Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He loved him. There was no other way about it, really. Bucky was in love with Tony Stark.

    Nobody, least of all Bucky, would have thought that they would be good friends, let alone intimate lovers, after their rocky start. He couldn’t pinpoint when their reluctant acquaintanceship turned into mutual friendship, which then took a hop, skip, and a jump over into “everyone we know thinks we’ve been dating this whole time.” Maybe it was around the time when Tony started to do repairs on Bucky’s arm, or when Bucky would drag Tony from his workshop to eat a sandwich, or when Tony would fall asleep snuggled comfortably against Bucky during movie nights.

    Okay, yeah, maybe it was that last one.

     Bucky noticed early on that Tony didn’t sleep a lot (at least not during what was considered “normal people” sleeping hours), but he seemed to take a lot of naps whenever Bucky was around. Tony ended up curled up under Bucky’s arm, or often sprawled over Bucky’s chest with his face pressed to Bucky’s neck, or even buried under the blankets of Bucky’s bed, one time. Natasha teased them relentlessly whenever she found them cuddling on the couch in the common rooms, but Steve mentioned once that Tony’s inner child felt safe with him, and that—Bucky could never really get that out of his mind.

    A good, normal childhood was something Bucky knew Tony didn’t necessarily experience, having been thrust into the public eye at such a young age and, not to mention, having Howard Stark as a father. He knew Tony didn’t have the luxury of being a kid, and sometimes Bucky caught a glimpse of that childlike temperament that Tony tried to keep a lid on.

    It was the gleeful giggle that escaped Tony’s chest whenever he’d solve a previously impossible problem in the lab. It was the adorable pout of Tony’s lip whenever he didn’t immediately get his way. It was the bright excitement that lit up Tony’s eyes whenever he was presented with a birthday candle to blow out. It was, more than anything, the expression of absolute awe that painted Tony’s face for brief moments when he thought no one was looking—staring at gradient sunsets, gawking at twinkling constellations, and being starry-eyed at multicolored fireworks.

     Tony loved fireworks. Well, he loved when things exploded, but fireworks did that while being pretty, too, which was almost the same thing.

    Bucky noticed back during Steve’s birthday, when the sky was lit up with reds, whites, and blues, that Tony became absolutely enthralled with the fireworks, talking a mile a minute about the engineering and science behind it, the artistry of the designs. Bucky had only looked on with amusement, because at the time, he didn’t think he would love fireworks as much as Tony did.

    And he didn’t, not until New Year’s. They were having a party at the tower, a tight gathering of family and friends and colleagues. Tony was practically bouncing at Bucky’s side, shouting as he joined the countdown to midnight, and then cheering as the first flare of the new year lit up the night sky.

    The whole time, Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes off Tony. There was a broad grin splitting his lips, the smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. While watching the sparkling pyrotechnics reflect in Tony’s eyes, bright and beautiful, Bucky realized then and there that there was no other way about it, either.

    He loved fireworks.

Chapter Text

Tony had gone outside to grab a few logs of wood from the side of the cabin and immediately regretted it. It was cold, it was icy, it was windy... It was cold. His nose felt numb by the time he’d hustled back into the safety and warmth of the cabin, stamping out his boots at the front door.

    Bucky craned his neck over the back of the couch, brows raised. “Is it that co—?”

    “Yes, it is that fuckin’ cold outside,” Tony snapped, huffing as he made his way towards the dwindling fireplace. He carefully placed two new logs into the flames, blowing at the coals to let them breathe.

    As the fire burned higher, Bucky let out a grateful, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

    “You’re fucking welcome,” Tony replied, biting his cheek to suppress a grin. He got to his feet, pausing only for a moment when Bucky raised the blanket that was settled on his lap, offering the spot beside him to Tony, who quickly got with the program and fell into Bucky’s warmth.

    Tony pressed his face against Bucky’s chest, wedging himself between Bucky’s legs, and sighed contentedly when Bucky wrapped them both in the thick blanket. The fire crackling and the scent of gingerbread candle on the side table slowly lulled Tony to unconsciousness. Bucky’s steady heartbeat thudded next to Tony’s ear, steady and strong, and he let his eyes fall closed as Bucky began to read The Hobbit under his breath, carding his fingers through Tony’s hair as he dozed.

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The first time Bucky found a large, black dog scratching at the carpet of his and Tony’s bedroom, he’d love to say that he didn’t shriek. (He yelled, he didn’t shriek, no matter what the security camera footage sounded like.) In his defense, the room was trashed, bedding and lamps and wax candles unlit on the ground; most importantly, Tony was nowhere in sight, so of course the first thing that came to mind was Holy fuck, a dog ate Tony, followed promptly by A dog’s going to eat me next.

    But then the creature froze, cocked its head to the side, and instantly tackled him, bringing Bucky to the ground with a dull thump. Bucky braced his arms over his face, heart pounding, trying to throw the dog off his body before—before it started licking at his hands?

    There was a moment of hesitance, ever so brief, where Bucky’s brain told him he wasn’t in immediate danger because the damn dog’s tail was wagging so fast, he wasn’t sure how it wasn’t dislocated. As Bucky tried to sit up, to crawl away, the dog placed its large paws to his chest, ducking forward to lick broad stripes across Bucky’s cheeks and nose.

    “Okay, okay, off, you big mutt,” Bucky mumbled, pushing the big dog by the chest. It gave a sharp bark, almost a reprimand, before pressing its cold nose to the palm of Bucky’s left hand, to the band wrapped around his ring finger. When he didn’t say anything, the dog started to nose along Bucky’s stomach, huffing once, and then sprawled itself across his lap like it belonged there. It wasn’t until the dog stared up at him with big, familiar brown eyes that a wild thought even crossed Bucky’s mind.

    “Tony?” he whispered hesitantly, eyes widening when the dog barked again, tail thudding against the carpet below. It leaned its head against Bucky in an equivalent of a hug, and Bucky slowly raised his other hand to scratch at its ears, feeling a sudden flood of affection for the huge fluff ball.

    His husband was… a dog. A werewolf? Tony shapeshifted into a Padfoot-equivalent were-creature once in a blue moon, and wasn’t that something? Bucky was kind of surprised that Tony was able to hide it for as long as he did, though the last few years living together finally made sense: Going on that one odd “business” trip Tony took during the last blue moon; getting overly excited whenever Bucky came home; becoming easily distracted by a new shiny thing; glaring at every cat he saw on the street; tilting his head to the side when curious or in deep thought; constantly having to comb back his unruly hair whenever the locks curled up relentlessly like… dog ears.

    Well, hindsight was twenty-twenty.

Chapter Text

Clint didn’t miss. Clint never missed. At least, that’s what Tony thought, because he was staring at the remnants of a snowball meant for him as it slid off Barnes’ face. What started as “I bet my arm is better than yours” turned into “it would be a shame to ruin your corduroy jacket, Stark” so fast that Clint gave him whiplash.

    And then, the snowball.

    Wide-eyed, Tony turned to Barnes with his hands out, saying, “Sorry for the rogue slushy, White Walker. I guess Merida’s aim isn’t as true as he thinks it is.”

    “I heard that!” Clint snapped.

    Barnes quietly wiped the cold snow from his eyes and cheeks, stone-faced and stoic. He tugged the gloves tighter on his hands, bending at the waist to gather the snow at his feet. Tony watched as he straightened up, molded the snow into a sphere, and locked eyes with him.

    On him, not Clint, oh motherf—

    “No, no, it was the birdbrain not m—” Tony ate snow, freezing and wet all at once, sputtering as he swiped at his face. When he saw the near imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of Barnes’ face, Tony steeled himself. “You’re askin’ for it, Manchurian Candidate.”

    Tony winded up a throw, hitting Barnes in the shoulder and getting snow on Steve’s side. Collateral damage.

    Before he could blink, another snowball smacked him square in the ear, making him lose his balance and fall into the snowbank. He caught a sly “Nice shot, Tasha” from Clint before the archer earned himself a snowball to the chest.

    “Where did that clown even come from?” Clint complained, throwing a dirty look at a not-so-innocent looking Bruce.

    A flurry of frozen ammunition began to arch over him as Steve, Clint, Natasha, and Barnes scooped up snow and initiated an all-out war. Tony tried crawling behind one of the nearby benches, groaning and cursing at every snowball that hit his sides. He haphazardly collected his own pile of snowballs and threw them at his teammates, squawking out a high-pitched “My bad, Brucie-bear!” when Bruce’s glasses went flying.

    By the time a large shadow loomed over him, Tony knew it was too late to roll away from sudden death. A large armful of snow was dropped onto his back, cold as all hell, and Tony raised an invisible flag, waving his arm back and forth. “Uncle, uncle!”

    Barnes huffed over him, and Tony realized it was the closest thing to a laugh he’s heard out of the man since he’d started living with them. Tony blinked meekly as Barnes brushed off the powder of snow, lifting Tony to his feet by the lapels of his jacket, and continued to swipe his hands down Tony’s front.

    Tony realized, cheeks burning and breath hitching in his chest, that Barnes was so close that he could feel the guy’s exhale warm on his face. Their eyes met, brown to grey, and Barnes gave a small smile before pecking a quick kiss to Tony’s nose, leaving the genius’ mind to flicker like a dying candle.

    “About time,” he heard Steve mutter, followed by agreements from Natasha and Bruce both.

    “You—what—you planned this?” Tony yelped, shaking away the daze.

    Clint smirked, replying smugly, “Why do you think I launched that first snowball at our dear ole Sergeant in the first place?”

    So, perhaps Clint never missed. Now Tony wanted to find out if he could dodge just as well.

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Normally, he doesn’t remember. After every wipe, the Soldier’s mind is like a blank slate, and the handlers know what to do with him. But then, something changes; he’s given an assignment, a mission, a hit—Kill Howard Stark and any witnesses.

    The first time he kills the Starks, he bashes Howard’s head in and crushes Maria’s windpipe before breaking the surveillance cameras.

    The second time he kills the Starks, he hesitates a second too long that Howard’s able to get a shot off at him before he crosses them off.

    The third time he kills the Starks, Howard recognizes his face—calls him Barnes, and it hurts his head to think—but he needs to complete the mission, and the Soldier never fails.

    The fourth time… well, Maria calls out for Howard like she always does, but when the Soldier approaches her, she begs him to spare Tony. It gives him pause, because through all the wipes and the loops he finds himself in, no one ever mentions a Tony.

    “Who is Tony?” the Soldier asks, voice raspy from disuse.

    Maria gasps, “My son, please, he’s just a boy—” and her death, this time, is swift.

    The fifth time he wakes, the Soldier asks about Stark’s son, and his handler wipes him again.

    The sixth and seventh and eighth times are the same but different. The Soldier waits, he stalls, and the Starks live for one more day or three… until they don’t.

    By loop nine, the Soldier doesn’t know if he’s bored or tired, and he finds himself at Stark’s mansion home, watching Howard and Maria from a distance as they say goodbye to their son. It’s the first time the Soldier sees him, Tony, lean and stocky but sure in how he holds his shoulders, and it’s then that the Soldier thinks he’s beautiful.

    It takes six loops more before Bucky realizes Tony Stark is the endgame, the one who can break the loop. It’s one more when Tony finds Bucky lurking inside his house after his parents leave, lit in the dark with nothing but a small candelabra, because Bucky lets him. It’s another two before Bucky gives in and lets Tony have his way with him. At loop nineteen, Bucky tries to run away with Tony, to safety, but HYDRA finds them first.

    After twenty loops, Bucky practically ambushes Howard and forces him to tell Tony about SHIELD, because if anyone can burn out the evil hanging over them, it’s Tony Stark.

    The next time Bucky wakes, he doesn’t smell the usual frost and oil from the HYDRA base, doesn’t feel the cold from the cryochamber. It’s linen and chemical cleaners and a warm bed, and there’s Tony holding Bucky’s left hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

Chapter Text

“Stevie, I have a question.”

    “Bucky, I might have an answer.”

    “Shut up. Listen. If you didn’t know me and Tony, would you think we were dating?”

    “You’re kidding, right?”

    “Okay, so it’s a ‘no’.”

    “Oh, fuck that—it’s very much a resounding ‘yes’, dumbass.”

    “What?”

    “What do you mean what? You two are so all over each other that it’s, frankly, incredibly disgusting.”

    “We’re not… we’re not all over each other.”

    “Hmm. Sure. If you say so.”

    “Now what’s that supposed to mean, punk?”

    “Need I spell it out for you?”

    “Humor me.”

    “Jeez, well… You drape yourself over his back a lot when he’s working, and you cuddle on the couch during movie nights. I’m pretty sure I’ve noticed you two sharing clothes, and you eat off each other’s plates sometimes, and you get this really dopey grin whenever he showers you with the coveted forehead kisses—”

    “Okay! Okay, I get it, that’s—enough.”

    “Aw, but I didn’t even get to the part about you walking with your hand in his back pocket, or how you always melt like a fuckin’ candle when he gets his fingers in your hair.”

    “…”

    “Did I do a good job humoring you? You’re not laughing.”

    “…have I really been that obvious?”

    “You were trying to hide it?”

Chapter Text

It started with a busted lip. Then, it was a black eye. A sprained wrist. Bruised arms. It wasn’t until Bucky recognized the nasty burns in the shape only a cigar could make that he bothered confronting Tony about it.

    “It’s just from lab accidents,” Tony kept telling him, voice tight as if he were lying like Bucky knew he was. He may have been careless on a good day, but Tony was always laser-focused when he was working on his projects. None of his injuries were from the lab, and it hurt Bucky that they both knew it.

    “That’s gonna scar,” Bucky mumbled quietly, gently pressing burn ointment over Tony’s skin. It was after school, the locker rooms were empty, and Tony didn’t want to go home.

    Tony was silent for a few moments, watching Bucky’s fingers work to heal his wounds. It was the whispered “I’ve had worse” that Bucky barely caught—that was what broke his heart.