#stucky in every era

[stuckysnugglebutt]

Dead! Why is Nicholas Galitzine wearing a shirt that says "Bucky"?!?! What does it mean?!?!? Why does it have that "retro varsity sweater, classic American, apple pie" type vibe? The color and style screams Captain America to me. I really hope it means he is a Stucky Stan....

[buckymilf]

.

[zenaidamacrouras1]

Ten questions for writers

The lovely @somanywords tagged me and I'm all in my bullshit as I finish a long fic so it's the perfect time for this.

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

23

Why is it shouting? I didn't mean to make that big but whatever. 23.

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

Word Count: 764,847

And what I would like to say, is that I started writing in the summer of 2022, so pretty much exactly two years ago, and deleted one longfic when I decided I hated it, so my point is, that is an average of more than 1,000 words a day published, and I have a shit ton of unpublished stuff.

Is my math possibly close on this? Holy shit, I talk a lot, and don't worry, I do have an actual diagnosis for my mental health problems, not that it helps all that much, but hahahahaha, doing great.

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Captain America, though a lot of Marvel sneaks in around the edges.

Wandavision, Hawkeye (more the show and comics than the Avenger's movies version of Clint) and Black Widow in particular. I am interested in writing diverse stories which has me pulling from the more recent content for women, queer folks, and people of color to include. I do see the irony of hyper-fixating on two white males for literally years and nearly a million words and then complaining about lack of diversity. Let's talk about it.

4. do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I do, meticulously and with great joy. BUT.

When I first started writing I had no idea what to do with comments. They made me happy and thrilled, but also very stressed about social etiquette. I would rarely reply. At one point I saw an anon asking on Tumblr if the author was mad at them for commenting because they commented on every chapter of a work in progress without hearing anything back. I honestly had never thought about it from that perspective, so I starting replying, and it got easier with practice. I have gotten into my own groove and I enjoy it now.

I think if it stresses authors out, no pressure. It actually does take up a chunk of time, especially on my more popular fics or if a chapter is particularly exciting/has a cliff hanger, etc. I really enjoy doing it, so I don't mind at all, and if it ever feels like a TASK I don't pressure myself to reply, because I find if I wait a few days it brings me joy again.

5. have you ever had a fic stolen?

No (?)

6. have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I have collaborated with artists through Bangs though which is super neat!

7. what’s your all-time favourite ship?

Look the obvious answer is Stucky.

I think one of my first pairings was Mara Jade and Luke Skywalker, but in that pairing I was a stand in for Luke Skywalker and Mara was too cool for both of us but also imprinted on my developing brain.

Mara Jade (for those who don't know) is a formerly brainwashed lady spy superhero in the 1990s era Star Wars books with sexy red hair. I suspect the author had read some Black Widow but have not confirmed this. I had not seen any Marvel comics at that time and was very on board with Mara Jade. (Not literally, sadly.)

As far as writing though, it's Stucky that I keep thinking up stories that I have a compulsive need to write down. I think of lots of stories for other pairings but they don't eat my brain like Stucky.

8. what are your writing strengths?

I am stubborn as fuck.

9. what are your writing weaknesses?

Excess (see above).

10. first fandom you wrote for?

On ao3 it was Winter Soldier+Widow (since orphaned, it was bad).

In my head as a teen it was definitely MeLuke Skywalker/Mara Jade. Very extensive mental storylines between us them.

----

No pressure tags for anyone who sees this and wants to play! And also @dharmasharks @voylitscope and @fsbc-librarian and @late-to-the-party-81 and @metalbvcky and @aimmyarrowshigh and everyone else I am trying to get over my social anxiety around tagging please don't stab me.

[blackwood4stucky]

do you trust me with your scars enough to show me your heart

author: aspen blackwood

series: wonder if it's room in heaven for savages

james “bucky” barnes x steve rogers | mcu

masterpost | 🅼 | word count: 3455 | multichapter fic

tags: creature au, non traditional omegaverse, pre war ➳ ww2 era stucky, twisted fairytale

There was always a sweetness that lingered in Steve’s nose whenever he spent time with Bucky Barnes. It was a light floral scent with underlying honey and peach that followed Bucky wherever he went. Steve was never too far behind, low eyes and an intoxicated grin gracing his features every time. It was the look of a boy caught in a snare. - A dark and twisted fairytale.

bingo fills + event prompts

@anyfandomaubingo | free space

@afgomegaversebingo | falling asleep together

@anyfandomfluffbingo | cuddling in bed

@augustwritingchallenge: april showers brings m-au flowers | flower language

@avengersbingo | soulmate au

@badthingshappenbingo | forgetting to eat

@buckybarnesbingo: round 6 | u1: bed sharing

@buckybarnesevents

babb 2023 | soulgazing [march prompt] hot bucky summer 2024 | week 4: free week

creatures & cryptids: into the wilds bingo | will o’ wisp

crossover bingo | soulmates au

@eclipsingbingo

card 1 | blood from mouth card 2 | biting

@fandombingo: r1999 bingo | rpf card: "your hands are trembling"

@fandom-free-bingo

valentine’s edition | fairy au wild edition | broken skin + childhood friends world book night edition | iele au

@hurtcomfort-bingo | falling asleep on each other

hurt and comfort bingo: pick your poison bingo round 1 | fever

@julybreakbingo: pre july 24 | canon divergence, kink: wings

@kinky-things-happen | cuddling

loversbingo

the conflict | throwing a punch the reeling | unsure & suspicious the solution | dark magic

scalding hot: consent issues bingo | wings as erogenous zones

@seasonaldelightsbingo: language of flowers bingo | spearmint [warm sentiment]

@stuckygeekevents: stucky geek bingo | tension, body image issues

@sweetspicybingo: hurt/comfort bingo | hand holding

@the-slumberparty: sundae bar | cookies & cream: soulmates

@yearoftheotpevent | march: fairytale au

read ch. 1: a maze you love getting lost in

ao3 | sqwa

mini playlist

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

The Shield Bearer

For the @fluffystevefest JULY 1: AFFECTION ☆ Touch-starved

RatedE, WWII Stucky, Howlies Era, Wartime Romance

Bucky rode the wave, awestruck at how magnificently Steve’s body arched and fell. How he turned his head side to side. The vibrations in his heavy breathing. The joy that oozed from every pore as he finally met Bucky’s lips.

It appeared Steve was touch-starved, too. Bucky found that smooth cheek with his free hand and traced the strong line of his jaw. This elicited a groan that was more erotic sounding than any place else Bucky had touched him.

So, he did it again, closing off the kiss and smiling against Steve’s mouth when he moaned his approval. “You are amazing,” Bucky said. He hoped to convey how deep was the spell Steve had cast upon him. “That was the sexiest goddamn thing!”

And Steve laughed! Giddy as a schoolboy, high as a kite. “Yeah, it was. Now it’s my turn.”

Read on AO3

[voxofthevoid]

Posting Schedule: February 2024

Time is soup, and I'm back on my three-fandom fuckery. If all goes well, it'll be three new fics and three updates this month. Speaking of which—goodbye, baby blue; hello, everything burned.

February 01–14: Chapter 1/6 of found my dulcinea (but i don't remember when)

MCU; stucky. Extreme canon divergence future fic featuring a long-lived Bucky as Captain America, who meets his match in a vampire bar.

February 01–08: Chapter 6/7 of there’s a lover in the story, but the story’s still the same

JJK; goyuu. During the basement training era, Satoru de-ages to his seventeen-year-old self due to an experiment gone wrong, and Yuuji’s left to handle the aftermath.

February 09–15: Chapter 1/9 of everything burned, as promised

JJK; goyuu. Post-236, Satoru travels back in time with the intention of stopping Kenjaku and Sukuna by any means necessary, and Yuuji’s raised like a lamb to the slaughter.

February 15–28: Chapter 1/1 of and you cried, love's like watching someone die

Bleach; grimmichi. Ichigo dies and immediately enters the reincarnation cycle. Grimmjow finds him, memoryless and powerless. This happens over and over and over.

February 16–22: Chapter 6/18 of (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered

JJK; goyuu. Yuuji chooses a different hell at the crematorium, and Satoru decides that kidnapping him is a reasonable response. It escalates in all kinds of ways.

February 23–29: Chapter 8/8 of the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

JJK; goyuu. A much older Yuuji and Satoru travel back to 2006 to avert an apocalyptic future, and sixteen-year-old Satoru has a hell of a time with his older self and his lover.

You can find my current all-fic posting timeline for JJK here.

[musette22]

I've woken up very in my Stucky (and Chris & Seb) feels today (when do i never?!), and i knew exactly whose inbox to slide into to gush about the boys! 💜

I just......is it possible to feel homesick for a fictional couple? 🤔 Or for a irl super (not so) secret couple? Because thats that it feels like. Its such a deep, viceral yearing that i just kinda want to sit and stare at a wall and cry about it. But like....in a good way? Sorta? And i keep thinking back to TWS and CW era Chris & Seb and i just......I just miss and love so much, y'know?

I'm going to blame my messy feelings for the boys today (both the fictional ones and the rl ones) on my hormones, and we can just pretend that this dumpster fire of a message never happened.

I just love then so dang much, ok? 😭

My love, hello! 💜💜💜 Oh, I absolutely think that's possible because I feel it too, that homesickness and yearning, so that makes at least two of us who feel that way which has to mean it's real 🥺

It's very intensely achy, today even more so than usual for obvious reasons (happy birthday tws <33), but also kind of wonderful, right? It's just all so beautiful, Steve and Bucky's love and Chris and Seb's connection and the whole era that brought us so many amazing things and SO many feels... I miss and love so much, too, darling ❤️ There's so much joy and love all tangled up in those boys for me, and for you, and for lots of other people, and I really think that's beautiful even if it also feels a little bittersweet sometimes. And it brought us all together!

So yeah, I feel you, boo. I'm also feeling very mushy and gushy about them today (and every day) so you're not alone! Sending you all of the hugs, mwah! 😘😘

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I don’t know what to do w this thought bc there is no plot but I’ve been thinking a lot abt stucky Wandavision au w belly kink and it’s just all sweet and innocent at first yk 1950s all pg and sweet and it just dives into an absolutely kinky hellfest of Bucky stuffing Steve making him burst out of his suit each decade with just a fatter Steve with different popular foods of the era and is KSBDKD ekem anyways -🐮

This is gonna be another case of me admitting that I am not a good Marvel fan because... I didn't watch WandaVision 🫣🫣 BUT you're a goddamn genius because that concept is so hot.

With every decade, Steve gets fatter. Fatter and fatter and fatter. Testing the limits of all these different styles of clothes. Finding new favorite types of food. Each morning, Steve leaves their home a little larger and a little slower until... maybe he won't be leaving at all 😳

Warning for stucky belly kink, (probably) historical inaccuratacies, weight gain, stuffing, clothes destruction/tight clothes, immobility, some name calling (pig, whale, etc.), and all that kinky goodness below.

1950s

I'm thinking about the excess that was the 1950s in America.

The post-WWII booming economy lends itself to this picture-perfect life that is seemingly within reach (if you were white, middle class, and heterosexual). A house, a car, a dog, children, etc. And all this overflow - this excess speeds up Steve's gain like nothing else. Bucky is a stay-at-home house husband, while Steve goes out to work; so, that also speeds Steve's gain because Bucky has to keep himself busy, he's got to do something other than clean, launder clothes, pay bills, or whatever. Cooking and grocery shopping fills most of his time in a way he enjoys.

Bucky always ends up cooking too much - making too much food for just the two of them. Then, because he's made too much, he overuses ingredients, and he has to go back to the store to get more... maybe he should get more when he's there? Right? He needs to buy more ingredients so he doesn't have to come as often. Steve ate everything Bucky cooked anyway, so it's not like it was actually too much, right?

Right?

So, at the start of the decade, Steve is nice and strapping. Under his pressed shirt, suit jacket, suspenders, and trousers, he's got a full fucking six pack, tight, high pecs, and broad as hell shoulders with legs that go on for days. But Bucky is getting good at building a soft husband. With every dish he perfects, every meal he cooks, he gets closer and closer to a chubby husband. Every day.

Hamburger, tuna fish, and chicken casseroles; meat loaf; fried chicken and deep-fried vegetables; mac and cheese; spam and canned ham; spareribs and salisbury steak; hot dogs; buttery mashed potatoes; banana cream pies, cherry angel food cake, and pineapple upside-down cake... all popular foods that Steve readily eats. And eats.

No matter how much Bucky makes, Steve will try to finish it all. He deeply appreciates being cooked for and he wants to show his appreciation. Even if, at the start, not everything is perfect.

If Steve doesn't finish it all by dessert, Bucky knows it will be gone by the time he wakes up with Steve in the morning. Steve gets up for work, Bucky gets up to make his hardworking husband breakfast, sending him off with a full belly (nevermind the fact that Steve is still gurgling through his dinner from the day prior and his midnight snack turned midnight feast).

Anyway-

Steve becomes accustomed to coming come from a long day at work to delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. It's never long before Bucky comes out, full frilly apron and all, and steers Steve into their dining room, sitting him down and serving up all the different dishes he's made for that day in a seemingly endless stream.

Steve compliments and moans his way through all of the dishes. Trying every single one. Not just trying a bite of each, but eating the lion's share of every dish. He makes sure Bucky has his fill, but everything else goes toward Steve. He can't help it. He's a stubborn, determined guy. Even if it didn't taste good (which it does, Steve could be convinced he's in heaven), Steve would be eating it all. But it does taste good. And he wants his husband to know he's doing good. So... down it all goes.

Until, by the time dessert is rolled own, Steve has his hands flat on the table over top of his knife and fork where they rest on his placemat. His glass is empty for now, he's gulped down glass after glass of milk with his meal, and he'll have a few more before he's done - the fatty drink bloating him by filling in all the cracks that fold can't fit into. Steve's got his head bowed, and his chest is heaving. Eyes squeezed shut.

Full.

"F-full," Steve puffs out, his lips slick. But, he's not done.

As he's stuffed his face, his tie has shifted to the side, exposing his shirt buttons. A while ago, Bucky helped him messily roll up his shirt sleeves as to not get them (more) dirty. He looks disheveled. Every shallow breath leaves his stretched stomach expanding more, truly testing the limits of his previously nicely starched shirt. Now his shirt is stained. He isn't a messy eater, but with all he's eating, there's no way that he wouldn't drop something on his swelling belly, beginning to split his suspenders apart and crush his belted slacks down.

The more often they do this, the more they settle into this time period, the more the buttons of Steve's shirts gape - little diamonds growing between each button, exposing more and more of his ribbed undershirt.

Someday, they're gonna bust. Coming off one by one. Pop. Pop. Pop. Bucky's toes curl just thinking about it. The release of each one, too tight, Steve's pot belly - his swelling gut, a beer gut under construction - forcing them to come flying off. Then, his belly rounding out. Expanding into the new space. Happy to be released and ready for more with the added space and freedom.

1960s

Bucky mourns the loss of visible straining buttons with the change of fashion following the decade. Or, actually, he mours the loss right up until he gets to stuff his heavier husband again. In his new clothes.

Then, when he does stuff him in this new style (with new foods, of course), Bucky is suddenly much happier. Not just from stuffing him. He's much happier because, as it turns out, the buttons being hidden isn't that bad. Not at all 🤤

With his stuffy little sweater over his dress shirt, covering his tie and gaping buttons and struggling, worn-out belt, Bucky suddenly gains a whole new level of appreciation for sweaters - the sweater makes him look even chunkier. A layer of softness over his softness. Rounding him out even more. Padding him just that little bit more.

The sweater balloons out and out, showing the indents of each straining button underneath until...

His belly gets to be too much, too big, and his sweater creeps up, showing off the bottom of his button-up shirt where it's getting tugged out of his unbearably tightly belted pants.

That little sliver of his shirt. Exposed. It makes Bucky crazy.

And, oh, there's the waist band of his pants (not for long, his belly will start hanging over before long), too. A little bit.

Just a peak.

A tease that leaves Bucky unable to do anything but feed Steve a whole course by hand, packing food into him with the goal to push the hem of his sweater up higher and higher on the dome of his gut. He wants that dress shirt to come untucked from the stretch he's putting Steve's tummy through, too.

He wants it.

He wants to see the slow, drawn-out progression. The tease. Up and up and up; rounder and rounder and rounder.

Another perk of the sweater is the heat it brings. Steve's a big, growing boy, so he already gets hot fast. But, it only gets worse with his fat and added sweater insulation. Now when he stuffs himself - or when Bucky stuffs him - he turns the prettiest pink then red. Glistening with sweat. 🥵

Overtaxed.

Overheated.

Overfed.

More and more every day, more and more every year, Steve looks more overfed. Fatter. Heavier. Rounder.

(That might be the part about time, how it blends into a montage of growth.)

Sweaters and vests aren't Bucky's favorite 60s trend, though. Far from it. Bucky's favorite thing about the 60s is how suddenly everyone is into finger foods.

Deviled eggs, skewered meatballs in sweet-and-sour sauce, celery stuffed with cream cheese, cheese balls, etc. Anything you can eat with your hands, no silverware. Also, with the finger food comes dips. Clam dip, onion dip, and many more that Bucky would've never thought to make on his own. Dips for dipping little bits of food gripped between fingers.

And finger foods are fucking awesome because Steve eats then messily. At first, he shoves them inhumanly fast into his face, moaning and gasping and sighing. He comes home feeling starved (re: after not being stuffed to the brim, hardly able to move, during the workday), and seeing all the little pieces of food turn him into a monster. A hungry beast. He plows through the little morsels. Never getting enough. Steve uses one hand to settle his swelling gut, and his other hand blurs as he rapidly goes between trays of food and his mouth. Again, eating like an animal. An animal of Bucky's making - he trained him to eat like a pig after all.

When Steve finally slows down, rubbing his tummy and patting it, trying to get his belly to digest faster so he can have more, Bucky gets to swoop in. Another reason finger foods are fucking great. He picks up the little foods delicately and tucks them into Steve's still watering mouth.

With every mouthful, Steve's lips and tongue brush his fingers. It's electric, the wet, hot, slick feeling of his mouth. Pure sin.

Bucky's hands are close enough to Steve to feel it when he moans or when he burps, the hot rush of desperate air. Steve only burps around Bucky's fingers when it comes up so suddenly that Steve can't turn his head to the side to burp more politely. Privately, that gives Bucky quite the thrill, his dirty, hungry pig. Burping uncontrollably. Sure, moaning is hot as hell, but there's something extra about his burps.

Also, about the gurgling of his gut.

His gut under that fucking sweater, dress shirt, and tie. Now he's not just bloated anymore, though... not after a decade of stuffing, now he's got fat. His gut is bloated all the time, glutted fully, but he's also fat. He's soft.

He's never been more handsome, but he's only going to get more handsome as he gets fatter.

1970s

With the turn of the decades, Bucky buys himself more clothes and gets himself familiar with rising food trends, and he also does as he always does, buying Steve new clothes, too. Usually, though, he buys what he knows Steve will wear. Just underwear for sleeping. Blue jeans and t-shirts for non work clothes. And formal work clothes. Boring and simple because Steve's never really cared about his body or looks, uncaring so long as he keeps functioning, but he's so handsome it doesn't matter that he doesn't care so much about fashion. This time, though, Bucky also buys what he hopes Steve will wear. Because something catches his eye.

He can't help himself.

He hopes with everything in him, that Steve will wear some of the tiny, little shorts that have come into fashion for men.

He desperately wants to see Steve in tiny shorts.

So, he buys a few pairs. Some jean shorts that look unforgiving and might cut his doughy waist in delicious halves, some softer more sweatpants-like shorts that will be easier on his sensitive, overstuffed body, and a pair that are modeled like women's athletic shorts, just for the shits and giggles of seeing Steve in something designed for athleticism.

Despite buying them with the intention to get Steve in them, Bucky's still not prepared for it when it happens. He doesn't even have to use his puppy dog eyes or have to wait to ask Steve until he's stuffed and pliable! Steve just shrugs and agrees to it. He's gotten more and more pliable (more domesticated) the larger he's gotten. Maybe it's the fat slowing his body and mind down. Maybe it's making him dumber to be full and indulged all the time. Maybe be stuffed satiates him, leaving him without any room to be stubborn or argue.

Either way, Bucky gets Steve into them. And he is unprepared.

Steve is poured into the little shorts. Not only is there no space between his pale, bare thighs, his thighs squish together, trying to find more space - they're so soft, wide, and excessive - and not getting any. His massive ass hangs out the back of the shorts. Dimpled and round. Like cake. Soft, soft cake that Bucky wants to bite.

His poor husband works up a sweat, waddling from one side of the room to the other and back again and again when Bucky tells him to. He wants to see that ass move.

He's. chunked. up.

Also, also, there's his hips. Those trim, little hips are nowhere to be seen. Instead, his tiny waist has expanded. His love handles hang out of his undershirt - a ribbed, white tank top - and lap over the waist of the shorts. His tummy has really, really started hanging recently; it's just as exposed as his fat sides. It's so heavy and large. Swollen like a fat tear drop.

He looks edible.

As compensation for being forced to strut his overweight, plush, pale body around their living room, Bucky feeds him his entire dinner by hand. And he does it from the couch. TV trays have been popular since their inception in the 50s, but Bucky has always gotten more of a kick out of feeding Steve at the table. Progressively watching his belly approach the table, then push over the edge of the table and spill onto his placemat as he's gotten bigger; progressively watching his hips fill his dining chair; progressively watching Steve struggle harder and harder to walk out of the dining room when he's finally finished, stuffed full.

Now, Bucky breaks out the (slightly out of fashion) trays.

He sets up the feast, course by course. Some of it is actual food: pineapple chicken, quiche, stuffed veggies, and cheese logs. Some of it is snacks, more and more processed crap becoming more common: cereal, crackers, chips, etc. And some of it is dessert: carrot cake and pudding.

Before he eats any of it, though, those little shorts are swallowed by Steve's heft. The scrap of fabric is hidden under his massive muffin top. Bucky digs his fingers into those pudgy love handles and groans.

"Gonna feed you outta these," he promises, voice gone all breathy.

Steve bats his eyelashes and lets his mouth drop open, expectant, and so outrageously hot. After the first bite, he speaks, though, chewing, then licking his lips, "you always do."

"Mmm-hmm, you wouldn't know how hard I had to look to find these in your size."

Steve makes a sound, but his mouth is stuffed fill.

"It was so hard. I wonder if they're gonna stop making anything big enough for you soon."

Stee swallows thickly, "they wouldn't."

Bucky stuffs a heaped fork into his mouth. Making a noise of consideration.

"You hear the news, people are just gettin' fatter. Year after year."

"You're getting fatter."

"Uh-huh."

"Gonna get so fat for me."

"I already am. 'M huge."

"Gonna make you fatter. Huger."

"Yeah," Steve moans, his eyes shut, entirely trusting Bucky, "Gonna get too fat for fat America to even keep up with me."

(I know obesity was actually declared an epidemic in the 80s, but shhhh)

1980s

The 80s brings pasta salad, beef stroganoff, sloppy joes, pudding pops, 7-layer dip, blackened meat, bread bowls, cool ranch Doritos, and Hot Pockets. And Steve tackles it all looking like the hottest, fattest bad boy. Maybe like a mobster boss with his light wash jeans that look like they're painted on and his black leather jacket that he can't zip up. He could zip it up around his gut for, like, a week. Then, he outgrew it. Like everything. That gut.

God.

His gut has grown obscenely round. Like a ball. A beach ball. Maybe a small yoga ball. It forces his legs to spread when he walks, even if he isn't full, and it makes his back arch, too.

It's heavy. He complains about it. It's hard to lug around. He gets embarrassed when he's forced to sit down and then get up because he has to put so much effort into getting up. Heaving himself to his feet. Grunting. Bracing his back as if he's expecting. Getting up from the bed in the morning, getting up from the table after breakfast, getting into and out of his car to get to work, getting out of his office chair for lunch, getting out of his lunch chair, and on and on.

He has a hard time moving.

Bucky can tell.

Steve puts on his leather jacket and jeans on the weekend and then parks his ass in his recliner. He only moves when he has to go to the bathroom. Otherwise, he sits all day. Eating. Watching TV. Letting Bucky lower his recliner into a 180° line so Bucky actually has room to ride him. (One of the only ways to have sex now, with how large Steve has grown). There ain't no way Bucky would be able to get to his dick with that fat, thick belly in the way. There isn't even any room on his lap anymore. The monster of always-hungry gut has it monopolized. And his thighs are nearly too wide, too fat for Bucky to comfortably straddle.

But...

Bucky is a little obsessed with his leather jacket.

Sometimes, when he's half riding him, taking his cock, half feeding him a sloppy joe that makes him look like a pig, smeared over his mouth and chin, he will slap Steve's gut until he sucks in with a pained groan. Then, Bucky'll use all his strength to pull the sides of his leather jacket together, and he will wiggle the zipper up as far as it can go.

Steve grunts and moans and burps.

If he has the air, his lungs compressed by his gut, Steve will moan, "it hurts! Buck! I- I can't! M' too full!" But usually he can't even complain. He just has to take it.

When he stops sucking in, the zipper flies down.

Or, it usually does.

One afternoon, the pressure of his fat is too much for his jacket. Steve is bubbly and drunk and burping and Bucky is so close, writhing on top of him. And Steve's gut surprises them both by breaking the zipper.

It bursts open.

Instantly, Bucky's hands are all over that gut, and he's coming. All Steve can do is moan. Blinded with the release. His belly is stretched. Tight. Hanging off of his body. He's gonna fucking pop. Too much.

When did he get this fat?

Why does it make him so horny?

God.

He whines, almost choking out a sob, grabbing for Bucky's still slim hips with fat fingers, as he cries, "more, more, moremoremoremore."

1990s

Steve may spend all of the 90s on a sugar high because he eats like a fucking kid throughout the years. All the sugar. All the processed crap. It's addictive. He swears. They have to put something in it. He smashes through boxes and boxes of snacks. All at once. The amount he goes through in just a week is unbelievable. He's a fucking black hole, well, not exactly... because Bucky knows exactly where all the food goes. His ever-swelling husband.

Steve eats it all, lunchables, hot pockets, bagel bites, pizza rolls, gushers, string cheese, fish sticks, fruit by the foot, toaster strudel, etc.

All literal junk. Junk food.

Bucky feeds him real food, too, of course. But Steve swears it feels like he can't get enough. Not enough food. Not enough of the fake, processed shit. Even when he's fighting his body's physical ability to fit more inside of himself, he can't have enough. He needs more. More sugar that his brain needs. More rich, homemade food that he will always eat, and will especially eat if Bucky gives him those puppy dog eyes, too.

So, what is he supposed to do but eat?

Admittedly, throughout the decades, Steve's never felt this out of control. He is, though. He's so out of control. And it feels so good.

He doesn't want control back. He only wants more.

Despite his vivacious hunger, Steve still can't believe how fast he's piling on the pounds. It's like he can feel himself blowing up. Like, if he leaves a hand on his gut, it'll expand visibly under his palm. Hot, gurgly, and only tight when he's at his absolute maximum. Most of the time, he's officially too fat to know when he's packed to the brim.

Nothing feels better.

Nothing fucks his mind more than thinking when he puts his hands on his body, he'll find a rock hard, bloated tummy only to sink his fingers into jiggly waves of fat; an ocean of fat. And it's all him.

His belly.

His fat.

Steve can, for a little, hide the bloat the shitty food leaves him with with the oversized, still bad-boy, grunge-like clothing of the decade, but he outgrows it so fast that he never can hide it for too long.

Even those JNCO jeans and baggy flannels can't contain his massive body. His belly. His love handles. His ass. His thighs. His rolls. He's too big. Too big for anything to be oversized on him.

Bucky buys him clothes more often throughout this decade than any other. It's not just in Steve's head. He is speeding through the pounds. Day in, day out, he's growing.

He's always eating. Always sweating. Always moaning.

If his mouth isn't full of food, he's sleeping, showering, using his mouth on Bucky, or he's chugging teeth-rotting soda. The carbination makes him burp so easily, and the burps shift all that food inside him around, allowing his belly to create just a little more room. Room that Steve instantly has to fill.

It's kinda like his body is finally taking after his hunger. When there's any tiny amount of space in his belly, his mind tells him he's starving and he has to fill it; if there's a tiny amount of slack in his clothes, his body expands to fill it. With so much fat and so much food, Steve's eyes are heavily lidded constantly. He feels drunk all the time when he's pigged out. Slow and lazy and uncoordinated. All he can do is let Bucky feed him and let Bucky take pleasure in his blubbery, irresistible body.

2000s

Diets, raw diets, explode in the 2000s, but Bucky won't let Steve hear a word of it. He skips the fruit smoothies and salads and replaces them for Steve with more junk food. Pepsi. Energy drinks. Cupcakes. Cake pops. Pizza. There's also, again, meatloaf and mac 'n cheese. Chicken pot pie, too.

Steve keeps going. He keeps stuffing down junk on top of all the actual food. He keeps gaining and gaining and gaining. It's a barrage, constantly, of food.

"Buck," Steve's loose lips slur, "'m-I'm fat."

"You're not just fat, Stevie. You're huge. A hog. Massive. Enormous. A whale. Immense. A fucking yoga ball of blubber, baby."

"Yeah," Steve whines, rubbing the bloated sides of his gut that he can reach. "Fat."

"No, baby, you're more than fat. You're massive. Say it-" Bucky commands, jiggling his heavy belly.

"I'm m-massive."

"So fucking fat that I can't believe it. Need more words to tell you how huge you are."

Steve just shivers, looking as if he's suspended in orgasm. Getting off on being told how unbelievably big he has grown to be, and how much more bigger he is going to get.

Regardless of his size, Bucky isn't so sure that Steve is aware of the change in style. He's pretty sure he's just aware of his inflating body and the food. The new foods. The returning foods.

Into the Future

When he's not working, Bucky swears Steve is constantly in a food coma. Even when his eyes are open, he's all dopey. Zoned out and happier than Bucky has ever seen him so long as he's eaten within the last 30 minutes.

What a big, fat dumbass.

The perfect husband.

I don't even know what alternative universe this is; I didn't think this far because this is just a mess of horny, but I would like to imagine that by this point (the 2010s, 2020s, etc.), they have more than enough money to retire, OR maybe Steve is still working for a while, but he starts being able to work from home with computers becoming better and more common, so he doesn't have to leave. No more calories wasted by needing to walk or spend lunch away from his feeder husband.

But, just because he can, he still forces himself into clothes. At first. He doesn't need to because he's not seeing anyone else, he may as well be naked all day every day, exposing his white, soft fat that's striped with stretch marks from decades of indulgence, ballooning like biscuit dough from a little cardboard tube.

Still, he keeps forcing himself into clothes for some time.

He does it until he can't.

It happens seemingly overnight.

Suddenly, he's too fat. Too big. Even his shirts large enough to look like a tent on a normal sized human are too small. He can hardly walk by himself, so, of course, dressing himself is out of the question. His body is just too big. Round. Heavy. All he's good for is eating.

He's overqualified for stuffing himself. It's all he's been focusing on for decades, after all. Steve always ate like it was his job, packing down delicious, fatty calories by inhaling food until he was on the cusp of bursting, forming new stretch marks before Bucky's very eyes, but now it is his job.

"Grow for me," Bucky whispers worshipfully, "that's all you gotta do, baby. Grow." Crawling all over his overflowing body.

And grow Steve does.

Until he's bigger than he could've ever imagined being.

Steve's stomach is massive - a huge, round, plush ocean of fat attached to his front. Thick and blubbery. His ass is dimpled and just as massive with thighs to match. His heavy body leaves him lumbering and waddling whenever he does manage to get up. Awkward but also so fucking hot with the way he jiggles all over as he manages one foot in front of the other.

Meanwhile, Bucky spends his time still cooking but also loving on his massive husband. He's always worshipping all that fat, massaging and groping and fucking it. He's irresistible. Unbelievably attractive in his truest form - a show winning hog.

As Bucky feeds and fucks his rolls, Steve just lies there, his head tipped back, food in his plush mouth, panting. Chest heaving; moobs wobbling. Splattering come somewhere deep in his rolls as his fat rubs and moves against him just right - that's all the stimulation he gets these days, his dick has been swallowed by his lard.

There isn't a time when Steve isn't stuffed to feeling as if he's gonna pop. Even though it takes so much more to fill his stretched-out tummy these days. Even in the middle of the night (because Bucky wakes him up to funnel shakes or melted ice cream straight into his ever-expanding gut).

By this point in their long lives, Steve's the size of their mattress.

A full, huge glutton.

And Steve doesn't want to stop. Neither does Bucky. With every mouthful of food, Steve moans just as loud as he always has, praising Bucky's cooking like he's a God (and he practically is at this point, he's spent so many years perfecting his craft). Plus, Steve's just as eager to try new foods. Still, Steve's just as pleased to add pounds, stretch marks, and rolls to his oversized body. The only difference is that now, popping buttons or bursting seams are not bench marks for his gain. Now, the signs of his growth come from the creaking, then the cracking of the slats underneath his massive body.

One day, the bed is going to give out. And he's only going to groan for more food - not for it to be fixed where he lies in the middle of the shattered bed frame, unable to do anything about his predicament. He can't even think about it. All he can think about is how hungry he is. His stomach is packed, and he doesn't know where any food is going to go, but he needs it. He needs to keep chewing, to keep growing, to keep feeding. Please. Please. Please. It's all he needs. He's addicted.

In conclusion:

[ephemeralbutterfly]

Fluffy Steve Fest Rec List: July 3: Eras

Hello everyone! I am doing daily themed rec lists for @fluffystevefest. The fics are related (some more loosely than others) to the daily prompts. The number of fics for any given day and prompt varies, but I have at least one fic for each day. There's also a wide variety of fic types and ratings, so I hope there will be something for everyone.

The lists are vertically long, so I've put them behind a cut.

Today feature two entries in an outsider-POV series, plus a separate sexy fic.

Showboy

Captain America Has a Fella by PR Zed (@trappingsofzed)

Rating: General Pairing: Stucky Summary: "Welcome to the USO," the director tells Audrey. And with a handshake, she's in. Six month she's been in New York, slinging hash in a diner and going to every audition she hears about. Now she's finally got a job dancing. She's ecstatic. She's not so sure about working with this Captain America guy, though. Or how one showgirl finds out there's more to Captain America than meets the eye. Comments: Part one of one my favorite comfort series (some of the other installments will show up later today and later this week). It's an outsider POV of Steve's time in the USO, with a focus on his friendship with one of the dancers.

Soldier

Lavender and Lace by kaasknot (@kaasknot)

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Steve/Peggy Summary: "Oh, this man. Peggy feels ten feet tall, she feels powerful, she feels tender and generous as a queen to her supplicant, and the urge to take him down to his barest essence rises hot and dark in her belly. But not yet. There will be time for that later, after they've sounded each other out, learned how far they can push. They're early steps on that road, and patience is a virtue, they say." Comments: A sweet and sexy interlude for Steve and Peggy during the war. Doesn't really focus on the soldier part of Steve's life at this time, but it is rather difficult to find fluff about war for obvious reasons.

Icon

Captain America Is Out and Proud by PR Zed (@trappingsofzed)

Rating: Teen Pairing: Stucky Summary: The truly terrible thing about waking up in the future, thinks Steve, is that everyone who looks at him sees Captain America, national icon. An icon 70 years in the making, never mind that he's really only lived 25 years. (Years don't count if you spend them in the ice, do they?) Or what happens when Steve runs into an old friend from the USO. Comments: Part two of the Captain American Has a Fella series; I do recommend reading part one prior. I love that the author gives Steve a friend from his past who is still alive and mentally whole and also acknowledges Steve's grief. Note that this one is more angsty than the prior installment, more along the lines of hurt/comfort.

[st-eve-barnes]

Twenty Questions For Fic Writers

Thank you for the tags @whitedarkmoonflower @arcielee and @lord-aldhelm❤️

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

Apparently 80 (when did that happen??)

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

702,386

3. what fandoms do you write for?

At the moment House of the dragon and other Ewan characters, previously The Last Kingdom, Stranger Things and a LOT of MCU

4. top five fics by kudos: After All Someone like you Heart to love All I wanted was you Nothing but a bad dream

(these are all Steve and/or Bucky fics)

5. do you respond to comments?

Of course! If I don't it's because I forgot but I always try to reply to every comment as I want people to know I really appreciate them.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I usually write happy endings or at least open endings but once I wrote this little heartbreaking Bucky fic called Oblivion that has the saddest ending

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'd say 95% of my fics have a very happy ending

8. do you get hate on fics?

I'm sure I have in all those years of writing but honestly I can't recall anything specific right now so it clearly hasn't stuck with me ;)

9. do you write smut?

Does the pope shit in the woods?🤭🤭 (the answer is yes, YES, a lot of smut)

10. craziest crossover?

I don't usually do crossovers so nothing crazy but I did write one fic combining modern Aegon and Sihtric from The last kingdom called You know that I'm no good

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a few people have come to me in the past to ask me if they could translate a fic and I gave permission both times on the condition that they link to my original fic

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I'm bad at group projects lol

14. all time favorite ship?

Used to be Stucky and I still think it's one of the best ships out there but atm it's more like Aegon-me-Aemond (I'm in my self indulgent era🤭🤭)

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh god, After All, it always comes down to that fic, it's the best thing I've ever written and I really want to finish it one day but as it's an old fandom I'm no longer in I don't know if I'll ever really get back to it.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Dialogue!

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Everything else lol

Mostly descriptions, setting the scene, creating the world and the set, it is so fucking hard for me.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I've done it before and it can really work in a fic. I wrote a Bucky fic once where he barely speaks and the few words he does say are in Romanian. It was a real challenge, esp for me as I LOVE dialogue so much, but it turned out so much better than I expected. Fic is called The man on the train

19. first fandom you wrote in?

MCU and more specifically Loki

20. favorite fic you've written?

Oh that's a tough one, I'll go with one I just reread this week and it's a modern Aemond fic called Into my arms

No pressure tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @aemonds-fire @sapphire-writes @exitpursuedbyavulcan

@bhxrdy @sylasthegrim @officialaemondtargaryen

[boxofbonesfic]

but PoC are too far outside of your lived experience?/

I'm sending this on anon because people are psycho and I don't want to get doxxed, but this discourse over the last few days has had me laughing and rolling my eyes. The excuses people are coming up with to avoid being inclusive are hilarious.

First of all, Bones, I heart you, and I'm so glad I came across your page.

Let me tell you my secret. I write for Stucky. I'm a relatively 'popular' author for them on Ao3. I've gotten some really great reviews on my stories and I cherish every one. You know what's funny? I'm not a white male gay supersoldier. Never been. Not yesterday, not today, and probably not tomorrow. I am literally the opposite of every word I've written in that sentence. And it hasn't made a damn difference. The issue of my race has never even come up between me and my readers, and why would it?

Someone once commented that one of my stories was the best thing they'd ever read, and that shit hit different, because all I did was sit down and write stories from the heart. I'm not saying this to brag AT ALL. I'm not trying to be obnoxious. I'm just saying that writing characters who are opposite to me in every conceivable way was just something I was able to do out of love and respect for the craft, and love and respect for people of all stripes. I didn't need to live their experience.

I've never been a white man in love with his best guy in an era when they'd be jailed or worse if they got caught fooling around in their dusty little apartment. I've never had the unique heartbreak of not being recognized by the love of my life as he tries to shoot me in the face, or the grief of regaining my memories and knowing I tried to kill the person I'd have laid my life down for in a heartbeat.

You don't need to look like me in order for me to embrace you and try to do you justice on the page. I don't think I'm some saint or some special unicorn for this. I'm not special. I wholeheartedly think anybody could do it. All I did was try, and somehow it's been working out. So I'm having a really hard time grasping that people don't even want to try to write anything outside their own lived experience. If you all simply don't want to write for people who don't look like you, just say so.

“All I did was try”

THANK YOU.

[alwaysonlineau]

hi! welcome to the always online au!

for anyone who was into the hype of parkner back in late 2019/the early quarantine days, this might be a little bit familiar to you. basically, this is a social media au for marvel that i created when getting into parkner and thompsborn and when one of the main wlw ships was mj/shuri. it consisted of screenshots of (obviously fake) social media accounts (mainly twitter) of some of the marvel characters and it was mostly shitposting with a tiny hint of a plot. however, because of the mental health kick that came with quarantine, i ended up deleting the account while in a depression drop.

it’s been over 3 years and i honestly miss making this au, as it was just fun and gave me something to do, and a few days ago i realized that i still have the apps i used when i originally made this au and all of the fake tweets and messages were still on them, so… well.

basically, i decided to bring it back!

so, if you don’t remember or never saw this au when it was originally happening, you might have some questions! under the cut is a very basic q&a:

what is the always online au about?

nothing! also everything! like i said, it was entirely a shitpost account that very vaguely had a plot, but it was 100% just something i did in my free time for fun!

it’s essentially me throwing my sense of humor in a box with ships and characters that i like and then violently shaking it until something that i find funny comes out and then i would post it !!

ships and characters? which ones?

like i mentioned above, i made this during like the late 2019-2020 era of parkner hype, so, obviously, it was mainly parkner (peter parker/harley keener) BUT it also features many other marvel ships! i am going to be changing the ships up a bit to better match my current preferences. i’ll include a list of ships below this paragraph, but first, this is also going to include PLENTY of platonic/familial dynamics as well! so if you love stucky, sorry they aren’t dating in this but they are obviously besties, and there’s irondad, stuff like that, okay? i’ll try to include it all!

ships:

parkner (peter parker/harley keener)

ironhusbands (tony stark/james rhodes)

gwemj (gwen stacy/michelle jones)

peppermay (pepper potts/may parker)

sambucky (sam wilson/bucky barnes)

thompsborn (harry osborn/flash thompson)

nedbetty (ned leeds/betty brant)

thorbruce (thor/bruce banner)

and more that i will add to this list as i figure them out! suggestions are more than welcome!

characters include everyone in the above mentioned ships (obviously lol) as well as any and all marvel/mcu characters that feel relevant to include! such as:

happy hogan

shuri

t’challa

the guardians of the galaxy

matt, foggy and karen from daredevil

funny accounts for villains

norman osborn (ew)

loki (and maybe mobius? maybe include that ship too? i haven’t watched loki season 2 yet so we’ll see i guess lmao)

and more! again, i am open to suggestions!

if anyone has ideas for characters, ships, or dynamics to include, feel free to message me or send an ask!!

how often should i expect updates?

that one is kind of tricky, because i am an adult with a full time job who is also balancing hobbies and family and everything all at the same time. this is something that i’ll try to work on during my free time, and when i did this before it wasn’t hard to make updates once i figured out what i wanted to do for them, but still, my free time kind of depends on the day and the week.

i’m not going to commit to a strict schedule, but i don’t work weekends so my goal is to update every weekend! if i miss a weekend, i’ll try to get it posted during the week, and if i have a week with extra free time, i’ll do some additional posts as well.

i’ll do my best to be regular with it!!

anything else i should know?

yes! this is an ongoing creative project that i’m doing for fun, and i want it to be fun for anyone and everyone who may come across it! that means i want it to be interactive!! this is something i did before, as well.

for instance, when i was running this au in 2019/2020, someone sent an ask wanting to see harley finding out about the vulture after him and peter start dating, so i answered the ask with this:

obviously this au isn’t picking up from where the old one left off, so those tweets are not considered canon to the current always online au, BUT that’s just an example! i want people to feel free to send in asks and questions for the characters or for situations, and i will do my best to make it fit into the canon of the au!!

i think that’s it?

if anyone has any additional questions, comments, or concerns they would like me to address, feel free to send them in! i’m going to try to get the first update of this au posted today (october 17, 2023) but no promises! if not today, it WILL be up tomorrow!

once the official au is being posted, i’m also going to create a pinned post that links to this one as well as all the au updates and anything else necessary to include (like the tagging system i’m going to create and things like that) so that will be posted shortly after the first update is out! for now, thank you for reading!

i hope to see you guys always online ;)

[buckymilf]

it's 10 am and I'm longing for the stucky fandom era from 2014... i was i was there, it was such a huge fandon back then, it literally bursted the shipping bubble and even the big media was commenting about it... fics were being written like crazy, arts at every second, tumblr was literally all about steve rogers and bucky barnes metas... wish i had experienced that.

[ladyluscinia]

Ok on one hand shutup-shutup-shutUP there's nothing that says cast votes based on fandom history every poll comparing broad spectrum big ships does not have to be about voting for whichever ship was bigger first until you can crown Spirk the champion because nothing bigger predated it especially since we literally already have that data.

But also.

Why. Is there this... fixation? On treating fandom history like it's this ever shrinking pyramid? BlackBonnet can't be bigger than Stucky which can't be bigger than Destiel. Destiel stands on the shoulders of MulderScully which stands on the shoulders of Spirk. Every accomplishment is inherently smaller than the accomplishment before because who is going to invent fandom again??? We're just measuring relevance based on degrees from the ur-fandom and how many "lesser" big names have to go through X to get there.

Which is like. Such a dumb way of looking at it?

Like Destiel can't possibly have invented slash fandom because Lazarus Rising aired in 2008. Slash existed by then. There was a Destiel fic online that night. Nor could it have invented shipping culture that engaged with the possibility of becoming canon. But in the same way, Spirk and MulderScully couldn't have done what Destiel did - a decade long will they / won't they between two male leads that came within a hairsbreadth of landing unambiguously on *will* by strength of relationship subtext alone. Including a canon romantic love confession.

Spirk's slash fandom could only have been canon queercoded "friendship". MulderScully's romance canon vs platonic canon fandom could only have been about a M/F ship. "They were the blueprint" but also Destiel's final building doesn't match the blueprints in a couple of really impressive key areas? Does a groundbreaking innovation on a skyscraper make it inherently more important than the first skyscraper? Not necessarily.

But it's so weird to act like it inherently makes it lesser.

Like who the fuck knows if BlackBonnet has staying power as ship once its short streaming series ends, but the fandom did rocket up the ratings by sheer amount and rate of content created for a story unambiguously about the two male leads having a silly adventure where they fall in love. If they do that again over the next month or two, and then again post-S3? It could absolutely become a juggernaut ship of the transition era from canon gay side pairings or series finales only -> mainstream major romance arcs for gay leads. And that would be a huge accomplishment?

Fandom is transformative, and milestone ships and shows transform fandom. We aren't taking progressively smaller and smaller steps forward? You can respect history without pretending that nothing will ever be that big or important again?

There's probably a writer right now who had an idea during the strike that will go through iterations and somehow end up part of the next massive innovation of "the blueprint", and that's awesome!

I'm looking forward to it!

[wolveria]

May I make a song rec to my fellow crosshunt shippers? It’s one of my top stucky songs but it really fits crosshunt. Angsty but hopeful.

Resistance by Muse

A love that must be kept secret but is their form of rebellion and their escape. In the end they run away together. I’m in my every song is a crosshunt song era lol.

In my head tech and wrecker (and later echo) would know about and support them. But the Kaminoans/outsiders can’t be trusted.

“(It could be wrong, could be wrong) To let our hearts ignite

(It could be wrong, could be wrong) Are we digging a hole?

(It could be wrong, could be wrong) This is out of control”

“Love is our resistance

They'll keep us apart, and they won't stop breaking us down

Hold me

Our lips must always be sealed”

“We can't pretend

We must run

We must run

It's time to run

Take us away from here

Protect us from further harm

Resistance”

Muse is always a good choice, and that's a perfect Crosshunt song!

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

The Shield Bearer - Rated E, WWII Stucky, Canon era, Hurt/Comfort

It wasn’t that Bucky was staring at Steve’s ass, per se. It was the item in the man’s back pocket that held his gaze; the paperback Steve read whenever they stopped to rest, eyes gone distant as he pondered its contents. Bucky couldn’t help but see his Steve Rogers in that dreamy face.

The book was there now even as Steve graciously and generously doled out handshakes and cheek kisses. Bucky observed that his hand went to it exactly twenty-two times to reassure himself it was still there. He also noticed that Steve seemed completely sober.

He’d always been a lightweight, literally, back home. One good swig of a beer would damn near make him tip over. Two cans in, and he’d have been falling down on his face. Bucky had lost track of the times he’d picked Steve up by the scruff of his neck and marched him home before he picked a fight he couldn’t win.

“Whatcha doin,’ Buck?” he’d complain, tripping over his feet to keep up. “I’m fine, I tell ya!’ Fine!”

Bucky would shake his head and guide Steve out of traffic and back onto the sidewalk. “Sure ya’ are, pal.”

It wasn’t like that now. Bucky had witnessed with his own eyes as the man downed six cans in a matter of minutes to quench his thirst. And then a glass of something that smelled stronger than gasoline was pushed into his hand. Then another. And another. And still Steve looked out of the clearest blue-green eyes as he checked for Bucky’s location.

It was unnatural. 

It was also infuriating. Why did Steve have to keep looking at him like that? He had everything he wanted; fame, money, admiration. Everyone thought him a hero; he could practically take on the whole of the Axis countries himself. What was so important about a loser he once knew back in New York?

Bucky moved further away, stationing himself by the exit behind a chattering, guffawing group of soldiers. They were leaning against each other and laughing, racing along in their own tongue and ignoring Bucky.

But Steve found him once again, with that large hand on his hip, checking that the book sat snug in the tightness of his stupid uniform. He’d repositioned between two men who had begun to sing at raucous decibels, trying to connect with Bucky’s soul.

And Bucky felt it then, the twist in his chest that had nothing to do with hunger. He’d skipped the alcohol and figs and bread, knowing full well that others needed it more than he. No, this was something to do with matters of the heart.

Bucky was proud of Steve. The bastard.

The woman who grabbed Steve’s arm next was gorgeous. In fact, every woman they’d met since arriving in Greece was. Her hair was a sleek brown and her eyes warm and she gazed up at Steve like he was —

Bucky had to get out of there. Fast.

It was cooler outside between the two-story buildings. The alley was narrow and open to the stars. Bucky hurried to the end, turning onto the dusty street, hoping Steve had been too preoccupied to see him go.

He walked fast. It was dark now. The city was under the protection of the rebels, so he needn’t worry about running into the enemy. The problem was the enemy was also himself.

Maybe he could lose himself for a while. Find an unoccupied corner for a few hours, a patch of ground that was his alone. Maybe he could unscramble these feelings he had. Get a grip on something he didn’t understand at all.

A few streets away, he encountered a woman with sun-wrinkled skin, her gray hair covered in a shawl, carrying a lamp and a full bag swung over her shoulder. She took one look at Bucky and froze. Her hand covered her mouth and she began backing away. But not before she gave him a lashing at the top of her voice.

Bucky held up his hands to signal he wasn’t a threat, but it was too late. She’d already determined he was untrustworthy. Around them, people began gathering. Apparently, she’d sounded the alarm, and they’d come to her rescue.

Two stern-looking gentlemen approached without fear while the woman continued to shout. It was clear they intended to confront him. Bucky struggled for the words that Gabe had attempted to teach him.

“Friend!” he tried in what he knew to be a horrible accent. “America! Soldier!”

The men recognized the last word, for their intent to protect solidified on their concerned faces. If Bucky didn’t identify himself soon, if he wasn’t successful in convincing them he meant no harm —

Too late, he was caught. Strong hands held him back as the crowd approached. It didn’t look good at all.

And then?

A voice. Impossibly deep, a rumble of thunder that parted the throng and commanded their attention.

Eyes swiveled, heads turned as the newcomer pushed his way through. He was speaking their language, and they were listening. And when the man slapped a gigantic hand to Bucky’s shoulder and smiled like the fucking sun, the two men released their hold and stood as if dumbfounded.

Bucky didn’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell. This was Steve, but it wasn’t. He’d been approached by an imposter, a body double, an unknown.

The old woman, shorter than most of the others, pushed her way through to the middle. There, she glared up at Steve, challenging him in her loud, gravelly voice. Rogers listened, nodding his head, and then spoke again. He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder. The street went quiet.

The woman’s face quite suddenly shifted into disbelief, whipping her head around to study Bucky. She looked into his eyes first with fright, then with pity, and, finally, with kinship.

She shoved her pack into Steve’s arms. He nearly dropped it from the shock. She turned to Bucky and snatched at the pack strap, tugging so hard he nearly lost his balance. There were more words with Steve, and then more pulling. It appeared she was taking Bucky with her.

A glance over his shoulder showed Steve smiling and nodding, mouthing, “It’s OK.” He fell into step after the woman. Bucky didn’t know what to think.

She let go of the strap yet continued to walk, waving her hands and bubbling over like a boiled pot. Every few steps, she would turn and shake her finger at Bucky, lowering her voice and frowning deeply.

Then she resumed her quick march up the street.

Steve fell into step beside him, and Bucky opened his mouth to ask. But the Captain shushed him and lifted his chin, indicating they should follow without question.

Eventually, the woman stopped in front of a building that was probably quite handsome at one point. She spoke to Steve for a few moments, tone scolding as he nodded enthusiastically. It looked in need of a paint job and a few window panes were cracked.

When she turned to Bucky and grabbed his chin with a dry, gnarled hand, her eyes were kind. She whispered something, patted his cheek, then motioned for him to follow her inside.

Steve bumped shoulders with him. Well, Bucky’s shoulder to his bicep, anyway. “Come on. She’s invited us to dinner.”

They entered the building to more sounds of shouting. The woman was bellowing as if she intended to wake the dead. From the innards of the house came four people; two men, a woman, and a pre-teen boy. They met Bucky and Steve with the same expressions; fear, sorrow, then eagerness.

The older man took the bag from Steve, and the younger one followed him into an open space with a large, worn wooden table. There, the two began to unload the packages; cans, ration packets, bandages, and the like. Meanwhile, the older woman chattered at Steve, who responded in turn, and then she pushed the boy out the front door with some sort of order.

The younger woman had a similar face to the older one; Bucky deduced it was her daughter. Mother and daughter shared an animated exchange, and then they, too, disappeared into the kitchen.

Bucky took a moment to catch his breath as Steve crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“What the hell was that?”

Steve smiled crookedly, watching the activity in the other room instead of facing Bucky’s questioning gaze.

“Easy. I saved your ass. They thought you were some kind of militant, and they were about to lock you up in a barn somewhere without any food and water, and then ransom you off to the highest bidder.”

Bucky gaped at him. “They what?”

Steve nodded, still smirking, as if he were enjoying this. “Yep. Turns out, these people belong to a community of local Jews. They were tipped off by a German businessman about the Balkans being taken away by train. They’re working with the Rabbi in Volos to save their compatriots in Greece. I convinced them you were my brother, and that we’re from the Jewish part of New York. They insist we stay to eat and share news from home.”

Bucky blinked as he watched the family set about stashing the rations and getting to work with pots and pans. “So you just convinced them that Captain America is Jewish?”

Steve laughed and slapped a hand to Bucky’s shoulder, shaking him vigorously. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He uncrossed his beastly thighs and pushed away from the wall, preparing to join their hosts.

But Bucky wasn’t finished. “How did you do that?”

Steve turned slightly but not enough to see his whole face. “Do what?”

Bucky so wanted to punch him just then. “Speak to them!”

There was the briefest hint of eye contact before Steve put his hand on his back pocket. He retrieved the book and slapped it hard against Bucky’s stomach. 

And then he walked away.

After recovering from a good solid hit to the bread basket, Bucky looked inside the tattered cover of the book. 

Greek words and phrases for beginners.

“Oh.”

The chaos that ensued left Bucky feeling like an outsider. Three different conversations happened over the preparation of food, none of which he could understand. He pulled up a chair next to Steve and watched with growing interest as his friend tried to help wash vegetables.

Bucky caught the man’s pants pocket and reeled him back in. This he knew about.

“Hey,” he hissed into Rogers’ ear. “What happens at my house when you try to help?”

The confused expression on Steve’s face fell into recognition. He was used to living with Sarah, single mom for a long time, before the fend-for-yourself that happened in their apartment. “Your Ma’ would box my ears.”

“Uh-huh. Now sit your ass down and be polite. These people are starving, yet they’re willing to feed us like honored guests.”

Sheepish, Steve obeyed with hunched shoulders and bowed head. Bucky thought he saw a glimpse of his small friend inside.

Just as the food was about to be served, more people arrived. The boy who’d been sent away returned, carrying Steve and Bucky’s heavy packs, no less. He’d also brought with him three other boys, all of which had been needed to haul the supplies from the celebration hall. They beamed at Steve, who flashed a radiant smile and pulled something out of his shirt pocket for each of them.

The patch all of the Howlie’s wore: the shield with its wing.

Before Bucky could ask, Steve explained. “Stark gave them to me. I’ve been handing them out to kids for months. They’re spread out all over Europe at this point.”

Something twanged inside Bucky’s chest. There was so much good in him.

It was a fabulous meal (a bone broth with various vegetables to make up for the lack of meat), punctuated by the guilt Bucky felt for taking it. But Steve promised he’d fill their stash with more staples in the morning. 

They’d also been offered a room for the night. “They want to give us a quiet night’s rest. They’ve offered to sit up in shifts to make sure nothing happens.”

Bucky’s heart clenched with appreciation for these strangers.

The conversation switched from shouting and hand waving after the meal to quiet, intent faces as Steve spoke to them about their missions. Bucky watched emotion play out on the family’s faces as he told his stories. It appeared they wanted the bad news with the good. They asked questions and nodded with serious frowns. 

They were frightened.

Bucky showed them the small pictures of his mom and dad. The old woman, whose name was Nina, patted his cheek fondly and pointed at his mother. Bucky didn’t need to know the language to understand.

They had a son, twenty, who joined the local defenders and hadn’t been home in weeks. Steve took a picture and promised to pass it around. Maybe someone would know something.

It was late by the time Bucky and Steve were shown to the guest bedroom, a ten-by-ten space with one metal bed. Steve thanked them repeatedly and before the door was closed, Bucky got a hug from Nina.

The two men stood facing each other but avoided the others’ gaze. Steve spoke first.

“I suppose we’re going to fight over who gets the bed, too.”

It was a good, honest right hook.

Bucky sighed heavily and swiped a hand over his face. “I don’t want to fight, Steve. It’s just —“

He looked into that face, the same eyes and nose and lips and —

“I’m just angry at everything.”

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t nod or shrug or anything. “The guys mentioned it. A few times.”

Bucky groaned. “Of course they did.”

The piteous look Rogers threw him was harsh. “They care about you, Buck.”

Bucky knew this. But the way it was said made it sound as if Steve was the worried one.

He studied the bed and remembered how they shared one for years in the apartment. It was a comfort thing. It was a heat thing. It was a — a Steve thing.

“We can share,” Bucky said, resolving himself to accept this monster of a man as his friend. The heart of him had swelled along with his body, and Bucky found he couldn’t justify staying angry with him.

They undressed without speaking, removing boots and socks, belts and trousers. Steve unbuttoned his shirt with fat, clumsy fingers, and Bucky was struck with the idea that Rogers wasn’t used to his body yet, either.

Stripped to their bvds and undershirts, they moved side by side near the bed. The quilt had been pulled down and the pillows propped against the head stand. They sat together as they stood. Steve’s knee bumped Bucky’s, their elbows connected. And the bed?

Creeaaaaaakk!

Steve and Bucky burst into laughter at the sound.

“I ain’t sleeping a wink on this thing,” Bucky said.

Steve’s laugh sounded so, so good. “Me neither. How about we camp on the floor?”

“Sounds like a plan, Cap.”

They unpacked their bedrolls and stole the pillows and quilt from the bed. Bucky turned out the light as Steve sank onto his side, turning his back to Bucky’s roll.

They lay side by side for a long time, Bucky on his back and Steve on his side, facing away. Neither slept, neither moved or made any attempt to. For Bucky’s part, his mind was racing with the events of that night.

Finally, Steve spoke. “What’s eating you, Buck?”

In the dark, Bucky could have easily believed it was his Steve, home after a long day, with Bucky lost in thought. Steve constantly worried about him. Whether he was happy or sad, angry or fired up. The night always seemed to make his anxiety worse.

Bucky’s mouth was dry. He traced over the knuckles on his own hand, lying over his heart, trying to put it into words.

He settled on, “I miss you.”

Steve’s inhale was sharp and rang like an echo in the small room. “But I’m right here.”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s not you who’s missing. It’s me.”

The bedroll beside him rustled as Steve shifted onto his back, too. Before he dove into deeper worry, Bucky continued.

“I lost part of myself in that Hydra Facility. I’m not the same person now.”

Steve grunted as he rolled again. Bucky could feel warm breath on his cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

So that was it. Rogers was trying to atone for something entirely out of his control.

Typical.

“You don’t have to keep protecting me,” Bucky said, feeling the crushing pressure in his chest now. “Just like I need to stop looking after you.”

Something moved in the dark, and a large, warm hand found his. Bucky froze.

“That’s not what this is about. This is about friends watching out for each other, not because we’re supposed to. Because we want to.”

And, oh, did that hurt?

More silence followed. Steve’s hand was hot and heavy over Bucky’s, just lying there, unmoving.

“I saved your Brooklyn butt twice today,” Steve finally said, voice lighter, trying to soften the mood.

The old sense of competitiveness raised its head, and Bucky snorted in reply. “If we’re going to keep track, I think we have to go all the way back to the beginning.”

They did, go back. Silently. Each following a path inside their own heads, remembering what they had been through. Childhood friends. Teen rivals. Confused young men who sometimes weren’t that great to each other. 

And now?

Steve’s hand moved, sliding over Bucky’s chest to the opposite side. He moved closer, shifting sideways until he was so close that absolutely no one in the world would see them as brothers.

“Shut up now and get some sleep.”

Bucky’s heart thundered in his chest and he feared that Steve would feel it. He turned away, but Steve followed. His heavy arm draped over Bucky’s ribcage, chest pressed against Bucky’s back, sturdy chin bumping the top of Bucky’s head.

Steve chuckled, and Bucky’s stomach did a flip.

“What?”

More chuckling, low and deep. “There was a time when my head fit under your chin.”

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