The first year anniversary of my literal child, Brooklyn Syndrome, is rapidly approaching on June 12th. Since it's first creation and completion, I have read so many wonderful comments from so manly lovely people that it has kept my drive for creating Stucky fics on AO3 in full-force.
So without further ado, I will be releasing the next part of the Brooklyn Syndrome series on its anniversary. Mark your calendars people, because it's coming!
In the meantime, maybe it's time to revisit an old friend.
Bucky's back was pressed against the cold floor and he stared through blurry eyes as Steve stood over him. He was trying to push himself as far away as he could, using his hands and bare feet to slide himself out from between Steve's legs but he couldn't find purchase against the wooden floor. Steve's legs were locked on both sides of his hips and Bucky couldn't move, couldn't get away, and the room was swimming before his eyes and he couldn't focus, couldn't think straight. All he could make out was the hazy figure of Steve towering over him and he lifted his arm to push uselessly at Steve's shin.
"P-please," Bucky whispered. His voice was weak, like him, and his jaw trembled as Steve reached down.
Steve slid down onto the floor and effortlessly gathered him into his strong arms, cradling Bucky to his chest as he leaned against the wall. "Bucky," Steve breathed. One of his large hands slid gently into Bucky's hair, the other curving against his spine and pulling him even closer. "You're mine now, remember?"
Steve's grip tightened then it all went black.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works