Thinkin’ about the first time genderfluid Steve asks Billy to use she/her.
It’s a day where she’s feeling extra fragile. Not a girl boss day and certainly not a king steve day. Just...
“Okay, baby girl. Can I get you some flowers? The garden center got these weird ones with flowers that look like ball sacks. They eat flies.”
Steve snorts and they go get flowers. And creme puffs. And Billy wraps her up in a blanket. Goes to the car where he’s got a pair of dangly earrings stored in the glove box for the day Steve would want to wear them. They’re just two dangly gold spikes, like Billy’s silver one, but shorter.
She wears them for a whole week and then some, leaning into Billy’s hands when he reaches to pinch her earlobes or just looking down and blushing when Billy twiddles one of the spikes with his fingertips.
Synopsis: Steve Rogers is a proud, non-binary, art kid. Bucky Barnes is an emotionally repressed, sexually confused, all As athlete. A string of awkward incidents between the two of them soon lead to something more.
Wordcount: 738
Status: Incomplete
Pairing: Bucky/Steve
Notes: Later on in the story there will be queerphobic language, but never by Bucky. There will also be self-harm by chapter 3.
James Buchanan Barnes, perfect student and son was having an emotional breakdown in a bathroom stall. The stress of schoolwork, sports, babysitting his sister, and being one of the most popular kids at Brooklyn Academy had finally taken their toll on him. Sure, his adoptive parents were kind enough, but they were strict and little support in the emotion department. He thought of all the possible things they would say if they saw him sitting on the downtrodden floor, crying to the point of puking.
Oh God, someone just came in, Bucky thought, but was still unable to stop.
Footsteps closed in as someone else just happened to enter the stall right next to his. Sobs turned into choked whimpers as his body began to shake almost hysterically. There was an awkward silence until a gentle voice spoke up.
“What’s wrong?”
“Go. Away,” Bucky barely managed to say, feeling the aching pain in the pit of his stomach coiling tighter.
“Oh, come on. Who better to talk to than an anonymous pair of feet?” the other boy said matter-of-factly.
A small, sarcastic laugh gurgled out from Bucky’s throat.
“Guys aren’t supposed to cry. What would you think of me if you knew who I was?”
“First of all, I don’t give a shit in space about what anyone is or isn’t supposed to do. Secondly, with all your blubbering I can’t tell who the fuck you are. So go ahead... Confess your sins.”
It must’ve been the nonchalance in the voice because Bucky felt a strange comfort right then.
“I just,” he said between strained breaths, “I don’t wanna disappoint my folks. My friends look to me to be the stable one. Even my teachers and coach put me on a pedestal. It’s too much. On top of that, my girlfriend broke up with me a couple months ago, and I guess I haven’t gotten over that yet.”
“Everyone expects me to act a certain way, but now I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t even know what I want. I swear, every day feels shittier than the last.”
There was a long sigh before the voice replied again.
“Yeah, I feel ya on the identity crisis bit. As for the rest of it? Not important as your happiness.”
“But-”
“‘But’ nothing. Look, I’m no therapist, but I know stress can literally kill you, and there’s no way in hell high school could ever be worth that.”
For a moment the itchy quietness settled in again.
“Listen, I hope you find your answers. I’ll shut up now.”
“Thank you,” Bucky said, relieved to feel some of the tension release, “For not judging.”
“Anytime, Stranger,” the voice answered with a slight tone of amusement, “I’ll give you some space to breathe now.”
He listened to the clip of the stall door and the soft steps out of the bathroom. He doubted he’d take the advice, but, for the moment, Bucky felt a little calmer. Teetering a bit, he stood up and made his way to the sink. While washing his face he pondered over who the soothing voice could belong to.
Well, that was weird, Steve Rogers thought upon exiting the boys’ room, I’m glad I didn’t actually need to take a dump, or that’d be awkward.
What they were really doing was skipping class for the fourth time in two weeks. Their math teacher was particularly lax about bathroom breaks, and so there Steve was, with their hands stuffed in the pockets of their cardigan two times too large for their small frame. Strolling down the empty hallway, they replayed the Charlie Bartlett-esque scene over again in their head.
How ridiculous was it that western society was founded and raised in such fragile masculinity? This poor kid was being pushed to the absolute edge before he hit 20, and he wasn’t even allowed to cry about it. School was Hell enough by itself without confining everyone to gender norms. Getting all worked up, Steve kicked a locker and accidentally knocked it open. A flyer slipped out that caught their eye.
Party @ Stark’s
This Friday @ 9
DON’T MISS IT!!
It baffled them how Howard could be head of the robotics team and still be so popular. Shutting the locker, they considered whether to crash his party or not. It would certainly give Steve something to do that weekend. Maybe they’d even find the mysterious, crying jock.
