Chapter Text
FALL 1942
Dear Bucky,
Things haven’t been too exciting. Mr. Farmacelli keeps complaining about your replacement; apparently he’s no good at keeping produce unbruised. I’m still at the parachute factory and I think I’ve seen more silk than Agnes and Dora combined. They’ve kept me on over the other new hires because my fingers can actually keep up. It took every ounce of self-restraint I have not to die laughing when they told me that (hope you’re proud of yourself).
It’s boring at home without you. Aside from the fact that there’s no one to help keep things neat...well, actually that isn’t so different. For once I’m not finding your smelly socks all over the place.
The weather is still freezing. I miss having you in bed with me to keep me warm. It just isn’t the same when I get the hot water bottle and wrap it up in one of your old flannels. For one you’re a heck of a lot better looking. And I’ve found it doesn’t tell me terrible jokes while it's trying to make time with me.
Are you learning anything at boot camp? I’ve tried to imagine what it would be like, but all I can think of are those old books about the Civil War we had to read for school.
I can’t think of anything else right now, so I guess this is it.
I love you and miss you,
Steve.
Dear Bucky,
I know I just sent you a letter and you probably haven’t even gotten it yet, but here’s another one.
Last night I had the best/worst dream. You and I were the only ones in it.
Do you remember that time you fucked me in the kitchen right when you got home from work? You picked me up and did me right there on the counter by the sink. We didn’t even hardly get undressed for it.
That’s what I was dreaming about last night.
The way you picked me up so easy and that face you made when I put my mouth on you.
Dear Steve,
It’s snowing today and I’m glad you aren’t sick.
Now, you can’t just send me letters like that. When I opened it up and read it I thought I was going to explode right here in front of God and everybody. I’ve had so many dreams this week because of that letter, you wouldn’t believe.
I miss you too. I miss your body and the way you feel and all the sweet things you say to me when we’re in bed. You fit in my arms just perfectly, like we were made for each other.
With so many guys around its hard to pretend that I’m there with you, but I do my best. When I close my eyes I think about your pink little tits and your wet little hole all slicked up for me. The way you just open up for me all ready and worked up. And the noises, god the noises you make when I’ve got you under me or you’re up on top riding me like it’s the end of the world.
I wish I was there to take care of you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to make my best girl cum her brains out. I’d put my mouth on you while I get you ready and then I’d put you up on the table and take you right there.
See how much you work me up and you aren’t even here?
Since I had to take a break after the first part of my letter, I guess I’ll make the rest something clean and wholesome.
So far it’s been just boring stuff. We drill sergeant had us run in the snow yesterday. It doesn’t melt here like it does in Brooklyn so that took some getting used too. I didn’t do too hot, but I wasn’t last either. After we did push-ups like usual, but they had us on the walkway where it was cleared off.
Next week they’re going to test us with our accuracy on the rifles. Most of us already knew how to shoot a pistol which made things go a lot faster. There's a rumor that some of the better guys might get pulled for special training towards the end, but none of our CO’s have said anything about it. I really hope it’s a rumor because I want to be home as soon as possible.
Everyone had pictures of their girl. Can you send something of you doll? Nothing fancy. Hell, I’d be happy with a sock at this point. Whenever the other fellas brag about their girls I have to make sure I keep my mouth shut and don’t talk their ears off about how strong and pretty and smart you are. If I had the words I’d write poems about your mouth, but I don’t so I’ll just settle for thinking about them and how much I want to kiss you.
Keep out of trouble sweetheart and take care of yourself.
Love you lots,
Bucky
“Another letter to the missus?” asked Dum-Dum. He was flopped out across his bunk, one over from Bucky.
“We ain’t really married yet,” Bucky replied, climbing onto his own sorry excuse for a bed. “So don’t go calling her that to her face.
Bucky couldn’t help but laugh a little at the idea of ever introducing Steve and Dum-Dum, letting alone saying they were married. Maybe he should have joined the navy instead…
“I will be a perfect gentleman to your gal Barnes. Now, what’s her name?”
Dum-dum barely dodged the shoe Bucky threw his way.
Dear Bucky,
I’ve sent you some little pictures. One or two are of me, but the rest are just for fun. They’re a little rough, but I figured you could have a piece of home this way.
Agnes took me to dinner with her folks last week. It was really nice-- everyone was dressed and there were two or three forks and spoons. I think I used the wrong one more than once, but no one said anything.
Anyway, her folks seemed like they couldn’t figure out how to take me. (I think that was a hoot for Agnes.) THere won't be too many invitations, but Agnes said I can fill-in until you get back.
This part is kind of embarrassing to write down, but I really miss you and your body. Our bed seemed so much bigger with you gone. I’d even be okay with your snoring if it meant you’d be here to touch me.
Remember the time we fucked on the counter when we had just moved in? You just kept giving it to me harder and harder until I thought I was gonna die it felt so good. WHenever I think about it I finger myself and pretend it's you. My hands aren’t quite the same as yours (or your Johnson) but it still gets me all worked up.
There’s a whole lotta other times I think about too, but the kitchen counter has been my favorite lately. If I send you a naughty picture can you keep it a secret? Nothing too bad, but I don’t want to get you in trouble.
That’s all I’ve got now. Nothing much else is happening. Try to stay warm!
From your love,
Stevie
June 1943
Stevie,
I know we argued before I left and I hate leaving it that way. So, I’m sorry. Even though you’re so strong I worry you won’t be there when I get back. That they’ll ship you off as cannon fodder like some knucklehead from New Jersey.
You have no idea how much I want for this all to be over. When I get back we could find a place outta the city to live all married with kids and maybe a dog or something.
I had to start another letter because I was getting all choked up. One last serious part. Whatever it is that you were doing at Stark’s show, be smart about it. Don’t let them yank your chain about enlisting.
Remember, you have to be there to welcome me home with the rest of the Weeping Wives Brigade.
XO, Bucky
Dear Bucky,
Sorry I haven’t written you much of anything yet. Just after you shipped out I was accepted for the program. Don’t worry, they aren’t gonna toss me out in front of the Krauts or anything. I do have to go through at least a little basic (the boss says it’s just a formality. And yes, I’ll be careful).
I’m really excited about it. I’m not allowed to talk about it with anyone, even if most of it is still under wraps. So that’s all I can say on that.
But I’m glad they took me. When you were gone for basic I thought I was gonna go out of my mind without you. This way maybe it won’t feel so long before you come home. I miss you, but I guess protecting our freedom is a good enough reason to share you with Uncle Sam.
Yours always,
Stevie
P.S. Here’s the forwarding address for while I’m training.
S,
I can’t fucking believe you ran off and wormed your way into some secret war project. Swear to god there’s always been a reason I had to come fish you out of back alley trash cans as kids. I shoulda known there’s no way you’d have outgrown it by now.
There’s a million things I want to scream, but they’ll do fuck-all with you being all the way over there and me being all the way over here. So I’ll tell you what it’s like and maybe you’ll change your mind about it.
First off everything is wet. I didn’t think it rained this damn much anywhere, but here I am sitting in my damp shirt that won’t dry out even if I set it on fire. All the rain makes everything muddy. Swear it’s worse than the sand that got in our clothes over on the beach. At least that shit is dry.
Dum Dugan Dum-Dum makes the worst coffee I’ve ever had. The only thing going for it is that it’s warm. I’m pretty sure that time I accidentally drank your paint water tasted better than what he makes. Can’t believe I’m in Italy and instead of fine Italian grub we’re stuck with beenie weenies and some stuff I’m not sure is even really food. Sometimes I think it's just a test to see how far the mess can take it before there’s a revolt.
Take it from me, the front is even worse than it seems like on the newsreels. At least then you can neck with your date.
Bucky
P.S. Even though I know I
P.S. Keep sending me letters honey. As mad as I was, I still want to hear from you. Maybe your top-secret job will make the war end early so we can get back to playing house.
Dear Bucky,
It turns out I definitely won’t be seeing any of the fighting. (That should cheer you up.)The program lost one of the major supporters so it’ changing directions. My friend from the program died not too long in; he was the one that made it all possible.
Right now it’s a lot of sitting around waiting for higher ups to make decisions. Like you said about the army, hurry up and wait. Hopefully we’ll hear something soon.
There’s one of my CO’s from basic that I think you’d like. I’m not allowed to say any names, so I’ll just call them C. But C had a hand in putting us through basic and was with me when I officially became a member. C reminds me of you a lot. You look similar and have a lot of the same personality. Sometimes it helps when I really miss you the worst, and sometimes seeing C just makes it hurt more. If we ever get the chance, I’d like to introduce you.
Don’t be too hard on Dum-Dum (is that really his name?) about the coffee. Before you know it you and I will be back in Brooklyn and I’ll make you all the terrible coffee you could possibly want.
Your love, S
September 1943
Stevie,
What’s with all the post-cards? Uncle Sam sending you on a tour of the grand ole US of A? You better tell me all about it when I get back. Better yet, you better take me to all these amazing places. We never did get to honeymoon did we sweetie? Just think about it, the two of us on the open road with no one to bother us.
We’re getting moved around some, still in Italy. Can’t say anymore in case the Krauts are nabbing our letters, but I’ll do my best to keep sending you things. God I hope it's somewhere warm next. Feels like the cold gets here faster than it does back home.
Remember our first apartment together? I’d give anything to be back there now. All nice and warm and snugged up in bed with you. Or on the couch. Or in the tub. I'm not picky; as long as you’re there and no one’s shooting’ at us. Oh, and it has to be warm. But I’m pretty sure as long as you’re around we can figure out a way to keep our body heat up.
I’ve been bragging on you again. Telling everyone how great my sweetheart is; how smart and how beautiful. Half the guys don’t believe me, not that I blame them. Some days I wouldn’t believe me. But damn am I a lucky fella to have you back on the homefront.
Knowing I have you to come home to makes it easier to get up in the morning. Makes me want to win the war faster so I can get home to you.
Love,
Your Bucky
Bucky,
They’ve got me traveling for work. Things didn’t exactly work out how I thought they would, but what they have me doing is better than nothing. I’m getting sent all over, so I thought the postcards might make you smile. Hope I was right.
Love, S