(Wakanda stevebucky cont) and Bucky probs doesn't have his arm?? So it's like, they've both obviously changed a lot, and both of them are kind of bothered by it, but they both acknowledge that they still have each other, u know?? Idk this is getting real smoopy on me real fast
ok this ALSO started out as something different and then just turned into introspective fluffy as fuck stucky sooooo
“You still have my tags?”
Bucky looks up from where he’s trying to close the bread bag, plastic clenched between his teeth as he twists it around with his right hand. He secures the clip back onto the bag and shoves it back into the pantry, putting his bread into the toaster.
On his chest, Steve’s dog tags dangle.
Bucky’s gaze darts down to where a dog tag chain falls below the neckline of Steve’s shirt.
“You still have mine?”
Steve’s hand reflexively goes to his chest, fingers ghosting over where Bucky can see the outline of his tags through his shirt. He fiddles a little with the hem afterwards and Bucky finds himself smiling fondly. It’s nice to know that Steve’s little fidgety habits haven’t changed.
“I mean, yeah,” Steve says, like there’s no reason he shouldn’t still have Bucky’s tags from that night they exchanged them in a foxhole in France. Fellas like them couldn’t have rings to seal the deal in those times, but there was something inherently final about the trade-- like they were dancing with death and love in equal measures, trusting that they’d come back to each other if the tags ever lived up to their purpose.
They have, Bucky realizes. They’ve come back to each other.
Bucky quirks an eyebrow, amused as his bread pops out of the toaster. “Well, there you go,” he says. Steve wordlessly passes him the almond butter.
“Oh, but-- did they let you keep the tags?” It’s a blunt question and there’s no need to ask who ‘they’ are, but Bucky’s honestly grateful that Steve never seems to doubt his ability to handle these kinds of conversations. He thinks he’d tear his hair out if Steve thought him fragile or something. They both know he’ll say something if he doesn’t want to talk about it-- Steve would do the same with his own slew of bullshit.
“No,” he says simply, and he remembers realizing that that was only the start of Hydra ripping away his autonomy-- identity. And it hurt something awful to watch them take his last line to Steve aside from the goddamn piece of his soul that they couldn’t touch. “But I managed to steal them back sometime in the 90s. I didn’t know why they were important, but I knew I needed them.”
Steve hums, but Bucky can tell he’s formulating his next question.
Sure enough, a moment later, he’s hopping up onto the counter and asking, “What are the goddamn odds?”
And okay, they’re addressing the fucking insanity that is their goddamn life together. Bucky hesitates around his toast, almond butter dripping down his wrist. He goes to wipe his mouth with his other hand before he remembers it’s not there anymore.
“Low,” he says matter of factly.
Steve laughs and reaches out to Bucky, only to steal a bite of his toast. Bucky huffs, but moves into the space between his thighs anyway. Steve wraps his legs around his waist and Bucky feels something in his chest settle-- a puzzle piece falling back into place like it does every time he has Steve Rogers in his orbit.
“No, but seriously,” Steve says, taking another bite. Bucky rolls his eyes, because Steve’s definitely just doing that to be annoying. He doesn’t even like almond butter. Or honey-wheat bread for that matter. “I used to wonder who the hell we pissed off in our last life to hand us such shitty cards, but now we’re here… together… and I never quite know what to think.”
Bucky chews thoughtfully and shoves the rest of his toast in his mouth before Steve can steal another bite. He wraps his arm around Steve’s waist and pats his butt affectionately.
“Me neither, for what it’s worth,” Bucky admits. “And it’s hard, because we’re so goddamn blessed to be here in so many ways, but the shit we went through to get here…”
“I don’t always think it was worth it,” Steve says and yeah, that’s what Bucky couldn’t quite get himself to say. “I wish you didn’t have to go through what you did--”
“--And I wish you didn’t have to fucking die--”
“--But it’s not even…” Steve’s eyes wander and he fiddles with his dog tag chain again. Bucky kind of wants to take his hands and kiss them-- he loves Steve’s artist hands. “It’s not that what we went through was worth it, but there’s so many what ifs and… and I’m just glad that we’re here now. With each other. In this moment.”
Bucky softens and he shifts forward to kiss Steve’s nose and brush his fingers over his lower back, making him squirm. “Yeah, that’s-- that’s a really great way to put it,” he says. There’s a vulnerability thrumming between them and Bucky lets it drive him forward, baring his back. “I used to worry that you’d be thrown off by how much I’ve changed.”
Steve cocks his head and studies him for a moment. “I changed too,” he points out. “We’ve changed. How I think of us has changed. I think that’s okay, though. We were always bound to change with time… we just had a unique way of doing so.”
Bucky breaks into a grin. “My goddamn optimist,” he says fondly. “Least that hasn’t changed.”
Steve blushes all the way down his chest and Bucky finally gives into the urge to kiss him soundly on the lips.
“That full body blush ain’t changed either,” Bucky whispers and Steve huffs, kicking him lightly on the thighs where his legs are still wrapped around his waist.
“Shut up,” Steve murmurs, then tilts his head into the kiss, deepening it.
“Gladly,” Bucky says and hauls him closer, letting their bodies slot into place. Right where they’re meant to be.
thanks for reading, y'all
If I were to start writing a Band of Brothers Stucky AU… would people actually be interested? Like. Thematically like 91w (a deancas fic) in case you have no idea what Band of Brothers is, but with my writing style and the boys are paratroopers and…
Anyway. I’m tempted.
Idk if ur still thinking abt this but for ur Wakanda stevebucky thoughts: Steve like, taking off his nomad suit, and thinking abt how it's pretty different from his other cap suits, and how he looks a lot different than when he wore his first cap suit. And Steve says smth like "do u regret following/staying w me, cause I've gotten u into a lot of shit" to Bucky and ofc Bucky's like "hell no?? Like I said, I'm following that kid from Brooklyn. No matter what he looks like." And then they kiss idk
man i started out with this in mind and then it turned into steve finally letting himself take a goddamn break and stucky cuddles but yeah
Steve’s reflection is blurred in the foggy mirror. It’s smudged out-- the only discernible things besides the concerning pallor to his skin the harsh purple bruising on his stomach and red gashes along his shoulders. He feels out of place in the stark cleanliness of Bucky’s quarters. But then again, he’s always felt a little bit like he only existed to drag dirt into Bucky’s life.
It was a haven, coming back to Wakanda. A privilege Steve was constantly grateful for and entirely aware of. So he doesn’t really know why he still feels like something in him has been torn apart. Mangled. Trodden down by exhaustion he hasn’t shed his whole life and ironically made worse by his seventy year sleep.
There’s a soft knock at the bathroom door and Steve jumps, eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It’s been nearly an hour since he got to Bucky’s place, trudging off the quinjet and shooing away Bucky’s worried pokes and prods. He knows he looks like shit, but that’s to be expected when being on the run still brings foes around every corner. Which is another thing he’s still working to digest: being on the run. It’s become routine by now, though. Finding shitty motels and eating take-out in too close quarters with Sam and Natasha and occasionally Wanda. He doesn’t regret his actions towards the Accords, but dammit, he was just starting to feel like he had carved out a place for himself in the current world. Found a routine that he could stomach. And he was used to change, sure. His whole life was a series of harrowing, extreme changes. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t getting sick of it.
Steve jumps again. Shit, he was losing time a lot more these days. He thought he’d left that awful habit in those first years out of the ice. He quickly rewraps his towel around his waist and scrubs a hand down his face, turning to open the door.
“Hey, sorry,” Steve says. Bucky is standing on the other side, looking soft and concerned in a pair of loose sleep shorts. He’s shirtless and Steve’s gaze lingers for a moment on the scarred area around where his left arm used to be. His stomach clenches. He could kill Tony for that.
“That’s alright,” Bucky says. “You were in there a long time.”
It’s a needless observation, but Steve knows Bucky’s really just asking if he’s okay. He sags, eyes falling towards the floor. He’s dripping onto the tile, creating a puddle around him that’s still a little mottled by dirt, despite having spent upwards of an hour in the shower. But most of that time had been spent sitting in the tub with his arms wrapped around his knees, desperately trying to crawl out of the corner of his mind he’d chased himself into.
“Yeah, just-- thinking,” he hedges, moving past Bucky and over to where his go bag holds a change of clothes, only to find that Bucky’s apparently unpacked for him while he was being a lump in the shower. He softens, suddenly achingly grateful as he drops the towel and pulls on a pair of boxers before sinking down on the edge of the bed.
Bucky sits next to him. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asks and Steve wants to move into his orbit-- give into that magnetic pull that draws him into Bucky’s arms, again and again.
He doesn’t, though, because shit, could he even? Is he allowed to take that comfort, still? Take that gentle touch-- that promise of safety? He doesn’t understand why Bucky wants him here, why he ever wanted him--
“I don’t get you,” he says, and it comes out harsher than he intended.
Bucky’s good at reading his tones, though, and he hums. “What don’t you get?”
“Why-- why you’re still here.”
“Here… as in Wakanda? Or here as in with you?”
He’s got Steve’s number now. Steve shrugs, staring down at his lap as he lifts his thumbnail to bite on it. It must be an answer in and of itself because a moment later, Bucky’s tugging at his elbow, coaxing him sideways into his warmth. Steve goes pliant, giving in. He curls close to Bucky’s chest and wonders if the scratch of his beard is annoying-- another thing that’s changed. Another thing he wonders if Bucky thinks anything of. It’s so inconsequential, but Steve’s brain seems insistent upon dwelling these days.
“Baby, talk to me,” Bucky nudges and Steve feels tears well in his eyes. It’s a surprise-- he hasn’t cried in months-- and it throws him off enough that he’s helpless to the shuddering sob that rips out of his chest.
“Why do you stay?” he cries. “I feel like all I do is get you into shit and-- and hurt you and--”
“You don’t, though,” Bucky cuts in, hitching him closer. “You’ve always given me choices-- which is something I will never take for granted again for the record-- and I choose to follow you. Ain’t nothing on you that we keep getting shit thrown at us.”
Steve sniffles and shrugs, unconvinced. It’s quiet for a long moment.
“I can tell that isn’t everything that’s eating at you,” Bucky says and his gentle tone is almost enough to have Steve sobbing again. “What’s going on?”
Steve hesitates and allows himself to examine the thoughts that have been swirling around in his head for some time now. He takes in a shaking breath and lets it out slowly.
“I’m so tired,” he says.
“Tired like you need a nap tired? Or tired like you’re done?” And Bucky doesn’t need to clarify what ‘done’ means for Steve to know.
Steve huffs and leans his weight heavier into Bucky’s side. Bucky lets them fall back with a small ‘oof’ and allows Steve to tuck close. Steve hides his face in his neck.
“Tired like I’m done, but god, Buck-- I-- I don’t wanna be done,” he says.
“You don’t have to be,” Bucky says, like it’s that simple. “Take a break, sweetheart. It sounds like you’ve needed it for a while. When you’re ready to get back out there, that can be your choice.”
And maybe it is that simple. The exhaustion is spreading now, siphoning through his limbs and taking over his whole body, making him sag with it.
Bucky must feel him go limp, because he mutters a soft, “That’s it,” which Steve doesn’t really understand, but that’s alright. It’s soothing.
“I can stay here? With you?” he asks after a long moment.
Bucky hitches him closer. “Nowhere I’d rather have you.”
Steve lets out a last, heaving breath and untucks his head, feeling lighter.
“Okay,” he agrees, and Bucky smiles, leaning down to kiss his nose, then his lips.
“Okay,” Bucky says back, and for the first time in a while, Steve feels like he’s home.
thanks for reading, y'all
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Hi, I’m not back right now, but it was just brought to my attention by my friend that dark!fic writers on here are getting some hate and I just want to say something. Just because you write something doesn’t, mean you are a bad person, just because you read something doesn’t, mean you are a bad person either. So many of the writers who I follow and who follow are some of the most amazing people in real life! I started reading dark!fics as a way to cope with what I went through, it was a form of therapy, was it an ideal way? No, but it helped me, deal with my trauma on my terms and honestly I owe a lot to the dark!fic writers. They did more for me than my first 3 therapist did, after the trauma I went through as a teen. Most stories here on tumblr are tagged with trigger warnings (tw’s:) letting you know what to be aware of helping you avoid a story so you don’t read it! As consumers of fanfiction its up to us to block our triggers, to read the descriptions the writers should be giving us (there are some who do not give descriptions, those stories I don’t even bother to read.) and decide if it’s even worth it. Don’t be attacking writers on tumblr, Wattpad, AO3, FF.net or anywhere you consume your content, telling them to off them self, that in itself is triggering and disgusting behavior.
Hey Writer! Keep writing and being your amazing self because I’m so thankful for you for supplying us readers with content, and writing inspiration!
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Fandom: Captain America (Movies)
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker
Additional Tags: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019, Werewolves, Vampires, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Slurs, Period Typical Bigotry, Pining, Unreliable Narrator, Idiots in Love
Once upon a time, Steve Rogers was a werewolf.
Then came the super serum and he wasn't anymore. That's about the time Bucky Barnes got turned into a vampire. Then Steve crashed the Valkyrie and Bucky became The Winter Soldier.
But they got better.
Then Steve starts protesting for werewolf rights and Bucky loses hjs job. Steve runs afoul of the goverment - again - and Bucky's pining for his best friend - still. Because when has anything ever gone right?
I can’t rec this strongly enough, Bucky’s pining is so well done, and the bond between them, and Steve being a dumbass… really, just read it!
I need some fic recs where Bucky is basically in like fully feral Winter Soldier mode and doesn’t know why he knows Steve but he knows he needs to Protect. I love A/B/O but doesn’t need to be.....
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Hi Minnie!!! I am not sure if you will be able to help me, but I have an inner need for a fic. I am not looking for a specific fic just a theme/topic.
I NEEEEEED to read a fic (or hopefully more) where the Avengers didn't know that Steve is into men. And then Bucky gets recruited and they don't even try to hide their relationship. And the team is just staring at the wide-eyed.
Or something along the lines of Secret-relationship coming to light.
Thank you for the help in advance!!!
Hi darling! So, this is basically one of my favourite tropes too, which is why I'm appalled at myself that I can't seem to think of any fics like this right now 😩 I have written two fics roughly along those lines myself, Rare Is This Love (Keep It Covered), and I Spy With My Little Eye, and I'm so sure I've read lots of fics like this, but I can't remember titles 🥺 If anyone else has any good recs, please let nonnie and me know!! Thank you! 🙏🏻
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Hi, Minnie! Do you have any recommendations for a Stucky fic that it is well written, not afraid of more adult themes, but also is pretty light on the angst? I can’t handle a ton of angst right now. It can be set in the current time, the past, AU. Shrinkyclinks.... anything. Just on the lighter end of the angst spectrum if there is angst. ￼￼Thank you!
Hi lovely! As someone who also doesn't read too much angst, I think I know what you mean! A lot of these I rec'ed yesterday as well, so sorry for the repeat, but I'm just taking a few from my bookmarks right now because I'm a bit too busy right now to branch out, hope that's ok! These are all really good though!! <3
Waking Up Slow by odetteandodile
To Seek A Nood-er World by jehans
Grab Your Things (I've Come to Take You Home) by belovedmuerto
Critical Feline Mass by Kryptaria, zooeyscigar
Prince Charming by Brenda (beware of some very brief and meaningless bucky/others & steve/others before they figure their shit out)
much tattoo about nothing by Deisderium
Somebody Told Me by crinklefries
don't threaten me with a good time by canistakahari
Short Circuit by Chiyume
Unusual Weather by novembersmith
And there are some more in my bookmarks, the public ones of which you can find here! Hope that helps xxx
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Lies (23k words, completed)
There are moments in a man's life that come to shape who he is. These things are rooted deep into our psyche, and without great effort, remain there. Like weeds in the overgrown garden of a widower, the soul becomes overwhelmed by these moments, until it is easier to just sit back, and watch the weeds grow.
A canon-compliant story exploring the emotional and romantic journey between Steve and Bucky, from childhood to 2024, answering the question, why would Steve leave? And how did it affect Bucky?
Read the full story on ao3 or ff.net.
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congratulations on 500 tortle!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉
for the prompts for stucky: hand?
thank you, love!! sorry these are taking so impossibly long and also that this is plotless, but here's almost 800 words because i am incapable of writing short things!
Steve had always been fascinated with Bucky’s hands.
They were a juxtaposition, an expression of two sides to the same coin. To Steve, they were so much of who Bucky was as a person.
Where Steve’s hands had always been long-fingered and delicate despite the frequency of his bruised knuckles, Bucky’s hands were those of a man’s by the time he was fifteen. It was when he dropped out of school and started working at the docks, Steve supposed, that they transformed into what they become in Brooklyn.
They were big, and strong, and tanned from all the hours under the relentless harbor sun. Thick calluses covered Bucky’s palms and fingers, and his knuckles were never free from the skirmishes he’d helped Steve out of. They were stained with dirt and riddled with splinters. Steve remembers George, Bucky’s Pa, commenting on them at some family dinner. ‘A real man’ he’d called Bucky, like his hands were proof of his masculinity.
And yet, Bucky’s hands were kind. They were always warm and soft and forgiving, even when they looked like they were anything but. Where they were strong and affirming to the boxes they hauled on the docks and the punches they threw at assholes, they were, to Steve, impossibly tender. When they cleaned Steve’s wounds or brushed his sweaty hair back, Steve could swear there were never any calluses on them at all. Even after the longest day at work in the coldest January, Bucky’s hands were still soft and hot when he came home and ruffled Steve’s hair and went to warm up some supper.
In his weakest moments, Steve wondered how those hands, those beautiful versatile hands, would feel against his skin. But only in his dreams, when he couldn’t control his wandering mind, would Steve begin to imagine. Mostly, he tried his damndest not to think about it.
Instead he drew them, a lot, and watched with an affectionate fascination as Bucky punched a man and then patched up Steve’s cheek and then helped Mr. O’Leary haul furniture up the stairwell.
When he could, he would hold Bucky’s hands, for just a moment. In Brooklyn, it was rare; a small moment of comfort on cold nights or after a hard day. In Europe, it was more common; a tactile reassurance of life after a particularly bad fight.
Steve reveled in the fact that even his bigger hands still seemed to fit in Bucky’s perfectly. Even now, when they were nearly matched in size, Steve’s hands were still the same slender delicate one, always covered in gloves, where Bucky’s hands bore the toughness of war.
And while they always smelled like gunpowder and had black-smudged calluses covering the whole palm, they still touched Steve gently, and ignited a warmth that was anything but rough. Steve watched them shoot a rifle, and wished they would go back to cutting Becky’s hair and making him breakfast.
They would, soon, he promised himself, but then he failed to keep them safe. He couldn’t count the number of times he reached out for Bucky’s hands, felt their reassuring strength around his own, but that one time -- that one damn time -- he couldn’t grab it. Steve knew he would never forgive himself, even as he saved the lives of a million New Yorkers.
Then, against all odds, seventy-one years later, he takes Bucky’s hand again.
They’re in the car, squeezed thigh to thigh on their drive out of Berlin and to the Leipzig airport, and Steve can’t even begin to express how he’s feeling right now. Scared, yes; Dreading a hard fight, yes; but so incredibly overjoyed at having Bucky back, even just part of him, because living without him is just surviving.
Still, he’s cautious with his tactile affection, because the last thing he wants to do now is drive Bucky away, to give him any possible reasons to be scared of Steve. He probably hasn’t been touched in years, not without hostile intention, and Steve feels sick at the mere thought of it.
Carefully, and slowly enough that Bucky can catalogue his movement and intention, Steve reaches out to take Bucky’s right hand. Bucky lets him, and freezes for just a moment before he relaxes into the touch and wraps his fingers around Steve’s.
His hands are still the same warm assurance they always were, with thick calluses and strong fingers. Steve holds on just a bit tighter.
It will be weeks before Bucky grabs Steve’s hands of his volition, and months before he feels comfortable enough with his metal arm to let Steve love it, too, but in due time, Steve’s sketchbooks fill with charcoal stained pages of Bucky’s strong fingers once again.
And maybe, with a little courage, he’ll even get to kiss them, and feel them on his skin. (Bucky laughs when he notices the fixation, but of course he doesn't complain in the slightest.)
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ᴋᴇʏ / sᴍᴜᴛ ⛓ ғʟᴜғғ ꕤ
setting off @quietmyfearswith ꕤ
the man with a plan ⛓
converse @buckyswhcre ꕤ
together @chrissquares ⛓
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Hey everyone! posted the prologue of my stucky fan fic on ao3
heres the link!
Bucky and Wanda 'meet' for the first time - and it's sweet.
I am working on a series of little one-shotty fics that center around Bucky's recovery in a semi-AU timeline where he interacts with basically all of the Avengers at different points - with massive Stucky undertones throughout. If y'all are into this kinda thing, check it out xoxo
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hi! ive tried looking for not easily conquered and i can’t seem to find it and i would love to read it😅do you by chance have a link?
Here you go, love! 😘 Not Easily Conquered <3
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Can u pls tell me ur fav stucky modern au fics???
Ooohh there are so many, and I only started bookmarking relatively late after my Stucky discovery, so a lot of them I can't actually recall titles of which is really sad ☹️ But! Since I have started keeping track, these are some from my bookmarks, in no particular order:
A Hard Case of You by Chiyume
I just met you (and this is crazy) by littlesystems
Critical Feline Mass by Kryptaria, zooeyscigar
Bucky Barnes Has His Shit Together (and Other Lies He Tells Himself) by betts
I just need you to show me by lockedlocke
Make My Wish Come True (all i want for christmas is you) by chicklette
A Political Holiday by crinklefries, Deisderium
much tattoo about nothing by Deisderium
Put It on Repeat, It Stays the Same by giselleslash
Prince Charming by Brenda
Like Real People Do by 2bestfriends (this one is actually Shrunkyclunks but it’s so good so I’ll leave it on here anyway :p)
Waking Up Slow by odetteandodile
deep dive by Deisderium
Say it louder for the people in the back by redhook
Hope that helps! 😘
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A Return to Self: Bucky Barnes Ficlets
hello hello, under the cut i have the start of what i hope to be a series of little one-shots of bucky becoming bucky again after being the winter soldier for so long. if y'all are interested, i'd love to keep writing these xoxo find me on threewick on ao3 where i'll post them from here on out!
The doctor tells him to start small.
“It’s good to talk, James. Just to get into the habit. Just a greeting - a ‘hello,’ and that can be it.”
She had said it like it was easy. She said everything like it was easy, like it was within his reach. Bucky liked that about her.
He liked a bunch of things about her. She was teaching him to like things again, starting with the way she spoke to him - not like he was wounded, or stupid, or dangerous. But with a warm curiosity that somehow matched the way she balanced her clipboard on her knee and cocked her head after she asked him a question.
He liked the way she wore her yellow hair up in a twist, and the way little strands of it loosened and corkscrewed around her temples. He liked how the soft skin at the corners of her eyes and mouth had deep lines even when her expression was neutral, like she’d spent so much time smiling that it had permanently etched itself onto her face.
He had lines like that, too, but they were across his forehead, gauged in by scowling. The Winter Soldier had scowled a lot, he’d been told. And had spoken very little.
Some of the Winter Soldier’s habits had seemingly, over the years, become Bucky’s habits. Sometimes he was scared to find out just how many.
But he could start small by talking.
“How does that sound, James? Just a ‘hello.’ Just to the people on your list.”
The doctor had made him make a list of all the people he could potentially feel comfortable around. She had wanted a list of everyone he already did feel comfortable around, but had ‘hmm’d in a tone of kind disapproval when he’d handed the paper back with a single name on it:
So she’d expanded it to everyone who could, maybe, one day see himself feeling comfortable around. And it had grown by four:
STEVE. RHODES. BANNER. SAM.
And, crossed out twice before being rewritten in a precise, clear hand:
He had intentionally left off Stark and the Maximoff girl. They both made him uneasy. And it wasn’t that he disliked Thor and Vision; he just didn’t understand them yet. Gods and Visions hadn’t existed the last time Bucky had been Bucky, and he needed some time to adjust.
So he had his list.
“Can you do that?” she prompted, head cocked, warm and gentle as ever. For some reason he didn’t hate speaking with her. Maybe because he rarely spoke; it was mostly nods and shrugs, an occasional grunt. Monosyllabic answers.
“Yes,” he finally said.
His doctor beamed at him as if he’d just offered her the entirety of the world and a clean bill of his own mental health. It was almost enough to make him smile back - almost.
At least he wasn’t scowling.
Stark was letting him stay at the tower.
Bucky had resisted at first; everything about it screamed no, screamed claustrophobia and too many eyes and too high in the air and too much oversight and where was Steve. He had lived well enough on his own before all of this, lurking as he’d been in alleyways, squatting in luxe spare houses that sat empty for months at a time, breaking and entering as he saw fit and never leaving a trace.
“Thank you. No,” he’d said stiffly, repeating himself intermittently during gaps in Steve and Stark’s arguing match, the pair of them talking over one another at increasingly high volumes, neither of them seemingly aware that Bucky didn’t want either option - he didn’t want to live under Stark’s thumb but he didn’t want to live with Steve, either. He was tired of being at the behest of other people, though he could see Stark’s point, even as inelegantly as he’d put it:
“We can’t just have one of the world’s most sophisticated weapons curled up at the foot of your bed like a pet, Rogers, not when he’s about as mentally stable as Vision after a Nora Ephron movie.”
“He’s my friend, Stark - he needs to be with me -”
“Or do you need to be with him?”
“Just because you can’t understand what actual friendship feels like -”
“Thank you. No.”
“- Doesn’t mean that you can belittle what I’m trying to do here, what progress Bucky’s made -”
“Counterpoint, Capsicle, Benedict Arnold here gets triggered by some Russian and strangles you in your sleep -”
“Thank you. No.”
“He wouldn’t do that -”
“There need to be protective measures to look out for civilians -”
“There need to be protective measures to look out for Bucky -”
“Thank you. No.”
“- So that Anton Chigurh over here doesn’t go on a rampage -”
“No one’s going on a rampage, Tony, for goodness’ sake -”
“I’m just saying, he needs to be where we can see him, where we can intervene if anything goes wrong -”
“FINE! Fine, we’ll both stay here!”
“Thank you. N- what?” Bucky had stared at Steve, scowling again, trying to work out how he felt about this development. Neither Steve nor Tony seemed to have noticed; for someone they were both so concerned about keeping tabs on, it was worth noting that both seemed to go completely deaf and blind to his presence when heated. Steve only gave Stark a heated glare before adding a stipulation.
“But you’re covering the rent on my apartment, Tony.”
“Oh, golly gee, a squat in Brooklyn, however will I afford it?!”
That’s how Bucky had come to be living - temporarily - at Stark Tower, where he was in proximity to the people on his list. Granted, he did spend most daylight hours in his room; he had gotten accustomed to a nocturnal sleep schedule and still found the bustle of the tower during work hours off-putting, even on the domestic floors, so he’d taken to sleeping during the day and exploring at night.
‘Prowling,’ Stark called it. ‘Perimeter checks,’ Romanoff countered, kinder. ‘Bucky stuff,’ Steve said, always with a smile.
Whatever it was, it meant he didn’t always run into other people, which he preferred. Steve was the one he saw most frequently, and even that wasn’t every day, though he did ensure that Steve was present and every morning, midday, and evening.
But his doctor had told him to start small. He could do that. He could start small.
It was just after ten o’clock and Bucky knew that this was the time Steve usually returned from the tower’s gym, hair damp from the shower, face freshly shaved, always wearing gray sweatpants and a white shirt. It was routine - Bucky liked routine. Sometimes he wondered if Steve knew that and he made himself predictable on purpose.
Usually, at this time, Bucky was in the kitchen off of the common area, putting together something for ‘breakfast.’ Steve would always step out of the elevator and greet him with his toothpaste-commercial smile: “Hey, Buck.” Sometimes Bucky would smile back. Sometimes he wouldn’t. It depended on which nightmares he’d just woken up from.
Tonight, though. Tonight he was ready.
He had a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs untouched in front of him and he waited, watching the elevator. The numbers suddenly began to tick - 32. The gym floor. Climbing up, up, up, until they settled on 84, the doors sliding open to reveal Steve, damp and clean, gray and white. He saw Bucky and his expression lit up the way it always did when he saw Bucky, and he opened his mouth -
“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said, beating him to the punch.
Steve’s answering grin could’ve powered the tower for a week.
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Bucky Barnes, you have three days. It's not enough time but it's all the time you've got. I'm sorry. This isn't what you wanted.
For @eusuntgratie and @jaybrogers, both of whom I wouldn't have in my life if it weren't for Bucky Barnes. This is a farewell fic to the Stucky fandom, Bucky is still hugely important to me, but I no longer have any more stories to tell about him. Maybe that'll change, I don't know. But for now, this is it, not a bang, but a whimper. Thanks for tagging along on this journey with me since 2014 (!) and I'm sorry I'm Teen Wolf trash now. I'm as embarrassed as you are, believe me.
Bucky Barnes, you are so loved.
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Mikey!! Have any ~spicy headcanons~ to share??
ok so i didnt really have any headcanons that i could think of so i wrote a fic instead
i really hope you meant spicy like the wink wonk spicy or else this is going to be really awkward but... take some pre-war boys in love!
content: NSFW 18+!!
Into Your Arms
A gentle hand on Steve’s chest wakes him with a start. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but it had been a long morning filled with restocking shelves at the local grocer for Mr. Martinelli and it must have worn Steve out more than he realized. Looking back, though, it makes sense. He’s still trying to kick that recent cold that had knocked him on his backside for upwards of a week and his body must have tired out quicker than usual. Which is saying something seeing as he’s always fatigued.
The hand smooths down over his heart and Steve melts, Bucky’s familiar scent washing over him. Sweat, cinnamon, and the slightly salty-sour smell of the docks. Only Bucky can make it work. Only Bucky can make Steve absolutely ravenous, stinking with sweat or freshly bathed.
“Shh, s’just me,” Bucky murmurs and Steve rolls over, blinking tiredly up at him. Bucky softens, but there’s a certain darkness to his eyes. Stress and something else. Something that makes Steve’s cock stir in his boxer shorts.
Steve smiles blearily and rakes his eyes unabashedly over Bucky’s frame. He’s stripped down to his own boxer shorts and tank top, his hair sweaty and curling over his forehead. Steve reaches up to tug at a lock before brushing it out of his eyes.
“Long day?” he asks, shifting backwards as Bucky takes the motion as an invitation to climb onto the bed and over Steve’s body. Steve settles back against his measly pillow, spreading his legs and letting Bucky shift between them. They’re both hard now.
“Very,” Bucky says, leaning down to kiss Steve’s jaw, trailing back to his ear and nipping at his earlobe. “Was wondering if my fella might help me unwind.”
Steve smiles and lets his fingers sink into the short strands at the nape of Bucky’s neck, tilting his head away to allow Bucky access to that sensitive spot just below his jaw.
“He might be up for it,” Steve mutters, eyes fluttering shut as Bucky takes the hint and starts pressing feather light kisses down his neck.
He’s shirtless and Bucky trails his hands down his sides, making him whimper and squirm. He latches onto one of Steve’s nipples and Steve’s back arches, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp.
“Glad to hear it,” Bucky says, voice low and rough. It drives Steve insane every time he hears that particular cadence to Bucky’s tone-- pure and raw. “Been thinking about you all damn day… such pretty noises you make, sweetheart.” Steve whines softly as Bucky’s hand trails down over his belly and onto his cock, cupping him through his boxers. “Just like that.”
“God, Buck…” Steve breathes, eyes rolling back as he rolls his hips into Bucky’s grip. “You make me fucking crazy.”
“Mmm,” Bucky hums, working Steve with his hand until he’s sure he’s going to come in his fucking shorts before they can even do anything. Bucky must sense this, because he pulls away, stripping off his tank top before reaching down to run his fingers under Steve’s waistband, waiting for permission.
“Yes,” Steve agrees and lifts his hips to let Bucky pull down his boxers, spreading his legs as soon as they’re gone.
Bucky moans, pausing to stare. Steve blushes, suddenly shy as he often gets when he’s so spread out, his cock curving up towards his stomach, hard and leaking at the tip. He holds his ground, though, staring straight back and reaching out to tug at Bucky’s boxers.
“Please,” he whispers, and Bucky chuckles, leaning down to kiss Steve as he works off his shorts.
“I gotcha, sweetheart,” Bucky says, letting Steve finish undressing him as he reaches up to cup his jaw.
They lay together, bodies melding together and falling into a familiar rhythm as they kiss. Bucky’s tongue slips into Steve’s mouth and he moans quietly, heart slamming in his chest-- as thrilled as the first time they did this together. It’s been three years now that they’ve been dancing this dance and Steve still feels that novel excitement. The knowledge that they beat the odds and chose to love despite the world telling them otherwise stoking the fire in his soul and making it burn brighter.
Bucky’s hand has found his cock again and moves down to roll his balls in his palm. Steve gasps, breaking their kiss and pressing his face into Bucky’s shoulder, hiding his moans in the skin there. There’s a moment where Bucky pauses his ministrations to press a soft kiss to Steve’s hair-- a promise-- and Steve wants to crawl under his damn skin and live there.
Then Bucky’s fingers tease his hole and Steve can’t stand it anymore.
“Buck,” he groans. “Get the-- it’s under--”
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees and pulls away just long enough to lean over the side of the bed and dig into the shoebox they keep underneath for the vaseline. The familiar sound of the lid being screwed off has Steve’s cock twitching again on instinct, his hole clenching around nothing like it knows what’s coming.
Steve watches with rapt attention as Bucky warms some petroleum jelly between his fingers. Bucky looks at him and smiles-- lopsided and sweet and every bit of softness that Steve can never quite seem to get right when he sketches him. He reaches up to trace a finger down his strong jaw and Bucky leans into the touch, smiling wider.
“You ready, sweetheart?” he asks.
Steve smiles back. “Yeah,” he says and spreads his legs wider. Bucky looks down and his eyes get impossibly darker.
“Yes, you are,” he moans and reaches down to circle his pointer finger around Steve’s rim before pressing in.
The sensation never fails to shock Steve a little and his eyes widen as Bucky slowly breaches that tight ring of muscles. He’s watching Steve, as he always does, for signs of discomfort as he begins to work Steve open, purposefully avoiding that little bundle of nerves inside him. Steve is shaking by the time Bucky’s worked another finger in, clinging to his shoulders and biting his lip to stay quiet.
By the time he’s sufficiently open, there are tears leaking down the sides of his face. Bucky kisses them away as he pulls his fingers out, swallowing Steve’s whine in a kiss.
“Just gotta get myself ready, then I’ll take care of you,” Bucky promises, their lips barely parting.
“Please,” Steve manages and Bucky huffs out a breathy laugh, pushing himself up and reaching down to gather more petroleum jelly.
The sound of Bucky working the jelly over his cock is obscene and Steve bucks his hips up into nothing, desperate and wanting.
“Be patient, darling,” Bucky chastises with no real heat. He holds Steve’s hips down and lines up his cock with his hole. Steve stills, holding his breath as he waits.
And then-- God-- and then Bucky’s pushing in and Steve’s lips part as his head spins. They slot like the last two pieces of a puzzle, moving together in tandem to fit seamlessly. Bucky adjusts his weight as Steve automatically wraps his legs around his waist, drawing them closer and urging Bucky the rest of the way in.
“Fuck,” Bucky grunts, forehead resting against Steve’s as they breathe together, adjust to the fullness; the tightness.
“I know,” Steve says.
Bucky starts to move, his strong hips thrusting forward as he fucks into Steve, slow so that the bed doesn’t creak too much. It’s frustrating as hell, but Steve almost enjoys the torture of being taken apart so carefully. Their breaths mingle together and Steve lifts his head to nip at Bucky’s bottom lip.
Bucky complies, kissing him soundly, his hips barely faltering as it grows more heated. Steve loses time, he thinks-- Bucky brings him out of his head in the best way possible. Nothing exists in the moment except for their bodies, the sounds of the city muted as they meld together, joined at their very core. Art, made between them, and Steve wants to smudge the rest of the world out with paint.
Steve comes first, back arching as he soundlessly releases onto his stomach, his hole clenching around Bucky’s cock and sending him over the edge a moment later. His release fills Steve up and they come down to the sensation of his come seeping back out of his hole. Steve shudders, and keeps his legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, wishing he could keep him buried inside him forever. Keep him to himself, because he’s a selfish man. He knows that. He wants this forbidden love and he wants it all to himself.
But then Bucky’s pulling out and Steve is brought incrementally back down to earth. He hides his disappointment in another kiss, but Bucky can read him like a goddamn book, because he rolls them over and hoists Steve up, carrying him to the other bed and laying them both down. It settles something in Steve, because the only thing better than being fucked by Bucky is being held by him. Safe in his arms. Secure in the knowledge that Bucky’s love spans beyond their bodies.
Bucky carefully cleans the release off Steve’s stomach and thighs with the corner of his blanket and Steve’s chest flutters with gratitude. He doesn’t like to stay sticky and Bucky knows that.
He curls closer to Bucky, sated and content. Bucky kisses his forehead, hand splaying between his shoulder blades. His thumb brushes over Steve’s spine and he shivers, resting his good ear over Bucky’s heart and letting his arms tuck close to his chest between them.
“I love you,” Bucky says, and Steve can hear his heart beat faster. He smiles.
“I love you, too.”
Outside, the sounds of the city start to filter back into Steve’s awareness, no longer in that suspended haven that sex provides. But that’s okay, because Bucky’s love is a haven that never fades away.
Thanks for reading!
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Imagine that the reader is married to stucky and they have two twin daughters. Now they both are planning with their mum for surprising their dadies in on father's day. A lot of fluff on how they surprise him🥺🥺🥺
strength is something you choose
pairing: Stucky x Reader
warnings: pure fluff!
a/n: thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! happy fathers day! title is from I Learned From You by Miley and Billy Ray Cyrus.
Bucky was the first to wake up.
he rolled over, and his heart sank when he saw that you weren’t there. then, he remembered it was father’s day, and you were most likely in the kitchen with your two girls, Grace and Aurorra.
his eyes traveled to Steve, who was still sound asleep on his side of the bed. his arm was still extended over the bed, having not moved from when you slithered out of this grasp. Bucky slid over, and lifted the arm, cuddling himself underneath, and next to his husband. Steve grunted slightly and mumbled something about Tony being an asshole, his hand fisting in Bucky’s shirt, but he settled down again.
Bucky lifted a hand, and traced Steve’s lips, always cherry red and kissable. he ran his flesh hand through the light brown, almost red, hair of his facial hair that Steve let grow after the girls were born. he never had time to shave when they were newborns, and it just became habit. it was short but thick, a manageable length, while also incredibly soft, a sign that he took care of it religiously, which he did. he didn’t want to scratch up the skin of his little girls, or you and Bucky, despite how much you and Bucky claim to love his beard burn.
Bucky leant up, and pressed a kiss to the lips of his husband, who stirred, and kissed him back. “i love you.” Bucky whispered. “thank you for making me a daddy.” Steve laughed quietly, and pulled Bucky closer.
“you were made for it. even in the fourties, i hoped that some way, some how, we’d be parents. i saw the way you were with Becca. you were meant to be a father, baby.” he whispered, and Bucky chuckled.
“taking care of you gave me good experience with that.” he said and Steve pressed another kiss to his lips. he was rolled onto his back, Steve slotting his body between Bucky’s legs, the kiss deepening. Steve pulled his lips off of Bucky's for a brief moment. "happy fathers day," Steve said, smiling down at the man he'd never thought he'd get to marry. just as Bucky opened his mouth to respond, the door opened, and your two little girls, followed by you, came barrelling in the room.
"Daddy! Papa!" Aurorra screamed, climbing on the bed. Steve pushed himself off of Bucky, and pulled Aurorra into his lap, while Grace climbed on top Bucky, and snuggled into his chest. "made you b'ekfast," Grace said.
"thank you baby girls, that was so sweet of you." Bucky said, running his hands through Grace's hair, prompting giggles from her. the twins, while polar opposites, were 100% Steve. that was never in question. when the three of you were trying to conceive, Bucky was just coming off of his medication, so his sex drive was virtually non existent, so the three of you made the decision that Steve would biologically father the first baby. one baby ended up being two, and you swore after that that you would only have Bucky's babies.
Aurorra was high energy and excitable, and could be a little bossy at times, which was Steve out in the field, where as Grace was more mellow and quiet, and desperate to be a good person, which was Steve at home.
you set the tray with both of your husbands breakfast down before pressing a kiss to Bucky's lips. you bit your lips before your next sentence. "did you see their shirts?" you asked, and both men looked at you, before lifting their respective girl away from their bodies to look at the shirts on the 3 year olds.
"big sister?" Bucky said, utterly confused.
Aurorra felt her pockets, and gave you a panicked look just before Grace sat up. "oh, I have it Rors, we mixed up our pants." she said, before pulling out a small stick from her pocket.
Bucky sat up and read it. he quickly deciphered what the two lines meant, and looked back at you in shock. "you're pregnant?" he asked, looking between you and Steve, who had a knowing look on his face.
"yeah I am, baby." you said. you ran a hand through his hair, and smiled at the look of disbelief on his face. his eyebrows pinched together as he did the math. he looked back at you, tears rimming in his blue eyes. "is it-" he asked, unable to finish the sentence.
"yeah, baby. it's yours." you said, and hugged Bucky to your chest as he sobbed in happiness. you turned to the girls. "why don't you two go and get your presents for Dada and Papa." you said, and the girls nodded, before jumping off the bed and running out of the room, talking about where they hid them.
"I-it's mine?" Bucky asked as he was pulled into Steve's arms.
"yeah sweetie. I didn't say that I'd only have your babies from now on for no reason." you said, just as the girls came back in with two gift bags. one red, for Steve, the blue one for Bucky. they took their respective bags, and opened them, both boys tearing up at the pictures inside.
"of course the got your art skills," Bucky said, admiring the gold and black arm that was from Aurorra, judging by the writing on the bottom that looked more like Anrna than her actual name. he looked over at Steve who was complimenting Grace on how well she drew his shield.
Bucky pulled Aurorra into his lap, and pressed a kiss to her cheeks. "you're such an artist, aren't ya doll?" and she nodded.
"yeah, Daddy. so is Grace." Bucky pressed another kiss to her cheeks before pulling you into bed with the others. Aurorra climbed out of your lap to go compliment her sisters work, and Bucky placed his hand on your lower belly.
"thank you so much, this means so much to me." he whispered, and you smiled at him.
"happy fathers day."
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