I need Steve taking a deep breath in a field full of flowers and tear up. Because his lungs can take it. He won't get allergic anymore
I need Steve moving around, jumping and parkouring and crouching and rolling and after coming home, getting teary. His back doesn't hurt now. No more scoliosis
I need Steve eating with all the hot sauce and spices he wants with a huge smile and teary eyes. His stomach won't burn and hurt from the ulcer anymore no matter what he eats
I need Steve running for miles with Sam, and grinning proudly as he wipes his eyes. Because his heart doesn't skip several beats and palpilates like it's one second away from flat-lining anymore, his heart is strong now
I need Steve playing in the snow without a care in the world, smiling through glossy eyes because he won't get bed-ridden sick and fevers from cold anymore
I need Steve rough housing with Bucky and almost bursting out in tears because he can actually move now without Bucky having to hold back almost all of his strength. He's big and strong now
I need Steve laughing with tears in his eyes as he tries to turn off the smoke alarm in his apartment activated by the pasta he accidently burned. Because he doesn't fall into a coughing fit or have an asthma attack from the smoke anymore
I need Steve walking past a pharmacy and almost having a break down because he doesn't need countless pills and monthly check ups to make sure he's still functional anymore
I need Steve spending a day out with his friends, in the beach or anywhere at all, spending the entire day playing and moving around without once having to think about how tired he is or will be. Breaking out into tears once he's home and crying against Bucky's shoulder with the goofiest smile in his face. Because he doesn't need to worry about the pain that will follow tomorrow and weeks after anymore
I need Steve feeling proud if himself while carrying an injured civilian in his arms. Because he finally has the power and strength to help people like he always wanted now
I need Steve walking up three flight of stairs without breaking a sweat, and getting teary because he doesn't feel like his body is going to collapse from the fatigue that used to come from just three steps of stairs
I need Steve looking a picture of himself pre-serum while smiling in tears, and thanking him for not giving up. Thanking him for keeping going. Thanking him for giving him the body he has now. Thanking his mother for never giving up on him. For making him the man he is today. Oh how he wishes she could see him now
I need Steve enjoying his life he never got to before, and feeling grateful for the tiniest things with a glowing ball of warmth in his heart and tears in his eyes
A/N - I haven't posted in a few days but here's something I wrote in the midst of a bad mental night. Alot of my stories represent what I feel and there's times where I put it onto characters because it helps to know your not alone. If you ever feel alone please know you can always message me.
Masterlist - All my work!
This is not a age-re post!⚠️
On a separate note, Im currently working on a request! If any of you wouls like to request a story or work please ask!
Warnings ⚠️: Panic attacks, mentions of eating, bucky crying, Steve comforting bucky, mentions of hydra, mainly angst but some fluff, romantic duo, mentions of showering, mentions of what bucky endured being a hydra agent
Please read with caution!
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Bucky could tell something wasn't right. His ability to breathe and his brain felt as if they were working against each other the entire day. Nothing felt right, and nothing was fixing it.
He tried everything he could think of, he showered, he tried to sleep, he ate, he watched things he thought might help, nothing worked. But he tried.
Eventually he found himself on the corner of the couch in a ball with his knees to his chest. Every memory of his time at hydra flooding his head, and his mind attacking him. Every thing he had to endure, and everything he made others go through.
The murder, the harsh conditions, the making of his precious yet horrendous metal arm, attacking his own significant other, who he had been in love with since they were kids.
He didn't understand why Steve stayed, or forgave him. He didn't understand how he wasn't seen as a monster, and he didn't understand why he had people around him who still loved him so dearly.
"-cky, Bucky baby come back to me. Hey, look at me." Bucky looks up at Steve, confused, and almost lost. When did he start to cry? Why did everything ache?
Steve gently pulls bucky to his lap, cradling his head as he rocks his partner. Gently kissing the tears off his face and letting bucky soak his shirt with his tears.
Steve knew the moment the house was too quiet, that there was no sound of music or a show on, that something was wrong.
After living in his head for so long, Bucky would almost always be listening to music or watching something to help him be in the present instead of the past.
But there was always those days, where nothing he did would fix it. Nothing would change the ache and hurt, until Steve had him. Until he could smell, hear, see, touch and practically taste his cologne on his tounge.
The feeling of Steve holding him close for as long as Bucky needed, how he knew what Bucky needed more than he did.
Steve knew these days were going to end up happening for the rest of their lives. He knows that there will be days every so often where Bucky cant do anything without him there by his side.
Steve also knew that he would do absoloutely anything for him. He would reassure him until his last breath that it wasnt his fault. Steve would spill his love over and over again until the end if that meant that Bucky would smile.
Steve would give up all he owns to make sure that Bucky never has to go through what he once had to, to make sure that he could get to Bucky as soon as he could when these days hit him.
These two knew, in the moment where bucky could do nothing but cling to his lover in hope that the emotions and hurt will eventually subside for the minute, that there was endless love and care in the way they just knew.
do you realize that bananas were VERY different in the 40's imagine Steve wakes up and like while he's walking around Shield or Avengers tower sees a bowl of bananas or even just like a picture of bananas and is like ????????? what is that????????
Today I have saw two Tumblr posts in succession: one expressing a love of Time-Travelling-Tony-Stark fic, one bemoaning the lack of Tony-fighting-naked scenes in the MCU. Therefore, if you still want prompts, I suggest: Tony gets blasted back in time to the forties. Just Tony though. His clothes stay behind.
Here you go anon! Massively huge thanks yous to neverthelessthesun who took the prompt and turned it into an idea that I could run with. THANK YOU! I hope you like it anon! This one was fun (^_^).
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Time Bomb
There's a blue wire and a red wire. Tony cuts the blue wire.
The bomb explodes.
"Fu-" Tony has time to say, in 2015.
"-ck," he finishes, in 1941. His stomach lurches as if his lunch was teleported two inches to the left of everything else of his, and then he looks down and realizes something else is missing entirely. Apparently, the Time Bomb doesn't do fabrics. "Fuck," he says again, with feeling. Cool air draws goosebumps on his skin.
Tony estinates he has about forty-five minutes before Bruce gets de-Hulked and figures out to cut the other wire. It was a fifty-fifty chance, and he rolled the dice and lost - it happens - but he'd uploaded the reverse engineered schematics to JARVIS before he'd snipped, so if Bruce gets his hands on the bomb, he'll be able to bring Tony back. Hopefully. Assuming his math is correct.
The breeze picks up again, and Tony rubs his hands together, curling over himself to try and shield his naked body. He's in an alley, it seems like, or behind an apartment building. There are metal dustbins crowded up against a brick wall, dry leaves, and old, crumpled newspapers collected in nooks and corners. Tony has the urge to open one and do the classic time travel check, but he doesn't have to, he knows where he is.
Because Time Cop, or Mr. Clocks, or Cogsworth, or whatever he's calling himself, had a brilliant idea to yeet Captain America back to 1941 so he could meet himself and collapse the timeline. Or something. Tony's not sure it was a foolproof plan, as far as villain plans go, but he's also not sure that someone wearing a cuckoo on his head really has a firm grip on reality. But, unfortunately, he did have a firm grip on quantum physics, because his Time Bomb had been startlingly effective. Except for the part where Tony's naked, but maybe that was always part of the plan.
The breeze turns into a harsh wind, and Tony shivers and shoves up against the brick wall, but there's no way he can stay like this for forty-five minutes (an hour at the most). He needs shelter, or at least something to wrap around his waist. He can't really venture forth into the past, and if Marty McNutso nailed the coordinates, one Steve Rogers (the bite-sized version) is due to show up in the area soon, and Tony probably shouldn't take any risks. Steve meeting himself would have been disastrous - Tony meeting Steve? It's unclear.
So Tony shuffles down the alleyway, both hands pressed delicately over his delicates, until he hears a noise that makes him freeze. It's a sort of rustle that could be a racoon or could be a police officer ready to drag Tony off to the pokey for public indecency, and while any long-term consequences won't really be an issue here (please Bruce, please please, make it not an issue), Tony's not interested in explaining his current predicament to anyone. Still, the cat within him can't resist sating its curiosity, and he peeks around the corner of the alleyway only to find himself two inches from a broad chest covered in a stained navy button-up under a rough denim jacket.
The man screeches to a halt with a yelp, and Tony stumbles backwards, his hands automatically coming up, palms flat, a complete lack of repulsors pointed in defense. There are two men, actually, coming around the corner, each clutching a paper bag, fingers gripped around the bottleneck at the top, paper crumpled and torn.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" Tony tries, grinning broadly. He lowers his hands back over his dignity. "Nice night for a stroll."
"Where in god's name did you come from?"
"Don't mind me." Tony starts backing away, as subtly as he can. He doesn't have a gauntlet watch, JARVIS glasses, or even underwear, so he isn't eager to get into it with a pair of slightly inebriated thugs.
The thugs, unfortunately, aren't particularly accommodating. "Where are your damn pants?" one of them growls.
"Would you believe it's laundry day?" Tony offers with a smile. "No? Guess I just enjoy a healthy breeze on the gents."
They curl their lips, in almost-amusing unison. "You some kind of deviant? Hanging around here lookin for people t'harass? You'd better scram, buddy."
"This neighbourhood ain't welcoming to that kind of shit."
Tony smiles coquettishly and cocks a hip, because he's never been one to pass up an opportunity to get himself into trouble, as evidenced by the fact that he's here in the first place. "Why?" he drawls. "Too distracting? Like what you see?"
The thugs, it seems, don't. Tall, Dark, and Crooked Nose throws the first punch, and luckily Tony's expecting it, knocking his fist to the side easily. But Short, Squat, and Giant Forehead, dives in after - all flail and no finesses, but he's got twenty pounds on Tony, and he's got pants on, so he has the upper hand pretty quickly.
Tony takes a sharp hit to the jaw and tumbles backwards until he's pinned against the wall, but his own knuckles connect more than once, and he's pleased at how well he's holding his own. Then he hears a new voice shouting from the end of the alleyway.
Only, it's not a new voice. It's Steve.
"Get off him!" Steve yells, and his footsteps echo in the small space as he flings himself with reckless abandon down the alley.
He distracts the thugs long enough that Tony manages to tackle Crooked Nose to the ground and get a good shot in that's either going to rename him as Straight Nose or Even Crookeder Nose. Blood spills down over his cheeks and mouth and Tony's fist.
Nose rolls over, clutching his face and wailing, and Tony pushes to his feet and grapples with Giant Forehead. Steve is fast in his grip, grunting and whacking at anything his short arms can reach. He's holding Forehead off, Tony has to give him that, but he's not making much headway, and sheer righteous fury is only getting him so far.
When Forehead smacks Steve across the ear so hard Tony can hear it ringing himself, he gives up on catching his breath and throws himself into Forehead's side. He brings all three of them down, Steve still caught in the other mans' grip, but Tony gets his bearings first, flattens Forehead out and drives his knee up into his crotch as hard as he can. No mercy.
Forehead is stock still for a heartbeat and then he collapses in on himself like a dying star, crying out and slamming his hands down over his balls in a satisfyingly amusing reflection of the position they'd caught Tony in.
Tony pushes himself to his feet then holds out a hand to help Steve up too. If there's any danger to him meeting Steve's past self, he's already stuck his foot in it completely - no going back. "You alright?" he asks.
Steve brushes himself off then wipes his sleeve over his face, smearing blood and dirt from his upper lip straight back to his ear. He shrugs. "I'm fine. You?"
"Peachy."
Nose is pushing himself up to his feet with a growl, and Tony's considering stomping on his balls too, when Steve grabs his sleeve and pulls him deeper into the alley. "Come on!"
Tony's not about to argue with the guy that knows his way around, so he lets himself be led. What he'd assumed was the end of the alley, actually isn't, and Steve shows him how to shuffle around the end of the fence until they're in a closed off area behind a boarded up shop.
"They won't follow us," Steve says, wiping his face again, even more ineffectually.
"Thanks."
"So, uh, who are you anyway? When I walked by I thought you were Al. He lives back here, doesn't have anywhere else to go, you know? And people pick on him sometimes. But um…" Steve's eyes flick down over Tony's naked body then snap up to a spot about a mile and half over his shoulder. Steve clears his throat. "You're not Al."
"Nope. Sorry. I'm - uh - I'm having a bit of a day. You should know that at some point I'm just going to disappear, assuming everything goes according to plan. Well, according to plan B." Tony blinks at Steve for a moment. "Okay, like plan H, but what can you do?" He clears his throat too. "I'm usually wearing more clothes than this."
"Do you… um. Do you need something to wear? I live like two blocks over and I have some stuff there that might fit ya."
Tony steals a moment to really look at Steve. He's seen pictures, in Steve's SHIELD file, but it's different, having the real thing in front of him. Steve's sickliness is more apparent in person, the way his breath catches and heaves, the slight twist to his spine, how his bones poke out at every opportunity, stretching pale, yellowed skin too far. But there's also something else that pictures can't capture - fire. Steve burns with the fury of a man held back, with a need that Tony thinks has been tempered by the serum, or maybe just satisfied by it. This Steve is angry, and this Steve is desperate, and Tony has seen his Steve be both of those things, but… not like this. It's breathtaking, and Tony only realizes a moment too late that his quick appraisal has been anything but.
"Sir?"
"Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm -"
"Having a bit of a day?" Steve hazards, with a twitch of his lips.
Tony almost laughs. "Yes. Clothes would be amazing, thank you. I'll give them back in like half an hour, two hours tops. I'd explain, but it's going to be about seventy years before you'd believe me anyway."
Steve makes a noise of confused support, the kind you give a small child when they're informing you that they've made friends with the nice man who lives in the a/c vent and you're humouring them but also a little bit considering moving house. Then he turns and hustles out of the alley.
Tony lets out a sharp breath and tips forward to lean against the cool brick. He's sweaty and panting from the fight, which should feel better than being chilled, but the air is still harsh and cold and now its whipping sweat away from his rapidly cooling skin and sending shivers even deeper.
Tony gives himself a careful once over, but it seems that all he's suffered are some bruises and superficial cuts. There's blood on his thigh, but it appears to be someone else's and the rest is mostly dirt. It's starting to be tiresome, being naked and in the wrong century, and his sympathy for Steve twinges. Steve had gone seventy years forward and for him there would be no going back. He didn't just have to kill an hour or two in the wrong time (three at the most - come on Bruce), but even after only forty minutes here, Tony's feeling homesick.
Footsteps thunder down the alley again, from the opposite direction, and Tony tenses, but the wheezing breaths let him know it's Steve long before he turns the corner. He skids to a halt and drops an armful of fabrics in Tony's hands before bending at the waist, hands on his knees, and catching his breath.
"Thank you." Tony unfolds the things, and Steve politely turns away while he gets dressed. With his back to Tony, Tony can see a flaming red stripe of flushed skin at the nape of Steve's neck, disappearing down into his collar. Tony smiles to himself as he shoves his legs in unfamiliar khakis. Steve still blushes the same, one Captain America serum and seventy-five years later. You just have to know where to look.
None of the clothes fit quite right, but they cover Tony's junk, and for the first time since landing, he lets out a full breath. He tips back against the wall, and closes his eyes for a moment.
"Decent?" Steve asks, still not turning around.
"Never. But I am dressed."
Steve peeks over his shoulder then smiles. "That colour suits ya."
Tony snorts. "I look like a puzzle put together wrong, but thanks." He smooths out the sweater that manages to hang down over his thighs but barely passes his elbows. "How's your nose? You should ice that."
Steve shrugs. "It's fine. I've had worse." He wipes it again, only deteriorating the situation on his face. "You gonna tell me how you wound up naked and in an alley fight?"
Tony sighs. "I can't, not really. But if science works the way I think it does, you'll understand one day. Let's just say… I'm from out of town. And the clothes thing wasn't my idea."
Steve's eyes narrow and he looks at Tony like he's reading his mind which is terrifying because right now Tony's marvelling at the amount of space in the four-inches-too-short khakis he's wearing and wondering if the serum went all the way down or if the rather startling measurements JARVIS had taken for Steve's suit redesign last year were canon from the start. But Steve, it seems, can't read his mind, because he just shrugs and leans up against the wall beside Tony.
"Guess we all gotta story, huh?" Steve taps his fingers against his thigh. "If you're looking to uh… keep your name under wraps, this might not be the best place to land, though."
Steve's lip is sort of curled up like he disapproves but is trying to keep it to himself, and Tony realizes he thinks he's a draft dodger. He snorts out a laugh before he can stop himself, and Steve looks at him sharply. "Not a problem. I'm too old anyway." Or he will be. Next May. He winks. "Don't worry. Like I said, I'm not going to be around long." When Steve doesn't say anything, Tony adds, softer, "You're quite the fighter."
Steve shakes his head. "I'm not. I just can't leave well enough alone. Or so I'm told."
"There are lots of ways to fight the good fight," Tony tells him. "You'll get your shot."
"Who are you?" Steve stares harder, like he can find the answer written on the backs of Tony's eyeballs.
"Just a friend. Thanks for the save. Thanks for everything." Tony's about to add more, maybe too much, maybe say something dangerous and affectionate and unwelcome to a Steve that's nearly a century from knowing him, but then there's a pull low in his gut, and he recognizes it as the same feeling that tugged him here in the first place. He grins, says "Bye, Steve!" and stays just long enough to hear Steve yell, "Hey! How do you know my -?!" before he's yanked back to 2015.
Once again, the clothes stay behind.
"Oh, for fucks sake," Tony says, glaring down at his rediscovered nudity. "I'm starting to think it wasn't even a byproduct of the time travel. Cukoo brain is just kinky as fuck."
"Tony?"
Tony turns, and Steve is standing there, staring at him, wide-eyed. There's an edge of pink peeking up out of his collar and flushing back behind his ears, and Tony can't help but smile. He loves that spunky, angry, broken boy from Brooklyn, but this is his Steve. "Steve," he breathes. "Deja vu."
Then he watches as the puzzle pieces click together. "Oh my god, it was you." Steve slaps a hand over his mouth.
"What?"
"It was you! In that alley! The naked guy who got beat up! Holy shit. I thought I'd dreamed that! Bucky told me it was a fever-induced hallucination and made me stay in bed for two weeks. Holy shit!"
"Uh…"
"You just disappeared! You knew my name!" Steve advances on him, and Tony can't help taking a stumbling step backwards, but Steve catches him by both shoulders and holds on tight. He gets up close in Tony's space. "It was you," he finally breathes.
"I probably just horribly broke the space time continuum or something," Tony manages, holding back a squeak at the way Steve's uniform is rubbing against his bare skin.
"I think it'll be fine," comes Bruce's long-suffering voice from somewhere over Steve's shoulder. "Nothing's gone plooey yet. I'm going to go tell the others you're okay," he adds, pointedly. And then they're alone.
"I'm sorry I made you think you were crazy for seventy years," Tony says, not sure what kind of Hallmark card this situation calls for.
"I -" Steve starts, then he clears his throat - adorably similar to the way his younger version had less than an hour ago. "I used to daydream about the man in the alley. I think - Sometimes I thought he was my guardian angel or something. The way he just magically disappeared, knew who I was - kinda makes sense, right? Also made sense that my angel would be dumb enough to get into a brawl in an alleyway five minutes after arriving on earth." He chuckled nervously. "I liked to think that you had come to check up on me. Sometimes I prayed to you. Wow. Seems so dumb now. It was you…"
Tony doesn't know what to say to all of that, though it's making tingles run up through his chest and down his left arm. "How come you didn't recognize me when we finally met in the future?"
Steve shrugs. "It was so long ago, and you were dirty and covered in blood and bruises -" he reaches out and wipes his sleeve over Tony's cheek. It comes back stained dark. "It just never occurred to me to make that connection. Over time, I'd blurred my memory of your face."
"I don't think it's dumb at all," Tony whispers, breath catching in his throat. "I'm glad I didn't scare you, that I could be that for you."
"My angel…" Steve's eyes flicker over Tony's face like he's re-memorizing what he looks like, and Tony can feel heat flush up into his own cheeks, hopefully hidden by dirt and blood. Steve takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Tony?"
"Yeah?" It's barely a word.
"I've had a crush on you for three years and also seventy-five years. Would you like to go to dinner with me some time?" Steve's voice is steady, but there's a tension in his shoulders that suggests he's anything but.
Tony grips the front of Steve's uniform with two hands to keep him upright. He wants to make a joke, throw out a quip or a clever one-liner, but all he can do is say, "Okay," because he really, really does want to.
Steve lights up, beaming, glowing, and Tony likes to think that he's happier now, that even though that kid in the alley had no idea what horrible things he was about to face, go through, that Steve's come out the other end happier. "Oh, good," he says softly, Brooklyn accent leaking back in at the edges, and now Tony's smiling too.
"Just one request," Tony says, hearing the footsteps of their teammates down the street.
"Yeah? Anything," Steve offers, so easily it makes Tony's body flush with tingles, from head to toe this time.
Tony smiles. "I'd like to put on some pants first."
Okay if you feel like projecting....Steve has finals coming up and had all this stuff he has to finish but *of course* he ends up catching something then...he tries to push through it but he can't on his own, so Bucky comes to take care of him and help him with homework and everything in between Steve resting. 🏫
Because I am Suffering™️, projecting onto our lovely Steven G. Rogers sounds like a wonderful idea
also, there’s a slight emeto warning. Nothing graphic at all, it just briefly mentions it
It had come on hard and fast, and though Steve had hoped it would go out the same way, he was currently almost three days into whatever hell bug he had managed to catch with seemingly no end in sight.
This would be fine, he supposed, if he wasn’t coming up on finals week. Though his mind feels hazy from the fever, and the pounding in his head makes it difficult to think of much else, he can feel the spike of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.
He has so much to do, and he’s so behind, he worries he’ll end up failing his classes. Especially given the fact that the fever, and fatigue and headache and sore throat and stomachache all make it difficult for him to find the energy to do any work.
Bucky had run out to the store, since the meager supply of medicine they had, had run out. Steve misses him, without him here, he’s bored and just about ready to go out of his mind. He clears his throat with a grimace - it’s rubbed raw from all the coughing he’d done the past few days, and he really really hates this.
Instead of pulling out his laptop and going to the class webpage, his eyes flick back to the TV, which is playing some cheesy, shitty show that only comes on in the middle of the day when most people are at work.
“Hey, Sweetheart,” Bucky greets him, walking through the door.
He’s slightly out of breath from the walk up from the parking garage to the second floor of the apartment complex they lived in. His arms are full of bags, and he balances them carefully, trying not to drop everything on the floor as he pulls his keys out of the door and shuts it behind him. Normally he would ask Steve to help, but given that the poor guy got dizzy and nearly passed out just from standing up to use the bathroom, that’s out of the question.
“Hey,” Steve greets tiredly, rubbing at his face with a small cough.
“How are you feeling? Any better?” Bucky asks, setting the bags on the counter.
“No...worse, I think.”
“Shit,” he sighs, “d’you think the fever went up?”
“Dunno,” Steve shrugs tiredly, “maybe. Everything hurts.”
“You weren’t achy when I left.”
“Yeah...well.”
“Let me go grab the thermometer. Are you up for eating? I got that soup you like.”
“No...stomach hurts. I don’t want to eat anything.”
“Are you nauseous at all?” He calls from the bathroom.
“A little...not bad though.”
“Maybe after a nap you’ll feel like eating.”
“Maybe...Bucky, I think I’m screwed.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” He asks, walking over to Steve with the thermometer.
“S’finals week,” he slurs.
“Next week,” Bucky corrects gently, putting the thermometer in his ear.
“I have so much to do.”
“I know,” Bucky says, looking at the numbers with a frown, “but you’re running a one hundred and two degree fever. I don’t really think you’re up for anything but shitty daytime television and rest.”
“Will you help?” Steve begs, bringing his fever-bright eyes to Bucky as he shoots him a look that’s equivalent to that of a kicked puppy.
Bucky sighs, “Yeah, of course. What do you need help with?”
“A paper,” he mumbles, blinking heavily.
“How about you nap first, and then we can work on it once you’re a little bit more rested?”
Steve nods slowly, asleep before he even finishes the gesture.
