#bokketo ft. steve.

[entrepy]

@bokketo : "Rebecca?" Stevie's voice is hoarse and talking feels like running his vocal cords over sandpaper. He had woken up wheezing in a way that made him think he'd probably been screaming in his dream but it got trapped in his throat. The more he hears about the war, the worse his nightmares become, and he's not even out there... yet. He stumbles to her room, squinting in the darkness as he knocks on the door. "Please be here," he mutters under his breath. "Please be alright."

Her bedside lamp is on and she's hunched over the table, pen scratching on paper, cleaning up some notes from her evening class. She'd finished late, and had only just finished bathing and putting her hair up for the night, after doing what little clean up there remained of the kitchen. The boys usually looked after themselves and there wasn't much to do at all by the time she got back from class, and ever since Bucky had gone off to basic training, Steve had picked up the slack despite Rebecca's insistence they share the load. She was so rarely in the apartment that she couldn't control how much Steve took on, just did as much as she could in the time between work and class.

She's startled by the knock on the door, hand almost knocking over the jug of water she kept by the bed. ' Steve ? ' she calls, because who else could it be ? She sets aside her papers and walks over to open the door, pulling on her robe as she went. The hallway is dark, as is the entrance to Steve's room. The only light is coming from Rebecca's bed lamp, and even its dim light, she can see the stricken look on Steve's face. ' Steve, what's wrong? ' she asks worriedly.

[shieldrevive]

FROM: @bokketo ( ft. rumlow ) RE: “ we need to strike first. we’ve been hiding here too long.” STATUS: accepting

" we're not hiding, " steve says. it finds a nice balance between indignant and frustrated. neither of which are rumlow's fault. he's as upset about the situation as his friend is. that was one thing he found he could always count on since waking up in the ice; people like brock who were chomping at the bit to make the world a better place. or, at the very least, have steve's back while he did it.

and maybe there was the smallest element of hiding.

hands go to his hips so the soldier can think. " we don't know what we're up against. going in blind now could lead to too many casualties. " if steve were alone he would have no problem winging it. thinking on his feet was one of the things he did best. got him into trouble more often than not but if the job got done, who cared? he could survive whatever he threw himself into. the rest of the team didn't have that luxury. giving them their best shot at survival was the way to go.

" do we have any more info on what we're up against? "

[withoutawar]

@bokketo : ❛  i saw this at the store and thought it would be perfect for you.  ❜ // kirsten (ft. a mug that says "THE TEARS OF BITCHES WHO TOLD ME NO")

Out of its newspaper wrapping, Steve holds it by the handle and gives the mug a good read. Honestly, they’re not words he would use, but the sentiment resonates all the same. ‘ It’s so sweet you thought of me, ’ he says, clutching the mug to his chest and stretching an arm out to wrap around Kirsten’s shoulders, bringing her in for a sided hug. ‘ Let’s go. I know just where to fill this cup. ’

[entrepy]

🪀 What Steve actually wants to do is convince Bucky that he doesn’t need this. That he is allowed these basic human functions without constraint — and Steve would do everything in his power to make it so. Set up guard outside his room if that’s what it takes. But he already knows what Bucky would say to that. They’ve been through the mill of arguments just getting Bucky to agree to the Tower. Steve would rather have Bucky one floor away, making up his own mind of what made him feel the safest, than to drive him away with something as selfish as what Steve wants. Despite how much he wants to believe he wants the best for Bucky — he can’t possibly believe that was true when one of the things he remains grateful for is the fact that Bucky was even here, when that entailed Bucky having to go through decades with Hydra. 

Steve follows him to his room. He’s awkward, a little nervous about it too, and isn’t all too thrilled that he’s doing this, but for Bucky’s sake, he looks on the bright side. ‘ Hey. I’m glad you asked me to do this. Maybe you’ll get some decent sleep out of it, huh ? ’ He takes a seat beside Bucky, rests Bucky’s wrists in his open palm and guides them lower, into a more relaxed position. There’s a brief moment of pause as he contemplates how to tie Bucky’s hands. There’s a standard handcuff tie that Steve’s been able to do with his eyes closed since basic training.  It would tighten upon resistance or pulling, which is probably what Bucky had in mind — but Steve doesn’t find it appropriate.

‘ Ready ? ’ he asks, waiting for a nod before beginning to wrap the once folded rope around both of Bucky’s wrists, leaving a fair amount of slack in it before pulling the remainder of the rope between Bucky’s hands to create a double knot that would hold the loops around Bucky’s wrists firmly, without tightening but also not allowing his hands to slip free. If he doesn’t rip through the rope when he struggles, it would definitely wake him up. The only reason Steve’s able to perform the knot so efficiently, is because he may or may not have practised this particular binding on himself using his shins. He’s had a fair amount of free time in the 21st century. ‘ How does that feel ? Too tight ? ’

There is a measure of relief beyond anything Bucky could possibly put in words that Steve doesn't elaborate on this. It's not like there aren't other options, after all. They could put him in a room where he couldn't hurt anyone — Banner's got a containment cell for the Hulk, so surely they could do the same for one off-brand super-soldier? — or they could move him out of the Tower to somewhere he'll be around fewer people. There's been some chatter about maybe having some sort of medical facility that can take him and fix the cluttered pieces of his... god knows what's left. Body? Ego? Soul? He's not sure he even believes in the last one anymore.

Bucky looks at Steve and returns the smile, small as it is, with an unsure one of his own. He nods. "Yeah, I'm ready. I don't want to spend too much time thinking about it."

He's already spent enough convincing himself to even say anything. If it was anyone else, he's pretty sure he couldn't even trust them enough to do this — he's spent enough of his life trapped enough already — but this is Steve, who has always had his back and kept him safe. Steve, who refused to fight him. Steve, who is probably the only vestige of a conscience that he feels like he has access to on most days. Bucky leads the way back to his bedroom, opens the door, and then sits awkwardly on the bed. He offers up his hands, pressed together as if for a prayer he hasn't spoken aloud in decades.

[entrepy]

first time waiting at their bedside, not sure if they will awaken / sam @ steve by @bokketo .

Sam appears controlled and measured, greeting the nurses and doctors as they check in, asking the right questions, nodding his head when they tell him it’s a waiting game and there’s nothing more that they can do . . . When he’s raging inside, and wants to snap back that this wasn’t a game and not doing anything more simply wasn’t good enough. He’s angry, but he knows the way the world works, and he knows causing a scene and breathing down necks is not going to get Steve to wake up faster. He knows what ‘ there’s nothing more I can do ’ means because he’s had to say those exact same words before. They’re not easy to say, and he sees that in the set of the doctor’s shoulders. He needs to fuel his rage somewhere else. 

Truth be told, a lot of it is directed at Steve himself. The man was stubborn as he was admirable and Sam’s been a believer ever since they met at the Lincoln Memorial. The man had a supersolider serum running in his veins and still managed to end up in emergency care on a frequent basis. Wasn’t the point of the serum to make him indestructible ? The problem seemed to be that Steve seemed to think it did. Or he didn’t care, which just makes Sam’s stomach flip. They’d talked about it — or Sam had tried to talk about it. Why Steve seemed to think that every sacrifice play was his to make, why it seemed to be the first thing he thought of when it should be the last resort. Sam can’t know what exactly is going through Steve’s head, but that’s what it damned well looks like from the outside. 

Sam’s been at Steve’s bedside before, waiting for him to wake up. The difference was that this time . . . Sam didn’t know if he would wake up. ‘ Damn it, Steve, ’ he mutters under his breath, sinking into the armchair that one of the nurses had brought in from the waiting room because they’d seen him hunched in the little white plastic chair for twenty hours straight.The only comfort the room offers him is the steady beating of the heart rate monitor, and the sound of pushing air as the machine makes Steve’s lungs breathe for him. And there’s Steve himself, sad to say more recognisable with a beat up and semi-healed face than he was in pristine condition. He’d entered Sam’s life like a damned freight train, brought with him chaos and adventure — but also purpose. Sam had been a simmering flame until Steve Rogers mere presence doused him in gasoline . . . and now, Sam can’t imagine his life without him.

As more hours go by, Sam finds himself on his knees next to Steve’s bed, his head resting on the mattress next to Steve’s thigh. ‘ Come back to me, you asshole. ’

[entrepy]

Bucky @ Steve: "How are you so good at hiding how unhinged you are?" sent by @bokketo .

Oh Bucky almost has him with that one. The answer to that question that rests on Steve’s lips, ‘ People see what they want to see, ’ gets reeled right back in. It was an honest answer and Steve can be honest. Because it’s Bucky and he’s not questioning the fact that Steve is — in fact — unhinged, but how he hides it. ( He actually hasn’t been as good at hiding it as he could have been, had once been. He’s saving the part about how a large part of the reason that was the case was because of Bucky’s renewed presence in his life for later, in case he needs to play that card. ) But he’s also not about to blatantly admit that he knows this without some pretence of rebuttal. ‘ Unhinged ? ’ he asks. ‘ How do you mean ? ’

[entrepy]

Bucky looks inordinately shifty as he approaches Steve, holding a length of what looks like braided metal rope in his hand. “If I—” He clears his throat and tries again. “If I acknowledge that this is kind of fucked up, will you do this without asking questions or judging me?” He holds the rope out to Steve, the faintest tremor in his human arm. “I need you to tie my hands together when I go to sleep so that if I try to lash out while I’m unconscious, I’ll feel it and wake up. Please?” by @bokketo .

Steve takes a moment to take the request in, but he does it after he’s already held out his hand to accept the rope. After the moment, he takes it, looking down at the folded over coils of rope in his palm. It’s fucked up — that Bucky thinks he needs it. It’s fucked up, everything that’s happened that has brought Bucky to this point. The fact that he doesn’t feel safe in his sleep, and he doesn’t trust himself outside of it. There’s so much that Steve wants to protect Bucky from, and he feels like he just doesn’t know how, falls short every time. The hesitance is the time that it takes Steve to calm his rage — he doesn’t want it misunderstood for doubting what Bucky needs. He looks up, nodding. He even has a small smile to give. If this helps — then that’s something. And Bucky had come to him. Maybe it was a last resort, but he’d asked for his help. And that, too, was something. He wets his lips. ‘ Are you ready now ? ’

[entrepy]

🪀 Protecting your lover's sleep as they doze on your lap, making sure nobody bothers them as they entrusted their peace to you. // sam @bokketo .

Steve notices the unfocused eyes, the drooping eyelids even as Sam attempts to continue his story. They’re in one of the smaller Quinjets — no space for a bunk. Natasha and Bucky were up front in the cockpit. They were convening from different locations, Natasha extracting Steve and Bucky, and Sam flying in to meet them somewhere above Atlanta straight into the hold, now headed to a safehouse to regroup. Steve imagines the toll that flying must take on Sam’s body, and he’d been out on his mission as long as Steve had been on his.

‘ Alright, come on, ’ he says after a moment of Sam losing track of his sentence for the second time. Deft fingers press into the latches of Sam’s suit, releasing him from some of the external armour. ‘ We’re still about an hour out — they’re flying with the shields up. ’ Steve extends an arm out and coaxes Sam to lay down, bunching up a spare parka in his lap so there was something to cushion his head. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but given how tired Sam looked and his experience sleeping in uncomfortable terrain, Steve suspects he’d be dozing in seconds. ‘ I’ve got you. I’ll wake you up when we get there. ’

A while after Sam’s eyelids close and his breathing evens out, Bucky starts to call out over his shoulder, and Steve’s head snaps up to glare. He raises a finger to his lips, and Bucky only has to take a look at Sam’s state for a sheepish look to cross his face. <Touch down in ten> he hand signals instead, turning back to face the front with a small smile on his face, that Steve barely catches. 

With Natasha at the controls, landing barely jostles the jet at all and Sam sleeps through it. Steve is loath to wake him even now, though he knows that sleeping laid out on the jet's side seat with nothing but Steve's lap and a rolled up parka for a pillow wouldn't do Sam's joints any favours when he woke up. The tired lines on his face have evened out, his lips were slightly parted and Steve's hidden with a flush of protectiveness.

They look after each other as a team --- the four of them more than anything. Moments of vulnerability were bound to occur when they spent this much time together, the more they went on missions together. Steve has always been hyper aware of Sam's humanness since the get-go, and it doesn't help that he recognises a certain appetite for thrill in Sam that he was all too familiar with. He's been fighting the urge to touch Sam's cheek the entire time he's been in his lap, stroke over his parted lips . . .

' Time to go, Steve. Stop being pervy. '

[entrepy]

🪀 Smoothing your fingers down your lover's tie, fixing where your lover couldn't tie it right. // nat @bokketo .

He huffs out a small laugh as Natasha reaches for his bowtie after he'd been fiddling with it for a moment, tugging at it so it would sit right against his top button but failing. It's been a while since he'd worn this particular bowtie — not since his own wedding, which is probably why he's swimming in sentiment and nostalgia at the moment. 

‘ Did you think that they’d make it a black tie thing ? Bucky, maybe. Guy can be pretty traditional when he wants to be, but Clint ? ’ His neck is a little strained, giving Natasha some room to work, as such his gaze is lifted somewhere towards the ceiling rather than her. Finally, she pats his chest, telling him she was done, and he takes a peek around her to check out her handiwork in the mirror. A hand slips around her waist, twirling her around so they were both facing the mirror, pulling her back against his chest. They’re a few years after their wedding day, but Steve remembers it like it was yesterday. Putting on the suit and tie had taken him right back to the excited jitters he’d felt getting ready on his own before going out to wait for Natasha at the altar. Going through similar paces has brought all the emotions of that day right to the surface, despite how comfortable the wedding ring he’d been given that day has grown on his finger. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, ducking his head to press a kiss behind her ear, careful not to mess with the way she’d done up her hair. The compliment is, perhaps, a little rundown. He tells her that as she wakes up in the morning. When she’s come in from a five mile run glistening with sweat and her hair awry. When they’ve wrestled in the sand at the beach and she’s covered in the stuff but more importantly she’s looking up at him laughing and carefree. He means it every time, though. 

‘ Ready to go ? ’ Then louder, so he could be heard down the hall. ‘ Eva ? Ready to go, honey ? ’

[entrepy]

Brock is usually a pretty sound sleeper but he’s restless under the influence of several cups of coffee that has done their job to keep him up for the duration of the op. Now that it’s over, with nothing better to do at 3:30am, he heads for the gym. It’s occupied though. For a couple minutes, he watches Steve beat up a punching bag, all those beautifully precise shield throws replaced by brutally effective fists. If Brock has any appreciation for art, he might call Steve that, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks over just before the other man punches yet another bag off its chains.

“Would you rather pummel that into oblivion or run me ragged with a good fuck instead? It’s on offer is what I mean,” by @bokketo .

The gym becomes a familiar and safe space. It’s something to do, something to work at. It’s better than laying in bed, tossing and turning. It sometimes works at distracting him, but given the strength this body carries and the fragility of the punching bags and lifting equipment, even after hours of exercise, he’s nowhere near fatigued as is needed to silence his roaming thoughts long enough for sleep to enter. The gym is usually deserted at this time of night — or rather, morning, so he’s surprised when he hears the doors down the hall open, footsteps walking in. It takes him a moment to recognise them — Brock’s usually in boots and tonight he’s in sneakers. It seems the man is content to watch him for a while, and Steve zones back into the one-two of the punching his bag . . . until the eyes on the back of his head grows too hot to ignore, and he ends the session by sending the bag flying across the room. 

He’s not sure what he’s expecting Brock to say — it certainly isn’t what actually comes out of his mouth. Steve is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his shirt sticking to his skin and wrinkled with moisture. For a moment he just collects his breath, squinting slightly, as if that might make what Rumlow had just said any clearer. It doesn’t. In that — it was already clear as fucking day. It’s not as jarring a thought as it might have been, because it’s not a new one. Steve had put it down to mission highs. Sometimes you just work well with teammates, and that leads to tension, and imagining them bent over with your cock buried deep in their ass while they drool all over the flat surface you’ve got them pushed against. Steve starts undoing his hand wraps, wrists twisting around and around as he walks over to the bench with his bag. He nods that way for Brock to join him. ‘ What makes you think I’m into that ? ’

[entrepy]

🪀 Hooking a thumb into your lover's belt loop/pocket as a crowd surrounds you, making sure that you don't lose them in the people. // kirsten @bokketo .

The crowd surrounds them out of the blue, theatre doors opening to let out the audience all at once, not unlike a net of sardines spilling across a deck. Steve and Kirsten are on their way to the much smaller cinema down the road, where they do showings of independent films and makes for a much cosier date night. A few people barge their way between them, breaking the grip Steve had on Kirsten’s left hand, and she gets pulled along with the tide. 

Steve stands a little taller than the average person, broader and sturdier too and people are forced to move around him as he catches up to Kirsten in a few quick steps. Unable to quite get to her hand, he settles for slipping a finger through the belt loop of her jeans until he can get to her side. Then he throws an arm around her shoulders and shields her from the buffeting throng of people, steadily making their way through to the other end of the street. The crowd doesn’t last long — dissipating away as quickly as it had arrived . . . and now, even though there is nothing left to shield her from, he keeps that arm wrapped around her shoulders, a move that would have otherwise taken about thirty minutes into their film to perform.

[entrepy]

🪀  At your lover's complaining, rubbing a spot where they ache, smiling as they lean into your touch and melt at both the touch and warmth. // tony @bokketo .

Steve’s noticed Tony’s back bothering him all day. Ever since he’d shown up for a mid-morning meeting, again during a training drill, and now, as Steve watches from his little designated corner in Tony’s lab. Today, he’d brought down his journal — he wasn’t that great at keeping to it, but he is trying. He mostly just ends up doodling in it, anyway.

Down here, Steve thinks that Tony hides less how much his back is hurting, or maybe he’s just gotten into his zone and forgotten that Steve is even there, too wrapped up in whatever he was working to even realise how often he kept stopping to dig into the meat of his upper right flank. It looks like it was his lat, or maybe his oblique that was troubling him. Could’ve been from how he’d slept the night before — if he’d slept the night before, or from an older injury which is what Steve’s concerned about. It could also just be age but he’s sure he’d get a repulsor in his face if he mentions it.

So he doesn’t mention anything at all, just meanders his way over to the man, passing a curious gaze over the schematics thrown up on the holo-screen and the parts laid out on the bench like he can make sense of any of it. ‘ Tony ? ’ he says, half a question, half a word of caution, as the man in question drops his hand from his back for about the hundredth time that day.

He gives Tony plenty of time to back away or stop him before he comes up behind him. Gentle fingers pry up the hem of Tony’s tank. Steve is in rather pristine condition compared to Tony’s greasy state but he doesn’t mind. Actually . . . kind of prefers it, but that’s a thought to explore on another day.

‘ Where does it hurt ? ’ he asks, voice the right amount of quiet for the lack of distance between them. He can guess pretty accurately, because Tony’s been touching the spot all day — it was awkward to get to on your own, which is probably why Tony’s not been able to give himself much relief, but Steve ? Steve can help.

‘ There, right ? ’ he asks, thumb finding the ridge of muscle in Tony’s flank — upper lat as he’d suspected —- that makes a soft exhale come from Tony's mouth when he presses, a sound of satisfaction that — professionally, Steve is pleased about — and not so professionally, gets a little warm over. . . 

He’d come over with the intention of helping — and as he works the muscle, he can feel the tightness in it begin to loosen, but he hadn’t anticipated how one hand under Tony’s shirt, the other on his waist on the opposite side to keep him steady, Tony’s head bowing down exposing a line of spine and neck in front of him would awaken a more primal motivation. 

It takes a few minutes of massaging, Tony’s body gently rocking forward and back with the ministration, until Steve feels the muscle loosen completely beneath his touch. When he stops, the air is noticeably charged between, to the point where Steve can’t really ignore it — and he’s been doing that for a good while now, whenever things between him and Tony bleed into something outside the definition of a working relationship, of friendship even.

Now, he’s already surpassed the amount of time that he should have stayed after the massage was complete, but he can’t quite make his feet take him away, can’t make himself let go . . . He swallows, and lets out a breath that sounds too laborious for a task that hadn’t required exertion on his part at all. It fans out, hot, against the back of Tony’s neck, and he’s glad that at least Tony can’t see how much he’s struggling now to simply move away. Summoning a willpower that’s served him well in actual battle, Steve finally drops his hands. ‘ Is — is that better ? ’ 

[shieldrevive]

FROM: @bokketo ( ft. clint ) RE: [ INCAPACITATE ]: sender, seeing the receiver in immediate danger, intervenes by knocking out their assailant before they can harm the receiver. STATUS: accepting

steve's tendency to jump in the middle of fights meant he could come dangerously close to overwhelmed more often than not. he garnered the attention of everyone, deflecting from the rest of the team with calculated intention. or, stubbornness. really depended on the day. the thought process being, that he had the shield to to buffer the brunt of the blows. theoretically, the serum would allow him to handle the rest.

with a motorcycle beneath him, steve rode himself right into the backline. his shield ricocheted off bodies and several armored vehicles before he caught it between his fingers again.

" i think i got their attention, " the soldier mumbled to himself when what felt like a sea of bodies turned to swarm him. an attempt to get back on the bike was cut short by a tackle to the knees and a shot to the chest. fortunately, all the bullet did was help his body fall. the finely woven kevlar protected him from everything else.

he braces himself for the incoming fight only to hear the whizz of an arrow practically sucker punch his attacker several inches away. blue eyes scan the skies, seeing a glint from the bow.

" thanks, doll, " steve says into the comms. more formal gratitude would be given once they were back home. but, first, he needed to make sure everyone got back safe. " owe you one. "