. ( where do we go from here? // saf n frightened eyes )

[sinensys]

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'

tony has found his parent
s' murderer, who just hap
pens to have eyes for ton
y's son.

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an avengers one on one b
etween fightened eyes n i!

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[sinensys]

ｓｃａｒｅｓ　ｍｅ　ｔｏ　ｄｅａｔｈ ! !

ＢＵＴ　ＴＨＥ　ＢＬＯＯＤ　ＯＮ　ＭＹ　ＨＡＮＤＳ

i. james buchanan barnes. ii. bucky, the winter soldier. iii. biologically mid tw
enties, chronologically around 100. iv. he/him. v. closeted biromantic. vi. sp
eaks english, russian, german, romanian. vii. honestly scared of himself. ─

(( ｍａｙｂｅ　ｉ＇ｍ　ｗａｋｉｎｇ　ｕｐ ! ! ))
(( ｍａｙｂｅ　ｉ＇ｍ　ｗａｋｉｎｇ　ｕｐ ! ! ))
(( ｍａｙｂｅ　ｉ＇ｍ　ｗａｋｉｎｇ　ｕｐ ! ! ))
(( ｍａｙｂｅ　ｉ＇ｍ　ｗａｋｉｎｇ　ｕｐ ! ! ))

[frightened eyes]

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vincent has a habit of being more aware th
an he should be. as he grew older, he had a
sense that pepper was not truly his mother
and that for a reason unknown to him, his b
iological mother dumped him at the age of
five on the steps of stark towers and left, n
ot being seen or heard of since. he only had
his dad, who loves him more than anything.
vincent loves fiercely, and once he loves yo
u, he gives you his everything. break his he
art, and it’ll be so difficult to regain his tru
st again unless you can prove you’re sorry. k
iss his knuckles or his palms and he’ll melt.
he’s a very physically affectionate person, s
o small kisses or cuddling is everything to hi
m. however.... he’s never been in love.
xxxxxxxx

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— vincent aristotle-friday stark, goes by vinnie, vin, or friday
— kid, my boy, my son to tony, vincent to the avengers
— most embarrassing? pepper calls him sweetheart in public
— early age of twenty three, which makes his dad feel old
— homosexual/romantic, only his father knows that he’s gay

— his biological mother abandoned him at the age of five
— originally, tony raised him on his own; pepper helped too
— he ends up calling her “mom, mother” and she loves it
— he’s a son to her; they make one big, happy, loving family

— he’s very quiet, and very honest. a man of few words.
— he’s incredibly smart like his dad, and kind of a smartmouth
— he gets the sass and sharp tongue from his dad too

— a poet; catch him always writing poems, songs, and stories
— he loves to paint and sketch and draw, and do photography
— close friends with jane foster & peter parker
— has a preference for tea over coffee; it’s more soothing

— catch him awake at 1 am watching netflix
— has a hard time falling asleep due to nightmares + insomnia

[frightened eyes]

a feeling of shifting over his shoulders, and a soft groan fell from slightly parted lips as his eyes blinked slowly open. his vision was blurred for a moment, but he caught sight of a blond ponytail, and sighed as he realized an afghan had been placed to cover his form, flopped down on the couch in the common room, up to his shoulders. wincing at the light streaming in from the glass floor to ceiling windows, he propped himself up against the couch, the afghan sliding to his lap as he reached up to scrub his hands through his dark, touseled hair. a quick glance to the watch at his wrist told him it was five in the morning and he groaned again, rubbing his aching temples before he slid from the couch onto his feet, staggering to the kitchen sleepily to make himself a mug of tea.
unlike most of the inhabitants of the avengers tower, he preferred tea over caffeinated coffee—the herbal scents had always soothed him, especially with the headache he had now. he leaned his hips against the island as it brewed, running his fingers down his face, over his chin, tucking his thick, touseled hair behind his ears before taking a quick inventory of himself—the buttoned down shirt open at the collar, likely from his tossing and turning during the night—a result from frequently horrible dreams—and his regular pair of old sweatpants.
figuring he could change while his tea was brewing, he walked to the elevator, jabbing at the button for his floor with one finger. it took all of two minutes and the doors opened. he stepped out of the elevator, quietly walking down the hall and entering the passcode to his room before slipping inside.
it wasn’t the room of a normal teenager—it was practically bare, save for the dresser and a desk, the white sheets virtually untouched and stretched tight over his bed, free of wrinkles. the walls were a deep, calming navy blue—the walls were the only thing that really had changed in the room. he moved to the shower first, scrubbing shampoo through his hair before he stepped out, humming tunelessly underneath his breath as he changed into a dark shirt open at the collar, reveling an edge of his collarbone and the smooth skin of his throat, and dark pants riding low on the bones of his hips.
he took the elevator back down to the main floor where the common room he had slept in and the kitchen were located, unsurprised to see his father brewing black coffee the way he liked it. ”hey, kid.” he mumbled sleepily, pressing a kiss to vincent’s forehead before moving back to his coffee. ”morning, dad.” vincent responded as he carefully poured the hot herbal tea into a cup. not much was said—tony wasn’t exactly a morning person—before vincent moved back into the common room, flopping down on a seat with a sigh before raising the tea to his lips, unable to suppress the groan of happiness at the strong, herby flavor.
placing it on his lap for a moment he grabbed the remote, turning on netflix and letting out a happy hum as he watched the newest episode of one of his favorite shows. the other avengers came down to the common room one by one and half-awake, letting out mumbled greetings to vincent as they did so. vincent could only let out a soft laugh as clint rumpled his hair with one hand as he passed him on his way to the kitchen. tony appeared then, his coffee gripped in his hands as if it were his lifeline, and gave a tired nod to clint before taking the seat next to vincent, only half watching the show he was so enthralled with.

[sinensys]

sometimes he wondered if bucky barnes was still in there, a separate entity ripped directly from the previous century just to watch his hollow frame flair and flounder after that fall from the train. sometimes it made him angry that bucky barnes abandoned him, and now he had to face steve rogers' hope that he kept chipping and chipping away at. steve rogers expected bucky barnes when he brought a confused pit bull from the dog fighting ring. sometimes he found himself viciously hating bucky barnes in the still dark hours of the morning, hoping that the ghost cringed at rogers' crestfallen expression. so he sat in the dark more often than not, unable to shut down and fending off the creature with the equivalent of a wooden toothpick.

and then he would drag his sorry carcass to natasha, who seemed to regard him as an uninterested mother regards a child's chattering: mm, that's nice, dear. she was one if the few he could look in the eye and genuinely talk to. he should say that it was her understanding, but really it was the fact that she didn't treat him as a victim or like glass, even though he was probably both. she listened, and she reasoned with him. rationality appeased that creature - that creature dubbed doubt. natasha didn't speak to him in that hushed gentle voice like rogers, and she didn't speak to him in that clipped tone like most of the world and stark.

well, stark senior now, bucky supposed. bucky knew he had a son, but tony was stark in his head and vince was just vince. vince had a generally softer snark towards everyone, a toned down version of what steve tells him stark was when both he and steve can't sleep. something just above bucky's nape in his skull idly supplied the thought that it wasn't for long, since vince probably didn't know about his grandparents yet, likely. not that it really stopped bucky from interacting with one of the few people he could stand to be around for longer than twenty minutes until either self-loathing or the collective pity started strangling him.

and with that thought, bucky left his room, clad in a loose long sleeve shirt and sweatpants. he still shared a floor with steve, since he supposedly knew bucky best, but realostically it was probably because steve had the best chance of fighting off the winter soldier and bringing bucky back. or something like that. it just meant bucky was coddled by steve more often than he liked. he acknowledged that he was broken in ways that shouldn't have been possible, yet alone humane - he wasn't naive or optimistic. he knew there was a very slim chance of being "fixed," which already was a blurry word that held little to no power over bucky and his thoughts. but what bucky hated most was that steve expecting the old bucky back, or at least someone similar. natasha assured him that this was the bargaining phase of grief for someone who died decades ago, and reminded him that it was only a few years' time since steve had seen bucky, or the previous version he probably loved. it felt suffocating to try and fill in the mould that steve unknowingly tried to cast him in, and while it wasn't steve's fault per se, it didn't mean it didn't irritate bucky.

wasn't he allowed to be his own person? after everything happened, some selfish part of him wanted to cut bucky barnes out of him just so he could be himself. it felt ridiculous to some extent, but emotions were still relatively too new and hard for him to handle, yet alone explain.

steve wasn't up yet, it seemed, or he had either gone for a run or worked out in the gym. bucky would have gone, but it seemed like testing the already tense boundaries. he hadn't been here long, and it was under the condition that stark - tony - called the shots while steve kept bucky (or rather, the winter soldier, he guessed) under control. oh and that stark could mess with bucky's arm as much and whenever he wanted, since it was the murder weapon, technically. stark had removed the titanium arm the night before, leaving bucky with a poor sense of balance and no left arm. the left sleeve of his shirt hung down awkwardly, but bucky wasn't about to complain and pluck the already tense string for a sound he knew would disturb the atmosphere.

clint, sam, stark, natasha, and vince were already up by the times bucky left the elevator. he swept his gaze: vince and cliny watched something on the tv, stark sr. joining him with a mug of coffee, presumably, while sam and natasha bickered with one another in the kitchen, the former feigning offense while the latter effortlessly retorted. bucky moved to the kitchen quietly. the two there glanced at him but decided to ignore bucky, the bags under his eyes, and the empty left sleeve; he didn't know if that was for the best or worst. the simple act of getting a cup of black coffee was hindered slightly by the lack of an entire arm and sleep, but he managed before leaning against the island in the kitchen to peer over the lounge area. he stood there for several moments instead of heading to the couch to face stark, which he fekt was cowardly but not ridiculous. his fingers idly tapped the mug's handle, one of the few habits he'd fought to earn; now he could figit instead of the conditioned sniper still he had, previously. it was such a silly thing, but it felt like the victory of a long-fought war against hydra.

considering what he'd done to get where he was today, this was a fever dream. it certainly beat prison life.

[frightened eyes]

after a little while, vincent found his head in tony’s lap, his father idly tucking his hair behind his ears, humming to himself. and that was when bucky walked in—tired, missing his titanium arm, but a smile couldn’t help itself but rise to his lips at his appearance. ”good morning, bucky.” he spoke, not even realizing the words were past his lips before he spoke, but he didn’t mind, anyways. out of the corner of his eye he saw his father frown at the way vincent was watching the other, however he couldn’t really find it in himself to care.
he watches him as he moved to the kitchen, and after a few moments he can feel bucky’s eyes on the common room, and sacred a moment he moved from his father’s lap—tony giving a little groan of protest—to hook his arms over the couch and grin at him. ”come here, buck.” he says, moving his arms as if to reach for him, making his hands open and close like little kids usually did when they wanted something.
it was standard routine, these days—bucky would always go and get his coffee, and then vincent would pull him in and wrap his arms around him. it was their way, he mused, of saying hello—just gripping each other, and holding on tight as if the whole world were falling apart. he knew his father hated it, him touching bucky for whatever reason—but he didn’t care.
he knew bucky craved human touch as much as he did, and it was worth it—bucky was as warm as a teddy bear.


ooc: apologies for the size, wait, & quality of this post—was in a rush and just wanted to get this up!

[frightened eyes]

bumping the thread so it doesn’t fall off my page!