#rumbuck

[galaxyhux624]

part one of my tentative attempt at reuploading my old work to tumblr. i want to esp try and get the pieces up that were cut off by read mores, since obv the links will no longer take you to my old blog

enjoy!

--

The museum wasn’t crowded, or else Bucky might not have done it. But as soon as he saw Steve he panicked; his brain grew too warm and prickly. Rationality flew out the window. His higher thinking momentarily shut down and didn’t come back online until he’d walked up to the nearest security guard—a broad-shouldered man Bucky had seen a few times before at this same museum—and said, as quietly as he could,

“Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re working. But my ex-fiancé just walked in with his wife and…”

He trailed off, feeling monumentally stupid. If this was fantasy he would’ve just walked straight into the nearest painting and kept going. His face, already burning, caught on fire as the security guard turned to look at him—and oh, fuck, but he was good-looking; intense dark hazel eyes, olive skin. Bucky started to back away, mumbling apologies, but the guard shocked him by shaking his head.

“You want me to kick ‘em out?” he asked. “I can make some shit up; say I caught the wife touching paintings or—”

Bucky felt his mouth twitch. “Actually, I um.” He cleared his throat. Steve and Peggy were approaching; in a moment he knew Steve would see him. “I was kind of hoping you could—that we could pretend to—” Again he quit talking mid-sentence. His throat was twisting around and around itself. But the guard shocked him a second time: he reached out; took Bucky’s wrist. The mangled one, so Bucky didn’t really feel it. But he saw those broad fingers wrap around his scarred flesh, and his mouth went dry.

“Just don’t tell the director,” the guard said, wryly, and then Steve and Peggy were there. Steve opened his mouth; his eyes darted down between Bucky and the guard, and Bucky saw a tiny divot appear on his forehead.

“Buck,” he said. He was holding Peggy’s hand, too; Bucky couldn’t see his wedding ring at this angle, but he was pretty sure it was the same fucking one Steve was supposed to have worn at their wedding. The weird non-thinking twisting feeling was fading from his brain, and in its place was only annoyance, and anger. Maybe more anger.

“Steve,” Bucky said back, coolly.

“Who, um.” Steve glanced at the security guard, who was still loosely holding Bucky’s wrist. Bucky wanted to shift his hand so that they could curl their fingers together, but his hand didn’t always do what it was supposed to.

“I didn’t know you were dating,” Steve said.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky said.

“Brock Rumlow,” the guard said, briefly releasing Bucky’s wrist so he could shake Steve’s hand. Bucky was relieved he’d introduced himself for a number of reasons; beyond the obvious, it was nice to know his name. Rumlow. It had a rough, exotic feeling to it. It suited him.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said. Bucky could tell he was doing that stupid macho shit; holding Rumlow’s hand too tightly as they shook. Beside him Peggy had pulled out her phone. The case was pretty; sparkling pink.

After a few seconds Rumlow released Steve’s hand and took Bucky’s again. This time he did curl their fingers together; Bucky still couldn’t really feel it, but he felt the increase in pressure, and too the warm brush of Rumlow’s shoulder as he leaned in closer.

“How long have you been—together?” Steve asked. He was staring at Bucky in kind of a gobsmacked way. Bucky remembered the way he’d looked at the altar; the things he’d said, the way he’d teared up like it made the situation any better. He felt another surge of anger; he said,

“Four months,” and Steve winced. The wedding—well, the almost-wedding—had only been five months prior.

“Oh,” he said, and glanced at Peggy. She still hadn’t looked up from her phone.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I guess you were right, Stevie—it is possible to move on really fast, after all.”

Another wince. Steve had walked out the side door of the church with everyone still staring after him, and Bucky at the altar, his heartbeat rush rush rushing through his ears. Natasha had told him later that when she’d run out to confront Steve, he was already standing at the passenger door of Peggy’s car.

“Well, listen,” Rumlow said—he had a wonderfully rough voice; Bucky could have spent hours listening to him talk. “Entertaining as this is, I gotta get back to work. Just stopped by to say hey—” and here he leaned in and kissed Bucky’s temple. His facial hair scratched Bucky’s skin, and Bucky thought he was going to melt into the floor. Releasing Bucky’s hand a second time, Rumlow nodded at Steve:

“Good to meet you, Rogers,” and then, to Bucky:

“See you after work, babe.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, smiling at him; it felt unforced, probably because of how hard his heart was pounding. “See you.”

Rumlow grinned—a crooked thing that shot straight between Bucky’s thighs. Then he walked off, security keys jangling at his hip. Bucky watched him go; then he turned back to Steve and Peggy.

“Bucky,” Steve said. “I didn’t know—I mean, I didn’t think you were going to come here—”

Bucky shrugged. “No big deal, Stevie,” he said. “I’m glad you got to meet Rumlow. And it was good to see you, anyway.”

After being jilted, he’d sobbed pretty much uncontrollably for two months. He’d had to take a week off work because he physically couldn’t rouse himself out of bed. Sam and/or Nat had come over almost every day—and sometimes Nat would bring Clint, who in turn would bring his dog—because they were scared to leave Bucky by himself. Bucky had written four scathing letters to Steve—two of which were illegible—which he’d then burned systematically with Nat’s lighter. And the whole time, catching inadvertent glimpses of Steve’s fucking “honeymoon” on Instagram. What a fucking joke.

Now, Steve gave Bucky a very strained smile. “Yeah,” he said. “You too.” Then, to Peggy: “Ready to go on, hon?”

She nodded, sliding her phone into her jeans pocket. She looked at Bucky like it was her first time registering he was even there. Fuck, but he wished he could deck her. As it was he just offered both of them a tense smile of his own, waited until they were out of sight—heading for the Rembrandts—and then went to the bathroom. His hands shook as he splashed water on his face, staring at the hollow-eyed, pale reflection in the mirror; then he caught sight of a familiar set of shoulders at the nearest urinal, and felt his mouth drop a little ways open. It couldn’t be—

—but it was. Same build; same hairstyle; same uniform. Bucky cleared his throat as the man zipped himself back up, and said,

“Um. Rumlow?”

Rumlow glanced over, eyebrows up; then his mouth lifted in one of those crooked grins, and he walked to the row of sinks.

“Hey, there,” he said. “Fancy seeing you again.”

Bucky smiled. He reached for a paper towel with which to dry his hands off.

“It’s Buck, right?” Rumlow said. Bucky winced a little; shook his head.

“That’s just—that’s what Steve calls… called me. We’ve known each other most of our lives, so it’s—but my name, my real name is James.” Then, on impulse—he had no idea where the fuck it came from: “Or Jay. Whichever.”

“Jay, huh,” Rumlow said. The drawl of his accent split it into two syllables. He finished washing his hands and shut his own sink faucet off before turning to face Bucky fully. “Well, listen, Jay—I got about three hours left on this shift. But after that—if you ain’t busy—maybe you oughta let me take you out for coffee.” He reached over and took Bucky’s hand for the third time, running his thumb slowly over the long, ragged scars. “I think I should at least try and get to know the guy I’m pretending to date, huh?”

That surprised a real laugh out of Bucky, which was—nice. Strange, but nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed organically.

“I’d like that,” he said, softly. “I’ll meet you at the front steps of the museum?”

Another thumb stroke. “Sounds good to me,” Rumlow said. He let Bucky’s hand go, and Bucky swore he felt it when the warmth of Rumlow’s skin left his.

They exited the bathroom together. Rumlow headed off towards the Magrittes, waving once over his shoulder, and Bucky watched him go. His chest was shaking, but it felt fucking good. For the first time in five months, Bucky felt really, really good.

[nix-sacrificium]

Continuation of this[Ao3]

Notes at the end!

<3

God fucking dammit

Brock got the news right as he was about to take the first sip of his coffee.

It was supposed to be a.. Relaxing morning— His team was supposed to be running drills, making sure the Asset was in working order— Routine maintenance.

He was supposed to be sitting back, drinking his coffee, and supervising.

Now he had to go fix whatever mess they made.

“Why the muzzle?” Brock tilted his head, looking at the four men in front of him— The Soldier, escorted by the three men left on his team.

“Bite risk.” The one holding the Asset’s chain replied, eyeing the man uneasily. “We lost Esmond, Yates, and Fuller.”

Brock couldn’t help but close his eyes, running a hand down his face.

The other two were idiots— But Esmond? Fuck

Brock was looking forward to working with that one.

“He got too close,” The agent continued, “The Asset put his head basically through the far wall.”

All Brock could do was sigh, sadly shaking his head, “I’ll deal with him, go and clean up the mess outside.”

<>

“He was just a kid,” The already dark lines in the man’s face deepened, his voice barely a rasp.

“Three men.” He spat, the volume of his voice unchanging. “You got three of my men killed today.”

The Asset was a pathetic sight, even coated in gore. He stared blankly at the ground and Brock could see the muscles in his throat still twitching from the effects of the cattle prod.

He resisted the urge to curl his lip, as he watched the Asset’s head sink lower.

How was this the most feared assassin in history?

It almost made him sad, until he saw the look in the Soldier’s eyes.

Pure, unbridled hatred.. Rage blazed coldly in the Soldier’s eyes.

“You think you got one over on us, hm?” Brock half-regretted sending the rest of his team away, but he stepped forward, stun baton in hand. The Asset barely reacted, his gaze only flickering over to the weapon in his hand.

Brock’s fist across his cheekbone sent him stumbling back, though his balance was quickly regained— He saw the Asset brace against the ground and he set off the stun baton, “Not so fast.” He said, taking another slow step forward. “You’ve been thawed too long, and we still need you.”

One more step, the Asset stayed still, eyes locked to his.

“And we can’t use the chair to fix you,” Brock raised the baton, cocking his head to the side as he placed it under the Soldier’s jaw. “So this will have to do.”

He set it off once more, watching as the Soldier’s body locked up, his eyes rolling back in his head as he slowly collapsed to the ground.

“Будь еще,” Be still

The Asset did as instructed, settling down the rest of the way once he got control of his limbs again, because he had enough programming still in him or because he wasn’t completely braindead, Brock didn’t know, or care- He just knew he needed to get the Asset back in line.

And he wanted revenge.

Just a little warmup— That was fun! I’ve never written a Rumlow POV before

I also haven’t written ~*trash*~ in years, let alone smut, so I gotta work back up to that.

Prompts, ideas, and requests always open <3 [For Fic and Art]

[squirefox]

Catching the morning light. Talent @jmaumau @franpaniagua90 CD @naomiazuma @moki_mo @rumbuck Stylist @amandakraemer Hair @robertoajr @pellegrinokatie Props @hayleycallander Lighting Tech @fredlam Digital Tech @jacquescoozi @artdeptagency @artdeptagencyla @fahertybrand #advertisingcampaign #lifestyle #womenswear #womensfashion #menswear #mensfashion #bootfashion #boots #beachlife #couple #friends #setlife https://www.instagram.com/p/CnmQ4z6OcOK/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ilovefolkart]

This is Roddy Rumbucker. Roddy is a Goober Farmer From Soiland Blue. Goober Farmers only grow the purest organic roadkill-fed goobers in the known universe. Roddy enjoys sitting in mud puddles on a rainy day and whistling old hard rock tunes. paper mache, acrylic paint, & repurposed doll parts. 9" x10"

[vitroll]

me, writing the longest most grody fanfiction of exactly bucky getting hurt:

me: no one can hurt bucky ever i won’t allow it

also me, crawling into the htp dumpster: aha haha ha

[subverbaldreams]

Old Faces in New Places

Epilogue

It’s finally DONE-done!!!! Epilogue is posted!!!!

MIND. THE. TAGS. The dove is dead, mangled, deceased, no longer of the mortal plane. It is not pining for the fjords. It is an ex-dove.

[kingcrossbones]

[lanniganshenanigans]

Words unspoken, if looks could kill... 

[galaxyhux624]

coda to my fic miles to go, aka part three of blueprints 'verse. originally requested by an anon and posted at some point in august 2021

--

June 2018

New Orleans was celebrating its three hundredth anniversary, which was good, because Steve needed an excuse for why he was going.

Of course, absolutely zero percent of the Avengers actually believed him, but still. He made a big deal about it and they were all of them too tactful to point out the obvious. As he shouldered his carry-on and got ready to head out to JFK International Natasha stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Steve,” she said, quietly. Then she looked at his face, and she stopped talking. She stepped back. After a moment she said only,

“You be careful, okay?” and he gave her a curt nod before going downstairs. One of Tony’s drivers was waiting at the entrance with a car, supplied by Jarvis. Steve slipped into the backseat and tapped on the divider separating him from the front, and the car started off.

--

The flight itself was smooth, just over five hours, but Steve himself was a jangle of nerves and by the time they landed at Louis Armstrong he had nearly talked himself out of the whole endeavor. What the fuck was he doing? He had no idea what he hoped to gain from this, this completely inane and fruitless quest. It wasn’t like he could expect Bucky to drop everything the second he saw Steve, step away from Rumlow and say something like, Oh, I see. Yes, I made a mistake two years ago. Stevie, I’m sorry. I’ll come home now. That wasn’t going to happen, and Steve wasn’t sure what the fuck else he was doing here.

Whatever he saw, it was just going to hurt. The only reason he even knew Bucky and Rumlow were still here was because he had the trackers placed in Rumlow’s phone and because SHIELD would be notified (and in turn notify Steve) if Rumlow moved. Not to mention Steve had never made it totally clear to Rumlow if there were any restrictions on him going to any other states aside from Virginia and New York (there weren’t, but Rumlow had no reason to know that).

— well, that and the fact that Steve had spoken to Bucky every three weeks, like clockwork, since he’d left. Bucky had kept that end of the deal as faithfully as he’d ever done anything. Their whole lives Bucky had been like that. Faithful, loyal, dependable, determined. Traits Hydra had taken and twisted and warped for their own use and their own liking and fuck, fuck Rumlow, fuck him for manipulating Bucky, for convincing him he wasn’t complicit in the role Hydra had played, for convincing him that he (Rumlow) was the least evil thing that had come out of the seventy years of hell Hydra had put Bucky through and as such Bucky could and should trust him and remain with him.

It was Stockholm syndrome, plain and simple. There was no way around it. Steve had spent a while after Bucky left trying to figure out if there were any laws against a victim going back to their abuser, especially in a case like this, but there weren’t, and Steve had taken to sending Bucky texts every few days: you ok, buck? or, need anything? until Bucky had finally texted him back a string of exasperated-looking emojis followed by: stop worrying am fine, ps still have a metal arm so i can take care of myself u kno, and then a heart (blue), and Steve had forced himself to back off.

(If backing off could still be considered as such when it constituted Steve continuing to call or expect Bucky’s call every twenty-one days, listening frantically for codes every time Rumlow’s phone rang [whatever codes were hidden in make sure you bring Progresso next time, my partner can’t eat that store brand shit] and just generally… really not backing off at all.)

In any case he didn’t know why he was here/what he was going to do. But the taxi driver was waiting for him outside the airport and it was suffocatingly hot, so Steve put his carry-on into the back, slid in after it, gave the driver the hotel address, and closed his eyes.

--

He called Bucky once he was settled in his room, staring out at the city skyline in the distance. Bucky answered after four rings, sounding like he’d just woken up (it was almost four in the afternoon; what the hell were they doing) and a little confused (it was only two weeks since they’d last spoken; okay, it was only ten days since they’d last spoken, what the hell, Steve had never been great at math):

“Steve?”

In the background, a muffled grunt.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve smiled, making sure it showed in his voice. It wasn’t hard to smile when he heard Bucky talk, anyway. He’d missed that voice so much. Even after four years of having him back it was still something of a novelty to hear it again. “I know it’s early for me to call — ”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Is uh, is everything — ”

“Everything’s fine,” Steve said. He bit his lip, leaning against the wall. “I just — I was thinking about you.”

Bucky didn’t answer for a few seconds. In the background, Steve heard rustling, and then a voice, muffled, low. Bucky’s response was a little muted, like he was covering the speaker with his hand, but Steve heard it anyway: — be a minute, don’t know what’s going on. Then he was back:

“Oh. Well, hi.”

“Hi.” Steve swallowed. He really hadn’t thought this through as well as he should have. He hadn’t really thought it was the greatest idea in the world, but Bucky never went to New York, because Rumlow couldn’t go. Bucky hadn’t seen Steve or any of the others in two years and Steve missed him, he missed his face. Sometimes they did video calls but it wasn’t often and it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. Steve wanted —

— fuck. He wanted to see Bucky, and he knew that it wasn’t possible, because Bucky couldn’t know he was here. But he wanted it. He knew Bucky wasn’t going to suddenly wake up from his insane nightmare and realize his mistake and come home. He knew that. But —

“Are you doing anything special today?” Steve asked, before his thoughts could continue to spiral. “I know it’s the 300th anniversary of the city this year, so I just wondered — ”

“Uh-uh,” Bucky said. He sounded like he was moving. Steve heard a door, and then a light shift in the ambient sounds around him. “No, we don’t — we don’t like going out much.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Don’t ask him don’t ask him don’t ask — “Does he keep you inside?” He winced when he heard it come out of his mouth, but there it was. Stale, hanging in the air. Sick and weak and possessive.

Bucky sighed.

“Steve… you know he doesn’t. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know. I’m just — ”

“I know you’re worried, Stevie. Wish you wouldn’t be, though. ’s been over two years, pal, and you know I’m fine here. We’re both fine here.”

Something caught in the back of Steve’s throat. He had to cover his mouth for a second to keep from screaming what he really wanted into the phone, which was, Why can’t you be fine in Manhattan with me? Why can’t I be enough for you again like I was? When the urge subsided he said,

“I know, and I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just — it’s still hard. For me.”

“Yeah.” Another sigh. “I know.” He shifted a little; whatever he was sitting on creaked. He asked,

“Well, what are you doing? Some kinda big saving the world thing going on?”

“No — ” Steve swallowed again. He really, really hadn’t thought this through. “It’s been pretty quiet on that end recently. Just… hanging out. Thought — ” fuck, he was going to lie, he hated lying — “thought about walking around Central Park later, maybe.”

“Oh, right.” Bucky was almost smiling, or something. “I miss that place.”

Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it —

“You could come back and visit, you know.”

“Yeah, but the Com- but Rumlow can’t,” Bucky said. Steve winced; he knew, he’d always known Bucky called Rumlow by his old title, like they were still out in the field together, like Rumlow still had that fucking hold over him, and Bucky always tried not to say it when they were talking, but he slipped, because it was habit for him, because they lived together, because Bucky wanted to be here, he wanted to be with Rumlow, that fucking manipulative bastard, the liar, the piece of shit who had ruined Steve’s life, who had ruined Bucky’s life, and Bucky had just run back to him like a beaten dog returning to the hand that fed it scraps after it dropped the cane —

“I just don’t underst— ”

“Steve. C'mon. We’ve talked about this a hundred times, pal. I don’t wanna go to Manhattan by myself. I don’t wanna go without Rumlow. Okay? I really, really wish you’d quit asking.”

The thing caught in the back of Steve’s throat again. He thought he knew what Natasha had wanted to say to him right before he’d left the tower. Don’t try and coerce Bucky into coming back. He knows it’s what you want and it’s unfair to him because it isn’t what he wants. He’s never going to see you like you want him to again and if he saw you physically he wouldn’t change his mind, because he lived with you for almost two years and he had to manipulate you into letting him go. You need to respect his wishes now.

Steve knew — he knew he was finding it

(impossible)

hard to believe that Bucky could make his own decisions, and that they were rational, competent, well thought-out decisions. He knew the ugly bare simple truth of why he was here: he wanted to drag Bucky back home. Whether he wanted to go or not. It wasn’t fair Steve had gone in the fucking ice, killed himself for Bucky, come back, dragged himself through three years of hell in the twenty-first century, gone through Rumlow’s betrayal, the collapse of his entire life with SHIELD, gotten Bucky back, and then lost him again to the same fucker who had sat back with a cigarette and his legs crossed and let Bucky get raped over and over again, fucking gotten him ready for it like an animal dressed for the slaughter —

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice, crackling a little over the phone. Steve hadn’t said anything in almost a minute, and he hurried to wipe his eyes and force that smile back on his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry. That’s — it’s not my business. I know I’m overstepping. I’m — it won’t happen again.”

“All right.” Bucky sighed, very softly. Then he said, “Look, Stevie, I gotta go — ”

“Sure, pal.” Steve closed his eyes. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Bye, Stevie.” Then he hung up, and Steve fell back on his unmade bed, and he stared at the ceiling, and he didn’t cry, and he didn’t cry, and he didn’t cry.

--

He had the hotel room booked for three days. He lasted until about six in the evening before deciding what the hell, it was summertime, and he was in New Orleans. It would stay light out until after eight and there was no reason for him to stay in the room just because he’d shamed himself trying to make that phone call. It was a big city and he didn’t have to stay within any strict boundaries, he could go anywhere he wanted. He slipped on some sunglasses and a baseball cap before heading out. For the heat. Not to disguise himself. For the heat.

In the lobby he picked up a tourist guide. It mentioned a few places but the only one that sounded familiar to Steve from his conversations with Bucky was Café du Monde. It didn’t mean anything he was going somewhere Bucky mentioned regularly. He liked trying out things based off recommendations, that was all. He had multiple albums of Marvin Gaye’s now and he would’ve never gotten into that music if it hadn’t been for Sam, after all. Lots of people liked coffee. Steve liked coffee. It was fine.

He walked until he reached the Quarter, then headed down Decatur. There were a lot of signs out advertising the three hundredth anniversary of the city. The whole street was suffused in the same cloying, nauseating heat from the airport, though this close to the river it was (slightly) lessened. No one looked twice at him which was good; again, not that he was trying to hide, but he wanted to get to the café without being hounded for his autograph. By the time he reached it there was a line; the evening rush, he supposed. Across the street there was a cathedral with a clock chiming the quarter-hour; fifteen minutes to seven. Steve walked into Jackson Square and sat on a bench, watching the rumbling constant mass of people, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to see if the line was easing up at the café (it wasn’t). At some point he looked back and saw the cathedral doors opening, letting out parishioners from the late afternoon Mass. The last time Steve had been inside a church, the whole Mass had been in Latin, and he was curious to see what it would look like now. So he straightened up, sparing one final glance at the café, and walked to the church. Whatever he’d been telling himself about why he was here before he was positive Bucky and Rumlow wouldn’t be in the cathedral. Bucky had been only slightly more Catholic than Steve, and Steve highly doubted Rumlow had any type of religious affiliations at all. As he walked inside he tugged off his hat; pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. The last of the parishioners were leaving and Steve held the door leading from the church proper into the foyer, then stepped inside — and stopped.

Middle row. Midway up the pews. Even from a distance, even from the back, Steve could tell it was Bucky. The metal arm was bare and glistening in the dim light. His hair was down except for a small, thin braid on the left. He had his head bowed. He was sitting with his right shoulder pressed tightly to —

To —

Steve felt every ounce of energy leave his body in a sudden, dizzying rush. He sat almost without thinking in the pew nearest him, then changed his mind, moved up. He knew how to be stealthy and how to stay invisible when he needed, but it was hard to remember his training in here, where everything was cavernous and echoed and there was so, so much space, and Bucky was sitting there with him, with Rumlow, with that fucking asshole, and how dare he be in a church. How could someone like Rumlow set foot in God’s house without bursting into flames? What the fuck kind of fucking disrespect, Steve should rush out, go in through the back, get the priest —

He was hidden neatly behind a pillar, hardly breathing. His hearing was serum-enhanced even without the aid of the massive echoey chamber they were in, so it wasn’t difficult at all for him to hear the conversation:

“You okay?” Bucky. The mechanisms of his arm whirring softly. He’d straightened and was looking at Rumlow, only at Rumlow. He wore a soft-looking reddish shirt Steve had never seen, and jeans.

Rumlow shrugged. He was staring straight ahead, slight line of tension in his jaw. “‘s just… weird,” he muttered. “Just… being in here. Feels weird.”

Steve saw Bucky’s hand creep between their thighs. He must have curled their fingers together because Rumlow glanced over at him, and Steve’s heart shattered on the fucking floor at the expression on his face. It was raw and clean and there was absolutely no hatred or malice and Steve shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be looking at them, he shouldn’t —

— Rumlow didn’t deserve Bucky, he didn’t deserve to look at Bucky like that, he hadn’t grown up with him, he hadn’t served in the war with him, he —

“We don’t have to keep coming back,” Bucky was saying, soft. “It’s what I told you a month ago — ”

But Rumlow was shaking his head. “I don’t mind it so much during the week,” he said. “When it’s not crowded ‘n it’s just a half-hour. It’s okay.”

Bucky smiled at him. His smile was so breathtaking. Steve’s heart wrenched further. Fuck, Rumlow didn’t deserve to be smiled at like that, least of all by Bucky. Bucky should have driven a knife into his throat years ago; yanked it out and let Rumlow bleed out onto the ground, his jugular pulsing steadily, throbbing, slowly subsiding, and Bucky just standing there watching the life leave his eyes while Rumlow twitched uselessly and glared at him and finally stilled.

Instead, here and now, Bucky leaned over and kissed Rumlow’s cheek. Steve closed his eyes. When he opened them again Bucky and Rumlow had straightened up and left the pew. They were heading down the aisle, and Steve turned helplessly to watch. Rumlow leaned in as they neared the foyer and whispered something in Bucky’s ear. It was too low for even Steve to catch, but it made Bucky snort. He whispered back,

“Da, Komandir,”

and Steve jumped to his feet. He moved fast (Sam would’ve been jealous) back to the hotel. He packed what little he’d unpacked. He checked out early —

“Sorry, something’s come up,”

— and was on the red-eye back to Manhattan by ten p.m. And although alcohol didn’t do shit to affect him anymore, he ordered three whiskey and Cokes and knocked them back, one after the other, as the plane hummed on steadily through the dark sky.

[dirtmuse]

Hey I’m looking for some Long term rps! I usually rp in third person, paragraph format and I have like tons of ideas we can look over! I also want to hear your ideas! I enjoy roleplaying both canon and AU, I would be interested in (but not limited to) exploring AUs that involve ABO, Hydra!steve, Hydra!natasha, nonsexual ageplay, slave AU, college AU, and Prison AU. I also play multiple characters and have multiple ships! you interested? Kik (snowyhowler) tumblr (dirtmuse) or discord (BuckyBarnes#4405)!

[squirefox]

Good vibes! @fahertybrand @naomiazuma @moki_mo @rumbuck Stylist @amandakraemer Hair @robertoajr @pellegrinokatie Props @hayleycallander Lighting Tech @fredlam Digital Tech @jacquescoozi @artdeptagency @artdeptagencyla #faherty #beachlife #friends #couple #running #lifestyle #together #setlife #sunrise https://www.instagram.com/p/CnSe9NwOy5F/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[hjbender]

He couldn’t shoot the Winter Soldier. But he couldn’t leave him on the side of the road like an unwanted pet, either. He’d be picked up by HYDRA sooner or later, they’d coax a name out of him with 200 volts of alternating current, and then Brock’s ass would be grass—and if they wanted to be really ironic, they’d send the Soldier to do it.

That meant one thing: Barnes would have to live . . . at least until they got to Montana. After that, Brock could do whatever the hell he wanted with him.

Lost Together

[subverbaldreams]

One (один)

Chapter 4, the final chapter of Old Faces in New Places is up!!!

Summary:

He tried. Tried being a good guy. Tried being human.

It isn’t working out.

Fortunately, James Buchanan (the asset) Barnes knows where to find the only man who can hurt him the way he needs.

Explicit 18+

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32971441/chapters/82983946

Major thanks to @spintwinwb for the beta and for helping me with Zemo’s voice!!

Holy shit, can’t believe it’s complete! :o 🥳

[subverbaldreams]

If you aren’t reading this you are missing out!!!!!!!

Bad Days & Unlikely Bedfellows Chapter 1

In which at the end of Captain America: the Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier doubles back to rescue Brock Rumlow from the wreckage, plays extremely incompetent nursemaid, and generally demonstrates the fact he’s the princess of HYDRA who doesn’t usually have to do things for himself. My first time playing with Rumlow’s POV, and my first time writing this particular era Bucky too!

[madara-nycteris]

Vladivostok - Día dos (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/in3bUKzDI6 Brock Rumlow se sabía capaz de matar a cualquier ser humano por igual. Podía engañar a cualquier institución y sabotear cualquier gobierno. Podía usar a cualquiera para sus propósitos, pero esto no ocurriría así. No con Winter. Spin-Off de mi trilogía "97 Minutos". Porque quería escribir MUCHA miel sobre Winter y su Brock, antes de la tormenta que se avecina.

[ghostjelliess]

Happy Saturday to all the late 20-somethings who prefer this kinda night. We never meet each other, but I know you're out there 😂😘 ________________________________ #harrypotter #saturdaynight #rumbuck #chillin #readingismagic #saturdayvibes #becauseofreading #igreads #readersofinstagram #introvertlife https://www.instagram.com/p/B9LauDKgnBY/?igshid=12d9uhiixqejf