#shut up Howly

[the-howling-storm]

I dunno how else to explain it, but every Markiplier voice impersonation sounds like a fusion or midpoint between the scale of Patrick Warburton and John Mulaney

#markiplier #john mulaney #patrick warburton #shut up Howly

[numberonestuckyshipper]

Okay but like:

The Howlies being out on a mission in the middle of nowhere, walking, and Bucky (who lives and breathes for music and dancing, you can’t change my mind.) starts singing or whistling out of nowhere We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz and all of the others just trying so hard to get him him to shut up or laughing at how inappropriate for the situation it is or saying shit like Nazis not being anything like Wizards. And basically just some Howling Commandos fluff (which they probably didn’t get very often because circumstances).

#bucky barnes #stucky #howling commandos headcanon #howling commandos #the wizard of oz #catfa #catfa bucky

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Hey, so, I've been contemplating this idea for a while, and I'm aware other people thought of this. But Bucky in a USO Chorus Girl outfit.

I imagine he'd be in the middle of a card game with Steve and their other comrades. Bucky's winning, he's getting cocky, so he makes a bet.

"If I lose, I have to wear one of them pretty outfits the showgirls wear."

Lo and behold, he loses. He's pissed about it. But he goes through with the bet.

And Steve?

Steve can't take his eyes off of Bucky for the life of him. But Bucky's being so whiny and pouty about it, acting like a brat.

So, Steve takes it upon himself to "fix" Bucky's attitude.

I was wondering if you have any thoughts on this? Or have you answered an ask similar to this before?

Oh my God, I love this idea. I've heard lots of ideas bouncing around in the stucky fandom after She Hulk, but never one exactly like this thought!

The thought of it being a lost bet is *chef's kiss*

I'm not currently taking prompts, but... what the hell, I only have a few days before I go back to college, I might as well spend my last little bit of this break by thinking of Bucky in a skirt...

Immediately, when you sent this prompt in, I was imagining Bucky with his arms crossed and a stormy look on his face. His lips are set in a straight line, and his brows furrowed; he's not pissed about being made to dress up in the skimpy outfit meant for one of the dancing dames that Steve twinkled over to this side of the war front with, he's fucking pissed that he lost. He was winning! And he woulda fuckin' won if Monty hadn't--

"You gonna give us a twirl, lady spangles?" Jim howls at him, grinning like a madman.

The wolf whistles of the other Howlies quickly join his words, overpowering them. Monty even sticks his fingers into his mouth to whistle extra loud--being, as usual, extra obnoxious. Just because he can.

"No," Bucky huffs, "that's not gonna happen," shifting where he stands, crossing his arms tighter and only letting his lip curl up slightly. He can feel the gauzy tulle fluffing the skirt swishing against his skin. Vaguely itchy and ticklish. He didn't put on the stockings to complete the outfit, but he kind of wishes that he did now. The sensation would be less distracting with another layer, at least. Probably. He's never worn stockings. Maybe they’d be even more distracting. Yet... he'd also be warmer with tights. Warmer if he hadn't fuckin’ lost and weren't wearing this sleeveless, low plunging, flag-blue top, revealing his decolletage and more. He's so cold his nipples are poking through the thin fabric. And the high waist joining the top and skirt is tight, pressing into him every time he takes a (hopefully) slow, calming breath. He feels not only cold but exposed, too.

Small mercies, at least, his hands were too big for any of the white, shiny gloves to be wearable. He can't get them over his fists. The same goes for the shoes. None of the dangers have the same size feet as Bucky does. Saves him some of his dignity. Just some. He won't fall flat on his face in any tiny, shiny heels tonight.

"Aw, c'mon, girlie," they laugh, a fuckin’ peanut gallery, all of ‘em.

"Fuck you," Bucky rolls his eyes hugely.

Bucky would like to go back to approximately twenty minutes ago when they were congregated around a flipped over apple box on the dirty, dusty floor of Steve's private Captain's tent with flickering lamp light and hazy cigarette smoke hanging over them, laid back as much as they could when on the front. Now, standing alone and just barely inside the shut tent entrance makes Bucky feel like he's the game. He might not be as competitive as Steve fucking is, but he doesn't like this outcome. Not at all. He grumbles to himself some more.

"Aw, don't say that." Someone teases.

“Yeah, don't beat yourself up, honey!” Another of the guys piles on.

“Mm-hm. You're so pretty. There's no need to be embarrassed."

"Shake it, baby!"

A few other sarcastic replies and catcalls meet his blunt unenjoyment of this lost bet. Bucky feels himself slowly turning red. His Ma taught him better than to ogle at ladies. Apparently, none of these animals got that message, though. That, or, they don't care about ogling about a man in a lady's things.

"How long do I have to stand here and be drooled over? You fuckers miss your gals that much?" Bucky uncrosses his arms, fisting the hem of the skirt, pulling it down. Does this really cover any of Steve's dancers? He had to roll his skivvies up so they didn't hang out from under the skirt. "Am I done?"

"Just a little longer, twinkles. You haven't paid your dues just yet."

“Yeah, and you won't ‘til you give us a twirl!”

Laughter bounces among them.

Bucky flips them off. But, he does stand there until they get bored of him. The only thing he hates more than losing is not holding to his word. He made a bet. It wasn't a smart bet--even if he's pretty sure Monty cheated just to pull his leg (probably conspiring with the others)--but whatever.

Bucky doesn't realize until the Howlies are shuffling out of the tent, slapping Bucky on the shoulder or ass as they leave, saluting him and drawling, “goodnight, ma’am,” “night, dolly,” and “you come here often, how come I’ve not seen you here before, baby,” among other things before disappearing into the darkness that's swallowed the camp whole... Steve hasn't said anything. But it hits him over the back of the head, the realization, once they're alone in his oversized tent. Steve is a little shit. He never has enough self-control to resist piling on, ragging Bucky harder than anyone else can get away with. Yet...

He hasn't done anything.

And come to think of it, as Bucky ties the canvas tent flaps shut, their men all gone, he can feel Steve's eyes on him. They're intense. Normally, Bucky gets a sense for if his gaze is hungry and burning or worried or whatever. He's not sure what this is. But he knows he's looking.

What can Bucky do but turn around?

Bucky catches his blue eyes ripping up, ashamed, from the bottom hem of his ruffled skirt.

And... they're eye to eye now, a scant few feet separating them. Silent, for the moment. Though, it never takes long for Steve to open his big mouth.

Steve licks his lips, “you--” he clears his throat, a false start, “you sure you don't wanna give it just one twirl?”

Bucky groans, rolling his eyes so hard that he just might pull something. “No,” he grinds his right heel into the gritty floor, “I wanna get outta this fuckin’ thing. I'm done.” And he is. So done. He lost, he made a bet, he got his, he doesn't need more.

He’s so done that he reaches up behind his shoulder, grasping blindly for the zip at the nap of his neck, feeling for the cold metal. He brushes over it a few times but can't quite get a solid hold on it. Wiggling, Bucky tries his best to get it. He can't.

He huffs, dramatic but feeling very deserved, “Steeve.”

“Hmm?” Steve is looking right at him, but he sounds the same way he always does when he's distracted by something else. As if he's stuck in a drawing, and Bucky is pestering him by asking him to do the dishes or launder their sheets.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, “unzip me.”

“Y-yeah,” Steve licks his lips again.

Damn, he's gonna give himself chapped lips. Actually, can he even get chapped lips now? With the serum? Shaking his head, not staying stuck on the thought, Bucky steps forward, turning around when he's in front of Steve and waiting for him to--

Suddenly, Steve's big hands are on his waist, causing him to jump--spooked 'cause he was expecting to feel him at the nape of his neck, slowly taking the zipper of his dress down, leaving him even more exposed to the chill of the night air. His hands are fucking huge. Dinner-plate-sized paws, he swears it. Feeling them around his waist catches Bucky off-guard. They're warm, too. He burns like a furnace now. That's just as unfamiliar.

“Steve--” Bucky starts to complain, the edge of an exasperated whine in his voice.

“Buck,” Steve's thumbs are drawing back and forth over the thin, silky material of his waistband. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. The heat from his big, huge fucking mitts and his thick, broad chest as he steps in closer bleed into Bucky. They're not even touching yet, but he's not cold anymore. The gauzy tulle squishes up against the back of his legs. Itchy.

“Get me out of this thing, I swear, Steve I'll--” Bucky is cut off, gasping, when Steve digs his fingers into his hips and tugs him back against him at the same time. His strength is literally breathtaking.

His lips, hot, are against the shell of his ear, the rasp of his stubble--already coming in even though he cleaned up this afternoon, shaving by the river out back from camp--against his hair, catching, make Bucky's blood turn thicker, “you really hate this that much, Buck?” His voice is low, barely a whisper. Bucky can still hear it. He can feel it. Breathed hot and humid against him.

“Yes,” the word is out of his mouth before he can think twice.

“Hmm, that's a shame,” Steve husks, “I think you should keep it. It suits you.”

That night from the bar flashes through Bucky, scoffing, he struggles fruitlessly against Steve's hold on his hip, “is this just payback for what I said, you can’t keep me lik--”

It turns out Steve can still hold him in place with just one hand. An arm around his waist, the thick, hard muscle pressing into his body. His other hand is busy covering his mouth.

Oh.

“Who’d’a thought all it'd take to put some fight in you is putting you in a little skirt, huh?” Steve chuckles, “coulda done that back home an’ maybe you woulda won more at Y.” He pats Bucky's face, his hand still over his mouth, unmoving like the fucker he is. Too strong for his own good.

Still, Bucky struggles more. Grumbling and debating if it’s worth it to bite his hand, he doubts licking it would make a difference. Struggling if not to get away and punch Steve in his shoulder for being a dick than just to feel him flex--his forearm, bicep, and his chest, so close. Pressed up against him.

Steve, ever an asshole, just laughs more. He doesn’t go anyway, smiling into his hair, “aw, c'mon, don’t be sore at me, the guys were tellin’ the truth, you don't look bad at all, Buck. It suits you.”

“Mmm-mnh!” Bucky complains against his hand, muffled.

“It really suits you…” Steve murmurs, repeating himself as his other hand releases his waist and smooths up his bare thigh, moving up under the skirt. His eyes, oppositely, drag down his body. His gaze boring right into him.

Bucky can't speak because of Steve's hand, but he still trips over his own tongue, choking and feeling heat rise high on his cheeks. It climbs to his ears. Steve is groping him. Squeezing his thighs. Ruffling the tulle. It swishes around his body, rubbing up on him just as much as Steve is.

“You gonna quit bitchin’ if I let you go?”

Bucky thinks about shaking his head, he still wants out of this damn thing, but the gesture turns into a nod without his permission and when Steve, true to his word, stops cupping his wide palm over his mouth, not a sound comes out of him until--

“Ohh,” the moan spills out of Bucky's buzzing lips, dripping in shock and heat all because one of Steve's big hands is on his waist again, touching the soft, silky fabric--petting him almost--and the other has flipped up his skirt and dived under his skivvies to get a whole, huge handful of his ass. Squeezing him filthily. Grabbing him like he wants to take a chunk out of him.

Also with the poofy skirt pushed up and out of the way, Bucky can feel the hot line of Steve's cock against him.

Jesus.

He likes it. He really likes it. He really likes him in this tiny, little getup. They've only just gotten alone, and he immediately had to jump him, and--

“Good boy,” Steve's voice is just a hot and just as close as his dick, pressed into his neck. Humid, dripping with arousal.

His voice is enough of a reward for Bucky, but Steve is generous. He adds to it. Letting his hand travel from his waist up his front, heavily dragging over his hip and stomach and chest until he gets to his nipple. They're still hard. Aching points on his chest. Needing to be touched.

“Nnngh,” another unintentional sound comes out of him when Steve thumbs his left nipple, sending a skittering spark down to his dick and pushing the shirt up.

Steve coos at him, the low hum rumbling through his chest and into Bucky, and Bucky… Bucky is washed away with another wave of heat, flushed heat to toe, and melting back onto Steve's chest. He doesn't budge. A fuckin’ brick wall. All muscle. God.

“That's it,” Steve encourages him, two thick fingers grazing his tight hole between his cheeks, making him shiver bonelessly, “see? That wasn't so hard. Just be good. Lemme look at you.”

Bucky’s so distracted that he doesn't even snip at Steve for doing much more than looking at him. He quivers, head to toe, without a single coherent thought in his head. "Steve," he pleads.

"Jus' lemme look," he reiterates, his voice a delicious purr and his hands dangerous paws, hitting him exactly where it counts.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

The Shield Bearer

WWII Stucky, Canon divergence, hurt/comfort, sad, sweet

@amarriageoftrueminds and this amazing map is what triggered this fic. (That and the fact I haven't written anything new in a while.)

The helmet bounced as it hit the rocky ground, shattering the fragile shale and sending shards in every direction. Gabe caught it on the way back up and the rest of the Howlies scattered. Grumbles of protests rumbled throughout the team but nobody said a word, not even Dum Dum. They all knew when to keep their mouths shut. Especially when it was Bucky's turn to lose his cool.

"If I have to chase down this goddamn shield one more time –!"

He slammed the vibranium disc into the ground where it parted the rock beneath it and stayed there, listing slightly to one side.

For lack of anything else to take his anger out on, he kicked at the dirt. It fanned out over the fire. The flames collapsed for a few beats, then, as the wind whistled through the gorge, reignited. It was like the searing burn in Bucky's gut, ever constant and resilient.

He began to pace while the others regrouped around the fire. "Not only do I have to cover his ass, I've got to clean up after him, too!"

Bucky dropped his gun on the ground, ignoring the vocal cringe from Denier, and picked up the coffee pot from the fire. He poured into an awaiting cup and took a mouthful.

Ugh. It was awful.

Jim scowled at him as he bent to spit it on the ground, and Bucky thought better of it. The guys were exhausted, having not slept in three days. It wasn't Jim's fault the whole thing had gone tits up, nor Monty's or Gabe's or Dum Dum's. It was his responsibility, because he'd taken it alone. And boy, was he regretting that decision.

He swallowed the horrible stuff and set his pack on the ground. The others had already set up camp in the gorge. The mountains rose up on either side, and only the brush offered any kind of cover. If HYDRA were to locate them, they'd all be sitting ducks.

"He back yet?" Bucky huffed as he sat next to Gabe. The man had rolled over a few of the larger rocks. Uncomfortable as hell, Bucky reminded himself to appreciate it. Jones wasn't even supposed to be over there. 

"No sign of him," Dum Dum confirmed. "He went after those two that got away."

Bucky closed his eyes and quietly fumed. "Of course he did."

The others looked ready to peel off again if Bucky got violent. He decided they'd had enough for the day.

"More rations for the rest of us then." Bucky unzipped his pack and grabbed a kit, then handed it to Gabe without taking any for himself.

Morita stared at him with those alert eyes. Nothing got past him. Nothing.

"You not eating, Sarge?"

"Nah. My stomach's tryna break free from my intestines." He rubbed his belly for good measure. "Would be a waste cos' it'll all come right back up again."

It was a lie; he was starving. But so was everyone else. They were supposed to pick up more rations in the city before they were unceremoniously ambushed by nazis. They had to have been waiting for them.

Monty loosened the red scarf around his neck and wiped the grime from his forehead, then set about rolling cigarettes. Dum Dum and Denier helped Morita portion out what little they had, and Bucky stared off into space. 

Gabe stoked the fire with a long branch he'd broken off a nearby bush. It kept catching fire, and Jones kept putting it out in the dirt. Bucky thought about how it was a perfect metaphor for their plight. Everywhere they stamped out Hydra, more and more cropped up. It was exhausting.

He poured some more of the terrible brown liquid and forced it down. If he filled his belly with it, maybe he wouldn't feel so empty inside. Their mission had been a failure; besides not successfully procuring more supplies, they'd stirred a hornet's nest and a few of its inhabitants had gotten away.

They'd retreated to the mountains with the enemy hot on their tails. The mountainside was bare and treacherous, rocks sliding dangerously beneath their feet. At one point, they took such heavy fire they had to hole up under an outcropping of rock. They were already low on ammo, and they'd been ordered to save it. After all, they had other means of protection.

Only that particular protection detail didn't clean up his toys when he was done with them.

They ate in torrential silence. 

Afterward, Bucky listened as Dernier did an ammo count, and Jim took a written inventory. It was stupid, really. They knew they were in trouble. But the mind did strange things when under duress, and sticking to a routine always worked for them.

Why had they named Bucky second in command anyway? Just because his dad was a cop and he knew a bit about guns? Or maybe they'd heard about his sparring record? That was probably it. Someone opened their big mouth and –

"Sarge."

They should have given it to Monty. He was a major, after all, and just because he was a Brit didn't mean he couldn't –

"Sarge!"

Bucky was shaken out of his own head by Dum Dum. "It's your turn for night watch."

Because, of course it was.

The guy's mustache twitched. "You sure you're up for it? You're lookin' kinda pale."

"I'm fine!" Bucky shouted, a bit on the intense side. He'd have to work on toning that down. "Go get some shut-eye."

And then, to the rest of them. "All of yeh. Get outta here!"

They didn't wait around for him to change his mind. Each man unrolled a well-used bedroll into the dirt near the fire and turned away from him. It seemed nobody wanted to make eye contact.

Nobody except for Gabe. "You want me to take this shift?" he asked, and Bucky felt the boot of guilt in his gut. All the shit that man had been through and he still had room for a heart. 

"Nah." Bucky took the stick Jones had been using to stir out the rest of the embers. "I got it."

It made sense for Bucky to take the night watch. His hearing was better than the rest of them. He could tell an animal step from a human, a rolling rock from a tumbling grenade. His reflexes were faster and his stamina greater. And, for now, he had a little extra armor.

Bucky waited until everyone was still before snuffing out the fire with the rest of the coffee. It gave off a hissing kind of putridity that made him instantly regret it. But the rest said nothing, and the sky was already growing dark, and Bucky had a night full of thinking to do.

He rescued his rifle from the dust and propped it against his pack, then wrestled with the shield to free it from the ground. He fetched his bedroll and folded it against the pack, then sat and tried to imagine his stomach was angry because he was overly full.

Bucky pulled the shield into his lap like the world's most uncomfortable blanket and lifted his eyes to the summit. He scanned the treeless ridge on both sides, positioning himself so he could see out of the corner of his eyes if needed. Then he focused on the red glow rising in the west.

He'd never been to Greece. Hadn't even seen pictures of it. The whole thing was tragically surreal; he'd never have even left Brooklyn if it hadn't been for –

Well. He was in Greece now, not far from the coast. Even as high as they were in the mountains, he could smell the salty air. It was much different than the Atlantic back home.

Home. Wasn't that a strange concept? There was a time when he'd considered it a place. Four walls and a roof and a key to a door. Skyscrapers and cars and throngs of people. As it turned out, it wasn't the things that made it home. It was the people. The people he'd left behind, yes, but also the people he'd met over here.

Jim and Gabe. Monty. Dernier. Hell, even Dum Dum.

And that led him to their missing team member.

Oh, Bucky could throttle him. What was he thinking, leaving their little pack like that? And without a proper weapon to protect himself? For all Bucky knew, he'd been captured again, and there wouldn't be another chance to beat the snot out of him for being so stubborn and impulsive. 

He fumed for so long his jaw began to ache and his hands cramped from clenching them so hard.

Anger eventually evolved into worry. The sunset was long since gone, and there hadn't been a moon for the past two nights. Greece may have fought off the Italians at one point, but they were close to making alliances. And the little band of nazis they'd encountered sure sounded German to him.

Bucky knocked the toe of his boot against a rock and thought about the expanding hole in his sock. Eventually, his skin would chafe and bleed, then ooze in the most painful of ways. But he'd recover, just like he'd done before. The wounds would heal themselves. And if he didn't say anything about it, nobody would know how wrong it was.

But he couldn't think about that. He'd spiral into madness, and men were counting on him.

And so, he hummed. To himself, of course. He hummed to melodies only he could hear, harmonized with orchestras inside his head. All the songs he'd loved, some that he hated even. Just to be able to forget.

But the tune always returned in the end. Turned bittersweet, thick with longing and want for something he couldn't have. A face swam before him, familiar but — different. And then another with red, red lips would cut in and take it from him.

"Fuck."

Bucky wiped a filthy hand over his face and shivered. The cold always affected him more intensely than anything else. Goosebumps rose in waves over his skin, muscles clenched, tendons gone tight over aching bones. It wasn't the temperature that triggered this reaction. It was the memory of a metal gurney, glinting steel instruments. A wickedly pleasant voice.

Bucky slid his palm over the ever-sharp edge of the shield. Without gloves, it could slice him open if he wasn't careful. Heaven knew how many fascists it had maimed and dismembered. He'd lost count.

He hated it, this perfect weapon. Hated what it did, what it stood for. Hated taking lives at all, even if they were demonically evil. It wasn't in his nature to kill anyone.

But.

The war was bigger than just him and his pacifist nature. This was the destruction of his people simply because of who they were. Elderly, ill, children; the fascist machine of death didn't care. The only goal in sight was world domination.

Most of all, though, quite selfishly, he hated how it had turned his best friend into a killer.

Bucky sighed and tucked the shield higher under his chin and tipped his head back to look at the stars. The constellations were different in this sky. Which was good, really. Counting and making his own connection between the brightest objects would keep him occupied as he waited out the rest of the night.

The waiting went on throughout the morning and into the afternoon. The guys played cards and rolled more cigarettes. Bucky tried to sleep, he honestly did. But a pair of blue eyes wouldn't let him.

As the second evening in the gorge began to fall, Dum Dum approached him with that stubborn sternness. "Sarge, we gotta do something. Ain't getting nowhere just sitting here."

Bucky knew it. But he couldn't admit to it.

"One more night," he said. And that was that.

Bucky took to his bedroll like everyone else and turned his back to the snuffed-out fire. A sliver of moon had appeared over the crest of the hill. He watched as it glided over the part of the sky he could see. And when it disappeared behind the mountain and well into the night, he began to dive back into his mind.

Luckily, Gabe's night watch ended early. Bucky heard the slide of the shield as it rolled out of his hands. Heard the soft thud as it fell to the ground. Felt the vibration of its alien metal on his exposed skin. Remembered those blue eyes looking over it at him.

Bucky pushed up from the ground and relieved Gabe of his post. He took the shield into one hand and rolled Jones over onto his bedroll with the other. The man grunted softly but didn't wake.

Something glinted from the ground where Gabe had sat. Something small and rectangular, its monochrome tones clear as day to Bucky's keen eyesight. He recognized it as a photograph, the face smiling out one that was all too familiar. 

Bucky snorted softly as he lifted it. It appeared more than one person was enamored with Agent Carter. He tipped the photo into the upturned helmet and felt a sudden connection with Gabe that cut deep; he, too, wanted something he couldn't have. 

Bucky couldn't sit and wait any longer. He took up his weapon with the shield and set off through the gorge and away from camp. There was something he wanted to say to someone.

When he was far enough out of earshot, and yet close enough to fulfill his guard duty, Bucky dropped both shield and gun and got it off his chest.

"I hate you, you sonofabitch!"

The hiss of his heated whisper echoed between the slopes on either side like one snake attacking another. His chest heaved and a sting of tears welled in his eyes. And he was glad there was no one about to see him fall apart.

He didn't know how long he stood there until he heard it. Until the hair at the back of his neck prickled in warning. He only knew the infuriating relief he felt as he counted the milliseconds between footsteps.

He would follow those footsteps anywhere.

As the footfalls neared and came to a halt, Bucky turned away from the sound and waited for the inevitable.

"Buck?"

Something in his heart clenched tight as he imagined those eyes staring down (down!) at him.

"You came back." It sounded accusatory, which was exactly how Bucky meant it.

"Yeah." A step closer, the heavy breathing more audible. "I uh – I left something behind."

Bucky couldn't stand it; his heart was near exploding. He spun on the spot and shoved the hated shield into that well-muscled and perfectly healthy chest.

"I'm not your slave," Bucky growled around the lump in his throat. He tried very hard not to look upon those broad shoulders. The way he was loaded down with a pack three times normal size. How that smart mouth opened and closed. Opened and closed. Opened.

"Never said you were."

There was an unexpected bite at the end of it. Bucky bristled.

"We were gonna leave in the morning whether you came back or not."

"As you should have."

And dammit. Why was he always so sanctimonious about it?

"The guys had a bet going on how far we'd get before you caught up."

"Oh, really?" The rumbling, deep voice wasn't supposed to be comforting him, of all people.

Bucky thought how stupid they must look. Standing in the middle of a war and not saying anything.

"I put money on you getting captured."

The man holding the shield stiffened. The weight he carried shifted. "C'mon Buck."

A hand reached for his forearm, but Bucky wasn't having it. He turned away and started walking back toward camp. There were a few tense moments where he wasn't followed.

And then — "I brought food."

Bucky recognized the tone. It was something he'd heard many times in the past after they'd had a fight. The new arrival was trying to make up, uncomfortable with the awkwardness of being absolutely fucking wrong.

"Great," Bucky said, continuing forward. "Guys are starving."

He thought he heard muttering over the sound of that shield being hefted over a massive forearm. But eventually, they were both walking back into camp. Bucky on soft, careful feet, and his companion like a bull in a china shop.

It was telling to their exhaustion that nobody else woke as the man set about unpacking. Bucky didn't help. He went back to his bed on the ground and pretended his heart wasn't thundering away in his chest. Nobody tried to talk to him. Nobody poked at the thoughts and fears and things he wanted badly to say but couldn't. Nobody even noticed he was there.

He was surprised to be woken from sleep by the overpowering smell of cooking meat.

"Morning sunshine," that familiar voice said. Bucky sat quickly, surveying the scene before him with mixed feelings.

Several tins steamed from the coals in the fire, sending mouth-watering aromas into the air. Around him, his pack of scoundrels was stirring. Wiping sleep-slow eyes. Blinking away the fog of a sudden awakening. Shouting with recognition as their vision cleared and they laid eyes on the newcomer.

"Cap!"

"Hey, he's back!"

"Look what the cat dragged in!"

"So you didn't abandon us for greener pastures!"

Bucky felt that one especially. It was made even more difficult by the soul-destroying gaze from impossible blue eyes across the fire.

"Nah. Couldn't do that to you."

The chatter around the fire was jubilant. Full of actual sustenance, eager to hear and share the stories of how they were separated, the guys grilled Rogers on each and every detail.

Apparently, the great Captain America had single-handedly caught up with and 'taken care of' the two scouts who had been tasked with trailing them. Then he'd met a group of locals who had banded together to make things difficult for the Italians. This resistance group was combating the theft of food destined for the smaller communities to prevent it from being sold on the black market. And, of course, Captain Rogers couldn't resist helping the little guys.

They packed up after breakfast. Cap had secured three tents, brand new by the smell of them, a week's worth of rations for all of them, and a stack of secondhand books.

"What? You reading now, Cap?" Dum Dum teased. Rogers smirked in his all-American way.

"It's the latest fad. You should try it!"

His optimism gave Bucky a headache. 

Bucky tagged along at the back as they hiked down the mountainside. Captain Rogers had a destination in mind, and the group followed him without question. There were rights to wrong, after all. Evil to defeat. Liberty to defend. Who would say no to that?

They moved slowly, covering dusty, dry ground as they descended. Bucky kept to himself. He didn't want his foul mood to affect the rest. Something was wrong with him that couldn't be cured by a rousing noble quest.

Around the bend of another mountain, Bucky caught sight of the sea. It was aquamarine and clear and too good to be true. He fought back the hope in the back of his throat.

They set up camp just before the sun sunk below the horizon. The tents went up quickly and the rations disappeared the same. And when Bucky could no longer hold his tongue, he disappeared from the group.

And, naturally, Rogers followed. It wasn't but five minutes after he'd shucked out of his boots, hung up his holey socks, and laid his head on the ground that he entered the tent.

Bucky closed his eyes. He knew they couldn't go on avoiding it. 

"I know you're mad at me, Barnes."

So it was to be Barnes, then. Bucky took a deep breath and sat up to face his roommate. "I'm not mad. I'm furious."

Rogers crouched in the entrance, allowing the flap to fall against his back before he entered fully.

He didn't speak, so Bucky continued. "These guys? They'll do anything you say. But they aren't superheroes. They can't shake off a bullet wound to the shoulder. Trek a hundred miles without food and water. Then get up and do it every day for a week."

Rogers remained silent. His wide knees poked out from thick thighs as he crouched, one hand on the ground between them.

"They're bound to break at some point. They need to rest."

His companion took a deep breath. "And what about you?"

Bucky sighed in exasperation. "Doesn't matter, does it? You don't listen to anything I say anyway!"

Rogers began to argue, but Bucky cut him off.

"No! You don't get to talk! You were safe in Brooklyn! There wasn't any danger of them sending you over here! Then you went and signed up for some fool's science experiment! And I will never, ever, be able to make it up to your Ma'!"

Bucky flopped on the ground and rolled away. It didn't matter anymore anyway. He'd failed at the thing he'd promised Sarah Rogers before she passed. But, dammit, he was going to die trying to make amends.

The tent was quiet for a long, long time. So long that, if Bucky didn't know better, he'd have thought the man had left. But there was the telltale clumsy shuffle as Rogers joined him on his own bedroll not two feet away.

Time passed slowly, excruciatingly so. Bucky's palms began to sweat and so did his bare feet. His heart continued to pound unhelpfully, and his mouth had gone desert-dry. He wasn't prepared to hear the heavy, steady inhale and exhale of a man asleep.

Bucky turned his head, and sure enough, Rogers had assumed his usual arms and legs spread eagle pose. Always a bed hog, he was even more so in this strange new body. And there was still that little click in the back of his throat as he breathed.

That familiar protectiveness was back, full force. Even though it was completely unwarranted. Bucky turned onto his back and listened out of habit. Just like he used to. Making sure his friend was still breathing.

Something closed around Bucky's throat, and something else made him roll toward that which vexed him so. A third something broke down the wall he'd built to protect himself, shattering the rage he'd been harboring since he returned.

Bucky found a warm palm, large enough to fit his whole cheek into. He nuzzled into it, resting the weary weight of his face inside, and breathed easy for the first time in days.

"Steve."

Read on AO3

#stucky #WWII Stucky #hurt comfort #gfawkes #greece #steve rogers #bucky barnes

[polizwrites]

The Hour of Denial

This is a fill for today’s  @flashfictionfridayofficial  prompt [#FFF241 Hour of Denial]  as well as my  @cabottombingo  square - B1 - "All I wanted was for you to be happy." 

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Rating: General Tags:  Captain America: The First Avenger canon divergence, keeping secrets, love confessions Word Count: 357 words

 Bucky had been waiting for the question ever since they left the pub.  But apparently Steve was keeping him on tenterhooks, waiting until a door was firmly closed between them and the rest of the Howlies before he turned on Bucky. “Why were you flirting with Peggy?” he asked, voice low and serious. 

“Habit, I guess,”  Bucky shrugged, not able to look Steve in the eyes.  

 “Is that all it was?”  Bucky’s gut twisted at Steve’s question, touching too close to his deepest darkest secret:  being helplessly, damnably in love with his best friend.   

“Maybe I was trying to make you jealous.”  The words slipped out before he could stop them.  Thinking fast, he added, “I figured if I tried to make time with the gal you were pinin’ after, maybe you’d finally man up and tell her how you feel.”   

 “I was jealous, ” Steve replied, “but not …” he trailed off uncomfortably. 

Bucky’s traitorous heart skipped a beat; even as his brain knew that Steve couldn’t possibly be saying what Bucky longed to hear. 

“You gotta  know, Steve, all I wanted - all I’ve ever wanted -  was for you to be happy,” he confessed.  “And I bet Carter could make you awful happy.” 

Steve snorted dismissively.  “Peggy’s an amazing woman.  But she’s not for me.”   

“Then I guess I left all the stupid with you after all!” Bucky exclaimed with a snort of his own. “You saw how she cut me dead - she’s only got eyes for you!” 

Bucky looked up (and that was something hard to get used to, looking up at Steve) -  to see a familiar look in his companion’s eye -- Steve was about to throw caution to the wind.  “You want me to be happy, Buck? Really?”

“Of course.”  

“Then let me tell you this one thing.”  Steve took a deep breath and squared his jaw.   “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.  Since before I knew what love was.  I know it's not right, for a fella to feel that way about another fella but–” 

Bucky grabbed Steve by the lapels of his uniform and pulled him close.  “Shut up and kiss me, punk.” 

#writing stuff #mcu/marvel #stucky #wartime stucky #love confessions #shameless self promo

[somanywords]

to celebrate our favourite jewish gay man, pls tell me your favourite bucky headcanons 🥰

happy bucky's birthday, elliot!!! 💛 keepin' it light, as today is a happy day, with less angst than usual ;)

bucky and his sisters all take turns lighting the menorah as they grow up--bucky gets the fourth night and the last

in my head bucky's a mechanic and writer, and he loves both fixing things with his hands and also creating far away worlds

he's always talking. the boy will not shut up. if you get him to stop talking, he starts singing. his whole family hates it

but they also love it and when he grows up and moves out they have to turn on the radio in the evenings to make up for the absence

bucky adopts every stray cat he comes across. yes, this includes steve rogers. steve's just the only stray who hasn't left again

he takes scraps out to the alley cats every night without fail, even when the cats are eating just as well as he, if not better, and during the war he finds several and makes sure to carry them as far away from the battlefield as possible

steve says bucky missed having three little girls trailing after him so he had to find three little cats

the three wartime cats are called atrocious things. one is a swearword, the other is a male cat named sarah, after steve's mother, and the last is cary grant just because

the howlies all unironically call him mother, and he's not even upset

after winter soldier, bucky sneaks his way back to brooklyn, trying to put the pieces of his life back together, and while everyone's running all over eastern europe looking for him, he's actually working at a small bodega and accidentally adopting all his neighbors

seriously, there's like three grandmas, four teenagers, a huge immigrant family, and a single mother and baby. bucky brings them all matzah ball soup

steve loses it when he eventually finds him. "if it's not cats, it's an entire neighborhood, buck. i'm not even surprised."

bucky slowly comes back to himself in fits and starts, not even noticing when it happens--one day is the first time he starts writing again, one day the first time he laughs out loud. oneday he starts singing again--he wouldn't even notice it except steve smashes a dinner plate and starts crying

bucky ends up finding his younger sister again and he goes to visit her all the time. they make meals together on all the holidays. steve's job is to fold the hamantaschen cause he's artistic like and can't mess it up too bad

bucky finds a cat in the subway and drags it home yowling to love it. "look steve," he says. "it's your sibling. say hi to steve junior."

the name sticks. whoops

#bucky barnes #jewish bucky #steve rogers #happy birthday buck buck #asks #jonathanlejonhjarta #elliot #thanks for the ask pal!!

[turtle-steverogers]

We all know Steve is enhanced, thats the whole point of the serum, right? But what if the other Avengers didn't know just how enhanced he was? Steve is very good at not showing just how good his senses are, because it sometimes creeped the howlies out. He's very careful not to get caught in the dark because his eyes glow like a cats, careful to pretend to let Nat and Clint sneak up on him, even though he can hear their heartbeats, makes sure to let Clint hit him or to fumble catches when things are tossed or thrown unexpectedly, even though he can feel the change in air pressure as they move, careful to keep the fact that he can tell when people are sacred or angry because of how they smell a secret. Sam is the first to discover just how much information Steve is getting from his senses when he tests out a communication disruptor that Tony made. It supposedly works by throwing out sonic sound waves that people can't hear and Steve all but collapses on the ground with his hands over his ears. After that, Steve tells Sam just how much he can see, and hear, and smell, and feel, and Sam proceeds to soundproof a room in the middle of his house, fill it with things of his, things that smell like him, and tells Steve to "Use it whenever things get to be too much, ok?" And Steve breaks down crying and hugs him, because this? This is the best thing someone's ever given him in the future. -🚽 Bucky Bathroom Anon

OKAY FIRST OFF THE SAMSTEVE VIBES IN THIS??? IMMACULATE

BUT ALSO DUDE I LITERALLY THINK ABOUT STEVE AND HIS SENSES S O MUCH.

Often in the context of him having everything literally dialed to eleven at all times. And before the serum, having been partially deaf and having had poor eyesight, the sudden influx of intense sensory input had to have been... incredibly and painfully jarring to say the least.

Bucky noticing during the war that Steve always had a bit of a scrunch to his face. The way he'd seemingly shut down after firefights or get twitchy in bars, because he could hear everything. Everything. The man crumpling his napkin across the bar is the same volume as Dum Dum's laugh right next to him and it's too much. Too much and he just wants to put down his head and get out of it for a minute. Sensory overload isn't necessarily new to him, but it's exceedingly painful now, and he doesn't really know what to do for himself to help it.

But oh gosh, Sam and him gently supporting each other in the little motions like that. In the same way Steve suggests going to the park to read when he notices that Sam needs to be around people without really interacting with anyone on bad days, Sam notices when Steve's senses are really, truly bothering him. Cue sound resistant curtains with dim lights and a big weighted blanket that Steve absolutely burrows under. And squeezes. Lots of squeezes. When Bucky comes home, they both squeeze him. At once. Like a sandwich. A Squeeze Steve Sandwich.

Anyway, Squeeze Steve Rogers 2022.

#squeeze steve 2022 #steve rogers #mikey answers #sam wilson #samsteve #stucky #bucky barnes #🚽 anon #hello friend!!! welcome back!!!

[imperialstark]

choke on me sneak peek ???

@warmachinesocks see i'm working on choke on me i swear

He can feel Steve and Nat's eyes on him as the night wears on. Steve tries not to be obvious but the burn under Tony's skin might as well be second nature or a sixth sense; he would recognize Steve even if he were blind. 

Maybe it's silly for him to obsess over a game invented to air out the dirty laundry of teenagers, but Tony fixates on it anyway. He replays the look on Steve's face as Bruce's question washed over them; he can recall with perfect clarity the furrow of Steve's brow, the downward slope of his mouth, the way his hand tightened on the can in his grasp, denting it slightly. 

Steve's never been in love. And that's okay. That's fine. But Tony is in love with Steve. And that…that complicates things. 

Ever since his fall, hell, maybe even before then, those terrifying life-changing words had teetered on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out at a moment's notice. 

What use was his love when he had to compete with ghosts? 

Even a blind man could see the way Steve wore grief like a cloak. It shrouded Steve, the weight of everything, everyone he had lost. 

The Howlies. Bucky. Peggy. 

The fact that Tony gets no sleep isn't a surprise. After all the excitement of the night and his daunting revelations, Tony's overactive brain does what it does best; works itself into a frenzy. His silky Egyptian cotton sheets might as well be sandpaper for all that Tony tosses and turns. Peace escapes him like a thief in the night as his brain tries to fit all of these new pieces of the puzzle that is Steve Rogers into its frame. 

"Sir," JARVIS begins, unprompted. It's been happening more and more, JARVIS speaking to Tony without Tony being the one to initiate the conversation. Any other time, the scientist in him would be thrilled at JARVIS showing signs of self-governance. Right now, all Tony wants is to be left alone. 

"Sir," JARVIS tries again. "Would you like me to get Captain Rogers?" 

"Steve?" Tony says, looking up at the ceiling. He had been spending too much time with the other Avengers who were convinced that JARVIS lived in the ceiling, despite Tony telling them otherwise. "What would I need Steve for?" 

"To put it simply sir, he helps you sleep. My data shows that you have got over nine hours of sleep whenever Captain Rogers remains with you." 

Tony shuts his mouth and the quick retort he has dies on his tongue. 

#stony #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel #mcu

[southern--downpour]

god i am so fucking happy right now. holy fucking shit. just. 

ASFNLF;ALSF;A;ALSJFD;A AAAAAAAKF;LAFK’K;A!!!!!!!

#I CANT ARTICULATE ANYTHING RN BUT HOWLY FUCK DUDE #HOLY FUCK!!! #DIETSHAMPOO AND DAYS_FADE ID DIE FOR YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH #just #FUCK MAN #I THINK I NEED TO SLEEP NOW I CANT PROCESS ANYTHING #FUCK #SO FUCKING HAPPY DUDE #DEFINITELY CRIED AT LEAST THREE TIMES #SHIT #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH #shut up virgil #mcr #my chemical romance

[gaydonowitz]

donny: [beats a nazi to death w a bat]

my stupid gay ass: g-d. i’m gonna kiss him. i’m gonna kiss that man

#emrys draws shit #self ship #self shipping #self insert shipping #self insert #self ship art #self shipping art #my inserts #insert: jim #shut up emrys #basterd jim #i'm gonna differentiate between basterd jim n howlie jim jst fr my own sanity alksjfsd #(they're the same bt one ends up w donny n th other w bucky. so) #fav

[xesperwatch]

Niv: But aren't you a tumor fucker?

Jack: No! I don't fuck tumors.

Dark: Remember, if you fuck tumors, you also fuck cancer.

Jack: -begins to protest-

Met: You fap to scalie porno, that's basically cancer.

Howly: I'm leaving

Met and Jack: [laughing uncontrollably]

#xesperwatch #Chat #nits #jack #dark #met #howly #no context ever #is this it? #is this the last quote of the year?? #admin niv #shut up it's 10:15 pm where I live

[the-howling-storm]

Hey so I also have a Bluesky if any of y’all have an account there and wanna stay in touch. Trying to get a lot more content on here since my tumblr here is mainly reblogs more than anything

#self promo #bluesky social #shut up Howly

[spearcast]

"rose don't you have a longstanding self insert oc from a friend-made au where you and your friends were the avengers' kids WHERE the other 'you' is the child of steve and peggy?" Yeah and Rose Rogers has gone through the wringer and in my current brain canon has discovered her mother's real name is Cynthia Glass and she stole the real Peggy Carter's identity after she died in early-war France and was going to still be a HYDRA double agent if she wasn't swayed to the allied side AND her mother tried to mold her into a weapon as a child and only ever saw her as a lasting burden and a constant painful reminder of Steve so R. Rogers hates her??? I work my Character Opinions into every fan-made canon I have ever built and I am not stopping now

#rose.txt #to delete later #ch: rose rogers #r. rogers voice: mum im more powerful than u ever will be so jot that down and shut the fuck up #like.. #daniel sousa and the howlies had more of a hand in raising little sarah rose rogers carter than her own mum did #and in the modern age she and her pops (steve) have bonded and learned their similarities and have a- #-weird but pleasant father daughter relationship thst they make work even tho theyre only like 10-12 years apart when rose comes out of ice

[luxeavenger]

Green Room Mirror

Day 30 Kinktober prompt: Mirror sex

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Backstage Pass!Steve Rogers x f!reader

Words: 1420

Warnings: Mirror sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, piv sex

If you like it, give it a reblog. It helps others find it!!

Kinktober Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

“Well would you look at this,” Steve skids to a halt in front of the floor to ceiling mirror in the green room of a club in Detroit. “Hey, doll. Leave that for Scott, and c’mere.”

You’re helping Scott set up for a small, impromptu Howlies show tonight, and you abandon the case you’re lugging. “What’s up, Stevie?”

He tugs you to stand in front of him, turning you to face the mirror. One tattooed arm slips around your waist, squeezing you against him, and the other hand tilts your chin so he can kiss over your neck.

“Stevie,” you gasp. He hums against your neck. “Please touch me.”

He grins, “I am touching you, princess.” You make an annoyed noise, and he chuckles. “I’d really like to see you do it. Why don’t you show me where you wanted me to touch you?”

You nod, sliding your hand up your shirt to pinch at your nipples. “Hey, hey, lemme see,” he says softly, tugging your t-shirt up over your tits. He rests his hands along the bottom of them, mounding them up in his palms. He whispers against your ear, “Open those eyes for me, princess. Look at us.”

You didn’t realize your eyes were closed, when you open them they meet Steve’s in the mirror. His are fever-bright, blue as the caribbean, and trained on you with the intensity of a big cat staring down its next meal. His hands smooth down your body and open the front of your shorts. He dips a hand inside them, running his fingers through your slick folds.

“So wet for me,” his voice is a low rumble in your ear, a deep purr that makes your knees weak, and even weaker still when his middle and ring fingers slip inside you. You whine when he pulls them right back out. “Hang on a sec. C’mere,” he backs up a few steps to the gaudy vinyl couch that occupies the middle of the room. He sits, pulling your shorts off, then situating you on his lap. He hooks your legs over his knees, and spreads you wide.

“Keep playing with those perfect tits for me, doll.” He hums his approval when you hike your shirt up and do as you’re told. His hand slips between your legs again, teasing over your folds, spreading them open with his thick fingers, rubbing through your gash to spread your slick around until your mound is shiny with your juices. “Such a goddamn pretty pussy,” he praises, before sinking agile fingers into you again.

You moan, rocking your hips to meet his digits.He groans and you feel his cock twitch under your ass. “Look so good with my fingers in your cunt.” He slips a third finger into you, his big rings rubbing deliciously against your clit. He tugs your hands off your tits, and pushes them down to the apex of your thighs, “Spread yourself open for me, doll. Wanna see your greedy little hole taking my fingers.”

His thighs open more, stretching you wider as well. His other hand slips over your clit to circle the little bundle of nerves. Your eyes drift shut on a moan, and Steve’s gentle voice instructs you to open them again.

“It feels so good, Stevie,” you groan.

“That’s nice, princess. You look so gorgeous. Can you come like this for me? Fuck, I wanna see your tight little cunt split open on my dick.” You nod and twist your hips to grind down onto his fingers.

He speeds his digits, the soft squelch of your wet pussy grows louder with every pump of his adroit fingers. You moan Steve’s name, and he urges you closer and closer to your climax, finally pushing you over the edge with a quiet, “Be a good girl and lemme see you come.”

Your cunt clenches around his fingers, and you gush over his hand with a cry. Your hips buck with every circle he draws over your sensitive clit, and fucking yourself on his fingers sets off another round of shuddering aftershocks.

The second the last throb of your climax fades, Steve is scooping you up so he can open the front of his pants, releasing his red, leaking cock. He shimmies the stiff denim down around his ankles, and pumps a tight fist over his shaft, the thick ring of his PA piercing making a little metallic jingle when it hits the ring on his index finger. Then he lowers you down onto his cock with a rumbling groan.

“Fuck, princess. Love seeing your pretty little pussy take my fat cock” He gives a few slow thrusts of his hips just to see his dick drag out of you and spear back in. “Feel so fucking good,” he purrs.

A wet smack rings out when he slaps your mound. The impact sends a jolt through his cock, and he ruts up into you with a growl. You push yourself down onto him and circle your hips. “Mmm, princess,” he hums, “that feels so fucking good. Grind that wet pussy on my cock.” He smacks you again, the stinging strikes send zings of sensation to your cunt. Reaching under you, he spreads your pussy lips open so he can watch you ride him in the mirror.

“C’mon,” he says in a rough voice, “take it all, like a good girl. Need’ta see you come on my cock. Just fucking use me to get yourself off. Yeah, fuck, like that, doll. Use that big dick.”

You move yourself over his length, whining and whimpering the whole time. Every little noise you make goes right to his cock. But the way your eyes are glued to the mirror—hungrily watching the way he fills your tight cunt—he could practically get off on that all by itself.

Soon enough you’re arching and mewling, and whining for him to touch you. You grab his hand and push it down to your mound. Your pussy is fluttering around his dick, and the more frantic you sound the more he wants to grab your hips and fuck you senseless.

He wants you desperate for it though.

So he touches you, does just what you asked him to do. Circling your clit with a calloused fingertip, until your cunt’s weeping, and milking his cock. You work yourself over him hard. This time when you come for him, your thighs are trembling, and your legs give out.

“Stevie,” you sob.

There it is.

He grins, lazy and indulgent, “Yeah, doll?”

“Please fuck me. Please. I can’t anymore. I need you, Stevie, please.”

“Hey, stop that, sweet girl. I’m right here. I got you.”

His strong hands go to your hips and he holds you over him, and gives you a few slow thrusts. “You want me to fuck you, doll?” You nod. “You want it hard?” You whine an affirmative. “Anything you want, sweet girl. You just make sure you don’t take your eyes off that mirror. Want us to watch how fucking good you look when you cream on my cock.”

Once he gets going he really lays into you. His hips slap against you so hard it reverberates up your body, and you know you’re going to have bruises over your hips later from how hard he’s gripping you. He’s railing you like he’s trying to hollow you out so he can climb inside.

His shockingly blue eyes don’t stray from the mirror even once.

A tightening in your core signals your orgasm, and Steve knows you’re close by the way you keen and dig your fingers into the corded muscles of his forearms. “Come on, princess. Show me how much you love this cock. Come for me.”

You have a split second where you’re annoyed that he’s not even out of breath while you’re huffing like you’re running a marathon, then your orgasm sweeps through you. You soak Steve’s cock with a wail, making him curse through clenched teeth at how good your cunt feels when it squeezes him.

You sag against his chest when all that’s left of your climax are the tingle of endorphins in your fingers and toes. He murmurs. “Are you all done, princess? Want me to stop?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, “Think you can be a sweet girl, and give me one more? Then I’ll fill this sweet cunt up till it’s dripping with come.”

Turns out, you’re so sweet you give him two more.

If you liked it, please smash that reblog button so others can find it too!

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagine #backstage pass!steve rogers x reader #backstage pass!steve rogers #backstage pass series #rockstar au #kinktober 2021 #kinktober pompt #mirror sex

[not-withoutyou]

Tossing a wink over his shoulder, Bucky ran a hand through sleep-disheveled hair and rummaged for his last remaining cigarette. (Made a show of putting it between his teeth.) He struck a match, squinted through the tent’s opening at the weak, watery sun. The same sun that would be waking New York in about 5 hours. In his memory, the city felt more like the inside of a snowglobe.

He was going to ask Steve if he remembered days off school, spent ice skating on the frozen lake with other neighborhood children. If he remembered wearing Bucky’s hand-me-down skates and holding mittened hands because his balance had been abysmal. (Because they had been young enough that people didn’t care.)

But Morita had woken up; had smacked Dum-Dum with his pillow, complaining that if he kept snoring so goddamn loud , he’d alert the Nazis to their location. Keeping his eyes down, Steve quietly turned to a sketch of unassuming architecture, pretending to fix the shading. So Bucky bit his tongue. While the Howlies probably inferred, suspected—while he trusted them—he knew better than to lower his guard.

Maybe Bucky didn’t know everything, but he knew how to keep his mouth shut. He knew how to tie a Timber Hitch and the recipe for his mother’s challah. He knew about the discovery of Pluto and how to put his weight into a punch.

(He knew when to stay down.)

Chapter 11 is up now!

#stucky #steve/bucky #stevebucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfiction #stevexbucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america

[luna-rainbow]

I saw a discussion you had others about Bucky's character bring different in Tfatws & it reminded me if what Sebastian said during an interview during the summer. He said Bucky was on the defensive at the beginning of the show because he saw Steve as his moral compass but he lost it after Steve left. So, instead of confronting it, he stayed on the defensive, thrown himself into this mission, testing his new parameters since he was free and left Wakanda. Seb said Bucky was like that until /

Thanks for the ask!

I liked the way Bucky was introduced at the start. Something about angry, grieving Bucky was just so real to me, ya know. It should be normal for those negative emotions when you think about what he’s been through, which is far more than most of us have been through in our lifetime. But as the series went by, it becomes clear that it doesn’t want to — or isn’t allowed to — talk about the sources of his pain. As I’ve said before, I have no problems with his sense of guilt, but guilt is not the whole of his experience. The series simplifies his trauma into only the kills his body was made to cause, without addressing a) the horror of him being imprisoned and tortured by Hydra; b) the indignation (and not just guilt) of being made a murderer against his will; c) the grief of losing his best friend before he’s ready; d) the alienation of dealing with the modern world on his own. To be clear I’m not coddling Bucky, Bucky’s emotional journey isn’t the only one short changed, so was Sam’s.

I remember that post that blew up about how Sam should have had a moment of realisation about Bucky in episode 3, so let’s talk about Bucky from a writing point of view. Again, just as with Sam, I’m not criticising Bucky the character, but rather how the story wrote him.

Bucky should have had an epiphany about Sam in episode 2. Sam couldn’t have been more clear in his wording, body language and expression that he felt his decision about the shield was the best he could do under the circumstances, there were personal reasons he didn’t want to discuss with Bucky, and that Bucky needed to stay out of it. While, yes, we can head-canon Bucky’s insistence as Bucky conflating the shield with Steve, in a series that bends over backwards to minimise the importance of Steve in both Bucky’s and Sam’s lives, I just don’t buy it (especially since Steve gave up the shield multiple times to protect Bucky).

Now let’s think about Bucky’s relationship with Steve and what that says about Bucky. Steve was small, disabled, bullied and often dismissed by their peers. Bucky is exasperated by his diehard attitude, but never mocks him for his size or comparative weakness. This is during a time when he’s considerably more privileged than Steve, which suggests he’s someone who’s sensitive to cues and empathetic to other people’s struggles — yet they have Bucky continually bring up the shield to one-up Sam, after Sam had explicitly shut down the conversation and looked hurt by the discussion. While there may be some value in head canon-ing Bucky as being unable to pick up social cues after the brainwashing, his easy read of Steve, his silent reactions when Tony saw the video, and the way he interacts with Shuri all suggest he’s remained quite observant of other people’s body language.

I’m not great at American history, but wasn’t the army still segregated at that time? And it was during WW2 that African Americans successfully pushed for some of their rights to be recognised when they were drawn into fighting for the country? Bucky worked with Gabe in the Howlies, was it at all like Steve — who knows keenly about being a social outcast over traits he couldn’t change — and Bucky — who has protected someone disabled through a time of eugenics — to be completely ignorant of what Sam’s experience might be? Just as we say that Sam as a counsellor should have understood Bucky’s pain, Bucky having lived through the 30s with Steve should have been able to respect Sam’s pain.

I feel like Sebastian tried to add as much empathy and consistency as he could. The lingering worried glances he gives Sam when Nagel talks about the serum sample was Sebastian, not the script. The conflict at the end of episode 2 should have been a turning point for both their relationships and their recognition of each other’s respective traumas, but instead it hurtles along having both of them make unpleasant jokes at each other’s expense for 3 more episode until Bucky suddenly got it. That’s where the frustration comes from. While it’s not completely out of character for Bucky to be fixed on the shield (it is when it comes to breaking Zemo out though I will never stop yelling on that hill), it does pick one of the worst traits for him to take when we know he’s been capable of more compassion.

(As an aside, unfortunately actors are contracted to legitimise really shitty story arcs ie CEvans with EG!Steve or THiddles with Loki. I respect Sebastian for trying to find a way for it to make sense, but that doesn’t mean Bucky’s story was well-written)

#bucky barnes #tfatws critical #asks #sam wilson