#wwii stucky

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Today, I'm thinking about sensitive--like, so sensitive he's on a hair trigger--World War Two era Steve.

Imagine: Bucky and Steve--post rescue from that HYDRA fascility in The First Avenger--sitting alone, late at night, in the middle of a frozen forest in Germany. Steve offered to take watch because the soldiers he freed need sleep more than he does. So, he's awake. But Bucky is awake because he can't sleep, not because he doesn't need sleep. He really should be sleeping.

Steve and Bucky are sitting together by the fire they risked--sending up empty prayers that the smoke not give them away. But, they need the fire, or else they'll freeze to death. It's so cold that they can see their breath. Clouds hanging around their heads like cigarettes smoke.

Steve's head is on a swivel, actually keeping watch. Meanwhile, Bucky is watching Steve. He still can't believe he's real. He still can't believe that Steve looks like that. Head to toe. He's... he's like a tank now. And with Steve sitting, with his legs spread the way they are, Bucky can't help but eye his bulge. 👀

Bucky means to just squeeze Steve once and get a feel for what he's working with these days. But, he's so warm. A damn furnace. He can't help but linger.

More than linger.

Bucky ends up groping him. Squeezing him a little, pressing down on him, just feeling him up.

He's touches Steve for maybe a minute. Maybe, maybe a minute and a half at most. But, it's apparently long enough for Steve to curls forward with a harshly exhaled cry, his air leaving him in a huge cloud of hot breath as if he was holding his breath but can't any longer. As if he can't stand it--unable to stay silent.

Anyone who's awake would know exactly what kind of noise that is. Obscene. But it doesn't register to Bucky to be spooked at the possibility of getting caught. He's too busy reeling at how fast Steve has gotten hard and...

He's too busy asking, "really?" in his own puff of warm breath when Steve bends over a little more and whines as Bucky keeps touching him. Suddenly too sensitive to let Bucky keep touching him.

Did he really just cum?

Just from that? A hand exploring his new equipment? Not even trying to get him off.

Steve exhales in a stutter and shakes his head where it's framed between his knees. "I mean-" he pauses, "y-yeah. But," he groans, embarrassed, "I haven't. I haven't had time to, uh, y’know-"

Bucky's never felt more awake or curious. There's no way just not having time for some alone time would make a guy that sensitive. There's got to be something more here. Hopefully something that can be exploited... 👀

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

The Shield Bearer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. It was awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You not eating, Sarge?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They ate in torrential silence. 

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

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

"Sarge."

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

"Sarge!"

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

Because, of course it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that led him to their missing team member.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck."

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

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

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

But.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I hate you, you sonofabitch!"

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

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

He would follow those footsteps anywhere.

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

"Buck?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Never said you were."

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

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

"As you should have."

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

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

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

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

"I put money on you getting captured."

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

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

And then — "I brought food."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cap!"

"Hey, he's back!"

"Look what the cat dragged in!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His optimism gave Bucky a headache. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rogers began to argue, but Bucky cut him off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Steve."

Read on AO3

[stuckycreativity]

Someone please send me Howlies Era Stucky headcanons so I can have feels over them and maybe even add my thoughts to it? 😍🥺❤

Angst, fluffy, anything... 🤭🥺

[jourquet]

bucky writing letters to steve during the wwii. never mentioning the gruesome stuff he sees on both sides of the war because steve’s happiness matters the most. bucky sending pens to steve that he had exchanged for cigarettes. bucky constantly being worried about steve. and the others understanding there is more between steve and bucky than just a friendship. but they let him alone about it, only friendly teasing. since they’re wholesome and empathic people.

so, when bucky finally gets a leave — the first thing he does is saying he will visit steve. but then he gets imprisoned by hydra.

[sarahowritesostucky]

Just reposting some of my old mood boards and bingo fills. This one was for an idea I had involving Steve as a WWII vet/captain America, in the 1950's, living next door to the prostitute he solicited (and later, the man he saved from a concentration camp) during the war.

[muensterfucker]

excerpt of a ficlet about the return from azzano.

tws : catholicism, light blasphemy

Steve spent maybe a month at Camp Lehigh, from the beginning ‘til the end of July, surmounting a variety of challenges presented to him by both his superiors, and his fellow soldiers. Steve didn’t think he’d tell Bucky what he’d done there, the lengths he’d gone to prove himself worthy. Worthy of the honor, the gift, of the serum, and of Rebirth.

Steve had been baptized in blinding vita-rays, and emerged cleansed of his sins; only to slip right back into his transgressive ways the second Bucky was involved.

Steve loved Bucky. Steve yearned, and longed, and pined for Bucky. It burned, like scarlet flames licking his ribcage from the inside, but it felt right. Somehow. If that was what he could have, and he’d take it in an instant.

Take his admiration and his reverence and shove it deep down. Take his penciled iconography — a dimpled chin portrayed by a pointed dot of graphite — and fold it ‘til it was small, and the creases and smudges made it recognizable only to Steve. Take Bucky and protect him, watch over him like an angel from the earthly choir.

How great the dignity of the soul, since each one has, from his birth, an angel commissioned to guard it? Steve loved Bucky. If that was sin, Steve couldn’t imagine he’d want to go to Heaven.

[lavenderpanic]

I JUST FOUND THIS PROPAGANDA POSTER FROM 1943???

[burberrycanary]

Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions)

Stucky, Endgame Fix-it, Road Trip Get Together

Between some stretches of a calm sort of quiet, out here in the glare of the porch light under a sky crowded with stars, he tells Steve a little about the green flat expanse of Nebraska farm country: the giant cultivated fields dotted with small white houses under a vast placid sky.

“Still big and a whole lot of nothing,” Bucky says, staring down at where he’s worrying at the label of his beer with the side of his thumb, “but it just doesn’t reach to that something awful you get around here.”

“Yeah,” Steve says and when Bucky looks up, curious, he explains, “the bond tour,” remembering the perpetual card games going on at the back of the bus; Frankie and the girls’ voices and, gosh, some of those girls could swear when they weren’t on the clock; the long hours of boredom, staring out the window at land that didn’t change enough to be worth sketching often: the monotony, the smallness of what he was doing, and the good people he’d done that small work with.

He remembers thinking, if this was the work given him to aid those in need of help, by God, he’d do it. But he wanted to be in the fight, where it mattered.

Where Bucky was.

“Always wished more of your letters had caught up with me,” Bucky says, and for a moment Steve feels like that’s a reply to his own thoughts.

Read Chapter 40 on AO3

Many thanks to my betas @village-skeptic​​​​​​​​​​​, @booksandabeer​​​​​​​​​​​ and @zenaidamacrouras1​​​​​​​​​​​ 😘

[winteratdusk]

Totally forgot to share this when I first posted, but chapter 2 of my new fic is now up! Some Steve/Bucky hurt/comfort, as always.

It was November of 1941, the air was bright and clear and cold, and Bucky was starting to feel like he was living at the end of the world. Or, with the world at war, responsibility on his shoulders, and the draft looming closer by the day, Bucky's just trying his best to stay afloat. Drinking seems to help, until it doesn’t.

Main, overarching warning for depictions of unhealthy alcohol use as a coping mechanism. More specific warnings are in the tags and chapter notes, so please be sure to check those as well! Chapter 2 snippet below the cut:

Bucky sat slouched over the bar, staring into the depths of his drink. 

It was a dive bar close to the docks, one Bucky always glanced over his shoulder before entering, afraid Jack or someone else from work might be passing by and see him go in. Since he and Steve had finally gotten over themselves, taking the plunge into the relationship that, to Bucky, had always felt halfway inevitable, they went out dancing a lot less. It was both exhausting and unfair, inviting out girls just to keep up appearances. They now spent more time out at bars like this instead – places where Bucky could run his hand up Steve’s thigh or link their hands together under the table and know that nobody would bat an eye.

There had been a time when Bucky had loved it, the openness they found in these places when everywhere else they had to be so careful. He was enjoying it far less now that he had to spend his evening listening to Steve animatedly talking politics to the shiny-haired boy sitting next to them at the bar, leaving Bucky to either try and fail to keep up or drink in silence.

“It’s bullying, is what it is,” Steve ranted, that familiar bit of Irish starting to creep into his voice. “Hitler thinks he can push everyone in Europe around, just like he’s already been doing to his own people!”

The boy beside him was nodding intensely, dark eyes fixed on Steve’s face. Bucky knocked back the rest of his drink and tried to subtly flag down the bartender.

“Exactly,” the boy agreed. “It’s not about glory or adventure or anything, like other guys keep saying. It’s about justice. We’ve finally got the chance to do something good. You’re joining up, right?”

Bucky saw Steve deflate for a moment before quickly squaring his shoulders again. “Trying. Wouldn’t take me the first time around, but I’m gonna prove them wrong.”

“And you?” 

The boy beside Steve addressed Bucky just as the bartender handed him his next drink. Bucky winced, hoping that neither Steve nor his new friend had caught on to the fact that most of the empty glasses in front of them were Bucky’s already, or that somewhere along the line he’d switched to ordering doubles. 

He wasn’t trying to get drunk, not really — it had just felt so good to loosen up a little, and he could hardly fault himself for not wanting that feeling to stop. 

“Buck?” Steve asked, expectant.

“I, uh… yeah,” Bucky said. “Yeah, I think I will. Just gotta make sure my folks are taken care of first. And I mean, I already signed up for the selective service last summer when they told us we all had to, so…”

Bucky knew it wasn’t the righteous answer Steve’s friend was looking for. He only hoped he was imagining the matching frown echoed on Steve’s face.

Bucky was saved from having to sit through any more of the conversation when someone sat down at the old, out-of-tune piano in the corner of the bar. As the first off-key notes of a drinking song permeated the room, the atmosphere shifted, faraway problems disappearing in favor of current celebration.

Steve’s new friend had turned around, talking to another man on the other end of the bar, and Steve’s eyes were on Bucky again. They were glassy and framed with long eyelashes. Their deep blue looked dark in the low light, and Bucky’s stomach swooped with a sensation like falling as he felt himself leaning towards them, tunneling into them. 

Steve’s lips parted, saying something that could hardly be heard over the raucous music. They were bright pink, glistening with the last sip of his drink, and Bucky wanted so badly to kiss them, to claim those lips for himself. He forced himself to hold back, pressing a hand flat to the sticky surface of the bar beside his drink to keep himself from touching Steve anywhere he could reach. 

[fandomfluffandfuck]

It's been a long time since i submitted anything but I'm so happy that you're unflagged !!

Anyways i was (always tbh) thinking of baby Steve having something for daddy Bucky's fingers. He always likes to nip the tip of Bucky's calloused fingers every time gets the chance to, always holding his wrist every time those cigarette smelling palms reach up to cradle his cheek. Can you imagine Steve wrapping his lips around his finger while holding his eye contact, begging Bucky to choke him with them or better fuck him with those fingers.

- pleading anon

Hey! Nice to see you again, and it's nice to be unflagged, yeah, lol.

This idea immediately had me vividly picturing Steve and Bucky during wwii.

Maybe it's the cigarettes mentioned in the prompt, but... for whatever reason, yeah, during World War II stucky vibes for sure.

Imagine Steve and Bucky at a wartime camp for once, sleeping in less makeshift tents than the smaller, much less insulated ones they carry on their backs and set up in dark huddles around a fire--if they're willing to risk making a fire--while on the front. These tents have wooden frames with canvas thrown over them, enough room for a couple of cots. If you're lucky, you can stand up in them, but not all of them are that tall. Most of the soldiers aren't afforded such space.

Steve is... lucky?

Maybe lucky isn't exactly the right word, he is in an active warzone acting as a pon in a game of chess that feels too big to see beyond the few squares surrounding him. But, he does have a large tent. Large enough to stand up in. Except, he isn't standing right now.

Right now, Steve is on his knees--kneeling in his official captain's tent that he shares with Bucky. His right-hand man.

Their bedrolls, cots, required weapons, and a few other personal items clutter the space. Thankfully, there's still enough room for Steve on the floor. And he's taking it up soundlessly, kneeling, still graced in red, white, and blue as he stares up at Bucky. His big blue eyes are pleading. Glittering with tears. Barely restrained. Muscles coiled tight, on the edge of movement.

Still, he looks so small despite his uniform, its protective padding fills Steve out even more than whatever they pumped him full of did. He is a monolith. Stone. Usually. Not right now, he isn't. He's--

Something. 😮‍💨

Something real soft and sweet. Staring up like that, eyes begging because his lips are busy, shaped hot and slick around three of Bucky's fingers. Urgently sucking, licking, and swallowing like it's all he wants to do forever. Like it's the only taste he can stand to experience.

"Sweetheart," Bucky coos quietly, talking under the constant level of noise happening within camp. Bustling. Shouted orders. Hushed chatter. Horns and whistles to signify when to wake, when to eat, when to get the fuck to your post, when to attack, when to sleep. Marching and dragging feet. Gunshots. Crackling fires. He may be speaking under the drone, but he knows Steve hears him. He hears everything now. Often, it's too much for him.

He needs this.

Steve doesn't come off of his fingers when Bucky addresses him. Instead, he takes them deeper. He swallows, long and slow. Savoring it.

"Dollface," Bucky hums, "what'd'ya want? Can't just sit here all night." He knows what Steve wants, he just wants to watch him struggle to show him. Also, they could stay here all night, so long as there are no emergencies. But, again, Bucky wants to see what the deadline does to Steve.

Steve delivers exactly what Bucky wants without even thinking about it. Perfection. He shifts, balancing his weight on his left, then his right knee; his hands flexing into fists on top of his knees; he tilts his head higher, taking more of Bucky's fingers into his mouth, deeper; he swallows, letting a little groan come out of him.

When Steve does it again--that little tilting-his-head-up movement to get more of Bucky's fingers, he gags this time. The tips of Bucky's fingers are finally deep enough to trigger his reflex. Steve groans like he's been punched this time, the sound rattling around in his big, impressive chest.

"S'that it?" Bucky hums, barely keeping himself from smiling.

Steve's eyes are even more wet now. Tears barely kept from spilling over. He nods the tiniest amount and lifts his shaking hands up to Bucky's arm, fingers ghosting over his wrist, aching to grab but unsure if he's allowed.

"Go'head, baby," Bucky's feeling particularly nice. He's also thinking with his dick which has happily filled his uniform pants. Steve's mouth... it's a dream.

Steve's hands instantly clasp onto him once he has permission. Electricity shoots through them both with more skin to skin contact. Steve whimpers, shaking, and gets what he wants--he holds Bucky's arm in place and dives forward. Taking those fingers to the last knuckle. He sputters. He gags. He chokes.

The more he chokes, the more his big chest heaves and the redder his face turns. Bucky can feel the impossibly erotic way Steve's throat spasms around his fingers. He's deep in there.

God.

Bucky shifts where he's propped up on their cots, pushed together to make one big bed. He's so hard.

Steve is wet and getting wetter, saliva becoming drool as it comes up from deep in his tight, pretty throat and leaks out around Bucky's fingers. He's getting messy. Drool dripping down his chin and tears down his cheeks.

When Bucky can't take it anymore, he shoves his boot between Steve's legs and puts his own strength behind his hand. First, he pulls his hand back. Steve sobs, letting it happen despite his super strength. At the same time, his hips stutter against Bucky's shin, grinding into it. Aching. Then, Bucky adds his pinkie, cramming a fourth finger between Steve's swollen, wet lips. Finally, Bucky pushes down with Steve's desperate grabbing.

Steve moans with everything he has because he is already cumming before he can even force his trembling hips forward again, humping Bucky's leg like an animal, it's all over because he's getting his throat fucked. His mouth stretched wide. His gag reflex pushed and pushed. Choking until he can't stop the tears.

Bucky knows he's cumming by the way he quakes and how his eyes roll back and with the deepening of his blush. Otherwise, Steve stays hard. That fucking serum.

Goddamn.

"G-gimmie my hand back," Bucky rumbles, unsteady as he already starts one-handed fumbling with his belt, "now you're good and stretched out, doll, and I can, f-fuck, fuck your throat."

It takes a moment to process, but when it does get through his head, Steve is pulling off immediately--a thick string of saliva connecting them--and ripping at his pants. Literally ripping. Bucky hears the seams of his pants start to give. He uses his boot to push Steve back, shoving at one of his big, huge fucking shoulders. He doesn't want to explain how more of his clothes got fucking ruined to anyone. His hand is fucking wet and slippery, though. It's so difficult to get to his cock. He's so keyed up. Shaking. Unthinking.

The moment it's out, though, it's in Steve's mouth. He's crawled forward from where he fell back thanks to Bucky's boot, faster than a madman, and is already choking on it.

Christ. Fuckers gonna kill him one'a these days. He swears it.

In conclusion: hand 👏🏻 kink 👏🏻

(This didn't have daddy kink in it, so I apologize for that, but hopefully, the caretaking undertones speak for themselves 😏 and there was enough choking to make up for it)

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

The Shield Bearer - Rated E, WWII Stucky, Canon era, Hurt/Comfort

It wasn’t that Bucky was staring at Steve’s ass, per se. It was the item in the man’s back pocket that held his gaze; the paperback Steve read whenever they stopped to rest, eyes gone distant as he pondered its contents. Bucky couldn’t help but see his Steve Rogers in that dreamy face.

The book was there now even as Steve graciously and generously doled out handshakes and cheek kisses. Bucky observed that his hand went to it exactly twenty-two times to reassure himself it was still there. He also noticed that Steve seemed completely sober.

He’d always been a lightweight, literally, back home. One good swig of a beer would damn near make him tip over. Two cans in, and he’d have been falling down on his face. Bucky had lost track of the times he’d picked Steve up by the scruff of his neck and marched him home before he picked a fight he couldn’t win.

“Whatcha doin,’ Buck?” he’d complain, tripping over his feet to keep up. “I’m fine, I tell ya!’ Fine!”

Bucky would shake his head and guide Steve out of traffic and back onto the sidewalk. “Sure ya’ are, pal.”

It wasn’t like that now. Bucky had witnessed with his own eyes as the man downed six cans in a matter of minutes to quench his thirst. And then a glass of something that smelled stronger than gasoline was pushed into his hand. Then another. And another. And still Steve looked out of the clearest blue-green eyes as he checked for Bucky’s location.

It was unnatural. 

It was also infuriating. Why did Steve have to keep looking at him like that? He had everything he wanted; fame, money, admiration. Everyone thought him a hero; he could practically take on the whole of the Axis countries himself. What was so important about a loser he once knew back in New York?

Bucky moved further away, stationing himself by the exit behind a chattering, guffawing group of soldiers. They were leaning against each other and laughing, racing along in their own tongue and ignoring Bucky.

But Steve found him once again, with that large hand on his hip, checking that the book sat snug in the tightness of his stupid uniform. He’d repositioned between two men who had begun to sing at raucous decibels, trying to connect with Bucky’s soul.

And Bucky felt it then, the twist in his chest that had nothing to do with hunger. He’d skipped the alcohol and figs and bread, knowing full well that others needed it more than he. No, this was something to do with matters of the heart.

Bucky was proud of Steve. The bastard.

The woman who grabbed Steve’s arm next was gorgeous. In fact, every woman they’d met since arriving in Greece was. Her hair was a sleek brown and her eyes warm and she gazed up at Steve like he was —

Bucky had to get out of there. Fast.

It was cooler outside between the two-story buildings. The alley was narrow and open to the stars. Bucky hurried to the end, turning onto the dusty street, hoping Steve had been too preoccupied to see him go.

He walked fast. It was dark now. The city was under the protection of the rebels, so he needn’t worry about running into the enemy. The problem was the enemy was also himself.

Maybe he could lose himself for a while. Find an unoccupied corner for a few hours, a patch of ground that was his alone. Maybe he could unscramble these feelings he had. Get a grip on something he didn’t understand at all.

A few streets away, he encountered a woman with sun-wrinkled skin, her gray hair covered in a shawl, carrying a lamp and a full bag swung over her shoulder. She took one look at Bucky and froze. Her hand covered her mouth and she began backing away. But not before she gave him a lashing at the top of her voice.

Bucky held up his hands to signal he wasn’t a threat, but it was too late. She’d already determined he was untrustworthy. Around them, people began gathering. Apparently, she’d sounded the alarm, and they’d come to her rescue.

Two stern-looking gentlemen approached without fear while the woman continued to shout. It was clear they intended to confront him. Bucky struggled for the words that Gabe had attempted to teach him.

“Friend!” he tried in what he knew to be a horrible accent. “America! Soldier!”

The men recognized the last word, for their intent to protect solidified on their concerned faces. If Bucky didn’t identify himself soon, if he wasn’t successful in convincing them he meant no harm —

Too late, he was caught. Strong hands held him back as the crowd approached. It didn’t look good at all.

And then?

A voice. Impossibly deep, a rumble of thunder that parted the throng and commanded their attention.

Eyes swiveled, heads turned as the newcomer pushed his way through. He was speaking their language, and they were listening. And when the man slapped a gigantic hand to Bucky’s shoulder and smiled like the fucking sun, the two men released their hold and stood as if dumbfounded.

Bucky didn’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell. This was Steve, but it wasn’t. He’d been approached by an imposter, a body double, an unknown.

The old woman, shorter than most of the others, pushed her way through to the middle. There, she glared up at Steve, challenging him in her loud, gravelly voice. Rogers listened, nodding his head, and then spoke again. He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder. The street went quiet.

The woman’s face quite suddenly shifted into disbelief, whipping her head around to study Bucky. She looked into his eyes first with fright, then with pity, and, finally, with kinship.

She shoved her pack into Steve’s arms. He nearly dropped it from the shock. She turned to Bucky and snatched at the pack strap, tugging so hard he nearly lost his balance. There were more words with Steve, and then more pulling. It appeared she was taking Bucky with her.

A glance over his shoulder showed Steve smiling and nodding, mouthing, “It’s OK.” He fell into step after the woman. Bucky didn’t know what to think.

She let go of the strap yet continued to walk, waving her hands and bubbling over like a boiled pot. Every few steps, she would turn and shake her finger at Bucky, lowering her voice and frowning deeply.

Then she resumed her quick march up the street.

Steve fell into step beside him, and Bucky opened his mouth to ask. But the Captain shushed him and lifted his chin, indicating they should follow without question.

Eventually, the woman stopped in front of a building that was probably quite handsome at one point. She spoke to Steve for a few moments, tone scolding as he nodded enthusiastically. It looked in need of a paint job and a few window panes were cracked.

When she turned to Bucky and grabbed his chin with a dry, gnarled hand, her eyes were kind. She whispered something, patted his cheek, then motioned for him to follow her inside.

Steve bumped shoulders with him. Well, Bucky’s shoulder to his bicep, anyway. “Come on. She’s invited us to dinner.”

They entered the building to more sounds of shouting. The woman was bellowing as if she intended to wake the dead. From the innards of the house came four people; two men, a woman, and a pre-teen boy. They met Bucky and Steve with the same expressions; fear, sorrow, then eagerness.

The older man took the bag from Steve, and the younger one followed him into an open space with a large, worn wooden table. There, the two began to unload the packages; cans, ration packets, bandages, and the like. Meanwhile, the older woman chattered at Steve, who responded in turn, and then she pushed the boy out the front door with some sort of order.

The younger woman had a similar face to the older one; Bucky deduced it was her daughter. Mother and daughter shared an animated exchange, and then they, too, disappeared into the kitchen.

Bucky took a moment to catch his breath as Steve crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“What the hell was that?”

Steve smiled crookedly, watching the activity in the other room instead of facing Bucky’s questioning gaze.

“Easy. I saved your ass. They thought you were some kind of militant, and they were about to lock you up in a barn somewhere without any food and water, and then ransom you off to the highest bidder.”

Bucky gaped at him. “They what?”

Steve nodded, still smirking, as if he were enjoying this. “Yep. Turns out, these people belong to a community of local Jews. They were tipped off by a German businessman about the Balkans being taken away by train. They’re working with the Rabbi in Volos to save their compatriots in Greece. I convinced them you were my brother, and that we’re from the Jewish part of New York. They insist we stay to eat and share news from home.”

Bucky blinked as he watched the family set about stashing the rations and getting to work with pots and pans. “So you just convinced them that Captain America is Jewish?”

Steve laughed and slapped a hand to Bucky’s shoulder, shaking him vigorously. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He uncrossed his beastly thighs and pushed away from the wall, preparing to join their hosts.

But Bucky wasn’t finished. “How did you do that?”

Steve turned slightly but not enough to see his whole face. “Do what?”

Bucky so wanted to punch him just then. “Speak to them!”

There was the briefest hint of eye contact before Steve put his hand on his back pocket. He retrieved the book and slapped it hard against Bucky’s stomach. 

And then he walked away.

After recovering from a good solid hit to the bread basket, Bucky looked inside the tattered cover of the book. 

Greek words and phrases for beginners.

“Oh.”

The chaos that ensued left Bucky feeling like an outsider. Three different conversations happened over the preparation of food, none of which he could understand. He pulled up a chair next to Steve and watched with growing interest as his friend tried to help wash vegetables.

Bucky caught the man’s pants pocket and reeled him back in. This he knew about.

“Hey,” he hissed into Rogers’ ear. “What happens at my house when you try to help?”

The confused expression on Steve’s face fell into recognition. He was used to living with Sarah, single mom for a long time, before the fend-for-yourself that happened in their apartment. “Your Ma’ would box my ears.”

“Uh-huh. Now sit your ass down and be polite. These people are starving, yet they’re willing to feed us like honored guests.”

Sheepish, Steve obeyed with hunched shoulders and bowed head. Bucky thought he saw a glimpse of his small friend inside.

Just as the food was about to be served, more people arrived. The boy who’d been sent away returned, carrying Steve and Bucky’s heavy packs, no less. He’d also brought with him three other boys, all of which had been needed to haul the supplies from the celebration hall. They beamed at Steve, who flashed a radiant smile and pulled something out of his shirt pocket for each of them.

The patch all of the Howlie’s wore: the shield with its wing.

Before Bucky could ask, Steve explained. “Stark gave them to me. I’ve been handing them out to kids for months. They’re spread out all over Europe at this point.”

Something twanged inside Bucky’s chest. There was so much good in him.

It was a fabulous meal (a bone broth with various vegetables to make up for the lack of meat), punctuated by the guilt Bucky felt for taking it. But Steve promised he’d fill their stash with more staples in the morning. 

They’d also been offered a room for the night. “They want to give us a quiet night’s rest. They’ve offered to sit up in shifts to make sure nothing happens.”

Bucky’s heart clenched with appreciation for these strangers.

The conversation switched from shouting and hand waving after the meal to quiet, intent faces as Steve spoke to them about their missions. Bucky watched emotion play out on the family’s faces as he told his stories. It appeared they wanted the bad news with the good. They asked questions and nodded with serious frowns. 

They were frightened.

Bucky showed them the small pictures of his mom and dad. The old woman, whose name was Nina, patted his cheek fondly and pointed at his mother. Bucky didn’t need to know the language to understand.

They had a son, twenty, who joined the local defenders and hadn’t been home in weeks. Steve took a picture and promised to pass it around. Maybe someone would know something.

It was late by the time Bucky and Steve were shown to the guest bedroom, a ten-by-ten space with one metal bed. Steve thanked them repeatedly and before the door was closed, Bucky got a hug from Nina.

The two men stood facing each other but avoided the others’ gaze. Steve spoke first.

“I suppose we’re going to fight over who gets the bed, too.”

It was a good, honest right hook.

Bucky sighed heavily and swiped a hand over his face. “I don’t want to fight, Steve. It’s just —“

He looked into that face, the same eyes and nose and lips and —

“I’m just angry at everything.”

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t nod or shrug or anything. “The guys mentioned it. A few times.”

Bucky groaned. “Of course they did.”

The piteous look Rogers threw him was harsh. “They care about you, Buck.”

Bucky knew this. But the way it was said made it sound as if Steve was the worried one.

He studied the bed and remembered how they shared one for years in the apartment. It was a comfort thing. It was a heat thing. It was a — a Steve thing.

“We can share,” Bucky said, resolving himself to accept this monster of a man as his friend. The heart of him had swelled along with his body, and Bucky found he couldn’t justify staying angry with him.

They undressed without speaking, removing boots and socks, belts and trousers. Steve unbuttoned his shirt with fat, clumsy fingers, and Bucky was struck with the idea that Rogers wasn’t used to his body yet, either.

Stripped to their bvds and undershirts, they moved side by side near the bed. The quilt had been pulled down and the pillows propped against the head stand. They sat together as they stood. Steve’s knee bumped Bucky’s, their elbows connected. And the bed?

Creeaaaaaakk!

Steve and Bucky burst into laughter at the sound.

“I ain’t sleeping a wink on this thing,” Bucky said.

Steve’s laugh sounded so, so good. “Me neither. How about we camp on the floor?”

“Sounds like a plan, Cap.”

They unpacked their bedrolls and stole the pillows and quilt from the bed. Bucky turned out the light as Steve sank onto his side, turning his back to Bucky’s roll.

They lay side by side for a long time, Bucky on his back and Steve on his side, facing away. Neither slept, neither moved or made any attempt to. For Bucky’s part, his mind was racing with the events of that night.

Finally, Steve spoke. “What’s eating you, Buck?”

In the dark, Bucky could have easily believed it was his Steve, home after a long day, with Bucky lost in thought. Steve constantly worried about him. Whether he was happy or sad, angry or fired up. The night always seemed to make his anxiety worse.

Bucky’s mouth was dry. He traced over the knuckles on his own hand, lying over his heart, trying to put it into words.

He settled on, “I miss you.”

Steve’s inhale was sharp and rang like an echo in the small room. “But I’m right here.”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s not you who’s missing. It’s me.”

The bedroll beside him rustled as Steve shifted onto his back, too. Before he dove into deeper worry, Bucky continued.

“I lost part of myself in that Hydra Facility. I’m not the same person now.”

Steve grunted as he rolled again. Bucky could feel warm breath on his cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

So that was it. Rogers was trying to atone for something entirely out of his control.

Typical.

“You don’t have to keep protecting me,” Bucky said, feeling the crushing pressure in his chest now. “Just like I need to stop looking after you.”

Something moved in the dark, and a large, warm hand found his. Bucky froze.

“That’s not what this is about. This is about friends watching out for each other, not because we’re supposed to. Because we want to.”

And, oh, did that hurt?

More silence followed. Steve’s hand was hot and heavy over Bucky’s, just lying there, unmoving.

“I saved your Brooklyn butt twice today,” Steve finally said, voice lighter, trying to soften the mood.

The old sense of competitiveness raised its head, and Bucky snorted in reply. “If we’re going to keep track, I think we have to go all the way back to the beginning.”

They did, go back. Silently. Each following a path inside their own heads, remembering what they had been through. Childhood friends. Teen rivals. Confused young men who sometimes weren’t that great to each other. 

And now?

Steve’s hand moved, sliding over Bucky’s chest to the opposite side. He moved closer, shifting sideways until he was so close that absolutely no one in the world would see them as brothers.

“Shut up now and get some sleep.”

Bucky’s heart thundered in his chest and he feared that Steve would feel it. He turned away, but Steve followed. His heavy arm draped over Bucky’s ribcage, chest pressed against Bucky’s back, sturdy chin bumping the top of Bucky’s head.

Steve chuckled, and Bucky’s stomach did a flip.

“What?”

More chuckling, low and deep. “There was a time when my head fit under your chin.”

Finish reading on AO3

[thief-of-eggs]

your honor- there is simply something about WWII era Stucky that, as they say, ‘hits different’

[lumosnoxlumos]

instead of writing an autobiography, Bucky takes his favorite biography of himself that someone else wrote and adds commentary. highlights include:

- this place had sunlight for four hours a day in January

- I miss plums

- had good croissants here from a bakery that got bombed two days later

- Steve went wild here and blew up three tanks all by himself here

- Dum Dum got shot in the foot here

- Steve got yet another medal for outstanding stupidity

- The movie we saw wasn’t Grapes of Wrath, it was The Mark of Zorro (Steve got some bad ideas from it)

- had to get another sniper gun because in Marseilles, Morita traded it for some cigarettes

- Steve and I finally made out behind an army truck after this

- this was our first night indoors in weeks

Bucky adds some excerpts from his diary and some letters from his family to him and some letters from him to his family. it goes viral and everyone reads it. it’s not analyzed in book clubs but it is required reading in some college courses. Bucky donates all the proceeds to amputees and veterans and former prisoners of war.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Hey, I don’t know if you’re interested in this kind of stuff, but I figured since you were into stucky and this comic is about gay soldiers in world war 2, I thought you might want to look into it:

https://theluckyones-comic.com/the-lucky-ones-comic

Oh wow what a find thank you for pointing this out to me!

[your-dads-filing-cabinet]

Steve and Bucky 🤝 Achilles and Patroclus

[msilverstar]

Author: @between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place Date: 2021-10-09 Chapters: 1/1  Words:  7,060 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: Captain America: The First Avenger, the bar scene, 1940s, Porn with Feelings, First Time Bottoming, Canon-related angst, total saps Summary:

“‘m not gonna let you make my decisions for me, Buck. You gotta know that.”

Or, what happened in London.

Bookmarker's Notes:

Great tension, slow reveals, excellent dialog, gorgeous sex