Summary: He’s the charming, out of control frontman of one of the most successful bands in the world. She’s a hard-working rising actress. Sometimes it’s hard to find out what’s real and what’s make-believe when fame’s in the game. Inspired by this photoset.
this is late but whatever, you love me anyways, right, yun? i mean, i got mikey to tweet you. just saying. happy belated birthday and ily and here, have a stellar guest that i’m sure you’ll be delighted to see.
so, here it is. the final chapter. the end. it’s the end of an era! right?!
i’m sorry i’m getting quite emotional here. it’s been a little longer than a year since i posted the first chapter of this story and now it’s… done. it feels like letting go of a really cool group of friends at this point.
(well, there’s still the epilogue to go, i guess, but that’ll be it)
He’s wrapping up an investigative excursion into an abandoned R&D facility with Tony and Bruce– he still thinks of it as an Avengers mission, even though ‘Avengers’ is probably a misnomer now; they’re not anything official anymore– when he discovers a storage unit full of leather-wrapped, reinforced cuffs and coils of high-tech metal-alloy rope. His first thought is of Bucky’s bionic arm.
When he went to Stark Expo for the first time, he thought the idea of a flying car was ridiculous. Sometimes the degree to which his perspective has changed gives him vertigo.
He brushes the sensation aside and calls Tony over. Tony’s the one he notifies on finds like this, because while Bruce has a lot to gain from studying them, too, Tony has the storage space and the equipment to repurpose more sinister things.
They wrap up the mission, get everything unloaded into one of Tony’s labs, and Steve– can’t let go of the mental images the cuffs inspire.
The thing is, since Bucky’s gotten his memories back– all of them, or something close– and started adapting to his existence in one time and space; since he and Steve accidentally became whatever they are now; since they’ve moved in together– Bucky is so willing.
this looks suspiciously like a thing that’s happening every week
note: gremma feels. a lot.
It’s not like she wants to stop kissing her pirate, but after she hears an approaching horn down the road, she decides that yeah, it is time they at least move from the middle of the street. The leather of his stupidly heavy coat crinkles under her grip as she drags him towards the sidewalk, unable to stop the smile curling her lips.
Looking back at him as she clears her throat, she realizes that he won’t even try not to look like he isn’t 200% okay with keeping up where they left their make out session, danger of being struck by a car withstanding. She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, the rush of his kiss and his scent and his arms around her pumping her senses and making her restless, not wishing for the night to end there.
After such a heartfelt confession and the mess in the woods earlier that day, she can’t believe she hasn’t dropped dead on her bed already, but instead here she is: lips red and swollen and bitten by a three-hundred year old pirate who is completely head over heels with her.
Like most things in Tony’s life, discovering Bucky Barnes is a fluke.
After New York, after the Mandarin, after everything, he didn’t trust his own perspective, and he tried to help put someone else’s eyes in the sky. True to the Stark legacy, that ends in explosions and death, so Tony goes back to trying to surveil things his own damn self.
He’s fiddling with some tech designed to look for rarely-used frequencies, determine exactly what they are used for, a few other things– multipurpose, that kind of deal– when he stumbles across an old signal. Old old. USSR old.
It’s also incredibly weak– barely detectable even with Tony’s best stuff, which is saying something. The transmitter happens to be passing in proximity at the same time that Tony’s testing those particular waves. Tony doesn’t bother to calculate the exact odds of that happening; too many variables, and that many digits gets boring– but it’s an incredible serendipity, at the very least.