother again to support her -- so she can keep the apartment she lived in for nearly 45 years already, and so she has company and someone to watch over her. She, too, is getting older and frailer. Bucky could be her grandson, now, given his looks. When their old neighbor Mr. Lowenstein mentions this, Bucky cannot ignore it any longer. He calls Howard Stark.

The passage of time manifested itself in a lot of wrinkles in Stark’s face. That’s how a man his age should look like. That’s what Bucky wants to see when he’s standing in front of a mirror. Stark looks taken aback at his sight, then explains in great detail that he’s an engineer and usually doesn’t do biological stuff but he draws a vial of blood either way and looks at it under a microscope and then tells him that he could be mistaken but the last and only time he ever saw cells like Bucky’s was shortly after they shot Steve up with Erskine’s serum.

Bucky thinks of Zola and his countless injections and fire in his veins and pukes right across Stark’s workbench. Stark says there’s nothing he can do. That was Erskine’s area of expertise, not his. He really doubts Bucky is immortal but he will probably live to see his 150th birthday. Bucky could ask Zola, of course, Zola who’s working for S.H.I.E.L.D. now. But he’d rather cut his remaining arm off than ever seeing him again.

He doesn’t tell his mother nor his sister. He tries to live on as if nothing happened but it’s hard. He notices now that he heals way quicker than the average human being. He gets bonuses because he never calls in sick for work. On a sleepless night, he walks through Brooklyn and over to Manhattan and back to the docks for work and doesn’t feel tired at all. He’s----he’s like Steve now. Or rather, was since that factory in Kreischberg. He just chose to never notice.

He sees his mother age and little Emily Sarah grow up and his own face doesn’t change at all. Sometimes he wonders if everyone he knows is going to die and he will end up alone in this world. It’s a terrifying thought. More often than not he finds himself standing on the docks after work, staring into the muddy water. Steve is down there, too. A cold, dark grave. He wouldn’t want Bucky to off himself. He would be furious. That, and maybe whatever Zola did to his body would prevent him from dying, anyway. So Bucky thinks about it but never acts on it.

In January 1961, Winifred Barnes dies. Bucky, confused he doesn’t find his mother in the kitchen as usual in the morning, goes to check on her. She looks like she’s still sleeping but her hands are cold. Bucky sits down next to her for three hours and cries and hides his face in her neck that still smells like her. It’s only when his brother-in-law pounds on the front door because he didn’t turn up for work that Bucky gets up and calls his sister.

They bury their mother next to George Barnes. Bucky brings flowers every week.

One year later, shortly before the assassination of Kennedy, Howard Stark pops up out of nowhere, looking mad and excited. He talks a lot of gibberish Bucky doesn’t understand, but he gets the gist either way. Howard invented the prototype of a mechanical prosthesis that will work like a normal arm made of flesh and bone does. It’s absolutely batshit crazy. The surgery needed to implant the sensors of the arm into one’s brain will probably kill the test subject. Bucky agrees, anyway. First of all, he doesn’t mind dying. Sooner rather than later (which means in over 100 fucking years). Secondly, having only one arm sucks. He has gotten used to it, over the years, but it’s still crap. And, in the end, if Stark manages to develop a working prosthesis far superior to what they got now, all the other poor cripples will benefit, too.

Bucky doesn’t tell his sister because she would try to stop him. She’s mad as hell at him, though, and refuses to speak to him for one month when he comes back with a metal arm (because of course, he did not die). Emily Sarah thinks her uncle is absolutely amazing.

The arm is better than any prosthesis he had so far. It’s not a real arm but he doubts anything will be like the real thing. He keeps it covered up whenever he goes outside. According to Stark, there’s nobody else who would survive such extensive surgery. He puts the blueprints away for later generations. ‘Now is just not the time’, he says.

Then there’s another war. Bucky wonders why on earth the United States engage in whatever is happening in Vietnam. 20 years later and everyone seemed to have forgotten about Europe. They probably think now that there’s a wall dividing Germany and thus Eastern and Western countries, they have to do their bombing and shooting somewhere else. He’s getting more and more nightmares just reading the newspapers. Steve didn’t sacrifice his life so humans could fight on another continent. But nobody cares about Captain America anymore save perhaps for stupid comics and stupid movies and stupid biographies they want to interview Bucky for.

His mood, never back to being cheery and humorous after the war, turns even darker. There are no more mirrors in his apartment. He’s sick of seeing his young face. He knows Becca and her husband noticed, too, but they don’t say anything. Some ghosts you just cannot explain. Some ghost you just cannot understand if you didn’t see them yourself.

His only glimmer of hope is little Emily Sarah. He lets her dance on his feet. He lets her play with his metal arm. He picks her up from school if his job allows it. He tells her about a guy named Captain America he met in Europe who was really brave and heroic and saved them all. Those stories are her favorite. Unfortunately, she also notices the comics and thinks it’s absolutely hilarious that Captain America has a young friend whose name is also Bucky. Neither Bucky himself nor her parents tell her the truth.

Then, on a rainy day in April 1966, Bucky gets the worst message imaginable. Car accident. Slippery road. No survivors.

He breaks down when he has to pick a coffin small enough for a child.

He lays them to rest next to his parents. Carter is there, too. She puts a huge bouquet of lilies in front of the headstones and squeezes his arm. Her cheeks are wet. Bucky doesn’t thank her, cannot open his mouth because he fears he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming. She knows, though.

Bucky has to clear out his sister’s apartment the next day. When he stands in front of the big mirror in the main bedroom and sees his youthful face, chestnut hair, the skin free of wrinkles, he puts his fist through the glass. There’s a sharp-edged shard embedded in his wrist. He pulls it out and stares at the blood oozing out and then sits down and hopes.

Two hours later, the wound is scabbed over and the dizzy feeling has vanished. He takes the photos and other mementos and leaves the apartment.

Stark does not seem surprised to find Bucky visiting his Estate in Los Angeles. ‘I tried to, you know,’ he tells him. ‘To reverse the effects of that serum. But I did not succeed. Maybe smarter minds in the future will be able to.’

Bucky stares at him, feeling all the pain of the world settling on his shoulders. ‘I can’t wait that long. I can’t. Put a bullet through my head or reverse the effects, I don’t care.’

Stark is silent for a long time. Then he says: ‘Maybe there’s another option.’ And leads him down to the basement.

The thing that looks like an iron maiden from the Dark Ages is supposed to freeze a person like you’d put a piece of steak into the freezer for eating it later. Little does Bucky know that Howard’s idea for it comes from Arnim Zola himself. Having received a terminal diagnosis, there is absolutely no idea too crazy for Zola to extend his lifespan or survive until more advanced medicine will save him. Stark toyed with the idea himself. What if he would get sick? What if he wants to go to a future where he isn’t limited by his own time and state of research? He doesn’t tell Bucky any of that. He only says: ‘It might kill you. It will kill every normal human, that’s for sure. If you don’t die, though, maybe scientists can help you in the future.’

Bucky needs a week to take care of his belongings, money, and the apartment. He never felt more alive in the past 20 years than this week. He only keeps what reminds him of his family and Steve. It fits in two suitcases. He offers Stark all the money he’s got and the billionaire looks affronted. It’s probably only peanuts, for him. He takes it anyway, ‘to make investments. Gonna need money in the future, pal.’

Then, on a Sunday evening, Bucky unscrews the metal arm, undresses, and steps inside the tank-like machine. The metal is cold under his bare feet.

‘Do you really want to do that?’ Stark asks one last time. Bucky looks at him, all the tiredness of the world in his eyes. Then he closes his eyes. He doesn’t feel the cold at all.

#weaponizedembrace #ᴥ ;; au: to the future #(putting this under a read more bc otherwise I'd spam everyone's dash with 5 fucking pages of starter)#(rest my soul)#(this all wanted to get out)#(also)#suicide mention tw #(just to be on the safe side)#(he doesn't really attempt to but he thinks about it)#thread: to the future

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amandaoftherosemire · 5 years

Text

Bulletproof -- Part Seven

Fandom: Marvel/College AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader, Platonic!Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Gamora

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,357

Format: Series (Complete)

Warnings: Language, angst, sexual themes.

Summary: Gamora gives her opinion on your current plans. You and Bucky get together, just the two of you.

Banner by @hellzzzbelle

Part Six here

Part Seven

Based on the expression on Gamora's face when you entered, the kitchen floor had given you away. You were pretty sure you could have gotten around the rest as needing to wind down from a good night but scrubbing the kitchen floor by hand had been too much. Apparently Gamora thought so, too, as evidenced by her archly raised eyebrow as she lifted her gaze from the book in her lap.

"So," she said calmly, but with a dangerous kind of stillness, "what are you up to now?"

You opened your mouth without a clue as to what was going to come out when your phone vibrated in your hand. Steve:

Don't think for a single second that you're getting out of telling me what you're doing to Bucky. He looked fucking drunk when he walked in.

Your face spread in a pleased and wicked smile despite Gamora’s watchful gaze, but you knew you were going to give in there, at least a little. She was too observant, and you'd been too upset. You shot a quick text back, Sorry, Dad. I have to answer to Mom right now, before putting your phone in your pocket and shooting Gamora a winning smile.

"Funny you should ask," you replied as you walked forward to flop onto the love seat across from Gamora to tell her most of your thought process over the course of last night, this morning, and today.

You were only more certain you wanted to seduce Bucky after the day you'd spent together. You knew it could only be a one-time thing, because even going that far was going to break your heart. But since you also could not spend the rest of your life wondering about all the sparks you and Bucky constantly struck off one another, you were trying to minimize the damage as much as possible.

When you were done, Gamora sat staring at you in utter disbelief. It was an odd thing to see. Gamora had confided a lot about her life before you met her, telling you once that you'd been her first real friend. You knew her childhood had been not only deeply unhappy but also deeply weird. It was rare to surprise her.

"That is, hands down, the worst idea I have ever heard in my entire life."

Your voice was dry as the Sahara. "Come on, G, don’t sugarcoat it. Give it to me straight." You were a little insulted. Considering the things she'd told you about her father, you couldn't help it. The man had some seriously weird ideas and stupendously flawed math.

Gamora scowled and fixed you with her patented don't-fucking-start-with-me look. "You’re going to seduce Bucky." It wasn't a question so much as it was a wondering kind of disbelief. Now you were downright irritated. She only used that tone with Peter Quill and that dude was sometimes unbelievably stupid.

You pushed to your feet to pace, her attitude making you wonder if there was any way to get out of this situation even half alive; you didn't believe for a moment you were getting out of this unscathed. "To get him out of my system, yes." Gamora's expression shifted again, this time to one of exasperated disbelief. Infuriated by her attitude, you sneered. "Look, everybody wins here. He gets to have sex with me, which I know he’s wanted to for years, no strings attached. I get him out of my system, we stay friends, and I get to move on with my life."

Gamora tilted her head to the side, her voice softening. "And what about the fact that you’re in love with him?"

You stopped in your tracks, the quiet question cutting to the heart of everything wrong and yet inescapable about the situation. You carefully cleared your throat to make sure that the despair wasn't blatant in your voice. "What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him."

Gamora had grown up in a house where excellence was expected, and failure was swiftly and brutally punished. She was painfully attuned to the moods and emotions of others. She'd had to be; it was a matter of survival. You didn't fool her for a second. Her voice softened further. "It will hurt you. Why won’t you tell him? He’s as much in love with you."

You stared at Gamora for a moment, unable to answer, your throat locked closed in pain. Gamora was the best of friends. Loyal and quietly kind, she also had an amazing ability to cut to the core of the matter, to find what was important and sweep away the rest. You generally adored that about her.

Right now, however, you couldn't help but resent her a little for forcing you to face the ramifications of what you were doing. You dropped down onto the couch next to her, your eyes dry, but devastated. You'd promised yourself you'd never cry over Bucky Barnes ever again. You didn't intend to break that promise, regardless of how much it hurt. "He doesn’t believe he can be faithful," you replied finally, "and I can’t commit to a man who cheats. It’s as simple as that."

Gamora's surprisingly tender heart ached for you. She could hear the pain in your voice and would do almost anything to help, but she knew she could not save you from yourself. "I swear, it's like banging my head against a brick wall with you. How is anyone this stubborn?"

Your lips twitched, but you kept your expression and tone serious as you answered. "I grew up with Steve Rogers."

Gamora's lips twitched in return and she bobbed her head in a nod of acknowledgement for your point. The moment of levity passed quickly, and worry took over once more. "Please," she implored, setting her book aside and turning toward you on the couch, "since you listened to me about giving him another chance, listen to me again and talk to Bucky. Tell him how you feel."

Your head turned toward her with a grimace masquerading as a smile. "I don’t think I can, but I’ll think about it."

Gamora huffed out a breath and opened her arms. "Come here." Gamora's compassion always hit you harder than anything else, if only because it was so rare for her to let down her guard and show it. With a wry smile that was, if nothing else, a real smile, you scooted in and let her enfold you. Though you felt the sting of tears at the back of your eyes, none even dared approach your eyelids, let alone had the temerity to fall.

Though she was grateful you'd accepted her comfort, the rigidity of your body had Gamora staring with worried eyes over your bowed head.

The following Friday morning, you sat at Steve’s kitchen counter while he made you breakfast, something that had become a routine since you started sitting for his art project. Swinging your legs around the stool you sat on, you bounced in your seat, delighted by Steve's news.

He'd spent most of this morning's sitting telling you all about his last week texting with Peggy, beaming and pink as his pencil flew easily. He was working on your form that morning, so you were allowed to beam back at him. You did so with gusto, delighted that they’d hit it off so well.

Steve was only a passable cook, but he was getting better. He’d almost succeeded at making you an omelet this morning, and when the school year had started he could barely boil pasta. You'd been happy to serve as both his guinea pig and cheerleader as he learned how the kitchen worked, unsurprised when he quickly got the hang of the basics. Steve's old-fashioned manners fooled some people into thinking he was simple, but his demeanor hid an agile and capable brain.

Steve was blushing rosy red as he set cheesy scrambled eggs and toast in front of you. “We’re meeting for drinks tonight,” he said quietly, his face crimson as he turned back to the coffee maker to grab the pot.

You paused in the act of raising a forkful of eggs to your mouth, having dug in immediately, starved and certain Steve had succeeded at making the eggs delicious, regardless of their form. "Really?" Your shoulders dropped and your expression shifted to full 'awwww' mode. Your free hand came up to your mouth so that you could bite your fist and quietly scream.

Steve turned around with a confused, yet amused, expression. He opened his mouth as though he was going to speak, then closed it, breathing out through his nose with an exasperated affection. He took a sip of his coffee while you shoveled in eggs. You'd been right; they were delicious.

"Did you just squee?" he asked finally, the laugh in his voice contagious and making you snicker around a mouthful.

"Yes!" you cried before you'd finished chewing and swallowing, dying with impatience at the delay. Quickly downing what you had in your mouth, you continued. “You guys are adorable.”

Steve groaned in laughing disgust at the sight of you talking with your mouth full. He shook his head at your cheerfully taunting smile as he retorted. “How would you know? You took off after five minutes.”

Demurely, as though you had never been crass in your life, let alone in the last sixty seconds, you patted your lips with your napkin. “I have an active and creative imagination. I can extrapolate with enough data.” At Steve’s snort, you fixed him with a haughty stare and went back to your breakfast, this time delicately to match your demeanor. “And it was more like ten minutes. Where are you guys meeting?”

Steve sipped at coffee and wondered how you could sound like you were interrogating him even as you grinned like a madwoman. "Howlie’s," he answered.

"That’s an okay start," you considered, "but if things are going well after you’ve had a couple drinks, you should ask her to dinner and take her somewhere nicer."

Even as his lips twitched, Steve's eyebrows were lifting at your bossy tone. "What's wrong with Howlie's?"

"Nothing," you shrugged as you bit into your toast, continuing around the bite, "as long as you get there early so she doesn't have to wait for you. It works for casual but it’s kind of a meat market on Fridays."

Steve was about to retort when your last statement struck him. "You may be right. It is one of Bucky's favorite places."

"Exactly my point."

Steve laughed before catching sight of the time. "Shit, I better hit the shower or I'm gonna be late to class." He drank the rest of his coffee down and set the cup in the sink.

"Stop by tonight before you head out. I need to approve your outfit."

Steve stopped on his way out of the kitchen to shoot you an annoyed sneer. "You know, I have been on dates before. I am capable of dressing myself."

You didn't respond, merely fixed him with a blank expression and a slow blink.

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll see you later."

A half an hour later, Steve had already bolted, hair still wet and grin flashing. You were finishing your coffee and doing some of your reading on your phone before you headed back to your place when the sound of the apartment door opening startled you. When Bucky walked into the kitchen, following the smell of fresh coffee, you had hidden your pounding heart behind a calm façade, sipping and scrolling.

The sight of you sitting at his counter both thrilled and annoyed Bucky. Thrilled because the sight of you always thrilled him, but annoyed because you were once again wearing that damn robe. He hated that robe, fascinated with what you may or may not have on underneath it and obsessed with why you so often wore it when you and Steve were alone together. "So," he said as he walked to the cupboard over the coffeepot and pulled a cup down, "do you wear clothes when you come over anymore?" He turned to wiggle his eyebrows at you, but irritation rang in his voice. "Not that I’m complaining."

You frowned at him, confused by his changed attitude since you'd last seen him, a long warm smile in the hallway the night before. "Do you ever go to class?" you asked mildly, avoiding the question. You still weren't sure you wanted Bucky to know about the project until it was over.

Bucky scowled into his coffee. He couldn't help but wonder if you were here because he wasn't supposed to be. "It was cancelled; prof's out sick. I hope Steve was a gentleman and made that for you." He nodded toward the demolished eggs and toast on the plate in front of you.

"Well, he owed me." You were considering telling him the truth. You figured no one else would enjoy the story of your and Steve's initial discomfort with your nudity more than Bucky. And you hated keeping secrets, especially now that you and Bucky were reconciling.

Then his lips twisted in what looked like jealousy and you recoiled from the vulnerability. "I bet," he sneered and the mocking eyebrow he lifted in your direction had you baffled. "More coffee?"

Your lip curled in disgust even as you held out your half empty cup. "Don't be gross." You didn't know if Bucky was joking but the implication that Steve had made you breakfast because you fucked him was ruining that breakfast as it sat in your stomach.

Bucky frowned in confusion at you even as he refilled your coffee from the pot. Once more he was lost and unsure how to find his way. Then your face softened with affection and he remembered that he didn't care about anything but having you back, no matter what.

You set down your cup and got to your feet. Without hesitation, you crossed to him and slid your arms around his waist to rest your head on his shoulder. "You're looking sad again, Bucky-bug."

Bucky could not stop himself from wrapping his arms tight around you. He loved the feel of your body against his; he could not deny himself anything you offered freely. His body curved around you, his head bent over yours as he took comfort in the warmth of you. Clearing his throat, he answered flippantly. "I just need a cold beer and a willing woman, sugar." You smiled to yourself and turned your face into his chest, rubbing your nose in the skin at the base of his throat. "Maybe I'll hit Howlie's tonight." Bucky was now having trouble keeping his thoughts straight, the soft feel of your nose and lips against his skin scrambling his brains. With an effort, he dragged back the memory of his damned best friend. "You and Steve have plans?"

"No," you murmured against his skin, your breath raising goosebumps, "Steve's busy tonight. I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet."

Bucky's arms tightened around you reflexively at the thought that he could have you all to himself. "You wanna come with me, be my wingwoman?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of them.

You tilted your head back and smiled sweetly into Bucky's stunned face. "Maybe I will. Shoot me a text before you head out?"

He knew he was playing with fire. He knew he should care. "You got it."

That evening, Bucky mounted the stairs to his apartment with his heart galloping in either anticipation or apprehension. Maybe both. Even as his heart raced, so too did his mind, confusion warring with a newfound freedom. He had you to himself tonight. He wasn't going to waste it.

Steve, apparently, had a date.

Bucky couldn’t figure out how he felt about it. His face and neck felt hot and chills were running up and down his spine. Was this relief? Was this rage?

He'd run into Steve on the street, the other man obviously carefully dressed in tan slacks and a bright blue shirt that you'd given him for Christmas because you said the color would bring out his eyes. You'd been right, but those eyes had also been bright with an excitement Bucky had never seen before. Whoever this girl was, she'd clearly knocked Steve for a loop.

But when he rounded the corner and spotted you sitting on the floor with your back against his door, he knew for certain how he felt. Righteous.

Look at you, he thought, in one of those sundresses you wore that made Bucky grateful for spring every damn year. Your hair was off your neck and your shoulders were bare and all Bucky could think about was pressing his lips to the tempting curve of your collarbone. He knew it was weird, but he'd always thought you had the prettiest shoulders.

How the fuck could Steve look elsewhere when you were right here? You lifted your head from where it rested against the door to lift the bottle that dangled from your fingers to your lips. Your eyes opened and warmed when you spotted him standing at the top of the stairs. Your face shone in a sparkling smile and Bucky decided to hell with Steve. He’d had his chance.

He couldn’t believe his best friend was wearing the shirt YOU gave him to a date with another woman. Bucky was done, wasn’t going to stand aside any longer. If you wanted him, he was yours.

Bucky didn’t know it, but the half-smile lifting that perfectly sculpted cheek was making your underwear damp. So perfectly wicked and astonishing in its ability to communicate, it told you that Bucky was in a reckless mood tonight. You could almost see the heated fantasies in his eyes.

Perfect. You were in an edgy, reckless mood yourself.

"What are you doing out here, babygirl?" The timbre of Bucky's voice took on a whole new tone on the familiar pet name. Hungry and rich with promise, it matched the heat of his eyes as they devoured your neckline, snagging again on the opal you'd put on that night with a wicked smile of your own.

"I'm an idiot." You didn't get to your feet as Bucky approached, but held your hand out for his. He took his cue and helped you to your feet. "I locked myself out of my apartment when I walked down to the store for pre-game beer." You weren't technically lying. You had locked your keys in the apartment. You knew because you'd had your eye on them hanging next to the door when you’d locked and closed it. "I'll give you one if I can come hang out in your place while you get ready."

When Bucky had pulled you to your feet, you'd come face to face and surprisingly close to him. He didn't immediately back off, and the warmth of his body had your skin heating in response. "Of course, you can," he replied as he stepped aside to put his key into the lock at your back. You eased out of the way to follow him in.

Once inside, you set the two six-packs of bottles and your purse on the coffee table and flopped onto the couch with a sigh. "Shit," you laughed. "I didn’t realize how tired I am until I sat down somewhere comfortable."

Bucky had dumped his bag in the corner of the room, determined to ignore everything but you from here until sunup. He snagged a beer and dropped to the couch next to you as he twisted off the top. Laying his head along the back and slumped down, he reminded you so much of when you were younger, when you'd first started to fall in love with him and thought there was a chance. Your heart twisted a little and you wondered if you should listen to Gamora and just talk to Bucky about everything.

Bucky saw the sadness around your eyes and wondered if you knew what kind of plans Steve had tonight. He hated the idea that you might be hurting. Bucky was determined ; if Steve and his mystery lady were going to be at Howlie's, you and Bucky wouldn't be. "Do you want to stay in tonight?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth his stomach tightened in anticipation and forced him to acknowledge that he had an ulterior motive for staying behind closed doors alone with you. So the fuck what? "Watch Disney movies, like old times?"

Your eyes softened and Bucky knew he'd made the right call, regardless of his selfish reasons for doing so. You'd always been the sort that needed quiet time with those you cared about, needed to connect more than a casual breakfast allowed with those that were most important to you. Offering that quiet time was the best thing he could have done to make you happy. "I thought you were after a cold beer and a willing woman," you teased softly.

Bucky grinned. "We have the cold beer." Contrary to what you expected, instead of taking the obvious set up and flirting back, his smile turned sweet. "And why would I settle for someone else when I’ve got my girl?"

You couldn't speak for a moment, because it sounded like Bucky was speaking the absolute truth, that he'd rather be with you than anywhere else. For the first time, against your better judgement, you started to have a little hope. "Lilo and Stitch?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, but affectionately, like he couldn't believe how dumb you were to even ask. "Like we’d start with anything else." You had called Bucky your Stitch for about three months after seeing the movie for the first time and hearing the line, "This is your Badness Level. It's unusually high for someone your size." Bucky leaned away to rummage in the end table next to him. Pulling out a stack of delivery menus, he fanned them out and offered them to you like he expected you to pick a card. "When are you going to be able to get back in?"

You laughed and grabbed for the one with the logo for your favorite pizza place. "Whenever Gamora comes home." You shrugged and gave him a questioning look. You knew he'd never throw you out, which is why you were engaged in the little 'locked-out' deception in the first place, but you figured you'd cover your bases. "Since I thought we were going out, I told her to take her time."

Bucky was relieved. He had you all to himself for hours. He was hoping for a chance to talk to you about everything that had happened. "You're more than welcome to stay as long as you like, doll."

At the pet name you most often heard out of Bucky for women he was hitting on, you lifted an amused brow. "Doll?" You weren't entirely certain what it meant, as you'd always assumed he called women 'doll' when he couldn't remember their name but still wanted in their pants. Your lips twitched and you said exactly what you were thinking. "Are you trying to fuck?"

Bucky's eyes widened. He'd internally cringed the moment the word had left his mouth. He'd never called you 'doll'. But now that he was allowing his thoughts to follow that path, his muscle memory had kicked in and he'd talked to you the way he'd hit on anyone else. Trust you to call him out on it. After a beat of shock, he tossed his head back and roared with laughter.

"For that," you said, as you pulled your phone out of your pocket, "I'm getting olives on the pizza."

Bucky's laughter half-morphed into gagging sounds as you pushed him off the couch with your bare foot.

Two demolished pizzas, most of a bag of mini donuts, Lilo and Stitch, and half of Tangled later, you were laying on the couch with your calves across Bucky's lap. His flesh arm was laying across the back of the couch, but his metal hand was resting on your leg, his thumb tracing dizzying circles into your skin. You could hardly believe how enticing that little motion was, but you were enjoying the slow burn so much you opted not to acknowledge it, wondering. How long could you stand it? How long without a response before he stopped? Did he even notice he was doing it?

You were keeping it light, chatting, joking, riffing on the movie, and it was everything you'd ever wanted. You'd never admit it out loud, but that's all you'd ever really dreamed of, to spend your life with your best friend. Not just the big moments, but the little ones, too. You wanted him for the everyday, the quiet times, the easy evenings at home with an old movie. You shivered and your throat tightened. Your heart aching, but for the first time truly hoping, you opened your mouth to speak.

Bucky noticed the shiver and asked, turning to you with a concerned look. "You want me to close the window?"

Your heart kicked oddly, a mixture of melting and racing and you pushed up into a sitting position but didn't move your legs from his lap. You smiled a little, your eyes soft. "Nah, I like the air."

The expression on your face had Bucky's heart skipping a beat. More than just heat, he realized there was warmth here. Maybe he could be better for you than Steve. Evidently Steve thought someone else could be better for him than you. He was welcome to her. Bucky would do whatever was needed to be the best goddamn consolation prize of all fucking time for you.

"Come here." His voice was gruff and raspy with what sounded like desire, but you thought you heard an undercurrent of bitterness to it. The sound destroyed what little courage you had and closed your voice in your throat.

Bucky pulled you close, wrapping his flesh arm around your bare shoulders and turning to tuck you against his chest. Feeling vulnerable, trying to figure out whether or not you wanted to risk talking to Bucky before you'd had a chance to give him a test drive, you snuggled in and let him warm you. "God, I missed you, babygirl." Bucky's voice was a low rumble, rich with an emotion you weren't sure you could name but sounded painfully familiar.

You didn't realize your voice matched his, as well as the one that whispered in your heart, when you answered. "I missed you, too, Bucky." His breath shuddered out. The sound of your voice had his heart leaping, but he wasn't sure why. He took his courage in both hands and asked the question he needed the answer to more than any other.

"Why did we stop being friends?"

Bucky cursed himself when your body went rigid and you slowly but inexorably pulled out of his arms to lean casually against the arm of the couch. He wanted to hold on, to comfort you until you were soft and relaxed against him once more. Only the look on your face stopped him.

Cold and tight, you answered with a disdainfully lifted brow and a slight sneer. "We're really gonna do this?" Bucky hated the look on your face, reminded of all the times you'd given him that look over the last couple years. Instead of letting you turn him away with the hard-eyed bitch he'd come to realize hid his girl away from him, he took the fidgety hand picking at the hem of your skirt, recognizing the woman he loved there.

You didn't want to think about it, didn't want to let it matter anymore. You tried to hold against the puppy-dog eyes he was giving you and asked a little more harshly than you meant, "Really?" He flinched, so slightly you wouldn't have noticed had you not been searching his face so intently, and you felt like a monster.

You gave in without any further fight, unable to deny him when he looked at you like that. You'd become able to withstand the patented Bucky Barnes puppy look, but you weren't totally immune. "Alright," you said, and Bucky frowned at the defeated warning in your voice. He understood when your lip curled in an expression so shockingly bitter he began to truly comprehend the depths of your anger with him. "Because I spent a week in the hospital, and you didn't even send me a fucking card."

Bucky's jaw dropped. Whatever he had expected, this had not been it. "Steve said you didn't want to see me." He answered without thinking, telling you the absolute truth. He had also been so ashamed of his behavior at the party you'd both been to the night before, where you’d walked in on him and someone else, he had taken the reprieve without complaint. The look of utter disgust in Steve's eyes when he'd coldly informed Bucky that he would not be allowed in to see you under any circumstances did the rest.

"I did not." Your voice was haughty, but he took comfort in the fact that you had not removed your hand from his. He toyed with your fingers, pleased to find them still relaxed as you went on. "I was already a little pissed at you when I woke up and everyone but you was there. Then they finally find you passed out in some bimbo's bed? Call me a drama queen, but I was feeling kind of bitchy."

Bucky opened his mouth to defend himself, but when he considered how he'd have felt had the situation been reversed, he'd have been heartbroken. He understood for the first time that you'd been pissed because he betrayed your friendship, not because he'd slept with someone else. He couldn't defend it. He closed his mouth and dropped his head, ashamed that he'd let you down, angry that he'd been such a coward.

You were a little taken aback to see the immediate understanding swiftly followed by remorse that flickered across Bucky's face. Pain flashed in his eyes as his gaze dropped to your hand where his thumbs were tracing gentle circles over the back. Your heart softened, as did your voice, though the hurt was clear for the first time even as you shrugged. "It's not like I said you were dead to me. I didn't see you for fucking weeks." Finally, you'd voiced the question you'd needed answered for years. Why had it been so fucking easy to push him away?

"Steve wouldn't let me!" It was true. He'd tried and failed at least a dozen times to sneak around your guard to check on you himself. He'd been nearly frantic, needing desperately to see you safe and sound with his own eyes but those who loved you had circled the wagons and didn't give a shit at that time about what he needed. He had been informed that you were okay and recovering and that would have to be enough, already.

Which is why the politely doubtful tone to your voice, rich with mockery and oozing with skepticism, "And you tried extra super hard, I'm sure," fired his temper.

He squeezed your hand, and the seriousness of his demeanor had the mocking sneer you wore fading slowly from your face. "You didn't see him. Even if," Bucky spoke sternly, "and trust me, that's a big if, even if I had gotten through Steve, Gamora and Natasha were right behind him." He scoffed a little. "God himself couldn't have made it through all three of them."

You nodded an acknowledgement of his point. All three had been very protective of you for several months after your little Jameson's adventure. Not only because of what had happened with Bucky, but because of the guy who'd helped you get so inebriated. They'd basically wrapped you in bubble wrap until… "And I tried. I didn't stop trying until I saw you myself."

Until you'd run into Bucky for the first time since you'd walked in on him fucking Gina in the laundry room during the house party where you'd had all the Jameson's. He had been walking up the stairs with some new bimbo under his arm as you'd been walking down. It had been long enough that the memory of his face in that moment was almost comical. You hoped someday it would be.

"And after that?" You turned your head and looked at Bucky for the first time. You saw the memory of that meeting in his eyes, along with pain, shame, remorse. In yours he found coldness harsh enough that his heart went faint at the sight, afraid he'd lost you by not being able to let go of the past, but he saw the hurt beneath the ice. It gave him the courage to answer with the truth.

"Cowardice. Guilt." Bucky lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the back. "You of all people deserved better from me."

You couldn't speak for a moment, utterly stunned by Bucky's answer. You'd never expected him to so thoroughly validate your hurt and anger. You had no idea how to respond. "I see."

Bucky's eyes lifted to yours and you found in his face so much more than you'd ever thought you'd get out of a conversation like this. Someday, after all of this was behind you and you weren't nursing the inevitable broken heart, you'd tell him that this was the moment you promised yourself you'd never let Bucky out of your life again no matter what it cost you. Then he was speaking again, and your heart was stumbling and hoping again. "It may be too late now, but if I had it to do over again, I’d change almost everything. I’m so sorry, babygirl."

You couldn’t speak, unable to decide exactly what to do or say now that you’d had this conversation. You were paralyzed, unable to let go of either hope or fear, when you saw it.

Bucky was retreating from you. He'd done that a thousand times in the last couple years, but you'd never really recognized it for what it was. He was offering a little of himself and when you didn't respond, he withdrew. His hand relaxed and you understood he was about to drop your hand and pull away. Reflexively, your hand tightened around his. "There’s no such thing as too late for us," you said, and the complete conviction in your tone, the fierceness of your expression had Bucky's smile flashing.

You grinned back and for a moment there was nothing between you, no yesterdays, no tomorrows. Only you and he existed in this endless moment, this singular eternity. You wanted now, and only now, wanted to climb into the moment with Bucky and try to never leave it. You wanted to pretend that you could.

"Tell me something, Bucky-bug," you said, your voice a sultry whisper as you turned toward him, lifting your hand to his shoulder to push him back into the couch. Confused, he didn't resist, but his eyes widened as you threw a leg over his lap and settled kneeling against him. "Is that why you never tried to fuck me? You felt guilty?"

You slid your hands into his hair and Bucky wasn't thinking straight anymore. He put his hands on your thighs, and no matter what his intentions were, as soon as he did his fingers were digging in. "No, I…"

You brought your mouth to within a breath of his. "Or did you not want me?" The pout on your lips and in your voice had Bucky's cock twitching against where you were pressed against him. He was hard as a rock and there was no denying he wanted you now, regardless of whether he had before.

Bucky's hands tightened and he shifted, rubbing against you, making your eyelids flutter. He'd never been so turned on in his life and he hadn't even kissed you yet. "I've always wanted you. I could be dead a year and still want you. The only thing I wouldn’t change was the night I finally got a taste of you. But you deserve more than-" He was babbling and cut off abruptly with a groan when you rocked your hips against him in a slow twist.

"Don't you think I deserve what I want?" You asked the question against his ear, thoroughly enjoying having Bucky at your mercy. You'd never known he'd be this easy, or that it'd be this much fun. He seemed to want you more than anyone ever had in your entire life, to hear him say it, to tell you he'd always wanted you, was intoxicating.

Bucky shuddered at the sensation of your breath on his neck, already drowning in you and cheerfully going under for the third time. His hands had made their way up to your hips and he was turned his face, nuzzling his nose and lips against yours in a way so sweetly seductive, your heart sighed a little even as you trembled with desire. "What do you want, babygirl?" he asked in a voice throbbing with longing, singing with promise.

You pulled back to smile playfully at Bucky, only to feel your heart stumbling again at the look of starstruck wonder on his face. He looked like all his dreams were coming true. You wanted to believe he didn't look at other women like that, but that was why you couldn't. You tucked your heart away, determined to enjoy the next couple of hours to the hilt. You'd already prepared to pay for it.

Your lips curved in the sexiest smile Bucky had ever seen. It was the kind of smile that could lure a sailor to his death, he thought. That smile made the next words out of your mouth the most exciting he'd ever heard. "What do ya got?"

Part Eight here

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girlbookwrm · 6 years

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i DO recommend these fics, but this ISN’T actually a rec list

a while ago i did a meta about Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier and Hydra and the headcanons I put in The Terror of Knowing, and I mentioned that I wanted to compile a long-ass list of fics that inspired The Hundred Year Playlist and ppl (hi @conlatio and @marveluc) asked about it SO HERE, AT LONG FUCKING LAST, IT IS.

Fanfiction, like every other art form that has ever existed in the history of ever, is all about synthesis: combining pre-existing elements to make something new. It’s the making something new thing that’s exciting. (If you’re not making something new with your found material, that’s called plaigiarism and it’s distinctly uncool.)

When I was in college and grad school, if we used material from other scholars to make a new idea, we made sure to include a bibliography.

Now this is fic, so like. Everyone knows that we’re using found material. We put the fandom in the tags and everything. But there’s a lot of unseen inspiration, because it’s harder to tag all the fics and metas you read that gave you ideas and inspiration along the way.

I’m... making an attempt.

These are some, SOME of the fics that inspired the headcanons and characterizations and whatnot that then got incorporated into THYP. I’ve been reading MCU fic since 2014 (possibly earlier) and I didn’t even start thinking about THYP until 2017, so there’s probably a lot of stuff that went into my subconscious that I’ve forgotten about. I’m @ing the authors and sources when I know them, but if any of yall want me to like, un-@you (is that a thing??) or if any of you know of authors who have tumblrs that I DIDN’T @ but should have, pls let me knoooowwww

A (Probably Incomplete, but at least Attempted) Fanfic Bibliography for The Hundred Year Playlist

by Seriously I Don’t Have More Important Things To Do? Astonishing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS IN THE FICS THEMSELVES. THYP may be rated T for Teen (and even that I debate about tbh, given all the swears and violence) but most of these fics are very emphatically not. some of them will probably squick you out, some of them might be triggering, so take care of yourselves.

I’ve divided the list into sections by the story they inspired, but all of these stories inspired all the parts of THYP, this is a very very very rough categorization. Think of it as my fanfic n headcanon spice rack. some stories are going to have more or less of one spice or another.

Dreamers With Empty Hands

All the Angels and the Saints by @cesperanza

"You're a brutal person, you know that? You're always rummaging through my guts with your bare hands!" and then Bucky turned away, his long, muscled back curving as he sat on the edge of the bed, hunched and struggling for breath. Steve wanted to draw him, and he also wanted to blot the image from his memory: this picture of Bucky in despair.

Speranza’s Socialist Steve is deeply flawed in a way that people don’t usually write him and i love it so much??? He’s angry, and egotistical, and righteous in a way that’s hard on the people around him and I was like YESGOOD MORE PLS. It’s also a masterful example of how to write a story that’s ostensibly Steve-POV but still manages to make Bucky not only a main player, but a driving force. It’s about Steve, on the surface, sure. But it’s also about Bucky, because Steve is about Bucky and I just *clenches fist* love it.

cascades.

This fic. THIS FIC. Hngh. Okay so this fic is good on so many levels, but for THYP, the takeaway was me very gently lifting the Bucky-Steve-Barnes Family dynamic and then adding more swears to get to my take on the Bucky-Steve-Barnes Family Dynamic. Namely:

“Steve was a bit of a Barnes, too, wasn’t he,” she says.

“He was ours,” says Rebecca, shrugging. “We were his.”

i crie???

More Man Than You

“You’re very pretty,” she said, and Steve tensed up.

“I’m not a fairy.”

“No, you’re not, are you?”

this fic has a study guide. and that’s literally all I feel I need to say about it. It’s an exploration of queer culture and masculinity in the 30s and 40s, thinly veiled as stucky fanfiction. (It’s also pretty brutal so I’ll reiterate that you need to heed the goddamn warnings)

Also, lest yall think I came up with Billy Thompson in a vacuum, I didn’t. In this fic, there’s a violent mob runner called Duke, and Steve comes up with a plan to take him down, and Bucky makes sure that there’s a Different plan that Steve doesn’t know about. It’s all executed a little differently in this fic, but the idea lodged in my brain and got reused in THYP, and kind of became a central theme.

Good Morning Heartache, What’s New?

The Night War by @praximeter

IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THIS WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE. This is... honestly, just one of the finest pieces of fiction i just

HNNNNGH

I don’t know that I can point to any specific part of this fic and say “this gave me that idea” it was more the... the feel of it. The way the Normandy invasion is written and the way the trauma is handled and the way Steve is just slightly to the left of being a real soldier and especially this:

He asked me with a smile on his face what goes through my mind when I line up my shot—God and country? Pearl Harbor? Uncle Sam? —and I stared at him struck dumb from the question so long that I think he thought I was just plain stupid. The fact is that it is none of those things—not even close. It is sick, numb fear and careful, barely breathing so that I don’t miss. I must never miss. And then when I shoot, an awful thought curls up from my trigger finger to my heart “how many mothers must be praying I will miss?”

The Thirteen Letters

oh you didn’t really think that Not Easily Conquered wasn’t going to be on this list, didja? OF COURSE IT’S ON THE LIST. But possibly not for the reason you might think. That fic is legen-fucking-dary of course, and the scene where Steve gets stabbed was obviously very inspirational for that bit in GMHWN where Steve gets shot in the thigh, but the scene that really got teeth into my brain and Would Not Let Go was the one where the Howlies meet the Winged Victory of Samothrace and

Bucky knows the truth now. It is a deep and insurmountable truth. She has no face. Like the operative whose head he beat in, like the boy who he killed one month into active duty, even like Bucky himself, Nike is faceless. Bucky feels unprepared, or like he should have brought an offering.

Beside him Steve quakes before the oldest and the only god.

look my fixation with statues didn’t come from nowhere is what i’m saying ok

Sincerely, Your Pal

This fic haunts me because i hate the ending. not because it’s not good (It IS good) or because it’s not the right ending for the story (it IS the right ending for the story) but just because i h a t e i t. I just like happy endings is all, and resolutions, and this fic is why THYP will have a happy ending.

But also, I really liked the way this fic dealt with Bucky in Basic and lines like this really caught in my brain:

And of course I want to kill some Nazis I guess but not because they’re people. Not because I actually want people to die because I don’t.

And that sentiment definitely fed into how I write Bucky especially.

The Terror of Knowing

there must have been a moment by @redstarwhitestar (magdaliny’s marvel sideblog)

Listen, I’ve been trying to make sure that there’s a good spread of writers on this list but magdaliny is the exception. Magdaliny is the exception for a lot of things and there must have been a moment when we could have said no is always the first fic I think of when I think of a fic about Bucky’s time as the Soldier. Which is ironic, because it’s very much about his time after that, but that first chapter made uhhhhhhhhhhh an impression.

The fractured nature of the narrative, the way that the reader can piece together a coherent timeline but the main character can’t... that was very influential on TTOK. example:

“Kill him,” the officer says.

The subject says: “Why?”

☙

“Kill him,” the officer says.

The subject makes a mess.

☙

“Kill him cleanly,” the officer says. “Good! Good lad.”

I’ll build a house inside of you

Another magdaliny G I F T, an AU where Nat is much younger and Bucky is her dad, and if you think that didn’t affect the way I write Bucky and Nat’s relationship in THYP, then you are dreaming.

Past the praises of the handlers, above the hot wet smell of cordite and blood, Natalia can hear crashing and shouting down the hall.

“—goddamn animals, they're little girls, they're just kids, you fucking—”

Her father screams in English, in Mandarin, in Russian, and then he just screams.

I know that’s a super sad excerpt but listen and hear me when I say this fic is actually really good and wholesome and it’s got A+++ OCs and All The Widows and it’s just really good ok

Memory

Bucky is hard AF to write and very few people write him half so well as magdaliny but one of those people is emilyenrose and this fic is M A S T E R F U L. Bittersweet and achingly perfect. It contains this beautiful moment that really stuck with me, where Steve is comparing the post WS “James” to the Pre War “Bucky” and realizes...

He truly hadn't known James all that well. James hadn't let him. Hadn't wanted him to. Hadn't wanted anyone near him, ever—

—the way Bucky went, when he was miserable, when he was angry...

and that, to me, was kind of key when I went on to write the Soldier, because the Soldier IS Bucky, even when he isn’t.

Fool For Sacrifice

Dona Nobis Pacem

THIS GODDAMN FIC came to me outta FUCKING NOWHERE, I’d already written the first draft for FFS, I’d already started posting it, for crying out loud. And then all of a sudden I stumble upon THIS and i just

It’s already fading, just hours after the skirmish. And the wounds Sam stitched will heal without a mark. And the welts on Steve’s chest will disappear. Like all of it never happened.

Fuck the serum. He keeps thinking it, saying it. Maybe if there were some goddamn scars, it’d be easier to process the damage.

This fic is heavy af, it’s like the 65k word version of That Chapter in FFS Where Steve Hits Rock Bottom. This was the fic I read when I was ramping myself up to tackle That Moment

three white horses

This is the other fic I read to ramp up for That Scene, and I think that probably shows in the way I wrote it. It is also is a Strong Contender for the title of Heavyweight Fic That Convinced Me Buck Is Jewish. Honestly I cannot praise this fic enough.

I think the thing that stuck hardest about the Steve in three white horses is the way he feels ghostly himself, like he’s only drifting through the present, and somehow most of his living happens in the past. It’s very beautifully done, and very subtly done, and it’s my go to fic if I am in Dire Need of a Good Clean Crie.

It’s getting an extra long excerpt because This Is My List And Neither God Nor Man Can Stop Me.

Steve's fingers touch metal when he reaches into the second-to-last box, and he feels the blood drain out of his face even before he's looked down. He knows the feel of it too well. He'd know it blind, a hundred years from now. It's Bucky's not-a-medal.

It'd been Bucky's grandfather's, or maybe his great-grandfather's, made of the kind of sterling silver that tarnishes if you look at it funny, so Bucky had always been polishing it; he'd traded cigarettes to the mess staff for baking soda and vinegar, during the war, but the thing was still soot-black half the time, like it is now. It'd been a fool's errand, wearing a thing like that in Axis territory, but Bucky'd worn it on his chain like the rest of the guys wore their Christophers and Michaels, and HYDRA'd ignored it. It was a subtle thing, though: nothing like wearing a Magen David, or the implacable H on Bucky's tags, just a thin slice of metal with a stylized branch and an oblique squiggle Steve only knows is the Hebrew word for life because Bucky told him so.

Bucky'd had a curious mix of reverence and irreverence about it, the same mixture that seemed to colour the whole of his religious life. He'd teased Steve sometimes, saying, “No, wait, you gotta kiss it before you enter the building, you schmuck, what are you, some kinda heathen?” with his legs around Steve's waist. Bucky hadn't complained when Steve had carried on with an inch of silver between his teeth, but Steve had offhandedly called it Bucky's good luck charm once, and Bucky'd blown up; it's not a superstition, he said, it's not a fucking amulet. He'd apologized later, and he'd explained, and said it was a touchy subject, just ingrained. Jews weren't supposed to believe in luck. Bucky'd thought maybe it was the opposite: maybe luck didn't believe in Jews.

Sparked Up Like a Book of Matches

AH YES, THE FIC THAT TAUGHT ME ABOUT LIL AUDREY JOKES. SIPPY CUPS OF SUPERBOOZE! A ROBOT CALLED SHITCAN!! WHAT MORE COULD YOU NEED IN A FIC??? I really like the way it addresses Steve being in the future is all

This one could probably also fall into the list of fics that inspired DWEH, in part because of This, which stuck with me Hard and heavily influenced the opening:

“...You ever have scarlet fever?"

Sam shakes his head.

"It starts in your throat, like an itch, and as your fever starts to climb, your tongue swells up and turns white and that's when they know, really, even before the rash, that it's scarlet fever. You can't swallow, it hurts so much. You're freezing and your joints ache and your fever keeps spiking and you start to hallucinate. I, uh, I thought things were crawling on me and there were voices that I didn't recognize whispering things that didn't make any sense. My mom had to fight me just to get me to drink broth, but I threw it up most of the time, anyway. Then I got pneumonia from being so worn down from the scarlet fever and I was so lucky, Sam. Nobody seems to understand how I lucky I was to make it through. Talking to people today, to make them understand I'd have to tell them I survived bird flu only to fall sick with Ebola."

listen. For reasons I can’t fully explain, I really wanted to read that happening so i wrote it, and this is what being a writer is All About.

Actually, on a second thought, I might be able to explain it: it’s because an experience like that is Capital F Formative, and I really wanted to explore how there’s a tiny sick kid rattling around inside Captain Beefcake’s souped up bod.

(And an additional shoutout to Steve Rogers’ American Captain, a webcomic that now exists only in the Wayback Machine, but which was L O V E L Y and I sincerely hope that the artist knows that)

No Hope for the Weary

Strays

This fic? is so fluffy?? Like literally so fluffy. But this fic (and, obviously, Infinite Coffee) were very much behind the inclusion of the God Damn Starbucks, and also the source of a lot of my headcanons about Barnes & Rogers: Secret Millennials. For Example: Bucky’s Notes on How To Be A Millennial:

- Lots of coffee. Travel mugs or paper cups from Starbucks place. Often looks guilty for drinking, obv derive pleasure from doing so. Unknown as to why. Investigate further? Why is there one every two blocks if no one wants it there?

Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail

This is another fandom classic that needs very little introduction. A+ characterization, A+ OCs, Utterly Charming from start to finish, and the originator of a very distinct way of talking that got very strongly coded in my brain as Winter Soldier Bucky.

He passes within 4 m of Barnes on his way back to his building. The mission imperative achieves a Doppler effect.

contactContactCONTACTContactcontact

Aw.

If They Haven’t Learned Your Name by @silentwalrus1

If I had to point to one (1) fic and say “Blame This Fic for THYP” it would be this one: the Fic that my roommate and The Gal Pal know as “The One With the USS Motherfucker.” This might seem like an odd statement, because if you’ve read them both, I don’t think you’d necessarily put them in the same class. silentwalrus is a genius of hilarity and THYP is a big pile of The Sads. ITHLYN is delightfully unassuming and I’m sometimes embarrassed by how pretentious THYP ended up being.

I would technically put this under the list of fics that heavily influenced NHFTW on account of the way it portrays Bucky going by gradual degrees from murderbot to mostly human person, but listen I could never write Cryptid!Bucky the way Silentwalrus has. It’s magnificent. And TBH the level of Intensity in ITHLYN’s Steve has is something I aspire to, and the Sam Characterization is On Point, and both those things influenced FFS, 112%. Nat’s Chaotic Slav Energy in this fic is OFF THE GODDAMN CHARTS and I LOVE IT. Every single side character, down to the spaceship is given the kind of care, attention, and characterization that just... it cannot be beat, my dudes.

16/10 highest recommendation. I could not possibly pick a single paragraph from this behemoth but uhhhhh

Two minutes in there’s a grunt and a slippery, gritty noise somewhere to her left, and then the Soldier barrels past at breakneck speed, vanishing down another tunnel. A second later Steve careens around the corner, bounces off the opposite wall and crashes away after him, so fast he’s nearly a blur. Natasha’s brain, entirely of its own accord, provides her with the utterly unhelpful accompaniment of a Yakety Sax soundtrack.

that’s it. that’s the fic.

Also, this fic is Stoutly To Blame for the playlist aspect of the hundred year playlist? Silentwalrus really got me good with Grounds for Divorce by Elbow, one of my all time favorite songs, which was then paired with one of my all time favorite chapters. By the time Caravan Palace’s Lone Digger made an appearance, I was sunk. This fic introduced me to Lyube, and gave me a new appreciation(?) for dubstep. So many of the songs ITHLYN used ended up in my Very Long Stucky Playlist, though I think the only one that then went on to become part of the Hundred Year Playlist: Upside Down and Inside Out by OK GO.

And Finally, the Coup De What The Fuck Ever:

Ain’t No Grave by @spitandvinegar

yet another fandom classic... I wasn’t sure where to put this fic, but I couldn’t NOT include it in the list. Spitandvinegar’s Steve is charming and so? Sweet? and the ANG Bucky is a delightful foulmouthed mess of a person, and the Sam/Claire pairing is something I DIDN’T KNOW I NEEDED, BUT I VERY MUCH NEEDED IT and I don’t know that I can point to a single thing and be like: Ah Yes, This Bit, but this is definitely one of my faves:

Imagine you live in this country, right? And there's a brutal war, and you witness and maybe participate in a horrific amount of violence, and you lose absolutely everyone you care about. Then you end up in this other country, where the culture and ways of doing things are completely foreign to you, and random assholes make fun of you for how you dress and act and talk while you're still coming to grips with the fact that everyone you love is gone and you can never go home again. Meanwhile, everyone around you is like "smile, motherfucker, you're in the Land of Plenty now, where there's a Starbucks on every corner and 500 channels on TV. You should be grateful! Why aren't you acting more grateful?" So you have to pretend to be grateful while you're dying inside. Sound like an traumatized, orphaned refugee? Also sounds like Steve fucking Rogers, Captain Goddamn America. Except that most refugees were part of a community of other people who were going through the same thing. Steve is all alone, the last damn unicorn, if the last unicorn had horrible screaming nightmares about the time when it helped to liberate Buchenwald.

Usually this explanation yields a "huh." People don't want Sad Refugee Steve: they want Captain America, Indestructible Defender of Freedom. But that doesn't mean that Sam isn't right, because he is right, goddamnit. So yeah, Sam's a little protective of Steve. And if the last unicorn finds out that its best damn unicorn friend in the whole world is actually alive, then damn straight, Sam's heading out with a tranq gun and bringing that damn unicorn in and starting a goddamn unicorn wildlife refuge in his backyard. Or something like that: at a certain point the metaphor kind of gets away from him.

Til The End of the Timeline

I’ve recced this so many times you’ve probably all gotten sick of hearing about it, but it’s an invaluable goddamn resource and you should all check it out.

A Shit Ton of Metas and Blogs, some of which are tagged with THYP Research but especially @steve-rogers-new-york and @hansbekhart‘s How To Brooklyn and @historicallyaccuratesteve

and last but certainly not least

LITERALLY EVERYTHING @quietnighty READS HOLY SHIT

If you’re looking for a common thread through all the above recs, it’s that almost all of them have podfics, and the vast majority of those podfics are by Quietnight. I am, and always have been, an audio learner. I read my writing aloud when I’m editing, I listen to audiobooks when I’m commuting, and when I’m cleaning, and when I’m playing computer games, because I like stories, and I especially like listening to stories. Quietnight’s podfics are Of The Highest Quality, and her taste in fic is Impeccable.

hooooly shit this post is long wow okay. I can’t promise I won’t add more to this later, but I’m leaving it for now because goddamn. it’s as complete as I can make it at this time. I’ve added a “THYP Fanfic Bibliography” tag in my bookmarks, and incidentally I really need to make sure I’ve gone through and kudosed all of these because goddamn.

#i don't know how to tag this #thyp research #?#fic rec #??#stucky fic rec #???

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theladymeera · 5 years

Text

Arya’s Visit/A Heart-to-Heart

Can’t come up with a better title at the moment, sorry. A short Arya one-shot for @aegon. Sorry it took so long. I ended up doing a little prequel to the bran/meera modern au I’m going to start publishing soonish since I love the Stark girls in it more than anything. You can read it below the cut or on AO3 when I post it there.

Edit: Here’s the AO3 link [x]

Arya popped her bubblegum loudly, a habit that had always made her mother angry but her mother couldn’t complain when she wasn’t there to watch so Arya kept blowing bubbles. It was quiet at the train station that afternoon, a benefit of leaving early. Arya kept her hands deep in her fleece-lined pockets to keep her hands warm as she’d forgotten her gloves.

The ride from Riverrun to Winterfell was long but Arya enjoyed it, she needed the quiet for a few minutes. A 24-hour shift in the chidlren’s hospital had left her feeling like a damp rag that had been rung out too much. So many children. Some of them were only there for minor surgeries, a couple stitches, a broken ankle. But there were others that had the bald heads, sallow skin, or empty eyes of someone who had been too sick for far too long. It wrenched at Arya’s heart.

Her thoughts were broken when a text came in, another one in the continuous conversation on the Stark’s group chat; currently named “Howlies” at Rickon’s suggestion. Arya had a feeling the name would not last just as the last eight names hadn’t. The addition was Sansa’s “Can’t wait to see everyone tonight!”

Arya’s phone kept buzzing with her brothers’ and Jon’s responses, with the exception of Bran who Arya figured was probably sleeping, possibly high although he swore up and down that he was clean and had been for nearly six months. While Arya was thinking of a response she received a private text from Jon “You are coming aren’t you?”

“On the 🚂 now”

“Okay I’ll pick you up when you get here.”

Arya grinned, she had missed Jon more than anyone. She spent the rest of the train ride listening to music, looking out the window, and ignoring the continuous texts of the group chat and the occasional text from a friend. Hot Pie was filling her inbox with his lengthy musings on his bread recipe. She didn’t need to comment on it and she’d benefit from it when she returned to Riverrun.

Jon was waiting for Arya as she stepped off the train at the Winterstown station. He wrapped her in a bear hug when she found him. “How was the trip little sister?”

“Fine,” she told him. Arya picked her bag up from where she’d dropped it and followed Jon to the car. “So how is everyone else?”

He waved his hand “Well enough – some better than others. You’ll find out when you get home.”

While Winterfell as a city had been officially absorbed into Winterstown centuries before it had remained the most upscale and wealthy area of the entire North, and as a result of its being much more well known that Winterstown the whole region was known in the South as Winterfell. Some things had changed Arya saw from the window of the passenger’s seat in the waning light. There was new construction near the airport and some of the shops had changed in even the older parts of town. She and Jon enjoyed having only the radio quietly playing the latest hits from Volantis and Lannisport, though Jon would have honestly preferred classical music and Arya leaned towards Braavosi styles but neither of those were available at that hour and it was easy to tune out.

Arya drew in her breath when Jon turned onto the street into her parents’ neighborhood. The fencing was imposing and the houses were particularly large and often lavish. There was a change in the front garden of her parents’ home. “Jon what happened to the tree?” she asked, a tinge of panic in her voice. The ancient ironwood that had stood sentinel over her parents’ front lawn since before her father was born was gone, an enormous black stump and some missing grass was all that was left in the area it had once been.

“It was diseased and it had to be taken down a week ago. I thought your mother would have mentioned.”

“She didn’t.”

“Well maybe this is why if you’re going to cry over it,” he said good-naturedly.

The annual flowers were different, her mother had chosen a mix of what looked like purple and white flowers from what Arya could see in the dim light of the street lights and the garden lamps. Arya noted this without the shock she’d felt at losing her favorite climbing tree. Her mother usually chose a different mix of annuals annually. It kept things fresh without cutting into the foundations of what made their home, well, their home. “Do you need a minute with the stump?” Jon asked, grabbing Arya’s bag from the trunk.

“No, I’ll have a funeral for it tomorrow.” That got her cousin to laugh and he threw an arm over her shoulders to guide her inside.

It was just the family that evening. Normally Arya would have expected to see some of her mother’s Tully relatives like her great uncle Brynden and his husband, her uncle Edmure and his wife or some family friends such as the Reeds or Baratheons but instead it was just her parents, siblings, and Jon. Which would obviously lead to some sort of girls’ activity with her mother and Sansa, the two people she was looking forward to spending time with the least. Arya bore the tight embraces, Rickon’s fist bump, and a somewhat awkward hug with Jeyne due to her swollen belly. Arya felt as if there were butterflies in her own belly.

The dinner went smoothly, the only blips being when Robb spilled wine on his dress shirt and when Rickon failed to smother a belch which earned himself and Robb sharp looks. Rickon for belching, Robb for laughing. Arya hid her own snort by pretending to choke on a sip of wine. Her mother noticed but chose to ignore it.

“It’s wonderful to have all of us together again for once,” Catelyn began when the table was being cleared.

“Here we go,” Arya thought dismally.

“– and while I adore all of my boys I think we need to have some time together as ladies. Sansa, Arya?” Catelyn’s stare seemed to bore into Arya’s head. Arya didn’t dare ignore the direction and followed her mother, sister, and sister-in-law to the theater room. Jeyne and Sansa settled down to work on giving Jeyne a pedicure, she couldn’t reach her feet after all, and Catelyn pulled her youngest aside.

“Did you get a new tattoo or a tongue piercing or whatnot?” Catelyn snapped once they were out of earshot of their companions.

“What? No.” Arya crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared up at her mother.

“Then can you explain why you’ve spent the whole evening acting guilty?”

“I have not been acting guilty.”

“Then what would you call your behavior? It is not normal for you. I appreciate your not fighting with your sister, though I will admit you haven’t done that in some time, but if something wasn’t off you would have at least spent more time talking to your brothers or Jon.”

Arya took a deep breath, “I didn’t want to have this conversation.”

“What conversation,” Catelyn put a cool hand on Arya’s shoulder.

“I –” Arya glanced at where her sister and Jeyne were seated, “can I speak to you in private?”

Catelyn’s eyebrows rose, “alright.”

They walked back to the kitchen which was deserted now that the cook had gone home. Arya ran her hand along the marble counter and listened to the dishwasher humming. Her mother set two glasses of water between them and stared her daughter down. “What is this all about? Out with it.”

Arya kept her eyes on the lines in the stone, “I quit med school.”

“You what?” Catelyn hissed.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I – I hate the studying and I don’t like any of the doctors I know. It’s too cerebral or, or whatever. I just felt so tense all the time, I was under so much pressure to finish school and become this like, great doctor like I’d planned on and it wasn’t working and when I sent the school my withdrawal letter it felt so good and I didn’t want to tell any of you because I’ve been working towards being a doctor for so long and I felt so ashamed that I jumped ship so late when I was supposed to be smart and dependable and I always said I’d never change my mind about what I wanted to be but it just wasn’t right. I’m sorry.” Arya wiped furiously at a tear that had escaped.

Catelyn stayed quiet for a few minutes while Arya regained control. “I was afraid you were going to tell me you were pregnant,” she said at last.

Arya laughed, “Me? No. No. Never.”

Catleyn leaned back in her chair, “Never say never Arya. You just told me you quit medical school, giving up a dream you’ve had since you were nine years old.”

“I mean I don’t expect to ever come crawling home in tears as an unwed mother who doesn’t even know who the father is.” Arya took a drink of her water, “Aren’t you angry with me?”

“For dropping out of school? It is disappointing, an adjustment to be made, but it’s not the worst thing you could have done. As long as you’re happy. Speaking of which, what have you been doing since you quit?”

Arya’s shoulder’s dropped as the last bits of eternal stress fled her system. If her mother wasn’t angry that she’d quit school then there was no chance her father would be. “I’m still an RN you know so I got a job at the children’s hospital in Riverrun, since I didn’t want to go back to Braavos at all, and I’ve been taking some courses at the community college there in like languages and math. And I’ve been dancing a lot. Just, trying to figure out what I really want now that I know doctoring isn’t it.”

“So you’re not living on the streets in Essos?”

Arya shook her head, “No, of course not.”

“And you’re happy?”

Arya thought for a moment, “Yeah, it’s the happiest I’ve been since before dad went to work in King’s Landing.”

“Good,” her mother said before she stood and came around the counter to bury Arya in an embrace. “That’s all I want for you my little wolf girl,” Catelyn muttered into Arya’s hair.

#aegon #end of year celebration #asoiaf fanfiction #fanfiction #my fics #arya stark #jon snow #catelyn stark

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eatsleepread46108-blog · 6 years

Text

One of “Those Days”

It was just a bad day all around. Waking up was hard. Getting out of bed was harder. Getting ready to start the day and face everyone was the hardest part yet. Steve knew the team would know something was up, usually he was the first one up, usually he went for a run before everyone else was even up. Not today though. Today was one of those days when everything felt like it was too much. But Steve also knew that just staying in bed all day would make it worse. It would mean that all of his thoughts and feelings were right there, including his memories. No, getting up was the better option.

He trudged his way to the elevator to get to the common floor. Tony had designed all of their apartments with kitchens, but no one ever really used them. Most of the time, they liked being around each other. Most of the time being alone was just too much. The doors dinged open and laughter invaded the space. Steve was tempted to turn right back around and go home. Maybe dealing with other people was too much for today. Of course, someone saw him before he could make up his mind.

And of course it was Tony. “Hey Capsicle! Where ya been?”

Steve just shrugged and looked down at his shoes.

Tony looked at Nat, Nat looked at Bruce and they all just knew. Steve would need everyone today. Which meant that no one was leaving. It meant that they weren’t leaving Steve alone at all toda. Because SHIELD might have thought he was fine, but they all knew better.

Nat went to get another mug out of the cupboard, while Tony pulled another stool up to the breakfast bar. Bruce offered Steve some eggs and bacon when he came over. Steve ate in silence while the others did “work” on their tablets. They all knew they weren’t actually doing work, but they pretended for Steve’s sake. When he was finished, Steve stuck his dishes in the dishwasher, mumbled a thank you, and headed back to his floor. Tony, Nat, and Bruce stayed in the kitchen, quiet, until JARVIS assured them that Steve was back in his apartment.

“They’ve been getting worse recently.” Natasha said quietly.

“What?” Tony looked confused.

“I think she means days like these, Tony.” Bruce answered.

Natasha looked exasperated, “Of course that’s what I meant! I hate the fact that SHIELD didn’t think to do more than hand him files and get him an apartment. With so much happening at once, they couldn’t have possibly thought he was okay!”

Tony ran his hands down his face, “According to Fury, he passed the psych evals. I don’t doubt that he did either. That man can keep everything bottled up like nobody I’ve ever known. He probably just wanted to get back into the action ASAP. I hate to say this, but maybe he thought he’d die there and not have to worry about living.”

Bruce and Natasha looked slightly shocked by this statement, but with resignation on their faces. They both knew Tony was probably right. All of them knew Steve was depressed. But nobody knew what to do about it. None of them felt they had known Steve long enough to be the one to bring it up. And all the people that had known Steve before were either dead or on the run.

Bruce was the first to speak, but it wasn’t to Tony or Nat, “JARVIS?”

“Yes Dr. Banner?”

“Could you let all of us know if Steve does anything unusual?”

“I will need you to specify what you mean by “unusual” Dr. Banner.”

Tony spoke up first, “J, what he means is if Steve does anything suicidal, will you please let all of us know immediately?”

“I am not sure my programming will allow that sort of monitoring, sir. But should Captain Rogers’ vitals fluxuate in an alarming manner, protocol would allow me to alert everyone immediately.”

Bruce sighed, “If that’s the best you can do JARVIS, then thanks. It’ll have to do.”

“I will continue to monitor Captain Rogers’ vitals accordingly.”

Steve knew doing paperwork was out of the question for today. Which meant that going into SHIELD today, was also out of the question. He really didn’t know what to do. Usually, he’d be working, but today that just wasn’t going to work. TV was his last resort, other than going back down to the common floor. Steve plunked down on the couch, not planning on moving for the rest of the day.

For some reason, Tony was the only one left in the tower. Apparently Phil and Clint couldn’t handle whatever mission they were on. Originally they had requested Steve but Nat said that was out of the question. So she went.

Bruce, Tony wasn’t sure about. Maybe something went wrong and he needed to take a walk. Maybe he got called to SHIELD. Maybe he had a girlfriend again. Tony didn’t know. All he knew was that none of them were supposed to leave, and yet, he was the only one that had followed the rule. Go figure.

It wasn’t like he needed other people around, he was perfectly fine working on his own. Bruce was always going on and on about lab safety, while Nat and Steve always tried to convince him that coffee was not the only food group that mattered, and that coffee was not a food group. Whatever.

Tony was working on the newest arc reactor for the tower when JARVIS called.

“Sir?”

“Yeah J! What’s up?”

“Sir, it appears that Captain Rogers is in distress.”

Tony was already running towards the elevator, “JARVIS, I need all the details you can give me. Get me to Steve STAT!”

Steve really hadn’t meant to fall asleep, he really hadn’t. Especially not on a day like today. Days like this always brought back memories, and nice memories or not, they weren’t welcome. On days like this? Memories of before the ice always made Steve cry. So he really tried not to remember. It didn’t matter if the memories were good ones or not, they were always reminders of people Steve was never gonna see again.

So, when he woke up from dream after dream after dream of his ma and the Howlies, of course he started crying. It wasn’t just crying either. No, this time it was full on sobbing. The kind of sobbing where it seemed never ending. Eventually it had gone on so long, Steve felt like he couldn’t breath. And if Steve felt like that, then he probably actually couldn’t. This feeling sparked memories of Bucky and his ma, and all the times they had been there through the asthma attacks. Those memories only made him cry harder, which made the breathing problem worse.

The elevator opening usually wasn’t a big deal, but Steve didn’t want the team to see him like this. He tried to tell whoever it was to go away, but just couldn’t get the words out. He didn’t have the strength to look and see who it was. He just knew that the team couldn’t see him like this, they’d never want him as their leader again.

Suddenly Tony was right next to the couch. Steve thought he was talking, but really couldn’t hear.

Tony was in fact talking. He was trying his best to calm Steve down, but wasn’t sure that he could hear him.

“Steve? Steve? Can you hear me? Steve? Please answer me?”Again, no response, just gasps and more sobs. Tony knew all the gasping and wheezing he was hearing wasn’t good. It sounded similar to a panic attack and Tony fucking prayed that it wasn’t a panic attack.

“Steve? I need you to breathe for me, okay Cap? You hear me? I need you to breathe. I’m gonna breathe with you. Ready? In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.”

Tony continued trying to get Steve to breathe with him, but to no avail. Steve just kept gasping and wheezing and sobbing. There seemed to be no end in sight.

Finally, Tony just thought, “Fuck it,” and hugged Steve as best he could. Considering Steve was slightly taller, and much more muscular, it was harder than he expected. Tony continued breathing deeply, hoping that with the closer contact, Steve would start breathing easier.

After a while, it started working. It took a few minutes, but Tony could tell Steve was actually breathing. The sobs were still pretty bad, but at least he was breathing.

Tony tried talking again, “Steve? Can you hear me?”

The sobs were beginning to slow down too. Steve hiccupped and nodded.

“Can you talk to me?”

Another hiccup, a sob or two, and then finally, “Y-yes.”

“Can you tell me what this is about?”

Steve stayed quiet for a moment or two before stuttering out a response, “B-b-bad d-day. And dre-ams. A-a-and me-mories.”

Tony was speechless for all of two seconds before he asked another question, “Can you tell me about the dreams and memories?”

Steve tried to sit up, so Tony sat up with him, still keeping him tucked into a hug as best he could.

“About before.”

“Were they bad dreams and memories from before?”

“No! They were so good. Felt like I was back.”

Tony thought it was probably a stupid question, but he was acting like a therapist so, “Back where?”

Steve hiccupped again before he whispered something Tony couldn’t hear.

“Can you repeat that?”

Louder this time, Steve said, “Where I belong.”

That really had Tony speechless. Did Steve not think he belonged here? Yes, it was a surprise finding him. Yes, SHIELD had brushed him off and said he was fine. But Tony thought he and the team were enough to convince Steve that he was at least needed. But maybe not.

“Steve? Do you not feel like you belong here? With me? With the team?”

There was a sniffle before the response, “Everyone here would have gotten along just fine before SHIELD found me. Nobody here needs me. I don’t belong here. Nobody even wants me here. I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

Tony grabbed Steve’s chin and made Steve look him in the eyes, “Steven Grant Rogers! You listen to me. Everybody here wants you to be here. I don’t ever want you to say that again! I want you! The team needs you. SHIELD may not like to admit it, but they need you too. And I can tell you right now, if your mother heard you talking like this, she’d slap you silly.”

“Don’t believe you.”

“Steve! What do I have to do to convince you?” And then Tony thought, “Well, already here, might as well tell him.”

There was no answer from Steve.

Tony practically whispered his next words, maybe hoping that Steve wouldn’t hear them, “Isn’t enough that I love you? That I need you?”

Of course, Steve heard him. And of course, he sat straight up. His response came in a whisper, loud enough that Tony could hear, “What?”

Tony was on the verge of crying, “Steve, I love you. I need you here. I want you here.” He didn’t know what else to say.

Steve didn’t think words were necessary, he leaned forward and kissed Tony. Which Tony was definitely not expecting. But, he wasn’t complaining either.

If they could have read each other’s minds at that moment, there would have been mirrored thoughts. Because they were thinking the same things. “Is this what love feels like? Why didn’t do this sooner? Are there fireworks going off? Am I an idiot?”

When they broke apart, Steve was crying again, and Tony was thinking about joining him. Tony pulled Steve back into his arms, partially because Steve was crying again, but partially to hide his tears.

“Steve, I don’t want you to ever think you don’t belong here or aren’t needed here or,or anything of the sort ever again. I love you. I need you. Isn’t that enough? Also, can I call you sweetheart?”

Steve was still crying, but the tears were different from before, “Of course that’s enough. I love you too. Also, yes you can call me sweetheart, but only if I can call you doll.”

“Sweetheart, you can call me whatever you want. I’m yours, head over heels in love with you, for as long as you want.”

#stony #superhusbands #fanfic #really bad writing #depression #bad day #i need you #shield is dumb #steve rogers #tony stark #captain america #iron man #avengers #trigger warning

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