“March 27th, 1971,” comes from the video. There’s a baby gurgling, pudgy hands swiping for a bottle. “Subject has been given two doses of the serum over the course of six months, but shows no outward signs of change or internal. This is test three.”
Howard insists on a Thanksgiving dinner. He serves Tony his own plate, cranberry sauce on turkey and mashed potatoes. A roll with butter on the side.
“Thanks?” Tony questions, raising an eyebrow. “You’re being weird.”
“Just eat your food,” Howard says. “It’s Thanksgiving, Anthony.” He shrugs. Puts the mashed potatoes into his mouth.
Finishes everything on the plate. Howard waits until the last possible moment to go to his board meeting. There’s no change with Tony.
They drink to celebrate early admittance into MIT. Howard pours the drinks. Tony wrinkles his nose as the taste hits the back of his throat.
“God, this wasn’t aged correctly.”
Howard is in his lab, recorder on. “It seems that the subject has had no effect with the serum. He is still…himself.” Not strong. Not America’s next hero. Just…just another Stark, and not even Howard at that. “Will resolve to end the testing.”
Tony doesn’t notice it until he hits around twenty-nine. Usually, something changes in the diet, in the intake of food. He should be slowing down, just a little bit. But he isn’t. He’s not even aging. He still looks like he’s twenty-two and straight out of Monaco from a vacation.
He wants to know why.
Finds out his genetic sequence is really fucked up.
And then he accesses Howard’s archives, something Tony swore he’d never touch for the longevity of his life.
His own father hadn’t even called him his own fucking name. It was subject. He had been experimenting on Tony for years, fucking decades. And all to see if Tony could finally measure up to perfectly little Captain America, paragon of virtue and manliness. Not a son who was “off,” not a son who was too sarcastic and too much of a freak.
He decides he needs to learn how to do make-up, special effects.
Makes a new technology that he sells to SHIELD as disguise-wear, and they don’t even think that he’s using it on himself.
At least he looks his age now. Drinks to that.
He can barely get drunk. He used to just think he had the tolerance of a damned giant. Now he knows that he was forced to be that way, and he didn’t even know.
Howard had a lot of “special occasion” bottles of choice.
He drank them all on an uneventful Wednesday, and only woke up with a slight hangover that was gone by eleven. He felt a little bit vicious, a little bit prideful.
Tony Stark is not Howard Stark’s Son anymore. He’s Tony Stark, inventor of the brand new, revolutionary phone, the weapons that make terrorists shake in fear, and Tony Stark, the Best One.
(Turns out he’s still as shitty as he always thought he was, he makes weapons that others sell because they can, and he really should’ve known about it, but stupid fucking Obie–)
He survives Afghanistan because of the serum. He knows it. He can feel his chest slowly on the mend, but it won’t be enough.
He becomes Tony Stark, pioneer for renewable energy and Iron Man. God, he loves Iron Man. He’s his own hero, and he cries when he sees a little girl in her red-and-gold tutu, grinning up at him through face paint.
“Hi Mr. Iron Man!”
He grins at her, signing a postcard. “Keep doing your thing, kiddo.”
They find him. He can’t even believe it. He drops the scotch, drops the ball. Shows more emotion than he should. Coulson probably realizes it.
Steve Rogers, of course, hates him. Because why not? Everyone else should, and it’s a damned miracle that Rhodey, Pep, and Happy don’t. Or maybe they do, and they like their perks and paychecks too much to say anything.
But…
Over the course of a couple months, things start to get better. Steve kind of thinks that Tony isn’t as bad as before? Natasha is nicer now, and they have drinking nights when everything is too much.
“I’m surprised at your tolerance,” she says one day. “You drink like I do.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had more years of experience.”
“Have you?” she teases. “I’m Russian.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he replies in her native tongue, sipping on wine more expensive than anything she’s ever seen. He’s like that. So casual with all the dripping decadence surrounding him.
They find Sergeant Barnes. Tony asks Steve how many Commandos he’s actually planning on having back, because he had met Dernier, and not all of them had to come back. (Uncle Jacques had been an asshole, but a funny one who could teach how to flirt in French.)
Steve just smiles sadly.
He needs a new arm, but no one knows how to give him an arm. The traditional cocktail of drugs won’t work, and Steve has a higher concentration of the serum.
Bucky and Tony are almost an exact match. Not that Bucky knows that, but then again, he probably also couldn’t tell the average Joe how to work an oven. The expression in his eyes is heartbreaking, devastating to see. He has lived too much of this life, but he does not remember it. (It would be such a Mood if it wasn’t so damn depressing.)
After Tony sees Bucky whimpering in pain over the arm when he thinks no one can see him, that settles it.
Tony drags out the tapes. Ignores how fast his heart beats, ignores how Friday asks him if he would like some chamomile tea because “your heart is at an alarming, rate, Sir.”
“I’m used to it, honey pie. Come on, let’s see those tapes.”
He studies them. Drinks a shit ton. He thinks it’s three bottles? It’s high alcohol-proof, so he can actually feel a little bit more buzzed than usual after three. God, isn’t it sad that this is his life? Putting on make-up to advance his actual face, dying his hair to go gray. (It’s fashionable, no?)
He grimly takes another sip of scotch and writes down that if they up the levels of morphine, it might work. Like, a ninety-two percent success. Which is pretty good.
Tony Stark gets to the last tape.
“I am delivering more serum to the facility, and the house. I am thinking that the subject might react more positively with more serum, perhaps I should do this in a hospital scene–”
He breaks down. Of course he does, twenty years too damn late. He can’t stop crying, ugly tears burning hot tears. Make-up streaks. He’s breaking at an alarming rate.
Friday alerts Rhodey, which alerts the rest of the team.
Tony is tired, and sad. They see more of his life.
“Tony…” Rhodey says, eyes wide. “Tony, what the hell did that monster do to you?”
Tony looks up, alarmed. “What the hell are you guys doing here without access?”
“Friday was concerned,” Rhodey answers. “As she should be, considering you never told me or anyone else that Howard injected you with serum and you were…”
There are bottles lying on the floor. Tony is drunk.
Bucky stares at him.
“You’re like me.”
“Had a little bit more time to be a fuck-up,” Tony says. “And that was by my choice.”
Bucky makes the first show of contact since his return two months earlier. It’s large.
At least that’s what you thought as you stood in the doorway to your kitchen filled with hot pink balloons, over twelve dozen bouquet of red roses and a full spread of breakfast on the kitchen counter.
A pair of arms wrap around your waist, causing you to jump a bit in surprise.
“Happy anniversary baby.” Bucky whispered in the shell of your ear. The hairs on the back of your neck stands and a shiver courses through your body.
You turn in his arms before locking yours arms around his broad shoulders. “Happy anniversary handsome.”
That charming smile graced his lips before he pressed them against yours. Last night events quickly flashing through your mind that you had to pull back before things got started again.
“I’ve got the whole day planned for you.”
Your smile must of flatten a bit because has a frown on his that you caused you to step back for a little. You loved Bucky, there was no doubt there since you married the man and you appreciated everything he has done for anniversaries, birthdays and holidays but now, before he left again on his mission, you wanted to do something simple.
Bucky eyes widen at your confession. “I love all your surprises Buck and you make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world but, I just want to spend time with you.”
Bucky eyes softened, feeling him squeezing your thick waist. “Alright baby, what do you have in mind?”
You hummed softly to yourself as you walk hand in hand with Bucky who smiles at you. You’d spend most of the day shopping for thing for your home and for each other. After having a delicious lunch, you headed to the large library in town.
“What are you thinking about getting from here doll?” Bucky asked, following behind you while you moved through the bookshelves.
You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know, maybe a cookbooks or two.” You said softly, brushing your fingers over a few books you walked by.
“I’m going to head upstairs for a bit, come get me when you’re ready sweetheart.” Bucky kisses your forehead before heading up.
You weren’t sure how long you’ve been borrowing but you know that soon Bucky is going to come find you about dinner and he’s not to pleasant to be around when he’s hungry.
Carrying the books you want, you head upstairs, the history section of the library was empty aside from Bucky who you found three aisles down. Standing tall in his dark, red shirt and denim jeans. His hair slicked back under his baseball cap.
You set your books down before going over, wrapping your arms around his waist and you feel him tense up for a second before relaxing.
“Looking for a good time?” You whispered.
“Sorry, but I’m taken.” Bucky replies back, keeping his gaze on the book in front of him.
A smile forms on your lips. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt right?”
Bucky chuckled a bit. “Doubtful. She knows everything and she’s crazy.”
You let out a playful gasp. “Hey! I’m not crazy.”
Bucky pulls you in front of him, wrapping his right arm around your shoulders while his vibraium hand holds the book he was currently reading.
“Small and crazy.”
You pout. “I’m only a couple of inches shorter that you ya’ know?” Bucky lets out a hum, his eyes dancing over the pages and you peek, trying to see what he was reading.
“Purl Harbor.” He says, reading your mind. “There’s still a lot I missed.”
You simply nod your head before leaning it against his chest. Moments like these make you great full for having Bucky in your life, it make it worth the sleepless night and nightmares. You loved this man, that was for certain or else you wouldn’t have married him. He was the type of man that men and women dreamed of. Tall, large biceps, his untamed dark, brown hair and vivid blue irises. The thought of last night activities raced through your mind, squeezing your thighs together as you remember him fucking you tirelessly, stroking his long, thick cock inside you.
Again and again..
“Lets start heading out. Maybe grab something for dinner.” He says, putting the book back on the shelf. “What are you hungry for?” Bucky glance towards you, giving you a lazily seductive once-over that made your heart skip a beat.
“You’re wearing the fuck-me look doll.” His Brooklyn accent slipping.
“It’s because you look so fuckable.” You blink your eyelashes at him.
A cocky grin shown on his lips that caused your chest to tighten with terrible yearning. You loved him too much. You looked up at him, admiring the way his dark hair framed his that beautiful face. Bucky cupped your cheeks before pressing his lips against yours with hunger that left you shaking, wanting more.
Your back pressed against the bookshelf when he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep your steady.
“We shouldn’t be doing this here.” He let out in a pant, continuing his assault on your neck.
“But doesn’t it make it more exciting?” You whispered, digging your finger nails onto his shoulders. “Besides, there’s no one up here Sergeant.”
You can feel him shake from you using his rank. For some reason that always did it for him, getting him to do whatever you wanted.
“Fuck,” He groans, gripping your ass hard before marching towards an empty talk in a far corner. “You’re trouble, you know that?” He says, tossing off his baseball cap.
“Isn’t that why you married me?” You ask smugly. Bucky smiles before kneeling down in between your spread legs.
“Damn right,” without warning, Bucky dives forward, attaching his lips against your throbbing clit. A growl leaves the back of throat when he feels how wet you are and you have to fight from moaning too loudly. “You taste so fucking good baby.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head, on hand gripping his shoulder as the other pulls on his hair hard. The sound of ripping brings your focus back down to the man between your legs.
“Hey!” You begin to protest but Bucky spanks the side of your thighs gently, causing you to yelp. A distant ‘shush’ could be heard from downstairs and Bucky looks up at you. “Better keep it down sugar, okay?”
You bite your lower lip before nodding your head. Bucky continues kiss and sucking on your sensitive numb. You’re a panting, whimpering mess by the time his flesh fingers are teasing at your wet center but you shake your head and Bucky gives you a hard look.
“Use your words baby.” He says, nibbling on the inside of your thighs, causing your to shake in pleasure. He knew what you wanted, all you had to do was ask but it was so hard too when anyone could by and see what you two were doing.
“Please Bucky,” You moaned, running your fingers through his hair, trying to pull his face closer to where you needed his touch.
“Please what?” He bites your thigh harder, leaving a mark in his wake.
“I-I want your metal fingers.” You let out, grinding your hips desperately. “You want them where?”
You could let out a frustrated cry. He was teasing you and you didn’t have time for that. Not when you were hot and ready for him. “I want them inside me Bucky please, please.” You whine and he brings his flesh hand to grip your thighs in place.
The cold feeling of those fingers against your dripping lips make you throw your head back in pleasure. Your hand slaps against the table when he starts sucking on your clit against harder while his fingers pump inside you at a fast pace. Shamelessly, your body writhed as you rode his plunging fingers. He added another and you dug in your heels, arching up to meet his thrusts.
Your orgasm washed over you. You pull on his hair, earning a growl of approval from your lover. He doesn’t pull away until he feels you stop shaking. Bucky gets up, his fingers still moving in and out of you with easy while you work on his belt and jeans, getting his thick cock free. It’s hot and heavy in your palms when you struck him gently. Bucky groans, pressing his forehead against yours. Without thinking, you push Bucky back until he’s seated before you. You slid down from the table, your hands reaching eagerly for his fly. He was hard and thick, his erection straining. Lifting his shirt and pushing down his boxers, you freed him. He fell heavily into your hands, the thick length already glistening at the tip. You licked the the pre-cum away, loving the way he reined his own hunger to satisfy you.
Your eyes were on him as your open mouth slid over the plush head. You watched his lips part on a sharply indrawn breath and his eyelids grow heavy.
“Y/N.” His gaze hot on your face. “Uh…yeah, like that baby. Fuck, I love your mouth.” He groans. His praise spurred you on. You took him as deep as you could. “You love this,” he said in a low whisper, pushing his fingers into your hair to cup your head. “As much as I do.”
The tip of your tongue traced the pulsing Bien up to the head, and then you took him in your mouth again, your neck arching back as you lowered to sit on your heel, your hands on your knees, offering yourself to him.
“Don’t stop.” He widened his stance. He slid his cock to the back of your throat, then pulled back out, coating your tongue with a trail of creamy pre-cum. You swallowed, savoring the taste.
He groaned, his hands cupping your jaw. Don’t stop, doll. Suck me dry.”
Your cheeks hollowed as you found a rhythm. “So fucking good.” His teeth ground audibly. “Ah, God, you’re making me come.”
His cock swelled in your mouth. His hand fisted your hair, pulling, his body shuddering as he came hard.
Bucky cursed as you swallowed. He emptied himself in thick, hot bursts, flooding your mouth as if he hadn’t come all night. By the time he finished, you were gasping, pulling him out of your mouth as he softens. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, looking up at Bucky through your lashes. He cups your jaw, stroking his fingers over your bottom lip.
“This isn’t want I had in mind when you said we should come to the library.”
You let out a giggle, shaking your head before helping Bucky put himself back into his jeans.
Once done, Bucky helps you up before bringing you into a passionate embrace.
“Let’s finish this at home.” He says and you nod your head eagerly.
dont you fucking Love seeing posts that characterize bucky only as “mother hen” and “able to take care of peter parker” cause he “was backup/ takin care of tiny steve back then” as if a) dude wasnt wiped a billion times and barely remembered steves face, let alone his “uwu Take Care of Smol Bean” “"instincts”“ and b) bucky isnt his own damn character and not just something defined by steve,, and by Love i mean absolutly fucking hate like ca:tfa was eleven years ago grow up and give bucky some actual personality in your posts ya heathens
Canon Bucky just wants to be left alone with his goats to heal and people (Steve) keep dragging him into battles that he doesn’t want to fight but sure he’s definitely capable of taking care of a teenager who doesn’t want to be taken care of. /s
Smile It Won't Suck Forever 