I wanna know what memory from when he was 16 was so vivid and important to Steve that it just popped right up at the mere mention of Bucky. Bucky was 17 then and one of the trigger words was 17. Was that just a coincidence, did the writers mean nothing by it? But if so, why 16? Why not any other number from his teenage years. My belief is that something major happened that he’s keeping in his heart and Marvel can’t destroy that.
Look at himmmmm... the pain, the hope just at mere mention of Bucky’s name has Steve wrecked. 🥺
And then there’s the scene you’re talking about where Steve is full of guilt for what happened in Lagos and how his slip has had huge repercussions for Wanda.
I actually love that this scene is ambiguous and left to interpretation. There are so many ways it can be read and you know I’m always going to read it so it’s unequivocally gay. 😁
I would imagine being as close as they are, having grown up together that Steve and Bucky shared many experiences throughout their childhood. They have such a strong bond that has carried them through good times and bad times but also through first times.
Now I’m going to keep things PG, but I definitely have suspicions that it was around the ages of 16 and 17 that perhaps Bucky and Steve’s relationship first started to change. And if you don’t mind, I’m going to indulge in a little 1930’s Stucky headcanon.
The brotherly bond they had shared as kids is different now. Even though they’re plenty old enough; Bucky having already turned 17, neither he nor Steve have any real interest in any of the very cute girls around town. Not that the girls haven’t tried to tempt Bucky with flips of their hair and sweet smile.
It’s innocent enough, and Bucky is happy to shoot them a passing grin, but nothing more. Because the truth of the matter is, he’s got a think for his best friend. Sixteen year old Steve Rogers, a spunky as hell string bean who weighs less than a sack of sugar even when soaking wet.
It’s Saturday night and Bucky had insisted that they get out of the house, offering to treat Steve to a movie, as he often does. He’s doing as much as he can to life Steve’s spirits these days. And if a paper bag of popcorn and some comedy will do the trick, then it’s money well spent.
The sun is setting as they make their way back home. Steve shivers from the cold, but doesn’t say a word. Bucky notices, he always does; ever in tune with his best friend. Truth is, he can’t imagine life without Steve Rogers, the scrawny kid who is a few screws loose when it comes to self-preservation. Bucky doesn’t mind, he likes taking care of Steve.
What he doesn’t like is how Steve doesn’t smile quite as often these days, preoccupied by worry with his mother as sick as she is. The mission had been successful because Steve’s entire little body had vibrated with laughter at the cinema. Bucky could barely tear his eyes away from Steve’s dorky grin long enough to watch the movie himself.
“Here,” Bucky says, draping his coat over Steve’s small frame.
“I’m fine, Buck.” Steve says, moving to shrug out of the fancy fabric. It’s much more expensive than anything he could ever dream to afford, but Bucky thinks it looks good on him nonetheless. “Y’know you don’t have to take care of me.”
Bucky stops dead in the quiet back lane, settling his palms over Steve’s shoulders to keep his coat firmly in place. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that Stevie? You ever think that just maybe, I like taking care of you?”
Steve’s head slowly lifts up to meet Bucky’s gaze, “You do?”
The adorably bewildered expression on Steve’s face rouses a hearty chuckle out of Bucky. “‘Course I do, I happen to like a lot of things about you.”
Even with his cheeks already flush from the cold, Bucky catches the way Steve’s body reddens at his words. And if it weren’t obvious enough, his whole body tenses under his grip.
“Don’t tease me, Buck. It’s not nice.” Steve says, puffing out a warm exhale that fogs up the space between them.
“M’not teasing, Stevie. Promise.”
Bucky loosens his hold on Steve’s shoulders and hooks a finger under his best friend’s chin. His thumb lifts a little higher, itching to brush across the soft skin of Steve’s pretty pink lips.
He dares to venture a quick glance, waiting for Steve to jump backwards and run away from him. But he doesn’t. Instead his blue eyes, with that little speck of green, drift closed and the faintest little moan escapes as Bucky’s thumb traces over it.
“Can I kiss you Stevie?” Bucky asks, hearing the uncharacteristic trepidation in his own voice. He needs to hear Steve say it, he’s not willing to risk pushing his best friend away just to fulfill a purely selfish desire.
“Yes, please.” Steve breathes out.
A rush of relief floods through Bucky and he laughs, “Always so polite, aren’t you Rogers.”
With a slight tilt of his head, he takes a few breaths to just appreciate just how beautiful Steve looks before he lowers himself to Steve and captures his mouth in a kiss.
It’s short but sweet, Steve’s mouth parting in surprise despite Bucky having given him notice. What Bucky doesn’t expect is the way Steve responds, jolting forward with enough force that Bucky stumbles backward, only stopping when his back hits the solid brick of Mr. Swanson’s Candy Shoppe.
Steve’s mouth moves deftly over his, fingers clutching tight onto Bucky’s forearms. There’s nothing tentative or restrained about it and it lights Bucky on fire.
When they break apart moments later, Bucky is dizzy. Feeling higher than a kite at just how good and right Steve’s lips had felt pressed against his. Steve sags against him and Bucky can feel just how hard Steve’s pulse his pounding.
“You breathing okay there, Steve?” He asks, a little worried now, though he adds a joke to keep the mood light. “Seems ￼you stole some of my mine.”
Steve steps back, righting himself on two feet, as if to prove to Bucky just how fine he is. “You’re a real comedian, you know that?”
Bucky grins. “You love it, Punk.”
Time slows as they make it back to Steve’s stoop, bumping shoulders and brushing fingers along the way. It’s late and the stars are bright in the sky, though they can’t compare to the sparkle in Steve’s eyes. Bucky leans in for one more gentle kiss, keeping his voice low in a gentle whisper.
With only four words, Steve reassures Bucky that even though things may have changed between them tonight, their bond is as reliable as the morning sunrise.
“Love you too, Jerk.”
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I Don’t Think This is Kansas
Captain America: The First Avenger, The P.O.W., and The Time Traveler - Chapter I
Fic Rating: M
Chapter Rating: M (just to be safe)
Warnings: Light mentions of torture (non-graphic)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 2k
A/N: And here we gooooooo! The first chapter of what is going to be a long, multi-fic series, featuring Bucky Barnes x Reader! This chapter isn’t super long, it’s mostly just setting the scene, but I still hope y’all enjoy it! Quite side note, I realize the dates/timeline that I use may not be exactly canon, but I’m gonna stick as close as possible. I may have to tweak certain things for plot reasons, but for the most part I’ll be sticking to the same timeline as the canon franchise, although obviously the story is going to be very AU. Please let me know what y’all think, I’m really nervous about this fic, but I’m also extremely excited!!
Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment! I’d love to know what you think!
Date: February 9th, 2008
Location: Malibu, California
The sound of Back In Black by ACDC playing from your cell for the fourth time in the last half hour finally made you put your pen down, and pick up the call.
“This better be good, Tony.”
An affronted gasp came from the other end of the line, although you could barely hear it over the extremely loud rock music playing in the background.
“I am... offended that you think I’d call you with anything other than life or death matters.”
“Right, so that time that you called me at three in the morning to ask where you’d left your socket wrench was a matter of life or death?”
“Details, details. Why didn’t you answer me the first three times I called you?”
Rolling your eyes at the petulant tone in his voice, you switched the phone to your non-dominant hand and picked up your pen again. “Because, Anthony, some of us actually have jobs to do and bills to pay.”
“I told you, bunny rabbit, your life would be so much easier if you just moved into my place and let my millions take care of any expenses. Don’t you miss seeing me all the time?”
“Don’t whine, Tony,” you muttered fondly. It was an argument the two of you’d been having since your days in MIT together. “Maybe I like a little independence every now and then. And I certainly don’t miss the ragers you threw every other day back in college, I don’t need that kind of excitement now that I’m an adult. Unlike you.”
Tony sputtered on the other end, and you smirked in satisfaction. He was so easy to rile up, and you took great pleasure in pushing his buttons. The two of you had met at MIT, and your relationship had quickly transitioned from classmates to friends to something akin to siblings. You were one of the few women on campus–maybe the only woman on campus–who wasn’t interested in sleeping with him, and once Tony got over the blow to his ego, he’d become your best friend.
“Seriously though, Tony. Is there a reason you’re bugging me at,” you glance at your watch. “Three-thirty on a friday afternoon?”
“Yes, actually,” he says, and you can finally hear his voice properly without it being drowned out by Led Zeppelin as he turns down his music. “I want you to come over this weekend. We’ve got a cake to bake and alcohol to drink.”
Your brow furrowed as you tried to figure out what the hell he was talking about. “Tony, why on Earth do we have to bake a cake this weekend? I’ve got about twenty different deadlines this next week, I don’t really have the time–”
“Ah-ah-ah!” Tony waited for you to stop talking before he continued. “We do this little dance every year, bunny. No matter how much you protest, I refuse to let you ignore the passage of time. We are celebrating your birthday this weekend, and that’s final.”
Eyes widening, you drop your pen, swiveling in your chair to glance at your calendar. “Wait, that’s this weekend?” You see the date marked with a little red X on your calendar and you frown. “Hold up, no, my birthday’s on a Tuesday this year, what–”
“Yes yes, I am aware, however I will be in Afghanistan doing a demo of the Jericho missile on your actual birthday, so we’re celebrating early. So, get your cute little butt over to my house after work today. Pepper’s getting the stuff from the store, so we can go wild.”
You were silent for a moment. “I really don’t like that missile, Tones.” The clanking of metal suddenly ceased in the background of the call, and you knew Tony had put down his tools. “I- I know that SI develops weapons, and I know you’re upholding your dad’s legacy, but Tony? There’s so much you could be doing with your life, is making weapons really what you want?”
This wasn’t a new conversation for either of you, but you really didn’t want to let it go. “I know that’s what Obadiah wants, but what do you want? What does Tony Stark want? You’re a good man, Tony, with or without your dad’s legacy.”
“As you constantly remind me.” As he spoke, you could hear the smile in his voice.
You couldn’t help but smile too. “I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise, you know that.”
The two of you sat in silence for a moment, before Tony groaned loudly. “Mushy stuff aside, you are coming over tonight, right?”
You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“Alright, fine. But only if you tell Pepper and Happy to come too. Lord knows they have the patience of saints if they put up with you on a daily basis. They could probably use the break.”
You could practically picture Tony’s cheerful expression. “Sure! See you later, bunny!”
Rolling your eyes, you hung up the phone and turned back to your work. You’d be a bit behind if you went to Tony’s tonight, but as long as you saved Sunday for work, you’d get everything done in time. Truly, you did miss your best friend, and it’d be nice to get to see him just being himself, if only for a couple hours. You’d made it no secret you hated the “Tony Stark” persona he put on for the world, it was always nice when he shed that part of himself and just became Tony, your best friend from college.
Glancing at the clock, you figured you’d be able to get in a few more hours of work before heading over to Tony’s place. Then, you’d be able to let loose and relax for the weekend, something you sorely needed.
Pulling into the drive, you looked up at the insane mansion that Tony called home. It was the very definition of opulence, custom-built to Tony’s exact specifications. A far cry from your little studio apartment, but honestly, you preferred your tiny little one-room place. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate the absolute marvel of architecture that was Tony’s mansion.
Walking up to the front door, you turned the handle, grinning when it turned in your grasp. As you entered the foyer, a soothing, British voice came from hidden speakers in the ceiling. “Welcome back, Miss.”
A fond smile spread across your lips. “Hello to you too, Jarvis. Is it too much to ask for you to call me by my name? How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t need to be so formal?”
“Well, if you’d prefer, I have an acceptable list of nicknames programmed into my database from Mr. Stark that I could use, starting with–”
“No! No, that’s fine, Jarvis. I’d rather formality over any odd nicknames Tony’s come up with over the years.”
“A wise choice, Miss.”
Setting your coat and purse down on the couch, you looked around the seemingly empty house. “Speaking of, where is Tony?”
“Sir is currently in the garage, working on the ‘67 Shelby Cobra. Shall I alert him of your arrival?”
“Nah, don’t bother, I’ll just head down. Thanks, J!”
“A pleasure, Miss.”
Heading for the stairs, you began to descend the multiple levels, towards the basement where Tony kept his cars, along with all of the tools and scrap he used for tinkering. Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through your stomach, causing you to stumble, catching yourself on the wall.
“What the–” you muttered, panting as you tried to catch your breath. As the pain ebbed, you started to straighten back up, only to double over again as an even stronger wave crashed over you, causing you to cry out.
It felt like someone was trying to claw you open from the inside, and you fell to your knees, nails scratching uselessly at the marble floor as you tried to ground yourself through the pain. Faintly, you could hear Jarvis calling you, asking if he should alert Tony, or call 911, but you couldn’t get your voice to work, other than weak whimpers and cries.
As you tried to reach up to grab the handrail, you cried out in shock as your hand passed right through the wood of the railing, causing you to collapse back onto the ground. “H-Help–” you gasped, staring in horror at your limbs as they became more and more see-through. “Tony, help m–”
Your voice cut off as you faded out, your figure disappearing mere seconds before Tony dashed up the stairs, frantically calling your name. But there was no use. You were gone.
The first sense to return to you was smell. All of a sudden, you were assaulted by a damp, musty scent, not unlike that of a cellar, or one of the old English castles you and Tony had visited on the spring break vacation you’d taken to Europe. The next sense was hearing, as the steady drip drip drip of water assaulted your ears, the droplets sounding as though they were landing on stone, or concrete.
With a herculean effort, you opened your eyes, wincing at the bright light that shone directly in your face. It took you a few moments to orient yourself, but as you did, you came to a horrifying realization. You were lying on a table, your arms and legs strapped down, and what felt like a leather band laid across your forehead, keeping your head in place.
You began to slowly tug on your restraints, your efforts to escape growing more frantic as you heard slow footsteps begin to approach your side, the tap tap tapping of soles on concrete sending sharp spikes of fear coursing through your body.
Gradually, a face swam into view above you, a face that looked vaguely familiar. The man had a small, rounded face, with receding reddish-blond hair neatly combed over his scalp. He had round glasses on, and wore a deep red bowtie. He didn’t look scary, but something in his eyes made you freeze in terror, even as he smiled down at you.
“Ah, you are awake! Excellent.”
You tried to speak, but your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, and you couldn’t get your vocal cords to work. The man seemed to pay this no mind, however.
“Now that you are awake, I am afraid I have a few questions for you, my dear,” the man simpered, reaching out one pudgy hand to brush some hair out of your face, even as you tried–and failed–to flinch away. “Answer them honestly, and perhaps we will let you go.”
He took your silence as acceptance.
“Now. How did you find our base?”
He waited patiently as you swallowed roughly, trying desperately to lubricate your throat, even though your mouth was painfully dry. “P–Please,” you begged, unable to speak louder than a whisper. “I–I don’t know where I am. P–Please let me go.”
Tutting disappointedly, the man turned away for a moment. When he came back into your field of vision, to your horror, he was holding what looked to be some kind of torture instrument, with electricity arcing off the end.
“I was afraid of that,” he muttered, looking down at you with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Well, if you will not answer my questions willingly, perhaps a little persuasion will do.” He lowered the device, pressing it lightly against your bare side.
A scream tore from your throat as your back arched, trying to get away from the electricity. The man held the device there for a few seconds, before pulling it away.
You gasped for air, whole body shuddering from the volts of electricity that had danced across your skin. “I–I don’t know where I am!” You sobbed, pulling in vain on the leather bindings that held you in place. “Please, I don’t kno–AHHHHHH!” Another touch from the device had you screaming once again.
“Well, if you truly do not know where you are, allow me to enlighten you. My name is Doctor Zola. Welcome, my dear, to Hydra.”
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