Date: 1860–65Culture: AmericanMedium: cottonDimensions: Length at CB (bodice): 13 ¾ in. (34.9 cm) Length (skirt): 41 ½ in. (105.4 cm)Credit Line: Gift of M. Winifred and Beatrice F. Hyslop, 1960Accession Number: C.I.60.11.1Metropolitan Museum of Art
Description: Stonathan Cinderella au that I told @dadharbour I would do years ago, or might as well have been, and then procrastinated very hard. Jonathan is Cinderella. Steve is Prince Charming. Set in the same time period as Stranger Things, but there is a significant decrease in paranormal activity. First of three chapters.
Word Count: 3012 (I’m so sorry, just pretend it’s a book or something)
A/N: I’ve never written Jonathan before, or Stranger Things for that matter, outside of a handful of headcanons. This might be terrible, I’m not sure. Also, warning, there are a couple of homophobic slurs.
As the evening air cooled, Jonathan Byers became acutely aware of how sweat-soaked his shirt had become. He swung the hammer and watched it hit nail, effectively fastening the final new shingle to his father’s tool shed. The action caused his shirt to pull taut against his back. and he was painfully reminded of the sunburn he had gained earlier in the week by working with his shirt off. At least it was later in the day now and the sun was no longer beating down on him.
Jonathan discarded his hammer on the lid of a toolbox and trudged inside. Re-shingling the shed had really taken it out of him, especially considering that he had spent the earlier part of the afternoon scrubbing bird shit from Sarah’s decaying patio furniture.
Sarah Hart was his father Lonnie’s girlfriend, and she and her son Tommy had been living with them for the past few months. It was Jonathan’s personal hell. In fact, as Jonathan passed through the hallways of the cramped house, he caught a glimpse of the other boy through the open door of his room. He was engrossed in his personal television set and surrounded by car posters, miniature basketball hoops, and trendy clothes. Tommy hadn’t done a lick of work all day. Lonnie hadn’t told him to.
-long strands of fabric flags
-a hula hoop
-a ton of little dream catchers
-gift cards to legit anywhere, I will always find something I want
-hats, any hats, I look good in all hats
-Greek/roman/Egyptian mythology books
Summary: A little anonymously requested Bucky Barnes fluff for his birthday, with eventual Bucky x Reader, as based off of the song ‘Seven Years Old’ by Lukas Graham. It’s very short and not well written, but I got it done. Basically, just a lot of angsty fluff on this one.
Character Gender; Not necessarily specified, hinted at petite female.
“[Y/N]! [Y/N] get in here now!” Steve’s voice rang out hurriedly from the living room of the cramped, empty New York apartment that you and ‘Team Cap’ had been pretty much squatting in since this early May. You quickly dropped the numerous loose notebooks that you had been filing away, slamming into a few crooked doorways as you rushed into the living room.
You were greeted not so kindly with the sight of a disgruntled Steve, as expected from the yelling, who was basically supporting Bucky from his entire left side. Bucky’s dark hair was hanging over his eyes, dripping from either sweat or blood, probably both. His eyes looked darker than normal, and there were deep smears in the mud on his face that resembled newly made tear tracks.
“Holy-” You trailed off in shock, ripping out the updo that your hair had been shoved up into mere seconds before, the instinct doing nothing to better the situation at hand, although you weren’t quite sure what the situation was.
“Steve, put him down, put him down.” You pulled off the lightly knit cardigan that you had been wearing over your exposed arms, rushing over to gently place it over Bucky’s heaving shoulders as soon as Steve dropped him into a sitting position on the loudly creaking couch.
You quickly grabbed a cotton rag from the precariously placed basket of laundry that you had yet to finish for the week, and began gently wiping the small debri off of your best friend Bucky’s cheeks, whilst interrogating Steve sternly, “What the hell happened out there?”
“I- I don’t know,” Steve managed, his throat sounding parched, and you hastily pointed out a bottled fountain drink that was placed on the edge of the coffee table for him to take a sip of, “One minute he was fine, ran off, and then I heard him yell.”
You continued gently wiping away the slightly layer of darkness off of Bucky’s cheeks, turning the cotton cloth to be cleaner, as he kept looking at the ground, both of his hands shaking in his lap. You let slip a few murmured curse words before you muttered angrily under your breath, “I bet he saw something that those messed up HYDRA bastards did to him.”
Steve only gasped in a shaky breath as a reply. You took that answer as enough and quickly decided that Bucky’s face was clean enough for now, then did a long range hoop shot with the cloth, which landed back into the huge dirty clothing pile. Steve was putting the cold drink you had pointed out to his right eye, which was beginning to bruise over.
You brushed Bucky’s lanky, moist hair out of his brimming eyes to back behind his ears, making a shudder run through him as you did so, his blue eyes snapping up to your face, a dark fear spreading from within them. You held up your hands in mock surrender, leaving his hair where it was behind his ears, but you kept your eyes trained on him, hoping that he wouldn’t lash out in his current state of fear.
Luckily, he didn’t. He just kept his scared eyes on you, watching your face as another tear drop fell from his left eye, and then his right, continuing until the tears were silently flowing down his face, cleansing it fully. He turned his eyes downcast in what appeared to be shame.
“Hey, hey,” You soothed in a whisper, reaching out to touch his left shoulder with your comforting hand.
He flinched away from your touch, his eyes snapping back up to yours again, and you froze the comforting motion, your hand barely hovering above the shoulder of his metal arm. He looked at you in uncertainty, with you looking back at him, and you slowly inched your hand until it was on top of his whirring metal shoulder, your thumb rubbing circles on the flesh that you could reach.
As you did so, he started crying harder, bringing his flash hand up to cover his mouth.
“Shh, shh,” You began again, but were cut off by Bucky’s voice cracking, as he whimpered out a sentence that made your heart shatter into about a million pieces; “What am I? ”
But it wasn’t your turn to be hurt this time, so you swallowed the huge, tight lump in the middle of your throat, and ignored the growing black hole in the pit of your stomach as you let out a breathy exhale and answered him as best you could, “You are Bucky.”
He shook his head, but you didn’t even give him the time to protest, as you went on, “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. We call you Bucky. You were born in 1917. Steve and [Y/N] Rogers are your best friends, even since then.”
“Your mother was Rebecca Barnes, and she always told you to ‘go out and play’ or you’d be lonely, even when she got sick,” You reminded him quietly, ignoring Steve’s stare from across the room at the two of you. Bucky grabbed your free hand in his own flesh one, squeezing tightly at the thought of his mother, “And you did. And we all had fun, remember that?”
“Bucky, go out and play!
“"Don’t you need help with the chores, Ma?”
““No, silly, Steve and [Y/N] are waiting outside.”
“He turned to see you and Steve, arms waving from the main street that his apartment was built on, shouting out things that he couldn’t make out. He couldn’t help the loving smile that came to his face at the sight of Steve in his boring slacks and tweed, and you in your musty pink outfit, a crooked bow hanging in your hair.
““Of course, sweetheart,” she coughed, and he could have sworn he saw a hint of blood on her hand as she wiped it on the nearest rag, which caused his hesitation and her response, “James Buchanan Barnes! If you don’t get out there right now-”
““Okay, okay, Ma! Fine!” He grabbed his coat, “Be back soon!”
Bucky nodded in a silent answer, Steve remaining quiet on the lumpy chair, and you kept filling the silence with your quietly uttered words, “It was such a big world even then, but we acted like we could beat it.”
You smiled fondly and glanced over at your older brother, Steve, who had put up his newly dirty boots on the coffee table, which you purposely ignored to keep the momentary peace, and he flashed a bittersweet smile back at you before you turned back to Bucky, still tightly holding his hand.
“But not just that,” you went on, trying everything you could to make Bucky feel better, because, as much as you hated to admit it to anyone, you loved him, “When we were ten, I think, I started getting hit on by drunks. You and Steve pummelled those pervs, even though you were both so skinny.”
“Hey, girly,” a resonating, deep voice sounded from behind the three of you, causing Steve to jump a little as your trio whirled around to face a drunk man sauntering down towards you, “wanna come back to my place? We could have some fun.”
“S-Sir,” you stuttered out nervously, grabbing tightly on to Bucky and Steve’s free hands, squeezing, “Sir, I’m only eleven.”
“Aw, sweetie,” the man slurred lazily, stepping forward and leaning down to your level, causing you to stumble backwards at his bourbon smelling breath, “Age don’ matter to me. And neither will that lil’ dress.”
“Hey!” Bucky interjected, fury in his voice, as Steve shoved you behind the two of them as they puffed up their chests and stared the drunk right in the eyes, “Wanna try that again, pedophile?”
“What?” The man growled out, his words fuzzy at the edges from too much excessive alcohol.
“You heard him!” Steve chimed in, getting right up in the man’s face and stabbing a finger at his chest.
Bucky turned to you, a determined smile gracing his young features as he nicked under your chin with two of his fingers, “[Y/N], run.”
Steve laughed from behind you at your words, and you let out a couple chuckles yourself, but Bucky remained silent even through the fond memory that made you feel so giddy inside. This prompted you to lift the hand on his shoulder to stroke the side of his hair gently, still slightly smiling with your eyes wide.
“Steve and I never had much money,” you felt a reminiscent warm glow begin growing inside of your chest as you rambled on, “but you did odd jobs for us. You gave us the money. I remember Steve gave you the biggest hug he could, and I couldn’t even reach your neck, I was so tiny.”
“Thank you so much, Bucky!” You laughed giddily down at the money that had been placed in both Steve and your’ hands only seconds before.
“Hey, no problem, doll.” Bucky smirked proudly as Steve dove in for a hug that Bucky had to lean down into, because Bucky was just that tall, or maybe Steve was just really short. Probably both.
As Steve leant away from Bucky’s brotherly hug, the dollar bills still clutched in his hand, you passionately jumped at Bucky, making him laugh loudly in surprise and catch you, swinging your petite body around in the air as all three of you laughed all laughed deliriously.
Steve smiled bigger, remembering the scrawny, unfed little girl that you used to be, and Bucky gave you a fake, fleeting smile as you kept running your fingers slowly and gently through the side of his hair, just above his left ear. You wanted to laugh more, remembering how small you used to be back then, when Bucky and Steve could practically pick you up with their pinky.
“Your dad, he always joked that you would marry me one day,” You smiled a small smile, a pink blush rising to your cheeks as Bucky looked up at you, realizing what you had said, “but you thought that it was gross, and shoved me away.”
“Why would I…?” Whispered Bucky sadly, but no one heard his words, and no one saw his lips move either, seeing as you had turned back around to a guffawing Steve, your own grin growing wider on your face.
“One day,” Bucky’s father’s loud, joking, deep voice rang around the room, “you and [Y/N] are going to get married, Buck!”
Both Steve and him laughed loudly, leaning back in their wooden chairs, while you covered your face with your hands, pouting at their relentlessly close teasing. Bucky made a disgusted face, pulling back in his chair.
“Ew!” He yelled in disgust, shoving your now laughing body away from his, as you made a pouting face through your ridiculous giggles, while Bucky’s father tousled up your pulled back hair with his large, calloused hand.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t marry you either, James!” You stuck out your tongue.
“And I remember,” you went on, Bucky putting his now wide, curious eyes only on you, save for a few hesitant glances at Steve, “I remember you saying you wanted to be in the war, with the other men, like your dad. We were so young then, and when you said that, I cried. I remember both you and Steve had to comfort me.”
“I’m sorry…” Bucky whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, although Steve remained oblivious to Bucky’s words.
“No, no, no,” You rushed out, not wanting him to feel bad. Your hand immediately went to the side of his head again, combing over his smooth hair as best you could, with him ever so slightly leaning into your touch, looking at you guiltily, “I was a bit of a crybaby.”
“And, remember that one time when you-” Steve trailed off into loud laughter, leaning back on the seat, his brain going back to the memories that he had of the three of you, the memories Bucky was not gifted with.
You laughed again too, turning back to Bucky to hastily explain; “You got sick when we were teenagers. Not bad sick. Sick, like, be in bed for a couple weeks sick. But I was so worried about you, James. I wrote you letters every day. Sometimes I wrote out whole stories and songs that I thought you would like. You teased me so much after that.”
I hope you are well. Well, you’re obviously not, but I hope you get well soon. We miss you here so much. Steve misses you, although he keeps telling me you’ll be out of bed soon. I miss you a lot. No one’s bullied me yet, but I still would feel safer if you were here, not that Steve isn’t strong either. I have to go,
Bucky looked up at you, not quite sure why he would have teased you for doing something so kind for him, but not speaking a word in question of it, for fear that it would burst the bubble of your brightly shining smile, the stories that gushed out of your lips, and your hand that was running gently fingers through the side of his hair.
You gazed fondly at your fingers grazing through his hair, and he couldn’t help but stare at the face that seemed so beautiful to him, your lips moving to speak, “You were such a smart boy, Bucky. A genius, honestly. You still are. You won so many awards, but you were so humble.”
“I- I was?” Bucky looked up into your eyes that flickered to his, disbelieving, and you nodded at him eagerly, a brightness in your eyes that he had rarely seen before as you swooped in and gave him a gently kiss on the forehead.
“And the winner is… James Buchanan Barnes!”
“Whooo! Go, Bucky!”
Your lips felt soft, warm on his forehead, and he tried his hardest not to close his eyes out of comfort, snuggle into your gentle touch, and just breath in all the care, all the love that you showed him. All the love that he had rarely been shown in the last seventy years, that he was desperate to have from you.
“I don’t know if you remember, Buck,” you went on, making him snap out of his loving daze to look fully back into your eyes, “but we always asked you why you didn’t just get out there and become a popular kid, because you could if you wanted to, I’m sure. You had this class. But you always said we ‘were the only ones you really loved, and the only ones who would ever really know you’.”
“We love you too, Bucky.” You murmured sleepily, your young teenage eyes slipping closed as you leant your heavy head on his left shoulder gently, feeling a warm arm wrap around your shoulders, a kiss placed to the top of your hair, making you cuddle into his side even farther, your nose smelling his cologne.
“Good to know,” He chuckled at your sleepy voice, giving you another light kiss on the head, as you felt the back of Steve’s head land gently on your lap to sleep, “Goodnight, you two.
“When we were twenty years old, maybe older,” you squeezed his hand and felt him lightly squeeze yours back, making you smile at him, a sight that made him want to hug you tight, “you went off to the war. 107th, and Steve followed you, the stupid punk. Then I met Peggy, and we ran off after the two of you like two lost, determined puppies.”
“You don’t understand, Peggy!” Your voice sounded desperately pitiful, even from your own perspective, “We have to find them somehow! Steve’s my brother! My only brother! And Bucky- Bucky is- my best friend! Take me to the 107th, please!”
Peggy gave you a look, and you could see the look in her eyes, the effect that meeting Steve, even for a brief second had put upon her, and she nodded, “Let’s do this then.”
“Really?” Bucky asked, looking up at you like a small child who was hearing a jaw dropping story from an adult, and you smiled, the corners of your eyes scrunching up as you did so, nodding in response to his question, as you pushed some more loose hair out of his eyes, causing him to lean back into your pushing touch.
“You always saw your plans,” you let go of his hand, having to pry your fingers from his, as he did not want to let go, and he whimpered when you did so. But you quickly took your fingers from his hair to hold his hand, while putting your free one on his flesh shoulder firmly, “You told us failure was only a concept.”
Bucky nodded at what you said, something showing through in his eyes, something like a faint glimmer of true remembrance, “I did.”
You slid over onto the lumpy couch beside him, the metal springs creaking loudly as you did so, but no one in the room seemed to mind the sound, your gentle voice merely covering it up with soft words, “You knew our- Steve and I- our voices made a difference, even if they were small.”
Bucky turned his head to look at your beautiful face, small snippets of sentences falling out of his lips, just as meaningful as if they were paragraphs, “I still think that.”
Your eyes lit up at the fact that you were seeing a bit into the inner Bucky that he hid away so well, and you quickly leaned forward to gently eskimo kiss him with a smile on your face, causing his breath to hitch in his chest and a gasp to come out of his throat, one that you didn’t notice, along with the awkward tension practically radiating from Steve.
“Just remember,” you went on carefully, seeing the guilt, and pain from his Winter Soldier years reflecting in his baby blue eyes, “you’ve got us with you. We’ll always be there for you. Sam, Wanda, Steve, and me.”
“Steve… You.” Bucky repeated your words lightly, seeming awestruck by the caring phrase, “You’ll always be there…”
“Yeah,” you reached forward again, and lightly put a soft hand on his cheek, that he leaned into with a whimper, a few unexpected tears running down his cheeks, “and if you ever can’t tell us something for any reason, because you’re in danger, or you just hurt when you say it, you write it down for us, Bucky. We’ll help you find a way. I promise. Okay?”
“Okay.” He murmured helplessly, looking directly into your big beautiful eyes that had so much hope for him. There was so much belief in your big eyes, it made him want to stare into them forever and ever and ever, and kiss you. It made him want to kiss you.
“Soon, we’ll all be a hundred years old,” you laughed out, a light laugh, but with a lump in your throat forming, not of sadness this time, but of joy, “can you believe that?! There are tee shirts with our names on them! Your name, Bucky! Because you’re a hero!”
“I’m not a hero-” Bucky tried to protest, but you gave him no choice.
“Of course you’re a hero,” you gushed, putting another hand on the other side of his face to make him look at you, not as if he needed any prompting, “people around the world stand up for you! Stand up against Tony, the Accords! You wanna know why? It’s because they believe that you are a hero! And so do I!”
“You believe I’m a hero?” Bucky questioned you incredulously, just enjoying the feelings of your gentle hands on either side of his face, your thumbs rubbing comforting circles just beneath his eyes, which was putting him on the threatening edge of closing his eyes and just feeling your presence. At this point, Steve had left the room smirking.
You bobbed your head up and down enthusiastically at his question, changing to a meaningful expression in an instant, “Sure, you’ve made mistakes. So, we all have. You’re still learning about this life, how could you know?”
Bucky put his hands over your hands subconsciously, feeling more tears prick the back of his eyes at what you were saying about him, the beautiful words pouring out of your moutb, “One day, if you want it, a woman will give you children, and you can raise them however you want! Because you’re free now. Free, Bucky. And imagine the stories you’ll tell them, the songs you can sing.”
But I can’t sing, Bucky thought, delirious in all the care and love that he was getting from you, I want you to sing, [Y/N]. For me.
“Sure, we all got lost.” You went on, “But we remember our old lives, and so our new lives become better ones. And we all love each other. I love Steve, Steve loves me. Steve loves you, you love Steve. I love you…”
You trailed off, realizing what it was that had just came out of your mouth, wanting to take it back immediately, but also slightly glad that you put it out there, because he definitely needed it so much right then. You just looked into his eyes, hands still on either side of his face.
“Y- You love me?” Bucky whimpered out at you, stuttering as his fingers fell away from your fingers that wrapped on yours on his cheeks.
“Yeah, you’re damn right I do.” You shot back at him, seeing the longing disbelief in his eyes, one of your gifts being to read people, and going with what your romance-movie-watching inner self told you to do.
You kissed him.
Sure, it was a sudden move. Hell, everything in your life had been sudden since the day you turned two, and it was a little bit rash to do without consent, but you were hoping that it would go well enough that you wouldn’t regret it later. And, apparently, your hoping powers were really strong, because let me tell you something; it did not go badly at all.
He kissed you back, not adding any force to it, but just moving his oddly soft lips along yours, moving his shaking hands to your hands that were still placed on the sides of his cheeks, rubbing those circles to wipe away his tears, and you could feel them; the tears, from joy of now, or before, running down his soft cheeks.
When you both broke away from one another, you immediately pulled his body into a soft hug, his cheek resting on your collar bone, able to smell your exquisite vanilla shampoo that he had always complimented in the forties. Your fingers raked through the back of his hair, causing him to shudder, but in a good way.
“Thank you, [Y/N].” He graciously added, his voice shaking, and his arms cautiously wrapping around your waist, “I- um, I love you too. A lot.”