#a very sweet steve rogers chasing after a drift-drunk bucky barnes

[deniigi]

What is your favorite headcannon right now? 😊🌺 I hope you find a pretty flower today! Thanks for writing such beautiful works!

Hi anon!

Thank you for the flowers, here’s to wishing them your way too!

Man, I wish I could give you a single headcanon, but actually, I figure that this is a good chance to talk about a fuckload of headcanons I’ve been dreaming up lately, which have to do with a Big Project I’ve been working on with some other folks that y’all might know.

I just got the okay from the others to share, so I’m VERY excited to say that myself, @cassettemoon (writer of the Antichrist Verse), @pomegranate-belle, and @petrichordiam are all working together on a Marvel/Team Red Pacific Rim AU.

Here’s some of the concept art from it so far:

And here’s a wee snippet from the first chapter (We’re trading off each chapter who’s writing what, so it’s my job rn to write Steve Rogers. @cassettemoon is writing our dearly beloved Peter, @petrichordiam is writing Johnny Storm, and @pomegranate-belle is keeping things human by writing Foggy and perhaps some other incoming characters).

Steve Rogers POV:

Four seats sat empty in two Mark IV jaegers.

But they weren’t being filled anytime soon.

The new pilots already had their own jaegers and they scoffed at the thought of climbing into anything new. They didn’t care how advanced Stark’s tech was.

They had their own.

Two jaegers. One they called ‘BB’ and the other ‘the Beaut.’ These alongside a multitude of thrown-together bots made from scraps of fallen metal soldiers.

The three Bs were manned by a set of four.

Two teams.

Fury went silent when the four were called down from their roosts at the Punisher’s orders.

Two teams.

Barton bolted up straight upon seeing one of the guys and gave a shout that brought the pilot’s shielded helmet snapping around his way.

This guy seemed to recognize Barton.

“That you, Birdbrain?” a gravely, muffled voice shouted.

“What the fuck, you ain’t dead yet, Devil?” Barton shouted back, laughing. “I coulda sworn you went down in Jersey.”

“I ain’t dyin’ in fuckin’ New Jersey,” the pilot snarled like there was no greater insult.

The kid in black and blue next to him laughed. Their arm was threaded through the vet’s. Steve frowned at it.

Did the vet have a limp? A war wound?

“Round this way, Murdock,” The Punisher barked. “Front and center for inspection.”

“Front and center for inspection,” Murdock mocked to his greenhorn. “Like this blockhead owns me.”

His greenhorn snickered again.

Wow.

Fury was going to nip that in the bud.

“WILSON,” the Punisher roared, catching Steve off-guard and sending his hands scrabbling for his ears. “GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE.”

A cackle replied to the directive.

A scrape and thud answered after a bit and led Steve’s eye over to a hulking pile of custom-made armor holding its hands up to the eyeshield of the Beaut.

“Give us a jump, babycakes,” Wilson called up in a salacious tone. “Don’t worry, Papa’ll protect that ass of yours from—”

He didn’t finish because whoever was up there nailed in him the head with what appeared to be a mini-O2 tank. “FRANK,” this body roared, ducking out from his jaeger’s eye shield. “I WANT OUT.”

“You ain’t gettin’ it, kid. I told you there was no takes-backsies,” The Punisher snapped back. “Front and center. Now.”

He sniffed and turned back to Fury’s blank stare.

The kid up by the Beaut’s eyeshield threw his back two birds, then sprayed something down at Wilson when he got up that sent him cursing and grabbing at his helmet.

“Professionals,” Fury said slowly.

The Punisher hummed. “Get ‘em in their bot and they’re worth their weight in gold,” he said. “You’ll be sittin’ on a well of talent, so long as you can put up with the bullshit in the meantime.”

So yeah. I have a head crammed full of Pacific Rim headcanons right now anon, ranging from a Steve Rogers & Karen Page & Foggy Nelson blond dream team, to Peter and Bucky and a lot of other pilots all bound by a certain (secret) condition, all singing the same song with the same wrong lyrics over the comms while everyone else begs them to shut the fuck up.

It’s so much fun.

It’s going to be so good. Hopefully we’ll be able to get the first few chapters up for y’all to read soon.

Anyways, yes.

Pacific Rim AU headcanons are my fave rn. Thanks so much for asking ❤

[ofwarbonds-blog]

five times kissed

Send “Five Times Kissed” for a drabble of – YOU GUESSED IT – 5 times our muses kissed | @ghoststorytm | Always Accepting (but slow) 

1)

It’s an accident.

He and Bucky are sharing a bed because Steve would likely freeze to death otherwise. The bitter cold of a Brooklyn January night shows no bias, nor mercy, after all. It’s almost like they’re kids again; nudging one another, and accusing the other in hushed tones of being a bed hog. Bucky complains that Steve has an unfair advantage, what with those daggers he’s got for elbows.

Steve gets him in the ribs for that remark, and shortly after, the two settle down.

There is no quiet to be had, of course. Between the neighbor’s below, who can’t seem to decide if they’d rather be arguing or…Well, making up – and the wildlife outside of their apartment insistent on rummaging through the day’s trash, Steve is regrettably quite awake.

Bucky has long since drifted off into a peaceful slumber, and exactly how he manages to do so consistently is beyond Rogers’ understanding. He’d be envious if he weren’t already overcome with too many other, more persistent emotions. Mainly the overwhelming urge to kiss the soft-looking, slightly parted mouth now mere inches from his own.

It’s an accident. One minute he’s staring (and vehemently reminding himself that he can’t do this – and shouldn’t want to in the first place), and the next…He’s leaning in, lips quivering, and presses the most chaste of kisses to that whiskey-flavored mouth.

He regrets it immediately; tears away from his best friend, and slips out of the bed as quickly as possible without alerting the other male to his departure.

Steve is in too big a rush to notice Bucky staring after him from the bed they had previously shared.

2)

He can’t forget that first time, no matter how hard he tries. It plagues him in both his waking, and unconscious hours. How many hours of sleep has he been robbed of now, tormented by visions, and phantom sensations of lips and hands that he has no right to desire? Too many to count.

Steve is grateful that his friend was unaware of his moment of…What? Delusion? Weakness? He’s wracked his brain countless times, attempting to make sense of just what compelled him to follow through with such a disgusting desire. To take advantage of a friend like that is unforgivable.

Drinking is expensive, and dangerous for a man of his slight build (not to mention less than fantastic medical background), but Steve indulges tonight because he’s not sure he’d be able to bear watching Bucky dance with both their dates, otherwise. There’s a pretty blonde, petite, with a cherry-colored mouth getting twirled around the dancefloor before she’s pulled back in closer to Bucky than Steve could ever be. It’s so intimate, he can hardly stomach it.

Or is it his own guilt and shame that has him feeling so nauseous?

Regardless, Steve decides that he’s had enough – enough booze; enough stale, smoke-filled air; and more than enough watching his best friend be the kind of guy that all ladies moon over.

He stumbles out into the crisp night air, pulling his jacket tighter around his bony frame, and starts toward home on unsteady legs.

Only a hand comes down on his shoulder, halting his progress before he even gets five paces away from the too-loud club. “Hey! Where are you running off to, punk? Leaving your date like that, she’s gonna-” Steve swats the hand away far too sharply. He knows that Bucky’s done nothing wrong to deserve such harsh treatment, but right now, Steve’s too drunk and angry to care.

“She’s got you, Barnes. Why the hell would she miss a guy like me?” The words are spat in Bucky’s direction, venomous and scathing.

There’s no time to register what’s going on; one second Steve is standing with his back to the other man, shoulders slumped and spine bowed, and the next, he’s gulping down air in a desperate attempt to fill his lungs after having the wind forced out of them. His back is against cool brick now, and Bucky’s staring down at him with eyes far too clear for a man that’s had as much to drink as he has.

“What?” Steve snaps again, feeling strangely exposed; as if Bucky can see right through to the fear and insecurity ravaging him inside.

Bucky’s leaning into him now, one hand propped against the brick on either side of Steve’s head, and for a moment, the blonde is sure he’s gonna get socked in the jaw for mouthing off. The punch he’s anticipating never comes, though. Instead, in the time it takes him to blink, there are lips slotted against his own.

It’s searing, sloppy, and short-lived; Steve pulling away, and nearly cracking his head against the brick behind him in the process.

Bucky seems just as shocked by his actions as Steve, if the look of horror that flashes across his face is anything to go by. The brunette staggers back silently, cupping a hand over his mouth before turning on his heel, and bolting out of the alley.

Steve doesn’t wait up after returning to their apartment to know whether or not Bucky returns that night; but he does wake to an empty bed the next morning.

3)

Bucky ships out, and Steve is left behind, because that’s “what God intended”, or some shit. He doesn’t care much for such an illogical line of reasoning; at the end of the day, he’s been turned away time and time again because his body isn’t strong enough to withstand the rigorous training required to fight a war, much less actively participate in one.

Then he meets one Dr. Abraham Erskine, and his life is completely changed. For the better, Steve would argue. After all, he’s made fast enough to chase down the man responsible for the good doctor’s death; strong enough to withstand bullets; and his myriad of debilitating physical ailments just…Cease to be.

It turns out that war isn’t all Steve thought it to be. At least, not when you’re America’s shiny, new golden boy. Being placed upon a pedestal is something he’s unaccustomed to, and he hates it, but he goes along with the shows because it keeps the troops motivated. Steve doesn’t want – has never wanted – to parade himself around a rickety stage with a group of (admittedly lovely, and almost too sweet) young ladies while the soldiers around him continually go out and risk their lives.

He wants to go out there, himself, fight alongside these men for the good of everyone back home, waiting for their loved ones to return, and ensure the safety of this country.

When he hears word that Bucky’s life is endangered, well, there’s no longer any doubt in Steve’s mind that he needs to be out there. With the help of Peggy, and Howard Stark, Steve is able to get back to his best friend.

Seeing Bucky strapped to a table is unnerving, but it’s a relief just to see that he’s alive. Steve gets him up, and the two men fight their way out of the Hydra base. It’s a completely irrational thought, but once they make it back, Steve thinks that this is what he’s always wanted; to be on level ground with Bucky, fight alongside him, and protect him.

Their return to camp is met with mixed emotions. Survivors are welcomed back with open arms, and relief, while they mourn those that were lost to Hydra’s hands. Sleep is elusive, though every man is exhausted to his very bones. Steve is no different, having chosen to stray a short ways from the camp to gaze up at the sky, and count the stars he can see clearly now, with his enhanced vision.

A hand touches the small of his back so lightly it’s damn near imperceptible, and the blonde jumps, twisting to face his would-be assailant. There’s Bucky, looking momentarily startled before he manages to collect himself enough to muster a small, crooked smile.

“Thought I told you not to do anything stupid, punk.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry. Seeing Bucky on that table, prone and lifeless, had been terrifying. And now, having the other man before him, alive and impossibly handsome, even with a bruised face and messy hair is too much.

Averting his gaze, Steve offers a lazy, one shouldered shrug in response. “Good to see you too, Bucky.”

The tension between them is thick enough you could cut it with a knife. This isn’t the way he envisioned their reunion going, and he hates it, hates that this feels almost like they’re two different people meeting for the first time.

Steve sighs, drags a hand back through his hair, and returns his attention to Bucky. “Listen, Buck, I’m-” He isn’t allowed to finish his sentence, however, as quivering hands grip him by the shoulders to draw him down, and into a kiss that’s equal parts uncertain and demanding.

It’s over as quickly as it’s begun, leaving Steve breathless and confused, and a little hurt as he’s made to watch Bucky’s retreating form make the walk back to camp with slumped shoulders.

4)

“You look like hell, Steve.”

Steve lifts his head so quickly he’s sure to have gotten whiplash. Standing there in the doorway  of his cramped kitchen is none other than Bucky Barnes.

It’s not the Soldier that he’s grown accustomed to seeing in his apartment, sitting stationary for hours at a time, staring ahead at the television screen without really processing any of what’s being broadcast. But it’s not quite the James Buchanan Barnes that struggled to keep Steve out of trouble in seedy Brooklyn alleys, either. This is a man that’s looking to discover himself – whoever that may be – and just wants some fucking peace while he does it.

Steve can relate.

By the time he manages to pick his jaw up off the floor, his mouth has gone dry, and Bucky looks about ready to bolt.

“Yeah,” he rasps, the corners of his lips twitching with a smile he’s doing a poor job of concealing, “well, at least I own it.” That comment earns him a snort from the brunette darkening his doorway. It’s an oddly endearing sound.

Bucky doesn’t move from the kitchen doorway for the next hour, while the two talk, and banter. Steve knows better than to think this is like old times – he’s been down that road before, and it only ends in pain – but it does feel good not to be alone.

A companionable silence falls over the two men, and after upholding about half of that hour long chat himself, Steve is content to let it wash over him. Bucky, however, is clearly not. The brunette shifts his weight a little; averts his gaze to the front door, as if expecting someone to come charging in; and idly touches the metal plates of his arm.

“…We kissed.”

Steve is too dumbfounded by this sudden announcement to formulate a more eloquent response than a strangled noise, as he nearly chokes on his own spit.

“You and me…Before.” Before HYDRA. The words go unspoken, but they’re understood nonetheless.

Steve hesitates just a moment before nodding.

“I don’t remember much.” Bucky speaks slowly, brow furrowed, as if he’s waiting to be scolded for bringing it up in the first place. His gaze is piercing in spite of the uncertainty laced in every word. “Just…Sensation, mostly. Warmth. Your lips were chapped.” There’s a slight quirk to one corner of Bucky’s mouth as he says this; the beginnings of a crooked grin, unfortunately quickly smothered.

Again, Steve merely nods, though his own smile grows in response.

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Bucky fully enters the room. His steps are slow and measured, purposeful, as he closes the distance between Steve and himself. Once close enough, he outstretches the hand of flesh and bone, and curls fingers in dirty blonde hair.

“Can I…?”

The air is all but forced from Steve’s lungs by that simple question. “Yes.” It escapes his lips a prayer.

Bucky is careful, so careful, as he lowers himself to slot their mouths together. Slow, measured, and purposeful, much like his stride; and Steve drinks it in, taking all that Bucky is willing to give, until he’s drunk on it.

The two separate, mouths slick and kiss bitten red, and stare at each other until Bucky looks away.

“You ever heard of chapstick, Steve?”

Steve socks him in the shoulder for that one.

5)

Steve honestly never thought he would choose to hang up the suit and shield. In truth, he always suspected he would get himself killed first; no doubt his teammates thought the same. But in the end, it was the best decision he could have possibly made. Not only for himself, but for him.

The gorgeous brunette seated across the table from him now is smiling as Steve outstretches a hand to caress his knee under the table, and even allows a little huff of laughter to escape those plush lips of his.

“You’re a dog, Steve Rogers.” Bucky accuses, voice warm and low in a way that has Steve counting his lucky stars, because only he gets to see this side of Bucky; the soft, intimate, playful, teasing side that makes him fall in love all over again.

There’s a rumbling hum of affirmation from Steve, who makes no attempt to argue or defend himself, as he gives the other man’s knee another light squeeze before withdrawing. His heart’s racing, and his chest feels tight – dear God, it’s like he’s a 90 lb asthmatic again – and Steve worries that he may just pass out before he gets to this next part. It’s so important that this go well, because he wants to make it perfect – Bucky deserves perfect – but when does life ever make it so easy for them?

The two have been sitting at their little dining room table for the better part of an hour now, just talking and sipping idly at wine that neither man could get drunk off of if he tried. It’s been…Nice. Steve can’t remember the last time that he was able to just sit and talk with Bucky like this, without fear of some impending crisis dragging him away from it all.

There are so many things that he wants to say; so much to thank Bucky for; so much to apologize for, too. But that can come later. For now, there’s something far more pressing that he needs to get off his chest.

Rising from his chair, Steve watches, barely biting back his smile, as Bucky assumes that dinner is over and checks his phone. Normally, this is the point in the night that one of them collects the dishes and takes them over to the sink to be washed. But not tonight.

A small velvet box is drawn from his pocket as the blonde takes a knee by Bucky’s side. To his credit, Bucky does shift his attention from his phone, curiosity evident in the way his brows knit together as he peers in Steve’s direction. Lips part, likely prepared to question Steve’s odd behavior, before realization dawns. And oh, what a beautiful thing it is to witness the moment in which Bucky takes notice of the parcel in his lover’s hand. Shock melds into confusion, and into what Steve hopes to be elation.

“Steve, what the hell?” Bucky sounds as breathless as Steve feels, right about now.

After taking a deep breath to steady himself, the blonde speaks. “I’ve loved you since I first knew what love was, Bucky. I put you through hell, and yet you stuck around, refusing to leave my side like the stubborn jerk you are.” Mirth glimmers in baby blue eyes, and Steve feels his chest tremble with his next shaky inhale. “I’ve come to realize that home isn’t a city, or a time, or even a building – it’s you. You’re the home I wanna come back to, Bucky. So…With all of that being said, will you marry me?”

Bucky looks like he’s about ten seconds away from either kissing Steve senseless, or punching his lights out. Naturally, Steve has a preference, but he opts not to vocalize that – probably for the best, too.

Just as he’s certain that he’s about to be let down easy, Bucky surges forward and hugs him so tight, Steve fears he may black out before he gets his answer. “You stupid punk…Yes. Yes, okay? Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Steve is familiar with heart defects, seeing as how he lived with one for a good chunk of his life, ‘n all, and he’s pretty sure that his heart’s fit to burst right about now. Clinging to Bucky in return, he grins from ear to ear, pressing a series of kisses into the crown of the other male’s hair. “God, Buck, had me scared there for a minute.” He whispers, voice a weak and shaky thing, barely able to escape his throat. There’s laughter on the tail end of that statement, however, because he’s too damned giddy not to laugh.

He leans back, taking Bucky’s hand in his own, and slides the simple gold band down the length of his flesh index finger. “Beautiful.” Steve’s baby blues are transfixed on the other man’s face, tracing every curve, and committing the way he looks in this moment to memory. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll never see a sight so entrancing as Bucky Barnes looking back at him with the utmost love and adoration, and a gold wedding band on his finger.

“C’mere.” Bucky offers no room for argument, pulling Steve in, and claiming his mouth in a kiss that speaks volumes. It’s a kiss that neither man will forget, for the rest of their lives; a kiss to mark the beginning of their next chapter.

After all, they did promise…Til the end of the line.