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marvelslut16 · 4 years

Text

I trust you

Prompt number: 31 “I trust you”

Fandom: Marvel

Paring: Bucky Barnes x reader

Part two to Trust me for once.

Rating: T

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions blood, violence, and death. A lil angst.

A/N: I just want to write for Bucky for the rest of fictober, someone stop me please. I don’t know why I love this fic so much, but I do. Maybe it’s my lack of sleep messing with me lmao. I passed 500 followers and I can’t possibly begin to explain how much that means to me and how much I love each and every one of you! When I started my Tumblr last year to write some shitty self indulgent fanfics I never thought anyone would ever read them. I never imagined having 500 people following my shitty blog.

In the week and a half since Hydra had captured you, Bucky has been spiraling. When he got to the quinjet and turned to look for you, his heart fell into the pit of his stomach when he couldn’t find you. Everything you had said to him in the warehouse started to make more sense, you phrashed things a specific way; ‘so long as it gets you out of here safely.’ He knew you weren’t coming, but he still made Steve keep the quinjet there and wait until it was almost too late and the team was under attack again.

Back at the compound Bucky spends all of his time in his room or down in the gym punching- and breaking- one of the many punching bags, throwing his knives at targets, and working on his shooting. He isn’t sleeping and he isn’t eating, he won’t even talk to Steve when the super soldier tries to get him to talk- whether it be about what happened in the warehouse or anything in general.

Steve, Sam, and Tony are exhausting every resource they have to find you, Hydra had moved you to another location as soon as the quinjet was out of sight of the base. On the rare occasion Bucky isn’t in the gym or his room, he's hovering over the shoulders of the three men hoping he’ll see something they missed. He doesn’t, and only succeeds in annoying aforementioned men with his brooding stares and silence.

Bucky has nightmares on a daily basis again, something that his time in Wakanda with Shuri and T’Challa had gotten rid of. The only difference this time is he doesn’t see himself. He sees everything he went through, all the tourture he endured and the innocent bloodshed, but instead of him you’re in his shoes. He watches you get your brain turned into mush in the damn chair. He watches you forgetting everyone- forgetting him- and then going after the Avengers because you don’t know any better. He can never wake up from the nightmares, he’s stuck in them until he watches you die or you kill him.

Twelve days after you’re taken, Bucky's down in the gym, sitting on a chair because the memories of you in the warehouse are consuming him. You saying that he hates you and to just trust you for once are playing on repeat. How could you think he doesn't trust you?

“I trust you!” he screams into the empty gym, wishing he’d told you so in the warehouse, hurling the knife that was resting in his hand into the wall across from him. He goes to run his hands through his long strands of hair, forgetting he had cut most of it off, something you would refer to as pulling a Britney. He has no idea what that even means, but you say it everytime you or Nat impulsively cut your hair super short. Instead he pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to push the memories away. “I could never hate you.”

Steve enters the gym quietly, observing his best friend for a few minutes. He’s never seen him this bad before, not even when he was consumed by guilt when he realized all of the innocent lives that were lost by his hands. Steve was aware that Bucky has had feelings for you since he saw you, immediately becoming infatuated with your beauty. His feelings continued to grow when he learned your humor, sarcasm, intelligence, and saw your skill in battle. Steve knew Bucky was intimidated and nervous, not as skilled with the women like he was seventy years ago and that’s why he didn’t talk to you, but Steve never realized that Bucky cared this much.

“Hey Buck,” Steve finally speaks, causing Bucky to stand up and pretend he wasn’t just having a breakdown. “We’ve got something.”

Bucky doesn’t verbally respond, instead he brushes past Steve and walks out of the gym. Steve quickly leads the way to the lab, filling Bucky in on the new development. Hydra is streaming a live feed of you chained to a chair right to every computer and television screen in the compound. When the two get to the lab, packed with the rest of the Avengers huddling around the same screen, Bucky see’s you for the first time in twelve days. The first time you aren’t a figment of his imagination. You’re bruised and bloody: split lip with dried blood on your chin; dried blood on your forehead from where you must have wiped the blood from the cut on your eyebrow so it didn’t drip into your eyes before you were chained to the chair; you’re left eye black, blue, and bruised; your skin has a yellow hue and your cheeks are hollow from malnutrition.

Bucky wants to scream, he wants to put a fist through a wall, and he wants to kill whoever laid a hand on you. The Avengers watch quietly as he squeezes through the gaps in the group's huddle so he can be by the screen. By you. You aren’t staring at the camera, instead staring straight in front of you, where he imagines Hydra agents are standing.

“You don’t want another Winter Soldier,” your voice is the exact opposite of your appearance, it’s still so strong and determined. “You want the Winter Soldier. You wanted us to intercept the messages and show up at the base, it was an ambush.”

“Very good, Ms. (Y/L/N),” a man speaks off screen, he has a thick Russian accent, but Bucky doesn’t recognize it. “The only problem was that you seemed to figure it out that day, and ruined our plans.”

“Oops?” your sarcasm garners another slap, the ring on the man's hand causing a gash on your cheekbone. “It’s been what, over a week? How long are you gonna keep me?”

“Until Soldat switches places with you,” you let out a loud bark of a laugh that echoes off the walls in the small room.

“Bucky, your Soldat, he won’t sacrifice himself for me,” you laugh at the man interrogating you.

“We learned of his affections for you-” you cut him off with another laugh.

“You need to fire whoever told you that,” you can’t stop laughing at the absurdity that came out of the Hydra agents mouth. And you don’t care if he becomes angry and annoyed with you, you’re gonna get killed no matter what. Your eyes quickly flick to the camera set up on your left, the one the Hydra agents thought you hadn’t seen, before continuing knowing the Avengers had to be seeing all of this. “The only affection Bucky has for me is hatred. He hates me, there’s no way he’d switch places for little old me. You should have captured literally anyone else if you wanted him to be upset. He can’t stand me! We can’t even hold a simple conversation, and he always leaves the room when I’m in it. We were only paired up on this mission because of a fluke accident. Face it, you fucked up. I’m worthless to your Soldat.”

“That’s not true!” Bucky feels like he’s yelling it at the screen, but his protest is only a whisper. The rest of the team watches him with sad eyes, he’s looking at you so longingly. Trying to will you to understand how he feels about you through the screen. As if on cue, you glance at the camera again, giving it a sd smile, accepting your fate. A loud ping comes from one of the computers in the lab, but Bucky keeps eye contact with you, even though he knows you can’t see. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until his flesh hand is pressed against the television.

“We’ve got a location!” Tony yells, already calling for his suit.

“Then you’re worthless to me!” the hydra agent growls, stopping the team in their tracks who were on their way to change.

“No,” Bucky pleads, when he hears the safety of a gun clicking off.

“Any last words for your precious Avengers?” the man asks you, gesturing to the camera, he hadn’t noticed you’d already seen it.

“I’d say tell my family I love them,” you’re openly talking to the camera now. “But I don’t have any. So thank you for being the family I never had, and the family I always wanted. I love every single one of you.”

A tear slips from your non swollen eye, a matching one rolling down Bucky’s cheek. The screen goes black, a gun goes off, and then the feed cuts completely. “No!” he screams, going to punch a hole in the television, but his fist goes right through due to it being Stark technology.

“Where are you going?” Steve calls as Bucky heads to exit to the lab, no one else moving, too shocked to register everything that just happened.

“Let’s go kill those bastards,” is his gruff response, heading towards the hanger with the Quinjet since he’s already dressed in his tactical gear from his time in the gym.

Steve and Tony are the first ones dressed and ready to go, but the latter hangs back so Steve can talk to his best friend privately. Steve doesn’t say anything when he sits beside the brunette, he doesn’t know where to begin.

“(Y/N) died thinking I hated her Stevie,” Bucky’s voice breaks. “I kept my distance cause I didn’t want to hurt her. And then I saw her with Sam and I was jealous so I started to ignore her more. I pushed her away because I was scared and jealous. And now she’ll never know that I love her.”

A shot rings through the small room you’re stuck in, the bullet lodging into the wall beside your head. You glance at the camera, finding the red light off. Your team, your family thinks you're dead. That was his damn plan, he knows they’ll come to avenge you.

“Sit tight,” he smirks, the barrel of his gun coming into contact with your skull, effectively knocking you out.

Your head is heavy and pounding in pain when you finally come to. Outside the door you can hear screams and guns going off at rapid speed. You cringe away from the sound when someone uses their body to break open the door to your room. The sound of familiar footsteps clomping towards you causes you to perk up, it’s Bucky. You can’t open your eyes or even move your head towards the sound to alert him that you’re okay, but you hear a whispered “thank god,” when he hears your steady heartbeat. From the crunching sound you can tell Bucky used his vibranium hand to crush the handcuffs keeping you attached to the chair.

He picks you up bridal style, holding you close to his warm chest. You involuntarily cuddle into the warmth, causing Bucky to smile lovingly down at you. “I’ve got you now,” he whispers, hand caressing your cheek, careful not to put pressure on your many cuts.

When you wake up again, you're in the familiar sterile medbay at the compound. A heavy weight is on your hand, looking over you notice it’s Bucky's hands clutching yours, his head tipped back on the seat he’s in.

“He hasn’t left your side,” Sam smirks at the scene from the doorway, holding a falcon stuffed animal. You playfully roll your eyes at the gift, but reach for it with your free hand. Bucky starts to stir, so Sam gives you a kiss on the forehead and heads for the door again. “Tinman’s whipped.”

The first thing you notice when you glance at Bucky again is his hair. He cut it all off when you were gone. As much as you loved his luscious locks and thought he was hot with them, he’s undeniably sexy with the short hairstyle. “You cut your hair,” Bucky immediately wakes up the rest of the way at your voice, ocean blue eyes staring into yours. “It looks good on you.”

“You could have died,” his voice exasperated. “And the first thing you mention is my hair. I’ve been worried sick, (Y/N)!”

“I was fine,” you roll your eyes, trying not to think of just how close to death you came. “I’m fine now.”

“Next mission I get to call the shots,” he grumbles. “I’m not having the woman I love almost die for me again.”

“I love you too Buck,” you ignore the fact that he didn’t mean for you to hear his confession. “Why else would I be willing to die for you?”

He shoots out of his seat, eyes wide as he stares down at you. You push up to a sitting position, moving to the side of the bed, motioning for Bucky to lay beside you. He seems to debate with himself about whether he should or not, before finally laying down and gently pulling you into his arms. You crane your neck up to look into his eyes, he leans down and your lips meet timidly at first. It quickly turns into a slow loving kiss, the two of you wanting to prolong for as long as you can. You reach a hand up, caressing his face before slipping it through his now short locks.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always

#bucky barnes x reader #fictober20 #day 13 of fictober #bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

words hung above, but never would form

pairing: bucky barnes/sam wilson

fandom: mcu, what if...?

rating: mature

word count: 3500

warning: swearing, alcohol, major character death, blood, guns

summary: What might've happened after the zombie apocalypse broke out, before the last team of heroes was formed, and how Bucky Barnes lost Sam Wilson. (pre-canon fic to what if... zombies!?)

(a few days ago i posted this very painful angst fic i thought of after the zombies episode of what if...? so here i am dropping it on tumblr as well!! i apologise, please know that it broke my heart to write this. uhm. that’s all!)

read on ao3

It’s been three months since they lost Steve.

Well, since the world lost most of the Avengers, really. And since the world lost most of its, uh, regular people anyway.

It’s a dark world full of shit and blood and brains out there now, yet Bucky’s taking his cold shower in the morning and cannot bring himself to care much. Sounds harsh, he knows.

He knew nothing of this new world and new time except his best friend, so of fucking course, Steve being… not Steve made him feel like there was no fucking point to anything. If the Avengers couldn’t beat this zombie virus? Yeah, there’s no hope for humanity anymore.

Except… except the man who greets him in the morning, handing him a plate of pancakes without even asking if he wanted some and pinning yet another red pin on their vastly growing map of ghost towns. Those are fully infected spots, by the way. Nothing left but the undead. The map is turning overwhelmingly red overwhelmingly fast.

The man hovering at said map also hands him his coffee, puts on one of the records from their LP stash, and smiles his sunny, stupid grin before ruffling Bucky’s hair and telling him he missed a spot.

Yeah, the world’s become even more of a dog eat dog world than before.

But Bucky Barnes’ got Sam Wilson. And nothing else matters.

It’s ironic really, that when he’s gotten out of cryo, that he’s finally rid of the Hydra programming and torture and pain he’s endured for years, and at the same time, someone somewhere got bitten and humanity’s become a walking all you can eat buffet. Perfect timing.

Of course, Steve’s never fled from a fight in his life, so honestly? Bucky can’t exactly say he’s surprised. He is- sorry, was an Avenger after all. The little shit.

What does surprise him, however, is finding himself growing closer to Sam, Steve’s friend who for some reason, somehow, was just as intent on finding him as Steve was. And… helping him. Saving him.

Bucky never understood why. He still doesn’t. He hates himself for everything they made him do, he’ll probably continue hating himself for as long as he lives, no matter how much he tries to suppress it, but Sam doesn’t.

Sam fought for him, fought with him, visited him in Wakanda and took him back to a somewhat normal life before… you know. Now they’ve found a safehouse after losing everyone they had, except each other, and they’ve zombie-proofed to the best of their ability.

And life with Sam, well, Bucky could get used to it. In fact, he gets used to it very quickly.

Sam smiles so easily at him and doesn’t look at him like he’s a broken man who needs to be fixed. Sam doesn’t look at him with resentment, or pity, he just… looks at him.

It’s hard to explain.

Thing is, nothing makes sense. The violence that keeps on going and going doesn’t make sense, Bucky losing his best friend in the world doesn’t make sense, the streets being abandoned and houses vacant and survival being a constant factor in life now doesn’t make sense.

But the man he’s hiding out with makes sense. He makes so much sense. The only thing that makes sense anymore.

His existence is constant, he’s there for him when he lets him and when he doesn’t, he gives him space. The shorter man is as if the sun was living and breathing, and himself, well, he’s the moon. He’s just trying to stay in Sam's orbit.

Chasing after him. Circulating. Bashing in everything he’s willing to give him.

The scruffy beard he’s let grow, and him humming to himself while he’s working on Redwing, and the wheezing, carefree laugh he can’t stop when Bucky suggests they watch a zombie movie one night. He tells Sam not to overwork himself and he promises not to, and the other man tells him to let him know what’s going on in his head, and hell, Bucky tells him. He tells him everything.

In fact, it’s the same night they do watch a zombie movie, frequently pointing out the inaccuracies and turning it into a drinking game with the terrible, terrible booze they swiped from the supermarket, that he looks at the short haired man dozing off on his shoulder and realises that this is the most peace he’s ever had.

It’s basically an apocalypse outside, but Bucky can’t get himself to look away from Sam’s eyelashes fluttering lightly as he slips off to sleep.

Their legs are tangled into each other on the coffee table, the microwave popcorn long abandoned, one of his friend’s hands resting on his thigh.

His beard scratches his shoulder, but he doesn’t mind. Sam has asked him if he should shave it several times, but God no, never. That beard’s been doing a lot of things to him - all good, of course.

He turns down the volume a bit. Sam looks peaceful. He hasn’t been sleeping much, he knows neither of them have, and where’s the time for it, anyway? He’s glad he is now.

Bucky can’t get himself to move, fearing waking the short haired man from his slumber, and for a minute, the outside world is far, far away from their reality.

Sam looks incredibly soft in that ripped sweater and sweatpants and the snore he lets out is no less than adorable.

It’s like- he looks at this man, and suddenly it’s like everything just falls back into place.

He looks soft in the morning over breakfast and hazy eyes, soft in the evening when he says goodnight, soft when he’s clutching the photos of his nephews (AJ and Cass were their names, he’s learned), soft when he’s retelling a memory with his parents on the family boat, soft when they both muse about Steve and his dumb shenanigans.

He looks something entirely different when he’s shirtless out of the shower and tiny droplets still fall down his chest and abs and Bucky struggles to breathe, every damn time. He only realises now why that is.

Sam is like a sunset, because Bucky wants nothing more than to wake up to this man and nothing else every day, till the end of time. What more could he wish for?

He’s beautiful. Bucky doesn’t think he’s called anyone, or anything beautiful before.

Looking back, he can’t see anymore how they could argue and bicker and annoy each other, and doesn't understand why. He’s wasted so much fucking time doing that. Not anymore. He could never go back to that, it would most likely kill him. Steve would be thrilled if he could see them now, wouldn't he?

And while this realization dawns upon him, washing over him like the biggest wave you could possibly imagine, he wonders if Sam feels the same when he looks at him.

Does he feel safe falling asleep on his shoulder like this? Does he find everlasting comfort in his smile like he does in his, does he wake up hoping and praying to see his smile, just once? Does he do everything he can think of to make him look at him, like he tries every single day?

He can only dream.

Huh. So this is what it’s like to be in love. Bucky doesn’t hate it.

It’s only a month after his life-changing realization of the sort that couldn't make him concentrate on everything else, that Bucky decides today is the day. He’s going to confess his feelings for his friend.

And this is something in the middle of chaos, something he’s never experienced before. He’d never thought he’d practice his words in the mirror like a nervous teenager, but alas.

Sam Wilson, I’m in love with you. No. No, it’s too short. Think, James. What does he make you feel?

Sam, you’re the last thing I think about when I go to sleep and the first thing I think about when I wake up. Sam, I want to see you smile every day. Sam, I want to make you happy… as happy, as… happy as you make me.

Too long? Shit.

Sam, you’re the only good in this piece of shit world. I love you. Sam hates when he’s that pessimistic, though, and always tells him to cheer up, even in the middle of a zombie invasion. Another reason why he loves him.

Sam, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing I wouldn't do to see you happy. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy.

His stream of thought is interrupted by faint clanging in the kitchen of their safehouse. Bucky sighs. He’s not sure this is going to be perfect, he wants it to be.

He has to go, he has to try. Now or never.

Except… the smile he’s come to anticipate every single morning isn’t there to meet him. Instead, he sees Sam suited up, wing pack on his back, gloves on, looking through one of their many folders they’ve filled up with theories of the infection and safe spots and danger zones and everything else.

Bucky frowns, looks at him in silence for a moment. Maybe he’ll try a joke, “Going somewhere?”

His friend hums without looking, “I’m going to catch Steve.”

Sorry, what? What the fuck?

Sam did not just say what he thinks he said. He didn’t. He couldn’t have.

This is why he blinks in disbelief, for the first time rendered speechless by the other man. Sam looks up at him, face glazed over by determination and confusion by his own reaction, most like. Then, worry overtakes his usually warm, deep brown eyes, ones that he could drown himself in and never come out of.

“You okay, Bucky?” he asks, and Bucky clenches his jaw.

“You’re going to… catch him,” he says, a statement rather than a question. It’s Sam’s turn to frown, but he nods.

“Yes. Catch him and bring him back.”

“You’re joking,” he laughs in sheer denial, but the seriousness in his friend’s face is scaring him, “Sam… tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Oh, this is just not happening. This world lets him fall in love with the most perfect person he knows and then lets that very same person be so fucking stupid?

Bucky can’t let him go. Bucky can’t lose him.

“What, then?” he asks, one hand on his hip, “Invite him over and let him eat our brains, just like that?”

“ Bucky. We’re going to catch him, and then we’ll cure him.”

He laughs, loudly. Okay, this is just hilarious. Sam Wilson is the most perfect person in this world exactly because of this- because he believes this world is still able to be saved. Because he believes it’s worth saving . Fucking hell.

“You found a cure you’re not telling me about?”

Sam sighs, scratching his chin, “Come on, Buck. I talked to Hope-”

“Who?”

“Hope Van Dyne. The Wasp,” the shorter man explains, “She lost her parents, and Scott Lang, remember?”

Bucky shrugs, but nods.

“Well, she’s been recruiting those of us who survived. Who’s left. And she thinks there might be a way to reverse the virus, her father brought it from the, uh… Quantum Realm.” Sam’s about to hand him one of the folders, but he crosses his arms, and shakes his head, then.

God, Bucky’s well aware how stubborn he is. Sam has told him plenty of times.

But he’ll be damned if he lets the man go just like that. He’s not letting him get hurt.

“That’s not happening,” he says shortly. His friend’s frown deepens.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going after that thing.”

The man turns to him completely, wide-eyed and shock written all over his features. “ That thing? ” he huffs, “That thing is our friend.”

“Not anymore, Sam. I’m not letting you get yourself killed by the undead.”

“He’s not dead,” Sam says. His voice raised. He looks- he doesn't look soft anymore. There’s no trace of that smile that gives Bucky shivers down his spine. He looks… upset. He’s upset. Fucking shit.

Why can’t he- fuck , can he not try to be a fucking hero right now? That’s why Steve’s gone. Why can’t he see that?

“You’re being irrational,” Bucky tells him, feeling the anger rise within him, this is not how it was supposed to go, stay with me-

“Oh, I’m being irrational?” Sam laughs, sarcasm evident in his voice, “There might be a cure. We might get Steve back, Buck. And I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know, but-”

“But, what?” he sighs, again. The irritation is flowing between them, Bucky’s freaking out, and above all, Sam looks… he looks disappointed.

This is the worst he’s felt in his whole fucking life. He can’t disappoint the only person that matters to him. Yet he did.

“What if Hope’s wrong, Sam? It’s pointless, most of the population’s infected anyway, it would take forever to get everyone-”

“You’ve got that little faith in me?”

No. No no no. Sam, no. I love you. I love you so much it pains me to see you like this, I never meant to hurt you, I didn’t-

“We’ve lost too many, Sam!” he finds himself yelling, none of the words scrambled in his brain making it out. He’s the most stupid of them, obviously, not that he wasn’t aware. “I know you believe these people can be saved, and your hope is incredible, but can you please… not go?”

“I’m an Avenger, Bucky. It’s what I do. It’s what Steve did.”

“It’s what got Steve turned.”

This seems to be something Sam has to ponder over, because a rather uncomfortable silence settles between them. His friend’s eyes soften somewhat, but his teeth are still gritted, as are his own. Would be inappropriate to confess his undying love to the other man now, wouldn’t it?

“I do believe they can be saved,” his friend eventually speaks up, “I believe that because I need to. I lost my parents, Sarah, Steve, Natasha. I have to try.”

See, that makes sense. Another reason why Bucky fucking loves him and wants to kiss his stupid fucking face and beg him not to go. But he doesn’t.

“It’s too risky, Sam, it’s not safe.”

“I told you, I can take care of myself.”

Bucky holds in a whine, embarrassing, desperate , “I know you can! You’re a fucking hero. You’re one of the best, Sam, you are. I wish I was that brave, I just-”

“Then why won’t you let me do this?” his friend asks in frustration, “Why won’t you let me try?”

I can’t lose you. “Because I lo-”

The words are interrupted by a loud bang. Sam closes his mouth immediately, tight-lipped. Bucky’s mouth hangs open, voice disappearing. Another bang. Then a moan reaches them from somewhere far away.

Their eyes widen in synchron as they look at each other, eye contact unwavering. They both know what that sound means.

Someone’s coming in. Someone not human.

Whatever’s found them, it’s on the roof, and it’s trying its hardest to get in, so Bucky’s got to shut his mind off and get ready.

Not only is he stupid enough to start a fight with Sam, they also get discovered by one of the zombies. Fan-fucking-tastic. They run to opposite ends of the safehouse, trying to locate exactly where the intruder’s at.

Bucky follows the sound into the hallway, past the bathroom, while Sam stays behind in the kitchen, machine gun pointed at the ceiling. He could not have picked a worse time to speak his feelings than today, could he? Well done, James.

And as if this day isn’t already bad enough, he can’t hear the groaning from the roof anymore.

“Sam!” he yells, because it doesn’t matter if the brain-eater hears them, “I lost it.”

“I hear them,” his friend yells back, prompting Bucky to make his way back, adrenaline pumping, feeling the sweat running down his back, “They’re on- Bucky! Buck-”

A crash. The biggest fucking crash he’s ever heard. Silence.

No.

“Sam?!”

“I’m here,” he hears the other man’s coughing, “It’s Steve. It’s Steve! Steve, hey, okay, now stay right there-”

Bucky’s officially panicking. This is not happening. It’s not .

He’s running so fast he stumbles over his own feet. At the same time, he feels as if he’s frozen on the spot. He’s not sure what’s real anymore.

“Sam, I’m coming-”

Sam screams . And Bucky’s heart is torn out of his chest and smashed onto the floor.

It’s the most earth shattering scream Bucky’s ever heard. It reaches him and goes inside every bone in his body and clouds his vision and makes him want to scream in anger. Sam. Sam. Sam. I need him. I need you.

Yet, when he reaches the living room, he sees nothing at first but rubble and smoke. The roof’s broken down. And in the middle of it, a figure is huddled over another lying on the floor, eerily still.

No. This isn’t real.

He might even convince himself he’s dreaming, he really might, because his vision is still clouded, and his teeth are still gritted so hard he bites the inside of his cheek, until the figure turns around and he’s met with a familiar face.

Steve Rogers.

But it isn’t his Steve, it could never be, because this Steve? This one’s a walking corpse. Sickly pale skin and blood between his teeth and red eyes looking back at Bucky with no memory or remorse. And on the floor-

On the floor… on the floor- He can’t be. He’s- Sam is- Sam .

“Sam,” is all Bucky can say, feeling like a broken record. His voice breaks, and the undead fucker in front of him doesn’t move an inch.

Sam is bitten. My Sam. I love you. I love you so fucking much and that’s why I didn’t want you to go, you perfect idiot, I love you-

He’s clutching the machine gun too hard, his knuckles are turning white, but he can’t do anything.

“That’s enough, Steve,” he finds himself addressing him. It doesn’t faze the thing in front of him, but that’s not surprising. It’s not his friend anymore, “Enough.”

Then a moan sounds, but it doesn’t come from Steve’s mouth. The figure on the floor rises, slowly. Sam Wilson. But he isn't his Sam anymore.

Sam looks at him. There’s nothing in his eyes, they’re empty. No warmth, no safety, not anymore.

He’s gone, but he can’t make himself believe it.

The thing that used to be his friend… the man he’s in love with, the man he wanted to spend every day with, every day for the rest of his life, if only he’d let him, that monster that’s destroyed the most beautiful soul on this shitty earth, hollowed him out and taken his body, that monster groans again.

Then, both figures move. The fuckers are moving in one direction, and that’s towards him.

They’re not fast, Bucky backs away, but his eyes are soon clouded by hot streams of tears running down his face. He can’t hold them back. He can’t control himself. He can’t control anything, not anymore.

So he raises his gun, “Sam,” he whispers, well aware no one’s going to respond, “Sam, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. This is all my-”

He squeezes his eyes shut, ready to fire all the ammo he’s got into his two undead friends, but he opens them again, looks back at them. They’re hungry. They’re still moving.

Bucky can’t breathe.

He wipes at his tears angrily, looking back and forth between those two dead fuckers and hovers his finger over the trigger, but he can’t… he can’t. He only realises in this second. He can’t shoot.

They’re not themselves anymore , he reminds himself. They’re gone.

But Sam’s warm voice full of peace and sunshine and lazy laughter and fleeting, shy touching of hands pops up in his head. That thing is our friend. He’s not dead. Those things are your best friend and the love of your life, James.

The zombies keep coming closer and Bucky bites his tongue.

“Shit.”

He lowers his gun, and because he doesn’t know what else to do, he knocks over the coffee table, then the TV, then the potted plant that Sam loves- loved so much, and runs as fast as he can, not looking back. He hears more crashes, the distraction hopefully successful, but doesn’t slow down.

Bucky escapes out the back door, jumps in the car and pushes the speeder.

Sam Wilson, I’m so in love with you, I can’t think about anything else. You’re the only one for me. I love you. And now you’re gone because of me. I didn’t get to tell you.

He doesn’t know what to do, or where he’s going, except- he needs to find Hope Van Dyne. He has to.

17 notes · View notes

geminimoonbeamx · 5 years

Text

Of All The Things Unsaid

A/N: Lately my life has been emotionally taxing af and I needed to project it somewhere. I’ve never written anything quiet like this- I hope you guys get some enjoyment out of it? Side note- listen to Goodbye by Apparat if you really want to hurt.

Rating: Pretty M- heavy cursing, sexual situations, drug use and character death. All around heartbreak.

Summary: You loved him, and he loved you. That’s the tragedy of it all, isn’t it? A Bucky x Plus Size Reader one-shot

You and Bucky had a routine.

One that was easily fallen into- that you'd stuck to for months. Seven months and two weeks, give or take, to be exact...christ. Had it really been over half a year since that fateful night in the thirty first floor commons? The one where he had been plagued by old demons, and you by new ones and the electric attraction that had always fizzed between the two of you, the one that you’d both shyly ignored and toyed with, had finally come to a head that night.

Both of you need a crutch. Something tangible that could quiet the dark thoughts that we’re pitt like in your head. You could keep them at bay during the day time- but there, in the midnight haze it was harder.

And you’d found it, something to quiet your head, that chilly night in December.

In his arms, your back pressed against his chest as the two of you had turned your friendly cuddling on the expensive couch, into slow, deep dry humping. The kind where he had been panting in your ear hot and present and so real and you’d let out sweet little hums as you pressed your ass into his crotch, like you’d been wanting to for so long.

When he finally kissed you, his big hand cradling your jaw as he turned your head and sealed his lips over yours, you should have known you we’re way in over your head.

You thought you’d felt good before- thought you’d felt pleasure and attraction and all that good stuff- but kissing Bucky felt euphoric on a level that was, and is, still hard to comprehend. The way his lips felt, soft and firm and scratchy because of his close cut beard. Wet and warm and searching.

After that night, after the two of you had made each other come so many times that there was no room in your lust ridden heads for darkness-

The routine had started.

It only happens twice a month, on good months usually. Sometimes, rare times, its an opposite case and the two of you fuck every day for a week.

But it always goes a little something like this:

The two of you act normal around each other in public- like you haven't tasted every part of each other there is to taste; spit and come and the breath from each others lungs,

and the team is none less the wiser. For the most part- you do however work with the top agents, assassins and superheros in the world. A couple of people have figured out. Everyone keeps their respected space though, which is appreciated..

It’s always you asking for it.

By text, or call. By small touches and longing glances. You’d figured that it was because he still wasn't the best at asking for what he wanted, at first. That maybe it was just him not being the boldest crayon in the box.

But everyday he seemed to bloom brighter- Steve frequently telling him stories about the “old days”, about Bucky in his prime and how much of himself he had gotten back. That swagger- he’d never lose it. That magnetism, that charm that lied just beneath the surface. Well it wasn't so hidden anymore.

He smiled. Cracked jokes. Was a stark contrast to the man that you’d first met, all those years ago in an airport in Berlin.

And yet, for some reason, he continued to keep you at arms length. Sometimes farther then that actually.

He made you feel...so many things. Overwhelming things. For one, no man had ever put the effort into your body and making you feel good. Bucky would wring three, sometimes four orgasms out of you before he even fucked you some nights. Would make you scream and writhe and beg and then quiet you, by giving you even more.

It was more then the sex, too. It was the tenderness. It was the way he’d drag his hands, and his mouth across every part of you. All the parts you’d kept hidden. Jiggly parts, sagging, marked. Scars and stretch marks, Bucky didn't mind. He liked all of you. He wanted all of you, on those nights.

Worshiped every part of you.

And you did the same. All the ugly he saw about himself, you saw none of it. He was all hard muscle and sinew covered in soft skin and soft hair. Adonis, Apollo, Zeus himself. A god, your god.

Being on your knees for him, just felt so right.

At first.

But then…

Well there’s only so much one’s pride can take. Especially someone like you, who had always been so, so prideful. Out of the seven deadlies, that one had always gotten you into the most trouble.

It wasn't just that you always had to reach out first; the multiple calls and texts that it took to get through to him sometimes. Getting left on seen could make anyone itch, irritated.

But it was the fact that he’d open up to you, just tiny fragments and little bits at a time, and then close all the way up. Ziplock style. Airtight and unyielding

In the darkness of your room, or his; in soft sheets warmed by each other’s body heat you cracked open like an egg for him. Spilled your guts, yellow yolk of your soul to him as he massaged your scalp, his fingers tangling in your hair. Pressed kisses that seared into your skin.

He listened to you, talked to you. Laughed with you. Fucked you- hard and mercilessly and then gently like you were the most important thing, the most fragile, beautiful thing.

The intimacy that had built between the two of you was overwhelming and one day it slapped you in the face, knocked the breath out of your lungs that you we’re very, very much in love with him.

And Bucky? Well you could tell that those feelings we aren't reciprocated.

He didn't want this, whatever this was, to exist outside of the moments where it was hidden in the cover of starry nights and locked rooms.

It wasn't like you'd never experienced this before, because you had. Many a time. It came with the territory of being a plus sized woman in a world we’re European beauty standards didn't quite cover you.

Bucky wasn't embarrassed of you. You strongly believed that...at first.

He just wasn't ready for any kind of relationship. Not yet. Maybe later on…

But seven months later and you we’re starting to doubt what his intentions we’re.

It was little things:

The pats on the shoulder he gave you in front of the team.

The way him and that agent- the SHIELD one who was nice enough but looked at him like a piece of steak- seemed to be so chummy.

The way he ardently argued that he didn't want to go do things in the daylight; he was tired. Beat from missions. Hated people. Just wanted to be with you, or so he said.

The beginning of the end came one night. After a long intense session of Bucky pounding you into the mattress, of his grinding hips and bruising lips-

“How was therapy today?” You questioned innocently as he laid his head on your chest. You played with the damp, sweat dried, tendrils of his hair idly.

“It was okay” Was all the answer you got.

“Yeah? How is it going with her? I was talking to Dr. Tessa(your own therapist) and she said that she was one of the best?” You press on. You shouldn't have.

Bucky looks up at you, resting his chin on your soft breast “I miss the ones in Wakanda, but she’s fine I guess. I just need to get to know her a little better before I can say for sure, you know? It’s not...easy...for me to talk about som’a the shit in my head”

Yeah you did know. You play with his hair a little more, as he stares at you and waits.

“You know you can talk to me, always. About anything, right?” you say, forcing yourself to look into his storm blue eyes. He blinks, long. And then looks away.

“I know. But trust me when I say you don't want that, Y/N” He announces after a moment and starts to pull himself from your breast, from you. From this conversation.

“I don't really think you know what I want” You reply strongly, holding on to him. Trying to keep him close.

It doesn't work. He’s stronger than you, in more ways than one.

The two of you lay there on your backs, for longer then a moment. Staring at the ceiling.

You don't know why you feel like crying, but this feels like all those thoughts that you’d had bubbling up- you knew he didn't want more and here you we’re, pushing anyway. He must be getting annoyed. Must be sick of the constant texts. Of you buzzing around him-

“What do you want?” His deep, velvet voice rings out in the dark room and you force yourself to stay calm. With his hearing, he’d pick up if your breathing changed. If you started sobbing.

Because you cant tell him- can't stand the idea of his rejection.

“I just want you to be able to trust me like I trust you” You whisper back and he wiggles closer so that your shoulders touch.

“I do trust you” He chuckles and you're happy he keeps it so damn dark in this room. If you guys we’re in yours there would be candles everywhere. He’d see your face and the expression on it.

“Then what happened on the mission? You came back...in pretty bad shape”

“It went south- I was able to get it right again. What happened in between isn't really any of your concern, baby doll” you wonder if he means to sound so? Void.

“But I am concerned...if you wanted to talk about it, about any of it-”

“I dont Y/N. Especially not tonight, okay?”

Ouch.

But you guess it was warranted. You we’re trying to make him do things he didn't want to. Trying to make him feel things he didn't.

You had no right.

“Okay, I understand. Um, sorry. I can go” You start as you sit up.

Where had he thrown your shirt? You’re scrambling, trying to locate your clothes in the dark while pulling the sheet to your chest because it doesn't feel right to be naked around him anymore “I’ll go. I just”

“No, you dont have to” Bucky protests, as he sits up too,

and reaches for you

You avoid his grabby hands and slide out of his bed. Hah, there's your shirt, tossed haphazardly on his night stand.

“Really, Bucky it’s okay” You insist, feeling stupid as you flail around in the dark, hunting for your pajama bottoms. Hating yourself and this situation. Why? Had you let it get this far.

“Doll, Y/N. Stop” He schooches to the end of the bed and grabs your small, doughy hand in his large one. You look down at him, can make out the silhouette of him staring up at you.

“Stay” is all he has to say.

And you should go. Protect what's left of your heart and run.

But you crawl back into the circle of his arms.

You don't feel much better as you drift to sleep. But you know he does, as he nuzzles his nose in your hair. Makes that almost purring sound he does when he’s truly content.

And you realize...you’ve traded your happiness for his.

Would move heaven and earth to see this man that had been through so much pain smile. Even if it hurt you.

Days later- the nail is driven into the coffin when you happen to stumble upon a set of assassins in a conference room.

That sounds unlikely right? Like the universe would have to set it up for that to even happen?

You’d been running an errand for Pepper- not minding because to you she was the queen of the universe and you liked hanging out with her, made you feel normal even though you’re literally the farthest from, when you stopped in your tracks.

The hallway outside the cracked conference room isn’t empty, assistants and Stark industry employees with clearance to this level walk freely.

You think that’s how you manage to spy on the spy’s.

They speak in broken Russian, Bucky and Natasha.

He’s sat on one of the swivel chairs and she’s perched on the table.

You admit, you don’t hear much, as you stand by the door, just out of sight. Lurking in the shadows doesn’t feel as cool as it looks in movies.

“I don’t know, Natalia. It’s just- I’m overwhelmed a little bit by it. By her” Bucky admits, jaw clenching for a moment. You can only see the back of his head really but you can imagine he doesn’t look to pleasant.

“Then you need to tell her. She deserves to know” Natasha argues, soft and firm in that way that only she can pull of.

Overwhelmed? Who is She? Are you she? Is she you?

“She doesn’t deserve it- I- I don’t want to mess her up over it” Bucky goes on but Natasha cuts him off.

“So just being distant is your game plan? What? Are you just going to be an ass until she gets the point? You and Y/N both deserve better then that” and then she speaks in Russian, it sounds like a curse. She punctuates it with a shake of her head.

Your heart is pounding. You’re surprised he can’t hear it. It’s making you dizzy, it feels like it’s going to jump out of your chest- she said your name. It is you they’re talking about.

You should leave. Why are your feet suddenly cemented to the ground?

They speak in Russian some more and you’re really trying to grasp it some of it so you can look it up on google translate.

“I just need space to figure it out ? You’re not making it any better! I already feel like shit about everything, okay?” Bucky snaps in English and ice water floods your veins.

You knew it. You had overwhelmed him. He didn’t know how to let you down easy. He’s telling Natasha as much and you’ve never felt so embarrassed, shamed in your life.

You cling to the thin tablet full of documents Pepper had sent you away with, cling until your fingers ache and force yourself to walk away.

You don’t want to hear anymore. Think you’ll literally be sick if you do.

You’re halfway down the hallway, all but running away from the scene you’d stumbled on. You don’t have super soldier hearing, so you don’t hear the rest of the conversation-

“She deserves more than me. It doesn’t matter that I love- that I feel how I feel about her. She’s- she’s fucking sunshine. And I’m-“ Bucky struggled to get out. He feels so much for you, it’s hard to put it in words.

“A good man?” Natasha interjects with a raised brow. Daring him to deny it.

“Tainting her” Bucky corrects her. And he’s wrong, so wrong but he thinks he’s right and he’s so stubborn and Natasha knows not even she will get him to budge.

“If you don’t tell her how you feel, you’re going to lose her. You ready to deal with that, soldat?”

And Bucky's mouth gets dry at the thought.

What he doesn’t realize, in that moment, is he already has.

It starts off with you being more distant towards him then you ever had. You keep a wide berth, never in the same space as him unless forced. Team meetings and meals/ but even then you are all but running away from him.

You used to text him all of the time- memes, asking him about his day. Little things that made him glow bright.

Not anymore- there’s radio silence from you now. He dims a little darker every day that he receives nothing from you.

Weeks go by. You drift further from him and it’s like his heart is unraveling in his hands. He can’t manage to pull on a string that will pull you back to him- when he tries it just seems to unravel further.

He texts. Multiple times. An embarrassing amount of times.

You don’t even read them. Don’t even open them.

He goes out of his way to aim conversations at you when you are around- and you avoid it. The awkwardness handing heavy around you as you avoid talking to him directly.

He wants to see you. He misses you. Wants you. Your skin and your laughter and your eyes- the way they used to be soft and accepting for him always.

What happened? Had you finally realized just how fucked up he was? Finally come to the conclusion that you needed to cut it off.

He hasn’t felt like this since before the war. He remembers the way heartbreak tastes, acidic and at the back of his throat.

Had it ever burnt this bad, though? Cut this deep?

He hates everything, the pain causing him to dig up old wounds.

He hates Hydra and what they did to him. He hates that he’s not dead, that it would take a hell of a lot to kill him now.

He hates that it takes Asgardian mead to get him drunk and Thor seems to be out of it at the moment and it takes three hundred years to brew.

He hates that Steve and Natasha and Sam seem to pick up on his sour mood and won’t leave him the fuck alone. He hates that Natasha had him thinking for even a moment that you loved him back.

He can’t hate you though. It would probably be easier than loving you, but Bucky can’t do anything but love you. It’s like he was built to love you- to adore you with every fiber of his being.

He’s tainted goods. Some days he feels like he’s redeemed himself- or at least is on that road. And others he feels the blood on his hands threaten to drown him.

He wasn’t kidding when he said you were sunshine - that you’d come into his life and brightened it in a way that he couldn’t have expected. That he now realized he didn’t deserve.

Bucky takes every mission he can. Anything to run away from the pain of you not loving him back.

Three months later; Tony Stark decides to have a party. It’s not a rare occurrence by any means. This ones a luncheon for the reinstatement of SHIELD.

It’s a controversial topic and not everyone is on board, but the decor is beautiful and the catering is superb.

You’d forced yourself into your old routines- ones that didn’t involve Bucky. Kickboxing, yoga. Gotten your sleep schedule back to where it was- at least when you weren’t on missions. Flew back home whenever you could to see your family. Spent time with your friends *couch, Wanda*

You were still fucking devastated, but you were maintaining.

No one would ever know that you were heart broken beyond repair; not with the pretty, black and long sleeved off the shoulder pencil dress you wore. Not with how perfectly sculpted and highlighted your face was- your hair shiny and styled.

You charm with the best of them; mingling with the three hundred or so SHIELD agents, Stark employees and congress people.

If there’s one thing you’d worked hard to perfect in your time as an Avenger- it was your public persona. Your game face. It’s why you always made sure to look presentable, all caked up and girly. Being fat, you already had to try 10x harder than you would, but also being enhanced? A mutant? A previously labeled terrorist? Oh yeah, the game face was a must.

It breaks when you see Bucky at the bar, laughing with that agent. The pretty red headed one who looked at him like the whole meal he was; petite and tight all over, you’d be lying to yourself and also being the world's biggest hater to deny her beauty.

He looked...like he was having a good time. Laughing with her and Sam and Steve. Looked right next to her.

He had a thing for redheads, any how, right? Steve had mentioned one from the forties and him and Natasha…

Maybe you’d never been his type. That would make it all make sense.

You excused yourself from the conversation.

“Are you okay?” Wanda can feel you bubbling and you smile and nod, like you always do, but she knows you feel like you’re dying.

She can feel it, too.

“I just- um- I’m going to go powder my nose, or something”

Powdering your nose equals you doing a line of coke in a private bathroom. Trying to recenter yourself enough to go on with the rest of the lunch.

You knew it would help, it always did. Had been getting you through some nasty shit as of late.

So you suck up those fine white lines, off of one of your credit cards and let them turn the chaos in your head to a dull buzz. The drip tastes foul, but feels good, as good as you’re going to get.

You make sure your nose is clean, that your hair is fluffed and your lipstick is re applied. No evidence of what had happened.

You don’t need to be labeled the coke head superhero. You doubt that will do for the teams image.

Running into Bucky in hallway on your way back- well considering your life and luck, you shouldn’t have been surprised.

Hell, there were literal hundreds of hallways in this building- and yet there he was.

In his form fitting charcoal trousers and his black button down. With his hair pulled back into low bun. His sharp jaw on display.

You miss kissing it. Missed the way it felt beneath your lips.

“Hey…” you trail off. Feeling alien and high and anxious.

He keeps his eyes trained downwards at you, like he can’t look away and internally you squirm.

“Hi- it’s um, good to see you” He gruffs, sounding equally as awkward as you feel “I- you haven’t been around much lately”

“Yeah, I guess not”

He bites the inside of his cheek.

“I hope you’re doing alright” is all he can think to say, out of all the things in his head, that’s what he chooses.

And you can’t help it. You snort. At the audacity.

After all he’d put you through, for him to say that? God, why is your life like this?

“I’m fine, Bucky, if you’d excuse me” you try to walk around him and it’s like muscle memory, like he doesn’t even have control of himself.

His blood and bone hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, halting you.

Your stomach bubbles with emotion.

“I-I miss you” Bucky whispers. He’s so close you can feel that heat you’d longed for radiating from his body. You can smell him. Taste him on the back of your tongue…

“That’s so not fair” you protest, looking him in the eye as you say it. For the first time, mustering up your courage and saying your piece “You don’t get to say that to me- not after I literally begged you- you pushed me away, Bucky”

“I know”

“You did this to me. Fuck” your voice is shaky and his eyes are pained.

“I know, doll baby, I’m so sorry. If we could just, if you could just let me-“ You hate that you want to cave. That seeing him this hurt destroys you.

You can’t let him finish. You’ll want to do what he says, you’ll want to make him happy again.

And you can’t trade your happiness for his anymore.

“No, I can’t. I just can’t, so please let me go. I have to go” you tug your wrist out of his grip and he lets you. His own hand, balled into a fist slapping back down to his thigh as he watches you walk as fast as your heels will carry you down the hallway.

Away from him.

His face feels numb as the tears rim in his eyes.

Everything in his body tells him to chase you- but you’d asked him to let you go and although it feels wrong, and he hates it, he’ll do as you asked.

It was supposed to be a routine mission. Not exactly an in and out, taking down a Hydra cell in Beirut.

You, Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Tony were supposed to be more than enough. Supposed to be, being the key word.

Hydra was a lot of things, never to be underestimated. And you guys hadn’t. All the recon, didn’t prepare you for the fact that they had been planning on you guys finding them.

There were extra men. It was a fire fight- with Tony in the sky and Steve and Bucky literally ripping men limb from limb in an attempt to even the ante-

You hold your own, your training coming in handy.

But it all happens so fast.

Youre caught mid teleport.

You feel a crushing weight in your chest. You just think you’d just been punched, hard. It’s just pressure, really, until the man in tax gear pulls the large knife from your flesh.

Blood, your blood dripping coating and dripping from the blade that had just been embedded in you,

Cold shock runs through you and your ears ring so loud you can’t hear anything over them. He goes to plunge it back, but your eyes snap closed and you use all of your energy to teleport from his arms.

You don’t get far. Falling in a heap at his feet, but it gives you enough time to watch the bullet pierce his head from behind. A bullet in his forehead oozing before he drops, dead weight beside you.

Youre gasping. Both hands clutching at your chest that you almost can’t feel. It doesn’t hurt, and that scares you more.

No pain. That’s bad right?

No pain, but your hands are slippery wet and when you look at them, coated in crimson.

No pain but you can’t catch your breath. Can’t take a breath. Are gasping around the hole inside you.

Then there’s black pant clad legs infront of you, heavy combat boots familiar, before you’re laid on your back, a hand coming to cradle the back of your head, tilting it off or her cold, cement floor.

Then, you’re looking up at Bucky who has yanked off his eye mask and who is staring down at you, his blue eyes wide. Scared, more fear then you’ve ever seen in them

His pink lips moving. He’s saying something but your ears are ringing so loudly still.

“B-Bucky” you gasp. Really- it comes out as more of a gurgle. Fear runs through you at the sound of it and you tremble.

“You’re okay, it’s okay, Y/N. Don’t talk- we have to keep pressure on the wound” he moves your hands so that his big one can hold the wound. Yours instantly reach to grip his, bloody fingers intertwining.

You’re leaking.

From your eyes and your mouth. From the hole. Tears and blood and soul exiting your body.

And all Bucky can do is watch. Is grasp you, try to keep pressure as he screams into his com that you need a medevac, that you’re hurt bad, that you need help bad.

He’s usually stony, calm. All his years in the army, and then in Hydra. He’s always calculated on missions.

How can he be calculated when you’re dying. When there’s nothing he can do. When sunlight is melting in his hands.

“I-“ it’s a gurgle again, bloody and frothy and your eyes unfocus. “B-b-b”

“Shh, baby, please don’t talk. It’s alright, you’re gonna be o-kay” he chokes on a sob because it’s a lie. You’re not. He knows the human body- he knows that where the knife had pierced you- he’d hit an artery.

You’re bleeding out, he knows it- you have minutes. Less than. And there’s nothing he can fucking do.

You don’t hurt, you want to tell him. It’s okay. You want to tell him.

I love you so much.

You’re so stupid for never telling him.

You try to open your mouth but it’s full- you can’t swallow and blood flows from the corners. Into your hair, across your face.

Instead you smile, and it’s bloody and morbid, and you squeeze his hand with both of yours. It’s weak and barley there but he can feel it. He squeezes back.

Squeezes long after you’ve gone limp and the spark, all that light and life and vibrance, leaves your eyes. Until Steve grabs his shoulder, forces him to let go of you. Of your corpse.

I love you, he thinks as he watches Tony, in his iron man suit, carry you away. You’re limp and stiff in his metal arms.

I love you.

Neither of you ever got the chance to tell each other.

And now you never will.

@peacefulwriter88 @geekyweed @gifsbysimplysonia @prettybubblesintheair @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @lostinspace33 @4theluvofall @plumfondler @jaamesbbarnes @jalapenobarnes @sad-af1121 @thatawkwardtinyperson @brieannakeogh @paulxrudd @prettyyoungtragedy @whichwayisthebeach-seabass @shay-iamiam @kagome1414 @thejamesoldier @papi-chulo-bucky @spidey-babe-parker @rachelle-on-the-run

Aaaaaaand all I can say is I’m sorry? That I don’t know where this came from and I apologize for trauma? I love you guys?

Let me know what you thought of this one and we can all be sad together.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #pure angst #character death #pain #plus size reader insert #bucky barnes x reader smut

159 notes · View notes

helpinghanikan · 5 years

Text

Pet or guilt trip, your choice

Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x reader

Sum: no home is complete without a pet, or second best

Steve Rogers:

After the first attack on New York gifts and presents started pilling in the lobby. For every member of the team at that point, even the ones who the public didn’t know the name of. Flowers, candy, clothes, jewelry, and sometimes straight up cash. Most were donated (save for the drawings, and that one necklace Nat was not going to let go of), and among those gifts were Lady.

She was a little golden retriever puppy, pink bow around her neck. Security guard (a wall of a man) was cooing over her when you had walked in.

Accepting her on Steve’s behalf she fit snuggly in the crook of one arm. The other holding the files. Help from fellow employees pressed elevator buttons and open doors kept Lady from touching the floor.

You sat Lady down after seeing him in your office. Opening the door and nudging her inside with the toe of your pump. She goes right for the next available source of attention in the room, Steve kneeling to her level. She whines and goes for his face, tiny paws trying to get traction on his shirt collar and get to more of his face.

“Careful of Cujo there,” You say, papers on the desk.

“I don’t- okay, later.” Another movie added to the list. “Who is this?”

“Our child,” You said, an arsenal of guilt ready to be used.

Tony Stark:

You’d need more hands to count how many times you’ve tried to get a pet. Tony has dodged every attempt with legit reason; cats knock things over, dogs are a lot of work and messy, birds? No, just no.

This helped create the “Stark adoption day”, your personal project. Part passion project, part proof that you are more than just some trophy on Tony’s arm. Working with any shelter that will have you (which was a good majority) and setting up the meet and greet with dogs, cats and everything else in the park. Unsurprisingly it was maybe an hour before people started asking about Tony.

It was a little deflating that people were more concerned about Tony than the animals. This was why you had gotten to Tony before he made his entrance. Making sure he’s not wearing anything that he wouldn’t want ruined.

Adoption rates went through the roof. Hand picking the oldest, least desirable pets and putting them on the for-front. Tony holding a single eyed orange cat was still being cycled around, another where you had stolen his sunglasses for a brief moment and placed them on the bridge of an old saint-bernard. Both of them were adopted within the hour on that day.

Thor:

Thor had a horse, Thor had a big fucking horse.

“What’cha got there?” A lame question with an obvious answer.

He had this confidence that everyone should envy. Even when he doesn’t know where or what’s going on, he is still so sure. Just like now, holding black reins of this dun horse, tail black, mane matching.

“Gail,” A simple name that he probably didn’t pick out. “She’s from the neighbors,” Neighbors who were over two miles away. “Come, come here.”

His hand lays over yours, guiding you to stroke her neck.

Whether you had experience with horses or not it didn’t matter. Gail was Thor’s girl. A free ranged horse that wondered your property, coming into her little barn when the weather is less than pleasant.

Thor gets this look on his face when brushing Gail. Every bit of stress, every forced laugh and smile is gone when he mounts her up. How could you say no to that?

Bucky Barnes:

He hadn’t noticed you yet, sitting on the patio steps. The rented cottage was angled so the sun caught whatever rested on the porch. Usually it were local cats, this time they were joined by your man. Scratching his head at just the right angle, gleam of metal sending magic over the stone.

He’s a tuxedo with white on only his back-left paw. Following the little white dots along the stone and up the wall. Both paws reaching out to slap at the light swishing side to side, following it left to right and back down to the porch. He was one of those outdoor cats, born in the wild. Scratched up ears and skinny body to match.

Bucky raises his arms up and down for the sun to catch it. Kitty not having a care in the world no matter how close he got to the large man. Eventually attacking Bucky’s leg, pressing against it and bouncing back. Turning around and attacking again, maybe trying to confuse his prey.

“Oh God, I love it.” Wanda had texted when you sent the video.

Kitty was your host for the duration of the small vacation. Probably hanging around because of the food you had left out, letting out a jagged meow while trotting up whenever Bucky leaves the cabin.

By the last day Kitty sat next to the bags stacked by the door. Staring, daring like he was daring you to try and leave without him.

Natasha Romanoff:

His name is Clint and he’s a bastard.

Just like the man he was named after, the large African gray parrot hung out in the highest points of the apartment when alone. Sometimes flying down to chill on the counter or couch when Nat was home, bouncing around the apartment while she would watch amused.

He was adopted when Natasha officially moved in. Someone for you to be with while she was away. She really loved him, cooing at him when perched on her shoulder. Speaking in any language she knew as a greeting.

Nat was Clint’s obvious favorite. The moment she was gone he would go into his corner. Waiting for you to be in sight before throwing an actual tantrum. There was a real chance that Clint was a cat reincarnated; going into your kitchen and knocking down the hung-up mugs, opening the cabinets and marching on the plates when he locks himself in. He’ll scream into the void between the couch and wall, grab at chips or snacks as your bringing them to your mouth. In those few minutes that he’s calm he’ll stay in front of you and just stare;

“Bring mom back, or I’ll tear this house apart.”

The worst? He can speak, but only in Russian. You hadn’t learned what he was saying, but he was likely cursing you out.

Bruce Banner:

She’s a street beggar that had a love for fried chicken. With a meow too high for a cat her age, not caring about dangers and stretching deep. Her front paws against your leg, as though she just happens to be leaning against you.

She does this every day when you pass. Accepting whatever sort of meaty substance you have at the moment. Seeming to glare when you had the audacity to offer a vegetable. At one point she followed after eating the treat, it was a spur of the moment decision to scoop from the old cat, her nails barely pressing into the cloth of your sleeves.

It honestly took a few days before Bruce noticed Peppermint. She was an older cat, her all black coat had some shimmer of gray from age. Long haired and only showed her bratty side at the vet, or when she was being brushed.

You really, really should have told him about her when you first got home. He wasn’t home very often, a little house outside of a city. Even the mildest mannered of the Avengers was almost never home. This was among the excuses you had used for randomly adopting a cat.

“She was alone, like me.” You are a real asshole sometimes.

Of course, you never blamed Bruce for having to be gone. You’ve spent years separated until the Avengers brought you back together, another few more when he disappeared into the sky. Using all that for a cat? She better be one amazing cat.

T’Challa:

The man has battle rhinos, you’d think he could handle a French bulldog.

Cosmo was a spoiled coworker’s birthday present. She lost interest in him after he passed his puppy phase. Her comments about taking him to the shelter had perked your ears, swooping in to save the little boy right behind her.

He’s a real brat, you love him, but he’s the worst.

You’ve just never realized how bad he was until T’challa insisted you visit for a longer period then expected. This was the journey of many firsts for Cosmo; first time on a plane, first time leaving country and the first time in Wakanda. First time meeting Okoye, who just watched this little black ball raise on his paws and stare at her on the plane seat. He growled deep in his throat, whining up at her and she just stared back. Eventually he just started barking, sitting on his butt and barking to the sky. Demanding she pick him up.

She just smiles down at him, head on her hand. Seeing how long this boy was going to whine until he gave up. Cosmo was going the entire flight, Okoye would make a great mother.

Shuri’s face lighting up was worth bringing the little booger along. It wasn’t that there were no small dogs in Wakanda, or that she didn’t know what a French bull dog was, it was just a breed that wasn’t necessary to adopt from the outside world. With both hands she holds him up to her face, more than willing to watch him while you met up with T’challa.

His face looking at Cosmo was one of “What did you bring into my home?”

And he kept that face every time Cosmo stared up at him with that old man wheezing. Or when Cosmo would take a sock from those placed out, running from the room with it like he had just robbed a bank. His worst offense is to have the audacity to squeeze his firry butt between you and T’chall at night. Too deep in sleep to hear the names your man was calling your second favorite boy.

Pietro Maximoff

Nothing can cement a person to one place like a sleeping pet.

They’ve been stuck to the same spot for the past hour. The black and white husky resting her head on his lap, one paw over the knee as a way to say “please, don’t move.”

Pietro’s face was annoyed, but his dominate hand kept a good rhythm of petting Savannah’s head. The other flicked through channels, occasionally looking your way. Maybe to see what you were doing (still on the laptop), maybe to look for help. Not that you’d ever mess with your copper and white colored princess.

She would nip at your legs, howl and scream when the food would take too long. Keeping Pietro wrapped around her paw whenever he left the house. Growling low in her throat when he’d tell her no. She would do this until he grabbed her leash, muttering in his mother language as she wiggled with excitement.

Peter Parker:

Peter held the little guy way too close to his face. Looking at the white and fawn spotted bunny in his hands, inspecting him as though he might not have been an actual rabbit. In his defense Happy was cute little guy.

It was like a divorce from a marriage that never happened. Happy was a plan that took weeks in the making. Infecting each other with the Bun disease after watching one too many “how to care for your rabbit” videos in the wee hours of the morning. He spent most his life at your place, taking him Peter’s a few times a week during “Dates”.

It wasn’t that Aunt May had explicably said no, she just gestured around the apartment. “We barely fit in here.” The woman was immune to the bunny charms, still more than willing to hold him, though. Making kissy noises and cooing.

This was Happy’s life now. Seeing his Daddy every “date” night. The two of your sitting across from each other on the floor, legs stretching out for your feet to be flat against each other. Creating a tiny carrel for Happy to choose which parent he will be cuddled by.

Stephen Strange:

It wasn’t so much Stephen had said no that Wong did. He had the look of a man who had seen the effects of cats on old books and birds in wide open areas. Dogs don’t seem to be on the list of preferred pets for those working in mystic arts. They’re too good for them, anyway.

“It’s good karma,” You had said, door chiming when opened.

“Karma’s not real, Sweetie,” The nickname of condescension.

“You’re fucking attitude is. Hi, Marisa.”

There is probably a reason dogs aren’t chosen for mystic arts. They’re too much of a distraction, spending hours with these girls and boys. Filling bowls, washing cages and scrubbing puppies cleaned the soul.

Stephen had stood off to the side at first. One of those poor kids whose parents had never let him have a real pet (maybe a fish, but you can’t pet a fish). Slowly getting more accommodated with the dogs getting too excited around him. Then he met Beorn, the adult male Newfoundland who was getting on in age.

Because of his age he wasn’t the first option for adoption, a mass of black hair laying in his cage. Beorn nudged against his hand, a deep noise at the back of his throat that said, “I’m old and deserve pets. Get to it, youngster.”

Stephen’s hands disappeared into the black mass. Reaching for miles before he found the body and Beorn groaned at the attention. Stephen fell in love with him at that moment. Going with you to the shelter and just so happen to wander towards Beorn. Taking credit for volunteering while he only stays with this old bear.

“I want him,” He one day admitted on the way home.

“Talk to your work-husband.”

Matt Murdock:

“I don’t need a service dog,” He says.

“I’ll pay for it.” You says.

“Sweetie, Angel, no.” The double pet name. It’s on now.

“Come, how’d you get that busted lip?”

Thug two was quieter than thug one

“Walked into a door.” He says.

“And your ribs?”

Big crow-bar, bigger guy

“Went hard into a table.”

“You know what can keep you from doing that? A service animal.” Beers clink between your fingers while walking into the room.

“I have you for that.” He says.

“Wow,” You keep the bottle from his hands. Setting it on the coffee table instead.

“I didn’t mean that,” He reaches for the bottle. Missing by a few inches, leaning forward and pushing it gently into his hands. “I think the cane says I’m blind enough. I don’t have time for it either.”

“Dogs are suffering you know,” a drink of beer. You’re planning something. “And their shelter is underfunded.”

There it is; his little, bleeding heart, angel. “What do they need?”

“Lawyer on retainer, paperwork and stuff. “Another drink, a louder gulp. You hardly ever asked for anything, let alone a legal favor. “All your clients with them will be innocent. Ya know?”

Matt nods, “Foggy’ll love it.”

------------------------

Carol Danvers:

“This is just a favor to a friend,” Mr. Fury says walking with you through the house.

Middle of nowhere was an understatement, surrounded by fields owned by no one and woods belonging to the deer. You should probably ask if there was wifi in the place. That the phone line is connected out here is a serious long shot.

“In exchange for that favor,” You’ve only known this man for a few hours. Long enough for car ride and brief introduction that told you nothing but his name. In that time, you have learned he seemed to like being dramatic. Grabbing the carrier on the kitchen table and setting it on the floor with a clunk for dramatics. “He’s your problem now.”

The orange kitty inside obviously didn’t share Mr. Fury’s love for dramatics. Just sitting in the loaf position inside of his crate, barely acknowledging that he now had a way to roam around.

“Carol has a cat?” You ask.

The floor creaks as you squat down to see inside the crate better. Cat now acting like you meant nothing to him while he stretches out. Walking out and sniffing your outstretched fingers. A purr deep in his throat gets louder when he rubs against them, spinning to trail his tail between your fingers.

“He’s more then that. Just make sure he’s in front of your if they break in here.” Mr. Fury says, holding out a card to you. “When that happens give me a call.”

-----------------

Shang-Chi:

It takes a minute to realize that a turtle had made it’s home in Shang’s apartments. It’s enclosure blending a little too well with the shelves, lamps and junk that decorated Shang’s living space.

“That’s Sheldon-.” Shang begins.

“LAME!” Yells Katy from the couch.

“-Xialing gave him to me a bit ago. She said he ‘matched the décor and my attitude.’ Whatever that means.”

Seeing Sheldon making his way around the room. You had to agree. Especially as it was a pancake tortoise that moved around faster than you’d assume it to be.

Now that you knew Sheldon was there he was hard to miss. He walked through the tiles of the kitchen when let out of his enclosure and chilled on the carpet when Shang would get ready in the morning.

“I thought I was your pushup cheerleader.” You said one morning from your shared bed.

It was a blessing and a curse that Shang used pushups to wake up in the morning. A blessing because who doesn’t like to wake up to a beautiful view? And a curse because of the constant suggestion that you join him.

This morning he was doing the set as usual. With Sheldon choosing to hang out right under his owner. Completely confident in his dad’s ability to not just slam to the ground.

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melypeira · 5 years

Photo

“Cold Zone Lovers”

An illustrated fanfic by lilacmel

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Summary:

"Friends will take your silence and your hurts, Sharing and trading passions and joys, Even naughty pranks and flirts, But careful of green eyed beasts it annoys. Specially when dealing with oblivious blondies."

An illustrated fanfic, for an idea I had in my mind for a while. End game was disappointing and not enough gay, so this is my contribution for pride month ;3

Fic also on AO3 (easier to read, but I needed an place to image host).

archiveofourown.org/works/19376977/

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“This human called Jim is a simpleton.” Says one.

“You just don’t appreciate his effort trying to win over a lady.” Speaks two.

“Surely, that woman is arrogant and vain.” Replies back the haughty one.

“Like you, you mean.” Sassed in return the mellow other.

A serious man walks quietly thinking to himself, while searching for someone. Said man has a strong silhouette, one so popular in North America that couldn’t possibly be unrecognizable. Well, except maybe with a hat and glasses. Our dear Captain America, with dark blond hair and the shapes Kim Kardashian would be jealous of, according to Tony/IronMan, AKA also known as Steve Rogers, could not believe what he was hearing, much less seeing. Walking over to the ‘Big ol’ Popcorn Mess Hall’, name courtesy of the host, he saw the most unimaginable view he could possibly think of in his long but short years of life.

Two branded criminals, the notorious Winter Soldier, Hydra’s soldier with a mechanical arm - very sought after by certain woodland creatures - and notorious frost giant, norse god of mischief and all around “pain-in-the-ass” for the avengers. Together, in a sofa, eating popcorn, sat Bucky and Loki, talking and watching – the shock- a comedy movie. Stunned still by this in the hallway, our American hero retires, forgetting entirely what he wanted with his traumatized friend.

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“Thor, we need to take action, I don’t mind Loki returning anymore, but I don't care where they're from, I don't enjoy bullies” Steve Rogers declares out loud. His mighty friend is sometimes an excellent judge and leader, but he can be overprotective, thinks the golden haired norse god. Master of lightning, ale and, now, of a slightly round belly - blame the later - Thor Odinson doesn’t see the point the captain is making against his brother’s associations. He is generally is just glad to have gotten Loki back, with all his little mischievous acts and fake-deaths, after all.

“Loki is free to do what he wants, meaning all things which will not hurt the midgardians or the sanity of the avengers, such is the trust my brother and I have made” claims the Asgardian king, stroking his fashionable braided beard while whetting his axe. Maybe the other blonde should spend his time caring for the borrowed Mjölnir instead of spying on his frost friend, muses Thor.

“You don’t understand, Loki manipulates minds, with or without the stones. Bucky has been far too much brainwashed by those blasted octopus loving bastards” May those days never come again for his dear friend; the young aged soul contemplates. He doesn’t want the other going back to such harsh settings as freezing, to heal in Wakanda, away from him.

“My brother has a powerful silver-tongue, indeed, but comrade Bucky is a fierce warrior, he can fend for himself in such matters”. Thor says while putting his axe in its weapon stand, leaving his comfy armchair.

“Then let’s prove that conviction. Come with me”. Rogers declares, turning and opening the door. He finds Tony outside, who clearly had listened in through his cameras and came to “gossip the juicy bits, Steve”. Both the Son of Odin and the soldier ignore him. “I don’t see why the worries, I am kinda shipping this WinterFrost happening in my sofa” they can still hear nearing the end of the hallway near the elevator.

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“Hell, they are on the sequel today!” “How would you…nevermind, must be that little leatherless book of yours” Both blondes whisper to each other in the hallway, not very hidden as they think they are. Thor knew what Steve was saying, but watching was another thing altogether. It hit him hard how much he missed his comraderies with his brother, laughing and being “bitchy” as he heard Hawkeye saying. Seeing happening with the arm-armored brunette was jealousy-inducing.

Worse times were still to come, because this friendship became evident to other avengers, even the Wakandan people heard about it. The only ones not amused by the situation were still America's Golden Boy and now the Thunder God.

The interactions were everywhere, joking and pranks and even once in a while you could see Falcon/Sam joining with beers on the TV and Wanda sharing some wine and conversations on the bar with the two. That was only the eye of the storm, trouble was arriving at the horizon.

Then, flirting began. It was inevitable, Bucky has always been charming, Steve somewhat suspected gender didn’t matter to his friend - likewise for him - but why Loki of all of them was a mistery, even Wanda made more sense, seeing his usual type in the day. Thor meanwhile knew his brother enjoyed both the attention and the actual chasing game, often seducing and changing appearances for the sake of ‘a bit of fun’. He wondered what exactly in the scenario was bothering him, was it he missed his friends? Maybe Jane? The Snake-like sibling’s full attention. Or was it vanity, the feeling of being undesirable as he now is, missing his toned body looking at the brunette soldier.

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“Bucky, I know nobody is perfect, but the ‘safest hands are still our own’. So why are you playing right into Loki’s hands?" Calmly Rogers says, thought noticing his little slip, maybe Bucky didn’t even notice.

“Whadya mean pal? I wasn’t aware I was playing into something Steve, except maybe my games with Birdie Man” Bucky replies, somewhat confused but amused by his friend.

"I’m glad you’re back at the headquarters, and as much as I don’t like the idea of you isolating from others because of the past, I don’t think that bonding with Loki will help you at all. We all need family, I get it, but the Avengers could be yours, maybe more so than mine. They won’t judge you for your past” More fiercely, Steve declares.

“Wait a minute, hell Steve! Are you actually coming to me after all this mess, with we haven’t talked much about by the way, we are busy, I get it, to ‘order’ my friendships?? ‘Cause I might be unstable and lonely?” Finally understanding and somewhat angry, Bucky replies with a slightly raised voice.

“I never said that, but it’s for your own good. Loki is Thor’s brother but also a horrible being; in his mind we are all ‘dumb magic-less midgardians’ for him to play with” Harshly states the America Man.

“Are you sure? Have you asked or interacted with him? Besides the past? I was horrible to Tony’s parents too, wasn’t I?” Bucky unveils. “It’s different!!!” Struck back God's Righteous Man “Is it?”. With a somber look reminding of his Ghost days, whispers deadly the Winter Wolf, ready to pounce for flesh.

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Meanwhile, in a similar situation is the light blonde bearded god, with his frost sibling, on the rarely used garden.

“Mother would be disappointed in such an orchard” articulates the dark haired one, seeing his approaching sibling.

“Indeed” Concurs the peace invader. Silence reigns for a short while, the kind that is rare in this turbulent world. Still, even stillness needs to be broken eventually.

“Brother…I don’t know what scheme you…” “I don’t know what you are talking about Thor” “…but you need to stop it.” Urges strongly the slightly older one.

“May I remind you I am not a mind reader, much less know your mental monologue” Spats the younger adopted sibling.

“This obsession with the midgardian frozen warrior, I have seen it before. With Jane and many others” Claims the Asgard Golden child. “Obsession? Please! Why so worried, do you fancy him? Should I go tell Jane?” Scoffs the slick haired one.

“I don’t, but you are playing with him” The raging thunder is burning inside Thor’s veins now, with the theatrical antics of his fraternal old playmate. “I honestly thought it was quite mutual. Shame, woe is me. Tell me…do you enjoy spying on us Thor? Stealthy, you certainly are not.” The obsidian hair male talked as if in a play, long periods and sudden words, ending in a short haughty statement.

Giving no time for replies, he ignores the other’s angry sputtering and continues “Am I not allowed to have friends? Acquaintances? Relationships? You came here to stay with yours, to fight your silly battles with them, instead of staying with our kin-” Thor is momentarily happy to hear that part, but quickly gets angry again ”- and ruling, as you were supposed to be, as I am meant to be with you! Even leaving the invisible throne for Valkyrie to sit!!”

“I saw you smiling and I know…!” the axe-wielder loses his conviction midway, enough for Loki to take possession again of the discussion. The curly braided male should have known that in a battle of the tongues, the serpent hisses fast and non-stop. ‘Silence is golden’ indeed, ironically.

“OH, only mighty Thor can be happy! With his little annoying friends! OH NO, not his brother, that one should stay miserable and, in the shadows and shackles, were he belongs" Loki pacing around the room, with a flourish in his limbs, mocking and hissing. “‘Brother everything's gonna work out fine in Earth’ ’Brother, we will fight side by side forever’ indeed, how fickle you are” Loki rants, each time louder with more articulation and acerbic words.

“ENOUGH! It’s because I wish it was with me!!!” Already regretting what came out his mouth, Thor closes it suddenly and contains his mortification.

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Muahahaha cliffhanger.

If you enjoyed please give a like here or there or share this around. I may keep doing this depending on feedback.

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spiderfoool · 5 years

Text

The Beginning of the End

(from writing.prompt.s on instagram: When you turn 18, you have to choose a life goal. When you complete that goal, your life ends, but until you complete that goal you can’t die.)

AO3 LINK

Save the world and get married to Bucky Save the world and get married to Steve

They had picked it as a joke, really. Steve had always been standing up for those who couldn’t, but it wasn’t like he anticipated that he would ever save the world. At least not single-handed.

Also, it was 1935 and queers were most certainly not allowed to get married.

But that was the point wasn’t it? Again, Steve had always been standing up for others, so why not stand up for himself. He and Bucky had always known that what they had was different, even if they didn’t always know what to call it. They were always together, whether it be Bucky sitting next to Steve’s bed while he was battling whatever infirmity he had at the time or Steve helping to take care of Bucky’s oh so many siblings. It only made sense that that was how it’d all end.

Steve was convinced they were gonna die in 1939. The war was beginning to favor the Allies, the world would be saved, and Steve and Bucky definitely had at least a small part in that. That and the missions they were tasked with were just that risky. The beginning of the end.

Realistically, Steve knew they couldn’t die until they got married but at this point what was the difference? Marriage in the US was but a piece of paper; and they didn’t need anybody else’s fucked up opinion of them to make a lifelong vow to each other anyways. Regardless, the war pushed on. After Bucky fell off that cliff, Steve was sure he was gonna live out the rest of eternity in sorrow. When he crashed the plane, he hoped that it was finally over; that he could finally see Bucky again and just let go.

But nothing was ever that simple.

Steve didn’t think there was a time in which he was more depressed than when he came out of the ice, which was understandable to say the least. Nobody really found it fun to be consistently lied to and forced back into waging wars, but Steve was always willing to do what needed to be done.

That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it though.

When the whispers about a ghost assassin found their way into Steve’s life, he was borderline apathetic about it. He had seen aliens and gods and men with helpful voices in their ceilings and at that point, it was hard to shock Steve anymore, contrary to popular belief. He was raised in an era in which the refrigerator was revolutionary, yes, but when you live to see your country just start to universalize electricity and join an international war involving nuclear weapons all in the same decade, it's hard to be shocked by something as unimportant to Steve as a woman wearing pants on television.

When the assassin attacked Steve on the highway, he fought hard like he always did. It didn’t matter how little Steve really cared about living out the rest of his life, there were lives at stake, and Steve would rather be skinned alive than be the reason why lives were needlessly lost. So Steve relied on the one thing he always knew how to do: he fought.

When he pulled the man’s mask off, Steve shut down. Never in his entire life had Steve shut down; he always knew a way out, always had some sort of plan to pull himself out of whatever shit he’d gotten into that time. But not then. Bucky had once again consumed his entire presence, taken over every waking thought. Bucky, his Bucky, had fought him nearly to the death. Shot up a highway. Blew up cars. Terrorized an entire city. And didn’t even know his own name.

When he brought down S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Helicarriers, Steve didn’t care if he died. That was nothing new. But he brought passively suicidal attitudes to a new level. He had thrown down his shield in battle before, but never when his opponent could actually match him. Never with so many other lives at stake. It was reckless, dangerous, beyond life threatening. But he didn’t care. He needed Bucky to know he’d always be there. ‘Till the end of the line. And for once, things didn’t go completely to shit.

When Steve came to consciousness in the hospital, he didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. He eventually settled on relieved that Bucky was alive somewhere and didn’t kill him. But he did keep the anger of betrayal and being made into a fool buried deep inside him. Deep enough inside that it wouldn’t jump out when he was on active duty or in stupid meetings with the US Army. But not deep enough that it wouldn’t jeopardize one of the only true friendships he’d had in 70 years.

He knew Bucky wasn’t to blame for the attack in Germany, the man wasn’t even in Germany at the time of the attack. But he did know that he had to protect him, give him a heads up at the very least. That, of course, went to shit.

He wasn’t expecting his friendship with Tony to be intact at all when this shit was over with. He knew he shouldn't have lied. He knew he should’ve just sat and talked through the Accords at the very least, but his self control always seemed to just fly out the window wherever Bucky was concerned these days. Sam wouldn’t let him hear the end of it, especially about the stunt he pulled on the Helicarriers. But he would be goddamned if he’d let the government fuck him sideways again. Especially not when Bucky was involved.

When the Wakandans welcomed Steve and Bucky with open arms, he felt some of the most relief he’s ever felt. After all the stunts he’d pulled in the past few weeks, Steve was pretty sure the entire world was ready to turn him in. But not T’Challa and Shuri. And he would forever be grateful.

He stopped by sometimes, whenever he could. Talk to Bucky if he could, sit by his bedside whenever he couldn’t. Bucky was getting better. After a while the trigger words stopped working entirely. No meaning left over in his mind. And Steve thought it might be the beginning of the end. Get married to Bucky. They were so close.

They actually did get married. It turned out Wakanda didn’t have strict rules on marriage like all the smaller European countries Steve had been hiding out in. They had a small ceremony at a courthouse, dinner with T’Challa, Shuri, Ramonda, and the few Rogue Avengers. It was nice, it was quiet, it was everything they’d ever wanted it to be. The beginning of the end.

But Steve never expected to be fighting again so soon. And he definitely didn’t expect to lose Bucky again. When the other man turned to dust, he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to be helpful. The memory would be forever etched into the back of his mind, him sitting in the dirt, the horrified looks on his teammates faces, those that were left.

The years after Thanos were absolutely desolate and Steve was pretty sure he was dissociated half the time. Truthfully all he did was live in agony, his love now gone, his friends gone, half the world gone. Never had Steve lived in such a time that he felt so empty. It was suffocating.

For the first time ever Steve started going to therapy. Natasha of all people had pushed him hard to even consider going, and after months and months of misery, he caved. The first few weeks were rough to say the least. Steve had never been in the habit of expressing his feelings truthfully if expressing them at all and it didn’t get any easier since he had made it into the 21st century. But that’s what it’s there for he could hear Natasha’s annoyed tone in his head on repeat any time he even thought about quitting simply because of embarrassment. And he did think about it. His idea of “healthy” didn’t exactly include dwelling on the trauma of the past seven decades, Natasha. Nonetheless, he went. If not for the lack of want to hear Natasha’s nagging about his health.

When the so-called Captain Marvel set foot on the Compound, Steve just about lost his mind. Where had she been all this time? Nobody had a clue. But if her glowing hands and obvious intelligence meant anything, they were gonna win this time. And it was just like before; the beginning of the end. The plan was to rewind time. Put precautions in place so that it couldn't happen again. It was apparently part of some magician’s plan, as Tony so eloquently put it once he found his way back from wherever the hell he had managed to get stranded.

So they did it. They wound back time. They did everything over again. And Thanos was dead. It was over.

The first time Steve saw Bucky after everything, he broke down completely. Bawling, nose running, wailing, a complete shock to any poor bystander close enough to witness one of the strongest men on Earth cry like a baby. But he couldn’t help it. He could feel it coming on, slowly but surely. He knew Bucky could feel it too. Oh but how time tended to wear so thin when one wants it most.

They tried to say their goodbyes to the team as gently as possible. They knew they’d be missed. But it truly was the end. They never told anyone their Life Goals. Just that it was their time.

Tony arranged the funeral personally, made sure everything was the best it could possibly be. Steve and Bucky were placed in the same casket, their hands interlocked. Together as one, as they always dreamed of being. The service was beautiful, Sam delivering the eulogy. Tony, Sam, Natasha, Bruce, Clint, and Thor being pallbearers. Nobody left with dry eyes.

It was strange how they were both so dearly missed, yet not quite yearned for. Everyone knew they had lived enough, more than they wanted to really. But the feeling of emptiness after their deaths still carried on. Their legacies already speaking a thousand words. But everyone understood; understood that it was the end for them. And the ending they had was just what they wanted.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

It wasn’t until months later that Tony found the crinkled up notebook page. Sorting through Steve and Bucky’s personal items, deciding what to display, what to donate, what to throw out. All he could do was smile at the mismatched handwriting on the page.

Save the world and get married to Bucky Save the world and get married to Steve

And that, they did.

#stucky #angst #stucky angst #writing prompt #life goal #major character death #my writing

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inawickedlittletown · 5 years

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Walking The Wire (126/156)

Summary: Tony Stark always knew about Peter Parker. He didn’t know that Peter was going to get superpowers and become Spider-Man, but he always knew about Peter because Peter was his son.

This will span from pre-Iron Man up through the rest of the MCU (eventually including Infinity War) and will be for the most part canon compliant except where I’ve taken some liberties and interpreted canon a certain way.

Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Tony/Steve (endgame), Tony/Mary (past)

A/N: If you want me to tag you when I post new chapters let me know. This fic is also on AO3

I used Collider’s MCU timeline to stay canon and the title of this fic is an Imagine Dragons song that is just so fitting for Peter and Tony

@findmeinthestarss

Masterpost

Chapter One Hundred Twenty Five

The tower seemed emptier without Tony. Friday was still there, the bots were still there, and K-9 ran to meet them when they entered the tower. Steve barely had the energy to bend to down and pet the robot dog and Steve had to wonder if K-9 had noticed the absence of Tony and Peter. The dog followed him as they all crowded into the living room of the penthouse and stayed by his side. It was a little sad.

None of them knew what to do.

“We can’t -- we can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Natasha said eventually. “I’m going to try and contact Fury and Hill.”

Steve nodded.

“I’ll call Pepper,” Rhodey said.

None of them said it but they hoped that the three of them hadn’t been dusted. Steve didn’t really want to think about who else they had lost.

Steve didn’t know who turned on the tv, but the news came on and immediately it was obvious that things were worse than they could have imagined. There were accidents everywhere. People disappearing in their cars or worse while flying helicopters or airplanes. Everywhere there were people missing. A bunch of celebrities were mentioned in passing before the newscaster focused on the number of important world leaders that had become dust. There was a picture -- a horrible picture of a pile of dust in the oval office just in front of the President’s desk. All over it had happened. No one seemed to know what to do or how to handle it and worse no one knew who should handle it or how to get answers. Even the newscaster seemed emotional as she spoke and Steve expected that things were like that all over.

“Damn,” Rhodey said, phone in hand, clearly not having called Pepper just yet.

“Neither of them is answering,” Natasha said.

“Try Coulson,” Steve said, already fearing the worst. If Fury was gone--

“Coulson is -- didn’t Coulson die?” Bruce asked.

Thor looked towards Steve with the same question in his eyes.

“Turned out he didn’t. Well, it’s complicated. He has a team. Nat?”

“I’ll try,” Natasha said.

The news just kept going showing more and more images from around the world. The confusion and the mess that had been caused. So much that they had allowed to happen. Steve closed his eyes tightly. K-9’s paws landed on his legs and Steve reached down for the dog who climbed on his lap.

“Looks like Shield is off the grid again,” Natasha said after a few minutes. “We’re not going to get any help there.”

Rhodey did get through to Pepper. Steve let out a sigh of relief. With everything going on, they were definitely going to need Pepper. Rhodey spoke to her for a while and Steve was sure that Pepper was freaking out. Steve kept watching the news, unable to stop because he needed to face the reality and he needed to feel like he needed to do something. Anything. It was just a matter of figuring out what that something was.

Rhodey pulled his focus away from the news.

“Pepper has been conversing with UN representatives and some US officials. They reached out to her before this. She said she heard from Maria Hill before -- what did the news call it? The decimation?”

“And?” Natasha asked.

“She said that she didn’t know what they were doing but that they had some sort of plan -- it’s likely they got dusted. Everyone’s still trying to figure out how to keep track so who knows but…”

“Right,” Steve said. It made sense. Everything was a mess. It was worse than anything Steve could have imagined.

“My team is still out there,” Rocket said suddenly. He was seated next to Thor who was keeping relatively quiet. “Whatever of it is left.”

The racoon had introduced himself to Steve at some point during the flight. It was weird to talk to a racoon and yet maybe that wasn’t the weirdest thing to ever happen to Steve.

“At least I hope they are,” Rocket said. “I -- I need to find them. I need to know who else--”

Steve understood the distress that Rocket felt.

“The quinjet will work in space,” Bruce offered.

Which meant that if they wanted to, they could go look for Tony and Peter. Natasha seemed to realize what he was thinking and she shook her head because Natasha was always logical and she was a few steps of him. The problem was they didn’t have any way to know where in space to look for them. And what if they weren’t -- well, then, it would be pointless. Steve hated thinking about it that way.

“I cannot accompany you, Rabbit,” Thor said.

“I know,” Rocket said.

Steve didn’t know if this was a goodbye and if Rocket was going to just disappear and never be heard from again, but Steve hoped that it wouldn’t. If they did figure out a way to go against Thanos, they were going to need all the help that they could get. Steve didn’t know if it would even be possible to go up against Thanos or if that would even fix anything, but it would definitely make Steve feel better to avenge everyone they had lost.

“I’m Tony Stark’s son,” Peter said.

Bucky’s eyes widened. “You’re -- you’re the kid. You’re Peter! Of course, of course. You kind of look like your dad. And Steve’s told me a lot about you. But you’re -- you’re here--” His excitement fell into a sad look.

“I am,” Peter said.

Bucky keep looking sad and maybe a little annoyed and then he shook his head. “This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all.”

Orange vastness surrounded them and not much else. He was sort of getting used to it which was strange. Peter didn’t see anyone else even though there had to be other people. He couldn’t even be sure how much time had passed or much of anything else and it was entirely disconcerting.

“Stick with me, kid,” Bucky said, “whatever this is -- where ever we are, you stick with me.”

Peter nodded. “Sure.”

They walked for a while even if it seemed like they weren’t getting very far because everything seemed the same. Eventually they came upon a bench and they sat down. Things changed then. It was less orange tinged and it seemed like there was more noise -- more people.

“We turned to dust,” Peter said and suddenly remembered Star Lord and Strange and Mantis and Drax. They would all be here too and maybe his dad...but no, if he was he would have seen him already. Probably. “So what is this place?”

“We are in the Soul stone, Peter,” Dr. Strange said, appearing in front of them.

Peter frowned at him and then looked towards Bucky and back at Strange again. “You knew this was going to happen. You knew.”

Ned watched the news first with May and MJ and then with his dad. His mom had turned to dust. Watching the newscasters try to make heads or tails of the situation could have been amusing but mostly it was just sad and scary. No one had any answers. No one knew anything. All they knew was that it had to be alien related. It had to do with the attacks and the battle that had occurred in Wakanda and whatever else had happened.

There was some sort of statement from Pepper Potts about Tony Stark still being missing. It meant that so was Peter. Ned just didn’t know how much more he could cry. His mom was gone. Peter was essentially gone. MJ had lost her entire family. None of it made any sense. Ned just wanted all of it to stop and for someone to explain what was happening.

Seeing May and MJ and the empty look in their eyes was as difficult as anything else. His dad’s eyes were so red and Ned couldn’t handle it.

But what made the whole thing worse was that everything had turned into chaos. It wasn’t enough that people had turned to dust because that had had the added effect of other casualties and accidents and making all of it an even bigger mess. MJ was completely broken up about it.

Worse, the President was gone. So were other world leaders. So until things were set to some kind of order no one knew what to do or think and the media just fueled the fire with their speculation and with bringing on guest speakers that knew nothing and just wanted a platform. It was all such a mess. All everyone was waiting was to hear from The Avengers and get an idea as to what had happened in the first place.

It turned out that there was less food and water than Nebula had expected. What was worse was finding out that their oxygen was going to run out too. Probably around the same time that they lost all power. They were headed for certain doom and Tony had no idea how to feel about it.

Nebula piloted the ship with as much power reserved as possible which meant that they didn’t have the heat running and that any non-essential function had been turned off. Tony had had to go through what seemed to be Quill’s clothing to find something to keep him warm. At least that had served as a distraction. Tony had also gotten to go through a few of Quill’s belongings which was how he found the cassette player. It had amused him for a while, mostly because Tony hadn’t seen one of those in longer than he could remember. It made him just a little sad about Quill being turned to dust.

During the fight on Titan, a lot of his nanotech suit had gotten destroyed but Tony had had just a small bit left. It was enough to reform it into his helmet. He could even power it still, but Tony just didn’t know if that would actually help them or not. Tony was just glad to have a piece of the Iron Man suit to hold and look at. It made him feel a little more hopeful. The helmet still did power on but it wouldn’t be useful unless Tony could get it to connect to one of the Stark Satellites and they were too far away for that to work.

They took a few more jumps through space and Nebula seemed confident that even despite their low fuel that they would make it close to Earth. Tony didn’t want to consider that it wouldn’t matter how close they got if they couldn’t somehow alert anyone to rescue them. It was all a matter of how close to Earth they could manage to get and Tony was hoping for the best. He had to. It wasn’t even a closeness to Earth, it was more about getting into range with his satellites. If he could send a message, it would make all the difference.

Although the trip from Earth to Titan hadn’t taken all that long, the trip to Earth seemed longer. Tony couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but he knew it had been almost a full day. When he asked Nebula, she confirmed. Almost sixteen hours had gone by. It had been sixteen hours since Peter--

Tony took a breath.

There would be a time to mourn. Once he was back on Earth. He just had to hold on.

“Stark,” Nebula said, “I expect we just have another twelve hours at the most. We’ll be as close to Earth as possible.”

They just had to get close enough.

Rocket left after he spent a few hours working on one of the quinjets. Steve didn’t really follow any of his tech babble although he was sure that Tony probably would have. Tony would have definitely found a way to help too if he were around. Essentially, Steve got the gist that Rocket was trying to make the quinjet more space friendly before he left.

“I don’t know how Hulk managed to take one into space at all,” Bruce admitted. “Or how I ended up where I did.”

“Wormhole,” Thor said, “that’s how you ended in Sakaar. It’s kind of a dumping ground for anything that gets lost”

“Oh,” Bruce said.

Thor was sad. His devastation was so obvious to all of them and Steve couldn’t tell if it was because of the snap, the loss of, Loki, their loss against Thanos, or if it was something else altogether. He just knew that Thor was not acting like himself. He was withdrawn and sad. They were all some variation of that, it was just stranger to see it on Thor.

Although things were still a bit of a mess, people had started to organize and figure out what came next. People were reporting their missing family members. In some cases they knew for sure that they had been dusted, in others they had no idea. The numbers just kept rising and rising and Friday had started to compile her own list, pulling the people they knew -- Shield agents and friends and acquaintances and anyone that could be of use so that they could keep track. It was a hard list to look at. They made the list accessible online so that others could see it and know if their loved ones were on it. Steve hated looking at it, but he also wanted to keep watching it. Hating that the numbers never seemed to stop.

Keeping an eye on the list became the one thing he could do when there was no immediate task at hand. Natasha had taken on communications -- reaching out to anyone and everyone. She had friends in all kinds of places. Not all of them answered or responded. Natasha also reached out to Scott and to Clint but neither responded back and no one wanted to think about what that might mean.

Their one constant was Pepper who was still dealing directly with the UN and so much else. Steve was extremely grateful for her and everything that she was taking on when she didn’t even need to. It wasn’t even just Avengers stuff that she was taking on, but she was using SI as Tony would have wanted -- putting all resources on helping with search and rescue and rebuilding and things that Steve wouldn’t have even thought of. Pepper was also still the only one to speak out to the press on behalf of The Avengers and Steve was glad that he hadn’t been the one with that particular task. Pepper was the strongest person he knew.

After Rocket left, Steve wished he’d gone with him. The thought snuck up on him just a few minutes after he and Thor saw Rocket off.

“I don’t know if Tony’s out there,” Steve said to Thor, “but if he is, shouldn’t I be looking for him?”

Thor tilted his head. “If we knew where to start looking this would be different, but we don’t.”

“I know. I know. I just can’t do this -- this not knowing.”

Thor’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Stark is a survivor.”

“Yeah. I just don’t know if this is one thing he can survive. Him and Peter.”

“I hope to meet yours and Stark’s son,” Thor said.

Steve didn’t correct him. It didn’t feel worth correcting...maybe Thor wasn’t even wrong.

It was when they got back into the penthouse that Friday caught their attention.

“Captain,” she said.

Steve figured it was Rocket. Maybe he was giving them a goodbye before he left Earth altogether. It wasn’t.

“There is a message,” Friday said. “It’s -- it’s from Mr. Stark.”

Chapter One Hundred Twenty Seven

#peter and tony #peter and tony fic #mcuwriting #mcu fic #iron dad #iron dad and spider son #stony #stony fic #marvel

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awed-frog · 6 years

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tl;dr: nope

I got a couple of anon asks about this, and I’m also tagging @twist-shout-and-shells because they asked me to, but I have to say - I don’t know anything about comics, I don’t know Marvel at all, so this review is just a meaningless rant. Like, I know so little about this universe that the first superhero movie I ever saw in my life was Thor, and the only reason they got me was because my mythology-loving ass assumed this would be about the actual god, you know?, so that was a very confusing two hours. Anyway - after this, I’m done with them. The ridiculous hype campaign they created around Infinity War actually activated my crow brain, which means I rushed to the theater because I was sort of expecting this would be a shocking masterpiece and any spoiler would ruin it for me, and - yeah. Never doing that again. Because, whatever - they do manage to come up with some good writing from time to time, and Black Panther’s success had made me hope they’d finally recognize that a solid, coherent and meaningful story is really the first thing you need, but apparently not?

Ugh.

Anyway, here are main reasons why I didn’t like Infinity War.

1) No, we don’t need a new plague

Problem number one with this movie is that it fails to take into account that our IQ as a people has dropped about twenty points over the last thirty years (and I’m not even joking) and that means even a guy nicknamed ‘Mad Titan’ is actually given the benefit of the doubt (I don’t remember anyone thinking Hela might have had a point, but then again, women are known to be emotionally compromised at all times, right, so all that rage was probably PMS and crazy bitches, amirite?, can’t live with them, can’t live without them). And here, predictably, is the result:

I even checked Breitbart so you wouldn’t have to and while they seem confused as to whether they should support this movie or not (don’t watch because Captain America is played by ‘Comrade Communism’, do watch because Chris Pratt is a Good Christian Man), it’s still clear to everybody over there that Thanos, “an environmentalist wacko obsessed with salvaging the natural resources of the universe” is “espousing liberal jibberish”.

So, I’m going to keep it short and mostly sourceless because I saw a lot of people discussing this, but just to be clear: yeah, it is worrying that human population has basically tripled in thirty years, but the correlation ‘more people = more damage & fewer resources’ isn’t as clear-cut as some like to think. Also, research shows that women being recognized as human beings - that’s the actual way to solve this problem (see also x, x), which means that if Thanos had meant business, he could have used those frwaking stones to build schools and family planning centres.

2) Your plan against evil can’t be just saying no

This is probably what bugs me the most both in fiction and IRL: saying ‘Trump is a moron’, ‘capitalism is bad’ or ‘genocide is wrong’ is not a political program. It’s a moral stance, and kudos to you, but if you want to make the world a better place, you need a lot more than that. But, nope - IW fell into this trap with such relish I can actually believe no one saw this as a problem - at all. When Thanos pointed out, rather smugly, that decimating Gamora’s planet had led to a new era of happiness and prosperity, she didn’t react in any way. We never saw Tony or Shuri mentioning the outlandish, extravagant idea that better and greener technology could actually save us all. We never saw anyone point out that when the richest 1% own half the world’s wealth, wiping out half of a Nairobi slum isn’t likely to do much for the environment. I guess it wasn’t relevant to the plot?

3) Turning your audience against the good guys = dick move

That said, our planet is objectively in bad shape, and writers and artists who are (or like to think of themselves as) engagés are more than welcome to discuss this - for all her faults, JK Rowling did that to perfection in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, focusing on the importance of conservation and taking a clear stance against animal trafficking. Other movies, of course, went a lot farther than that: my movie rec of the day is Okja, a masterful and soulwrenching look at how capitalism manages food production. But IW, on top of everything else, manages to be an anti-green movement movie? As if that was needed in any way? Apparently comic!Thanos’ goal was to impress Lady Death or something, and maybe they should have gone with that, because to me, movie!Thanos’ plan sounds like an ill-conceived and unfortunate parody of the green movement. In fact, eminent biologist E. O. Wilson’s Half-Earth explores this exact possibility - which is not about killing off 50% of the population, thank you very much, but about improving agriculture and urban structures so we can leave 50% of the world to the rest of the ecosystem. And maybe it’s just me, but isn’t it a bit weird the book came out at about the same time when IW’s script was being written? I try not to be a paranoid nutcase, but come on. Because what the movie does is that it turns Thanos into a sort of green Hitler whose only focus is the environment (“But he was a vegetarian!”), cue the creepy final shot of him going all ‘Schwarzy in the forest’ surrounded by clean-water creeks and happy animals while we are left counting our dead. The metaphor couldn’t be more obvious, and to be honest it is most unwelcome. Time and place, guys? I really haven’t seen something so revolting since I got to the end of the Da Vinci Code and realized atheists were the true monsters all along.

4) Being a hero doesn’t mean saving your friends

So this is starting to become a trend, and seriously, enough. If you’re a hero, then you need to think of something greater than yourself, and this is why your life will suck and suck and suck until your untimely death. Deal with it? And I can understand Loki giving up the Tesseract for his brother, because he’s always been more of an anti-hero than a hero, and his morals are shot to hell in any case, and I’ll forgive Dr Strange because he clearly saw something we didn’t, but what the hell was Steve thinking? Seriously, I keep seeing posts about how Pure and Noble Steve is, and guys, did we even see the same movie? Bringing Vision to Wakanda meant endangering an entire nation, and thousands of people there paid for that choice with their lives. It’s because Steve insisted in not seeing the big picture - or accepting Vision’s own wishes - that Thanos even succeeded in the first place. If they’d destroyed the stone, Thanos would never have gotten his hands on it, and Wakanda would not have been attacked by a horde of alien demons. Sacrificing hundreds or thousands of nameless (black, African) warriors to keep one (white) man safe is not heroism - it’s cowardice. It’s assuming your own feelings and your friends’ lives count more than the lives of strangers, and this is the exact opposite of how a hero should think. Not that I’m surprised, since Steve already condoned the destruction of half of Bucharest to save Bucky, but whatever. Compare and contrast with Tony, by the way, who first tried to destroy the Time stone, then chose to sacrifice himself to save someone he didn’t even like? Yeah, that’s more like it. #TeamStark

5) Every single woman is defined by her relationship to a man

With the caveat that no emotion, connection or motivation is throroughly explored in IW because it’s an action-packed movie during which people never speak an honest word to each other (relying instead on posturing, movie quotes and sarcastic remarks), here is basically what happens: men have things, and women have men. Tony’s journey is mostly about saving Peter and also sacrificing himself for the world. Steve is all about his friends and various heroics. Dr Strange is a sort of ascetic monk playing the long game. Thanos wants to save the universe or something. And Vision is on a quest towards humanity? Maybe? But the women - Gamora is important because she’s Thanos’ daughter. Scarlet Witch is important because she loves Vision. Natasha (I think she’s in the movie? I don’t actually remember if we hear her speak) is on Cap’s side because Cap. Pepper only appears to remind us of what Tony has to lose. Exceptions to this rule include Shuri, whom IW didn’t quite manage to destroy; Loki, who was always female- and queer-coded, so I’m not surprised he ends up dying for the handsome and suitably Aryan hero; and arguably Starlord, who mostly fights for Gamora (what is a virtue in a woman, however, is a weakness in a man, because Starlord ends up fucking up the plan because of his love for her). And I know they probably tried to compensate for the complete lack of women in the movie by highlighting how powerful Scarlet Witch is and focusing so much on Gamora, but I’m an annoying person, so that didn’t work for me. Because, again, Scarlet Witch is a 2D character plucked directly from a Victorian dictionary’s definition of ‘woman’ (while the menfolk around her worry about the possible demise of the Entire Earth, there she is, channelling all her energy in being a good and loyal companion to her robot husband) and Gamora has no more control over her life in this movie than she had as a child? Her main narrative purpose in IW is to make us feel bad for her boyfriend and father, who’re both driven to kill her (for very different reasons) and suffer for her death (and don’t get me started on Thanos suddenly loving someone and what a stroke of luck, the one person in the universe he gives a damn about just happens to be standing next to him on top of a cliff when he needs to kill her). Seriously, why is it that female characters’ concerns still begin and end with romantic love? This trope that romance is the most important thing for every single woman needed to die, like, yesterday.

6) None of that actually means anything

Look, I’m a sucker of time-travel of any description, but I also think time-travel must be done honestly or not at all. Movies like Back to the Future or Arrival both use time bending to great effect, because the stakes are real and painful and there are all sort of complex decisions facing our heroes. But IW doesn’t care about any of that. The existence of the Time stone is not about ethical dilemmas or even turning up the drama to eleven - the one purpose of that thing is to make us hope that our personal fave is not dead after all, so we’ll keep watching this stupid franchise until the end of times. That finale could have been innovative and heartwrenching, and instead we already know it wasn’t. Samuel L. Jackson is apparently confirmed in Captain Marvel, which will be released next year, and we also know they’re working on Spider-Man 2, Guardians of the Galaxy 3, Black Panther 2 and Doctor Strange 2. Capitalism has very nearly killed the possibility of creating a well-written and gutting story, because the rule is, If it makes money, it goes the fuck on. Hence TV shows which no longer make any kind of sense but we all keep watching out of nostalgia, affection for the characters or dissatisfaction with our own lives, and also franchises which stretch the plot to new and boring limits (for instance, it beggars belief that Tony and Steve didn’t even meet in IW, and their fight never came up at all: I guess we’ll have to wait for IW 2, or Avengers 37: The One with The Talk). And here, again, studios are so greedy that they willingly disregard the fact audiences will reward ‘complete’ stories: for instance, Logan was critically acclaimed and made tons of money, but the risk of ‘permanently’ killing off a beloved character is still considered too high. And playing it safe actually works: IW costed $320 million, which is about 5% of the studio’s budget, and that investment has already been repaid in full (the movie made double that in the first two weeks).

(Meanwhile, 21st Century Fox gained more than one billion dollars from Trump’s TAX REFORM THAT WILL MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN - probably a disappointing amount of money for owner Richard Murdoch, who has a net worth of 15 billion and is known to use some of that hard-earned cash to support laudable & important causes such as the privatization of public education, but hey, we all need to make do and move on, right? Right.)

So this is mostly it. To be fair, IW was mildly entertaining, and I thought they sort of did a good job in juggling twenty leads - we got no character development at all and no meaningful dialogue, but we saw everybody at least once and their lines were funny? Some moments were genuinely good despite a couple of bizarre plot points (I’m still unclear on why Strange didn’t create a circle of fire around Thanos’ arm, and very tired of the overused ‘Yeah, let’s save the most powerful weapons for last’ trope), so I wouldn’t say this was the worst movie ever made, but as I said, I’m done. I’ve given more than enough money to this franchise, so when IW 2 comes out, I think I’ll be a boring adult and watch it on TV as I’m doing my ironing or something. Good times.

#infinity war #iw #iw review #infinity war review #marvel universe #there you go #i think everyone has seen it by now?#here is my take on it #sorry to be annoying

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ilovethings-somuch · 7 years

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Start With This

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: #62 An inability to form meaningful relationship

A/N: @emilyevanston This is for Kate’s Cards Against Humanity Challenge! I’ve never written Bucky before but I’ve been wanting to for a while so I’m glad I finally got the chance. There’s a little bit of angst and fluff, but I think it’s all pretty mild even though it was very emotional for me to write.

I’ve always been a very self-reliant person. Growing up in my house, you had to be. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that my parents didn’t care, it was more that I had 9 siblings and giving everyone a lot of attention wasn’t an option. They did a good job, all in all; I know how to take care of myself and I have a good work ethic. The only thing that I’m lacking in is communication skills and empathy; luckily, in my line of work, it’s never come up as a problem.

Being a part of the Avenger team meant that I was the best of the best. Or at least one of the best of the best, Natasha might still have me beat. Being an assassin might not be your typical job, but it’s a good gig for someone who’s strong, fast, and lacking in the empathetic department.

Everyone on the team is close. It’s hard not to be when living in the compound and training for hours on end everyday. I joined the team shortly after the whole Germany, Steve vs Tony, phiasco. After Tony and Steve formally apologized and T’challa figured out a way to help Bucky, they all returned from Wakanda and life went back to normal. Well, the normal that is being an Avenger.

I was introduced to the team while everyone was still a little tense. It was awkward when Tony and Bucky were in a room together and Steve was always trying to mediate and not pick a favorite. Due to this, and the general fact that I enjoy being alone, I spent most of my time in my room. Occasionally Wanda or Nat would join me, but most of my free time was spent in happy solitude.

That all changed when Bucky stumbled into my life. When I say stumbled, I mean he literally fell into my room. The door rattling before being quickly opened and slammed shut made me jump out of whatever slumber I was starting to fall into. I was out of bed with a knife in hand in a flash, but I couldn’t see anyone from where I was standing. As I peered around the corner I saw a man slumped on the floor leaning against the door. I twirled the knife, preparing the throw when the man shifted and I was able to make out his face.

“Bucky?” I breathed in confusion. He jumped at the sound and scrambled up from the floor.

“(y/n)?” he squinted back at me.

“Bucky what are you doing in my room?” I set the knife on the counter as I made my way towards him.

“I didn’t realize this was your room. When I picked the door I thought it was a supply closet or something. I’m sorry, I’ll go”

“Wait, why were you trying to go in a supply closet? And why were you sitting on the floor?”

“Um, I heard Tony down the hall and was trying to avoid him. And I may have tripped while closing the door” he mumbles sheepishly. A small smile takes over my features and stifle a laugh.

“Oh, okay. Well you can stay until Tony’s gone if you want” I shrug and turn back towards my bed.

“Really?” he sounds so surprised that I stop and look at him again.

“Yeah of course. Make yourself at home, I’m going back to bed”

“You’re just going to leave me alone in your living room?” he chuckles

“Fine,” I sigh. “Do you want to watch a movie or something? I can grab some snacks” I say in my fakest cheery voice. Bucky bursts out laughing but accepts the offer. I make Bucky pick a movie that he hasn’t seen before and we munch on chips and pretzels. I can barely keep my eyes open and I don’t try for very long. I eventually giving in, laying back on the armrest and tucking my feet under me. I feel someone carrying me in my subconscious but some part of my brain convinces me it’s not a threat. The soft feeling of my mattress that follows confirms my theory and I quickly fall back into a deep sleep.

After that night, Bucky started coming around more often. He was never invited, per say, but he was always welcome. As with most of my friendships, Bucky was doing most of the work. He usually had a lot to say and I was good at listening. Even though I could never empathize with what he was feeling, I was good at giving people what they needed. Most of the time he would rant to me about how annoyed he was with Tony and how he wanted Steve to just give him space sometimes. These mini therapy sessions all happened during the day. It wasn’t until a few months into this friendship that he tried coming at night.

The first time it happened I thought he was an intruder (once again) and almost took him out. Only stopping when I felt the cool metal of his arm under my touch.

“Bucky? What are you doing here?”

“I just, I don’t know. I can go” He looked everywhere but at me while he spoke.

“No, Buck, I’m sorry if I scared you. Do you need something, it’s kind of the middle of the night” I didn’t necessarily want him to stay, but I figured if he needed something it would be easier to ask now than to have him come back later.

“I had a nightmare. I didn’t want to be alone” he tells me bluntly, finally making eye contact.

“Oh” I pause for too long before continuing. “I thought you usually went to Steve when that happened”

“Yeah, your right. I’ll go there”

“I don’t mean to kick you out. I guess I’m just confused. You can stay with me if you want, just tell me what you need”

“Steve always tries to make me talk about it. I think I just want to lay down again. Can I lay with you?” something deep within me flutters at the thought of laying in bed with Bucky but I squash it down quickly as I nod my consent.

I lead him back towards my bed and pull the covers back for us. He waits for me to crawl in before coming up beside me. He touches my arm lightly, testing, and I flinch at the contact and he pulls away. It isn’t the first time that Bucky has gotten cuddly with me, but I’m always hesitant and find myself tensing up and holding as still as possible every time it happens. He usually doesn’t notice my unwillingness and the fact that he did this time makes me feel guilty. The part of my brain that remembers caring for my younger siblings kicks in and I hesitantly reach out to rest my head on his shoulder. His arms go around me again, holding me in place as he quickly falls back asleep.

I’m left staring at the wall for hours. I occasionally nod off, only to be woken again by Buck’s soft snores. I fall into a deep sleep around 4, but am quickly woken by my alarm at 6. Bucky releases me slowly as he stretches and moans lightly.

“What time is it?” he mumbles and looks at me.

“6, we have training at 7” I sit up as soon as he releases me and get up from the bed. I feel Bucky’s eyes on me as I do so, but I can’t find it in me to care what he’s thinking. I grab the clothes that I need and head to the bathroom. When I come back out Bucky’s gone.

Bucky didn’t talk to me the rest of that day. Or the day after that. It was almost a week before the guilt built up in me and I had to talk to him.

“Bucky?” I knocked tentatively on his door, hoping he would answer. I heard movement in the room and it didn’t take long for him to open the door.

“(y/n), what are you doing here?” He sounded tired and annoyed, I almost left right then.

“I haven’t seen you in like a week. I mean, I’ve seen you, but you haven’t been coming around. I was just worried I guess”

“Well I’m fine” he spit out before closing the door in my face.

The pain in my chest is something I wasn’t expecting. My eyes are welling up as my breath starts coming in fast and uneven. I know what crying feels like, I’m not completely heartless, but the drop of my stomach and the ache in my chest isn’t something I’ve ever associated with it. I’m able to make it back to my room before sobs start escaping my tightly closed lips. I’ve never experienced anything like this and I’m udderly unprepared. I end up in a ball in the middle of the floor as sobs wreck through me.

I don’t know how long I stay there. Eventually the tears stop coming and it’s just the occasional sob that brings me back to the present. I keep trying to think of what caused this but everytime I drawing a blank. I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I know I’m woken up by FRIDAY.

“Miss (y/l/n), you’re going to be late for training if you don’t get up now”

“Thank you FRIDAY” I moan back as I roll over on the floor and stretch

“Of course, Miss (y/l/n). May I ask how you’re feeling?”

“I’m fine now, just sore from sleeping on the floor. That will be all FRIDAY” I reply impatiently. I know it’s FRIDAY’s job to check on us, especially when we do unusual things, but I really don’t need to be reminded of what happened last night.

“Well you look like a mess” Sam cracks as I walk into the room.

“Thanks” I snap back. I glare at him for a moment but when I notice Bucky is by him I look down and walk to the other side of the gym. I just starting to work up a sweat on the punching bag when notice someone out of the corner of my eye.

“Do you have more jokes, Sam?” I snark without looking up.

“Actually, I was wondering if you were okay” Bucky asks gently.

“Yeah, Bucky, I’m fine” I emphasize the words, hoping he’ll put it together.

“Right, I know I messed up I-”

“I just said I’m fine” I cut him off, but regret it when I see the look on his face.

“Can we go somewhere and talk. (y/n) please?” he pleads. My resolve disappears as soon as I meet his gaze and I nod my agreement. He leads me out of the gym and to his room. I bite back more rude comments along the way and the ache in my chest starts forming again.

“What’s going on with you?” he asks as soon as the door closes.

“What’s going on with me? Bucky, what’s going on with you? You just disappeared and then I tried to go talk to you and you slammed the door in my face!”

“I was giving you space!” he matches my shouting tone.

“Giving someone space and not talking to them for a week is completely different” I’m starting to breathe faster and am scared the tears are going to flow at any moment.

“I thought it’s what you wanted” his face contorts in confusion and the look almost breaks my heart.

“Why did you think that?” I ask in barely a whisper.

“You were so cold to me, the morning after I had a nightmare. I woke up with the biggest smile on my face, getting to wake up with you in my arms, and then I looked at you and I saw you didn’t feel the same way. I saw how uncomfortable and uneasy you were. You don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you and I needed to stay away for a while so that my feelings would go away”

“And did they?”

“No” he smiles sadly at me.

“I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never cried over anyone before but, Bucky, I think I love you”

“I love you so much, but you don’t act like you love me”

“I don’t know how, I don’t know how to show my emotions or even just touch you” the tears are coming with my confession.

“It’s been a while for me too, we can learn together” he reaches for my hand and I flinch. “Let’s just,” he meets my eyes as his hand closes around mine, he finishes speaking as he brings my hand up to lips and presses a slow kiss over my fingers, “start with this”

Permanent Tag List: @amistillmyself @barnesbestgirl @giftofdreams @wildestdreamsrps @iamwarrenspeace @castellandiangelo @always-an-evans-addict @pegasusdragontiger

#kate’s cards against humanity challenge #Bucky Barnes #bucky bear #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #here's to pouring personal problems into fics and hoping for the best

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tisfan · 7 years

Text

All American Road Trip

Chapter One: Get out the Map

Chapter Two: A (very) Little Legroom

She weren't much to look at, she weren't much to ride She was missing a window on her passenger side The floorboard was patched up with paper and tar But I really was something in my old yellow car

An American boy with his hands on the wheel Of a dream that was made of American steel Though the seats had the smell of a nickel cigar I really was something in my old yellow car

--My Old Yellow Car, Dan Seals

Steve decided to take the package in the best possible light. It was either that, or go back on the warpath.

He’d almost tripped over it on his way out of the room, just one of those plain Fed Ex boxes, except he knew for a fact that delivery services weren’t allowed past the front door, so someone had brought it to his door and left it without knocking.

Steve would think that Stark had done it, except that he also couldn’t imagine Stark delivering a package like an errand boy.

Steve tore the slider open and dumped out:

Three Stark Industries ball caps in pale blue Three pairs of sunglasses (one pair of mirrored aviators, one tortoise shell horn-rimmed, and one pair of Tom Fords with a double bridge and green lenses: someone had left the price tags on all of them and Steve was not surprised to realize that the three pairs had run almost a grand. Which made crushing them in his hand out of the question) One ancient flip phone with a single number in the contacts list

A handwritten note:

You’ve always had a Stark backing your play. Call if you need anything. -T

He tucked the phone into his suitcase. He’d packed enough clothes for a week and planned stops to do laundry. Basic toiletries. Sketchbooks and a pack of charcoal pencils.

The door behind him opened and Bucky slumped into the room. He was wearing several layers; since coming out of cryo in Wakanda, Bucky had always seemed to be cold. He wore tee shirts and henleys in layers, topped out with a sweatshirt or hoodie. And always gloves; he hated people staring at his metal arm. And they always stared. It was hard not to.

Steve often wondered what the fuck Hydra was thinking when they put a shiny metal arm that whirred and whined when it moved on an assassin. It was the first damn thing Steve had noticed about the Winter Soldier when they had their rooftop chase. He’s strong, he’s fast. He has a metal arm.

(more under the break, or read the whole thing at A03)

Bucky had a backpack slung over one shoulder; not the one Steve had seen before, that had gotten confiscated back during that whole fiasco before Zemo triggered the Winter Soldier. After quite a lot of fighting and legal finagling, Bucky’d gotten his notebooks back, but the backpack itself was gone. This was a new one. There didn’t seem to be very much in it.

“You got another suitcase, Buck?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head, wasting no motion; left, right, back to center. “Card,” he said, shortly. He flipped through a simple leather billfold and held up a silver credit card, pinched between two fingers.

“What is that?”

“Hydra safe monies,” Bucky said. Seemed to recognize that it wasn’t enough information. “For Assets on extended missions. Tied to independent bank accounts in neutral countries. Untraceable. No one left alive to look for the money.”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. Bucky had been supposed to have turned over all Hydra information, as part of the agreement to let him back into the country, to reinstate him as a United States citizen, to have him listed as the country's most long-surviving prisoner of war. Star… probably would want to know about this.

Steve wasn’t going to tell him.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Buy new clothes when I need ‘em,” Bucky said. “Less to pack. Less to lose if we have to run. Possession slow you down.”

Steve didn’t shake his head, but he wanted to. “You’re not an Asset any more,” he said.

Bucky didn’t quite shrug, but he made a quick head tilt that said we’ll see about that.

“So what’s in the bag?”

“Energy bars. Notebook. Guns.”

“Buck, we don’t--”

“Rather have ‘em and not need ‘em than bring a knife to gunplay, Stevie,” Bucky said. He reached for the ballcaps on Steve’s table, his fingers stopping as they hovered. “These for us?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He couldn’t help the quick grin, because Bucky pulled the blue cap on right away and slid the round sunglasses over his eyes. Between that and the beard, he didn’t much look like the pictures of the Winter Soldier that had been all over the newspapers last year. Maybe Stark wasn’t being one hundred percent a dick. Just… ninety percent. With a dash of sarcasm.

“Come on, then, let’s go get Sam and get started.”

And I was standin' on the side of the road Rain fallin' on my shoes Heading out for the east coast Lord knows I've paid some dues Gettin' through Tangled up in blue --Tangled up in Blue, Bob Dylan

“You have got to be kidding,” Sam said. He was going to break his skull before this trip was over.

“What? I could afford it and I can drive it,” Steve said.

Sam opened his mouth and nothing came out but a strangled squawk. He closed his eyes, opened them. Nope, still there. “It’s an Opel Kadett.” Seriously, seriously, Steve, did you just not think this through at all? “You just don’t learn, do you? And that color, that is--”

“We won’t lose it in a parking lot.” Steve walked around the back of the bright, lime green car and popped the trunk. “You coming, or not?”

“You couldn’t have at least gotten a four door?” Sam started to throw his bag in the back, then stopped, staring --”Is that a tent? Are you seriously planning on camping on this trip?”

Steve shrugged. “Just in case we can’t get a hotel. Or you know, we want to stargaze.”

“You--” Sam pointed a finger at Barnes. “Get in the back.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t stop his crazy ass from buying a car from the freaking seventies. You gotta improve, man. Can’t just be Cap’s bitch for the rest of your life.”

Barnes scowled, but pushed the passenger seat forward and climbed into the back. Sam slid into the passenger seat. He could already feel Barnes’ knees digging into the back of the seat. Yeah, this was goan be so much fun.

“Here, you get to be navigator,” Steve said. He dumped a handful of maps and booklets in Sam’s lap. “I traced out a basic route and tagged a few places of interest to get us started.”

“I have a GPS, man,” Sam protested, juggling the papers that Steve had shoved at him.

“No GPS,” Steve said.

“What is it with you, grampa,” Sam exclaimed.

Steve took a deep breath, shoved the key in the ignition and brought the car to life with a decidedly unimpressive rumble. “I don’t--”

“He thinks Stark is tracing our phones,” Barnes piped up from the back.

“Wouldn’t put it past him, at any rate,” Steve muttered, shoving his hand through his hair. The man was so stupidly tall in the driver’s seat that the tips of his hair were brushing the ceiling. He had the seat slid way back to make room for his ridiculously long legs.

“So what’s your great plan for dealing with that? You know it just pings off the cellphone towers, right?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was going on a road trip and he wasn’t even going to get to play Angry Birds? How was that even fair?

“When we stop tonight, I’ll put our phones in a priority mail box and send them back to ourselves. We can get them when we come back.”

“Dude, you are paranoid,” Sam accused.

“Not paranoid enough,” Barnes said. “This car is gonna be easy to spot. I’ll sweep it after we settle, but the fuckin’ traffic cams’ll have us at least until flyover states.”

“Okay, so Steve’s the amatuer tin-foil hat wearing freak here, and you’re the conspiracy theory expert. What’s that make me?” He was not playing therapist to two supersoldiers with delusions of adequacy, really, he was not. Sam’s mom didn’t raise no fools, and the worst foot to get off on would be to let them start dismissing his opinions. Not that they were wrong; it was the sort of thing Stark would do.

Stark was ten times more paranoid than Barnes and he had good reason to be. Rate of exchange on successful trust extended experiments for the man had discouraging results. Sam would have felt more sorry for the guy if his keeping information close to the vest hadn’t cost them all so very much. It wasn’t even really the guy’s fault; Stark just assumed that the people around him were either bright enough to figure it out on their own, or stupid enough to not need to know. Sam wasn’t sure how Stark had figured him.

Still, Stark was probably tracking them. Just because Ross was out of the picture didn’t mean there weren’t other government agencies who wanted to keep a discreet eye on Cap and his buddy. (Sam was often forgotten, a circumstance that would have annoyed him more if he hadn’t been eager to fly under the radar.)

Not to mention, if something dire happened, Stark would want to be able to pick them up for immediate deployment. Forty days, Sam directed a prayer up to his main man, Jesus Christ. As long as you were in the Desert; let the Avengers be unnecessary, just for that long, okay man?

Barnes nudged the back of Sam’s seat. “Turn the radio on,” he said.

Sam twisted the dial -- Christ, this thing didn’t even have a plug in for an MP3 player, he was going to have to manually tune -- and the first station that came on was Friday’s custom mix that broadcast in a limited range around the compound.

Highway to Hell by AC/DC pumped through the speakers, which were surprisingly good. Sam closed his eyes, felt the music coming at him from all directions.

“We aren’t starting our trip on this Tony Stark theme music shit.” Steve punched one of the silver radio buttons, changing over to a squelch of static. From there, he twisted the knob until he settled on a local R&B station.

And I find it kinda funny I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying Are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you I find it hard to take When people run in circles It's a very, very mad world, mad world --Mad World, Gary Jules

Took less than twelve minutes to do a complete analysis of the structural capacity of Steve’s chosen vehicle, its performance ratios, and come to the conclusion that they were likely to have their first breakdown within three thousand miles. Based on Steve’s map, they’d probably achieve total failure within eight thousand miles.

Didn’t matter. He patted his pocket. Hydra had plenty of money. He’d made the suggestion of a newer, more reliable vehicle after Steve had come to the emotionally crushing conclusion that he was not very good at planning.

He also wasn’t very good at driving. Who the fuck ever gave that man a driver’s license?

Steve’s driving was almost as terrifying as facing down an entire squad of SHIELD agents. Which made him want to kick something. He settled for tapping the fingers of his left hand against the door handle. Click. Click click click. Click. Click click click click.

Click. Click. clickclickclick.

That was amusing. He watched as Wilson’s shoulders got tighter with each drumming roll of metal fingers against the cheap plastic door handle.

Right before Wilson was ready to turn around and yell, he stopped tapping for a while. Five minutes. Eight and a half.

Click. Click. clickclickclickclick.

The backseat was claustrophobic. He’d had cryo-tubes that were more spacious. Okay, that was exaggerating. But at least the cryo-tubes had been designed to fit his body appropriately. He wasn’t smashed into a tiny bench seat with an uncomfortable bump in the middle, legs spread wide to have one leg in each footwell in order to not bruise his knees with the backs of the seats in front of him.

The center seat belt didn’t fit around his midsection and the other two cramped him into one side of the bench or the other. He wasn’t wearing one. Safety be damned. He’d like to have two functioning legs at the end of the day.

He computed his trajectory, if Steve had to slam on the brakes suddenly. He could probably catch the steering wheel on his way by, but it wasn’t likely to slow his ejection from the vehicle and it would leave Steve the difficulty of not being able to control the car. Which probably wouldn’t hurt Steve all that much, but Steve might be upset if something happened permanent-like to Wilson.

Click.

The prime solution was to let Wilson drive; his legs were shorter and even though he was completely pushed back as far as he could while riding shotgun, he’d have to scoot forward to drive.

Which would allow him to sit behind the driver’s side and use the damn seat belt.

Click. click.

He dug around in the bag behind Steve’s seat. Food and a couple cans of soda. That wasn’t going to hold for long. Also, did Steve not know that people had invented insulated coolers in the meanwhile? Warm Coke. Yuck.

Didn’t matter. He was hungry. He ripped the top off a packet of trail mix; dried fruits, nuts, rolled oats, chocolate. It was terrible, but high in calories for the double handful he poured into his mouth. Based on his calculations, he and Steve would go through this batch of nutrients before the vehicle had even gone through three quarters of its petrol.

Man with a plan, my muscular buttocks.

One might have supposed Steve would keep track of his own caloric needs. Then again, Steve never did think things through. He never had, scrappy little punk. All he’d started with in his life was two fists and a pile of anger. He’d channeled into righteous rage, but the rest of it? His health, his well being, where his next meal was coming from. That had been all Bucky Barnes and Howard Stark.

Idiot.

Click. Click click click. “Would you knock that off?” Wilson finally gave up, twisted in his seat to glare.

“Mmm.” He grunted. Not an answer. The tiniest of smiles twitched up the side of his mouth.

Eighty seconds later, he started bouncing his leg, vibrating his knee against Wilson’s seat.

If you life this fic, consider buying me a kofi

#all caps #steve x sam x bucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #road trip #road trip music #crack fic #the author has no regrets

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