heathaledger:

sebastian stan spam [part 15 – ∞]

Reconstruction sneak preview as you stare at the above images of Stephanie’s best guy!

Because Bucky’s an absolute popinjay, sometime between where he’d more or less ordered her out of the medical tent and away from him and now, he’s gone and found a clean uniform and scrubbed up. His face is clean and red from cold and cold water, and he’s even found a razor somewhere to trim up the worst of his whiskers. His brassy hair is still a touch long but Steph likes it this way, and she reaches up — automatic — to run her fingers through the strands at the base of his neck, at the knob of his spine, smiles at how he shivers a little and leans into her touch like a cat.

“You do,” she tells him quietly, looking and looking and looking at his face, at his throat, at all of him she loves so well. “You look good, Buck.”

There’s something that looks trapped and lost in Bucky’s eyes, that she sees because she sees all of him all the time. He swallows too hard, too fast, and he clutches at her — not jealously, like before — but like he needs her, like he’s holding on so he can stay standing, and Stephanie presses herself close and knows he’ll understand what she’s saying, what her body’s saying: I can carry you; I can hold this weight.

“Yeah?” Bucky says, finally, after too long a silence. “Couldn’t embarrass my best girl in front of her new friends, could I? Not after you came all this way.”

Stephanie thinks that there’s nothing Bucky could do that she wouldn’t forgive him for, that she wouldn’t see beyond, learn how to love him in spite of. But that’s too much to say in front of other people, maybe it’s too much to say at all, so she just smiles at him tight-lipped, to keep her confessions close, and leans in to kiss him, close the space between them. Now, he tastes like Colgate and smells like Lava soap, all the sourness of fear and sickness washed away, and even this close — still shaking the adrenaline and fear out of her system — Stephanie thinks if she hadn’t found him half dead on the table, she’d never know that he’d barely made it, that she’d barely held onto him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bucky’s murmuring, into her mouth when he breaks for air, then into the shell of her ear when he drags her in, presses her face into his neck so she has somewhere to hide her expression. “I’m okay.”

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abstract

East Coast Gazette has a terrible editorial focus and tends to use a lot of ALL CAPS but TOTALLY NOT BECAUSE OF HARRY POTTER. Stories in progress as well as snapshots will be listed in the "box full of snapshots" below, website archive for stories and assorted tomfoolery is glitterati.

recs (on del.icio.us)


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