He was the best friend, the trigger finger, the handsome fella who lost to a man with a better heart. Luckily, Bucky faked the cocky smirk well-enough. For all of Steve’s brilliance, the mix of love and adrenaline had him distracted. Perfect. When Agent Carter came into the dance hall in her stunning red dress, he predicted their bright future stretched out with ease. Sunshine didn't belong to someone who couldn’t feel a damn thing, remember everyone good he killed, and be happy when he didn’t have the strength.

“I’m invisible. I’m…I’m turning into you. It’s like some horrible dream.”

Exit Stage left. Bid goodbye. His part was over, and he should have beamed instead of ached. Bucky should have been their precious ghost. He should have stayed a memory.

This time he’d do this second chance right because he loved them both:

He studied Amity's attempt to climb up Steve’s wide back. The way his sniper-like focus trained on their relaxed smiles and how he’d never seen such beautiful pairs of blue. “You would look darlin’ together, you know?” A practiced grin and an even stronger lie. “When are you two gonna give a go at it?” There was something about the tenor of his words that didn’t reach his eyes.

     GRIEF IS A FUNNY THING. it’s complicated and messy, and it’s an impossibly difficult thing to navigate. the thunderer has lost so, so much, and in such a short time; his guilt and grief is tremendous. the one who was once a bastion of HOPE within the team has turned inward, and it has not been easy to pry him out of the pit he seemingly tries to dig himself into. 

     THIS HELPS, THOUGH. this closeness, this comfort, this — this. this familiarity, this closeness. 

     THE ADMISSION comes with a low sound of his own, and it’s not clear whether it’s agreement or acknowledgement, but it’s coupled with a short exhale, even and measured. he lets himself be pulled in without resistance, though, and he just takes a long moment to exist in that moment, his hands coming to rest on steve’s waist and holding him close. the warmth of being so close is a comfort, and he, too, lets his eyes close. 

She’s been around the studio for a few weeks now. She tends to stick with the same artists as long as she can. There’s a lot of trust involved in allowing someone to use your naked body as a canvas, to transform your body into whatever vision they see for the sake of art. She likes Steve. He’s quiet, conscientious. And he’s so thoughtful, always checking in with her, making sure she’s comfortable. Other artists haven’t been so kind. And besides, she does rather love his art.

@valueofpower || that’s dirty || accepting

@valueofpower || SEND “💋” FOR A GIF OF HOW MY MUSE WOULD KISS YOURS. || accepting

any verse where they married:

@valueofpower || all about pregnancy || ACCEPTING

     Peggy’s fingers pause where they’ve been running over his scalp absentmindedly. Steve had been sitting with his head in her lap as she’d read a novel, but he’s turned now, head lifted. His words had seemingly come from nowhere but she can tell from the look on his face that this isn’t a whim. She smiles softly, one full of promise and excitement, as she meets his eye. “Yeah?”