weneverfreeze

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- excerpt from lost and found by j.p. @pencap

#this isn’t stucky but this IS one of my favourite edits #to come out of my poems #<- prev hi ily 🥺🫶🏼 this poem unstitches me

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happy birthday bucky barnes

#i miss him <3

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Sean Patrick Mulroy, “boy astride a spooked horse,” published on The Good Men Project

#not to be all bucky barnes however.

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february by Alex Dimitrov

#sorry. steve rogers

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Girl help I’m thinking about SteveBucky &

So, you kiss him, and he doesn't move, he doesn't pull away, and you keep on kissing him. And he hasn't moved, he's frozen, and you've kissed him, and he'll never forgive you, and maybe now he'll leave you alone.

from A Primer For The Small Weird Loves - Richard Siken (x)

#AAAAAAAAAA

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bucky really stood there between peggy and steve while they were flirting in the bar and came to the realization that he was losing steve even more than he’d already lost him to captain america and to the expectations of the american population and kind of had to accept that before like dying two days later

#STOP. dear god

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follow me out

AU where Steve finds Bucky after he falls. 649 words, vague references to injuries

Steve trips over him. Two days of looking and two hours of planning, one night spent stealing away from the Commandos and three hours hiding from enemy tanks, and Steve trips over him.

He’s on his knees in seconds, scrambling to brush snow away from shoulders and neck and mouth with shaking hands. It’s hard to tell in this half-asleep light but he thinks Bucky stirs when Steve says his name, soft like please and altogether too close to you promised you’d stay alive with me. 

Bucky’s lips are blue. Steve takes his glove off and rests two fingers against Bucky’s throat and bows his head.

A cough, sigh. Steve thinks he might cry at that. When he sits back, Bucky’s squinting up at him.

“Not supposed to be here,” Bucky whispers hoarsely. 

Keep reading

#hi hold on a second hold on…

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every battle-earned bruise

Elbows deep in sudsy water, scrubbing plates with his eyes kept safe on the sponge in his hand, Bucky too close to his shoulder and all the farther for it. Steve hands him a plate. Their fingers don’t touch. 

There’s a dance to this. Something careful, measured; he feels Bucky’s eyes resting directly on the corner of his jaw, then slip to his neck, then drop down his forearms. If Steve looked back he’d probably see Bucky staring at the corner like he hadn’t been watching. 

His gaze flits around the room quick as anything these days. There was a time when he’d spend hours looking at the clouds from the fire escape. Now he’s looking, always looking, always assessing threats and risks and exit plans. Steve still isn’t sure which category these particular examinations fall under. 

In the space between them, Steve asks, “You remember that time in the alley, after Peterson punched my lights out?” His voice is quiet, quiet. There is a fragility to this rhythm that could break as easily as a dropped plate. 

Bucky shifts his weight. “I remember.”

A shouting match, a sharp, radiating pain that just wouldn’t quit, not for days and days after. Bucky’s soft swear and flitting hands. Steve hands him a glass and asks, “How much of that do you remember?”

Steve risks a glance up and in their reflection in the window, Bucky meets his eyes. And back then Bucky had cursed him up and down with a damn you, damn you, why do you do this and his fingers on Steve’s jaw and Steve had spat blood out of his mouth and said, far more pathetic than he’d wanted, Steve had wiped his chin and said, I like your hands on me like that. 

They hadn’t talked about it afterwards. The draft and the war and the Howlies, the serums in both of their veins running counter to one another back then and even still now, history weighing so heavy on both their shoulders, eyes that once focused on clouds trained to focus through sniper scopes. Memory is a fraught thing. They haven’t yet cleared all the landmines stretching between them. 

Bucky sets the glass down. Steve holds his breath, stays still as Bucky’s fingertip outlines the memory of a scar on his jaw. Then Bucky’s thumb dips, resting on Steve’s bottom lip as he frowns in concentration. His memory face, Sam calls it. He slightly tilts Steve’s face from left to right and back again like he’s remembering the blood and the bruises before leaning in and kissing him. 

Oh. It’s a breath of a kiss more than anything and he wasn’t — he’s too slow, he wasn’t expecting it; Steve kisses him back a second after Bucky pulls away, still studying him with that searching expression on his face. He catches a glimpse of his own wide eyes in the window and oh, he wasn’t expecting that. Oh, oh. 

“Is that right?” Bucky asks, thumb still on Steve’s lip. “Did I do that then? In the alley?”

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he says, and Bucky’s hand falls away. He clears his throat. “No, you never — never did that.”

Bucky shrugs. Picks up the dish towel. “Must’ve just wanted to then. It’s hard spotting the difference between memories and wishes.”

He’s far away again. Farther, because he was so close just a second ago. It’s like lowering your mouth to a mirror and breathing on it to see the condensation, that’s what that kiss was. Bucky was testing him out to see what’s left between before it faded. Wasn’t he?

“Bucky,” Steve says. 

And — Bucky catches his eyes in the window, looks away, turns and leans so he’s facing him. “We really never did that before?”

“I didn’t know you wanted to.”

“But you wanted to?” he asks. 

And Steve says, “Yes.” And he says, “I would’ve kissed you back then, if you’d kissed me first.”

Bucky’s gaze dips, finds the door, the empty space at Steve’s hip where he usually wears a gun, skim past his thigh before flicking back to Steve’s. Threats, risks, exit plans. “And now?”

“Now—” Steve’s breath catches. He dries his hands on the towel Bucky’s holding and says, “Yeah, Buck. I’d kiss you now.”

He leans in this time. This time, he brushes Bucky’s hair behind his ear, threads his fingers through to cradle the nape of his neck, leaves some space between their bodies in case Bucky wants it there. Slow movements. Steve isn’t sure which one of them he’s afraid of spooking off. He exhales as Bucky eases him closer by his belt loops and when they kiss, it’s gentle. It’s a dance he half-remembers the steps to, a routine learned in dreams in a Brooklyn apartment years ago. 

Bucky’s lips are soft. He wasn’t expecting that. He thinks a lot of things would’ve been different if he’d known this back then. 

Bucky moves away first. Steve is struck again by the normalcy of him here in his kitchen, standing next to counters Steve installed and drying dishes Steve picked out at random. He doesn’t look out of place anymore. He looks — pleased. Like he got away with something he thought he’d get nailed on for sure. And Steve knows. 

“You remembered, didn’t you?” he asks. He laughs a little; Bucky smiles a little. “You knew we hadn’t—”

“I’ve been wanting to,” Bucky says. “I know you’ve noticed me looking at you. Seemed like you’ve been wanting to, too. Do you still like it when I touch you like that?”

He thumbs Steve’s bottom lip as he asks it and Steve — well. Steve’s pinned by his touch. Something like anticipation whispers its way up his spine. 

“Yes,” he says. Bucky doesn’t move his hand; Steve says, “If we finish the dishes first, will you kiss me again?”

And oh, there — that ghost of a laugh. Those eyebrows pulled in for a challenge and those eyes bright with amusement, teasing the way they used to decades ago. Shoulders broader and his smile heavier too. Bucky Barnes in his kitchen. He’d do it all over again if this is where they ended up. Every battle-earned bruise brought him back to Bucky Barnes in his kitchen with a dish towel over his shoulder, waiting to finish the dishes so they can kiss again, closing the loop on a circle a hundred years in the making. Steve’s so in love he almost can’t bear it.

“Okay,” Bucky says simply, eyes alight, and their fingers brush as Steve hands him a plate. 

#stevebucky #syd writes stuff #I miss! them! #mcu

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thinking about bucky

#god me too #every time I see your icon there is an instant subtle flash of Bucky before it subsides

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— Richard Siken

#that tweet got me. #ahjdkf #stevebucky

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Steve's choices / Bucky's lack thereof

#aaaa?????? #stevebucky

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he said “Bucky” and suddenly I was that 20-year-old girl in college again

#I miss them!

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i don’t remember you

#omg???? #holy shit

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y yo a ti bucky

#omg?

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my favorite thing like, ever, is to send @ivecarvedawoodenheart fics and then get live updates via snapchat as she absolutely loses her goddamn mind bc of them lmao

#this one is a Lot & it is so good

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Seeing Angels in the Architecture (an Endgame Fix-It)

Steve goes back to 1945, saves Bucky from HYDRA, and builds a life with him and Peggy. It’s supposed to be everything he wanted.

In 2024, Sam and Bucky do their mourning, leaning on each other, and begin trying to face a world without Steve in it. Until a different Steve Rogers materializes in the middle of New York, very confused, having just crashed the Valkyrie.

prologue / chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four / chapter five / chapter six / epilogue

#every time I hear this song I think of this fic nathaniel it is So Good

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