[slams hands on bar and takes a seat] yes, sir, give me all of the pre-serum steve rogers stucky fics that u have
additionally, I CANNOT GET OVER Steve’s fucking Sadness Errands that he keeps running around DC, like, his schedule literally goes
6 AM: jogging
7:15: unburden soul to total stranger, lacking better options
3 PM: visit own museum exhibit to stare at the Dead Best Friend Wall
4:30: attempt meaningful human connection with sole surviving contemporary; fail due to Alzheimer’s
6 PM: dinner for one
7 PM: contemplate own loneliness, probably
hellotailor asked: NON-MISERABLE post-CATWS fic where Steve and Bucky live together and Bucky has totally gone to therapy for years so it's OK for Steve to be a famous person with a boyfriend who can actually leave the house without having some kind of traumatic flashback? :D? :D?
Bucky is in the kitchen this time, apparently weighing the difference between two different kinds of mustard, one clasped carefully in each hand.
Bucky shrugs, right shoulder hitching. “I had a craving. “
Steve grabs a glass of water and sits down at the kitchen island. More often than not now, Bucky’s night terrors send him to the kitchen instead of the roof, whether just for water or some half-remembered texture to distract and ground him, settled solidly in the twenty-first century, in their shared apartment. Mustard, though, is a new one. “You used to hate mustard.”
“Still do,” Bucky says, shoving both jars back in the fridge. “I just couldn’t remember what it tasted like.” He slides into his chair, the one nestled into the corner of the kitchen, with the best view of the whole room. “You didn’t have to get up.”
aaaaaAAAA THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANTED, THANK YOU!!!