#rillers scribbles

[rillils]

STEVE & BUCKY'S LOVE STORY, UNABRIDGED SOMEWHAT ABRIDGED, part 2/3 (here is part 1)

picking up from where we left off:

some 65 years into the future, steve's plane is fished out of the ice, and they find him, frozen like a sexy hot-dayum popsicle, but still alive thanks to the same super serum that made him go from Smol to Lorge.

steve is thus brought back into the world, but it's a world he no longer recognizes after all these years; a world where all the people he used to know and love are long dead, and his own face has been turned into a tool for propaganda over the years. obviously, he has a hard time adjusting, and he turns to fighting again, joining this group of kinda possibly superheroes, aka the avengers.

lots of exciting new things happen, sure; but steve is still pretty miserable. until one day, a mysterious masked assassin dressed in bondage gear (but not really), and sporting one very shiny metal arm (!!!!), is sent to kill steve's sort-of-boss. and then to kill steve himself. oh no!!

in what is possibly the most gripping, most visually pleasing hand-to-hand fight sequence in the history of cinema,

(NO BUT SERIOUSLY, all jokes aside, if you've never watched it then please do bc it's!!! *shrieks* so fucking good!!!)

a fight sequence which also happened to unlock both steve's and an entire fandom's competence kink with that little sexy knife-flipping trick alone -- i know you know what i'm talking about, don't you lie to me babes--

as i was saying, steve manages to knock the mask off of his opponent's face. and who do you think appears before him? can you guess??

DING DING DING!!! EXACTLY!!! IT'S HIS LONG-LOST BAE BUCKY! who apparently doesn't recognize him??

confused and upset, steve fights to uncover the truth. turns out, the man is indeed the very same bucky he grew up with and loved. only, he didn't actually die in that tragic fall in the ravine; rather, due to the experiments performed on him while he was a war prisoner, he survived long enough to be found and captured by the enemy. who then proceeded to torture and brainwash him, using him as a tool for murder against his will, and literally putting him back in the freezer when they didn't need him.

which, as it happens, is how he stayed so young in the first place: he, uh, spent the better part of 70 years frozen. yeaaah, are the parallels paralleling or what, hmmmm?? preserved in ice like your mom's best lasagna from last week? plunging to a 'death' that isn't really a death? waking up in the future kinda screwed over? :D

ANYWAY

steve is even more devastated than before, now that he's learned that while he was asleep in the ocean, bucky was out there suffering. when he finally confronts bucky again (and it's fucking epic and also fucking heartbreaking, believe you me) steve is desperate to bring bucky, his bucky, back. knowing in his heart that his bae is still somewhere in there, no matter how deeply buried.

in the most critical moment(TM), steve chooses to stay behind, on a plane that's about to fucking blow up around them - just like bucky did for him all those years ago - because if he can't save bucky, then he'd rather die with him.

only, bucky is scared and confused af at the moment, and he attacks steve, because 1) he has a mission after all, he's supposed to kill this guy dammit, and 2) wtf is even going on here??? who IS this man, WHY does he keep saying that they've known each other their whole lives?? and WHY does bucky feel like he's actually seen him somewhere else before?????

AND HERE IS THE PIVOTAL MOMENT OF ALL PIVOTAL MOMENTS: for the first time in his life, steve refuses to fight back. like he literally drops his shield out of the plane and into the river underneath, in a very powerful and symbolic gesture, signifying his surrender: he's not going to hurt bucky anymore, no matter what. THIS FUCKER LITERALLY LETS BUCKY BEAT HIM TO A PULP, WITHOUT EVEN TRYING TO DEFEND HIMSELF, 100% ready to let bucky kill him if that's what's gonna happen here, because that's still better than living in a world where bucky's gone - a world where bucky will look at him and only see a target, or a stranger at best.

and then!!!!

no this is like, this is THE most romantic shit, okay, like you could try to convince me that it isn't for the next hundred years and i wouldn't buy it, because. BECAUSE.

at the very last moment, steve finally manages to break through bucky's brainwashing, breaking the metaphorical spell bucky was under. and do you know how he does that? i ask you, do you know how steve does that, my love?

by repeating to bucky the very same words bucky offered him way back in the beginning, when he proposed asked steve to move in together. till death do us part the end of the line, baby. romeo could NEVER

bucky, who was about to deal the fatal blow, freezes instantly, finally recognizing the man under him.

and when steve falls out of the plane, bucky jumps after him, instinctively saving his life instead.

but bucky can't stay. confused, wounded, vulnerable, and only just beginning to remember who he used to be and what was done to him, he slips away and hides from steve - and from all the other people who might be looking for him, and probably want him dead. you think this is gonna stop steve, though?? now that he knows that bucky is still alive, and that he remembers him??? now that he knows that bucky's not lost to him forever?? AS IF!!

(to be continued in part 3)

#stucky #stevebucky #i have literally no idea how to tag this but??????? #the silly stucky recap you didn't ask for #part 2 :D #catws #rillers scribbles

[rillils]

how do explain stucky from the moment they met to where they are now (together in each others arms) to my friend who knows nothing about marvel

ohh this is a tough one, honey! i think i've got two options for you:

the short answer:

stucky is a compendium of all the best tropes out there, and i'm sure i'm gonna miss a few:

soulmates? check! star-crossed lovers? check! battle husbands? super check! mutual pining? check! 'and they were roommates'? check! best friends to lovers? check check check! long-lost lover comes back from the dead? fuck yeah, check! temporary amnesia? check! dude in distress trope? check! 'they will always find each other and choose each other in every lifetime'? also check! identity porn? extra check! saved by the power of love? you guessed it: check! slow burn or childhood sweethearts? you decide!!! did they share their first kiss when steve was 16, as per a popular fanon theory? did they only confess their feelings during the war? did they only get together much later, when bucky was healing in wakanda? you can pick literally ANY point in their timeline, and it will still make sense! they're all equally valid! you can even have multiple different headcanons at once, i mean who's gonna stop you??? all you have to do is join in the fun! 💕

the long AF answer, aka:

STEVE & BUCKY'S LOVE STORY, UNABRIDGED SOMEWHAT ABRIDGED, part 1/3

all right, let's set the scene:

imagine two young kids, let's call them steve and bucky. they meet, they immediately take to each other, they become instant besties! and as they grow up together, facing many hardships, their bond deepens. not only are they best friends; they are also each other's family. they take care of each other, and they both know they can always rely on one another in times of need.

when steve's mom (and only remaining relative) passes away, bucky reminds him that he's not as alone in this world as he thinks he is: bucky will always be by his side. bucky will always love him unconditionally, will always be there for him, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, and he wants steve to know that.

in fact, he asks steve to move in with him, thus offering steve both a literal and a metaphorical home.

and steve says yes!

SO. they are each other's home, they're living together, they're getting by all right. but then war breaks out, and eventually it reaches their little home as well: bucky is drafted, and steve, due to his many health issues, and despite his best intentions, can't follow the boy he loves onto the battlefield.

it's a very difficult time for them both - so much so that they can't even bring themselves to talk about it.

they have no choice but to say goodbye for now, knowing that they might never see each other again. but here's something you might not know yet about steve: he's the most reckless, most stubborn fucker america's ever seen. he's not gonna let this stop him!!! instead, he goes and gets a very sweet, kindly scientist to fucking experiment on him, because screw it, he's going to fight in this war if it's the last thing he does. and that's how he goes from Smol Steeb to Lorge Premium Steeb.

of course, things don't go exactly as he predicted, and steve is made to be the star of a war propaganda-fuelled musical kinda thingie, which he resents (but he looks fucking precious in his costume)

BUT! he does get closer to the actual battlefield. which is where he discovers that bucky has been captured by the enemy (!!!!!!!) and is most likely dead by now. but steve isn't willing to give up so easily! he'll believe bucky's dead when he sees it with his own eyes. so, he embarks on this suicide solo mission in the attempt to get bucky back, even if it means wandering on his own. into enemy territory. where he would be shot. on. sight. with no protection for his dumb ass except for a bunch of theater props!!! but such is the power of love, y'all.

against all odds, steve finds bucky very much still alive! and as soon as bucky recognizes him, even as confused as he is, he pulls out this beautiful, ecstatic, angelic-ass smile, like he's just seen god or he got high on some real good edibles or maybe both idk, like my man here was having a serious Religious Experience™ you guys

and i just wanna say, they could have totally kissed here and it would have made plenty of sense. but that's true of like 90% of their scenes in this franchise, so *shrugs*

ANYWAY steve takes bucky in his arms (well technically yes he does) and brings him to safety, and on their way there, bucky proves once more just how hard he meant that "with you til the end of the line" from before

afterwards, steve is finally given the chance to fight, just like he wanted.

bucky, on the other hand, could very well leave the war behind and go home; but when he learns that steve is staying, he chooses to stay too, and fight by his side. and he tells steve so in this very intimate, softspoken, delightfully suggestive conversation, which can be summed up like this:

and so they walk right back into the heart of the fight, only this time together, as they were always meant to be!

but. during an especially tricky mission, they're surprised by the enemy, and as a result, bucky falls to his death into a deep ravine.

steve is devastated. overwhelmed with guilt, grief and rage, he vows to bring down the people responsible for his loss, even if it costs him his own life.

and um, it kind of does? cost him his own life?

victorious after his last vis-a-vis with The Antagonist™, steve still chooses to sacrifice himself to prevent the catastrophe set into motion by the aforementioned Antagonist™. he's flying a jet over the frosty expanse of the atlantic, and you know, from the outside, you could easily argue that he could try to save himself. if he really wanted to. but with bucky dead, and the people responsible for all this pain, either dead or captured, it seems like all the will to fight is gone from steve; and so he plunges the jet straight into the ocean, and himself with it.

is this the end of their story?, you might ask.

the answer is: of course not!!!! the best is yet to come, babes!!!

EDIT: here is part 2

#stucky just stucky #personal #stucky #yes this is very dumb but dumb is my middle name lmao #i hope the read more works?????????? #are all the pictures even there???? #i'm too tired to check agsdjahkasdjk #sorry it took me a while to reply honey!!!! #i hope you're having a fantastic day!!!!!!! <3 <3 <3 #the silly stucky recap you didn't ask for #rillers scribbles

[rillils]

There were times, back then, when Steve was sure he wasn’t going to pull through.

When the fever had consumed him for days, and the breath burned thick in the back of his throat, and Steve felt himself slip too close to the dark place that lived behind his eyelids, across the threshold of his consciousness.

Death, he thought: hovering like a loving mother at his side.

He could feel it, like a cold whisper gusting against his skin, chilling him with words of warning. Soon, it said; and Steve was too weak to do anything but lie there and listen.

He tried to tell Bucky once, drifting out of a delirious sleep.

“If… if death came tomorrow...”

“You’d punch him in the face,” Bucky shushed him softly, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. The healthy warmth of his hand felt nearly cool against the fevered heat of Steve’s skin, and Steve leaned blindly into the soothing touch, sighing his relief as Bucky’s knuckles stroked his cheek.

Bucky. The world seemed to be fading at the edges, like a sheet of paper burning from the outside in, curling ash-black and falling away piece by piece; but Bucky was still there.

Bucky was made of gentleness and sound, sweet like the sweet nothings he poured in Steve’s ear when Steve slept fitfully, swept into his feverish haze and lost to the world for hours on end.

Bucky was touch: an anchor. Bucky was color, familiar and dependable, like the blue of the sky, the yellow heart of daisies, the stain-black of charcoal.

Steve glimpsed the downturned corners of his mouth, his lovely lovely mouth, red like ripe apples. Steve had dreamed of kissing it once. Twice. Every other night.

Bucky’s cheeks were so pale. His eyes looked so tired, circled by the bruise-like purple of his skin.

He hadn’t been sleeping, Steve knew. Steve had been sleeping, though – he’d stolen Bucky’s share of it while his body burned up from the inside.

“Buck,” Steve rasped, his voice thin and crusty, like plaster peeling off the wall. “If... if I go...”

Bucky shook his head, one curl coming loose from the once careful sweep of his hair. His pretty lips quirked up, a slip of a smile found so easily like he’d rehearsed it a dozen times before.

“Nah. You’re not going anywhere,” he said, collecting Steve’s hand to cradle it in both of his.

Steve’s head lolled sleepily on his pillow, lured by the sound of Bucky’s trembling voice.

“Buck.”

“Shh. You’re staying right here, where I– where I can keep an eye on ya.”

Silence spilled in the room, just for a moment – the space of a sniffle, of a soft, shivery exhale.

“Gotta make sure you don’t get into trouble, don’t I?”

One of Bucky’s hands left him briefly, and when it enveloped him again, there was a wetness there; one little drop trickling from the bridge of his finger, to land cool on Steve’s skin.

“Just. Just like I promised.”

And Steve knew then.

If Death did come; if it seized his wrist with its bone-thin fingers and bade him to follow, Now, child, it is time, Steve would say: No. He’s not ready.

He would think of the apple-red mouth he had never kissed yet, save for in his dreams; of the love he hadn’t quite begun to shape into words. He’d think of the life he’d only just caught a glimpse of, stretched far on the road ahead of him, twined with Bucky’s own as they reached into the future, together. Simply. Always.

No, Steve would tell Death. He’s not ready.

And neither am I.

#stucky #stevebucky #not sure what this is or where it came from but you know how it is #sometimes the thingie just gets stuck in your brain and keeps on knocking until you let it out #*screeches softly* #rillers scribbles #prewar stucky #preserum steve

[rillils]

STEVE & BUCKY'S LOVE STORY, UNABRIDGED SOMEWHAT ABRIDGED, part 3/4 (here are part 1 and part 2)

i just want to preface this by saying: as much as they tried to make this movie all about tony, and as much as they tried to no-homo the steve/bucky situation, they still somehow ended up making CACW the gayest movie in the whole cap trilogy, and that's saying something *throws confetti*

now, picking up where we left off:

aided by his friends sam and natasha, steve spends the following two years or so chasing after bucky, looking for clues as to where he could be hiding, until he eventually finds him.

their reunion scene is like. i honestly don't know if i can convey the sheer, ridiculous, absolute beauty that is this scene.

the thing is, steve isn't the only one who discovered bucky's location: the bad guys did too, and they're coming. like they're coming RIGHT NOW, as sam keeps trying to warn steve. which means that he and bucky have about 20 seconds to do this, and that might sound like too short of a time, right? but honey, the amount of repressed emotions and homoerotic subtext these two manage to stuff into those 20 seconds, my god--

no because like, there's a whole-ass SWAT team outside, waiting to crash through their door and blow up the place, yeah? and instead of getting the fuck out of there PRONTO, steve, mr romeo fucking rogers, decides to spend those precious few seconds trying to get bucky to admit that he loves him, making this much yearned-for, long-awaited reunion the most high-stakes game of gay chicken in the whole of history. you might think i'm kidding, but i'm not!!!!

INTRODUCING:

in the red corner, we've got steve basically telling bucky: "i know that you remember me, i know that you saved me because you still love me, please will you just say it out loud babe"

and in the blue corner there's bucky, extremely conflicted because YES, of course he loves steve, but he also knows he's putting steve in danger just by standing in the same room as him, and steve shouldn't even be here in the first place, and anyways STEVE NOW'S NOT THE TIME PLS FUCK

so he's just (unsuccessfully) trying to deny everything, you know?? "fuck no i don't know you, just know your name from a museum, what do you mEAN i saved your ass because i love you more than life itself and that's literally the first thing i remembered when i got my memory back"

(a quick reenactment:)

but really, you'll see the love in bucky's eyes if you just look hard enough.

n- no, look harder

a bit harder?

see, i told you

so here they are, just about to slam each other into the nearest wall and make out like it's brokeback mountain and they're just two guys coming from a time where their love had to be kept a secret and they miss what little privacy they used to have in their own little bubble when they were younger and living together and then life tore them apart and they haven't seen each other in ages and they've been yearning all the while and now that they're finally standing before each other again the air feels electric between them and they just can't help but- wait. uh. that, uh. that sounds familiar. uh.

OKAY so they're totally about to snog the living daylights out of each other, but time is running out. the bad guys are here!! and- and also a bunch of other people! because apparently everybody wants bucky either dead or locked up for one reason or another!! MY BOY CAN'T CATCH A FUCKING BREAK!!

so bucky is apprehended. but before anyone can do much about it, this other guy - this movie's Official Antagonist™ - gets bucky alone and triggers bucky's brainwashed assassin persona into taking over.

no longer conscious of his own actions, bucky wreaks havoc in the building, knocking people down in his wake like a sexy buff steamroller, and tries to escape; but steve, desperate not to lose him again, goes after him and stops him.

by grabbing onto a fucking helicopter, as one does

one extremely romantic, freaking insane stunt later, steve manages to get bucky to safety. next thing you know, bucky's waking up and back to himself, and they finally have a bit longer than 20 seconds to talk. you think they're gonna be normal about this? you think they're gonna share a standard heart to heart conversation? oh hell no, babes. WHIP OUT THE BEDROOM EYES, TURN THAT SOFTNESS UP TO ELEVEN, WE'RE UNLOCKING A BRAND NEW LEVEL OF EMOTIONS HERE

seriously. you don't know what true tenderness is, until you've heard james buchanan barnes softly say, in his sweet, gruff, velvety drawl, barely holding back a smile, "your mom's name was sarah. you used to wear newspapers in your shoes."

also the two of them just. spend half the scene making INTENSE heart eyes at each other, gazing deeply and intimately in each other's eyes, just bypassing the flirting zone to move straight to eye-lovemaking lane, while sam is in the room, because they've got no chill whatsoever.

unfortunately, sam cockblocks reminds them that they don't have time for this shit (dammit, sam) as they kinda have more pressing matters at hand, being on the run from like every government in the world (and then some). also they must neutralize The Antagonist™ before he can act on his Evil Plan™, so, you know. put the eyesex on hold, guys!

(to be continued in part 4)

#stucky #stevebucky #the silly stucky recap you didn't ask for #part 3 :D #so this got too long and i thought it'd be best to split it in two parts #hence the change from 3/3 to 3/4 #rillers scribbles #i'm still not 100% sure how to tag it in the first place tbh xD #but here #have some silliness in your day #cacw

[rillils]

rils, absolutely nothing hurts more than bucky saying "its fine, im used to it, ive had worse.." whenever he gets beaten up a lot

It’s the simple, matter-of-fact way he says it, that makes it all the more heartbreaking.

If he were crying, if he were slamming his balled-up fists into the wall, screaming, rioting at the unfairness of it all, Steve thinks it might be just that bit easier. Then, at least he could wipe Bucky’s tears away, dull the sharp knife-edge of Bucky’s grief with his own hands, hold him in his arms until all the parts of him came back together.

But Bucky keeps his grief under the surface, silent; private, except for those glimpses his body lets slip sometimes, in the traitorous set of his tense shoulders, or the blanching of his knuckles digging tight into his thighs, or the painful clenching of his jaw.

He brushes off the bruises, the cuts, the dark blood crusting his suit, shrugging his shoulder as Steve coaxes him into the chair he pulled up for him from the kitchen table.

“I’m fine,” he says, his jaw blossoming purple and blue in Steve’s cupped hand. Says ‘I’m fine’ and means it, just the same as Steve meant it when he used to say ‘I can take it’ after each beating in a piss-rank alley, back in the day. He recognizes it; the intimate need to believe it, to make it true, speak it true, even on the days when it started to taste like a lie.

“I’m used to it,” Bucky assures him, speaking softly in the homely kitchen glow, hand squeezing Steve’s knee with gentle purpose – as though that wasn’t the worst part. As thought it wasn’t the cruelest piece of truth.

He’s used to it.

He’s grown used to it.

There are so many things humans can grow into. Grow better. Grow kinder. Grow older. But Bucky’s grown into the pain, was raised into it, shaped into it, until pain became a natural presence lingering under his skin, twining its ancient roots around his ribs.

“You shouldn’t be used to it,” Steve murmurs, dabbing iodine over the tender-looking cut cresting Bucky’s cheekbone.

He shouldn’t have to be used to it.

Habit can turn even the most terrible things into day-to-day routine, given enough time.

Habit will see the hurt and whisper, It’s okay, it’s just another Tuesday. It doesn’t matter. But it does. It matters so much, so much it’s all Steve can see right now. That’s what he tries to tell Bucky, with the swipe of his thumb over Bucky’s good cheekbone, seeking the places where touch won’t hurt, where the caress will stir only warmth, no lurking aches: It matters. That’s the salve he spreads on Bucky’s bruised cheek, before slipping the band-aid into place, smoothing it over with the pad of his thumb, tender like a naked heart: It matters.

So what if the black and blue will have faded tomorrow, leaving behind nothing but the olive skin Steve has worshipped longer and more fervently than any gods or holy ghosts? So what if the wounds will heal fast, and the flesh knit itself back together till there’s not a pale scar left behind? That doesn’t mean Bucky’s not hurting now. That doesn’t mean the heart won’t remember, even when all the evidence is gone.

Bucky must read his thoughts on his face, easy as leafing through a book.

“It’s nothing, I swear,” he insists, rubbing soothing circles on the meat of Steve’s kevlar-clad thigh, a small, lopsided grin slanted on his lips. “I’ve had much worse than this.”

He seems to regret the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. Steve sees it, how the grin seals back up and Bucky’s eyes widen for a moment, as if he startled himself. The way his Adam’s apple bobs and his lips part and close and part again, hesitating. “Sweetheart.”

“I know,” Steve says. “It’s okay.”

Worse, in their two-people world, is barely a euphemism for the atrocities Bucky has borne, the likes of which Steve couldn’t have dreamed of even when he used to come home with more black eyes and fractured ribs than his stubborn body could afford to handle. Worse is a sore spot they only ever touch carefully, treading hand in hand on crumbling ground, and doing so takes its toll. There’s a time and a place for Worse, and tonight, Steve estimates, they both lack the spoons for it.

“Tell me something else you’re used to.” He wets his lips. “Something nice.”

Bucky’s eyes soften. In the dim, buttery light, his irises glitter like gems, startlingly pretty, and the corners crinkle just so, roped into a genuine smile. “Something nice, huh?”

His palms curl around Steve’s forearms, pulling him into Bucky’s space; and Steve goes, standing up from his chair only to step into Bucky’s inviting embrace, climbing into his lap, hoarded close in Bucky’s capable arms.

It’s precious, how Bucky has to tip his head back to look him in the eye like this. The way he looks up – looks up at Steve like he’s gazing at the stars, eyes full of wonder, of something soft like Oh, like How. How does something this beautiful exist. How does it bring light here, where the world is at its darkest.

Bucky’s flesh hand comes up to touch him, warm, brushing knuckle-first against his skin to stroke the soft underside of Steve’s chin, his fingers overlapping with Steve’s jawline, raspy with the day’s stubble.

“I could list you a whole bunch of nice somethings,” Bucky rumbles, gaze raking all over Steve’s face to drink him in, here, up close where he won’t miss a single detail. As though he could collect every freckle, every mole and laugh line and tuck them away for safekeeping, treasures that they are.

Steve exhales softly, feeling warmed through. Wanted. Desired. Craved, with that delicate, bone-deep hunger with which one craves a caress from their lover.

“Just give me the first one off the top of your head,” he prompts, whisper-soft, and tastes the word when Bucky breathes: “One”, against the curve of his lips, before capturing them in a kiss.

He lets Steve take the lead, and Steve moves them as he sees fit: slow and gentle, the bruises on Bucky’s face demanding that he take care, softly now, easy does it, as he tilts his head to the side and slips tender into the welcoming heat of Bucky’s mouth, dancing their tongues together.

His fingers sink in Bucky’s hair, cradling the nape of his neck as they part, lingering, close enough to breathe each other’s air.

“'Tell you a secret, though,” Bucky husks, breathing in with his eyes closed, his nose rubbing at Steve’s flushed cheek. He’s so warm, so warm all around him. Holding onto Steve with a need so deep, Steve is sure it’ll bruise him too, heart and soul. “I ain’t ever getting used to this, honey.”

Steve feels himself shiver, heat dripping down his spine. I love you, he feels, starting breathless in his lungs, tingling all the way into his fingertips, straining against the seams of his skin, too big to be held within. I love you, love you, love you–

In a cone of yellow light in their kitchen, he holds Bucky tight, and he doesn’t let go.

#stucky just stucky #but also #stucky #I'M SORRY HONEY THIS JUST HAPPENED I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW #I TOOK ONE LOOK AT THAT ANGST AND MY BRAIN WAS LIKE 'NOPE. WE SMOOCHIN INSTEAD' #AFSHDGSDFJKFGFLGKHJGHòLKJJK #i'm sorry idek what this is #it's so laaaaaaaaaaaaaate #and i only read it once so god knows what kind of nonsense is hiding in there #halppp #rillers scribbles #some 1200 words pulled out of my aeeeeeeee #it's the sleep deprivation i'm telling ya #*cries in under-eye bags*

[rillils]

i hate my angst loving self so much sometimes

think about a confused and not-entirely-there bucky screaming at steve, asking him why he left him there on the snow, asking why he didnt come back for him, telling him how long he waited for him to come and save him

FINE HONEY, YOU WANTED ANGST, I'LL GIVE YOU ANGST. AND I'LL CRY ABOUT IT 😭

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, tw: suicidal thoughts, very mild gore, nightmares, post-catws, angst is definitely not my thing what am i even doing here asjdhsjdh wordcount: 3815 a side note: while the language here is used in accordance with steve's profound sense of guilt, it doesn't reflect the author's personal beliefs on the matter - aka IT'S NOT HIS FAULT SKDLKS MY POOR BABY 😭😭

It always starts off quiet, like the darkened hall of a theater in the split second between the curtain opening over the stage and the actor’s first line. Silence, please. The show is about to begin.

The scenery changes sometimes, but it’s the mountains Steve sees most often in his dreams: the soulless gray of stone, and the blinding white of snow coating everything, from the peaks, to the valley, to the copse of fir trees, huddled together like children in the cold. Just like he remembers from that day in the Alps. No one knows how to torture him better than his own mind.

The wind rises sharp and icy, lifting sleets of frost with it, and a chill rolls down Steve’s spine. It’s not the cold, though.

It’s fear, congealing like a dead weight in the pit of his stomach. The show is about to begin. And he’s watched it all to the end countless times before.

“Steve?”

His head whips around, and Bucky’s right there, like he always is. A fixed point, unchanged, unmovable, his boots sinking soundlessly in the thick layer of snow beneath them.

He looks so beautiful, so oddly alive against the backdrop of his desolate place; a man at the peak of his youth, the pink of his cheeks nearly glowing next to the deep blue of his uniform, his hair combed to a movie-star shine, parted neatly to the side. It’s cruel, how perfect he is. Preserved like a cherished heirloom in Steve’s mind, never fading, never aging; a living picture, soft and rosy-cheeked. He belongs in a dance hall, in a crowded street, in the cheerful chaos of the fourth of July, in the color and noise of fireworks, in the tangle of ooh’s and aah’s under the firelit sky. He doesn’t belong here. But he’ll never leave this place.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s head tilts to the side, confused. “You left a long time ago.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries to say, but the name dies on his lips.

The light in Bucky’s eyes dulls to a flicker, carrying a heavy gloom over his features. He looks so sad, all of a sudden. He never looked sad when Steve was around, Steve remembers that – and Steve never learned how to make it better.

He can never make this better.

“Steve.” All the color’s draining from his cheeks, quickly, leaving only the paleness of death behind. His eyes – they pierce right through Steve, empty and cold, so cold, and Steve shudders from head to toe.

“I waited for you for so long,” Bucky’s blue lips say, with a mournful lilt Steve used to hear in his mother’s voice when she would sing to him, all those heart-twisting songs about a home she’d never see again. “Where were you?”

Something dark spreads from within across the pristine blue of Bucky’s coat, dripping slowly from his shoulder, black like ink–

blood

– smothering the rich color underneath, reaching down, down–

he fell

– down along Bucky’s arm, until it’s streaking the back of his hand–

blood, it’s blood, he fell, he’s going to fall

– pooling ruby-dark at Bucky’s fingertips.

Soon the drops will spill all over the fresh snow, staining it red, too.

“You left me here.”

Steve can’t breathe.

“Why did you leave me here, Steve?”

Steve can’t breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps, and the next breath stings in his lungs, ice-cold and merciless, “I’m so sorry, Bucky, so sorry. It’s all my fault, all my fault,” he chants, hands clawing at his own chest. But what will it help? He can’t undo this. He can never undo this. “I should have held onto you,” he sobs brokenly, and it’s strange, how he can never tell when he starts crying in his dreams, but he always feels the tears streaming down his face, real as his grief is real, clogging up his throat. “I never should have let you fall.”

Bucky steps forward, dark blood trailing behind him on the ground. Steve’s heart jolts like a spooked horse, pounding loud and fast with adrenaline.

“Why didn’t you look for me?”

He sounds so gentle. So devastatingly sad.

“Did I mean so little to you?”

Steve shakes his head, No, no, no, everything, you meant everything, always, I swear, tears flicking off the edge of his jaw to be lost in the snow-packed wind. “I t-thought you were dead,” he sobs, like he’s still curled up into the blown-up flank of that train, like he’s still got his face pressed to the ice-burn of its metal and praying for everything to end, now, before reality can reshape itself around him and tell him that Bucky is gone forever.

Something mean slithers behind Bucky’s eyes. “And you would have left my body to the wolves?” he says, his voice dangerously sharp over the moaning wind. “You didn’t think I deserved a proper burial?”

It’s snowing on the outside, but it’s inside that Steve feels ice gripping at his guts.

“You could have sent me home to my folks.”

It burns.

“To my sisters.”

It burns so bad, the shame crackling under his skin.

“At least then my family would have had a body to cry over. But it never even occurred to you, did it.”

Steve’s tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he pushes out uselessly, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve–”

“Or did you think that I was like you?” Bucky presses on, a cruel sneer forming on his white face. “Is that it? You fooled yourself so nice, you really thought I was like you? Like poor little Stevie? With no one left in the world who would miss me? No one who would even care if I was dead or alive?” He pauses, lips curling as though a new and amusing thought only just occurred to him. “Oh. Stevie, no. Did you think you were my whole world? Are you really that pathetic?”

“No,” Steve rasps, swallowing back tears and still drowning, drowning in them, “I never thought, I never– Please, Buck, I’m so sorry–”

Bucky’s silhouette blinks in and out of sight, and when he comes back, one moment later, he’s standing right before Steve, so close he need only reach out to touch him. His sneer is gone, but the depth of hurt in his eyes slices at Steve’s heart just as sharply.

“They took me, Stevie. You left me behind and they took me. Look,” he says, showing Steve the torn flesh where his left arm used to be – it was here just a moment ago, it was, Steve could swear it, it was right here – the bloody pulp of it, a frayed shard of white bone jutting out through the ripped muscle, sickening. His mouth, when Steve can finally look back, is curled back to show his teeth, the smile almost kind if it didn’t feel like a knife tearing at Steve’s own flesh. “This is all your doing. Isn’t it pretty?” Bucky tells him sweetly. “Tell me it’s pretty, Steve. Tell me it’s pretty.”

Without warning, Bucky’s hand darts up to clamp around Steve’s chin, gripping his face viciously. His touch is like ice, searing painfully into Steve’s skin, and Steve staggers in place, helpless but to look right into Bucky’s wide, desperate eyes.

“I was so scared,” Bucky whispers, hot tears spilling over his deathly pale cheeks. “I was locked in that place for so long, I couldn’t tell day from night anymore. It was so cold, and I was so alone, so alone without you, Stevie.”

His fingernails claw into Steve’s skin until they’re drawing blood, and Steve can only sob, can only take it, can only hope this will sate the hollowness he sees in Bucky’s eyes, if only for an instant. But it won’t, he knows it won’t. It never does.

If he could kneel at Bucky’s feet and beg for his forgiveness, keep him warm with the heat of his own tears, wash the blood away–

“I thought I was going to die. Every time they dragged me back to that table, I would tell myself, this is it. This is how it’s going to end,” Bucky tells him gently, nodding his head. “Sometimes, I even thought I should end it myself, before they could. But do you know what the worst part was? I didn’t die. No matter how bad I wanted it, none of the stuff they put me through ever did it. Hope kept me alive,” he snarls, soft through his bloodied smile. “That was my curse. I believed in you. I thought you would find me, save me. I told them you would come for me, and they laughed in my face, Stevie! They knew better.”

The sound that spills from Bucky’s mouth is the twisted, poisoned imitation of a laugh, emptied of all feeling, sharp like fingernails scraped across a blackboard.

“Don’t say that,” Steve whimpers, shaking his head, “please, don’t say that, no.” And he’d cover his ears if he could, lock that ugly truth out of his mind forever, but no muscle in his body will move until Bucky’s done with him.

“Do you know what happened then, Steve? You do know, don’t you?” Bucky asks, thrusting his face into Steve’s until only mere inches separate the tips of their noses – his eyes staring into Steve’s, a creeping echo of insanity gleaming from their depths. “They took my arm first, and then they took everything else.”

Hell. This is Hell.

“Because of you.”

This is what true torment looks like. No fire and brimstone, no howling souls of the damned, no blazing hail raining down upon him.

“It was always because of you.”

Just him and Bucky’s ghost, and a winter that never thaws.

“Bucky...”

The snowstorm rises against him with violence, angry, roaring in Steve’s ears, spreading frost over his chest, his arms, his bare face, freezing the tears caught in his eyelashes. Quiet, it demands. Don’t you speak to me. You have no right to speak to me.

But the yawning hole in Steve’s chest won’t stop screaming at him, starved for forgiveness, for a respite, for a mercy he never earned.

“Please, Buck... please...”

Bucky’s hand guides him down, pushing him to his knees. He crouches over Steve, gaze locked with his, heedless of the blood dripping dark and thick between his fingers; leaning in like he’s about to share a secret.

“I held out until I just couldn’t anymore. I tried to be strong, for you,” Bucky says in a harsh whisper. “But you never came.” His face, twisted by grief, wet with new tears. Steve cups it in his palms, but it’s no use: he can’t soothe this hurt. It’s too late now.

“Bucky, Bucky, sweetheart, forgive me– please, forgive me...”

Bucky’s grip on him relents; his fingers smear red over Steve’s cheek, four bloody streaks, and he strokes his knuckles over them, unbearably gentle.

“I waited for you for so long,” he says, mournful. His face is as cold as ice between Steve’s hands, stinging, burning. “Why didn’t you look for me?”

It hurts, it hurts so bad, so deep inside Steve’s heart.

“Why didn’t you look for me?”

The wind surges up around them, rattling Steve’s bones from within. The snow’s soaking into his pants, swallowing up his knees, colder, colder, the blizzard’s smothering him, blinding him, only Bucky’s eyes bright in his vision, crying, accusing, screaming, screaming, screaming–

“WHY DIDN’T YOU LOOK FOR ME?”

-

Steve jerked awake in the darkness, gasping for breath, a handful of sheets clutched dangerously tight in his fist. He barely even registered the soft, alarmed noise coming from the other side of the bed.

“Steve? It’s all right, you’re safe now.”

His eyes scoured the dark bedroom frantically, fighting through the chilling veil of ice still creeping at the edge of his vision. His heart hammered loud like thunder in his ears, pulsing so wildly in his throat, he thought for a moment that it would burst out of his body.

“Steve.”

Where was he?

The mountains–

“It was just a dream. You’re safe now, I promise. You’re home.”

His gaze focused on the only source of light: the faint glow filtering in through the blinds, the familiar orange hue of the street lights in their neighborhood, casting a striped pattern on the floor. A rug, there was a rug there – and a pair of slippers flicked just a bit too far from the bed.

“Come back to me, baby.”

The crumpled lumps of two discarded socks, that never made it to the hamper – oh, Bucky hated it when he did that.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me?”

A flicker of white–

– snow–

– Alpine, uncurling from her favorite spot and slipping soundlessly out of the room.

“Can you look at me? Steve.”

He turned his head towards the sound, staring wide-eyed into the shadows until finally, the outline of Bucky’s body emerged, sitting only an arm’s length away from him.

“That’s it, that’s good, Stevie.”

There was kindness in his voice, but his brow was creased with worry. His torso was half-twisted towards Steve, his body poised as though ready to reach out for him, but Bucky hadn’t touched him yet. Good, that was good. No. It hurt. That hurt.

Steve swallowed.

“Breathe with me, sweetheart. Can you do that? For me? Slow and easy, c’mon, with me.”

It was only then that Steve became aware of his own heavy breaths, the harsh sound of which filled up the room, gasp after gasp. He let go of the sheets and lay his hand on his own chest, where he could feel his pounding heartbeat, and tried to match Bucky’s calm, measured breathing as best as he could. He thought he was going to throw up.

“That’s it, just like that,” Bucky encouraged him.

Bucky–

Something flashed before Steve’s eyes; a fragment of a pale white face, with sneering lips and blood-stained teeth, taunting him with its cruel laughter.

You left me behind and they took me.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It was just a dream, it wasn’t real.”

Bucky shifted minutely on the bed, and a fleck of light caught the metal plates of his arm, a silver gleam darting quickly in the night.

Steve’s chin trembled. His throat closed up.

They took my arm first, and then they took everything else.

The tears came back before he could stop them, gathering hotly behind his eyes, pressing urgently to spill over.

“Bucky,” he choked out, and in the next moment he was crawling into Bucky’s open arms, curling his shaking body into Bucky’s sturdy frame. Bucky cradled him close, rubbing a soothing hand between Steve’s shoulder blades as Steve sobbed freely, pouring all of his anguish in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“W-when you fell,” Steve stammered pitifully, clutching at the back of Bucky’s t-shirt with the desperation of a drowning man, “I should have come looking for you, I should’ve been there, should’ve– should’ve brought you back, I–”

“No, no, Steve,” Bucky rumbled, rocking him gently in his arms, “don’t do this to yourself. Please, baby, I’m begging you.”

Steve shook his head no, hiding himself deeper into the nook offered by Bucky’s neck, just beneath the hinge of his jaw. His chest felt too tight, too full – like a balloon filled with water and straining to contain it, the paper-thin skin tense to the point of bursting.

“I should have come for you, they – they never would have taken you, I wouldn’t have let them,” he stumbled on helplessly, “I would have died first! God, I would’ve... I would have died first, I swear, Buck, I swear...”

Bucky stroked his hand over Steve’s hair, kissing the spot above the shell of his ear, dark with cold sweat. Steve felt the dampness of it across his whole body, under the clinging cotton of his pyjamas, the unpleasant moisture cooling on his skin and leaving him to shudder in Bucky’s embrace.

“Look at me,” Bucky called softly. It was a simple request, laced with just the same gentleness Bucky would use sometimes to coax Alpine into his arms, but still Steve felt panic pool in his stomach.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to look Bucky in the eye, not like this. Not when the truth – Because of you. It was always because of you. – was out at last.

What a scam he was. A whole lifetime spent preaching bravery, and the one time it truly mattered, he couldn’t even be brave enough to face the consequences of his own mistakes.

Please, don’t hate me, he sobbed silently against Bucky’s neck. You should. You have every right to. But please... please...

“Sweetheart, please, look at me.”

It took more strength than Steve had ever even known he possessed, but slowly, hesitantly, he let himself be pulled out of his hiding spot, and lifted his gaze to meet Bucky’s, if only for a fleeting moment.

Bucky’s flesh hand reached up to cup his jaw, working his thumb tenderly over Steve’s skin to wipe his tears away – a sweet, but fruitless endeavor, as more salty tears rolled down Steve’s cheeks, relentless.

“The truth is, neither of us could have known I would survive that fall,” Bucky said.

Steve shook his head, his eyes screwed shut against the flood of fresh tears. “I should’ve tried anyway, I should have come to you. I should have been there with you.”

Bucky grasped him by the arms, barely squeezing at all. The force wasn’t in his touch; it was in his voice, quiet to match the nighttime gloom, but firm nonetheless.

“What if they had taken you, too? What if they’d made you like me, what then?” he said, an edge of desperation coloring his voice, as if he couldn’t bear the very thought. “Do you think you could have lived with yourself, if you’d woken up one day to find that you had the blood of innocents on your hands?”

Steve’s head snapped up then, heat flashing fiercely in his chest. “What would I have cared, when you were there with me!” he cried out, panting heavily in the wake of that outburst.

Perhaps he couldn’t call this bravery; but when Steve could breathe again, their eyes finally met again.

If he’d feared he would see hate, or disdain, or resentment looking back at him, he didn’t find any of those. What he did find instead, staring at him from Bucky’s ever-familiar face, was the stubborn mark of love, shimmering brightly in Bucky’s eyes.

“Of course you would have cared,” Bucky whispered fiercely, cradling Steve’s face in both of his hands. “It would have killed you, and it would have killed me too. I could have never, ever forgiven myself, if they’d gotten their filthy hands on you because of me.”

His voice wavered, heavy with the weight of unshed tears. Steve could see the glossy sheen of them, threatening to spill over Bucky’s cheeks any second now, and felt his own heart split in two at the sight.

“Bucky,” he rasped, wetly, clasping Bucky’s wrists with his own hands to hold onto them, turning his face into those beloved palms to kiss them helplessly, one and then the other. Bucky never stopped holding him.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently, “listen to me now. We can’t change the past. We can’t, Steve.” A new sob ripped itself painfully from Steve’s throat, one he couldn’t have helped if he wanted to. “We can’t. It’s done, it’s there, we can’t take it back. And God, do I wish we could, believe me. But I want you to hear me when I say this: I am so grateful for what we have now. In the present. Our present.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath that rippled through his whole frame, as he openly struggled to keep his words clear and his voice steady. He was always the braver one, Steve thought, thrusting one of his hands out to grab a fistful of Bucky’s t-shirt, right over his breastbone.

“Steve. God, could you have ever dreamed that we could have this? I never even dared to hope for something like it, not even on my best days.”

He paused. Steve clung to him, his chest tight with emotion.

“The way we got here... Would I have chosen that? If I’d been given a choice, would I have wanted it to happen like that? No, of course not,” Bucky continued. “But if you asked me now, would I do it all over again, just for a chance to be here with you? I would say yes.” Steve whimpered, shaking his head, tears rolling down his face; but Bucky held him firmly, looking him right in the eye and nodding just as stubbornly, a watery smile on his lips. “Yes, Steve. Yes. A million times yes.”

He broke at last, and Steve lost what little control he had of himself. He tugged Bucky forward by his shirt and threw his arms around him, crushing their bodies together as if his life depended on it. Bucky returned the embrace with that same urgency, holding him tight as Steve muffled his sobs against Bucky’s shoulder, and buried his face in Steve’s hair in return.

The pinprick-like sensation of Bucky’s tears wetting his skin, as Bucky trembled quietly against him, felt like a bruise to Steve’s naked heart.

“Forgive me,” he begged, and he couldn’t have said what it was that he was seeking forgiveness for: if the pain he had caused Bucky now, or the one he couldn’t prevent so long ago.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Bucky murmured in his ear, his voice thick. “But I’ll say it, if you need to hear it.”

“Please,” Steve whimpered.

Bucky hugged him impossibly closer. “I forgive you. Always, sweetheart.”

The tightness within Steve’s chest unraveled, and in that moment, he breathed anew. Relief washed over him – and he cried, and cried, like a person cries when they’re gifted with kindness for the first time in a very, very long time, he cried until he thought he’d exhausted all his tears.

Bucky laid them both back against his pillow, chest to chest, shushing Steve’s hiccupping breaths with whispers of sweet nothings, never once letting him go.

“All that’s left to do now,” he said softly then, pressing a kiss to Steve’s brow, “is for you to forgive yourself.”

Steve burrowed deeper into his warmth, spent.

It would take a long time for that, and a tough, strenuous walk on the tortuous path towards that healing place. In the meantime, though, he could wrap himself into the safety of Bucky’s arms, and slip into a dreamless sleep for once.

#stucky just stucky #stucky #stevebucky #rillers scribbles #I KNOW HONEY #THIS ISN'T WHAT YOU WERE GOING FOR BUT I JUST HAD TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM #I SHOULD NEVER BE ALLOWED TO TOUCH ANGST I'M OUT OF MY DEPTH AGSDJAHDKAJSJDLASKDJ #give me fluff please 😭😭 #i need cuddles and smooches for my babies 😭😭 #oh my god i cannot #*lies on the floor* #ALSO HONEY I LOVE YOU I HOPE YOU'RE HAVING A GREAT DAY <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[rillils]

written for round 5 @stuckybingo, square I5 - Looking after each other wordcount: 1411 pairing: Steve/Bucky additional tags: fluff, kidfic, general silliness, slice of life, dorks in love, dorks in love + their baby

Steve never believed in sunscreen, no matter how many times he got the hide scorched off of him. Used to just sit there and let the sun fry his skin, seemingly content to suffer through all the pretty stages of a sunburn, the blistering and the peeling, the stinging and the itching.

The serum just gave his stubborn ass one more excuse to walk outside in all his dumb, unprotected glory.

“You know it’ll have healed by tomorrow anyway,” he would shrug in the face of Bucky’s reasonable worry. But oh, how he’d hiss and cuss through gritted teeth, Later That Same Day, when Bucky inevitably wound up spreading cool aloe over his poor, neon-bright shoulders, the shade of them a hot raw pink that’d probably get them both sued by Mattel sooner or later.

“Fuck. Fuck. I always forget how bad it gets. How do I always forget how bad it gets.”

And it would take a herculean effort for Bucky to refrain from saying ‘I told you so’, but refrain he would; he’d simply smooth his aloe-covered fingers down to the small of Steve’s back, where the tan line made his creamy-pale asscheeks stand out like two (somewhat flabbergasted) halves of a moon, and he’d lean over to whisper-kiss a fond, “Dumbass”, against the crown of Steve’s head.

* It was fatherhood that flipped that particular switch for Steve.

Already within the first few weeks of her life, Sarah Barnes-Rogers managed a colossal feat which several people, including her very own namesake, had been fruitlessly attempting for no less than a century: knock some sense into her father.

That summer, they brought their five-month-old baby to the beach for the first time, and suddenly Steve’s baseline shifted from a glaring zero, to at least three separate bottles of sunscreen tucked in his backpack at all times – and he wielded them as dramatically and determinedly as King Arthur pulling his sword from the Stone.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Bucky teased while Steve re-applied lotion on their daughter, and then himself, for the third time in one morning, the delicate scent of coconut wrapped around them like a gentle cloud.

“Protection is important,” retorted his husband, always 101% ready to rise to the challenge, even when it was ridiculous degrees outside and the average human felt distinctly like warm ice cream oozing, slow and tragic, towards an indecorous end on a sizzle-hot curb. Sarah wriggled excitedly in his lap, her pudgy little body slippery like a newborn dolphin.

“Important for you, too? Really? I thought you were gonna heal by tomorrow anyway.”

Steve glared at him, mouth pouting with growing intensity within the neatly groomed frame of his beard.

“We lead by example,” he said petulantly, and since he couldn’t exactly stomp away – at least not with all the dramatic flair required by such indignity as Bucky was willfully subjecting him to – he settled for looking away instead, fixing the hat over Sarah’s ears to keep his hands occupied. Stubborn, mulish smartass. Bucky was sure he’d never loved him quite so ardently as he did in that moment.

He leaned between their loungers and smacked the loudest kiss on Steve’s coconut-scented cheek, not bothering (oh, not too much) to hide his smug grin. “Good.”

*

Now, all things considered, it’s no wonder that Sarah’s grown to be such a sunscreen enthusiast.

The second they hit the beach, she wants nothing better than for Papa to help her get coated in the stuff, from head to wiggly toe; and once the procedure is complete, she’ll scuttle off at lightning speed, drop to the ground, and – to Bucky’s endless horror – roll about until she’s got every bit of her greased-up self nice and caked in sand. Sand which they'll still find sprinkled in every corner, crease and crinkle of every towel, bag and piece of clothing they own for a couple of months at least, but what is parenthood if not self-sacrifice?

Before she gets to that, though, Sarah has her own self-appointed job to do.

She plucks the bottle from Steve’s hand and, as per their private ritual, manhandles him into lying on his belly, announcing with her sweet, recently tooth-gapped smile, “I’ll do your back!”

Steve always indulges her with a smile of his own, and lets her climb onto the small of his back, ready to surrender himself to Sarah’s loving, if somewhat fierce ministrations.

For once, though, she doesn’t simply smear the lotion around with her usual excitement. On the contrary, she holds the bottle up and squeezes it meticulously, her brow scrunched up in concentration as she works with slow, strangely deliberate moves.

It’s only after a minute or so that Bucky really sees what she’s trying to do; and by then, her masterpiece is all but complete. The sight of it makes his heart clench with unexpected fondness.

“Daddy! Daddy, can you take a picture? I wanna show Papa, please!”

He takes one look at her hopeful little face, at the blond curls falling over her eyes, the sun-kissed freckles already crowding the bridge of her nose so early in the summer, and there’s no way in hell he’d ever even dream of saying no.

“’Course, baby,” he says, reaching for his phone with no further ado.

“Show me what?” Steve pipes up, twisting his neck to try and peek over his shoulder. “What’re you guys doing back there?”

“Nuh-uh,” Bucky tuts, pushing Steve’s head back down to rest atop his crossed arms, “you stay put for a second, doll. Can’t ruin this shot. Alright, here we go.” The camera clicks softly, once. “Hm. Nope.” Twice. “Eh– almost.” Thrice. “Ha! There. Perfect.”

He helps Sarah down from her perch on Steve’s back, very, very careful not to smudge her precious work, then hands her the smartphone. “Go ahead, baby, show Papa what a good job you did.”

In her eagerness, Sarah all but shoves the phone right in Steve’s face, with a squeal of “Pa! Look, look!”, watching him expectantly.

It’s there, on the screen, that Steve finally gets to see it. A message just for him, spanning almost his entire back, spelling, in Sarah’s wonky six-year-old handwriting, “I LOVE YOU PA ♥”, big squiggly heart included.

Steve doesn’t breathe for three whole seconds; and when he starts again, it’s with a soft, awestruck, “Oh.”

And it might be the stark light, or the warm breeze, or the scent of ocean salt in the air, but when he props himself up on his elbows to look at their daughter, his eyes have a familiar, watery shine to them. One of his strong arms wraps around Sarah’s middle and pulls her in, and he plants a kiss on her forehead, smiling all the while. “Love you too, munchkin. It’s beautiful, thank you so much.”

“Yah!”

Satisfied with the feedback, Sarah can finally run off to fulfill her destiny as a pocket-size sand monster. Steve gazes adoringly after her, then lifts his big, gleaming puppy eyes on Bucky, looking about as lovestruck as Bucky’s ever seen him in the last ninety-five years or so.

“Buck,” he says, soft and just, just on the cusp of choked up. How anyone ever thought they could teach this guy not to wear his heart on his sleeve, Bucky’ll never understand.

“Yeah, big guy. I know. I know,” he soothes, hovering close to place a sympathetic kiss on the swell of Steve’s bicep. “Listen, I’m gonna ask a dumb question here.”

Steve blinks up at him, curious.

“Do you maybe want me to fix your back for you, so you don’t actually burn to a crisp?”

And see, the truth is, he already knows the answer. He knows it with even greater certainty when Steve sinks his face in the crook of his own elbow, half laughing, half groaning, and a hundred percent utterly defeated.

Of course not. Of course he’s gonna lie directly in the nearest sunbeam, and let himself bake there until the words are branded onto his skin, pale white on Barbie-box pink, no matter how short-lived they’ll be.

“Yep. Called it.” He gives Steve’s bicep a gentle pat-pat, knowing that in about ten hours, even that will make Steve hiss with unrepentant, self-inflicted pain - and possibly loving him just that wee bit more for this tiniest of derring-do’s. “I’ll make sure to grab some more aloe on our way home.”

#stuckybingo #stucky #rillers scribbles #i like to call this one 'SCREAM SCREAM' or alternatively #'i don't know what i'm doing' #idk i looked at it for so long that eventually it stopped making sense lmao #(says lmao but is actually in despair) #i think maybe there was something else i wanted to say but i'm forgetting #in my defense i'm dizzy and sleep-deprived?? #agsdjashjskdh help how do you human

[rillils]

“You’re worth a lot more than this, Buck,”

SAM JUST SAID THIS TO BUCKY. AND HE LAUGHED. BUCKY LAUGHED.

he doesnt believe him, because if he really is worth a lot more than this, he thinks, then why did steve leave him

But of course, endgame isnt real

IM CRYING RILS. MY CHILD. LORD PLEASE. JUST LET HIM BE SOFT. AND LET HIM BE STEVE'S

of COURSE endgame isn't real, sweetheart, you're absolutely right!!! and bucky means SO MUCH to steve!!!! in fact, i was gonna say--

Bucky can’t get drunk.

He discovered that new, unsavory reality pretty early on, by leading quite a few misery-fueled experiments on his own, whenever war granted him the respite and the solitude to do so. Eventually, he had no choice but to accept that, try as he might, the pleasant buzz and the grief-dulling fumes would no longer be accessible to him.

But when Steve makes love to him like this, the intoxicating warmth spreading low in Bucky’s belly feels all too familiar.

When Steve lays him out on their softest sheets, like a feast to be savored one generous mouthful at a time. When Steve holds his gaze as he sinks between Bucky’s thighs, graceful as a cat and hungry as a wolf, pleasure dancing in his eyes as his lips wrap red and shiny around Bucky’s cock, and he holds it on his tongue as though it were cotton candy melting against the roof of his mouth.

When he spends long, honey-gold forevers working Bucky open with skilled fingers, chasing Bucky’s sweet spot over and over until it’s Bucky himself, breathless and mad with pleasure, who reaches down for him and tugs him up by the underarms, pulling Steve’s gorgeous weight on top of him; his hips cinched between Bucky’s legs, where they ought to have been a whole, torturous eternity ago.

When Steve gives in, and slides home with a shuddering gasp, his mouth slack and his eyes half-lidded, and his name rises from Bucky’s lips with the helpless pitch of ecstasy.

It feels just like that. Like he remembers it feeling the last time he got nice and tipsy, enough so that the world had started to blur around the edges. That simmering heat curling in his belly and reaching out to his limbs, pouring into every nook and cranny of him, singing in his arms, in his legs, pulsing in the tips of his fingers like a heartbeat. Burning him up from within like a fever; flushing his cheeks, welling up in his glossy eyes, filling up the back of his throat.

That time, the last time he remembers getting drunk, Steve was with him.

Of course he was, Bucky thinks senselessly, his back arching off the rumpled sheets. Of course, of course, of course he was there. How else would they have explored the world and all its countless facts, if not by testing them all together?

Steve’s eyes seek him, devouring him inch by inch. His nose and his gasping mouth, and the cleft of his chin. The sweat beading over Bucky’s brow, darkening his hair at his temples, teasing it into damp curls.

Consumed, is how Bucky feels; eaten to the white of his bones, stripped clean of every part, and yet more whole than he’s ever been before.

“Do you know,” Steve pants, one hand planted on the mattress by Bucky’s metal shoulder, the other skating down along Bucky’s flank, searching, needy. “Do you know what you are to me?”

He thrusts in, slow and deep and full of purpose, and Bucky loses himself to the feeling for a moment, blind and deaf to anything that isn’t the slick press of Steve’s cock filling him, satiating him for a few precious seconds only to leave him hungry and wanting again, over and over.

“Steve,” he moans, gripping Steve’s shoulders almost blindly, desperate to find an anchor in this sweet, raging storm. “Please, please–”

Steve’s hand slips under him, fingers splayed as wide as they’ll go, lifting Bucky’s hips off the bed to press him closer.

“You’re my whole world,” Steve rasps, his voice hoarse, tight with passion, like a muscle pulled taut. Bucky can’t help but look up at him, soak up the sight of him.

Steve, moving above him, lovely and beautiful beyond words. His mouth bitten red with kisses, the apples of his cheeks burning pink above the dirty gold of his beard, hot under Bucky’s touch. His broad shoulders, boxing Bucky in. The sheen of sweat gleaming on his skin, dancing with his every move, catching the morning light with the flitting of Steve’s muscles, all grace and subtle power.

Mine, says the pulp of Bucky’s heart, beating frantically in his chest. Mine, and he’d scream it proudly from each rooftop, climb to the top of the world and above to scream it joyfully to the heavens, so that even the stars would know.

“You’re my everything,” Steve breathes out, leaning down until their bodies are flush together; his heaving chest pressed to Bucky’s own, and Bucky’s cock trapped, snug and aching, between their bellies. “D’ya hear that, honey? My everything,” Steve says, eyes never leaving Bucky’s face.

Bucky nods, out of breath. His heart will stop here and now, he’s sure of it. Stop, or burst into a thousand white-hot sparks inside his ribcage, the measure of his love too big for any heart to contain.

Steve’s mouth grazes his own, soft and wet.

“Tell me,” he all but gasps against Bucky’s lips, and the leisurely rocking of his hips picks up a new rhythm, more urgent now. “Tell me what you are to me, Buck.”

It’s like a fire, blazing with bright, vibrant pleasure up Bucky’s spine, blinding him.

“I’m–”

They’re mouth to mouth, both parted; too slack to kiss, too desperate to stray any farther than that. The air is thick between them, damp with their hot breaths, and Bucky, Bucky’s not drunk, he knows now–

“Yours, I’m yours, your–”

–he’s in bliss, molten gold and sun-bright halo, gripped by an ecstasy that threatens to spill over with every stroke of Steve’s fevered cock inside him – that has him trembling at the notion of his own body, parting like soft butter for him, greedy for nothing but him.

“I’m your– your everything, your–”

And when it does spill over, pouring hotly between their bodies, and Steve’s whispering breathless praise against his lips, Bucky knows he wouldn’t need the kiss of alcohol even if he could get drunk, after all.

#stucky just stucky #and also just #stucky #WHY YES IT'S SPONTANEOUS FICLET TIME AGAIN #IDK WHY #I'M AFRAID MY ONLY RESPONSE TO ANGST RIGHT NOW IS TO JUST TURN IT INTO FLUFF OR SCHMEXY TIMES #I'M SORRY HONEY #I LOVE YOU #rillers scribbles

[rillils]

so prompt generator said:

and I just ran with it :3

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 458 Tags: vampire!AU, vampire!Bucky, post-serum Steve, little bit of smut because the brain said so, does this qualify as a (very smol) PWP, i think it does??, *anguished screaming in the background*

Lips. Wet lips at his neck, sucking slow, languorous kisses against Steve’s pulse.

“Ah.”

Bucky kissed him as though he were collecting drops of honey off his skin, lapping at the golden stickiness with the tip of his tongue first, then with the kiss-ripe softness of his mouth, precise and unrushed – one kiss, here – and here – and here, Mhmm.

Now and then a glimpse of teeth, the faintest suggestion of a bite that would not come just yet, not just yet, and made Steve’s spine tingle with anticipation. Now, he wanted to whisper, lick the word into Bucky’s mouth so he would understand, now, Now, please.

He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, and ground his hips down into Bucky’s lap, slow as he knew how, gasping as Bucky’s cock stroked deep inside of him, the flickering heat of stars sparking bright and sudden in his belly.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky moaned into the hollow of his throat, and his teeth tugged at Steve’s flesh, the hot cavern of his mouth slotting into place over Steve’s thrumming heartbeat – and Steve could feel it, finally, finally, the pinprick of fangs poised to sink just under the shell of his skin, to drink him in lazy, greedy gulps, consume every drop he was willing to give – only for Bucky to release him again after one, dizzying moment.

Steve groaned, throwing his head back in a fit of amused frustration. “They don’t teach you not to play with your food, Buck?”

Bucky nosed along his jawline, grinning.

“Nah,” he rumbled, the sound dripping hot into Steve’s gut, his breath warm where it gusted against Steve’s skin. “I was taught to savor it,” he said. “Nice and slow.”

His hands held palmfuls of Steve’s ass, spreading him gently apart as he fucked into him with no hurry at all, slick and sweet, measuring inch for inch until Steve’s fingernails were digging into the meat of his shoulders. Bucky hummed a low, velvety note of pleasure then, his nose nestled right at the hinge of Steve’s jaw. “Yeah, just like that.”

Steve chuckled breathlessly, his fingers winding up and into Bucky’s hair to twine with the sweat-damp locks. “And are you gonna?” he asked, willingly falling into the painstaking rhythm Bucky’s hands coaxed him into, a dance designed to drive him mad, mad with bliss. “Savor me?”

Bucky grasped his hips, thumbs fitting over the crests of his bones, and Steve licked his own lips hungrily as he felt his body, as Bucky must feel it, rocking again and again under Bucky’s hands, his thighs burning deliciously as he rode at half-pace, and took, and took, and took, desperate to give back.

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Bucky rasped, a wolfish smile pressed to Steve’s fluttering pulse. “Stevie.”

Sharp canines grazed over his skin like a promise, like a warning and a prayer at once.

Steve tipped his head back – “Yes.” – and at last, let himself be tasted.

#stucky #vampire au #it's spontaneous drabble time :DD *screams* #have some clumsy smut times #idk this just happened i'm not even gonna try to understand why #might be the spooky season #might be my dirty brain #i'm??????????????? #just gonna run with it while it lasts bc it never lasts long lol #as per usual i don't know what i'm doing #le cry le scream le yell #rillers scribbles #vampire!bucky #just because

[rillils]

so um, so maybe i'm addicted to prompt generators. that might be a thing. hm. *screeches into the void*

rating: T wordcount: 1342 tags: fluff, crack, established relationship, bearded Steve because i've got a soft spot for him, general silliness, dorks in love, domestic bliss, aaand that's it i think

If life was fair, and not plotting to give Bucky an inappropriate boner in the middle of a crowded beach, then for once Steve might deign to look like an average guy enjoying a hot summer day with his man, rather than, you know, put to shame the rest of humankind with his luxuriant, marble-carved, sexy lumberjack league, mouth-watering presence.

But nope.

He walks out of the ocean with seafoam lapping longingly at his ankles, looking for all the world like Aphrodite and Magic Mike had hot writhing sex right there on the shore, without ever getting a single grain of sand in any uncomfortable places, and nine months later he happened, with his thick thighs and his tapered waist, and droplets of saltwater gliding down the slick planes of his torso like liquid diamonds. Which Bucky will abstain from licking off Steve’s skin, not because he’s feeling especially strong today, no – just so they don’t end up charged with public indecency. Again.

Steve’s face, though, as he splashes eagerly towards him, is the face of a kid who just spent the better part of an hour frolicking about in the water, flushed and animated, ecstatic, and bearing the promise of one hell of a nap sometime in the near future.

He seizes Bucky by the waist with his big wet paws, and presses a victorious kiss to Bucky’s mouth, nearly causing him to drop his ice cream bar – yes, the one Bucky bought just so he’d have an excuse to step back and enjoy the newly familiar sight of Steve Rogers having the time of his life, in the most joyful, delightfully mundane of ways.

He should get to be this carefree every day. Bucky feels very strongly about that.

“Come back in, honey, come on,” Steve cajoles, wearing the biggest, goofiest grin Bucky’s seen on him since the day he caught this very man hurtling down their driveway on a hoverboard at breakneck speed. It would have taken some pretty heavy divine intervention for him not to go crashing straight into the trashcans – and God must have thought it wasn’t worth the hassle, if the big oaf was just going to pick himself up and try again anyways.

“In a minute,” Bucky promises him. Because, while there might be a universe out there where he’s actually capable of denying this guy something he wants, it’s definitely not this one.

“Come on, the water’s great!” Steve presses on, his meaty hands squeezing gently at Bucky’s waist, deliciously cool against Bucky’s sun-warm skin. He’s like a big puppy begging for another treat, buzzing with energy, glowing with it from the apples of his flushed cheeks to the sparkling blue of his eyes. He is, for lack of a better word, fucking. precious.

Bucky slides his free hand up Steve’s chest, metal fingers stroking appreciatively over the dark whorls of his chest-hair. It���s ridiculous, how quickly he’s ready to give in.

“At least let me finish my ice cream, first,” he says, waving the thing under Steve’s nose. He could swear Steve’s ears perk up, like he’s only just noticed the stick in Bucky’s hand.

“Oh,” he says, and it’s a pleased kind of oh. “Can I have some?”

“’course. Here.”

Rather than passing the ice cream over to him, Bucky just lifts it to Steve’s lips, inviting him to take a bite.

Eyes crinkled with some secret pleasure, Steve leans in. The thin chocolate shell breaks with a crisp, satisfying crunch under his teeth, the creamy vanilla filling kissing his bottom lip and lingering there, helpless, until Steve collects it with a slow sweep of his tongue, never one to leave someone behind. The soft mmh he releases goes straight to Bucky’s gut, warming him from deep within.

He smiles, like he’s been trying to hold back and he just can’t help himself anymore. “Is it good?”

Steve gives him the Look – the one he gets in his eyes sometimes, when the toe-curling intensity of his gaze tells Bucky that he’s thinking about them – them in their bedroom, stumbling their way through the door with groping hands and tangled legs, laugh slipping into moan slipping back around into laugh, or on the kitchen counter, making the cabinets shake and the bag of sugar spill everywhere, or in the broom closet, caught by a mid-morning frenzy like they were last Saturday, quick and frantic and muffling each other’s moans, as if somebody might have walked in on them any second. And they’re in public, so Steve can’t do anything about it; but Bucky can tell he’s filing away all the words he wants to say and saving them for later, when he can lavish them straight onto Bucky’s sweat-slick skin.

“’S nice,” Steve rumbles, gaze dropping to Bucky’s lips for a long, deliberate moment. “But I know something better.”

A sweet shiver rolls down Bucky’s spine. “Do you, now.” He palms the side Steve’s neck, thumb circling over the delicate skin behind his earlobe, and pulls Steve to him, meeting him halfway into the kiss. Steve’s lips part gloriously for him, the hot caress of his tongue slipping the taste of chocolate and vanilla into Bucky’s welcoming mouth, spiked by a thrilling hint of salt.

A few drops of saltwater drip from Steve’s beard to land on Bucky’s bare chest, and from there trickle down his stomach, skirting his navel to soak into the waistband of his swim trunks, following a path Steve himself has traced with the tip of his tongue many a time.

Only too soon, Steve nudges his chin into Bucky’s own, pulling away, and Bucky chases his lips for one last peck before he lets go.

Steve looks back at him, eyelashes fanning darkly, thick with moisture. His eyes come alive with his smile, gleaming with the pure, blinding joy behind it. Openly adoring, they are, in a way Bucky couldn’t perceive any more clearly if Steve were spelling it out for him. He thinks Steve knows (how deeply, desperately) he feels the same way. He thinks he should tell Steve more often, just in case.

“You gonna join me, then?” Steve asks, all sun-kissed freckles and hopeful eyes, hands giving Bucky’s hips a playful little wiggle. Silly man. Bucky would reach up and pluck the sun out of the sky for him, if he only asked.

Bucky grins, and hopes it doesn’t scandalize any onlookers, with how obscenely fond it must be. “What about my ice cream, though?”

The curl of Steve’s mouth turns unexpectedly mischievous.

“Just hold it out of the water,” he says, and with no further ado, he swoops in to hook one arm behind Bucky’s knees and hoists him up, startling an undignified squeal out of him.

“What–! ”

Steve beams down at him, an almost manic glint in his eye. “Let’s go!”

And with the enthusiasm of an excited golden retriever, he goes bounding towards the glittering waves, kicking up wet sand behind them. Bucky grabs onto his broad shoulders, partly just to feel the firm muscle there, and partly out of a last-minute sense of self-preservation.

“Steve!” He calls out, laughter ripped out of his chest, sudden and shocking, as they splash a bunch of shrieking children on their path. “Put me down, you punk-ass manchild–”

“Nope,” says Steve, relenting only once the water’s reaching up to their chests. There, he stops, swaying gently with the tide, and shifts Bucky in his arms until he’s got Bucky’s legs wrapped around his middle, gathering him close. “I’m your ride for the day.”

And how could Bucky ever object to that? The ocean dances sweet and placid around them, warm under the midday sun, and the man he loves wants him here, tucked in the circle of his arms.

“Fine,” he says, pressing the word to Steve’s lips with a slow kiss. Fine, have it your way.

His last coherent thought, before Steve licks expertly into his mouth, is that they might not escape the public indecency allegations today, after all.

#stucky #stevebucky #rillers scribbles #why yes i do think my writing gets progressively dumber xD #can't help it #the braincell loves these boys #the braincell is trying its best #the braincell is probably going to take a break for the next 2837445098 years given my history #just wanted to exploit it a little bit before that happens

[rillils]

OK BUT THOR JUST ADORING BUCKY IN A BROTHERLY WAY AND BEING VERY TOUCHY IN LIKE A FRIEND WAY BECAUSE HES LIKE THAT AND STEVE, OBLIVIOUS AND VERY JEALOUS STEVE, IS JUST VERY VERY JEALOUS

yes, that would be it

NONNIE, MY BEAUTS, I FUDGING LOVE YOU 💕🥰💕🥰💕 you know, this ask made me grin like an idiot, and then I spent hours thinking about it, and then one thing led to another and it spawned this... thing? it's all kinda jumbled and unrefined, and I didn't give it a re-read so um. but yeah, you can find most of my ramblings under the cut :3

imagine if this is before the boys become a thing – they’ve been dancing around each other for the better part of a century, forever stuck in this relationship limbo because they are two big pining dumdums, with a history of trauma longer than the Nile and a deeply ingrained tendency to not talk about their feelings, and they’re hopelessly in love with each other, and also just. kinda hopeless in general. desperate to finally Make This Happen, but kind of at a loss as to how to do it.

after all, there never seemed to be a good time for this, right? they never seemed to have enough leisure and peace of mind to give this thing, this really important thing, the proper space.

but now, you know. now Bucky’s out of cryo, and their enemies are far away. there are no new wars in sight (shhh infinity war never happened), and most importantly, life in Wakanda has given Bucky the chance to find some peace, to rest, to take the first few steps of his journey towards recovery. so Steve figures, maybe. maybe for once the timing’s just right, and he can do what he’s been wanting to do since all his clothes were two sizes too big and his shoulders fit under Bucky’s arm as if the shape of him had been cut out of Bucky’s side. he can tell Bucky, and find out if Bucky feels the same way after all.

ENTER THOR.

and Thor, you see, he befriends Bucky as quickly and as naturally as he does everybody else.

Thor with the boisterous laugh of a godling in his prime and the eyes of an ancient soul; Thor who’s supposed to be the god of thunder, and yet beams as bright and warm as the sun.

Thor, who finds true enjoyment in making people feel good about themselves, and he’s always calling Bucky handsome, complimenting the progress of his beard, teaching him how to braid his hair the Asgardian way, patiently and eagerly, just like he was taught when he was a boy.

Thor is genuinely impressed by Bucky’s knife skills, the flipping and the throwing and the twirling – he himself was always more about power and momentum, rather than stealth and agility – but his brother, he tells Bucky with unsuspected fondness, his brother would find kinship in Bucky’s knack for sharp blades.

Thor never tiptoes around Bucky – on the contrary, he’s quick to sling an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, to slam his huge hand between Bucky’s shoulder blades with enough strength to generate a minor earthquake and make Bucky’s bones rattle like so many pebbles in a box.

Thor, who is a literal god and has the body show it, who’s battle-worn and fierce and still finds the time to pick wildflowers to bring as a gift for Bucky’s home, who owns two goats with super badass names (which then turn out to be the equivalent of Toothgap and Chews-a-lot), who could easily tuck Bucky under his arm and take him for a spin through the clouds with his magical hammer

and he’s gorgeous, and loyal, and generous, and a king amongst his people, and it would be so fucking easy to fall head over heels for someone like him

and then there’s Steve, who had only just managed to talk himself into confessing his feelings to the love of his life

and suddenly it’s like Thor is always there, and his hands seem to be on Bucky at all times – on Bucky’s arm, at his back, in his hair to weave it into lovely plaits – and Steve loves Thor, he does, but these days he also feels the occasional urge to bite Thor’s fingers off one by one

he’s jealous. he’s so fucking jealous it hurts. maybe he doesn’t even realize it at first, but then he recognizes it – this ugly feeling eating away at his insides, sitting unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach every time he sees Thor hover too close to Bucky for one second too long

and he hates it, he hates feeling this way. he knows he’s being unfair, to Thor and Bucky both. he can see how Thor’s friendship affect Bucky in the best way; how important it is for him, to have one person in the world who cares, who sees beyond his past and doesn’t resent or blame him for it; someone who values him, not just as an asset to use when the need arises, but as a man, as a person, as a friend

and Steve is glad, he truly is! Bucky deserves it all – the extra positive touch, the words of affirmation, the loud appreciation, all of it. he deserves to be surrounded by people who love him, who respect him, and he deserves to feel at ease with them, as he does with Thor

but.

but every time Steve hears him laugh at one of Thor’s jokes, or catches him listening avidly to one of Thor’s many tales, which sound better and more exciting than half the sci-fi novels out there, he can’t help but wish he were the one putting that gleam in Bucky’s eyes

when he sees Thor pull Bucky into a one-armed hug so easily, while he can’t even bring himself to take Bucky’s hand, look him in the eye and whisper the words he’s been carrying in his heart for so long–

when he goes back to their place – Bucky’s place – and is greeted by yet another trinket Thor brought back from his latest trip to this or that world, the number of them crowding every room now, like a constant reminder–

when he and Bucky sit together for dinner, or Bucky tugs him along for a walk through the fields, and the first words out of his mouth are “Thor told me...” or “Thor says that...”–

Steve is jealous. so jealous he can feel his heart darken with rot from the inside out, like an apple core crawling with worms.

and the thing is, superserum or not, Steve is only human – and one day, when they’re all together and Thor is being is usual, friendly, affectionate self, Steve snaps at him for no apparent reason

it takes him a moment to realize what he’s done, and the way Bucky’s looking at him... all Steve can think to do is stalk off to go sulk in private, and maybe let the ground swallow him whole

meanwhile, Bucky doesn’t know what to think – he’s surprised, and a bit angry, and very much confused. yes, Steve has been acting weird for some time, but this? this isn’t like him at all

Thor, on the other hand, he’s not half as oblivious as he may seem; he’s been watching for a while now, and he believes he knows what’s going on with his friend. so he takes Bucky aside and tells him. clasps Bucky’s shoulder, and with a warm, benevolent smile, of the sort you’d only ever see on an immortal being, he says, “I believe it’s time for you and Steven to have a conversation, my friend.”

and dammit, but Bucky thinks so, too

locating Steve is easy enough. Bucky finds him exactly where he thought Steve would be: sitting under the tree in their backyard, where they’ve spent many of their afternoons, reading to each other, dozing off in its shade, snacking on dried fruits and nuts as they sent cute cat videos and memes back and forth between them

he’s got one of the shepherd dogs curled up in his lap, and he looks so solemn and miserable, with his fingers buried in the puppy’s fur and his head hanging gloomily, Bucky almost feels bad for him.

he approaches calmly – he knows Steve is aware of his presence by now – and sits on the ground next to him, in the groove between the tree’s roots, which they have long since claimed as their spot.

It’s Steve who speaks first, a quiet mutter, like all the fight’s gone out of him.

“What are you doing out here?”

Bucky shrugs. “Came to see if you were fit for civil company again.”

He looks over – Steve’s chin is nearly touching his chest at this point, eyes trained carefully on a nondescript spot on the dog’s white fur. Well then, Bucky decides, if this is how it’s going to play out.

“You know, Thor says he fears he must have upset you somehow.”

Steve is quiet for a moment, but there’s something there, in the way his jaw clenches minutely under his beard, that tells Bucky he’s struck the right nerve.

“And why would he think that?” asks Steve.

“I don’t know, maybe because you were being an asshole to him?”

The tips of Steve’s ears burn red hot – shame, if Bucky had to guess. Good.

“You’re right,” Steve says eventually, sounding genuinely contrite. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have– I’m sorry.”

“You should apologize to him.”

Steve nods, “I will. I promise.”

and then it’s quiet again. Steve keeps rubbing his thumbs over the dog’s soft ears, silent, and it becomes clear to Bucky that if he wants anything to change here, he’s gonna have to make the first move.

“He’s got an interesting theory, you know. Thor,” he tells Steve casually, nudging Steve’s knee with his own. “He thinks you might be jealous.”

That catches Steve’s attention. His head snaps up, and this time he actually meets Bucky’s eye, stuttering, “Jealous? Wha– why would I, why would I be–”

But it’s precisely because he’s looking Bucky in the eye, that he can’t bring himself to finish that sentence.

“... Was it that obvious?”

He sounds so utterly mortified, Bucky can’t help a little smile there. “To some more than others. Subtlety’s never really been your thing, you know that.”

Steve sighs, leaning back against the tree trunk as tension visibly bleeds out of him.

“I’m so sorry, Buck. I’ve been the worst lately. I should have been supportive, should have been rooting for you making a new friend, and instead I went and made it all about me. I’m sorry, I really am.” He goes back to scratching behind the dog’s ears, avoiding Bucky’s gaze, hesitant even as he adds, “I just... could tell how much you liked him.”

So there it is, then.

“And you thought that, since I had him now, I would just forget about you?”

The apples of Steve’s cheeks flush pink, high and full across his cheekbones. “It sounds so stupid when you put it like that.”

Good, Bucky thinks, because it is stupid. Steve is stupid – a stupid, endearing, adorable idiot, and Bucky wants to kiss the uncertainty off of his pretty face so bad it actually hurts to hold back.

“I do like Thor,” he says, watching Steve nod pitifully beside him. “He’s a good man, or– or god, or whatever he is in the first place. The thing is, he’s a good friend, and good friends are hard to come by. But Thor is not the one I want to be with. He’s not the one I want to fall asleep with, or wake up to, or come home to when the day’s work is done.”

Steve looks up, lips parted, a single grain of hope gleaming in his eyes. “He’s not?”

Bucky smiles, fond. Either Steve’s just that blind, or he’s playing dumb because he wants to hear Bucky say it; but that’s fine, too. That’s more than fine. Bucky’s gone without putting this into words for long enough. “No, Steve.”

“But there is someone.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, there is someone.”

He scoots closer, until their shoulders meet, and slips his metal hand in Steve’s own, letting Steve lace their fingers together.

“There’s this guy, you know, a good pal of mine. We go way back, basically grew up together, and I might deny this tomorrow, but I’ve been holding a torch for him since like, forever. I even asked him to move in with me – twice now, if you can believe that.”

Steve’s head tips gently against his, nuzzling briefly at Bucky’s temple. His breath is soft against Bucky’s cheek, and their hair whispers together, silk to silk. “Did you.”

Bucky hums. “First time around, we were still kids. He got all stubborn about it, figured it must be charity on my part, you know, a good Samaritan kind of deal. Never even crossed his mind that I might be more selfish than that. That he was home to me, and I wanted to be the same to him.”

The gentle squeeze of Steve’s hand around his is worth a thousand words. Bucky can feel them press into his skin, I remember, rich with fondness for the boys they used to be, and We know better now, soft and grateful, and more than that, sweeter than that, I’m right here, right here with you, deep at the core of who they’ve always been – ubi tu gaius, my love. Where you are, there I will be.

“But he came around,” Steve says, and Bucky can hear the smile in his voice as he says it.

There’s a happy ending somewhere in this story, close enough that Bucky can taste it on the roof of his mouth already, and they can spell it together, same as they’ve been doing since once upon a time.

“He sure did,” Bucky confirms. “The second time I asked him, though, he didn’t put up a fight. In fact, he didn’t try to argue at all. He said yes right away, and I thought. Maybe we’d both had enough of being apart. Maybe he wanted this as much as I did.”

“He did,” Steve promises without hesitation, body turning towards Bucky, seeking his gaze, and there’s no way Bucky could doubt him when they are like this. No way he could mistake the truth in Steve’s eyes for anything but what it is.

“And now he’s here with me,” he says. “Living with me. Building a home with me. He cooks with me, cleans up with me, stays up with me when I can’t sleep. He hangs our laundry all squared up like he’s due for an inspection, and he keeps buying more socks than either of us can ever wear, and he makes a face every time this other guy brings flowers into our home, because apparently, he should be the only one who gets to do that.”

And there’s the bright pink at the tip of Steve’s ears again, and the way he blushes all the way from the mole on his cheek to the three freckles on his neck, the way he ducks his head a little, embarrassed.

It’s moments like this that make Bucky sure: this is the man he wants. This doofus right here, who looks at him like he can’t help but, stars in his eyes, and tries so hard to hide the smallest of smiles under his beard, but he hasn’t quite learned how yet. Bucky thinks he never will. And to be honest, he kinda likes it that way.

He cups Steve’s jaw, stroking over the dimple he knows is there, buried beneath the soft bristles, and feels Steve’s smile curve under his thumb.

“I know him like the back of my hand, and still he surprises me some days. He knows me, too. Knows all there is to know, all the things that matter. He just hasn’t picked up on how much I love him yet. How happy he makes me. How jealous I get when our dogs like him better than me,” he adds, tipping his chin towards the overgrown puppy currently in Steve’s lap. Steve chuckles, and if Bucky could spend the rest of eternity just counting the crinkles around his eyes and kissing each and everyone of them, he would.

“I gotta say, this guy sounds like a mook,” Steve teases softly. “Might be you’re gonna have to spell it out for him.”

Bucky slips his fingers in Steve’s hair, pulling him in.

“You’re a dick,” he rumbles.

“I love you too,” Steve rumbles back.

“Kiss me,” Bucky tries to say, but Steve is already there.

#anon #stucky #wakanda stucky #rillers scribbles #well more like rillers rambles lol #i don't know how this got so out of hand #but it's silly and it was so much fun to scribble xD #thank you so so much nonnie <3 #seriously <3 #this just gave me the opportunity to take my mind off of things and just kinda rant mindlessly for like 2 days straight #and i couldn't be more grateful if i tried #bless you nonnie!! #i hope this didn't stray too far from what you were looking for :3

[rillils]

notes: I’ve been going through a bit of a rough time lately, writer’s block being just one of the issues, so I thought I’d put everything on hold for a little while, grab a prompt from a prompt generator and see what happened. Today’s prompt was: cooking for one another or cooking together. Here goes nothing :3 wordcount: 1137 additional tags: modern setting – no powers AU, pre-serum Steve, fluff fluff fluff, domesticity, they haven’t tied the knot yet but they’ve been practically married since they were 15 pass it on. You can also find this ficlet on AO3!

🍂🍁🍂

November has the crisp sound of crushed leaves, and the color of Bucky’s cheeks stung pink by the wind.

His smile is a soft thing when he reaches his arm out to wrap around Steve’s shoulders, herding him close into his side. “Wanna head back?”

Steve shrugs, “Yeah, if you want,” but his head has already found its natural place in the Steve-shaped slot under Bucky’s chin, where the wool lining of Bucky’s coat collar will tickle his cheek all the way home.

“I’m not cold, though,” Steve wishes to inform him, while Bucky guides them down the street at an easy promenade pace.

“’Course not,” Bucky agrees, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss to the top of Steve’s ruffled head. “Should have worn a hat there, Stevie. Wanna borrow mine? You know I don’t mind.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“’Kay.” A beat of silence. Two. Three. “Hey, you’ve got your gloves on, right?”

“Sure,” Steve replies, slipping his very much bare hand into the warmth of Bucky’s coat pocket.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky hums against Steve’s temple, absolutely and irrevocably one-hundred-percent fooled. “You know you’ll end up getting frostbite again, don’t ya.”

His voice brushes warmly against Steve’s cold skin, and Steve soaks it up like it’s the last summer sun, ducking his head low so Bucky won’t see him grin. “Yes, Ma.”

If Bucky then chooses crime and deliberately tickles him just under his ribs, over the spot he’s known since 2nd grade will make Steve produce the most embarrassingly high-pitched squeals, then Steve may have, perhaps, had it coming just a little bit.

He catches their reflection in the shop windows as they pass by; there’s Bucky’s grinning profile right there, his bangs mussed by the cold breeze, stirring fuzzily under his beanie; Steve’s own laughing face, the red tip of his nose, and their legs stepping together in perfect sync, one-two, one-two, fluid and easy, like they have a million times before. It fills him with a soft kind of awe, the way they move as one. If life was a poem, Steve is sure their bodies would rhyme.

Bucky’s hand curls snugly around his shoulder, bringing them just that little bit closer. “Let’s make something nice and warm for dinner.”

“Can it have potatoes?”

He doesn’t need to see Bucky’s smile; he can hear it in his voice, soft and amused, half-hidden in the fluff of Steve’s hair.

“Deal.”

*

Steve leans back against the kitchen island, cuddling a steaming cup of tea to his chest, watching the room – watching Bucky – come to life one ingredient at a time.

Bucky throws him a knowing glance, knife in his right hand, the sleeves of his sweater already pulled back to the elbows. “Are you gonna help at all?”

Steve smiles behind the rim of his cup. “Nope.”

“Called it.”

Dinner is a soft, long-rehearsed symphony, and Steve stands close by and listens gratefully, warmth curling like tender fingers in his chest.

The gentle rhythm of Bucky’s knife on the cutting board, chopping carrots into wedges and dicing potatoes into neat little cubes. The silken glide through pork, cut into bite-sized pieces. The languorous sizzle of onion tossed for a sweet little waltz in a drizzle of oil and a scoop of butter, and the splash of wine from the first and only bottle they’ve bought since moving in, and forgot in the back of a cabinet for months. The lazy simmer of the stew muttering quietly on the stove, like the old ladies in the front rows at Mass, with too many tales to tell and not enough time in between Hail Mary’s to spill them all.

Steve gathers every drop of it, of home wrapping her familiar embrace around him, and leans into the sound with his eyes closed, savoring it, Mm.

“You getting sleepy?”

Bucky’s looking at him curiously; Steve allows himself the pleasure of looking back, taking the time to drink him in. The steam from the pot has caused Bucky’s short hair to curl against his brow, and his eyes are smiling even when his mouth is not, and the hoop of Steve’s apron, the one that says Stick a fork in me, I’m done, sits a little too high around his neck. He’s never looked as beautiful, as heartbreakingly sweet as this. The very same thought crosses Steve’s mind spontaneously at least once every day, and every day it feels just as true as the one before.

“No,” he says, closing his eyes again, “I just like watching you.”

He can hear Bucky’s amused snort loud and clear over the bubble-de-bubble of their stew. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a weirdo, honey?”

Steve hums, contentment spreading from the center of his belly to the length of his limbs, reaching down to his fingers and toes.

“All the time, Buck.”

*

Their ankles twine like young roots under the table.

“Here, tell me how it is.”

Bucky feeds him the first spoonful from his own plate, and Steve indulges him, diligently opening up for the spoon.

Flavor unfolds like a many-layered story on his tongue: the sweet tang of rosemary, a whisper of black pepper, the tender bite of pork and the enticing juice of carrot – each voice speaks to him, describing a richness that cannot come from herbs and spices alone.

It’s the measure of everyday devotion; the care that was poured in every gesture, the peeling and the cutting, the stirring and the dishing. The simple pleasure of making something from scratch and saying, without words, For you.

Steve feels the grin bubble up from the well of his chest. The potato’s so soft, it melts like spun sugar on his tongue.

“Well?”

Bucky’s watching him closely; a small, near-shy smile curling his lips.

There’s something in his eyes, in the way they soften like this, in the gleam always kindled within, that Steve has failed to put a name to since he first saw it there.

Perhaps – he thinks, not for the first time – perhaps it needs no name, only a heart to feel it. And he does feel it, every time Bucky looks at him like this. Deep, deep-set here in his heart, in his stomach; in the golden crucible where tenderness is made.

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” Bucky prods. “Does it taste okay?”

It tastes like so many murmurs of ‘I love you’, is what Steve truly wants to say; but that’s a little secret he’ll keep to himself for now.

He snuggles his sock-clad feet between Bucky’s calves, like he often does on cold nights, when Bucky pulls him back against his chest, and their legs lock together like puzzle pieces under the duvet.

“It’s perfect,” Steve says.

Bucky’s eyes crinkle softly with his smile. Like poetry, Steve tells himself, as he lifts his own spoon.

#stucky #stevebucky #rillers scribbles #i cannot be held responsible for gibberish i write when i'm sad and stressed out so sgdjfhskdjfg #i feel extremely self-conscious about this one #but i'm also realizing it's my first fic of 2023!! #considering my history it could also be my last fic of 2023 lol but i hope that won't be the case #i love these boys so much ;___; #one day i'll learn how to post things decently #for now it's time to crawl back to my studying spot ;___; #putting this in the queue so i'll stop thinking about it #queue

[rillils]

OK BUT STUCKY LIVING TOGETHER WITH THE AVENGERS AND BUCKY LOVES TO WEAR FLOWER CROWNS AND OTHER NICE AND PRETTY STUFF AND AVENGERS THINKING HOW CUTE BUCKY IS AND BEING "DISGUSTED" (not actually tho) ABOUT HOW DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE STEVE AND BUCKY ARE AND BUCKY DENYING THAT HES CUTE AND HIM DOING A CUTE POUTY FACE AND THE OTHER AVENGERS THINKING THATS CUTE AS WELL ALL THE WHILE STEVE IS STANDING THERE JUST WATCHING HIM WITH THE ABSOLUTELY BIGGEST FRICKITJN HEART EYES EVER AND AND YEAH

NONNIE, OH NONNIE MY LOVE, GOD BLESS YOU SO SO MUCH, DARLING 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕 I don't know if you're the same lovely nonnie from the Thor + jealous Steve ask (if you are, then I thank you not 1000, but 2000 times!! 😘😘😘), but either way I LOVE YOU and thank you for bringing such preciousness to my inbox 💕💕💕 I simply adore this trope, and indeed I think this is one of the million opportunities the mcu wasted - so here, I wrote a silly little thing for you that I hope you will enjoy :3

1.5k words under the cut!

*

The popcorn kernels hit the bottom of the pan with a happy little tinkle, all tin-tiling-a-ling, spilling like summer hail out of the box. Steve barely hears the sound over the sudden burst of laughter coming from the living room, which – and here comes the pleasant surprise – is the baseline soundtrack of all their game nights lately, and he finds himself grinning along with it as he turns the stove on. Who knows, maybe Lucky went hurtling straight into Tony’s house of UNO cards again.

“Aw Barnes, you’re so cute, man,” Clint – of course it’s Clint – slurs through a mouthful of– possibly a pizza pocket. Could be a coupla pigs in a blanket getting shmooshed in there, though.

Bucky’s reply comes through gritted teeth and positively dripping with indignation. “I am not. Cute.”

Oh yes, ooh yes you are, Steve’s brain supplies instantly, and he steals a quick glance (do 37 seconds still qualify as quick?)– a quick glance towards the couch, where Bucky’s currently demonstrating his Eternal Glower of Profound Betrayal. Dark brows pulled tight together, pursed lips just entering the Hardcore Sulking stage, icing sugar caught in his stubble, and the sight alone makes Steve’s heart feel tender and juicy like chicken thighs after six hours in a slow cooker. Could pull him apart with a spoon, he’s so sweet on the guy.

And God but is Bucky cute; cute doesn’t even begin to cover it. In his new fluffy sweater with the kitty prints, the neon-green pj bottoms, and his arms and legs crossed stubbornly in a full-body pout, he’s just about the cutest thing Steve’s lucky, lucky eyes have ever seen.

He’s wearing his second-favorite flower crown, too – a half a wreath of the most delicate fake cherry blossoms that make the steel blue of his irises pop like goddamn fireworks on the fourth of July. The first time little Cassie caught sight of Bucky in that, she dubbed him an Actual Princess, very earnestly adding that he looked, and dare she say it, prettier than Rapunzel, thus producing the loveliest shade of bubblegum pink all over Bucky’s cheeks – a color which Steve has been trying to recreate, with much patience and dedication, with the loving touch of his fingers and the filthiest words he can fit in his mouth, if only to see how far down Bucky’s body he can get it to reach.

In other words, yes – he’s very much on Clint’s side on this one.

“The man’s right, Barton, he’s not cute,” Sam chimes in, his toothgapped grin all but glinting with mischief. “I believe the word you’re looking for is adorable.”

Amen to that, brother, Steve thinks to himself, just barely remembering to cover the pan before the popcorn starts popcornin’ right into his face.

“Fuck off, Wilson,” Bucky replies, helpfully illustrating the anatomy of a middle finger for Sam’s special benefit.

“Excuse me,” Tony pipes up, one UNO Reverse card tucked behind his ear and two more balanced precariously on top of his multi-story card tower, “I would urge all of you people to consider a true evergreen. The all-powerful, the all-encompassing, the one and only: precious.”

A chorus of cooing noises erupts across the room, rippling from body to body all around the coffee table, until Scott’s arm is shooting up, phone a-wiggling in the air.

“Wait wait wait, I’ve got one– JARVIS, if you please?”

There is a beat of silence. Then the AI’s voice echoes through the entire floor, somewhat mortified.

“As per Mr. Lang’s request, I submit for your perusal an animated Graphic Interchange Format, depicting a small child with cartoonish features, who appears to be holding an overlarge stuffed toy in the shape of a unicorn. The script beneath it reads, It’s so fluffy I’m gonna die.”

The GIF in question starts playing on loop on every screen available in the room – including the one that occupies the entire length of a wall – and the little crowd immediately explodes in a symphony of cackles and excited “Yes!”s and “Spot on”s and “Look Barnes, it’s you!”.

“I hate all of you,” Bucky grumbles, seemingly resigned to his fate; but Steve doesn’t miss the amused twinkle in his eye, nor the subtle curl in the corner of his pouty mouth.

Bucky’s gaze finds him, bright and beautiful, and they exchange a long look across the living room’s open space – intimate, somehow, even over the ruckus caused by their merrymaking friends.

And it might be the popcorn beginning to knock into the lid under Steve’s hand, but there’s something here, fizzing in the tips of his fingers, tingling at the base of his neck; something bubbly and sweet filling up his chest, that he just can’t keep a lid on tonight.

When he sees Nat perched on the backrest just behind Bucky, tugging on his half-braided hair and pleasantly threatening, You move your head again and I’ll bite your ears off – and Bucky drawls out a soft little Sorrey for her, but he keeps grinning up at Steve, his eyes like the shimmer of sunlight on clear waters.

When he finds Clint trying to stick fridge magnets to Bucky’s vibranium arm even through his fuzzy sleeve, then dragging Sam into it too like Hey man, check this out, and from there it’s all about how many times they can spell ‘DICK’ on him before Bucky notices and shoves them both off the couch.

Even when Thor interrupts his Mario Kart showdown with Bruce to offer, “Personally, I find it quite a dashing look – although in my experience, fresh flowers improve it tenfold. STEVEN! You must provide your beloved with fresh flowers for his hair every day! It’s tradition!”

And amongst all the snacks laid out before him, the teasing smile on Bucky’s lips is still the only thing Steve wants to taste tonight.

“You hear that, Steven?” Says his beloved.

Steve adores him. Steve would worship the ground his green-socked feet walk on. “Loud and clear, baby.”

Ohh, it’s worth saying it just for the lovely blush it puts on the apples of Bucky’s cheeks, rosey pink and delicious; and maybe, yeah, maybe even for the outburst of catcalls and Get-a-room’s it gets him, the second the word is out of his mouth.

“Aww, he said baby~”

“That’s so cute, you guys–”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

“No, shut up– if you two lovebirds start making out in front of me again, I will throw up in the guacamole bowl and it won’t be pretty.”

“Nah, don’t you listen to this old sourball here, this is a PDA-friendly zone! If you guys feel like a bit of canoodling, some squeezin’ and a-lovin’–”

“Yo Rogers, that popcorn about ready or you still growin’ it?”

And. And Steve loves it. This– this, right here. It’s pure unadulterated chaos sometimes – all right, most of the time – but he can hardly picture his life without a healthy dose of this anymore.

Four years ago, he was a shell of a man; raw pulp under a too-thin rind, the chill of ice still creeping in his veins, with barely the will to see another day.

 Two years ago, he found something he’d thought he’d lost forever to the sharp embrace of a frost-coated ravine. Hope. And what a powerful fuel that proved to be.

Ten months ago, when Bucky first sought his kisses again, and slipped into his arms as easy as if he’d never ever left them at all, Steve rediscovered the meaning of bliss. He had everything he needed. Everything he’d dreamed of, night after day after night. What more could he have wished for?

Today, an unexpected answer presents itself to him.

“Hey, pass the chips, will you?”

“You think we’ve got any caramel sauce?”

“If you unleash one more of those green shells upon me, then so help me Odin–”

This. He wants this, with no name to put to it, except for the way it makes him feel inside. This thing that fills a room, warm and lovely, like hot chocolate poured in a cup, and feels so much like an embrace. Like coming in from the cold.

He never would have dared to wish for it. Hell, he didn’t even think he could afford to ask for it, but now that it’s here, he finds he’s hungry for it; and it doesn’t feel like greed at all. It just feels– good.

He’s only vaguely aware of Sam walking up to him, handing him an empty bowl to pour the fresh popcorn in. His brown eyes are gentle, knowing – but then, Sam always seems to know something Steve doesn’t.

“Happy’s a good look on you, man,” Sam says, and this smile, ah, this Steve couldn’t hold back if he tried with all his might.

He looks over to the couch, where Bucky’s holding his belly as he laughs, head thrown back and flower crown drooping perilously over his eyes. Steve is smiling so hard, it hurts.

“Thanks, man.”

#anon #stucky #rillers scribbles #post catws #in a universe where cacw never happened #tonight i'm living in 2012 and it's beautiful ayyyyy #also i didn't reread this so sgdfjdfhgdflkhgsdjkfhj #nonnie!!!! nonnie i really do hope this is okay #don't know if this is something like what you were looking for but i put all of my lil heart into it <3 #i had fun scribbling it too so yoooooo that's a victory for once!! #AND i even discovered the smaller font #at LAST #thank god ;____; #now it's time to wallow in second-hand embarrassment #*lies on the floor*

[rillils]

wakandan kids making bucky flower crowns and braiding his hair

bless you, nonnie 💕💕 here are 1443 words of pure wakanda husbands cheese for you :3

-

There are no less than a dozen children working around Bucky, and on him, and over him, swarming and buzzing amongst each other like busy little bees.

Steve reckons they’ve set up quite the system for the occasion. It could be worse – three of the older girls are in charge of Bucky’s hair, little Anathi only stopped crying the minute she was (reluctantly) appointed assistant comb-holder, Lwazi will probably need disentangling from two yards of ribbon before long, and the rest of them keep coming back with baskets and baskets brimming with fresh flowers.

It’s like watching a painting come to life, bright voices and giggles and swirls of color on the backdrop of golden sunshine, chaos and beauty at their finest, and Steve could stare for hours, happily mesmerized by it all.

As it is, he barely gets to sit down on the grassy ground before Bucky’s onto him. His eyes appraise Steve for a few long moments, glinting with amusement and no small amount of exasperation. They’re so blue today, god, they put the summer sky to shame.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Bucky reminds him, making a visible effort to keep still while the girls braid tiny blossoms into his hair. He’s got a child sitting in the circle of his crossed legs, Mbulelo – turned eight just last month, he’s a proper big boy now – weaving flowers into a chain with deft fingers, and trying to fend off a very interested baby goat in the meantime.

“You’re not gonna kick me out of the party, are you?” Steve grins back, reaching over to grab the furry offender – Rob, of course it’s Rob, the little rascal – before it can snatch any more flowers from Mbulelo’s basket.

Bucky considers him, taking in the squirming goat in his arms, the beard Steve made sure to trim neatly for once, and what he hopes are his most earnest Earnest Eyes.

“Mm, perhaps I’ll let you stay after all,” Bucky decrees at last, all benevolence and a sprinkle of mischief.

Mbulelo chimes in a moment later, twisting the long stem of a daisy into his chain, and Bucky replies in his own, still tentative Xhosa, causing them both to laugh. It’s warm – so warm Steve feels goosebumps race across his skin, tingling up his arms, at the nape of his neck.

No matter what the movies say the future will look like, in twenty, fifty, in seventy years, Steve already knows what he wants the next century to look like for him. And what he wants, is nothing less than a hundred years of this: of Bucky’s nose crinkling when he laughs, of his chest shaking, and his face, his cheeks, his mouth, alight from the simplest joys.

He wants to get used to it – the sound of Bucky’s happiness, in all its shapes and hues, the wordless, the Yes, the I love you, the C’mere, and the softest, most intimate breath of Steve, and Steve, Again – and he hopes he never will get used to it. Let Bucky’s laughter always shiver warmly down his spine, each time like a new pleasure, never taken for granted.

“Mbulelo says he’ll make you a flower crown, too,” Bucky informs him, blue eyes glittering in the bright sun, “if you behave yourself.”

Steve pictures it; both of them crowned with matching shades of pink, and orange, and white and buttery yellow; their fingers entwined; Bucky’s perfect lips when he’ll say, I do.

He settles Rob more comfortably in his arms, and drops a kiss between Rob’s fuzzy ears, his gaze never leaving Bucky’s own. “I promise.”

--

In the cool shade of their bedroom, Steve cups Bucky’s face in his hands and kisses him, deep and gentle, dipping his tongue into the softness of Bucky’s mouth to discover the lingering aftertaste of mint behind his teeth.

“Steve,” is the sweet sigh against his lips – and he’s kissing Bucky’s smile, and his thumbs catch in Bucky’s dimples, twin almonds hidden like precious secrets under Bucky’s beard.

“God, god, I love you–“

Steve’s hand strays naturally, following the sinuous curve of Bucky’s neck, seeking the dark silk of his hair – but Bucky catches his wrist, pulling away from him abruptly.

“Nope,” he says, popping his glistening lips, “I just got my hair done and you’re not allowed to wreck it yet.” He pats Steve’s cheek consolingly, gracing him with one last peck on the tip of his nose. “Come on, you might as well help me get dressed while you’re here.”

And Steve, because he’s Steve, and this is Bucky, obliges.

The pants are easy enough; getting Bucky into the matching tunic without disturbing his carefully braided hair, though, that’s a lot trickier. It requires some manoeuvring – and quite a bit of creative cussing – but eventually they find themselves on the other side, everything still miraculously in place. Steve drapes the scarf over Bucky’s left shoulder – deep blue like the sky just before dawn, embroidered in black and silver and gold – and pins it in place with a brooch.

“A wolf,” Steve notices softly, tracing its silvery ridges with his fingertip.

“A gift from Shuri,” Bucky says, his smile fond. “And she likes to think that I’m the cheesy one.”

He turns away from Steve, facing the mirror that hangs above his modest dresser. His long hair swishes with the movement, whispering like a spring breeze against his shoulders. Flowers dance in the glossy chestnut of his braid; pearl white freesias and colorful daisies, tender rose blossoms and tiny lilies-of-the-nile winking like purplish-blue gems from the thick of his mane.

Steve’s fingers itch to comb through the woven locks and undo them, undo it all, pick out the flowers one by one and replace them all with the kisses of his mouth, and watch Bucky’s hair spread prettily over their tangled sheets afterwards.

His gaze meets Bucky’s in the mirror. Steve can feel the frisson moving through Bucky’s body – pleasure, anticipation, nerves – when Bucky asks, more breath than voice, “How do I look?”

Like the only thing I want to look at for the rest of my life, Steve’s heart supplies. He steps behind Bucky and winds both arms around Bucky’s waist, careful not to crush anything as he hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

In the mirror, Bucky’s smile is the sweetest thing Steve has ever seen.

--

The moon is high in the sky by the time they stumble back into the hut, chasing each other’s mouths tipsily up against the bedroom wall.

It’s touch. It’s hands, all hands – caressing, unpinning, peeling soft linen away.

It’s the glint of gold around their fingers, the cool kiss of metal tingling against Steve’s skin everywhere Bucky touches him, a twofold promise of this, this, forever.

It’s his own palm over the curve of Bucky’s naked shoulder, inching into the dip of Bucky’s neck; the teasing brush of his fingertips over Bucky’s hairline, there in the hollow of his nape.

“Do I get to wreck it, now?”

The enticing curl of Bucky’s lip when he says, “Not yet.”

In the morning, he’ll remember the gentle pressure of Bucky’s hand on his chest, pushing him flat against the sheets.

The maddening roll of Bucky’s hips – he’ll feel that still between his hands, rocking slow and greedy in his lap, all hunger, all need.

He’ll know, as he knows now, here, in this moonlit cave of a room, the supple flesh of Bucky’s thighs squeezing tight around him, and the slickness of his skin, the ragged rhythm of his breath, and the frantic beat of his heart, pulsing against him, around him, deep inside where Bucky’s pleasure sparks.

Flowers spill from Bucky’s hair as their bodies move; petals falling like fresh snow around them, lined with silver from the full moon. They scatter across Steve’s chest, kissing Bucky’s own hand where it finds purchase against Steve’s heart, raining like an ancient blessing over their marriage bed.

He won’t forget. When Bucky curls over him, seeking Steve’s mouth at the peak of his passion, Steve swears that he won’t forget this.

He sinks his fingers in Bucky’s hair, sweat-damp and fragrant, freesias and roses and wispy lilies crushed between their bellies, and he feels, he feels, he–

.

It’s in the quiet, after, that Steve’s heart settles.

He strews wet kisses along Bucky’s brow, at his temple, his cheek, and finds a new word – husband – nestled there, waiting in the corner of that sweet mouth.

He holds Bucky close – a king of old, hoarding his treasure in his very arms – and counts the first day of the next hundred years.

#anon #stucky #wakanda stucky #rillers scribbles #thank you so much for the ask nonnie!!! <3 #asdgsjdhfkg #i'm not sure what this is i just know that it happened #the boys getting married in wakanda is such a precious scenario to me i just #fagshgdhshd #and yes bucky named the goat rob because he's a grubby little thief <3 #aaaaaaaand i think that's pretty much it #as the wiseman says #i tried :')

[rillils]

I can’t rightly call this a masterlist, as I was only able to fill one prompt from my Round 4 @stuckybingo​ card, but I thought I’d leave it here anyways, as a reminder to myself and in the hopes that I’ll have better luck with writer’s block next time 💖 to have, to hold

Prompt: I4 - Reunion, card R4077 Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Wordcount: 2303 Additional tags: Missing scene, Reunited and it feels so good, Stucky in Wakanda, bearded!Steve Rogers, post-CACW, feels feels feels

His mouth curls up slow. “You got bristles now, sweetheart.”

Steve exhales a shaky breath. “Thought I’d try something new,” he says, his voice thin, and wet, fragile like a bird bone. It cracks easily under the pressure of unshed tears, and Bucky can see them shimmering right there in his beautiful eyes. Let them out, he wants to tell Steve, while their world is still whole, please let it stay whole for a few hours more. Give them all to me. We can share the load.

When Bucky wakes from his cryo-sleep, Steve is there to welcome him back.

#stucky bingo #stucky bingo round 4 #stucky #rillers scribbles #i hope i didn't forget anything #i mean i probably did lol #but then again posting always makes me feel extra awkward #and awkwardness turns my brain into mush for a hot minute #the fic itself is just my own extremely self-indulgent blurb #i was just so happy to complete at least one (1) prompt #hgsdjhfksh i'm sorry i'm so bad at this #i'll get better? maybe?? emphasis on the maybe xD

[rillils]

what side of the bed do steve and bucky sleep on

hallo my dearest nonnie :3 here are some thinky thoughts for you, at least the few I could fit here bc the brain wouldn’t stop producing increasingly ridiculous scenarios lol

before the war

when they push their beds together, which is on most nights, Bucky tends to sleep on Steve’s left side, for practical reasons (as well as the simply, purely self-indulgent concept of getting to fall asleep next to Steve, that is):

one, that’s the side where the window is, and on the colder nights, when chilly draughts will creep in through the crack in the broken frame (that’s been sitting askew since about February ’37), Bucky can curl around Steve’s shivering frame, his chest to the curve of Steve’s back, his arm wrapped carefully around Steve’s waist, and shield him from the cold.

(Steve pretends not to know this. Steve may also pretend he’s asleep when he inevitably snuggles back into Bucky’s warmth, and settles his arm over Bucky’s arm, his hand over Bucky’s hand where it spans Steve’s soft stomach – and if somehow their fingers lace together, filling in each other’s gaps, it’s really nobody’s fault.) (Steve does not pretend he doesn’t love feeling the bow of Bucky’s smile against his neck whenever this happens.)

two, laying on this side gives Bucky access to Steve’s good ear; which is good, because Bucky wants Steve to hear him when he whispers Good morning, always spoken first, always sweetest, and listens for Steve’s sleep-rough Mornin’ in return;

when pre-dawn has barely colored their bedroom in soft blue and periwinkle, and Steve tries to roll away and slip out of bed first, have coffee ready in its pot for when Bucky gets up; and Bucky captures him in his arms, cajoles Steve back into their private cocoon; he wants Steve to know it when he murmurs, Shh, we got time. We can stay a while still. He wants Steve to hear him say it, say we, say us, and he wants Steve to catch the meaning behind it, the holy trinity of You and Me and Home hidden in that one syllable, and feel Steve shiver sweetly at the sound of it;

and on those nights – those nights when Steve’s body opens up for him – when Steve guides him inside and lets Bucky move them together–

when he twists his head back to seek Bucky’s mouth, offering up his cheek, his neck to Bucky’s hungry kisses, Bucky needs him to hear it – the desperate whispers of Please, the breathless praise of Stevie, Steve, Steve, so perfect, drivin’ me insane, doll, the helpless stream of I love you, love you – Bucky won’t let Steve miss a single ounce of it.

now

I think, when Bucky first comes back, being hyper-aware of his surroundings most of the time, the instinct to take the side of the bed that’s farthest from the door is strong, even more so when they’re spending the night away from home for one reason or another;

Steve doesn’t mind. Steve doesn’t even wait for him to ask anymore – he simply claims the door side of the bed for himself, places his broad, strong body between Bucky and the lurking shadows outside and makes a point of tangling their legs together under the blankets. If they want you, he’s said before, his lips sealing the vow against Bucky’s temple, they’ll have to go through me.

this doesn’t guarantee that they won’t, occasionally, wake up on the opposite side than the one they fell asleep on;

mainly in the summer, when Steve starfishes his large mountain-sized self in the middle of the mattress, and then Bucky has to work around him and/or crawl over him (any instances of him elbowing Steve in the guts during this process are totally and entirely accidental) just to go take a piss at 2 AM, and crawling back to his original spot is just too much work (and work means more heat, and more heat means more sweat), so he just plops down in the nearest corner available.

(Things may also get interesting on warmer nights because sleepy, overheated Steve has a tendency to chase after Bucky’s metal arm like it’s the holy grail and he’s stuck in an abridged episode of Monty Python, which is why sometimes – but don’t tell anyone – sometimes Bucky detaches the prosthetic from his shoulder, sticks it in the fridge for a couple of hours, and then leaves Steve to hug it like a teddy bear. Honestly, it’s worth it just to hear Steve’s sigh of relief, and watch his brow smooth into serene sleep. It’s nice while it lasts.)

My point is, no matter which side they’re laying on, as long as they’re together, they’re happy either way 💕💕💕

#anon #stucky #my brain feels kind of like a weird whirlwind of pure dumbassery right now but lol what can you do #i have some more random thoughts but i already rambled enough so #sgdjhdfkjg #i firmly believe that steve still loves to be the little spoon whenever he gets the chance #he also snores with the ethereal grace of a jackhammer #bucky still forgets the bedside lamp on sometimes bc he's a sentimental boi and he likes to fall asleep to the sight of steve next to him #(steve pretends not to notice this either) #they're not above falling asleep sprawled on top of each other like big beefy lumps of love #and i gotta stop sjdhfksdjfkg #sorry everyone #rillers scribbles #ALSO I DID NOT REREAD THIS FJDHGFKD SORRY