whatthefoucault:You’re keeping the outfit, right?I asked Steve if he was keeping the outfit. It was
whatthefoucault:You’re keeping the outfit, right?I asked Steve if he was keeping the outfit. It was corny as hell, that thing, all bold and snug and covered in stars, but he looked, I don’t know. He looked strong. Like his exterior matched what was on the inside, all principles and stupid, stupid fists, and so beautiful. He said it was starting to grow on him, and he drew near me in a way that reminded me of that one night, before the war.“Aren’t you afraid they’ll see?” I asked him.“Yeah,” he said, but he kissed me anyway.At least I think that’s what happened.I probably should have been afraid of them seeing too, but right then, all I could think about was Steve. I was in love with Steven Grant Rogers, and I didn’t give a good goddamn what anybody else had to say about it. - Bucky Barnes, Notes from a Dirty Attic(today’s inktober entry is dedicated to the lovely @jadore-histoire, because it’s her birthday and she’s one of my very dearest friends. Enjoy the cuddly Stucky, petal!)(society6) -- source link
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