#stucky hurt/comfort
Text
📖"Temporary Custody"
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky
Word Count: 4861
Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange
Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.
Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.
Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost
11. Palmiers
Bucky
Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.
They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin’.”
“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”
Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.
Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.
The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.
As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take).
He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?”
Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go.
“Thanks babe.”
“Uh huh.”
It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”
“Babe? What’s wrong?”
Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout.
Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?”
“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen.
Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.
“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”
“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body.
“What’s going on?”
Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.
“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.
“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”
Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.”
“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”
“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?”
“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”
“Your muscles?”
Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”
“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.”
“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.
“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”
Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”
“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”
“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”
“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”
Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.”
Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains.
“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.
“I must’a slept on it wrong.”
Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch.
The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.
He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.
She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.
“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”
“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”
“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.
“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway.
“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”
“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.
Steve
Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”
“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.
“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”
She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?”
“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.”
“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.
She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.
"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.
Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"
"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"
"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."
She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."
They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,
“So: His arm.”
Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”
“What happened?”
Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”
“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”
Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”
Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”
“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.”
Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.
“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”
She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”
“Jeez.”
“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”
Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”
“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?”
“Yeah.”
"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”
Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”
“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”
She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”
“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.
(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)
(“Duh.”)
In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,
“What’s the holdup?”
“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”
“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.
Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.
“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”
“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”
Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”
“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay.
“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.
She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.
“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.
She freezes. “Bad?”
“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”
“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”
(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)
“Riiight here? and … here?"
Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.
“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”
“Mmrr.”
“And here: your rhomboid.”
“Ooh!”
“Tender?”
“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”
Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.
“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”
“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.
“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”
Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).
“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”
“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”
Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.
“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”
“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder.
“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”
Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.
“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.
“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”
“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods.
“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”
“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”
She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here?
Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out.
Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”
When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”
Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”
It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”
“Yep.”
*To anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.
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It’s been a bit since I wrote about feral!Bucky but I genuinely cannot put into words how much Steve (and me) loves him
Bucky now associates physical touch with pain, with torture. He hides from visitors, scampers away from touch, and never lets anyone get close to him. Nevertheless, Steve wakes up from a nap one day with Bucky curled into his side, and Steve is pretty sure that if he could, Bucky would be purring like a kitten.
“Bucky?” Steve asks tentatively, trying not to spook him. Bucky doesn’t seem to be upset by Steve sudden consciousness, instead just making a small noise and wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest possessively. He mumbles something that sounds like “Stevie”.
“You alright, angel?” Steve asks with a grin, confused but pleased with the change in Bucky’s demeanor. He knew Bucky had always been closer with Steve, trusting him more than others, but this was still new territory. He slides his arms around Bucky, which causes Bucky to make a happy noise that Steve hasn’t heard in years.
————
Also, maybe Bucky’s a bit territorial now that he’s been given more freedom. The poor thing doesn’t know what to do with himself. However, after consulting a bunch of psychiatrists and Dr. Banner, Steve knows what he needs to do. He empties out an old walk in closet, and fits it with as many soft things as he can find. He buys as many plushies as he can afford, and stuffs the closet with them. He remembers how much Bucky hates harsh lights now and decides to buy those pretty string lights that Peter has in his room at the tower. He shows it to Bucky when it’s finished and they’ve both had a good day.
“It’s all your own space, Buck. I’m never going to come in here without your permission. I swear it.” Steve says, holding Bucky’s hand, which lately Bucky won’t let go of.
“It’s… mine?” Bucky says, slowly, tentatively. He’s scared that all of this will be taken away.
“Yeah, Buck. Yours.” Steve says, as comforting and securely as I can, trying to make his confidence transfer to Bucky.
Steve is tackled in a hug, and there are tears wetting his shirt. He hugs Bucky back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“Thank you.” The whisper is so soft, so small, that it’s almost imperceptible. But Steve hears it. He’ll always hear Bucky.
————
Then, of course, there’s the moment when Steve’s telling Bucky about life back in Brooklyn, a topic that Bucky is very interested in. He’s going on about something that they did to piss off Becca (“we were teenagers, Buck. The best entertainment we had was making that poor girl mad.”) when Bucky stops him.
“I remember.”
Steve drops the pencil he’s holding. “You… You do?” There’s so much hope in his voice. There’s unshed tears in Bucky’s eyes, and a small smile on his face.
“Yes. Rebecca. My Becca.” Bucky’s smile gets bigger, as does Steve. Steve rushes to his side, hugging him. Bucky’s crying, and Steve’s not far behind him. Bucky laughs, and it is the best goddamn sound Steve Rogers has ever heard. “She was so mad. I can’t believe we did that.” He giggles, and it makes Steve feel like maybe everything will be okay.
previous feral!Bucky
Me too! I am such a fucking sucker for feral Bucky
I am beside myself thinking about Bucky being so touch adverse only for Steve to wake up and find him tucked into his side 😫 and there's something so special, too, about Bucky having moments in recovery where he's so suddenly more himself. It makes it so much more painful to see the rapid realignment. It's as if he's found two loose ends and knotted them together as quickly as his fingers would allow to ensure that he doesn't misplace them again. Gah! It's so just 🤌🏻ouch🤌🏻
Oh my god!! The territorial thing, yes! I've had this in my notes for actual years, waiting for me to come back to it and do something with it:
Sometimes, during Bucky's recovery, he latches onto things with this ferocity, holding until his fingers hurt, distraught when he accidentally breaks it, if the object of desire is fragile, claiming "mine." He won't let anyone touch it, not unless it's over his dead body. Steve has genuinely never been so distraught and proud of someone for grabbing a mug and declaring it as their own. Bucky deserves to have his own things.
Same wavelength, lmao
That's so fucking sweet, though! I love the idea of Bucky having his own space. (And I love the idea of Peter's room in the tower having fairy lights. Fuck yeah.)
Ah! That last part is the fucking best. Steve will never be as eager to be interrupted as he is when he's in the middle of a story, and Bucky stops him because he remembers. He doesn't need to tell him again, he remembers. Steve could fucking kiss him. Steve will kiss him. Steve will pick him up and spin him around, clutching his waist all the while, a huge grin on his face.
In conclusion:
Thank you so, so much for this!!
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FAVORITE STUCKY FICS | 58/100
You and a Test of Will by @sergeantscarlett
[Modern AU, 72 489 words, Explicit]
Summary:
Bucky Barnes suffered from depression before he joined the army, and when he came back, he suffered tenfold. Steve Rogers painted his nightmares and didn't talk about how he lost his leg. Natasha believed it was possible -- just maybe -- that broken people could help heal one another.
more fics
#100stucky#stucky#stevebucky#fic rec#my recs#steve rogers#bucky barnes#please read the warnings#modern au#ptsd#recovery#angst with a happy ending#smut#hurt/comfort#marvel#stucky fic#stucky fic rec#steve/bucky#signal boost#moodboard#steve and bucky#dog#steve x bucky#steve rogers/bucky barnes#stucky fanfiction#steve rogers x bucky barnes#stucky fanfic
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Can i request something that the reader is sick and Bucky or Stucky comforts and taking care of them please i am sick right now and i needed but its okay if your not comfortable to write it
༉‧₊˚. 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞'𝐬 || 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲
— pairings: steve rogers x plus size!reader x bucky barnes
— summary: for the first time since you three had gotten together, you got sick, and your two boyfriends are determined to nurse you back to health.
— warnings: literally none besides some hurt/comfort and mentions of fevers.
— wc: 669
⋆ a/n: i stopped everything i was doing so i could write this for you :] i was sick earlier this month so i know how draining it could be, and everyone needs some lovin'.
masterlist | AO3
At first it was the small things that had gone unnoticed by you, but definitely not by your two boyfriends. They had been around for longer than you, living to see variants of different diseases, but that seemed to not matter as you continually sneezed, taking constant trips to blow your nose, and the inner elbow part of your sleeve becoming a radioactive zone.
It was only until you couldn't get out of bed one morning that they began to truly worry. It didn't take a lot of coaxing to get you to just lay down and relax, your eyes quickly falling shut as the duo exchanged quiet words.
Inly one of them left the room, the other staying and sitting on the side of your bed, brushing some sweaty hair off of your forehead as his fingers fell to your cheek. You could recognize that gentle touch even if there were hundreds of hands stroking your face.
"Steve..." You groaned as another rush of pain assaulted your head. "I know, sweetheart, I know. Bucky's running to the store right now to get you some medicine and groceries to make some soup. Would you like that?" You nodded weakly, burying your face into your pillow so you could cough. You were aware of the super soldiers almost impenetrable immune system, but you had only been with regular humans, so it was more of a habit than a courtesy.
"Sleep, it'll be easier." You sighed, allowing your body to sink into the soft mattress as you strayed further and further away from consciousness, Steve's caresses never ceasing.
When you had woken up next, the blonde was pressed against your back, your body shaking. You were completely unaware that your fever had broken, your nerves feeling as though they had been dipped into a bucket of ice water.
"Buck... where's Buck?" You chartered. Steve's arm wound around you, tugging you back into his warm body and hard chest. "He's coming, just finishing up your food." That seemed to quell your stirring, even though you couldn't go back to sleep, you laid there, tears brimming in your eyes as you felt like your body was shutting down. As if on que, your other boyfriend walked in, hands clasped with a tray filled with all sorts of things as Steve assisted you on sitting up.
You didn't want to, whining in a fruitless protest as you were propped up on the pillows.
"I know you don't feel well, but you have to eat, doll." You allowed him to feed you, your taste buds bringing back a bit of life in you as you let out a hum in appreciation.
"It was my ma's recipe." He said with a smile on his face. "She used to make it for Steve back when he would get his ass kicked." You heard Steve's charming laugh boom from beside you.
"Yeah, and then Winni would scold me the whole time while I was trying to eat." He said with a fond smile on his face. you wished you could have been able to meet this woman. "She sounded like a force to be reckoned with." You croaked from behind the spoon bucky had pressed against your lips. He nodded, his smile matching his boyfriend's as he pressed the utensil into your mouth, continuing to coax you to eat.
"Yeah, she was. you kind of remind me of her. always keeping me a Steve on our toes, taking care of us even though we're grown men." Bucky began, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to your cheek. His scruff tickled your skin, but you didn't have time to dwell on it as Steve's soft hand cupped your even softer jaw. "So let us take care of you. we always will be here to do so, even if you think you don't need us."
You could only let out a light scoff.
"I'll always need you guys." They both smiled, the words sounding like music to their ears.
ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood
#✰ ― meau's inbox !#steve x reader#steve rogers x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#steve rogers#bucky barnes#steve rogers fluff#bucky barnes fluff#steve rogers x plus size reader#bucky barnes x plus size reader#plus size reader#x plus size reader#plus size!reader#chubby reader#x chubby reader#fluff#hurt/comfort#polyamory#stucky#steve rogers imagine#bucky barnes imagine#steve rogers marvel#bucky barnes marvel#marvel#marvel fanfiction
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Rations
Rating: Gen
Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers
Warnings: None
Major Tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, World War II, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers's Metabolism, Hungry Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers vs the Super Soldier Serum
Word count: 100 - Drabble
Summery: Steve and Bucky get something to eat after returning to camp.
For the:
✦ Stucky Bingo - IMAGE: Steve and Bucky after the POW rescue [G4] (Card: 5054)
Read below or on AO3 >HERE<
He spent who knows how long in Hydra's grasp, starving, and yet he couldn't work up an appetite to eat his rations.
Bucky sighs, pushing the rations around in its tin. "Do you think there's actually egg in the 'Egg and Ham', or do they just say that to make you feel better about the texture?" he asks, turning to Steve.
Steve looks up from opening the third(!) pack they had given him. All his rubbish looked licked clean.
Bucky shudders, "Serum must've killed your taste..." he tries joking.
"Taste's nothing t'do with it," Steve says, shrinking, "M'just real hungry."
THE END
Sort of inspired by Bucky's comment "You don't have one of those do you?" when Red Skull tore off his face. I thought Bucky seeing Steve eagerly eating his rations and asking "Did the serum take your sense of taste?" would be a funny continuation. Then I thought he'd be horrified for Steve when he learns about the change to his metabolism (He'd likely be horrified by a lot of the serum's changes to Steve.)
Why isn't Bucky as hungry? Well, I like to headcanon that Steve and Bucky have two very different serums. The version given to Red Skull was unfinished and unrefined.
The one given to Steve was next to perfect, and Hydra failed to get it. The one given to Bucky likely was based on Red Skull's serum, whatever notes they could get from Erksine and Zola's experimentation. (I don't know if Bucky grew taller like Steve did?) But for being the Winter Soldier I think it would be an asset for Bucky to be super-efficient at extracting what he needs from food and going a long time without (Kind of makes the Winter Soldier a little scarier. He will outwait you. You will die of hunger and thirst before he does.)
#stucky bingo#Stucky#Steve Rogers#Captain America#Bucky Barnes#Winter Soldier#Marvel#Marvel Cinematic Universe#Hurt/Comfort#Steve Rogers Needs a Hug#Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug#Angst#Steve Rogers's Metabolism#Hungry Steve Rogers#Steve Rogers vs the Super Soldier Serum#DarthBloodOrange#DarthBloodOrangeWrites#Drabble
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Slow Dancing in the Living Room
Word Count: 679
Tags & Warnings: POV Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Summary: Steve wakes up alone in bed and heads to the kitchen. Amidst the sudden silence, music rings out from Bucky's phone.
For @stuckybingo R5 / February Monthly Adoptables
Steve woke up blearily, unsure of the time or even what day it was. There was nothing pressing to wake up for, he gathered. Everyone kept saying how he had eidetic memory, and he did. But there was some nuance to that. He needed visual references, for instance, like having it written down. He still needed associations to form those memories, and right then, he wasn’t associating an appointment with— he looked directly at the clock hanging unnecessarily on the opposite wall— a startling one in the morning time slot.
He was free, unless anyone told him otherwise.
The other thing, though, was that Bucky wasn’t laying beside him in their thousand thread count sheets— or whatever the insane number was; he wasn’t paying attention. It was quickly losing its warmth, so Bucky’d been away for a while now. He could look for him, surely. He could ask FRIDAY for assistance, too.
Steve did none of those things.
Instead, he got up and raided the refrigerator. All of the kitchen’s light was thanks to this one appliance, and the longer he stood there, the colder it was on his skin; compensating for the lost coolness.
He quickly picked out a pop tart— probably the least nutritious thing he could’ve settled on— and popped it into the toaster. There were only so many things he could handle this late into the night, and cooking was not one of them.
As he waited, he was met with deafening silence. Even the toaster was dead silent.
Steve patted down his pockets to find his phone only to realize a second later that he left it in his room.
Before he could go and grab it, however, he heard the beginning piano notes of Ella Fitzgerald’s ‘Somebody Nobody Loves’-- an otherwise cheerful and optimistic song if you didn’t understand the lyrics. Steve turned his head toward the incoming music, finding Bucky leaning against the front door with his phone out in his left hand; a small smile curled on his lips.
Although I know it sounds alarming;
I've prayed on bended knee;
For that certain gay Prince Charming;
Who was meant for me.
Steve couldn’t help but laugh out loud, the pressure tickling his sides and pushing out of his throat easily.
“You couldn’t have picked a more solemn song for one in the morning,” he said with rolled eyes.
Bucky’s smile widened and he shrugged. “What can I say? I was going through it tonight.”
Steve’s laugh teetered off, and he looked at his partner with soft eyes; watching him closely. He could see how Bucky’s eyes were a little red, and the end of his pajama sleeves had only recently dried.
The song continued to play, even as Bucky shut the front door and traversed the living room toward him.
Steve met him halfway, somewhere behind the outrageously large living room couch. He gathered Bucky in his arms as soon as he was within reach. He pressed a kiss atop the other’s head as Bucky settled against him, ignoring the windswept hair and cool fabric under his palms. Bucky likely went to the roof for some alone time despite the low temperatures.
They stood there in the comfort of one another’s warmth. He didn’t move, even when his pop tart was ready, and toasted just how he liked it.
Instead, he closed his eyes as they started swaying in place with no real intention to dance. He felt Bucky’s breath coming out calm and steady as the song continued. Steve hummed lowly into the darkness, following the happy tune of the music.
When the song finished, another soon started up with a gentle cello or some other. Steve didn’t pay attention to the words this time, and neither did he stop swaying with Bucky; enjoying the moment as it was— without any expectations to perform, not even in the bright light of a stage or dance hall.
Just the two of them, swaying in the dark as the sweet scent of artificial blueberries wafted through the air, and that was enough.
#stucky#stevebucky#steve rogers#bucky barnes#captain america#winter soldier#stucky oneshot#stucky fanfic#established relationship#hurt/comfort#i realized that i could just post my fills on tumblr#instead of waiting for perfection to happen
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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."
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📖"Temporary Custody"
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky
Word Count: 4861
Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange
Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.
Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.
Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost
10. S'mores
It’s the “sex play” (God, that term is so cringe) thing being on the table that builds the tension in the apartment, all of them knowing about it but none of them talking about it. Mary sure as shit doesn’t have the guts to break that ice, and now Bucky’s always deep in thought and quiet around her. And Steve, well.
Steve is like a big, mopey golden retriever who knows its humans are upset but doesn’t know how to help besides headbutting things affectionately.
Mary’s feelings for him only grow when she realizes that he really hasn’t told Bucky about that night in the kitchen: the things she’d confided about the razor and her nightmares and sneaking out to the gym. Knowing that Steve’s stuck by his word like that makes her like him and trust him a whole heck of a lot more.
But it doesn’t solve the underlying problem.
There’s a court hearing in front of a judge next month to revisit the custody arrangement—Next month. And one afternoon while Bucky’s out of the apartment, Steve gently informs Mary that Dr. Linda is recommending the order be extended. Jesus fucking Christ.
And then the results to that test Linda made her take, the “Submissive Sexual Interests and Tendencies Assessment”, arrive in the mail (addressed to Bucky, because of course they would be), and Mary gets her hands on them after Bucky and Steve read them, and she’s mortified at what it says about her.
Tendencies: Passive aggression (reactive aggression in lieu of submission), emotional outbursts, low self-esteem, impulsive sexual promiscuity, self-harm, alcohol use disorder, possible co-morbidity (OCD, EDNOS, BDD).
Dynamic Preferences: single dominant authority figure, structured domestic routine, service, discipline, monogamous relationship, emotional bonding.
Recommendations: Following assessment review, patient is most likely to benefit from continued domestic control in a consistent (24/7) environment. Transfer of custody not recommended. Continued therapy sessions and educational courses at CDP highly recommended. Most beneficial therapeutic modalities include limited corporal discipline, sex play, and reward-based service routine.
There’s a ton of infuriating psycho babble bullshit packed into those results that she could get upset about, and she does, but Mary’s eyes track over that one, most-horrible phrase over and over again:
“Transfer of custody not recommended.”
Fuck.
She loses sleep over it, sneaks out of the apartment in the middle of the night and does cardio at the gym until she’s exhausted enough to head back home and pass out. It pisses her off that this is such a thing now. She doesn’t want to be special needs, she should have the right to choose whether she even wants treatment or not! She resents the hell out of Bucky and Steve for having custody of her the way that they do. They’re clearly expecting her to blow up or something, after the news from Linda and the SSITA results come in. It’s so obvious that they’re walking on eggshells around her, Mary halfway wishes they’d just do something. One way or the other, it’d be better than this.
Linda claims that they’ve expressed “positive feelings” about a sexual dynamic, but if they have, they sure aren’t expressing it to Mary. She suspects that most of that positivity has come from Steve, and probably only because he’s a golden retriever in human form who just wants to do what’s right and good, not because he or Bucky are particularly attracted to her.
While she has managed to clean herself up quite a bit since moving in with them, Mary isn’t delusional: she realizes that Steve and Bucky are very attractive men, whereas she’s just average. She tries to tell herself she’s fine with that. She knows Bucky and Steve could probably get like, a supermodel to sleep with them if they really wanted to. Mary’s not in their league, and that’s okay.
But if they’re not attracted to her that way then they should at least have the decency to just say so! At least then she could find someone else, get back on Tinder, or even sign up for one of those ProDoms that the CDP has. Darcy said Thor was good, so maybe Mary could request him? The way that Darcy had described the guy, he sounds like he's a hunka hunka burning Nordic god. Mary could go for that.
She brings it up casually over dinner, framing it lightheartedly, and Bucky literally crushes his water glass in his prosthetic hand. “What?” he snaps, frowning down at the mess he’s just made. “No.”
Mary huffs and goes to fetch the desserts while Steve gets the waste bin and begins scraping the broken pieces of glass into it like it’s just another Tuesday. “I don’t see why not,” Mary complains from over at the counter. She’s pulled the plates out from the fridge and grabs the butane torch for the meringue.
“Jesus,” Bucky exclaims when he sees the industrial sized torch she's wielding. “Where’d you get that?”
Mary purses her lips as she focuses on achieving the perfect amount of toastedness. “Hardware store,” she mutters. “So why can’t I go see one of the ProDom’s again?” She purposefully over-torches Bucky’s meringue, because she can tell that this isn’t going to go her way. “Sounds like a win-win. You don’t have to deal with me, I can meet new people, and insurance pays for it. What exactly is the problem?” She’s trying to force him to admit that he doesn’t want to Dom her sexually, trying to get him to see that something’s gotta give and he’ll have to let her use one of the ProDoms eventually if that’s what the severity of her “condition” requires (gigantic ‘Ew’).
But frustratingly, he refuses to engage with her on the topic. “It’s a no, Mare,” he tells her sternly. “Pros are for people who have more experience. You don’t.”
Mary seriously doubts that. “Linda didn’t say that,” she argues, carrying the plates over to the table and handing the nice one to Steve and the burnt one to Bucky.
He pulls it closer to himself and raises an eyebrow at it. “Linda’s being diplomatic,” he mutters. “I thought you said you were making s’mores?”
Yesterday, Bucky had been talking with Steve about how much they both missed their old camping trips they used to take. The two of them must’ve waxed poetic over campfire s’mores for ten whole minutes. So Mary thought this would be an excellent way to butter them up. Apparently not.
She sniffs and picks up her fork. “They are s’mores. It’s a plated dessert, Bucky. An interpretation. It’s not literal.”
He grunts and peers at his portion, poking it dubiously with his fork. “What’s it made of?”
Mary heaves a sigh and snottily recites: “Honey Sablé, 70% Valrhona cremeux, cold-smoked Italian meringue, torched ‘mallow, Graham crumb streusel, and tempered chocolate stick for garnish." Both Bucky and Steve stop poking at their plates and just stare at her for a second.
“Sounds good,” Steve chirps, and digs into his.
Mary stares Bucky down, until he too, deigns to eat the apparently too fancy for him version of a s’more. “Oh, damn,” he says after the first bite, looking taken-aback. “I can taste the smoke.”
Mary preens, then asks again about the ProDom. “Well if I’m not getting it there then who the heck’s supposed to fuck me?” she winds up blurting out of frustration.
When that direct reference doesn’t elicit any response from Bucky besides a barrage of bossy instructions for after-dinner cleanup, Mary loses a bit of the hope she’d been holding onto that maybe Linda was right about them being attracted to her. She just gave him the perfect fucking opening, and he didn’t take it. She gets the kitchen cleaned up from dinner, resigning herself to another evening of platonic domination that doesn’t quite hit the spot.
Nightly drops are nice. Not as nice as they were in the beginning, the effects having waned quite a bit from what they once were, but still better than no drops at all.
Mary sits on her pillow on the floor, head on the couch cushion next to Bucky’s thigh, listening vaguely to the sound of the television while she enjoys the feeling of his fingers carding through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. It’s been a while now, and she doesn’t think she’s going to get any deeper. It’s late, already they’ve watched two full episodes of their show, and Mary’s got work tomorrow. It’ll be bedtime soon.
A big yawn works its way up in her throat, and Bucky chuckles when it finally breaks free. “Tired?” he asks.
“Mmhm.” She inhales deeply and sits up, sleepy and squinting. It takes a moment before her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room and Bucky’s form sitting right in front of her. Wow, she’d been really close to him, hadn’t realized just how close. Had she been … hugging his shin? God, she hopes not. Not like she hasn’t spent whole evenings fantasizing about rubbing her face all over his thighs and his— Nope. Not gonna think about that when he’s sitting right there. She tears her eyes away and forces that train of thought to stop right in its metaphorical tracks.
“You good, Hon?” Bucky asks, his soft voice drawing her attention back from her own head. She looks up and sees his fond expression, his relaxed posture. Wonders if he’s in Domspace at all. Probably not.
Then her eyes land on the line of his cock at the front of his pants.
He’s hard. Not very, but some. Underneath his sweats his dick is chubbed up enough that it creates a slight bulge against the fabric. Mary freezes, staring for too long before she’s able to tear her eyes away. When she does, and she looks up, Bucky’s watching her with an inscrutable expression. Her breath catches and her mind goes absolutely dumb.
Does he want ..? Should she ..?
She looks back down at it, at the relaxed splay of his thighs. She wets her lips and thinks about reaching forward and sliding her hand over it, what it would feel like, if it would twitch, if Bucky would shiver or make a sound. She wants to touch it, and seriously considers doing so, but when she looks up at Bucky again, he doesn’t look like he’s excited, or anticipating her touching him. He looks … resigned.
“Tired?” he asks kindly. "Do you maybe ... Do you need anything else tonight? From me?"
Mary's lips part, heart leaping at what that might mean ... but then Bucky looks over at Steve with visible yearning in his eyes, and the two of them share one of their silent conversations, brows pinched and expectant.
Oh. Right. Bucky’s just horny and eager to get Steve into bed, wants to wrap this up. Mary wonders if he really can’t tell that she's not far down like she used to get. Maybe he thinks this is all she needs and he really isn’t going to take Linda’s advice seriously. Mary should be happy about that. After all, it’s what she wanted. Isn’t it?
She balls up the hand that she’d been imagining touching Bucky with and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m tired. Think I’m gonna … go get ready for bed.”
She glances over at Steve, but he looks mopey and eager to get out of the room just like his husband does, cementing the notion in Mary’s mind that they don’t want to be with her that way. No doubt they will if push comes to shove, because Linda’s told them Mary needs a sexual dynamic, but it’s not something they’re excited about. Mary knows men: They’re not the sort to sit around and wait for a girl they like to make the first move. And certainly not a man like Bucky, of all people.
She tries not to be hurt by it, but still gets a little weepy while brushing her teeth, the unintended rejection stinging more when she’s down in the tingly, vulnerable throes of subspace. She spits, rinses, flosses, rinses. Grabs the mouthwash that she hates to use but that Bucky has ordered her to always use after brushing her teeth at night.
She says goodnight to Steve and Bucky through the safety of her closed bedroom door, and despite her voice being warbly, neither one of them knocks on the door to see what’s up. That drives the point home, and Mary tucks herself into bed with the mindset that she’ll let them know they don’t have to sleep with her just to be nice or to help her or whatever. She’ll just find a way to convince them that she really is fine with going to one of the ProDoms, and that it really is a better arrangement.
Better than a pity fuck, at least.
It’s disappointing to know that Mary prefers the ProDom, that she doesn’t want to make their relationship sexual, but Bucky gets it, and he knows that he shouldn’t be surprised. He’s not exactly an easy person to get along with, after all. He’s prickly as fuck, grumpy, bossy, selfish. And aside from her natural submission, Mary’s personality clashes with his horribly. Steve is essential, but he just isn’t enough to successfully buffer between the two of them—not enough to make her want them that way, at least.
Bucky can see the profound disappointment in Steve’s eyes that night, as Mary doesn’t react the way they were both hoping, doesn’t take the offerings Bucky puts out.
They have to let it be her choice, of course, having planned it out and discussed it between just the two of them. It's all anybody ever talks about in the D/s community these days: making sure subs are the initiators at key moments like this, not letting domination creep in and become manipulation-so easy to do with how naturally vulnerable and people pleasing submissives are. Gone are the days when Doms like Bucky were encouraged to guide new partners in the "right" direction. That leads to too much trauma, too many subs in situations they don't really want. Mary has to be left to make the choice on her own, it's her right.
But it's still the hardest fucking thing for him to do, to just sit there and wait passively. And it still stings when she looks straight at his erection and declares that she’s ready for bed. Well, if it wasn’t clear before.
Steve looks like a friggin’ kicked puppy, as he stands outside of Mary’s closed bedroom door and bids her goodnight. Bucky nudges him in the direction of their own room and murmurs, “Come on, Sweetheart.”
In their bedroom, they each get undressed. Steve continues to mope, so Bucky goes up to him and places a hand on his shoulder and rubs. “Hey. Don’t sulk. You’ve still got me.” Steve’s mouth twitches in a small smile and Bucky’s heart flares with fondness for him. “You wanna play a game?” he offers, leaning in and kissing him once on the lips. “Mm?” He looks down pointedly to both of their boners that haven’t completely lagged since tv time ended.
“Okay.”
Bucky hums and turns, putting his left shoulder out. “Lend a guy a hand?” Steve obliges. He removes the prosthetic arm with practiced motions. Bucky moans quietly at how good it feels to get the heavy weight off. “Fuck.” He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck each way with a blissed out groan. “Yes.”
“You’ve been wearing it more than usual, lately,” Steve points out, going over to set it on the table at Bucky’s side of the bed. “Why?”
He already knows: Bucky can tell from the way he asks it. He grunts and looks away, refraining from answering. He normally only wears the arm to work and to the gym, skipping it around the house or when he’s just got simple errands to run. There’s a surprising amount he can do just fine without the use of two arms, and he’s been confident about being seen in public without it for a long time now, thanks to Steve and their friends at the V.A. Being self conscious about it again after all these years isn’t something Bucky wants to admit out loud or think about, but Steve isn’t stupid. He can put two and two together.
“Babe,” he says softly, walking back over to stand behind him. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and noses into his neck. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Bucky inhales deeply. “I know. I’m not.” Steve makes a sound that clearly says he doesn’t believe that. But Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it, so he reaches back with the only arm he has to grab playfully at the side of Steve’s ass. “Go in the bathroom. Get the water going how I like.”
Steve groans and thunks his forehead against the back of Bucky’s neck. “Not that game,” he complains, though there’s no conviction to it. He slinks off towards the bathroom to go do as he’s been told. “I hate that game.”
“Fuck you. You love that game.”
Steve shoots him the finger from over his shoulder, but something about his naked body and tight little ass being on display strips the gesture of its animosity. He disappears into the bathroom and Bucky walks over to their bedroom dresser to grab a hair tie, still snickering. He sobers when he takes one from the valet tray and realizes that he’ll have to have Steve tie his hair back. That’s one thing he never could figure out how to do one handed. He stands there and looks in the mirror above the dresser, studying the left side of his body in a way that he rarely does anymore.
He’s gotten so used to it: his life with Steve, whom he knows down to his bones accepts him unconditionally. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like to be self conscious about his body. Bucky hasn’t known how to talk about it, and Mary hasn’t asked. She’s seen him with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, or in tee shirts at the gym, but that’s all so far. Sometimes he’ll catch her looking, but he’s got no clue what she’s thinking. He considers his reflection, looks at the scars and puckered skin, the implanted base of the arm where his stump used to be. He doesn’t like the uncomfortability of being critical of his body again. In a way, he almost resents Mary for it, for making that feeling come back after all these years. Silly, he knows.
“Babe?” Steve’s voice calls out from the bathroom. Bucky’s ears register the sound of rushing water. “You coming?”
Bucky inhales deeply and decides it doesn’t matter anyway. Mary wants a ProDom, not them, so he doesn’t have to stress over what she thinks about any part of his body, let alone the one part he doesn’t have.
“Yeah.” He turns his back to the judgmental mirror and heads towards his very non-judgmental best guy.
“Okay. Stop clenching.”
Steve exhales shakily, but he does obey, body slumping back against the end of the tub as he relaxes his muscles. “Fuck,” he breathes, overwhelmed.
“Hand too, Baby.”
His hand abandons his dick in the bathwater. “Ungh.”
Bucky smiles lazily and rubs the side of his foot against Steve’s hip in praise. “Good boy.”
They’re in the bathtub together, opposite ends, legs tangled. Their combined bulk displaces the water all the way up to above their shoulders, but that’s part of the game: they’re not allowed to splash on the floor, so they can’t jerk off very hard or fast. First one to splash water on the floor is the automatic loser and has to bottom the next time they fuck (Bucky added that little caveat because he’s very good at not splashing, whereas Steve is hopelessly clumsy and overeager ). “How you doing, Sweetheart?” he asks, drinking in the sight of Steve with his lips parted, chest heaving, squirming. He’s pink from temple to tits, flushed from the bathwater and arousal both, and Bucky loves it. “You’re not close already, are you?” he tuts, grinning. “So sensitive.”
“Buck,” Steve croaks, heated eyes dragging over Bucky’s body at the other end of the tub where he’s still gently jerking himself off. “Please.”
Bucky affords himself another toe-curlingly good swipe over the head of his dick before he nods. “Okay. Slow. Just like me”
Steve huffs and wraps his hand back around himself, stroking his dick in slow, measured strokes, just like Bucky said. Bucky’s guts warm and another heady rush of dominance swirls low in his belly at watching Steve do exactly as he says. “You can start workin’ it again, too,” he says.
Steve moans gratefully. “Thank you. Fuck.” His abs start clenching, his body straining again with visible tension as he works the Aneros that’s seated up inside him. Under the water, his knees move in and out in that instinctive motion as he tries to rock it just right. But it’s hard to do it with the water so high, and more than once he catches himself and holds back at the sight of the bathwater sloshing precariously close to the lip of the tub. At one point he gasps and his eyes slam shut, and Bucky figures the toy must’ve shifted to press even more directly against his prostate.
“Ooh, does that feel good, Stevie?”
Steve peeks his eyes open, glaring across the way at him. “You know it does.”
Bucky does, in fact, know exactly how good it feels—because he’s got another of the exact same toy inside of himself, right now. “I don’t know why you still agree to play this game,” he taunts, grunting from the effort of holding back his own moan as his prostate gets a firm prod from the head of the toy. “You—nngh—you always wind up losing.”
“Yeah, well …” Steve’s throat bobs as he swallows heavily. “Maybe I don’t mind you coming out on top, sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” Bucky scoffs, but he’s breathing heavier than he was thirty minutes ago, his composure slipping the longer he works the toy inside himself and jerks himself off agonizingly slowly underneath the water. In fact, he’s not even sure it even counts as jerking off at this slow a pace.
Edging is something he’d introduced Steve to early on in their relationship, as soon as he’d realized how delightfully sensitive his new boyfriend was. And Steve, the big idiot, had worried Bucky wouldn’t like it, had actually thought of it as a negative! An absurd notion that Bucky promptly disabused him of. Watching his ungodly sexy blond behemoth of a husband whine and squirm and struggle to hold himself in check is one of the fucking hottest things Bucky’s ever seen—and he’s seen a lot. He’d been a bit of a manwhore back in his heyday, racking up the bodies as he fought to find himself as a Dom and accept the body an IED had left him with.
Steve, his overly-sensitive, glorious hunk of a then-boyfriend, had helped him to do both. And it’s times like this where Bucky remembers just how goddamn lucky he is. Having Steve to love and fuck around with feels like the best gift in the world.
At the other end of the tub, the water sloshes as something he’s done to himself makes Steve’s breath hitch in another helpless moan. He tosses his head back for a moment, eyes clamped shut as his expression crumples beautifully and he whimpers. Bucky’s ass clenches down hard in arousal at the sight, which only makes the toy in his ass rub over his prostate that much better. His cock throbs as his pleasure flares dangerously high. Fuck, he wants to come.
Licking his lips, he decides it's time to end this. His balls are pulled up too close to his body, taut and full and aching for release. Trying to school his breathing into something resembling nonchalance is a lost cause, and his face feels almost as flushed as Steve’s looks right now. Bucky decides to call it, because even though he’s the automatic favorite to win this game every time, he is capable of losing, if he gets too caught up in ogling Steve’s body and reactions and doesn’t focus enough on playing his cards right. “Okay,” he finally says, smirking when Steve’s head jerks back to attention, his irises visibly flaring in excitement. “Yeah, Baby. It’s time.”
“Fuck.”
“You ready for the home stretch?” He waggles his eyebrows and lets his head rest back against the tub, spreading his legs wider and keeping his eyes on Steve. “Gotta keep up,” he instructs, even though Steve already knows how this goes. When Bucky tightens his hand and speeds up the pace of how fast he’s jerking himself off, Steve copies him. That’s how it is at the end of this—totally-rigged-in-Bucky’s-favor—game. They both jerk off at the pace that Bucky sets, and the first one to splash water on the floor or come is the loser. It’s not very fair, but Bucky never claimed he was a fair guy. He is, in fact, selfish as fuck.
Lucky for him, Steve’s into that.
“Fuck,” Steve pants from his end of the tub. He slides down lower, keeping more of his body under the water in an attempt to prevent splashing. It’s a futile effort, though, because he’s doomed to lose anyway with the faster pace that Bucky’s set. Already, he’s going lobster red in the face, brow pinched and desperate, knees knocking the sides of the tub as he compulsively works the toy in his ass.
The arousal in Bucky’s gut coils tighter at the sight. “Watch my hand,” he warns, when he notices Steve slacking off. “Gotta match it, Baby.”
“I am.”
“Tighter,” he says, eyes gleaming. “And stop avoiding the head. I can see you cheatin’ over there, Punk.”
Steve whimpers, and Bucky knows that he really wasn’t going as tight as he is, because Steve’s hand changes its hold and he starts getting the head of his dick with the same intensity that Bucky is. Bucky grins open mouthed, panting. “Atta boy.”
“You should—ugn.” Steve grimaces. “Should get a penalty, for being cut. I should get an extra, nnnh, th-thirty seconds, at least.”
Bucky laughs, because trust Steve to think of a sportsman’s solution to the inequity of their dicks. Steve being uncut means that it takes less intense stimulation for him to come. They both know this, Bucky loves this, and again: he never claimed the game was fair. “No penalty,” he grunts, speeding up his pace even further. Steve’s eyes widen but he matches it. Bucky grits his teeth. He can hold out long enough. Steve’ll blow in seconds at this pace.
And sure enough, it’s not even twenty seconds later when Steve is crying out, body tensing and muscles straining gorgeously as he seizes up and starts to come. “Agh!” His knees fling out hard and hit the sides of the tub, splashing water over the lip to the floor below. But he hasn’t even noticed, he’s so lost to his orgasm. His asshole is twitching, sucking on the Aneros as the contractions of his body pull the toy up against his prostate again and again, drawing the pleasure out. He shoves down hard in the water and shouts louder, as though he’s getting a second orgasm on top of the first. “Ohnfuck …”
Bucky groans as he watches it happen: Steve’s gorgeous face and juddering hips, big hand wringing up hard underneath the head the whole way through. The fucking sounds he makes, Jesus wept. It’s leagues better than any porn Bucky’s ever seen. “Fuck, Baby,” he praises. “Yes. Fuck that’s so hot …”
Steve’s hand keeps working the whole way through, only abandoning his cock once it’s fully spent and softening, the cloudy ribbons of his cum floating away in the bathwater. “Fuck,” he exhales hugely once it’s done, letting his body go lax and slump so far down that only his face is above the waterline.
Bucky grunts and spreads his legs wider, not heeding the splashing rule now that he’s already won. The water splashes precariously as he shoves his hips down and down and down, squeezing the shape of the toy inside so fucking perfectly. Fuck, it feels fucking good working over his spot like that. “Oghnnn,” he pants, grunting and groaning and jerking his cock hard. “Fuck, Baby. You’re so fucking pretty. Fuck. M’gonna cum …”
Steve gives a sated hum from his end of the tub. Bucky can sense him shifting in the water, and then gasps when he feels the ball of Steve’s foot gently press up on his balls. His eyes fly open and he looks down. “Oh, shit,” he whispers. “Fuck, fuck.”
Steve grins and rubs his foot against him. And Bucky doesn’t have that fetish, but there’s something so fucking perverse about seeing Steve’s toes up against his balls that it turns his brain to mush anyway and pushes him right on over into orgasm. He shoots off beneath the water, stroking and thrusting and moaning—and probably splashing water all over the floor just as badly as Steve ever has.
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I can't get the idea of Steve having bad dreams while on the run out of my mind. I keep circling around the idea, no matter how much it makes my heart ache for him...
He's in a well-used, ill-repaired safe house with Natasha one night, covered by unmoving darkness as well as a sheen of sweat, thick with salt and grating against his skin and turned cold by the open living room air. He lied awake for hours before surrendering to sleep that could not even be fought off by the worst torrent of his thoughts. His sleep is anything but restless, though. He's sleeping on the couch, kicking and jerking unconciously, nearly rolling off and coming crashing down onto the hard, cold floor.
The safe house is mostly unstocked, all it provides exhausted, barren drifters like them are a roof and thin walls. The extent of lacking supplies extends to bedding. The only blanket in the place is on the bare, scratchy mattress in the back bedroom that's more the size of a closet where Natasha had crept back to sleep. Steve isn't sure he could make himself use the blanket even if he didn't have the excuse of the serum keeping him furnace hot throughout the night. It feels too... luxurious. He couldn't bear to have it right now. If he had the blanket, he would've kicked it off by now. It would be useless and crumbled on the floor, soaked through with sweat. Maybe even ripped in Steve's unconscious, fitful grasp. Yeah, it's a good thing he doesn't have a blanket.
Steve wakes up to someone shushing him.
He's so tired. He can't even run from the white water rush of thoughts and fears and animal, I'm-being-watched paranoia in his sleep. Did he ever even get to REM sleep? He immediately recognizes who is in the room with him, pushing against otherwise silent, static air.
Natasha.
Natasha is the one lifting him up, her arms strong and all-encompassing, wrapping him up, holding him together, and wordlessly beginning to trace looping, organic shaped over the clammy, knotted muscles of his shoulders and back. Steve feels his jaw tremble. Hot, prickling pressure in his eyes forces him to squeeze them shut. A huff of struggling, hitched breath heaves up from his chest and out of his congested nose.
Two weeks ago, Steve would never have expected Natasha to do this. He knew she wasn't all cold--perhaps he's niave for thinking no one could possibly ice all the way down, no matter the instincts hammered into them for however long--but... he trusts her with his life now. He feels her warmth. The rhythmic wash of her breathing across his skin, raising the fine hairs across his body to attention as shivers overtake his weak, depleted muscles. The beat of her heart in her chest. The woosh, woosh, woosh of her blood in her veins. The near-physical sensation of her silent support. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here. I heard you. I see you. I'm here for you. You're okay. You're crumbling, and I have your back.
Steve curls tighter into her, his head buried between her shoulder and neck. He's shaking. Crying, he realizes.
She says nothing about the tears wet across her skin, pouring fast and heavy out of Steve. She says nothing. No words. She simply shushes him again, rubbing his back and now rocking them both side to side. Regardless of the white noise of her shushing him, words overflow, spilling from his trembling, stumbling lips across the dark, dim shades of the spring-ridden, uncomfortable couch. The words surround them where they're entwined. Taking up so much space. Sounding so ugly. He can't stop blubbering about how much he misses Bucky.
Still, she squeezes him. If anything, she holds him tighter, rocking their bodies as if they're surrounded by water, taken by the waves. She holds him, keeping him afloat, and let's him cry, saying nothing but reassuring him regardless.
And he's falling asleep on top of her, too tired to worry about how heavy he is. So much larger than her. She's so much stronger than her physical body suggests, though. In every way. She is an immovable force when she wants to be. Steve has known that since he first met her, before he trusted her. He can't imagine not trusting her now. How could he not? How was there a time when he didn't?
As Steve's losing the battle again, on the cusp of drifting off to sleep, Natasha starts talking--
Her voice is rusty and rasping, so low that Steve isn't sure it's words at all until they wash over him. Guilt and loss and yearning. She whispers her words into his hair. Steve is the only one who will hear them; Steve is the only one she trusts right now to hear them. She misses her little sister. She has no idea where she is, other than... she's what Natasha was before Fury. Still. Probably. Maybe. Natasha misses her little sister. Her sister before she knew the horrors of what she was selected to become. No choice. Before the red room. Before. She misses before like Steve misses his Bucky from Before.
Before.
What an odd concept...
What was Steve Before?
What is Steve Now?
Steve wants to show Natasha the huge, swelling, bone-shattering appreciation he has for her. Holding him. Sharing with him. He wants to peel his skin back, to crack his ribs, and grab her wrist and guide her hand to his heart where it pulses and show her. Thank you. I trust you. I know you.
But, as is, blearily--drained all the way to his heavy, bare bones--Steve manages to wake up enough to squeeze her in shaking arms. He squeezes and squeezes until she gasps and tells him to let up, batting at his shoulder softly. He does. He apologizes for squeezing too tight. He apologizes for her sister. The same breath. If she thinks it's for just one or the other, she doesn't say so, and he doesn't clarify. Somehow, though, he knows she understands. Both. He's sorry. He wishes it could be different. He understands. He wishes neither of them did understand, though. If things could be different. They're friends, right? Would they be friends if things weren't here, now?
The night smears together after that, and they mirror the hour, sleeping together in a pile. Not just two, separate people but together. Comforting. Connecting. Understanding.
#fandomfluffandfuck#steve rogers#natasha romanoff#bucky barnes#stucky#yelena belova#nightmares#angst#hurt/comfort
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Band of Idiots Pt. 4: Coney Island
Pairing: Stucky x Reader
Warnings: Fluff, angst, pining, language, Steve being an angsty cat, mentions of violence, alcohol, illness, death, and fondue-ing
Word Count: 2.8k
Summary: Steve, Y/n, and Bucky are as thick as thieves. They spend a day at Coney Island together. Feelings are discovered and lies are told.
Author’s Note: It’s been ages since I’ve updated this fic. My apologies. Life got crazy. I graduated high school, moved out of state for college, and then got super sick. But I’m back and better than ever. My inbox and dms are always open!
(not my gif. credit to the owner)
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Brooklyn summers could be unbearable. The molten heat pounding on the asphalt of a concrete jungle was enough to make any seasoned New Yorker feel faint. The air looked like a blur and felt like it was baking the city alive. The sun a constant, unrelenting oven.
July of 1934 was no different. In fact, it was somehow worse.
Just two weeks ago, Stevie had his fourteenth birthday. And boy was he rearing to go. The torturous temperatures had Stevie acting like an alley cat. He was always yowling about something and picking fights with any and everyone.
Three days this week he’d come home while Miss Sarah was at work cut up and bleeding. I’d be an amazing nurse with the amount of times I’ve given that boy stitches and set his nose.
With Bucky’s new job down at the docks, he couldn’t save Steve so easily from all of his fights like he used to. Poor Buck is so worried about our boy. The thought of him biting off more than he can chew is enough to cause a knot in all of our stomachs. We wouldn’t know what to do without him.
-------
Today, Bucky had the day off of work and he’d been saving for weeks to take us to Coney Island to blow off some steam. For him, that was spending all his money to impress dames. For Stevie, it was drawing while next to me on a bench or the beach. As for me, I loved to just sit and observe all of the people: the sights, the smells, the sounds.
The train ride to the amusement park was crowded and boiling with body heat. It smelled like stale sweat and old people in the worst way. The screams of children and the loud chatter from other patrons were enough to give me a headache, even with my bad ear. My back was killing me from standing for so long without a break, forcing me to brace myself on Steve and Bucky’s shoulders. Of course, Mister Meat-Head over here was flexin’ his suddenly very toned shoulder under my grip which caused me to blush. Thank God my face was already red from overheating, or he’d have poked fun at me about it.
My shitty lungs were being squeezed by the warm, wet air, and I wheezed slightly. My wheezing was met with Steve’s and a concerned glare from Bucky. I moved my hand to my bag, fumbling for my peppermint oil. My fingers met the cold glass and pried it open near our noses. A deep inhale eased the pressure in my chest.
“You alright, Kiddo?”
“She’s peachy, Buck. We’re on a hot train with a buncha loud, smelly assholes and we both got shit lungs. Wattaya think, ya jerk?” Steve snarked back, radiating thick annoyance. My mouth fell open in shock.
Bucky threw up his hand defensively, a mildly hurt look on his face. Steve was never this cross, even on his worst days. Something was wrong, had been for weeks. Getting into fights, coming home later, skipping meals, being snippy, even to me. Now it was getting worse. I hoped that it wouldn’t ruin our day out, but part of me knew that things would only go downhill from there. And all I could do was brace myself for impact.
I pulled my shoulders closer to my neck and inched towards Buck a little bit. My eyes squeezed themselves shut and I tried to breathe in, hoping for calm. All I got was B.O. and a frown from Steve. He knows I only do that when I’m nervous, and he was the thing making me nervous.
Buck seemed so set on enjoying the day that he glazed over everything and plastered his trademark Bucky Barnes grin on his sweaty face. I almost wanted to pinch his arm just to snap him out of it. No one should smile that much or look that good doing it. Especially not on a train in the summer heat. Honest to God, it was annoying.
Between Mister Sunshine and Mister Scrooge, the day was bound to be interesting to say the least.
------
Bucky had stopped to grab me some pop while Steve stormed off, a bit too eager to be rid of us for my taste. A minute piece of my heart crumbled away. Never, in all the years that I had known Steven Grant Rogers, had he voluntarily put distance between us. I couldn’t figure a rhyme or reason, all I could feel in that moment was hurt.
I ambled along the dock, book in hand. The salt-tinged air lapped at my frizzy locks and splotchy skin like a cooling balm. It felt like I could fully exhale finally. Deep breaths were a blessing.
Very little time passed when Buck had bounced up beside me with his angelic grin. His baby fat had melted away in recent months, giving him a devilish yet heavenly appearance. That stupid, perfect grin caught me off guard. I was in awe that my safety net, my friend could possibly be this beautiful. He had always been handsome, but not once in my life had I seen someone, anyone, look so perfect. I wasn’t aware that my feelings for him could grow, but by-golly they did.
Just staring at him wouldn’t do, so I elbowed him in the ribs. His playful pout made my chest squeeze. It wasn’t in the usual painful way like my attacks. It was something new, unfamiliar. He chuckled and pulled me under his arm as we continued down the dock. I felt so small and safe at his side. Tiny jolts of electricity seemed to pass from his skin to mine with every step.
Nestled into Bucky’s side, we meandered towards the rides. A good handful of summers had passed since we’d been able to come here, but we had long outgrown the attractions we were used to. We bickered back and forth about which adventure to choose. I was thankfully able to convince him to take me on the ferris wheel at some point today, but I knew I’d have to let him have his fun first. The way his eyes lit up talking about the Cyclone told me that I wouldn’t have any choice but to go with him. God, I hate roller coasters.
That Godforsaken ride was the bane of my existence, but my boys loved it to death. I always ended up with my head tucked into someone’s chest as we whipped ‘round and ‘round. On especially good days, like today, I was able to hold my lunch down.
Something about this time felt odd. Bucky kept looking at me with a goofy grin. This smile wasn’t his normal endearing, toothy grin; there was something more to it that I couldn’t quite place. That look had my heart pounding in my chest, not from fear, but excitement maybe.
------
Many more strange glances were exchanged over the next couple of hours, Steve’s attitude problem mostly forgotten. I couldn’t help but worry that something was wrong with Buck. Over the last 7 years, he had looked at me a lot of ways: worried, annoyed, caring. Today was a whole fresh set that I couldn’t quite name. It made me uneasy, yet giddy at the same time. A tiny, delusional part of me thought that maybe, just maybe the older boy loved me like I loved him. That would be impossible. He loves me like a sister.
The rumble of Bucky’s voice shook me from my thoughts.
“How ‘bout that ferris wheel now? I think I’ve tortured you enough for one day.” he said with a chuckle. I nodded eagerly.
As I went to start walking towards my favorite ride, I felt a hand in mine. Bucky’s. My breath caught in my throat, but I wouldn’t allow myself to freeze up. He couldn’t know how that tiny gesture affected me. Instead, I smiled up at him, squeezing his massive hand as we moved.
Such a simple motion brought all of the thoughts I had shoved to the side crashing forward. My mind was in such a state that I didn’t even realize that we were at the front of the line, about to enter our car. Bucky moved to help me up with his kind smile and I sheepishly accepted.
Damn him. Damn his beautiful smile. Damn his gentlemanly ways.
After we settled beside one another, he took my hand in his again. His calloused thumb smoothed over the back of my velvet soft hand. It was almost like he was trying to tell me something. Lord, I need calm down.
As we reached the top, Buck peeled me away from his side and turned look at me. He had an energy about him like he wanted to say something. His brow was furrowed, his eyes serious. His hands rubbed themselves down his thighs nervously. I couldn’t help but feel a little scared. Bucky is the calm one, the happy one. There has never been something he couldn’t turn into a joke. His brow only set itself this way when he was uncomfortable.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
I gulped.
This had to be bad, right? But it couldn’t be. Nothing bad could ever come from such beautiful lips. Nothing.
A sudden warmth on my lips jerked me out of my worry. My eyes blew wide in surprise. The warmth was Bucky, more specifically, Bucky’s lips. Everything faded away, even the shock, as I melted into the soft feeling of him against my mouth. His work-hardened hands came up to cup my cheeks while I sat there limp in his arms. We had all kissed on another over the years, light pecks on the cheeks and forehead. This one was different.
Bucky pulled back for air and I sighed softly. Our foreheads met, eyes closed. My body was still limp, but my head spun a million miles a minute. He feels the same way. I’m not crazy. What does this mean? What about Steve?
Steve!
We jumped apart when a sharp, familiar cough pierced through the haze. My startled eyes met Steve’s angry ones. Dread filled my stomach as I clamored away from Buck and onto the platform of the ferris wheel. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
------
Steve grabbed my arm roughly and dragged me towards a building nearby. Buck ran after us, yelling for us to stop. I was filled with panic and guilt. Steve looked like he was going to kill someone, well Bucky specifically.
“What the FUCK was that, Y/N?” Steve growled, fist closing more tightly around my bicep.
Before I could respond, Bucky was towering over both of us looking just as confused as I was. He paused for a second, taking in my shaking figure. His eyes hardened with rage. No one was allowed to scare me, not even Steve. He grabbed his shoulder harshly and spun him around.
“You wanna let her go, Punk?” Buck hissed. Steve bristled and clenched his jaw.
In true Steve fashion, he decided to forgo using his words, leaping straight to using his fists. His fist connected with Bucky’s jaw and I screamed. Bucky shot me a worried glance before pinning Steve to the wall as gently as possible. They stared one another down. All of our chests were heaving.
Steve looked up at our friend with tears brimming his baby blue eyes, “How could you, pal? You know better”.
Bucky’s face softened instantly and my panic grew. Steve has feelings for me?
Buck muttered an apology and let Stevie go. I pushed myself between them, tears rolling down my flushed cheeks. Their gazes on me were piercing, my skin heating under their eyes. I grabbed Bucky’s hand and turned to Steve. He grabbed my free hand and squeezed softly, eyes full of tears and remorse. I put my head on his chest and hugged him tightly.
“Stevie, what’s goin’ on, huh?” I whispered pulling back slightly.
He just croaked, his words seeming to escape him. Buck squeeze my hand, whispering his goodbyes. As the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the alley, a heavy silence enveloped us. Steve's gaze was distant, lost in the swirl of emotions that had consumed him. I stood there, my heart heavy with the weight of unspoken truths and tangled feelings.
"I... I don't know where to begin," Steve finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes searched mine, a mixture of pain and longing flickering within them.
I reached out, gently touching his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. "It's okay, Steve. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together," I said softly, offering him a small, reassuring smile. Of course we could, I love him more than life itself.
He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I... I've been trying to deny it, but... seeing you with Bucky, it just..." His voice trailed off, his expression haunted.
I took a step closer, closing the gap between us. "Steve, whatever you're feeling, it's okay. You don't have to hold it all in," I whispered, my heart aching for him. I didn’t mean to hurt him. We had promised as kids never to harm the other. That promise lay shattered at our feet, and it was all my stupid fucking fault.
Tears welled up in his eyes, reflecting the fading light of the setting sun. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion.
I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. We stood there, clinging to each other in the dwindling light, the weight of our unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. I shushed him softly like Ms. Sarah would, hoping, praying that I could ease his pain with imitation of his mother’s love.
In that moment, amidst the chaos of tangled feelings and fractured relationships, the crushing realization that I had potentially destroyed the most meaningful bond in my life washed over me. One kiss and our worlds had crashed apart.
Steve and I remained locked in our embrace, the warmth of each other's frail presence a balm to our troubled souls. The world seemed to fade away around us, leaving only the echo of our steady heartbeats and the whisper of our shared breaths. Clinging to him seemed to be the only thing keeping the ground from vanishing beneath us. He would never let me fall.
With a gentle touch, I tilted Steve's chin up, meeting his gaze with a tenderness born of years of friendship and unspoken understanding. "I need you to say it." I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of years of shared memories and unspoken emotions.
Steve's eyes searched mine, his gaze filled with a vulnerability that tore at my heart. "I love Bucky. More than you will ever know, Minnie." he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. Something inside of me fractured.
He loved him? I felt betrayed. Steve had known for years how I felt, and he had kept this to himself. To what, protect me? Tinges of frustration bubbled up inside of me. He had lied to me, let me confide in him in the earliest hours of the morning, given me advice. None of it was in earnest.
My anger fizzled out when I saw the tears falling from his pleading eyes. There wasn’t a way in the world I could stay mad at my Stevie, however betrayed I felt.
I brushed away a stray tear that clung to his cheek, my thumb tracing a gentle path across his skin. "We'll figure it out together, Steve. Whatever comes our way, we'll face it together. All three of us," I promised, the conviction in my words unwavering. He flinched at my mention of all of us. His eyes begged me to keep his feeling for Buck between him and myself. I nodded knowingly, unwilling to betray him.
In that moment, amidst the fading light of a Brooklyn sunset, I knew that this God-forsaken mess was far from over. But as long as we had each other, I was certain that we could weather any storm that lay ahead. And with that knowledge warming my heart, I held Steve a little tighter, silently vowing to never let go.
#Band of Idiots Part 4 Coney Island#stucky x reader#mcu#steven grant rogers#james buchanan barnes#stevie#bucky#hurt/comfort#feelings#young love#confessions#mlm#MJ writes
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ngl between catradora and stevebucky I think friends to enemies to lovers is actually the superior ship trope
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Fic title and moodboard reveal~!
"Regarding nightmares, dreams and real things" soon to be published on ao3 by yours truly. Canon divergent after Bucky saves Steve from the river. Hurt/comfort. It's a WIP, but I am determined to finish it!
After the battle on the Potomac, Steve lies in a hospital bed half-delirious with pain and morphine, nightmare after nightmare playing in his mind, where he’s haunted by Bucky’s absence. But once he recovers, he has to face the reality of Bucky’s disappearance, struggling with doubts and hopes.
Yeah I'm posting post-CATWS fic in the year of the Lord 2024 🙌🏼
#stucky#stevebucky#stucky fic#stevebucky fic#steve rogers#bucky barnes#marvel fic#post catws fic#hurt/comfort#my fic
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Steve and Bucky spend time in the bath together during their Avengers mandated time off.
For the:
✦ Stucky Bingo - Free Space [N3] (Card: 5054)
Word count: N/a - Art
Title: Time off Taken Together
Rating: Teens
Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers
Warnings: Partial Nudity
Major Tags: Canon Divergence AU, Domestic Fluff, Comfort No Hurt, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Established Relationship, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Cuddling & Snuggling, Rubber Ducks, Plants, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Happy Bucky Barnes, Happy Steve Rogers
~
Summery: Steve and Bucky spend time in the bath together during their Avengers mandated time off.
The rubber ducks on the shelf are Captain America and the Winter Soldier. I thought it would be cute for them to have in their bathroom.
[IMAGE ID: "Steve and Bucky sharing a bubble bath. Steve rests against Bucky's chest, holding a yellow sponge, knees sticking out of the bubbles. Bucky's hands rest on Steve's shoulders. Their expressions are happy and peaceful, and their skin is flushed from the warmth of the bath. A small indoor garden bed is built in to the left of the tub shelf. On the right-side shield are a small bar of soap and a pair of rubber ducks styled after Captain America and the Winter Soldier. The blinds are drawn halfway."]
#stucky bingo#Stucky#Steve Rogers#Captain America#Bucky Barnes#Winter Soldier#Marvel#Marvel Cinematic Universe#Nudity.#Partial Nudity.#Canon Divergence AU#Domestic Fluff#Comfort No Hurt#Everything is Beautiful#Established Relationship#Bathing/Washing#Cuddling & Snuggling#Fluff#Avenger Bucky Barnes#Happy Bucky Barnes#Happy Steve Rogers#DarthBloodOrange#DarthBloodOranges Art
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Bucky’s long bangs, the ones Steve used to tease him for so meticulously styling before nights out together, had been shaved away. He’d been left with the high-and-tight style required of all the new recruits, so short on the sides that he shivered at the cold of Steve’s fingers when they finally made contact there.
It had hurt more than he’d thought it would to sit there under the razor, watching as tufts of his hair fell to the floor around his feet. It hurt almost as much now watching Steve giving him that look, like he was cataloging all the ways that the person Bucky was now had changed from the boy Steve grew up knowing.
“It’s different,” Steve decided finally. “The way it frames your face, it’s different.”
Steve’s eyebrows were furrowed as he fixed Bucky with that familiar, appraising artist’s eye. He looked so intensely focused that Bucky almost had to smile.
“Maybe it’s just my face that’s different.” It was true, he knew; the same strict training regimen that had built up the muscles in his arms had hollowed out his cheeks, the concavity there only made more obvious by his short hair and clean-shaven chin.
“No,” Steve said. He ran a thumb down that new hollow in Bucky’s cheek. “That’s still the same. I’d know that face anywhere.”
Chapter 8 is up, which means that what pain it was to drown is now complete!! I’ve really enjoyed working on this fic and exploring some different ideas with it. I appreciate so much anyone checking it out, and would love to hear your feedback :)
Please do mind the tags! Specific warnings are in the notes for each chapter as well.
#stucky#bucky barnes#steve rogers#pre war stucky#1940s#ao3#fanfic#writing#angst#hurt/comfort#whump#alcohol cw#mind the tags#new chapter#finished fic
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In the Land of Gods and Monsters - Masterlist
Bucky Barnes/Reader
Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY.
Summary: Set after the fight on the bridge in WS. You are sent to rescue Bucky from Hydra but Bucky doesn't know if he should trust you.
Please read the warnings on each chapter. This is a semi-dark fic. Eventual smut.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
To be continued…
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes hurt/comfort#bucky barnes angst#tfatws#bucky barnes fluff#stucky if you squint#winter soldier fic
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Forget-me-not (41549 words) by Gfawkes
Chapters: 17/17 ✅ now complete
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Steve didn’t know why he did it. Fury would have his neck if he found out anyone else was smoking in his back alley. Patrons were supposed to go out the front. But since his boss was already on his way to vacation in Seattle. Well?
The other man was a good six inches taller, and when he leaned in to mooch off Steve’s light, he got a good close look at his face. Handsome, clean-shaven, chiseled features, he made a fine soldier. Steve couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy.
He also couldn’t help but feel a little bit of desire.
Setting: 1950s, Alaska, during the Korean Conflict.
#stucky#historical au#korean war#pre serum stucky#bucky barnes#steve rogers#sad with happy ending#hurt comfort#complete
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