#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.

[suggesting-themes]

Actually guys I think the ai is right this time

[mitytheclown]

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

[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.

[tippenfunkaport]

That viral post that's going around about how people who write "book quality" mlm fic are too "normal" to publish and have real jobs so only "weird" people publish their "shitty" fanfic is so completely out of touch with reality and I am giving a massive side eye to everyone reblogging it.

Not only is it completely, easily verifiably untrue (you cannot enter any professional writing space without tripping over a dozen grizzled scifi writers who got their start by filing off the serial numbers and publishing their Star Trek fanfic even going back decades ago??? it's a whole thing?? plus how can you look at the mlm category on Amazon right now and say with a straight face that people aren't publishing shitty Spirk and Stucky fanfic??? Oh, honey...) it's also the perfect example of this kind of sneering elitism that true artists would never sully themselves by seeking profit, they do it only for the purity of the thing that always somehow leads back to, "no one should be paid to make art, actually."

The only reason you're seeing more published fanfic right now has nothing to do with the idealistic purity of your hypothetical government employee written smut of the past vs the debased scribbles of those awful straights of today and everything to do with the fact that a) self-publishing has created a voracious readership that wants a ton of content so it's become a viable, flexible income stream for many, especially disabled people b) anyone can publish now with self-publishing tools so there are less gatekeepers and c) lockdown got a lot of people into fandom and therefore writing who never tried it before.

And if you really think there's no "shitty" published mlm and no "book-quality" m/f writing out there that started as fanfic, then you are clearly not a reader so why are you even talking about this?

[mylols16]

captain america is amazing, and his story of being a man out of time and feeling alone but then realizing buckys still alive and that he has someone familiar with him now and that no everything he cared about in his old life isn't gone only to realize what hydra did to bucky and how he doesn't remember steve and just how much hes been through in the last 70 years. and basically saying fuck his reputation with the public fuck what his friends say and fuck the law (in true steve fashion) he'll follow bucky till the end of the line and try his hardest to keep him safe and give him his life back. all while realizing he can never truly go back, back to before he was frozen in ice. back to before the war when it was just him and bucky. when it was all familiar. its all just so beautiful. anyone who says they dont like steve is wrong and anyone who says steve didn't love bucky is wrong. and i will never forgive marvel for giving steve the most out of character ending of any marvel character. considering he's one of the original six you think they would've done him right. and i think thats why i didn't like steve at first because i became a fan after endgame and watched his whole storyline just for it to end like that. steve would never abandon bucky, or sam for that matter. steve would never abandon any of the avengers even if he hasn't talked to them in years. and after reconnecting with peggy in winter soldier he'd never take the life she built away from her. anyway im having a lot of feelings about chris evans if you cant tell

[rillils]

🌸 pre-war stucky + discovery

Steve’s knife glides cleanly under the apple’s butter-yellow skin, the peel pooling over the plate in one long, looping ribbon. And Bucky watches, enraptured.

All his life, he’d thought that art was the kind of thing that occurred inside Steve’s sketchbooks; that it was about color, about shading and light, and the twists and pitfalls of anatomy that’ll make Steve cuss under his breath in frustration. He never once figured that art could be happening in their kitchen, at their table, in the naked heart-shape of an apple cupped in Steve’s palm.

But there’s something like grace in the work of Steve’s hands; a deliberate focus in his eyes as he cuts the apple in halves and then in quarters, and a drop of juice trickles slowly down the inside of his pale wrist, catching Bucky’s eye.

Steve always did have delicate wrists, Bucky considers – slender and agile like the rest of him, two columns of milky white shot with the green web of his veins.

The thought brushes against Bucky’s mind, soft as anything. That his fingers could curl around one of those wrists, and likely wrap all the way around it, sweet and whole like an embrace. It’d fit so perfectly, cradled in the palm of his hand. Then he could feel the jut of Steve’s wrist bone, and the quick flutter of Steve’s pulse under the pad of his thumb if he chose to stroke him there, over that silky smooth skin, and he’d have the measure of Steve’s heartbeat, stuttering secrets under his touch.

It’s–

Odd. He never. He never knew.

But it must be true. Something inside him knows it, something–

“... wan’ some?”

Bucky’s gaze follows the silver glint of the knife, his lips parting, entranced, while Steve cuts himself a slice of apple with effortless grace, and holds it against the flat of the blade to bring it to his mouth. His soft, rosy mouth. How does he know it would be soft? But he knows – it’s written in the flush-pink plumpness of Steve’s lip.

The tip of Steve’s tongue peeks out, a darker shade of pink, wet and glistening, and Steve slips the apple slice inside – the crisp flesh of it leaving a touch of moisture across his bottom lip. Steve catches it with a sweep of his tongue, lapping it off in one swift motion; and Bucky swallows, wide-eyed and eager, chasing the phantom taste of apple against the roof of his own mouth.

“Buck?”

Steve’s voice shakes him out of his reverie, and his gaze snaps up to find that Steve is looking right at him.

Steve is–

Steve’s eyes are blue. Bucky has always known that, in the same, absent-minded way as he knew that water is wet, that day follows night, that fire will burn you if you put your fingers to the flame. But today, suddenly,

Steve’s eyes are blue.

And Bucky stares back at him dumbly, breath locked in his throat for an endless moment, as he sees that piercing blue for the first time in his whole life, and is shaken to his core by the sight of it.

“Wuh– what?”

“I said,” Steve begins, hiding his chewing mouth with the back of his wrist, “you want some?”

He offers a piece of fruit to Bucky, a fat wedge of apple held in those long, nimble fingers of his. His fingertips are the same soft pink as his lips, Bucky notices. And he imagines, in a fevered flash, letting Steve feed him with that same hand, and brushing the seam of his own lips against those fingertips as he takes the first bite, and flicking the tip of his tongue out to lick the juice straight from Steve’s skin.

“Uh, um– yeah,” he stammers, reaching gingerly for the offered fruit. The glimpsing touch of Steve’s fingers against his feels every bit like electricity, a zing running up Bucky’s arm, half pleasure and half the terrifying thrill of the unknown. “Sure, thanks.”

Steve pauses to watch him curiously, jaw working on the last of his morsel, his pretty – pretty! – eyes filled with a fond sort of amusement as they rake over Bucky’s suddenly shy frame.

“What’s gotten into you today?”

Steve’s grin is a brilliant thing: sweet and playful, the bow of his mouth crooked up in one corner, more charming than Steve himself could ever guess – and that light sheen of apple sugariness, still shimmering full on his lips like a kiss.

And Bucky wonders, as he ducks his head and bites into his own apple slice, what else he has been missing all these years. How much more he has failed to see, though it was right there under his nose all along.

What lovely secrets lie in the narrow set of Steve’s shoulders, left bare in only his undershirt, here, at home, in the privacy of their little kitchen.

If Steve’s collarbones always looked just like this: carved out of stone by some tender hand, smooth like polished marble. Too holy to touch, and yet too tempting not to kiss with an unholy mouth.

He steals a glance at Steve’s face, and tries to mirror the shape of his grin as best as he can.

“You know me,” he shrugs, waving his hand about, “just got my head up in the clouds, is all.”

But when he takes his next bite, it’s the salt of Steve’s fingertips that he tastes, not the sweet tartness of the apple; and the wonder of it lingers for hours under his tongue, like a question just waiting to be asked.

[newtmas-supremxcy]

I'm so sick of seeing nothing but steve hate when I search for stucky edits on tiktok like seriously can you just stop for one second and actually be considerate to those who like his character and didn't stop shipping him with buck/suddenly pull a 180 and decide to despise him becuase of a shitty ending the writters gave him honestly it is so exhausting

[super-oddity]

i support ambiguous sexualities and gender-blind attraction within fanon. like i can read a fic with a pairing i don’t think would work in canon and 100% believe (or even love) it if it’s written well enough

[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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This has been a fill for:

@anyfandomdarkbingo

Card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square N3: Body Swap

@matchat3a @bethexo07

[turtle-steverogers]

Consider: Bucky lets Alpine wander all over their kitchen counters if she pleases. Steve, however, tries to keep her off the counters. Sometimes Bucky walks in on Steve having a dead serious conversation with Alpine (sometimes even in his serious, disappointed Captain America voice), like, c'mon, girl, we talked about this.

OKAY CUZ ALPINE AND STEVE'S FEUD FEEDS MY LITERAL SOUL LIKE ON FUCKING GOD THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME. now this isn't about kitchens or sandwiches, but you get the gist.

also norman is their dog. here is a picture commissioned from the super talented @hopelessartgeek by my dear friend @buffyscribbless !!! coolest thing ever!!!!

Enjoy!!!

-

“Bucky, get your fuckin’ cat, Jesus Christ!”

Steve resists the urge to throw the goddamn thing as Alpine bats his head with her paw for the millionth time since the movie started. Norman was growling up at her, drowning out the sounds of Indiana Jones in the background.  

“If you wanna murder her already, I’m not gonna stop you,” Steve grumbles to Norman, ducking his head as Alpine takes another swing at his ear.

“No, no one is murdering anyone,” Bucky snaps, padding into the room and plucking Alpine up from her purchase on the back of the couch. “You coulda just moved her if she was bothering you so much.”

“I tried!” Steve cries, sitting up indignantly. “She just hissed at me and started doing it again!”

Norman was whining now, turning in circles by Steve’s feet and casting furtive glances towards where Alpine was grooming herself on Bucky’s lap.

“That fucking gremlin seems to only like you,” Steve says, not bothering to keep the distaste from his tone.

“She can sense that you’re bothered with her,” Bucky says, staring lovingly down at Alpine, who is now asleep against his stomach.

“I don’t think cats work like that,” Steve scrunches his nose. “I just think she hates me.”

Bucky shrugs. “She’ll warm up to ya.”

“Hip hip fucking hooray.”

-

“Norman, no! No, Norman, leave her- no- fuck, BUCKY!”

Bucky barrels into the room freezing momentarily to take in the scene of Steve holding Norman back while Alpine shoves soil at them from her perch on one of the windowsills.  

He stifles a laugh and Steve shoots him a glare. “Shut the hell up and get your fucking demon out of the succulents.”

Swallowing his laughter and putting on a solemn face, Bucky crosses to Alpine and sets her on the ground.

“She’s just restless,” Bucky insists. “I just need to get her a cat tree or something.”

“Then fucking do it and don’t let her mess with my plants!” Steve just barely stops himself from stomping his foot.

“Okay, okay.” Bucky raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll go do that now. Go walk Norman or something.”

Steve huffs, grumbling to himself as he grabs Norman’s leash off its hook. On his way out, he tosses a middle finger in Alpine’s direction.

“Steven Grant!”

“She deserves it!”

-

It’s the middle of the goddamn night and Alpine is scratching. Bucky had kept to his word and gotten Alpine a cat tree, but since then, the fucking terror has done nothing but scratch the fucking thing. Steve wouldn’t mind if Bucky hadn’t insisted that they keep the tree in their bedroom so, ‘Alpine can sleep near us, c’mon, you let Norman sleep in our bed.’

Steve had lost that argument as soon as the Norman card was pulled. You can’t really argue with hypocritical logic.

“Will you please stop already!?” Steve hisses into the dark quiet of the room, careful not to wake Bucky or Norman up.

He sees Alpine’s yellow eyes turn in his direction and they hold eye contact for a tense moment before she hops up onto the bed next to Steve.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve says through clenched teeth as Alpine begins to knead her paws into his stomach.

Steve groans, letting his head drop back onto the pillow. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

-

He’s home alone, fist clenched tightly in his hair as he tries to regain control over his breathing.  Norman’s hovering nearby, providing company and comfort, but not coming closer for fear of overwhelming Steve.  

He hadn’t expected the movie he’d been watching to trigger him, but one loud fight and a door slam later, he was 7 years old again, cowering under the kitchen table while his ma and dad screamed at each other. 

The shaking is getting worse and Steve has half a thought to call Bucky, but he’s in a meeting right now at the Tower and that would be unfair to ask of him. No, he could handle this by himself. Everything was going to be okay.

Another shout sounds from the TV and Steve gasps, reaching for the remote and forcefully shutting it off.  He braces his forearms on his knees and leans forward, opening his eyes and attempting to tap back into his surroundings.  Norman comes a little closer, nudging his hand with his nose until Steve begins to run a shaking hand down his head.

It does a little to calm his nerves, but his heartbeat is still too erratic and his senses are still foggy and anxious.  Across the room, Alpine meows loudly and Steve looks up in time to see her knock her plastic food bowl off the counter.  It’s empty and bounces when it hits the ground and Alpine fixes Steve with a look as if to say, ‘feed me’.

Steve huffs out a surprised laugh, panic forgotten as he stands from the couch, crossing to pick up the bowl before filling it with cat food.  He sets it back on the counter and watches in surprise as Alpine nestles her head against his arm before digging into the food.

“Ya know, you’re not actually that bad.” Alpine purrs in response and Steve smiles. “I think I might not hate you.”

Alpine cuts herself off from eating and begins to convulse violently, spitting up a hairball a few moments later.

Steve blinks. “What the fuck.”

Alpine just looks at him again, meowing.

[hainethehero]

So I made the mistake of stumbling onto the NOT STEVE ROGERS FRIENDLY tag today and..

You have to be a special type of delusional to be this obsessed with a character you don't like!??

Over 2k fics have the tag and are almost entirely Tony Stark-centered fics. I'm assuming these are the "fans" who totally buy into the MCU canon and don't know any other Captain America lore outside of what Feige and Whedon have done. Or, they're the "fans" who refuse to understand the politics behind Steve's character and how he was inherently undermined throughout the entire ten years of the MCU by the directors and writers for most of the films.

Because the arguments in most of these fics for being "not Steve rogers friendly" are really surface level shit like:

1) "Steve refused to sign the Accords and broke up the Avengers" (he was right & he didn't break them up, an overemotional Tony did when he refused to listen to Bucky's side of the story).

2) Steve fought Tony and almost killed him (yeah, like Tony didn't blast Bucky's arm off and shoot his repulsor rays directly at Steve).

3)Steve is homophobic (y'all are just making up reasons to hate this man atp)

4)Steve is racist (Steve hated racists & you'd know that if you read the comics, or you guys are just that deluded that you're making Steve racist & trying to project it as canon and therefore a "reasonable" explanation as to why you hate him)

5)Blaming Steve for Rhodey's accident (WHICH WAS TEAM TONY'S FAULT!)

6)YALL, THEY MADE STEVE THE BAD GUY IN A BROCK RUMLOW/BUCKY FIC! I stg I cannot make this shit up💀 Steve's bad for wanting Bucky to be Bucky again, but somehow Brock's the good guy for wanting Bucky to be the Soldier...

Steve left Bucky for Peggy (we'll get to this soon)

There's a hundred more irrational reasons for the Steve Rogers hate, but let me get to the WORST part.

THERE ARE BUCKY STANS WHO ARE ANTI-STEVE ROGERS.

And I'm sorry, no. I don't accept that you love Bucky Barnes but hate the one person he loves the most in the world.

They argued in a couple fics that "Bucky also went rogue after Siberia but he didn't want to associate with Steve, Nat & the rest of the team- WHO HELPED RESCUE BUCKY & EVENTUALLY EXONERATE HIM- but rather, he went off on his own & eventually Tony finds him, they hash it out and become friends to lovers."

Helppp???? Wdym Bucky isn't gonna stick with the one man he's been keeping diaries about to try and get back his memories? But he'll go to the one guy that re-traumatized him by blowing out his arm again?

Not only that, but Bucky absolutely hates Steve in some of these fics and the reason will be, "he left Bucky to go back to Peggy." Like, you cannot be a serious fan if you're still going with the Endgame canon. For a majority of us, we recognize Endgame as being nothing but terrible writing and mischaracterizations. Why are yall not analyzing and interpreting media critically? The MCU has never been on Steve's side and have always diminished his character in an attempt to make Tony the ultimate hero of the OG 6. Don't yall know the discourse? It's embarrassing atp.

And this is my stance on the entire thing: there's nothing wrong with writing fics about characters you don't necessarily like or aren't interested in. It's OKAY if you don't like Steve Rogers- but you've gotta be rational about him, instead of hateful. Most, if not all of these "anti-steve" fics are written in bad faith. Bad understanding of the character and pure, shameless mischaracterizations which just makes these types of fics fickle and weak- hilarious to read though cos that Brock one had me deadddd😭💀.

[kenisle]

when steve stood between tony and bucky saying “sorry tony but he’s my friend” and tony fires back with “so was i” as if he can compare. i have to laugh.

like sorry girl but the first time steve thought he lost/was gonna lose bucky he single-handedly infiltrated a huge hydra base miles behind enemy lines bearing nothing but his uso costume and a prop shield. repeat performances included crashing a plane into the arctic, taking on a hydra-infested shield with four allies to his name including some guy he met while running, becoming an international fugitive, fighting you and half his former teammates, leaving the other half on his side behind to get taken to the raft, and now this.

tony, the first time steve thought you were gonna die he told nat to close the portal behind you. if it had been bucky in your place you have to know steve would’ve found a way in after him by any means necessary. you are simply not on the same level.

[lavenderpanic]

this what if bullshit where everyone fully agrees that stevebucky is a love story if you replace bucky with a woman is like a kick in the stomach dudeeeeeeee it's actually painful

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

We’ll meet again in Brooklyn - Stucky by gfawkes for @fandomtrumpshate

Space/Sci-fi AU, hurt/comfort, nurse!Steve, soldier!Bucky, wartime romance

RatedE, graphic depictions of violence

Prompts (lovely) by @film-in-my-soul

Summary:

Peter was doing his best, poor kid.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Mr. Barnes. I just have to change your bandage!”

The patient sat with injured hand held high over his own head, out of Peter’s grasping reach. The supply cart looked as if it had been shoved against the far wall. A chair was tipped over, clean bandages spilled on the floor. And poor Peter was trying to reason with the man.

“That’s what you said last time,” the difficult man growled. “And then you wheeled me away for two hours of the most brutal torture —”

Steve moved in, stepping behind the unruly patient and grasping his wrist. The man whirled around, about to admonish him for daring such a thing. But he didn’t. He immediately stopped, face morphing from angry to surprised to sheepish.

“Morning, Trouble,” Steve said as he smiled without making an effort. And then, to Peter, “Do I need to call a Code Gray in here, Parker?”

“No!” Bucky Barnes blurted, eyes wide, quickly lowering his hand and allowing Steve to wrap fingers around his forearm. “No! Everything is fine! It’s fine.”

He looked down at his bare feet, his tone gone suddenly passive. He muttered something under his breath, and Steve called him out.

“What was that?”

Bucky looked up, embarrassed now, eyes hooded. “I said it’s fine as long as you stay.”

Read on AO3

[gay-jewish-bucky]

me when i do my daily checks of the stucky tag and see yet another post where someone is talking about how they used to ship stevebucky and then go on to proudly admit that they fell for marvel's ploy to kill a gay ship and whine about how steve is so awful