#stucky hate

[sadanddumbcat]

Every time a comic image is posted and tagged with Stucky an angel dies. 😔🙏

Save an Angel! stop tagging comic panels with Stucky.

[smerfols]

So about the Stucky DnD!AU I've finished sketching the recurrent (?) characters, and I'm pretty satisfied! (Especially Nat, she's the hottest)

Basically reimagining the plot of the winter soldier in a fantasy key with some changes bc: yes

Still have to do Pierce, Zola, Fury and Maria!

I have written a sort of plot and there will be Tony and Wanda as well!

I should totally do a master post with all the infos, but I'm chaotic and messy as hell, I'll try my best

[mitytheclown]

"OMG are you really shipping them???" YES I AM and I will continue

[criminalamnesia]

random scenario my brain made up a few nights ago!!

you and bucky and steve had been childhood best friends. when the boys enlisted, you followed close behind, donning white as you learned your role as a military nurse.

after steve’s transformation into the captain, he specifically requested that you and bucky were assigned to stay by his side. although other officials tried to deny him this— they said it would be distracting— steve refused to fulfill his role without the two of you.

although unspoken, you had always had something more with bucky. steve knew, but it didn’t bother him. you were like a sister to him, and bucky was like his brother. he was ecstatic that his two favorite people were finding solace in one another.

and then the train incident happens, and you both lose bucky. it tears the both of you to shreds— all you can do is hold each other and sob, unable to articulate how soul-crushing it is to lose a man you both loved in your own ways.

a month after bucky dies, steve loses you too. it’s really unclear how it happens. one minute you’re there, tending to the wounded, dragging soldiers back toward the medical tents. the next you’re gone, your stained nurse’s cap left forgotten in the dirt.

steve is beside himself. two parts of him have gone, both presumably dead, and he struggles to cope.

he tries sacrifice himself against the red skull, but against his will, is reawakened a century later in a time he doesn’t know with people he doesn’t understand.

but then he starts to heal, starts to let others in again. after all, steve can’t help his kind heart. he empathizes with natasha, comes to understand tony. finds companionship in sam and finally feels like his two childhood friends, although gone, have come back in the form of a redhead assassin and the falcon.

and then he meets the winter soldier and his shadow.

her name isn’t known to shield’s records. those that have seen her rarely live to tell the tale. natasha is able to offer even less information on her than she is about the brute with the metal arm.

it takes steve aback, how in sync the soldier and his shadow fight. it’s eerie— the soldier tosses up a knife, a hand appears out of the shadows and grabs it. no words spoken, none needed. a deep understanding of one another, the trauma endured and the bond forged making the two into one.

the mask falls from the solider first, and steve swears his heart stops. bucky. his bucky. his best friend, his brother, alive and standing in front of him.

nothing happens for a second— a second that feels like a lifetime to steve as he relives watching bucky fall to his death. to holding you as the both of your mourned a body that would never be found.

the winter soldier extends a hand to the side, and his partner steps out of shadows, placing a knife into his open palm. she had taken to holding back natasha and sam while bucky fought steve. sometime during the fight, she had lost her mask as well.

and steve falls to his knees as you fully materialize out of the dark, shadows receding around you, curling from the tips of your fingers and finally dissipating.

hydra had gotten you, too.

it made too much sense. you and bucky had always had a bond deeper than friends, deeper than lovers, even. you were intertwined so deeply, one could not take a step without the other knowing. (if only the two of you had acted on things sooner).

the one key to bucky’s heart, the one that could influence him even more than steve could, was you. the greatest weakness. hydra capitalized on that weakness, turning you into something that killed instead of something that healed.

stressing your bond with your lover, manipulating it so perversely and making you into two killers, two halves of a whole.

at least you had each other, he thinks.

(he later finds out that having each other was no solace, no escape. it was double the torture— physical and emotional— as they took one’s transgressions out on the other.)

and even though this has happened, that he barely recognizes the two souls standing in front of him, he feels whole again. because you are both alive and seemingly healthy and able to be reached.

bucky tucks the knife into his belt and extends his hand to you once again.

you take it, and the two of you melt away, darkness filling the space you once occupied.

[incorrectcompoundnotes]

Bucky: You’ve betrayed me more than anyone ever has.

Steve: Bucky, I-

Bucky: No! I can’t believe you, how could you?

Steve: Bucky, listen-

Bucky: No! Fuck you, Steve!

Steve, packing away the monopoly, sighing: I guess that’s game over then.

Bucky: You made me declare bankruptcy, ON TONY’S TURN.

[mentalmeles]

Gifset I just reblogged got me thinking.. What would’ve happened if Steve had been the one to get dusted instead of Bucky?

Like. Imagine Bucky taking up the mantle of Captain America during those 5 years as a way to give the world some much needed hope. But there’s also that big part of him that’s simply doing it for himself—to feel as close as he can to Steve, in any way he can. Plus, if he were to stop moving and allow himself a moment, he’d surely break apart. And he can’t have that. He can’t. But then, when everyone is finally brought back, Bucky gives the title back to Steve, only for Steve to promptly give the title to Sam. And then, much to Bucky’s joy, Steve chooses to retire with him (instead of some dumb ooc decision to stay in the past)

Are there fics of this? I feel like there should be fics of this

[llmsos]

I have a type😭

[teaformoony]

bucky watched the interview they did with john walker and the entire time he looks completely outraged. pissed. walker was a decorated hero. had 3 medals of honor. the government studied him and his skills. and all this before he was chosen to be captain america. steve didn’t choose. he didn’t get to. and america certainly wouldn’t have chosen him, not before the serum. he wasn’t publicly recognized and no one saw how good he was. no one except bucky. he never wanted to be america’s plaything.

walker also states that, despite never meeting steve, the man “feels like a brother.” but bucky knows. if walker had met the steve before the serum, he probably would’ve been one of the bullies that steve was fighting.

later on, when bucky asks if walker ever jumped on a grenade, walker confirms he had, but then went on to explain about his “reinforced helmet,” etc. but steve never had that. steve was a bag made of skin and bones, wearing clothes and a helmet that practically drowned him. steve would’ve gotten blown to bits, and despite that, didn’t even hesitate. john walker could never fill the shoes that steve left behind. not even close.

[sapphirerogers]

The thing about Captain America: Civil War is that it's part of a trilogy about one specific man named Steve Rogers. Therefore it is supposed to be about Steve Rogers and primarily from his perspective.

It's the episode right after CATWS, and the story is supposed to directly tie in with the events of CATWS. It's hilarious (= enraging) how people just seem to conveniently overlook that little detail while talking about (or rather, shitting on) Steve's decisions and actions.

When you see him argue against the accords, you're supposed to actually remember that the government was infiltrated in the previous Cap movie and it was only two years ago. And that Steve was right in the middle of the fray.

When you see him trying to save the other supersoldiers, you're supposed to correlate that to him discovering the Winter Soldier and as shown in the last scene of CATWS, finding out everything Hydra did to Bucky.

When Steve says "He's my friend," you're supposed to remember Bucky falling from the train in CATFA, and 2014!Steve saying "even when I had nothing, I had Bucky." And you're supposed to empathise with the scrawny kid from Brooklyn who had no one but James Bucky Barnes in his corner. You're supposed to remember that Bucky would, and did follow this scrawny kid into the jaw of death.

Every single thing he does/says has a background in the previous two movies.

Now you might say "yeah but so does Tony-" yeah and tell me something, is it called "Iron Man: Civil War"? Or "Avengers: Civil War"?

Saying Steve's the bad guy in his own fucking movie is you completely missing the entire point of all three of the movies with him in the title.

Edit: I've noticed that this post is gaining a lot of traction. I'd like to introduce you (if you haven't been to my blog before) to a protest my friends and I are trying to set into motion called #ReleaseStuckyCWScene. The details to the original post are here, and the petition that you can sign to show your support is below. Please consider signing it and reblogging the original posts more.

[musette22]

I would pay actual money to never have to see that awful endgame hug ever again. Everything about it is off and it makes me profoundly uncomfortable. Seriously get that rubbish away from me, it's got nothing to do with the real Stucky or the real Steve and that's a fact

[hannigramislife]

Will never forgive the MCU for making Stucky popular when Stony is the most iconic thing to come out of Marvel comics.

[fizz-pop-thwip]

Sometimes I'm just sitting on the train or laying in bed or reading or watching a show or eating and I get hit with the stucky bat, right over the back of the head. Just the ohhh my god ouggh ohhh.. their love is so.. world defying. Oouughhh Against all odds they found eachother, against time and tragedy and all faith, they found eachother and they LOVE eachother. *Rocking back and forth*

Steve was ready to DIE at Bucky's hands, Bucky was ready to die FOR Steve when they weren't sure if he would make it out of an exploding building, he wouldn't leave. Steve broke Bucky out of DECADES of brainwashing with his love, put Bucky above everyone in his life.

Captain America The Winter Soldier is so explicitly written to have romantic subtext between them, from that ALONE it makes me bonkers that people would ever pull the 'why cant just friends' card, because it is so explicit. I genuinely question your ability to comprehend media if you actively deny stucky.

No romantic interest even compares for Steve, Bucky had more genuine romantic tension with Sarah in the 5 minutes they talked in tfatws then Steve has had with any woman.

Peggy and Steves relationship is just genuinely unconvincing and written.. so sadly with Bucky and Steve's relationship to compare. We all know Steve and Sharon was a joke and I hate to dunk on another ship because I love the freedom to ship, but the thought that Stony or Romanrogers even compare is.. just not even a question. (Ship who you want, the logistics of how canon they are doesn't always need to be a question and ((legal)) shipping is fun!)

Anyway Steve and Bucky make me sick, every time stucky drops another rank in the ao3 ship stats an angel loses its wings.

[thegayestaddams]

this steve and this bucky should have kissed. onscreen

[dontcallmebree]

Heartbreaker For Hire by dontcallmebree

Major Tags: Modern AU, Heartbreaker (2010) AU, Fluff and Light Angst A @marveltrumpshate fill for mepeters81! Hope you like this, Mel!

Summary: Of the many unexpected things that came with saying yes to Tony’s truly ostentatious proposal, a bodyguard never quite crossed his mind. Which is why it’s a complete surprise when an oversized, dark blond suit shows up at Tony’s equally oversized townhouse. Finding out the near stranger is his new bodyguard after taking in his ill-fitting jacket, kind blue eyes, and neat if overgrown facial hair, and blurting out an incredulous “Stevie Rogers?” was not on his wedding planning agenda. With the power of his pecs and a pair of baby blues, Steve Rogers is a pro at helping unhappy couples go their separate ways. Except—with a familiar face as his newest client, his own heart may now be the one at stake.

Treat yourself to some (mostly) fluffy shenanigans on Bucky’s birthday week. Read now on AO3!

[greyskyflowers]

There's just so many interesting ways to explore Bucky relearning how to be a person again because it would/should have been a process.

Losing parts of yourself is such an easy thing to do.

Someone says you're stupid enough times, and then you start to wonder if you are.

Someone comments on the size of your nose enough, and then you start to think it's big.

Someone treats you like you're worthless, and then you start to think you are.

They wouldn't have treated him like a human. They wouldn't even need to break him, just treat him like a thing, and eventually, he'll start to wonder if he is.

They don't talk or listen to him because things can't talk. They ignore his questions and begging. They ignore his cries and screams.

Is he even making them? Can they hear him.

They don't worry if he bleeds. Things don't bleed.

Is he even bleeding anymore? Is it just in his head?

They don't call him by his name. Things don't have names.

What was his name again?

They don't feed him real food. Things don't get hungry.

He doesn't feel hungry anymore.

They don't have a set schedule for him. Things don't care about the passage of time.

What day is it? How long as he been here?

They don't care if he hurts. Things can't hurt.

Maybe he doesn't hurt? Maybe this is normal and he's just confused. He's always confused now.

They say maintenance and maintain and fix.

You don't do those things to people. So he's not a person, right? He can't be if that's what they're doing to him.

People have names.

Right? Did it ever have one? Even if it did, who would have used it?

No, it never had a human name. It was created, crafted.

No one worries if their gun is hungry, or if their knife is trying to communicate with them, or if their tool is tired.

Those things are not for it.

And then you've got this guy, out of nowhere, who knows you.

Who says a name and is looking at you while he says it.

He's talking to you like you can speak back, like he wants you to speak back.

And it's confusing, so confusing, because why does the man think it is a person?

It gets more confused after a few days on its own because why is it suddenly needing human maintenance?

Its stomach aches, and it knows the ache is hunger. Why does it know that?

The man finds it.

It is a relief in a way. It requires attention and repairs.

It tells the man that it is malfunctioning.

The man says that he is hurt

...but things don't hurt. It needs repair.

Healing the man says.

Things don't heal though.

It starts to shut off more.

Sleeping the man says. You need to sleep.

The bed is for people. It sleeps in the ice. If it must rest, then it rests on the floor.

The man is quiet angry and he takes a long walk.

The man is not Hydra. He gets angry when it asks about previous handlers.

It requires a handler, though, an owner. Things are not free.

So, the man must be its handler, even if he is not Hydra.

Things must be maintained, and to be maintained, they must belong to someone.

The man calls him Bucky, always says Bucky when it calls itself it.

Fine. It will answer to the name Bucky if the man requests so.

Things don't have names, and things don't want them, but Bucky is a nice name if it must have one.

The man makes it do human things.

It must eat and drink. They start small because if it eats certain things, then it malfunctions, and the man gets upset.

It must sleep, or try to, each night. There is no ice, just blankets. It is given several of them since it maintains that it must sleep on the floor. It doesn't know what to do with them. The man eventually lays them out in a way that he deems comfortable.

The blankets are... nice. Warm.

It did not know it was cold.

The man speaks to it and listens. It doesn't know what to say, it has never been given attention like this.

The man introduces other people, and it makes sure to remember them because these people seem important to the man.

Sam.

Natasha.

Tony.

And it must remember the man is called Steve.

Tony is odd.

Tony does not like it. That is fine. Things don't care if they are liked or not.

Steve and Tony argue about it on the other side of the room, but it acts like it does not hear them.

Tony wants to see all its information.

It had not knows Steve had all of its protocols and maintenance information.

Steve agrees and Tony leaves.

Tony comes back after a few days. The anger is still on him, but it's different. He looks at its arm and says it needs maintenance.

Finally.

Tony will be able to help Steve understand that it does not require human maintenance.

Tony does not tell Steve this.

He looks at it for awhile when it asks if he will help Steve understand that it is not a person.

Things don't ask questions. It should not have spoken. It is malfunctioning.

Tony goes back to the arm without answering, and that's fine. People don't talk to things. They talk at them.

Steve's human maintenance has caused it to start malfunctioning.

Tony calls it Bucky, too.

They're both terrible at this.

It keeps malfunctioning.

It keeps asking questions. Why? It can't stop itself.

It likes the blankets.

It doesn't know if it has liked things before. They are soft and warm, and it like to touch them.

It does not like cold now that it knows that it is always cold.

Steve brings it blankets often after he realizes how much it likes them.

These people touch it a lot.

Tony touches it while he does maintenance. This maintenance does not hurt, and the arm doesn't hurt malfunction as often.

Tony plays music and talks a lot. He has little robots that are strange and clearly malfunctioning, but he does not take corrective steps. Instead, he allows the malfunctions, maybe even seems to enjoy them.

Maybe it likes this... maintenance... like it likes the blanket.

The woman Natasha, that's not her name... is it? touches it. She does maintenance braids she calls them on its hair. She is confident when she touches it, but she also makes her movements clear.

Why does she do that for it? Things don't need to know what someone will do to it. It is... nice. It thinks it likes this too.

Sam touches it. He talks to it a lot, too. He is purposeful but makes sure to touch it each time he comes to visit.

He wants it to speak back. He encourages it to speak more than he wants to speak himself. He is patient, even when it is not able to make the words come out right.

It likes this... having someone listen.

They bring more people.

A man, Clint, with sharp eyes who jokes with it, tries to make it laugh.

Clint is a marksman and very skilled. He takes it with him when he goes to train. He insists they have competitions and there are no punishments when it does not perform to or exceed expectations. Sometimes, he brings small pieces of candy for them to share, and he winks like it's a secret just between them.

Things don't smile... but it feels like something inside of it is smiling.

There's another man, Bruce, quiet and careful. Something about him gives an air of power, but he is gentle. A scientist, more than Tony, and he makes it... nervous? No, not nervous. Things don't get nervous.

The man looks over it like it is human, asking it if anything hurts like it is a person. It tells him where it is damaged, even though it is fully operational.

If it is fully operational, then the damage does not require maintenance. It did not need to tell him. Things don't hurt.... why did it tell him where it hurt?

Thor is loud and big. He smells like rain, and it likes that. It did not know it liked the smell of rain.

Thor is not scared of it. He does not worry about a malfunction, and he seems to have no expectations on it or what it might have been.

He does not lower his voice around it, and he even does a sort of roughhousing with it at times, although Steve hovers nervously whenever that happens. He claps it on the back and calls it friend like Steve does, and is it suppose to know this man too? It doesn't remember this man.

Things don't have memories, but... sometimes, it thinks it might.

It asks Steve about them sometimes, slow and quiet, because while Steve has not hurt it for remembering or asking questions, it knows remembering was bad.

Remembering means pain. Why does it know that?

Steve tells it about them. He says it had a family, sisters, and friends. He talks about them, and about the war and the howling commandos, and... oh, it is crying.

Things do not cry. It is malfunctioning.

They all call it Bucky.

They give it maintenance like it is a person.

They like when it likes things and even look happy when it decides that it does not like things.

They do not treat it as a thing... so maybe it isn't? Maybe... he's a person.

It refers to itself as he a few days later.

Tentative, and after a pause where it was hard to get the word out, he looks up carefully through his lashes because what if he's wrong? What if this was a test and what if they wanted to get him to think this way just to take it away an-

They are happy.

Steve is very happy and he likes it when Steve is happy.

He likes it when they are all happy.

There are bad days when he does not think he is a person and thinks they're playing a terrible game with him.

They're being cruel. They have to be because he's not a person.

If he's a person, then that means he's been a person this whole time and that Hydra took that away from him.

That means...

He's not there yet. He doesn't like to talk about things like that yet. It makes his head hurt, and he doesn't like that, and it's too much. He gets upset... because he is a person and people get upset.

That is still a strange thought to him, that he's human.

He tells Steve about things he remembers. He has questions, and he's getting better at asking them without tripping over his words or stopping halfway through.

He had a bed with lots of blankets.

He has food and books and music that he likes.

He has a big marker he can write his name on things with. He's still scared all of it is going to be taken away from him, but if his name is Bucky and if he's a person, then his name on things means that those things are his.

Right? He had to ask to make sure, but they all said that was right. He likes putting his name on things.

He likes having things.

He likes to take the drawings Steve makes and always gives to him. He likes that Sam brings him little things whenever he goes somewhere. Sometimes, it's pins, or buttons or pretty pieces of paper.

He likes small screws from Tony's lab, pens Bruce leaves laying around, hair ties from Natasha, pop tart wraps that Thor drops, and the heads of arrows that Clint loses.

He likes that he's remembering more and more. He likes remembering that he's always liked things. Like dancing, and records, and laughing, and Steve.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

11. Palmiers

Bucky

Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.

They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin’.”

“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.

Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.

The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.

As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take). 

He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?” 

Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go. 

“Thanks babe.”

“Uh huh.” 

It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout. 

Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?” 

“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen. 

Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.

“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”

“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body. 

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.

“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.

“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”

Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.” 

“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”

“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?” 

“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”

“Your muscles?”

Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”

“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.” 

“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.

“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”

Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”

“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue  “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”

“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”

“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”

Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.” 

Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains. 

“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.

“I must’a slept on it wrong.”

Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch. 

The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.

He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.

She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.

“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”

“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”

“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.

“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway. 

“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”

“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.

Steve

Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”

“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.

“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?” 

“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.” 

“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.

She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.

"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.

Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"

"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"

"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."

She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."

They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,

“So: His arm.”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”

“What happened?”

Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”

“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”

Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”

“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.” 

Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.

“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”

“Jeez.”

“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”

Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”

“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?” 

“Yeah.”

"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”

Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”

“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”

She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”

“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.

(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)

(“Duh.”)

In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,

“What’s the holdup?” 

“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”

“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.

“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”

“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”

Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”

“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay. 

“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.

She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.

She freezes. “Bad?” 

“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”

“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”

(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)

“Riiight here? and … here?"

Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.

“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”

“Mmrr.”

“And here: your rhomboid.”

“Ooh!”

“Tender?” 

“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”

Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.

“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.

“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).

“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”

“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”

Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.

“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”

“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder. 

“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”

Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.

“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.

“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”

“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods. 

“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”

“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”

She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here? 

Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out. 

Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”

When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”

Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”

It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”

“Yep.”

*To anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.

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