#shrunkyclunks au

[trenchcoatsandtimetravel]

Boxing Club AU Idea

Shrunkyclunks au where Bucky runs an old-fashioned boxing club that freshly defrosted Steve visits to blow off steam.

(Thread fic originally posted here)

It's a wholesome place with a familiar, old Brooklyn vibe. There's a white cat that roams around and sleeps on the stack of unused punching bags, and the guy who runs it is unspeakably cute.

Steve tries to hold back his strength; SHIELD hasn't made an announcement about him yet, and he doesn't want to draw too much attention to himself. He's enjoying a place where he feels welcomed, one that doesn't feel a million miles away from the world he just woke up from.

The smells of leather, canvas, polished wood, and sweat are all familiar. He could be back at the barracks between missions if he closes his eyes. It could be his squad laughing and training outside the ring if he lets his ears gloss over the words they're saying.

To start with Bucky thinks this new blonde hunk must be on some hella steroids or something, after he rips into a punching bags and shreds it. Literally.

Steve is so embarrassed and fumbles his way through an apology, promising to pay to replace it.

Bucky's too impressed to be mad, this guy is strong and nothing like the dudebro steroid addled types that sometimes come into the gym to showoff. This guy seems genuine.

Bucky invests in some reinforced punching bags and studies Steve a little more the next time he comes by. He's strong, Bucky notices, but his form is terrible. It's clear he relies on his strength rather than good technique.

He offers to give Steve a few pointers and they spar lightly in the ring, Bucky demonstrating that skill is worth more than strength, as he manages to best Steve, once, twice three times. Steve is floored, literally, and so impressed it makes him dizzy.

Eventually he works up the courage to ask Bucky out, but before they make good on the promise, Steve's called in for the battle of New York.

Steve realises Bucky's coaching has massively improved his fighting and it saves his life a few times during the battle.

He also realises that for the first time since he woke up, he has something worth fighting for in the future, and he really doesn't want to die before telling Bucky how he feels.

Bucky's surprised, but not fazed when he sees Steve fighting on the news; he always knew there was something monumental about Steve.

And when Steve sheepishly turns up at his door a few days later asking if still wants to go for that drink—looking like he thinks Bucky might actually say no—Bucky just laughs fondly and calls him a punk, before assuring him that yes he definitely still does.

Bucky doesn't care that he's dating Captain America, it's Steve Rogers he's in love with.

The regulars at the club keep treating Steve exactly the way they always had, though maybe they do brag a little more whenever they land a particularly good punch.

Steve lets them, glad he's found friends that treat him like he's normal, and glad that with Bucky, the future finally starts to feel like home.

[riricitaa]

+

a shrunkyclunks au where Bucky is a S.H.I.E.L.D agent who was part of the avengers because of his skills, problem is, he always worked alone and didn't like this whole team initiative thing to begin with, he's just doing it because he caredabout the safety of the world. now with this new mission he had to work with Captain America and he hated every second of it!!

[steevbuckk]

FAVORITE STUCKY FICS | 62/100

help to make the season bright by @its-tortle

[Shrunkyclunks, 20 542 words, Teen And Up Audiences]

Summary:

“ Fuck,” he proclaims out loud.

A pigeon on the sidewalk across the street flutters away.

Another voice cuts through the cold. “You okay?”

Bucky looks up to see a silhouette on the fire escape two floors above him. Clearly, he had been swearing louder than he intended to.

The figure is clearly male, and built like a fucking brick house, but the light behind him makes any other features vague and indistinguishable.

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says dumbly. “I just- I forgot my keys.”

“I’ll let you in.”

The silhouette disappears from view.

Bucky steps forward to retrieve his groceries from the steps of the building, and has just picked up the last can of cat food when the door opens. He looks up to meet the man who saved him from hypothermia.

And what a man it is.

more fics

[sarahowritesostucky]

Modern Stucky and Howlies AU

The Fic:

What if when Steve came out of the ice, all the Howlies were still alive and living together in one retirement old folk's home? And Steve, having no connections with anybody in the modern world, spent tons of his free time visiting them and playing poker, sneaking them liquor, and just generally creating a headache for the semi-amused retirement home staff?

And Bucky is the care worker who grows to have a crush on Steve.

(**Bonus points if you name the Nursing Home "Shady Acres Care Home" , like where Loki stuck his father in Thor: Ragnarok)

[oh-i-swear-writes]

That’s What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas

An Avengers fundraising event in Las Vegas takes a left turn, and Captain America wakes up with a brand new spouse and no way to get a divorce. Coupled with Tony Stark's current obsession with reality dating shows, obviously nothing can go wrong, right?

So me and the lovely @fsbc-librarian did a thing. This is it. This is the thing. We hope you enjoy ❤️

CHAPTER ONE

[dontcallmebree]

Royalty is about Loyalty by dontcallmebree

Major Tags: Established Relationship, Mob AU, Shrunkyclunks

Summary: They’re coming up on Rita’s 78th when she calls Steve in for one of their private meetings. What those two could possibly get up to, Bucky’s got no clue; Steve and Rita could very well be shooting the shit over some tea and a couple smokes every time they tuck themselves away for an hour or two. Six years into being married in and nearly twice as long at Steve’s side, and Bucky still isn’t quite privy to all of the Brooklyn Irish’s many secrets.

In this installment of Do The Things You Never Showed Nobody, a couple of (not-so-old) marrieds try to deal with change and face the music. Read now on AO3!

[zenaidamacrouras1]

THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER OF THIS FIC. This is a gif of me instead of a gif of the chapter.

Unpredictable Synchronicity, Chapter (fucking) 30

In this chapter, I have written what I am reasonably certain is the sexiest scene ever written. I mark in the author's notes what I think that is. Your mileage may vary.

Thanks to @burberrycanary and @booksandabeer and TenMileStilts for HEROIC AND UNWAVERING BETA to end all Beta I truly, thanks. In particular for making the relationship so much healthier than it was in my first draft. I am sad not to be working on a fic with you all, someone else write something stat so I can talk to you in the comments.

I was looking for a cannoli gif to share and found this one:

Maybe this one is better:

Also, it's a fill for "Love is Love" the @allcapsbingo All Caps Bingo Monthly Mission for June.

[msilverstar]

Author: @zenaidamacrouras1 Date: 29 Dec 2023 Chapters: 1/1 (4941 words)  Fandom: Captain America (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Engineer Bucky Barnes, Strangers to Lovers, Flirting, New Year's Eve, Really good cheese, Excellent Strawberries, Strawberries are harmed in this story, Bathrooms are disrespected, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, or who knows maybe the bathroom liked it, hookup, New Year's Kiss, New Years Bathroom Hookup Series: Part 5 of Stucky Ficlets - Writing Challenges and Bingos Summary:

Bucky fully intends for his date to this ridiculous required masquerade ball on New Year's Eve to be the cheese platter. Things work out different than he planned.

Bookmarker's Notes:

Cute shrunkyclunks AU, mostly very hot porn!

[metalbvcky]

My Heart Is Open (I'm Letting You In)

So this took no time at all 😆 It practically wrote itself, and by the end of the weekend, I had 2k worth of fluffy crack! I just knew it would be perfect to wait and post on Valentine's Day 💞💞

Inspired by this ask post that @buckycuddlebuddy sent to @musette22!

All Caps Bingo — N5: Sharing A Bed @allcapsbingo Stucky Bingo Round 4 — I5: AU Shrunkyclunks @stuckybingo Bucky Barnes Flash Bingo — Crack @buckybarnesbingo

Pairing: Steve/Bucky Rating: Teen+ Word/Chapter Count: 2,866 (1/1) Tags: Post-Avengers (2012), Shrunkyclunks, Coffee Shop AU, Fluff, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunk Steve, Modern Bucky, (see full list of tags on AO3)

☕ Summary 🚪

Working as a barista at a busy coffee shop in Brooklyn never failed to wipe Bucky out. He only wanted to crash into his bed and sleep for the next twelve hours, but unfortunately, he didn't get either of those things. At least not immediately.

Instead, he found himself fumbling with the knob to his apartment. The damn thing wouldn't budge at all, not even with a hard shove. He cursed and grunted, but mostly cursed because whatever reason made him sign a lease for this shitty complex.

“This is fun,” a deep voice rumbled behind him, words slurring. “Bein’ locked out together.”

Two things hit Bucky at once.

One, his neighbor was drunk.

Two, his neighbor was Captain America.

And eventually three— when his door became the victim of a drunken super soldier just trying to help him get inside.

Read on AO3

[stuckytoyoulikeglue]

Bucky the Blogging Barista (WIP)

Bucky is a blogging barista. 

Steve is a sexy as sin superhero. 

Bucky may or may not have a crush, but you can't prove anything. 

At least, not unless you read his blog, which Cap obviously doesn't, right?

Right…?

[Rating: E, Words: 8,659, Chapters: 9/18]

(I'll try and keep this updated as I post chapters)

Last updated: 21st May

[sparkagrace]

Steve’s been having a hard day. Not only has he been feeling a little more lost recently, he just went on a coffee date Nat had set up for him, and it had been the worst. The woman had just ogled him in a way that made him uncomfortable, had been so focused on his Captain America persona, so self involved. Steve hadn’t even been able to get a word in, apart from answering some questions that required not much more than a “no, that’s not true”, yeah, that happened”, or “I don’t think I feel comfortable answering that.” He’s had interviews less painful, with fewer assumptions made about who he is, or isn’t. He’d had a difficult time not rolling his eyes or sighing deeply, when she’d go on another rant about something Steve really, really didn’t want to discuss. But now she’s gone, and he lets out all the frustrated air he’s been holding in, in one deep, deep sigh, arms braced on the table and his face nestled between them.

“Hey,” someone says, and Steve barely hears it over his own wallowing. “You look like you could use another coffee. Maybe something stronger though, by the sound of it.”

Steve looks up and around, trying to figure out who’s talking to him. But he’s easy to spot, only two empty tables between them. The guy looks like he really does feel bad for Steve, and Steve gives him the best smile he can currently muster. “Yeah, one of those days, you know,” he responds with politely.

The guy turns around to face him more, long legs stretched out on the floor. Steve takes a better look at him. The guy nods like he understands. Something about him tells Steve that he probably does. He’s smiling at Steve, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes either, and there’s some sort of sadness hanging over him, like maybe he’s a little lost too.

“Oh, I do know, I think. I haven’t been having the best day myself and…. I don’t want to bother you, or be too forward, but uhm, maybe I can buy you a coffee? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Steve knows he should probably say no. What if this guy is another fan boy, and he has to go through the whole thing all over again? He doesn’t really feel like talking to anyone, would prefer to just go home to his empty apartment and sulk. He doesn’t know why the words coming out of his mouth instead are “sure, that sounds nice,” but he’s said it before he can think it through.

The guy gets up, making his way over to Steve’s table, and Steve can’t help but follow the movement of his long legs and lean body.

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” he says as he sits down. “What can I get you….?”

“Uhm, Steve. Just a regular coffee, but I can…”

“No, please, let me, Steve. You’re kind enough to keep me company, it’s the least I can do,” Bucky says.

Steve doesn’t think that’s fully true - Bucky is already doing a lot for him, by being a distraction from his shitty day, by being kind, and also just by….being really, really nice to look at. But he agrees, and a couple of minutes later Bucky comes back with black coffee for Steve, and some sort of sweet smelling concoction for himself.

And it’s easy, so easy, to talk to Bucky, it turns out. He’s incredibly kind, funny, smart. He doesn’t ask Steve anything about Captain America, apart from asking if Tony is really as much of an asshole as he seems to be on TV. Steve feels like a weight has been lifted, talking to someone who isn’t a colleague, doesn’t want anything from him apart from conversation and company, doesn’t seem to care about the things people usually only care about talking to Steve.

It’s like he actually wants to get to know Steve, and wants Steve to get to know him, with how open he’s being. It’s like a breath of fresh air, like Steve’s been breathing in oxygen from recycled air, in a closed off space, and right now, a whole entire world is opening up for him. Blue grey eyes looking intently at him, like they see him, eyes crinkling at the corners in laughter warming him up from the inside, plush pink lips curling into a smile that makes his stomach flutter. Maybe it’s not such a bad day after all.

—-

Sorry this got much longer than I thought it would be, but I promised I’d try and cheer you up, and I hope this does!!! I love you SO much, my loveliest tejodore 💕💕💕💕

MAYA. whaaaaaaaaat? 😭 How can you be this sweet? I'm genuinely grinning from ear to ear. Oh my gosh, I had just made lunch when I read this and now I'm no longer hungry because I have been fed.

When you showed me that Seb photo last night and were trying to find him a matching Chris, I didn't know you'd find the perfect pair (because they are one!) 😍😍😍

This little slice of Shrunkyclunks coffee shop AU was the best way to cheer up and inject some love into my work day 💖 Steve was so bored and lonely, and Bucky was so gentle with him without being prying. I love how softly and casually he approaches Steve 🥰️

Ugh, you're the best. ily so much (and I know we say it a lot, but I truly do adore you and think you're the goddamn best person). I'm so glad I met you on this hellsite and we can be totally ridiculous together. I love your headcanons, I love your ficlets, I love your desire to always find a Steve/Chris for a matching Bucky/Seb 💗💗💗

You're incredible and it's so hard to feel sad when you're around to cheer me up! 🌷🌻

[rainbow-nerdss]

on that you can rely

Written for @augustwritingchallenge day 13: Behind the Mirror Stucky, 3.3k Read on AO3

It took months for Bucky to find a place, and when he did, it was a dump. The interior looked like it hadn't been decorated since the seventies, and as for the structural elements…

Well, it was intact. It was mostly mold-free. And best of all, he could afford it.

The owners were renovating the building, and they didn’t have the overhead to pay a decent contractor, so they gave him the apartment at a steep discount in exchange for his services.

It was shady as fuck, and definitely illegal, but it was a place to live.

He started with his own apartment, the plumbing needing the most work. Room by room, then unit by unit, Bucky started tearing out broken fixtures, repairing original features, and working with the plumbing and electrical teams whose qualifications Bucky didn’t ask to see.

There was a mirror over the blocked-up, broken old fireplace in his own unit, cracked and damaged by age. Bucky took it down from the wall and set it aside. If he could, he'd try to get it repaired, but there was no way he could keep it in its current condition. Under the mirror, the wall was old, exposed brick — original to the building, not even plastered over. 

When Bucky examined the bricks, he found one was loose. He wriggled it, grabbing the corners with his fingertips, and finally pulled it free. Bucky shone the light from his phone into the space, and saw a small bundle of paper wedged in behind.

He grinned. 

It was why he loved working in old buildings like this, finding little treasures — whether it was an old doorknob, painted over time and again which he could clean and reveal gleaming bronze or silver, or something like this, usually useless receipts and grocery lists lost under floorboards, a little glimpse into somebody's life from decades before.

He reached in and pulled out the papers, realizing as he did that this was something more. It wasn't a receipt, or some old lists. It was bound, a journal or sketchbook probably, and it was old.

Frayed, yellowed pages with a well-worn leather cover, tied shut with what looked like butcher's twine. 

Bucky sat on the floor and slowly, carefully, untied the knot holding it all together.

The book was full of sketches, drawings in pencil of people, places and things Bucky only half recognised, snapshots of someone's life drawn in stunning detail.

The front page, on the top right corner, bore a note:

To Steve, Happy birthday, my wonderful boy.  Love Mom July, 1935

1935. Wow.

Bucky pored over the pages, the delicate lines, how the artist captured the expressions in the faces of the people he drew.

Whoever Steve had been, he was talented. Each sketch was dated and signed with a cursive S, and Bucky could see he used this paper sparingly. Some sheets of cheaper paper held rougher sketches, and those were folded and pressed between pages, but they had mostly faded over the years.

The early pages held a lot of sketches of the same people, including a woman Bucky assumed must be Steve's mother, slim and straight-backed but always smiling. Alongside her, were a few Bucky thought must be self-portraits, though Steve never gave his own face the same level of detail as his mother's.

There were some children, some strangers —neighbors, maybe, or family Steve didn't see as much.

In late 1936, Steve stopped drawing for almost three months, and from that point on there were fewer and fewer pictures of his mother, growing fainter and less detailed each time.

More new people made their way to the page as Steve's talent grew—figure studies that might have been practiced for an art class, and other, more intimate sketches. 

Bucky's breath caught in his chest as he looked through them, as he fully comprehended what he had just uncovered.

Here in his hands were stunning, carefully rendered drawings of men in varying states of undress, one rolling a pair of stockings up his leg, a pair of women kissing, drag queens and queer couples and then snapshots, an eye here, a hand there, a pair of lips, each sketch full of desire, of love.

Steve, whoever he was, had devoted at least half of the pages in this book, this precious, scarce paper, to queerness in every form. 

This here, rescued from the brick of Bucky's apartment, was history.

The last sketch was a self-portrait—Bucky could tell, though Steve had only drawn himself from the jaw down. He recognised the curve of the spine, the freckles on Steve's arm, and the way he tended to use more hard lines when drawing himself than he did with others.

In this portrait, Steve was naked, save for what looked like a sheet draped over his lap. The focus was on his chest, a series of what Bucky thought might be love bites covering his skin. The small piece of his face which was visible looked to be smiling.

It was dated April of 1943.

Bucky couldn't help but wonder what had happened, why the book was never drawn in again. 

He pictured Steve, the morning after a night of pleasure, sitting in front of the mirror, drawing this. Had his partner still been there, or was he alone?

He pictured Steve receiving a letter — had he volunteered, or had he been drafted? Bucky pictured him standing here, in this apartment, in his uniform, ready to ship out with those bruises fading underneath. Bucky imagined Steve taking down the mirror and pulling out the loose brick. Was it a hiding place Steve used often? 

Bucky saw Steve replace the mirror, and walk away.

Had he known he'd never return to retrieve it? 

Had Steve made it back from the war at all, or had he simply never made it back here, to this apartment?

Bucky went online, searching the building's records for some record of someone called Steve, but they were poorly kept. The owner at the time either operated off the books, or the records had been lost in the intervening years.

Bucky didn't know if Steve had lived there the entire time, or if this was somewhere he'd been less than a week before shipping out.

With no sign of who Steve might have been — beyond a first name, a July birthday, and an enlistment date sometime after April of 1943— Bucky resigned himself to never learning more about the man. That didn't mean it wasn't important, though.

He began to share snippets of it on social media. He kept the address private, and only referred to Steve by that first initial he used to sign the drawings, just S. 

There was always a chance that Steve had made it back from the war, that he had lived a long and happy life, that he had even left this behind on purpose. Maybe he'd married a woman, had a family — maybe a grandchild of his might recognise the art style, connect these pictures with their grandfather.

Bucky didn't know if he was comfortable with that possibility, so he did what he could to protect Steve's privacy online.

All the same, Bucky kept up the search. He looked up census records for the years in the journal, and found no fewer than six Stevens, Stephens and Stefanos in the building in 1940. He immediately dismissed the two children under the age of ten, and the man in his late fifties. 

One of the remaining men had a wife and an infant daughter in 1940, and Bucky wanted to rule him out, too. 

Of the remaining two, Stefano Rossi had marked himself as a dock laborer, and Bucky might have been wrong, but Steve didn't strike him as the type.

Steve also didn't seem the type to be a soldier, though.

The final name on the list, though, there was something about it that drew Bucky towards it, made him dismiss the other options. It almost seemed… familiar.

Steven Grant Rogers.

Steve Rogers.

A common enough name, sure, but Bucky's search results were impaired by the name being shared by Captain America, forcing him to dig through search results for anything on his Steve — past articles about the battle of New York and terrible B movies and comic books and trading card eBay listings.

Until one day, Bucky gave up, and clicked on one of those articles about Captain America out of sheer boredom.

There was a photograph, a rare one, of Cap before he became Cap. Of Steve Rogers, the day he joined the army, an enlistment photograph of him standing in front of a plain white wall. He was all sharp angles, pale skin, freckles on his arm, and… the last lingering trace of bruising down his chest.

It was him.

It was Steve.

Steve, most likely less than a week after that final portrait. 

The portrait Bucky had scanned and uploaded the night before.

Steve, who was queer, or at the very least immersed in queer culture.

Steve, who lost his mother in 1936.

Steve, who enlisted despite being turned away again and again.

Steve, who was very much alive, and very much well known.

Bucky deleted his account. He wasn't an expert, but he did what he could to scrape the pictures from the internet. The account had gained popularity, though, and his sudden disappearance caused a stir.

First it was one article. Then another. People had screenshots of his posts, and those were included in the articles.

Bucky tried making a post on a new account, asking people to stop, making up some story about the family of S reaching out, asking for the pictures to be taken down.

People accused him of faking the whole thing. Others claimed the new account was the fake one, while others still were up in arms that the "family" would dare ask for control over their grandfather's private information.

Bucky was putting the finishing touches on the apartment and trying to forget the internet existed when there was a knock on his door. 

He figured it must be the landlord, or one of the few tenants who had been able to return to the building, asking about repairs or progress on his work.

It wasn't.

It was him. Steve.

“Are you Bucky?” he asked. All Bucky could do was nod.

"Can I… would it be alright if I came in?"

Bucky stepped aside, speechless, letting him in. 

Bucky may have worked with his hands, but he’d always enjoyed history. The small things, though. Personal letters, everyday people and things. Wars had never been an area he was interested in reading about — he’d had enough war to last a lifetime, thanks. After putting the pieces together, though, he’d started looking further into the story of Captain America — during the war, and since he’d come back.

It was difficult to reconcile the image of Steve he’d built up in his head since finding the book with the figure in the history books, but here, seeing him walk in the door, look around at the place he’d once called home, Bucky could see it. He could see the artist he’d gotten to know through sketches, the man who had sat in this room, drawing his mother, drawing his friends, his lovers, himself.

Though he was taller, broader, and more muscular than the man in those drawings, though he was dressed in modern clothes, this man was, as far as Bucky could see, much more Steve than Captain America.

Neither of them spoke for almost a full minute.

“I— I should apologize,” Bucky said, breaking the silence and finding his tongue at last. Steve tore his eyes from the bare wall in front of him to look at Bucky.

“Apologize?”

Bucky crossed the room to pull the book out of the cabinet he kept it in, and Steve’s eyes zeroed onto it. 

“If I’d known it was yours,” Bucky began. “Or even that it was by anyone still alive, still out there — I shouldn’t have posted them.”

Steve had tears in his eyes as he took the book from Bucky’s hand, running his fingers over the cover reverently.

“It’s… I’m glad you posted it.”

Bucky frowned. Steve was still staring at the book, so Bucky offered him a seat and a drink. “Water’s fine, if that’s… if that’s alright.”

Bucky fetched the water, then sat next to Steve on the couch. The place was a mess — renovations just finishing, furniture all either tossed or dirty, waiting to be repaired or replaced, but Steve didn’t seem to mind or even notice.

Steve sipped his water and then set it aside to open the book up. His eyes landed on the inscription, and Bucky saw one of the tears in his eyes fall. Neither of them acknowledged it. 

“If you hadn’t posted the drawings, I’d never have known this was still out there.You didn’t share anything people could use to trace it back to me, but even if you had… Thank you.”

Bucky didn’t know what to do with that, so he just watched, as Steve slowly turned the pages of the book. 

“She was a nurse,” Steve said, pausing on a portrait of the woman Bucky had assumed to be his mother. The words felt rehearsed, like Steve had said them hundreds of times already, until they lost meaning. “Worked on a TB ward. Got hit, couldn’t shake it.”

“Shit, that’s… I’m sorry, man.”

Steve turned the page, and he smiled at the image. “I remember this day.” It was another portrait of her. Steve spoke about it, about the day out they took together, how he’d taken the book along and drawn her sitting on the grass where they ate a picnic lunch. 

“Tell me about the rest?” Bucky asked. “If… If you want to.”

Steve sniffed. “I haven’t spoken about these people in so long,” he admitted.

He flicks through the pages, telling Bucky about the people held within these pages. His mom, his neighbors and friends, and the others. As he spoke, the carefully controlled speech pattern slipped, replaced with a looser Brooklyn accent.

“I started going after Ma died. This little bar, hidden away. I only found it because I’d been walking along and I heard —” Steve snorted. “Well, I thought it was a fight, some poor guy getting beaten up.”

“It wasn’t?” 

Steve shook his head. “Nope. They looked scared when I walked in, but I guess they musta seen somethin’ in my face, because next thing I knew, I was downstairs, and all these people around me, they were… They were like me, you know?”

Bucky remembered his first time in a gay bar, the sense of belonging he’d felt, nineteen years old with a fake ID. He imagined that feeling, multiplied by about a  hundred for Steve.

Steve continued through, telling Bucky story after story from the club, the people he’d known there. 

“Did you ever—” Bucky started to ask, then stopped himself, thinking it was probably too personal a question. 

Steve shrugged. “Nobody special. One or two I thought, maybe, but…” He shrugged. Turned the page. “That’s Bill. Got called up in ‘41. Johnny signed up right after, followed him out.”

One by one, Steve told Bucky about the people he lost, the ones who went off to fight and never came home, the ones who came home but didn’t live long enough for Steve to see again.. 

“And you?” Bucky asked. Steve turned to the last page. 

“This one… My buddy, he was… well. Maybe, if the war hadn’t happened, we could've made something of it. I… I could’ve loved him. This was the night before he shipped out, we just wanted… something. Something to remember, out there. It was a good night. Next day, I stashed the book behind the mirror, went out, and I met Erskine.”

“And here we are,” Bucky finished for him. 

“Here we are.”

Steve closed the book, held it up, and pressed his lips to the cover, eyes squeezed shut. 

"I looked him up, after they showed me the internet."

Bucky didn't ask, afraid of the answer. Steve's face said it all, though —whatever happened to Steve's friend, it wasn't good. Bucky saw the shadows in his eyes, and decided to change the subject slightly, to pull him out of that space.

"I grew up in a shitty little town in Indiana," he said. "It was… rough, honestly. The kids liked to throw around a lot of names, and I never really knew anyone else who was… well, I was going to say gay, but really I didn't know anyone queer growing up. My family is great, but it wasn't until I moved here for college that I found people I could really be myself with."

Steve put the book down on his lap and turned to listen to Bucky, resting his arm on the back of the couch. Bucky couldn't decide whether it was surprising how easy Steve Rogers was to talk to, to confide in.

"Although, looking back… there were these two women who lived in my neighborhood, they were both in their seventies, at least. Everyone called them sisters, but I never really saw a resemblance."

Slowly, Bucky saw Steve's expression turn lighter, almost a smile. "Well, I was reading up on local history, once, and I got my hands on a bunch of old yearbooks from the local high school."

"You've always been into history, then?" Steve asked.

"Personal histories. Social stuff. Things with real people, yeah."

"And the yearbook?"

"They were in one of them. Class of '46, I think?”

“Not much younger than me, then,” Steve said with a wry sort of smile. 

“I guess not,” Bucky agreed. “But there they were, both of them. Smiling on opposite pages.”

“Different surnames,” Steve deduced, and Bucky nodded.

“Yeah. I never asked them about it, of course, but you’re not the first person who I’ve looked up in census records. They were never sisters, they just let people go with whatever assumptions were made. Sisters, friends, whatever was easier. They lived together in that house since the 50’s. They had a life together. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for them, but…”

“But they did it,” Steve finished. “Are they—”

“Julia passed about five years back, but Betty’s still there, in that same house.”

Steve was quiet for a while, thinking. “I know there's still a long way to go, but… It’s easier now, right?”

He looked at Bucky, and their eyes met with a new sort of intensity. Bucky could tell Steve was searching for something in his face, but he didn’t know what it could be. 

“Yeah, it’s easier now.” 

Steve was still looking at him, and Bucky couldn’t look away. He’d imagined Steve’s face so often based on his self portraits, beyond the lines of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. That intensity was there, in the real thing, but it was all… more. Bucky didn’t know if it was the serum, or simply the difference between the drawing and reality. 

His eyes dropped to Steve’s lips, and those… Steve had never done his own mouth justice in his sketches, Bucky decided. Soft, pink, beautiful. Bucky swallowed, and Steve released a breath, like he’d found what he was looking for. 

He leaned forward, hand reaching out to rest just above Bucky’s waist. Bucky wondered, absently, when they’d come to sit so close together, but the thought was quickly replaced by far more urgent ones as Steve crossed that small distance, slowly, giving Bucky every chance to pull away. 

He didn’t pull away. He met Steve in the middle, until their lips brushed, just a shadow of a kiss, really. They paused there, in the almost-but-not-quite.

“My life is really fucking complicated,” Steve whispered against his lips. “If you don’t want that, I get it.”

Bucky answered by sliding his fingers into Steve’s hair, holding the back of his head, and kissing him.

[riricitaa]

a mission gone wrong, only because Steve had to make a choice: civillians or Bucky A sequel to this shrunkyclunks au

[steevbuckk]

FAVORITE STUCKY FICS | 57/100

Use Your Agency by romanticalgirl

[Shrunkyclunks, 15 973 words, Explicit]

Summary:

Bucky is given the assignment (punishment) of being the agent whose job it is to integrate the newly-thawed Captain America into life in a new century. Only maybe it's not so bad. Because Bucky ends up dealing with Steve Rogers, who is nothing like the Captain America in Bucky's history books.

From coming out of the ice through AoU.

more fics

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Margrave's Consort"

📖Part 1 - An Honest Rendering

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: period romance, 1800s, royalty au, nobility, arranged marriage, a/b/o, winter soldier Bucky, post-serum Steve, vampires, historical fantasy au

Summary: Lord Steven Rogers rides north with his valet Clinton, the final stretch of a journey to meet his betrothed: the Margrave of Wïnterhelm.

The Margrave of Wïnterhelm had not been seen publicly for a fortnight, when Lord Steven Rogers left by coach with his friend and valet, Clinton Barton; traveling north towards what would be his new home.

A journey that should’ve taken three days was prolonged to over twice that by foul weather conditions, much of the Northroad being made muddy and impassible after so much rain and snow, requiring an overnight stay at not one, but two roadside inns, and even a stop to repair a broken axle. 

“Banished to the far reaches of the Nӧtternland,” Steven muttered, eyeing out the carriage window at the wicked crags and hills that lined the road to either side. Up ahead, another eerie stretch of northwoods loomed like the gaping maw of some beast, waiting to swallow them whole. “No sign of life anywhere. What a wretched place.” 

“They call it the 'dead' of winter for a reason,” Clinton drawled from across the carriage where he was lying down, not deigning to pull away the handkerchief he’d draped over his eyes in fatigue. “There will of course be more to it when the seasons change.”

“Perhaps,” Steven grumbled. The pass through which they drove had grown so high at either side now that the late afternoon sunlight was all but blocked out, making the road seem misty and dark. Steven would have worried that they’d taken the wrong way, but the coachman had already stopped at a farmhouse earlier that day to reassure them of their correct path. “How much longer could this journey possibly take?” Steven complained.

“Nearly there, I’d expect,” Clinton said tiredly as he shifted on the seat with a quietly-pained grunt. “And a good thing, too. These cramped quarters are insufferable.”

Steven pursed his lips and continued to look ruefully out the window. “Perhaps we’ll be set upon by highwaymen before we can reach the castle,” he mused. He’d read a novel like that, once.

“Really? That’s what you’re hoping for?” 

Steven shrugged mulishly. “Maybe.” He was only half in jest. Highway robbers wouldn’t be such a terrible fate, at least not so terrible as the one that awaited him at Castle Barnes. 

“Dramatic,” Clinton scolded, and though Steven couldn’t see his friend’s face, he knew what the man sounded like when he was rolling his eyes full up into his skull. “You’d rather die than marry this fellow? He’s titled nobility - higher than you could ever dream to rank, your Lordship - and for whatever reason, he wants you.” Clinton chuckled. “You’d think he was a complete dog, the way you're acting.”

“He might be.”

Clinton scoffed, the handkerchief moving slightly over where his mouth was. “You have his likeness," he drawled. "Do you think the artist is such a liar? Do you think the King is?”

Steven pressed his lips together. Surreptitiously, he touched the small velvet box that rested in his pocket. It contained the miniature he’d been gifted by his betrothed. With one more quick glance to check that Clinton's face was still covered, Steven pulled the box out and flipped it open on its hinge. He touched the edge of his thumb to the painted curve of the Margrave’s jaw.  “An artist will make a sonnet of a portrait, if he’s being paid handsomely enough,” he murmured.

“Or perhaps he’s actually handsome.” 

“Perhaps.” Steven gazed down at the image of the man. He had yet to inform Clinton that he actually had met his husband-to-be once before, and thus knew well and good that the artist did not lie or exaggerate the man’s looks. 

The Margrave of Wïnterhelm was quite comely, as anyone who looked upon the painting would see. With dark hair and steel blue eyes, a stern brow and strong jaw, his was a noble countenance indeed. He didn’t look the two and forty years that he was, with no visible marks of age around his mouth or eyes shown in the rendering. Whether that was borne more of truth or an artist’s flattery remained to be seen. 

Steven had only met Ser Barnes briefly, and with nearly a decade passed since, many things could have—and likely had—changed. Steven surely had, and he could hardly fault his betrothed a bit of aging when he himself had altered his form so drastically over the past few years. He was nervous to reveal this to the Margrave, but was comforted by the notion that he would certainly not be the only one much changed by time. King Fury had, upon championing the match, made Steven aware that Ser Barnes was a veteran of the last war, and that he'd given his arm in sacrifice for the victory.

That was how Steven knew the portrait to be true in its depiction of the soldier's sigil on its coat of arms, and in the insignia the man’s epaulette bore. Only a warrior of the realm could wear the mantle of the white wolf, after all, and Steven knew that, whatever King Nicholas' faults may be, he was not one to tolerate the counterfeit of wartime merit.

The portraiture did nothing to hint at the Margrave's brutal injuries, with the shoulders and sleeves of his jacket filled out quite nicely. Steven supposed that a man of his stature would have access to some sort of prosthetic to wear underneath his clothes. In any case, it wasn’t the man’s body that had Steven so-dreading their meeting. 

It was the history that the two of them shared, and the mistruths of that history, that Steven feared would make their reunion less than felicitous. He hadn't, after all, been entirely truthful with the man, last they had met.

... Nor had he recently. With no time and little money to spare, Steven had convinced himself that there wasn't any real harm in sending the Margrave a painting of his own face and form that, while honestly-rendered a decade ago, was now very much no longer relevant.

A loud clap of thunder sounded in the distance, surprising Steven from his contemplation and causing him to snap the velvet box shut on his fingers as he gave a start. He flushed and hastily stuffed the box back in his pocket, but Clinton's half-asleep snort of surprise at the thunder was enough to let him know that he hadn't been caught mooning over his soon-to-be husband's portrait.

Steven sighed and slumped back against his seat, and by the time they'd driven into the darkened embrace of the northwoods, the rainfall kept a constant patter against the carriage roof.

Masterlist

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@stuckyversebingo

card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square D3: 1800's

@anyfandomgoesbingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square B5: Royalty AU

[muensterfucker]

werewolf shrunkyclunks anybody…?