#crozbucky

[thatsrightice]

No idea how I’ve never noticed this before—

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Not sure what to write, so went all the way back into my inbox on prompts, and the oldest ones are from September 2024.

Anyway, one of them sparked interest, so I'm writing CrozBucky for the moment. Honestly, top tier cheetah-with-emotional-support-dog pairing where they are both the dog and the cheetah at the same time.

Now, if you want cheetah-with-emotional-support-dog where Bucky is always the cheetah, you gotta get some CurtBucky.

But also, if you want Bucky-in-love-like-the-most-loyal-dog, you ALSO need CurtBucky but specifically @meyerlansky's CurtBucky.

[c-goldthorn]

bucky sucking croz off “to help the pre flight nerves” rb if u agree

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: “You were crying in your sleep last night.”

Pairing: CrozBucky

Something's off. Harry can feel it in the air like a storm coming in. John's been careful around him all morning, moving like Harry's delicate or easily spooked. Harry's spent the last couple of hours waiting for John to say whatever he's clearly holding back, but he doesn't. He just looks at Harry for a few seconds, then looks away.

Harry manages to hold off on asking questions until they're weeding the vegetable patch. John's staying so close Harry keeps landing an elbow in his ribs, and it finally makes him sigh and stop and look at John and say, "Okay, what is it?"

"What?" John asks, and Harry can't believe there was ever a time he couldn't see through John's lies. He's a deeply terrible liar. His tone is flippant, but his eyes say everything. He's worried. A little scared.

"You've been tiptoeing around me all morning. What is it?"

John gives him a long look, and his eyes are sad and pained. "You…you were crying in your sleep last night." Before Harry can say anything, John adds, "That's usually my job," and the attempted joke doesn't land at all, and John knows it. "Sorry," he mutters, looking away.

"No sorries," Harry says from habit. They'd set a rule after the war. No apologies for things that don't need them. Not John's attempts at jokes to lighten the mood. Not Harry's overthinking making him ramble on some minor detail of his day because he's built it in his head. No apologies for just being who they are. John nods sharply to show he understands.

"You were crying in your sleep," John repeats. "I shook you, but you didn't wake up, and I…I wasn't sure what would happen if I did."

John wakes up screaming sometimes. Sometimes, not. He throws punches sometimes. Sometimes not. Harry doesn't blame him for not wanting to find out if Harry handles his own situation better or worse.

"Was I…" Harry searches for the right word. "Did I say anything?"

"No," John says. "That's why I let you sleep after I tried waking you up. You weren't—you didn't—" He stares at the ground. He hates how he wakes up. Fears that Harry will get tired of the screaming or the swinging and walk away. Others have left because he's too much, John had said exactly once, and Harry had bitten his tongue hard so he didn't demand an enemies list. Because anyone who would leave John and his wide-open heart is Harry's enemy.

"I dreamed about Bubbles," Harry says. "It wasn't sad. It was…" It's his turn to look at the ground. John's hand is next to his. They're both dirt-streaked. Harry reaches out and takes John's hand. John squeezes hard. "We were flying. Not in a fort or anything, just flying in the air. We were laughing. I don't remember why. It wasn't anything sad."

"You miss him," John says.

"Sure do," Harry agrees. He looks at the vegetable patch, at the little clapboard house. At John. Who is watching him and has been. "I wish he could visit."

John squeezes his hand again. "Me, too," he says. "I always liked him."

Harry smiles. "Yeah, so much you nearly ran us over our first day on base."

John snorts. "In my defense, I didn't know you were interesting yet."

Harry laughs and shoves at John until he falls backwards onto the tops of the carrots. "How dare you," He says. "I exude interesting."

John just laughs and pulls Harry to the ground on top of him. He hugs Harry tight and tucks his face against Harry's neck. "Well, sure, I know that now," he says and loses it when Harry tickles his sides.

Harry thinks, as they tussle and end up in a dirt-throwing fight, that he really does wish Bubbles was here. That he misses him desperately. But he's also so grateful to be here himself, being silly and stupid with John. Being able to talk to him about these things even if it's a little hard. Even if it'll always be a little hard. Even if he wakes up every single night because John cries or shouts or throws a punch. Because at the end of that thought, John is here and smiling and smeared with dirt from their vegetable patch, and Harry simply wants more of it for as long as he can get.

[thatsrightice]

don’t dwell on the dusk and the daylilies

a new instillation of my “deep in the delphinium daze” series aka the nsfw series ft. Crosby sleeping around :)

words: ~4.5k

rating: explicit (nsfw)

pairing: Croz/Bucky

summary:

It’s the job of the squadron commander to check out new pilots in their squadron, which usually entails taking them on a flight to ensure they’re competent. If you’re in the 418th, that means buying Bucky a drink at the officers club.

After the successful mission to Trondheim, Bucky decides has something else in mind for his squadron’s new lead navigator.

READ ON AO3 NOW

[sweaterkittensahoy]

BottomBuckyWeek2025: CrozBucky (free day, biting; smut)

[This one is instantly filthy, but I'm letting the first paragraph run wild and free.]

It amazes Harry sometimes how much Bucky loves getting fucked. It's wild to watch him moan and arch and scrabble for something to hold when Harry presses into him for that first thrust. It's a rush to watch Bucky go heavy-limbed as Harry starts a rhythm. Any rhythm. Harry prefers it slow and deep, personally, and Bucky responds with tiny cants of his hips and desperate sort of sighs as he rubs his face into the pillow.

"More," Bucky manages. "Please. More. Please."

Harry doesn't change his rhythm, but he presses his hands hard on Bucky's lower back, makes him hold still as he fucks him. Bucky whines, and he lifts his feet, pressing them against Harry's ass like he can hold him where he wants him, but with Harry's hands on his lower back, he doesn't have the leverage.

"Tease," Bucky manages, kicking Harry lightly with his heels.

Harry huffs a laugh and throws his head back to get his hair out of his face. "A tease wouldn't have his dick in you," he says. "If you want me to take it out—" He swears when Bucky clenches around him hard. "I'll take that as a no."

"Want it," Bucky says, turning so he can see Harry's face. "Want it all the time."

Harry nods, well aware Bucky's doing more than just talking dirty. Bucky gets desperate sometimes, staring at Harry with heavy-lidded eyes and his legs obscenely wide open. Touching himself while just watching Harry do regular things like read a book or fold laundry. He gets on his knees and crawls to Harry, noses into his lap and presses his cheek to Harry's dick through his clothes. It is, without question, the hottest shit Harry has ever seen in his life. He can't believe just existing makes someone so needy for him. Especially with that someone being Bucky, who turns heads just by walking down the street and breathing. A living Greek statue, Harry thinks sometimes. Tempting the mere mortals with his beauty and his charm. And it's Harry he goes crazy for. To say it makes him feel important doesn't do it justice. It makes him feel invincible.

"All the time?" Harry asks, teasing, rather than saying all of that. "You sure? You were asleep last night. You didn't want it, then." He used to stay quiet when Bucky talked like this, but then he realized Bucky took his silence as disagreement, and that wasn't it at all. He just didn't know what he was supposed to say and—as usual—overthought it. Then one night, three martinis in and Bucky dry humping him and begging to be fucked, Harry had let the words tumble out. Teased Bucky a little, made him say please over and over while sucking on his neck and squeezing his ass. Harry's orgasm had nearly made him black out it had been so good.

"All the time," Bucky repeats, then lets out a tiny, breathy moan as Harry grinds against his ass. "All the time. All the time. I wanna wake up with your dick in me."

"Jesus," Harry breathes, the image flashing in his mind like it's been waiting to surprise him. Bucky sleeps heavy. If Harry were careful, he probably could finger him open then get his dick in him and wait. He could pet Bucky awake even, tease his nipples and his dick, play with his balls and kiss behind his ear where he's ticklish. "You really want that? I'll do it."

Bucky rubs against the sheets, and one hand comes back and grabs at Harry, gets his hip, then his waist, then his hand slides over and down to feel Harry's dick slide in and out of him. "Fuck me making dinner," he says. "Reading the mail. Over the couch. On your desk."

Harry thrusts harder, and lifts his hands from Bucky's back. Bucky snaps his hips up, and there's a sting as their skin slaps together that makes Harry grunt and drop his face to Bucky's back and bite the first bit of skin he can get his teeth on. Bucky whines and whines and then Harry feels his fingertip slipping in right next to Harry's dick.

"Meanace," Harry manages to say against Bucky's skin. "Spoiled fucking menace."

"In the garden," Bucky says, words slurring. "On my knees by the carrots."

Harry shouts and reaches under Bucky. Grabs his balls and tugs a little too hard. Bucky yelps and curls his back against Harry's chest, pants and curses and comes on the sheets, a little of it landing on Harry's hand.

"On the kitchen table," Harry manages to gasp out, thrusts erratic and hard and as fast as he can make them. Bucky lets out small whimpers each time Harry fucks into him, but he doesn't tell Harry to stop or flinch away. He keeps fucking himself with his finger, too, writhing on the bed as Harry takes and takes and takes until he finally shakes from head to toe and comes hard.

Things are hazy for a few minutes. Harry's aware he's draped along Bucky's back, that they're both panting and sticky with sweat. Bucky takes his finger out and drops his arm to the bed. Harry mouths next to his spine and kisses the bite mark he's left. Very slowly, he pulls free from Bucky and then flops onto his back, dick wet and limp against his leg. "C'mere," he says and grabs Bucky's arm, pulls him so he's half-draped on Harry.

Bucky kisses his shoulder and his pec and nuzzles his bicep. "On the porch," he says. "Leaning over the railing."

And Harry laughs, big and loud. "Oh, they'll be a railing," he says, and then Bucky laughs with him, and Harry thinks that tomorrow morning he'll watch Bucky set the table, then bend him over between their plates and show him he really was listening to every word he said.

[thatsrightice]

Croz/Brady or Croz/Bucky or Croz/Whoever where they get back to Thorpe Abbotts after being freed from the stalag. And it can be pre-established or something that develops once they’re back, but Crosby is hesitant to get into a relationship because he knows he’s going to get shipped off to the Pacific Theater to fly on B-29s. Croz was convinced he wouldn’t survive the war and still stands by this belief, so he doesn’t want to hurt them

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: “I’m going to lift you up, okay? Tell me if it hurts.”

Pairing: CrozBucky

Harry isn't sure how he ended up on the ground, but he is definitely on the ground. There's noise coming towards him, but when he triees to lift his head to see what's happening, he gets very dizzy, and his head drops back down.

Bucky's standing over him, eyes huge. "Fuck," he says.

"What?" Harry says. Bucky's staring at his head, so Harry reaches up to touch it.

"No!" Bucky shouts, then drops next to Harry and yanks a handkerchief out of a pocket. He presses it to Harry's head, and a sharp, awful pain rocks through Harry. "Sorry," Bucky says. "Sorry. Sorry." He doesn't stop pressing against Harry's head though.

"Am I—" Harry struggles to figure out how he's injured because he cleearly is. "Did I get shot?"

Bucky stares at him for a moment. "What? No. No. Your head's split open."

"Oh," Harry says. Things get fuzzy for a moment. "Things are fuzzy," he says.

"Yeah, that's not surprising," Bucky replies. He's calming down, Harry realizes. He must have been scared.

"Were you scared?" Harry asks.

Bucky slides an arm around Harry's back. "I'm going to lift you up, okay? Tell me if it hurts."

"Okay," Harry says. Bucky starts to help him sit up. Nausea roils through Harry, and he gags. "I'm gonna—"

Bucky turns him to the side, and Harry retches and gets sick. Harry doesn't know how long it takes, but by the time his stomach is empty, Bubbles and Brady have joined them.

"Never seen you do that on the ground," Brady says, then winces when Bubbles punches his arm.

"You okay, Harry?" Bubblese asks. "Ham says he's sorry."

"What'd Ham do?" Harry asks as Bucky rubs his back.

"He threw his bat to run to first, and it clocked you," Bubbles says. "You probably need stitches."

"Bubbles, get his other side, will you?" Bucky asks. "He's heavier than you'd think."

"Trust me, I know," Bubbles says. "Took me out with a drunk slip when we were in basic."

"I apologized for that," Harry says.

Bubbles tucks Harry's arm around his shoulder and counts quietly under his breath. He and Bucky both stand on three. "And I forgave you," Bubbles says. "Can you walk?"

"Sure," Harry says, then immediately pitches forward and gets sick on the second step. "Maybe not," he manages.

"All right, come here," Bucky says and suddenly Harry's in a bridal carry like he doesn't weigh a thing.

"Oh, for fucks' sake, use a Jeep," Brady grouses.

"Bubbles, run ahead and let Smokey know he's got a cut and is probably concussed," Bucky says. "Brady, give me your handkerchief. Mine's soaked through."

"Sure thing," Bubbles says and jogs off.

"I can—"

"Quiet," Bucky says and turns Harry towards Brady, who has his handkerchief out and folded over.

Harry stares as Brady pulls a very bloody handkerchief off his head and very gentely presses his clean one to it. "Am I—am I okay?" he asks, the blood making him queasy again. He has to close his eyes.

"You're fine," Brady says in that bothered big brother way he has. "Your knight in shining armor will carry you into the sunset of the infirmary, and you'll be fine."

"Thanks, Brady," Bucky says. "Feel free to get back to the game."

Harry opens his eyes just enough to see Brady give him a sympathetic look. He waves weakly. Brady snorts and pats his knee. "I'll keep Ham away until Doc says you're good to go."

"Thanks," Harry says, and Bucky starts walking. Harry has to close his eyes again, and he presses his cheek to Bucky's chest.

"You're okay," Bucky says, and he sounds a little like he doesn't believe it.

Harry feels Bucky's cheek against his hair. "You have to kiss it better," he says.

Bucky hums in amusement. "You're probably concussed, and you're still horny as hell."

"A handsome man is carrying me across base in his big, strong arms," Harry replies.

Bucky chuckles. "Well, don't wiggle. I don't want to drop you."

Harry doesn't say anything. He lets Bucky carry him and then lay him on a bed. Bubbles leans against the wall while Bucky sits in the chair next to the bed and holds onto the knees of his trousers like he'll try to help if he doesn't.

Doc Smokey removes the handkerchief and whistles under his breath. "You'll definitely need stitches, and it's going to bruise badly. I'll give you something for the pain, but we want to keep you awake as long as possible to check for that concussion."

"I can stay with him," Bucky says.

"We'll take turns," Bubbles replies, and he only grins when Bucky whips his head to glare at him. "You can go first," he says. "I don't mind."

Harry laughs without meaning to, then winces when it makes his head ring.

"For now, both of you can wait outside," Doc Smokey says.

They go, though Bucky lingers as long as possible. Doc Smokey gives Harry a shot, and a few minutes later, he's floaty and relaxed as Doc Smokey stitches him up. Five stitches, then an ice pack, and then Bucky's back at his side, sitting on the bed instead of the chair and leaning in to kiss the gauze covering his stitches.

"Scared me," Bucky murmurs. "You dropped hard."

"I'm okay," Harry says because he's sure now. "I'm okay."