Darcy And Bucky. 60: Before You Decide To Murder Me, Let Me Explain...

Hint.

You are a dying star.

This headcanon is crushing me, so I’m just gonna do the tumblr thing and spread the pain: Imagine Tony has a son. It wasn’t planned, of course not. Tony’s never wanted–never even considered the possibility. But well, when a condom breaks sometimes that happens. 

The mother, thankfully, is a very sweet woman in her late twenties, who doesn’t go to the tabloids or demands a lot of money. Instead she informs Tony, tells him she’s keeping the child and that it’s his choice how big a part he wants to play in its life. Predictably Tony panics. But, he’s got eight months to get used to the idea, you know? And despite all his personal faults, his lack of responsibility, he does want to be father to his child. There is nothing he wants more than that, which he realises the moment he holds his beautiful, little son in his arms for the first time.

They name him Luca and he is perfect. And in a perfect world, that would be enough.

But the world they live in isn’t perfect and when Luca is four years old, Tony receives a call that nothing could have prepared him for: his son is sick. And of course with Tony being a Stark he can afford the best medical treatment but sometimes. Sometimes it’s not a question of being able to afford it, sometimes everything today’s medicine can do still isn’t enough.

The doctors can’t tell them how long they have, all they know is that they are running out of time. And Tony? Tony tries, he tries so hard to put on a brave face. He spends as much time with Luca as possible, teaches him how to build the world’s most amazing lego tower, goes to amusement parks, plays with him, draws, throws frisbees until his arm hurts. Tries not to think about how Luca is never going to be an adult, is never going to have a big 18th birthday party, is never going to bring home a girl- or boyfriend and it kills him.

Wonders every time Luca smiles at him, every time he hears is voice on the phone when he can’t make the time to visit personally if this is the last time he’s going to see his son alive. Tony knows it’s not about him, that he needs to focus on the present right now, build memories and give Luca the best life he can have–and he does, he really does. He’s a great father and Luca is happy, always smiling and curious and with familiar, bright eyes full of wonder. And all Tony wants is for this to last.

But this is a problem Tony can’t fix. All he can do is pray–and he does, believe me, he does–for a miracle that doesn’t come.

Could I use this as a fic prompt?

Bucky rolls over to lay on top of you in the mornings to make sure you don't try and get up

and when you do it to him he pretends that he can’t get up even though you weigh like a feather to him 

Fluffy Friday™ 

Carrion Daybreak C1 - Bucky x OC - Avengers Series - Of Glory, Honor, and the Path to Redemption

Summary: No longer fugitives, the Avengers are broken.

Bucky is lost; struggling with his identity and past as he tries to right his perceived wrongs. Tony is cold; his soul withered and mind ravaged by visions of terror. Political warfare breaks out, unmasking shadow organizations, spies, and corrupt officials. Enemies stir on the horizon.

As the last remaining wolves of HYDRA are hunted down, two Gods return, scarred and worn. They bring ominous news of war and Titans.

The World Eater is coming.

Series masterlist (link)

WARNINGS: This chap isn’t too bad but there is a small depiction of Bucky/Winter Soldier ID crisis. A good amount of tension between the team. And a panic attack in both Bucky and Tony. 

This is eventually a Bucky x OC story.

Carrion Daybreak

- Avengers Global Compound (AGC), Upstate New York, Midgard. 7:53AM. February 5th, 2018. -

It was with trepidation that former-Sargent James Buchanan Barnes stepped out of the sleek Wakandan jet. He was the last to emerge, hiding behind his childhood friend and the rest of the fugitive heroes. This place is foreign to him, more so than the arid heat and sprawling jungles of Wakanda. It sets him on edge, certain his fate would not be so kind as King T'Challa's heart.

"Welcome back," a wry figure, with offensively orange glasses and mishappen hair, greeted. He stood casually, hands in pockets, dressed in worn jeans and a faded black shirt. Beside him stood a young woman, dressed equally casual, cloaked in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans. James glimpsed caramel skin briefly before she turned away.

Anthony Edward Stark, supplied the darkness in his mind. Unknown female. Assessment pending.

"Tony," Steve greeted, smiling warmly at the man. "Miss Gene." The Captain reached out to shake hands but was quickly rebuffed as Tony turned, angling himself towards the landing strip. Steve frowned and hesitantly let his hand drop.

Iron Man. Genius. Unpredictable. High level threat. Caution advised.

Female identified. Gene. Assessment pending.

"And how is everyone on this glorious American morning? Feeling chipper? Need some coffee? We have a long day ahead of us, kids."

To his left, the Widow and the Witch shared unpleasant commentary, a comradery in their nasty thoughts. Even the Hawk seemed unenthused with the man, although it reaped no surprise if their opinions were an indicator. Clint raked a hand through his hair, breathing deeply.

Steve had recovered from the slight, returning to his usual sunny disposition. "It's really great to be home again," he offered, trying to gain Tony's attention.

Tony hummed, lips pursed. "Shall we enter, then?" he swept a tan arm toward the lobby, "Lots has changed. You'll need a tour."

Steve bowed his head, "Lead the way."

James quietly followed after the others, mapping the grounds and itemizing escape routes. Widow and Witch continued to chuckle, sharing barbs and memories, with cruel delight that showed just how happy they were to be home.

It seemed Scott and Sam were more at ease. Of course, he thought, they were never a part of the Avengers until recruited after SHIELD fell. Which happened in part, if not entirety, because of James.

As they walked, the group converged across the grounds, a strange tension crackling in the air. Relief was palpable, an ode to the year long estrangement from the only home most of them had ever known. It mixed with bitter resentment, like inky black oil and stagnant, cloudy water.

For James it was strange. Strange like a deep summer haze, yet he was ice cold.

New York had once been his stomping ground. In a prior life he had run rampant across the boroughs, fighting ragtag groups of kids and listening to musicals in the backalleys of Manhattan. But that life had faded from his mind and he only knew of it because Steve had told him so.

So nostalgia evaded him, replaced by caution and fear, and jittering nerves. No longer an American soul, he felt alone, deserted in his mind with only the Soldier's ominous presence to keep him company.

"You're going to need your room cards and a security check." Tony began, pushing the door to the lobby open. He strutted through like he owned the place, which James supposed was true, whilst Gene held the door open for them. "Your biometrics will be uploaded into the database and FRIDAY will map out the compound on the Starkpads you'll get soon."

James listened as he gauged the five story building before he slipped inside. He calculated the height of the top story and the damage he would take should he need to jump.

One sprained ankle. One fractured shin. Weak spot: left knee. Time to recovery: 4 hours.

"After that's been done, you can settle in. You each have your own rooms in the East Wing, which is where Vision and Gene are. In those rooms you'll find a self contained kitchenette, wash room, and your copies of the Accords. Read them or don't, but I advise you do." Tony gestured towards a guard manned desk, seemingly unaware of the sudden change in topic, not to mention tone, of his spiel.

Wanda bristled, but whether it was at his comanding voice, mention of the Accords, or having a security check, James was uncertain. If he had to hazard a guess, he would choose the latter. The Soldier disagreed, citing them all as Wanda's immaturity took little to ire.

"Security check? This is our home, Stark. Why do I need a security check? Is it not enough that I have signed the Accords?"

Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, but didn't speak as a very tall, very broad black man stepped from around the desk, smiling warmly at them. "If you would place any electronics, firearms, metal objects, weapons, or combination thereof into the tray and then please step through, you will be permitted entry."

Without argument, Steve did as asked, dropping his sole duffle bag into the tray and moving through the scanner. "It's okay, Wanda," he placated, "It's just standard procedure. Right, Tony?"

"Yeup," came the clipped reply, "Everyone has to be screened once. Not singling you out, Maximoff."

Despite looking like she wanted to argue, Wanda held her tongue and lined up behind Natasha who gave the younger woman an encouraging squeeze. One by one they stepped through, with Lang having to redo it three times because of his belt buckle, iPod, and necklace ("Sorry, sorry. TSA always gives me hell.") before it was his turn.

The Soldier frowned, muttering in Russian, but James simply followed suit and placed his bag in the tray before stepping through.

A horrid beeping filled his ears, making him jump like a startled cat. Tony would have laughed if he thought it wouldn't end badly. Wide eyed, James stepped backwards, uncertain why the scanner beeped.

"Sir, do you have an concealed weapons or cellular devices on you?"

His disused voice sounded even worse to his own ears than everyone else, but he shook his head and said 'no' regardless.

Figuring it may be his boots, he untied them and took them off, feeling unrelenting eyes boring into him. It made him nervous and put the Soldier on edge, fighting him for control. When the scanner beeped yet again, James was ready to just strip naked and see if that worked, because damn if his hands weren't sweaty.

The others were talking amongst themselves, some of it centered on their return but he could clearly hear Steve's worried whispers and Widow's questioning hums.

"It's his arm."

A new voice broke the forray effortlessly despite being quiet. And though quiet, this woman, this Gene, captured the attention of the group.

"His arm? But.. Bucky doesn't.." Steve trailed off confused, shooting James a questioning glance. He shook his head.

"His arm is gone but the port isn't. It's probably made of a heavy metal."

James cast a scrutinizing look to her but again, her face was mostly obscured by the ratty hood, her height making it easier to conceal her form.

Tony nodded suddenly, "Actually, yeah. Just wave him through, Jay, don't worry about it." The man said, flapping a hand carelessly.

A small dawn of comprehension crept across both James' and Steve's faces. Crossing through the scanner with no more trouble, the group set off down a brightly light corridor.

"This looks different," Natasha remarked, finally acknowledging Tony's existence. James stayed to the back still, cautiously treading, kneading at his shoulder port as it began to ache. The stress of the trip alone had him wound up and feeling like a hairspring would trigger him- if he were a desert eagle with a bullet in the barrel.

"Mhmm mhm, like I said. Lots changed. Anyway, here-" Tony stopped, indicating with an impassive face. Behind him a positively ginormous window bay took up a good fifty feet of the wall. "-is the employee rec centre. You're all free to use it but there is another one in the Centre Block, and a third in the East Wing. It's mostly intel and tech staff who use this area but their Donburi restaurant is to die for, so if you don't feel like cooking just grab one. It's all paid for."

Unimpressed gazes scrutinized the large hall but no one said anything. Only a few employees inhabited the area, eating in small clusters.

Without a word, Tony moved on, quickly showing them the public Med Bay, library, tech control room, and general area gym before they hit a security block. So far they hadn't seen anyone and it was almost eerie. But James didn't know what to expect. Should it be bustling with life? Or was the compound vacant, waiting for the original team to reconvene? Everything was so foreign and abstract, his head began to pound.

"Aight, listen up." Tony turned to face them fully for the first time, although he didn't remove his glasses and the almost inconvenienced expression never wavered. "This here is a Deadlock Passage. You need clearance 5 or above to pass through, and the further you go the higher the clearance. You are all level 7. All you need to do is present your keycard," he held up a thin white card that closely resembled a credit card, "And hold it up to the scanner. If for some reason the scanner isn't working just slide it in the reader. Capiche? Great."

"I don't remember that being here," Natasha quietly remarked, smiling softly at Tony. Immediately the Soldier scoffed, and James nearly did, too. The Widow was always looking for something. Always has an agenda.

Tony didn't even twitch. "I know, right."

The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a starkly different interior. Replacing the beige and white walls and harsh slate concrete floors was an intimidating deep blue. The linoleum flooring looked so inky it could have been a galaxy, and for a moment, they were mesmerized. Soft gray walls branched off in four different directions, and a glistening row of elevators lined up before them.

"You are now in the Centre Block," Tony intoned. James suspected the man didn't want to be here. In fact, he had probably been roped into doing it by the newly founded World Defense Council (WDC). And to be fair, James thought with a cold flash in his stomach, why would he? Steve and himself had bludgeoned the man little more than a year ago. "From this lobby you can reach the East, West, and North Wings by following their respective corridors. There are signs. This bank of elevators will take you to the basement levels or to the upper floors, which you will be shown later."

"Christ," Clint muttered. "Do you even want to be here."

"No," Tony deadpanned. "Do you?"

Clint spluttered for a moment, growing redder and redder, but Tony never gave him a chance to lash out, swiftly leading them away. Soon, after trekking down varying corridors- "He's trying to confused us," the Soldier murmured - they arrived in a truly quiet portion of the compound. Squashed into a small alcove, the disjointed group were faced with a heavily fortified black doorway.

"This is the entrance to the East Wing. There are two more entrances, one from the Upper East Wing and one from the North Wing. They are all the same. There is no clearance requirement as only select individuals may enter. That is you all, Vision, Gene, James Rhodes, and myself. You merely swipe your card and that's it. FRIDAY, my AI, can also grant access to the Wing should the situation require it. Say hello, FRIDAY."

James jumped violently, to his retrospective horror, as a disembodied voice filled the room. It seemed to come from every direction, even leeching from the walls. His first instinct was to plaster himself against the wall in a crouched fighting position, but thankfully he managed to remain standing, even if his sudden startle had frightened Steve.

"Hello. I am FRIDAY. I am here if you need anything," came a lilting Irish voice.

Gene snorted quietly, muttering to Tony, "Bit snippy today."

Gene. Accent. Unknown origins. Close affiliation with Anthony Edward Stark. Caution advised. Assessment pending.

"I missed her voice," Steve said, although it came out as more of an awkward offer. Tony remained expressionless, didn't even say a word.

"Anyway, this is also a Deadlock Passage, but it is reinforced. Unless a nuke hits the doorway head-on, no one who shouldn't will get through. So, here are your cards," he nearly threw the stack of them all tangled in lanyards at Steve, "And get settled. FRIDAY will direct you to your individual rooms. A charged Starkpad, the Accords, and anything else you'll need will be there. Okay. Great."

And abruptly, startlingly, Tony simply slid between them all and charged off, disappearing around a corner seconds later. An awkward, pregnant silence filled the air, before Steve came to and cleared his throat.

"Uh, okay, let's see.." Steve fiddled with the lanyards, slowly pulling them apart.

"FUCK," Clint burst, tense and red, and all sorts of angry. Beyond the pounding of James' heart, the snarling of the Soldier, and his rapidly approaching anxiety attack, James could easily read the exhausted frustration on the archers face. "He's such a fucking asshole. Could barely stand to be in the room with us. It's like he knows he's a scumbag!"

There were murmured agreements, all from Widow, Witch, and the Falcon. Natasha tenderly wrapped an arm around the man's shoulder, murmuring words of comfort. "Stark isn't like us, but he'll come around. We're home now, aren't we?"

"Maybe you are," Clint trembled, "But I'm not. And it's because of HIM."

Gene cleared her throat, lips pursed. "How about I let you in and you can go get fixed up?" Swiping her card, the door wooshed open and she disappeared into the hallway.

James and the rest followed, his mind a haze, and somehow he found himself in his room. Sliding down the wall as his breath caught in his throat, panic bubbled up. Hysteria gripped him as the world went black.

Rhodey pinned Tony with an angry glare. "Really? Really?"

"What, Platypus?"

"You told FRIDAY to keep their arrival from me. Serious, Tone, we had an agreement."

Tony shrugged, "Dunno what you're talking about."

Wheeling himself around the desk, Rhodey smacked his chair against the inventors legs. "Dude, don't shut me out."

Tony let out an unbecoming grunt and threw his hands in the air. "What?"

Rhodey breathed deeply, bracing himself. Even though he knew Tony was only trying to protect him (which was touching, really) it still irked him. "You know I don't blame you."

"Yes, I know you don't blame me!" Tony shouted, finally losing his composure. "And fuck, Rhodey, I don't blame myself anymore either. I get it, okay? But that doesn't make it okay. None of this is okay. You're- ah, you're in a wheelchair most of the time, and I walked away after a week in hospital. Those PEOPLE," he jabbed an oily finger at the ceiling "Up there have no idea what they have done. And now they're in our home, walking free. They don't know what I-WE have had to do to get them pardoned, the SHIT we went through, and-and-"

"Jesus, Tony, breathe." Rhodey lay a careful hand on the genius' shoulder, feeling the shuddering breathes wracking the man. "Just let it out."

So he did. Dry sobs shook his body, tearing away his earlier aloof composure.

Tony could barely breathe. The past six months came crashed down on him like a freight train, baring the same weight he had felt all those years ago when he saw the helicopter in Afghanistan. Yet it didn't bare the same odd relief, and it didn't reassure him that there would be another way out.

"I don't want them here," he choked into his hands. Rhodey grimaced out of pain for his dearest friend. "But if we don't have them here I just know something will go wrong. I can't explain it but it's been weighing on me since New York. Something is coming, Rhodey," Tony felt his mouth run ahead of himself, blathering fears he had held tighter to his chest than his reactor, "And I shouldn't be scared- I'm not really, not for me- but I can't sleep. I don't know when the last time I slept was because every time I so much as blink I can feel space closing around me and that fucking ship in the distance just gets closer, and closer."

"Tony."

"And I know I can stop it. God, I know I can prevent whatever the fuck that thing was behind it, but-"

"Tony."

"But it feels like the bigger threat is making its nest on the first floor of this awful compound."

"Tony!"

Gasping upright, Tony finally looked at Rhodey. The colonel looked aged and grim in that moment. "Why didn't you tell someone?" He spoke slowly.

He simply floundered, speechless.

"You know we're here for you," Rhodey pressed on, nudging his wheelchair closer until he was almost in the billionaires lap, "Me, Gene, Stephen, and Pepper. Whatever we can do, we will. I got you."

Nodding quietly, Tony could do little more than lock eyes with his feet and wonder how it had all come to this.

Had he wronged some god when he cheated death in that cave? Was this recompense for Stark Industries' weaponry? For his indulgent lifestyle or something else he had once spared little thought to? Or did it go all the way back to Howard, to his birth?

From the moment that bomb had landed next to him in the desert, some primal and instinctive part of him he had thought long dead sparked to life. It coiled in his stomach with more than the promise of pain, but with some ominous hint of the future.

Had he known what was to come he could not honestly say he would have tried so hard in the cave. Perhaps he would have, and made sure Yinsen lived, but then nobody would have to know how long he simply lay in the sand dunes and waited for death.

Maybe it was true, about the butterlfy effect and time lines and string theory and all that mojo magic bullshit.

But even through the fear and lingering anxiety, he felt such rage. Some days it was quiet, soothed by FRIDAY and Rhodey and Gene, but other times the smallest sounds or movements would ignite the rage until it engulfed him.

When that happened he would seal himself away for weeks at a time in the lab, toiling and building horrible weapons. Sure, he had washed his hands of the arms trade. But he had never said he would stop building them. Because how could he? Everyone wants him dead at best, and at worst he'd probably be shackled to a desk and forced to help HYDRA or Loki or who-the-fuck-ever to take over the world.

So when he couldn't open his mouth for fear of threatening even his closest friends, he quietly made sure nobody else could do so either. He had discretely spent billions on a new arms trade- his own -and stockpiled what he felt could ensure Earth's survival.

Surely that was retribution for his sins?

"I got you," Tony repeated, smiling weakly at Rhodey's deep set frown. "We got this."

Maybe.

The Merchant and the Soldier

Summary: Tony is a sick man. A cold man. He is fractured like the dying light.

Hands reach out and ask for more; money, weapons, power, contracts, apologies. They'd ask for his heart if they thought he had one. - In which Tony and Bucky have a solemn conversation in the early morning hours, and in which Tony struggles to hide his cruel urges and Bucky battles with his own broken mind.

"Of Glory, Honor, and the Road to Redemption" companion piece. (Does not need to be read to read this)

Link to series -> Of Glory, Honor, and the Path to Redemption

Warnings: confused state of mind, very brief mention of murder, suggested sociopath tony stark

Tony Stark is a sick man. A cold man. He is fractured like the dying light.

The others, they don't know this.

They see him as the world sees him; an egotistical man, even if that ego is valid.

It doesn't bother him most days. In fact, after Tony accepted he simply would never be friends with the rest of the Avengers, his life became easier.

The team thought him naive and childish, always pushing him away. Steve's pursed lips, Wanda's rolled eyes, Natasha's suspicious glares, Sam's grimaces. Barnes, of all people, actually tried to be amicable.. as amicable as a lost and feral soul can be.

But he had Pepper and Rhodey, and Happy and Gene. So quietly, wrathfully, Tony put distance between them, holding his head high and flashing that billion dollar smile.

Quickly he had settled back into his old routine.

Wake up (gasping), stumble (blearily), then settle (achingly) into his lab.

Invent (breathlessly); invent (tirelessly); invent (euphorically); until his legs give out and he collapses, once again thrashing in sleepless fits.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

They never noticed him, nor asked about him, unless something came up. It was alright. It was soothing. Between the White House, Wakanda, Stark Industries, SHIELD, and every terrorist from New York to Timbuktu, Tony really didn't have the energy to entertain backstabbing 'friends'.

The ignorance towards him quelled his ever present rage and helped him hide when he slipped up. When Tony lost control for a moment and everything rushed to a torrent between his ears, knuckles whitening, thoughts of revenge and vehemence urging him to kick them from his tower.

Eyes that judge never see the truth, and hands that are bitten eventually recoil. "But it would not be today," Tony tells himself calmly, with a smile, as he wipes coffee and shards from his hands. DUM-E beeps solemly, sweeping the remnants of a shattered mug away.

Hands reach out and ask for more; money, weapons, power, contracts, apologies. They'd ask for his heart if they thought he had one.

What a joke.

I need a new bow.

Sigh.

My suit is torn.

Twitch.

Upgrade the helicarrier by next Friday.

Breathe.

Gala at 6, conference at 11.

Smile.

Don't you have somewhere else to be?

Calm.

Nowdays it seemed to be Doctor Doom and his stupid Doombots, terrorizing New York and Chicago. Cap would call for him and they would all meet for a few hours. Defeat Doom for a day, and retreat.

Sometimes.., sometimes Tony would consider just ending Doom.

Killing him.

Feeling the man's skull squelch between his armored fingers. Laughing estatically as blood seeped into the carpet..

The man's infuriating plans were novice, but still destructive. Yet if he did.. that, Tony would never leave his tower. What would be the point? It would be rare for civilians to even be injured during these fights, so it really wasn't that bad to let Doom live. Not with the original Avengers, sans Clint, Thor, and Bruce, plus Spiderman, Barnes, Ant-man, Vision, and the twins. Together they formed a formidable team. They had every twist, turn, bullet, and bounce fine tuned to a well oiled and righteous fist.

At night when the world is asleep, he stands with a glass of whiskey and stares out across the twinkling skyline.

One time, Barnes happens upon him.

The reformed assassin appears surprised. Of course, Tony thinks, what kind of nutter stands in the shadows like a statue.

"Sorry," Barnes croaks out, turning to leave.

"Don't be," Tony hums. "Want one?"

The taller man half turns to face him with confusion written across his face.

Tony clinks his glass.

"Oh.. uh.."

"Sure," Tony supplies. "Come here," he gestures.

The faint city lights illuminate James Barnes as the man steps forward tentatively, feeling cornered and uncertain.

"I won't bite,” the industrialist hums. It’s almost a giggle; humorous and childlike.

Pouring amber liquor into a crystal glass, Tony moves from the shadows into the dim lighting with grace. "Here."

Barnes stares at him. Eyes wide and blue like a puppy, and finally, Tony does not feel thunderous cruelty in his veins.

"I.. thanks." Barnes replies, carefully taking the glass.

Moments of silence pass between them, comfortable for Tony and eerie for Barnes, before the supersoldier can't take the strange interaction any longer.

"Can't get drunk," he grunts, eyes cast far away and beyond the city, likely reliving horrors unimaginable. "Serum stops it."

Tony quirks an eyebrow, bringing his glass to his lips. "Not even on Asgardian mead?"

Barnes shrugs, "Haven't tried it. Could-could you imagine a raging drunk Winter Soldier?"

Tony stills and Barnes thinks he never should have accepted the drink, until Tony's cackling, biting laughter explodes across the balcony and into the night. Barnes jumps for a moment, rattled, but still smiles a little.

"That'd be pretty bad," Tony laughs raucously, "HOO THA HEEEYL IS BUHKEE?" he grunts out in a gravelly baritone, pulling a sour face. He wheezes as he laughs.

Incredulously, Barnes gapes at the mans audacity before his own laughter bubbles up, long forgotten and disused. They collapse against the railing, giggling like children, and bask in a strange but shared moment of comfort.

Tony sighs as he leans against a pillar, "Fuck this place. Just fuck it."

Barnes, who is still leaning against the railing in a state of bewilderment, turns his head. Tony’s moods were giving him whiplash but he wondered if the man was always like this and he had just never noticed. "Are you drunk, Stark?"

"No," the darker haired man snorts. "I'd need another ten, maybe twelve of these to be."

Barnes contemplates him silently, unsure of how to reply. He needn't have bothered, though, as Tony powered on.

"Don't you get sick of them?" Tony spat, face crinkling in anger. "The 'team'. Above everyone else, all mighty and just. Anyone can throw a shield or a knife, shoot someone in the head, and pretend they're a hero. Guess the only difference is, sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren't."

The Soldier is stunned and uncertain of what to say. Words do not come easily to him anymore. They are foreign and rusted, and if he isn't careful, inflict as much damage as his vibranium fist. He chooses his words carefully, certain the genius is aware of their weight, and likely, a victim of the same scathing repertoire the media aims at himself.

"They aren't fond of you," he begins lowly, "Because of your intelligence." It comes off as more of a question, and to which Tony mutely shakes his head. "Or because you don't fall in line," Barnes offers, feeling a dusty resurgence of fear towards his prior handlers. It hits him like a train and he supposes, if it's true, then he hadn't left it all behind him after all.

Tony confirms it with a bitter grin, "Bingo, amigo," he hisses. "What use is a soldier if I don't follow orders like a good little dog. Problem is I'm not a soldier and they know it. Pawns of war aren't supposed to be variables."

Barnes stays quiet, bothered by this revelation.

"You know why Natasha doesn't like me?" Tony asks, draining his glass. "When she applied to SI, I knew who she was. You can't hide from me," the man hisses, fist clench dangerously tight around the crystal glass. Tony's tone rattles him to the bone, stoking his paranoia. It’s so unlike the officious and enthused man who usually blitz’s around the labs, and more like a man.. a memory, vague, comes to mind. Probably someone from the war. From Stevie.. 

Of course, Barnes knew all about Widow's espionage. He had read their files; studied scrupulously to confirm Steve's assurances that they are not in fact HYDRA.

"She knows that now, she must. I let her join Pepper. SHIELD wanted something and I was interested. Her report, as I'm sure you know," he spoke dryly, "Stated 'Iron Man yes, Tony Stark no.' Simple verbiage, clear intent. But what they overlooked is even simpler. I had a change of heart in Afghanistan- declared a symptom of PTSD, but SI was only the company. Those weapons came from here," he tapped his temple. "Natasha took too long to realise this. Now she is weary of me. Thinks I'm a loose cannon. Naive. But she doesn't understand. Without me, SHIELD would not have been resurrected. The bows, the arrows, the Widows bites, the jets. They are me and I am them. The suit can fly and fight, but it's little more than a drone with a detonator without me,"

"Then why do you stay?" Tony shrugs half heartedly, eyes set hard upon central park.

He hums. "Thanos is coming."

A shiver races down the taller man's spine, icy like the tundra, like his old bed, like 1944. "For Pepper."

"For Pepper," Tony nods, "And Gene, and Happy and Rhodey, and humanity. What is right is not often wanted."

They return to a quiet, solemn companionship. In which Tony muses over his nightmares, over Thanos, the gaping void in the sky, and the blood thrumming in his veins. In which Barnes feels hollow, and cold, and longs for warmth and acceptance, but falls short, always riddled with paranoia as he fights the voice in his head. Eventually as the stars start to wink out, one by one, and the traffic below grows louder, James Barnes straightens up and asks one final question.

"If we live," comes the hoarse, tired words, "What will you do after?"

Tony bites his lip, hand wavering, before he drops his glass off the side and watches it plummet two hundred stories to the alley below. "The same as usual, pumpkin. Smile, wave, and dance. That's my job. Why, you think we won't win?"

Barnes looks at him sideways, wondering how this walking paradox of a man can be so raw yet so confident. "No." He admits. "Loki called him 'the Mad Titan'. The wizard is scared."

Tony breaks a real smile for a moment. "Wizards. Yeah, well, Loki's scared of Gene, too. Giant pussy cat."

Barnes just shakes his head, turning away from the balcony. "How come you aren't scared?"

Tony is strutting off with his hands in his pockets when he shrugs, and Barnes can almost see the smile on his face. "Oh, honeybun. Don't you know? I'm the Merchant of Death."

Matt Murdock knows what’s up.

Accidental Assault (Bucky x Reader) Fluff & Angst - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

WARNINGS: Somewhat gratuitous violence towards the ex-bf. It's more explicit than overkill. Also a fair amount of cussing in the first half. Cheating.

Thinking it would be nice,

you returned home with Jerry's favourite coffee, a cheesecake, and some burritos. Nothing could have broken your spirit. Not only had Fury given you a raise, Clint and Laura were expecting! You'd be an aunt! You hadn't asked but if Tony was going to be an uncle, you would damn well get to be an aunt.

"Jay? Babe, I have burritos!"

Silence greeted you. Frowning, you hummed curiously. He was supposed to be home, wasn't he? Crap. You checked your watch as you slid the goods onto the coffee table. No, no, you were right. Where was he?

"Babe?" You called again, walking towards the room. Maybe he was in the shower.

Pushing the bedroom door open, giggling greeted your ears.

"Ba.."

Entwined on the bed like some Peruvian romance painting was Jerry and a blonde woman you'd never seen before.

What?

You couldn't move. You were frozen. This can't be right. 'Am I in the right apartment?' You thought, taking a step back. Same dresser, same bed, same gaudy lamp you bought for a buck fifty.

"Shit!" Jerry hissed, struggling to get out from the twisted heap of your lovely egyptian cotton sheets. They were your favourite. And now they're tangled in between this woman's legs.

She was beautiful, really. Long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a beauty mole just below her lips. Jerry looked good. All hot and bothered. And look, he's even still hard. Wait, he's saying something.

What's your name again?

"-Y/N, seriously, come on. Hello??"

You stared at him. Jerry. Right. Your bed.

"Babe, this is totally worse than it looks. Uh, Jasm-"

Snapping, you tensed up like a rabid dog and found your arm slowly moving towards his perfect face. Jerry.

Jerry's head snapped back violently with a spray of blood erupting from his nose. Jasmawhatever shrieked, trying to get out from your sheets, and started spiting slurs at you.

"You slut, what the fuck?!" She screamed as she managed to clamber out of the bed and stumble towards you. Idly you noticed she had almost ridiculously large breasts. Huh.

Struggling on the floor, Jerry gasped and hissed in pain, clutching his prett- ugly ass face as he stood up.

"Y/N, fuck, what the hell is WRONG WITH YOU?" he spluttered. Blood dripped from between his fingers and spilled down his chest. In the back of your mind part of you laughed as some of it landed on the tip of his dick.

"What's wrong with me?" You questioned, puzzled. Is there something wrong with me..

And then everything became clear again. Jerry, the son-of-a-bitch was cheating on you. In your apartment. In your bed. ON YOUR NICE SHEETS.

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?" you screamed, voice cracking. Reering back to balance on the balls of your feet, you almost laughed. It came out manic and hysterical.

"HELLO, MOTHERFUCKER!" you screamed again, this time purposefully and deliberately arching your arm back to suckerpunch him. Natasha had shown you the best way to lay out an enemy, and now, as far as you are concerned, Jerry is the fucking enemy.

Your fist cracked against his head again, loud enough that even you winced, and he crumpled to the floor with a pitiful yelp. Behind him the blonde woman cried out and rushed to catch him, missing. She crouched naked, fussing over him for a moment before she looked up at you, clearly deliberating over fight or flight.

Numbly, yet bitter and vaguely enraged, you stared at her blankly.

"Come on, come on," she hurridly whispered to him, trying to pull him up. They struggled, with Jerry moaning into his hand, and 'Jasma' weakly trying to lift him. They managed to stand, and then hurried to the door, fleeing from the room. You stayed, staring at the droplets of blood on the floor.

There was a crash from the living room and you supposed Jerry had just fallen onto your glass coffee table, breaking it. Another prized possession destroyed by Jerry.

"Oh, and uh, what's ya name again?" The woman yelled sarcastically, "Oh yeah, (incorrect name) we'll see you in court, you homewrecking bitch!"

Then the front door slammed.

Homewrecking. How funny..

--

The next thing you see is a short, squat man tapping the bars before you impatiently.

"Finally," he muttered to himself, "Hurry up, kid. Your bail posted."

Bail? Wait, WHAT?

"B-bail..? What?" You spluttered, rocking to your feet unsteady and dazed. "Are these bars?!?"

"Jesus chriist," the man sighed, rolling his eyes before he reached out and yanked you from the cell you were apparently confined in. Stumbling into his chest before you lurched away, you ended up crashing back into the bars with a wince.

"Your bail posted," the man said slowly. You notice he's wearing a blue uniform and has a badge on his laple. Fuck. Jerry. That's right.

You nodded numbly.

"Your ride is here. I'm going to take you to the front desk, and then uncuff you. You will then be free to leave. Understand?"

Fucking Jerry that bastard. He'll see you in court? Fine, you'll mail him exorbitant bills for all your hard earned housewares he'd broken while frolicking with goldilocks. You could probably smash a few things up and add it to the bill. You didn't want to keep anything he'd ever touched anyway.

"Right, okay." You croaked, throat parched.

He pursed his lips before leading the way to a small office area, where he uncuffed you and told you to sign some papers. You should probably read them but you just wanted to leave at this point.

"This way," the man sighed again, unlocking a heavy steel door. He must really hate his job..

Stepping out into the station foyer, you stood unsure what to do.

"Have a nice day, ma'am," he said dryly before he slammed the door behind you.

Great. You don't know where you are, you probably look like a lunatic, and your feet are cold. Where are your shoes??

A low whistle caught your attention. Great, now some jackas-

Bucky Barnes stood leaning against a wall, staring at you bemused.

Even worse.

"You are not a sight for sore eyes," he remarked, taking in your appearance. There was a tinted window next to him but you feared seeing your reflection so stayed away.

"Fuck you, Barnes," you spat.

His face twitched, and you couldn't tell if it was amusement or anger. Sighing, your head dropped in shame.

"I'm sorry, sorry.."

Barnes pushed off to the wall and walked to you until he was so close you could see his boots. You refused to look up.

"What was that?" He asked innocently.

Groaning, wishing your hair wasn't knotted up into a painful bun and instead could hide your enflamed face,

"I'm sorry," you croaked pitifully.

He half huffed, half chuckled before shaking his head.

"Aight, doll, come on," he said, gently grasping your shoulder and steering you towards the station doors. Stepping out, you breathed in the city fumes greedily.

"To your apartment, or..?" Bucky trailed off, eyeing you carefully. You still refused to look at him, obviously ashamed. He didn't know what to do. All Stark had said was that you were at the station and he had to pay off the officers not to charge you with assault. When Bucky tried to pry for more information Stark had just shaken his head and said to ask you himself. He planned to but now didn't seem like the best time.

When you had stepped out from the booking bay, he had been shocked. Normally your hair is perfectly groomed, never a hair out of place, and yet right now it was in a messy bun and curling around your face. You looked gaunt and pale, clearly upset, and a small splattering of blood could be found on your white blouse. And to top it off, you had no shoes.

Bucky had figured something bad must have happened. Considering your lab tech status and general passive if not sweet nature, anything violent was more than out of sorts. So surely, whoever you had supposedly assaulted deserved it right? His stomach twisted painfully at the thought that you may have been in danger. He was dying to know but it would have to wait.

Unfortunately, Bucky had walked the two blocks from the tower.

"I'll call a cab," he eventually said when he recieved no response. That snapped you out of it.

You shook your head, "No, no. It's only like, two blocks or something to the tower. I'll be fine."

He nodded uncertainly, wishing you meet his eyes. "Not your apartment then?"

"Nope," you replied, popping the 'p'.

Silence reigned as the two of you walked, Bucky carefully shadowing your every step and examining the footpath for anything sharp or dangerous. Once you arrived and ascended in the elevator, it became awkward.

"Stark has free rooms ready," Bucky grumbled, staring at your reflection in the shining elevator walls.

His eyes burned into you like an itch, making you want to cry and scream and tell him just how much of an ass Jerry is. But he wouldn't care. You barely knew each other despite seeing him most days. You'd even designed the upgrades for arm, but somewhat socially nervous, had insisted Cho be the one to fit them.

"Okay..um," you cleared your throat, finally looking at him in aprehension, "Is there.. ah, I dunno, somewhere I can go for a bit where I won't be bothered.. I know at least Cho will come and pester me, and I just.." You sighed through your nose, wanting nothing more than a warm blanket and a bottle of wine.

Bucky's lips twisted as he thought about it, while you silently urged him to think of somewhere, anywhere, away from prying eyes. The residents of the tower, Avengers or genius scientists alike, may mean well but right now you just couldn't do it.

"Well.."

"Please," you begged, hating the desperation in your voice.

"Only," he began, head cocking to the side. It seemed playful, but why? "If you tell me why you were arrested."

Which is exactly what you didn't want to do. The one thing you absolutely didn't want to do. And yet you absolutely wanted to be alone and calm. Weighing the options in your head, you considered Barnes, unintentionally scrutinising him,

He's not really the conversational type, doesn't gossip, definitely has his own demons and likes privacy. He had picked you up, too.. oh god, he didn't pay your bail, did he? Oh please no. Stark, Cho, fucking Peter, anyone but a guy you'd spoken all of ten words to prior to today.

Slumping, you agreed.

Pleased, he smiled at you. "Follow me."

--

Now seated in his apartment with a warm afghan around your shoulders, you stared at him. He stared back. You drained your glass of water, wondering who would crack first.

A minute passed and you had to accept it was you.

"Alright, what do you want to know..?"

He smiled at you. It was relaxing. You tried to smile back but you were sure you looked more frightening than friendly.

He leaned back, sinking into the couch, and for the first time you could really see him. Despite your interactions in the lab, which really constituted "Morning." and "Here you go, Mr Barnes." you had never really taken him in. If you thought of him, it was more of a shadow. Tall, menacing- although you'd never really been intimidated- and with his ridiculously broad shoulders and bulging muscles, very attractive. But it was his wolfish eyes, slight aftershadow, and shoulder length hair that you'd never quite seen before. Each time his file (the watered down, medical version) passed your desk, you'd only ever had the technicians focus on the man.

"I wish you'd been the one to smack him," you blurted. Your eyes went wide before you slapped your hands across your mouth. Crap.

His eye brows shot up. "So you did assault someone?" He asked incredulously.

"Uh."

He started laughing. "Seriously? Aight, start from the beginning."

You sighed once again.

After you were done, Bucky stared at you open mouthed. He was completely shocked. Not only was that just plain wrong, but he would have never done such a thing when he was a civilian. Heck, he wouldn't do that now. Being a ladies man was one thing but a relationship, especially an eight year one, was not something he could imagine using as some coy joke.

It hurt him, too. It hurt him to see you so upset, and it hurt him because.. because not only did you not deserve that, but he would never do that. Bucky would never do that to you. Never.

"You're fucking joking," he finally said.

You pursed your lips. "No, Mr Barnes, I am not fucking joking. And now I'm going to be charged with at least a misdemeanor, if not aggrivated assault." Moaning to yourself, you flopped backwards, eyeing the empty glass. What you'd do for a little wine.

@38leticia @purplekitten30 here you guys go! Part 2 up later.

chris evans is literally the most stereotypical straight man ever like he drinks beer and he’s from boston and he watches football and swears a lot but literally every single time he opens his mouth its like a signal for my gay ass to be like ‘THIS. is the only man i love’ and he could literally be talking about how he likes his dick to be sucked and i’d STILL be whipped just sitting there like ‘yes thats very profound’

Sam Wilson in Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) dir. Joe and Anthony Russo

Me Trying To Learn Russian Someday

Teacher: Hello.

Me: Freight car.