#softhairbarnes750

[whitewolfbumble]

Wild Horses Masterlist

COMPLETED

A Bucky Barnes Biker AU

Summary: Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now. 

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language, fighting, blood/injury

Total Word Count: About 22k

A/N: Because we all love a bad boy with a soft centre. Cheers to @softhairbarnes for reaching her next milestone! This fic series is written in celebration of her 750 followers celebration, and now she’s already over 1k! You are an incredible talent and so dearly loved. Hope you enjoy this fic my darling!

Created: September 26th, 2018

Completed: October 2nd, 2018

Chapters:

Chapter One 

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Extras:

Wild Horses GIF Set made by @ramblerumble, an absolute darling!!

Contact me to be added to my permanent tag list! Thanks darlings!

MY MARVEL MASTERLIST // SEND ME A REQUEST

[fangirlfiction]

Panicked Questions

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Description: Bucky just wants to know why you’re always covered in blood.

Warnings: Lots of mentions of blood (sorry, it was my prompt), fighting, mentions of injuries. Mild, but frequent swearing (my potty mouth came to play).

Prompt: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?!”

A/N: This is my submission for @softhairbarnes 750 follower celebration! It is also my apology for all the angst I’ve been posting. This one has more fluff, I promise! Also also, this is an incredibly appropriate post for today because it’s my birthday and I’m always injured! Just ask @barnesrogersvstheworld ​.

“Nat, I hope you’re almost done, because we’ve got a whole bunch of Hydra agents coming this way!”

Natasha turns to look at you, her fiery red hair brushing the tops of her shoulders as she moves. “Still 50% left, can you hold them off?”

You glance down the hall at the approaching agents, sizing them up. “I can buy you 2 extra minutes, no more than that.”

“Deal.”

You smile at her before running out of the room and down the hall, pulling your gun from your belt as you neared closer to the 5 agents. You shot and killed the front man, and the other 4 scattered for cover in response. Your eyes followed the nest closest agent, who ran into a nearby room. You crept along the wall, gun raised, before quickly stepping into the room and scanning for the man. You saw movement from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t register it fast enough, and the agent ran forward and knocked your gun from your hand. You watched the gun slide across the ground and you turned to face the agent before punching him in the eye. He swung back at you, and you narrowly avoided his fist. You both continued to swing at each other, blocking and jabbing when necessary. You block an elbow that was intended for your face, and you use his momentum to push him over. As he is scrambling to stand, you pull your knife from your boot and stab him in the shoulder as he lunges at you.

The knife in his shoulder sends him staggering backwards and he yells out in a mix of anger and pain before lunging at you again. He knocks the knife out of your hand and you elbow him in the face, breaking his nose. He uses your momentum to knock you to the ground, before he rolls you onto your back and straddles you, hands sliding up your body until they wrap around your neck. You gasp for air around his grip, trying uselessly to punch and flail him off of you. You see his nose still gushing blood, so hit his nose again, sending blood flying onto your suit below him. He rears back in shock and pain before grabbing your neck and squeezing so hard you immediately see stars. You look around you for a weapon, eyes searching for a weapon, before they finally land on your gun that is just out of your grasp.

You reach up and shove your thumb into the man’s eye socket, and when he pulls away in pain you reach for the gun, nearly sighing in relief when your hand closes around the grip. You turn back and shoot the man point blank, and his body drops onto yours lifelessly. The sound of gunshots brings 2 of the other agents running into the room, so you shoot them before they can shoot you. You collapse back, tired, before gathering your strength and pushing the agent off of you. You start to stand, back to the door, when you hear another shot ring out. You stand frozen waiting for the pain, but when it doesn’t come, you turn towards the door. Natasha is standing there, gun in hand, the 5th Hydra agent at her feet.

You smile at her. “Thanks.”

She smiles back and shrugs, “Don’t mention it.” You see her looking at your suit before she laughs. “He’s gonna freak.”

You walk over to her and the two of you begin walking to the Quinjet, side by side. “Nah. Doubt he’ll even notice.”

She snorts but says nothing.

Two hours later, the Quinjet touches down outside of the compound, and Bucky is already at the foot of the ramp waiting when you descend.

“How was the-“ He cuts himself off when he sees the front of your suit, blood staining the top half. “Whose blood is that?!”

He rushes forward, scanning your body for injuries as you laugh and reply, “Not mine. Some Hydra thug’s.”

He sighs, clearly relieved, and Nat walks by and comments before he can say anything else. “Told ya.”

*

You hop around the mat, fists raised, sweat coating your entire body. You watch as Sam pants heavily, hands propped on his knees, clearly losing his drive. “Come on birdbrain, is that all you’ve got?”

Sam looks up at you with a glare. “You know, you talk a lot of shit for someone so small.”

You start to lunge at him, and he jumps back 6 feet in fear. You laugh before retorting, “Stop calling me small, or I’ll kick your ass again.”

His response is cut off by the door to the gym slamming closed, and you both look over to see Clint walking towards you, a smirk on his face. “I see Sam is having a great time right now.”

You laugh and Sam scoffs loudly. “Look man, she’s a freaking animal. A lion. A wolf.”

You place your hand over your heart, flattered. “Sam Wilson, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You turn to Clint and laugh. “He’s a terrible sparring partner, I beat him every time.”

Clint shakes his head, unconvinced. “No, I’ve seen you in here before, you just kick ass.”

Sam mutters under his breath, “I’d need two of me to take her down.”

His comment sparks an idea in your head. “Two of you? Okay, I’m in. Get wrapped up, Clint.”

Clint turns to you in confusion. “What? No, I’m not gonna fight you.”

“You’re right, you’re not gonna fight me. You AND Sam are going to fight me.”

Both men immediately start protesting, and you hear Sam yell out, “…and have that frozen assassin kill me in my sleep? I think not!”

You roll your eyes. “Bucky wouldn’t kill you in your sleep. You’d be awake, obviously.” Sam rolls his eyes back at you. “And anyways, it’s for training purposes. I just went on a mission with Nat last week where I had to fight off multiple people and I struggled. I could use the practice.”

Sam and Clint stare at you and glance at each other, and you flash them your most dazzling smile. Sam groans and Clint sighs. “Fine.”

Clint wraps his hands to match yours and Sam’s before joining you on the mat with Sam. They both stand across from you, and you all stand there and size each other up for a minute. Tired of waiting, you lunge at Clint first, aware that he’s going to have more energy than Sam will. You try to punch him, but he blocks your punch before landing one on your ribs. The pain fuels you, and you lunge forward and punch him twice before turning and knocking over Sam. As you move to punch Sam, Clint grabs you from behind, wrapping his arms around your middle, pinning your arms to your sides.

Sam stands, and you manage to kick him in the legs, causing him to drop to the ground again. You pull your head forward before tossing it back, making contact with Clint’s nose. He groans and drops you and you scramble backwards as Sam stalks towards you. He lands a punch on your already bruised ribs, and you cry out in pain before lunging forward and elbowing him in the face. He grunts in pain and spits out blood, before Clint rushes forward and grabs you again, pulling you away from Sam. You stomp on Clint’s toes and he releases you enough to slide from his grip, and you slam your elbow into his ribs, causing him to double over in pain. You jump forwards and knock Sam to the ground, and the two of you roll around until you get him in a headlock. He taps out two seconds later.

You stand and grab two towels, tossing them to the two guys. “Sorry about the blood.”

Clint groans, “I’m gonna tell you like I told Nat, I am NEVER sparring with you again.”

You walk past him to grab your bag, and you turn and give him a wink and dazzling smile. “Who do you think trained me?”

You can hear them complaining as you push through the doors of them gym into the hall, instantly colliding with someone. A metal hand grabs your shoulder to steady you, and you look you up to see the smiling face of your boyfriend. You smile back and stand taller to press a kiss to his lips in greeting. You pull away and nod to the gym door, “You going to train?”

“Yeah, I was just about to-“ He focuses in on the blood on your shirt, eyes growing wide. “Whose blood is that?!”

You look down and pinch your shirt between two fingers, pulling it away from your body to inspect it. You look back up at Bucky. “Sam’s. Or maybe Clint’s.” You shrug.

Bucky looks at you in quiet shock before bursting into laughter. He leans down and kisses you. “That’s my girl.”

You grin at him and he shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m gonna go train some. Movie tonight?”

You nod, “You bet.”

He gives you another parting kiss and squeezes your hand in goodbye before turning to walk into the gym. You keep moving down the hall, Bucky’s voice floating towards you. “You guys look like shit. Heard my girlfriend kicked your ass.”

*

You duck down in front of the oven door again, flicking on the inside light to suspiciously eye the cake that was still baking. The recipe gripped tightly in your hands said 25-30 minutes, and you were currently pushing 40 minutes, and it still looked underdone. You were anxious to finish the cake before Bucky’s return; Nat had just texted you to tell you they’d arrive in 10 minutes.

You pull open the oven door a minute later, finally satisfied with the golden edges of the crust, before pulling it from the oven. You set it on the counter to cool before moving to the fridge and pulling out the strawberry preserves, fresh strawberries, and whipped topping. You dump the whipped topping into a bowl and grab the strawberry preserves, removing the lid with a satisfying pop. You start spooning the preserves into the bowl, jumping in surprise when your unforgotten timer starts to beep loudly. You switch it off and look down with a frown to find a blob of preserves dripping down your shirt. You groan and grab a towel to wipe it away, only to smear the preserves down the front of your shirt.

Friday interrupts your moment of frustration. “The team has arrived. Miss Romanoff said you have five minutes.”

“Thank you, Friday!”

You turn back to the bowl and fold the whipped topping and preserves together before dumping it on the top of the cake, spreading it with a rubber spatula as quickly as possible. You wash a few strawberries and place them artfully on the cake, the last one situated just as Bucky walks through the door. You look up at him and smile widely, yelling, “Happy Birthday!”

He smiles at you and you meet in the middle of the kitchen where he pulls you into a kiss. He pulls away and looks down at you, his eyes traveling down to your shirt. He sighs. “Whose blood is that? Did you get a nosebleed?”

You look down and laugh. “No, it’s just strawberry preserves.”

He laughs and replies, “I think you like these blood scares.” He looks over your shoulder at the cake on the counter. “And what’s this?”

You smile and walk him to the cake. “Strawberry Angel food cake. Steve said your mom would make it for you. I know chocolate is your favorite, but…”

He smiles down at you, placing a quick kiss to your nose. “No, it’s perfect,”

*

“Barnes, how are we looking on the perimeter?”

“Still clear. Did you guys find the hostages yet?”

Natasha shakes her head beside you before realizing that Bucky can’t see her. “No, but we have two floors left.”

You both stop at a fork at the end of the hall, and Nat gestures to the left. “I’ll take left, you take right. Meet back here in 5.”

“Copy that.”

You turn to the right and keep jogging down the hall, alert and searching for any sign of the hostages from the British government. The hallway starts to progressively dip down, the lights growing dimmer as you move deeper into the building. The hall finally dead ends, a single padlocked door at the end. You pull out your gun and shoot the lock off before pushing the door open slightly and sliding inside. You see a group of people huddled in the farthest corner, so you start lowering your gun and moving towards them slowly. You speak softly, “Hi, I’m-“

You cry out in pain, cutting yourself off, turning to see a man standing there with a knife in his hand, the tip red with your blood. You swipe his legs from under him, knocking him onto his back before kicking him and knocking him unconscious. You look down at your side, blood staining the front from the depth of the knife. Gripping your side, you call out over comms, “Nat, I’ve got em. Sending them your way.”

“Copy.”

You gather the hostages and send them down the hall towards Natasha, who will lead them back to the Quinjet. You bring up the rear after ensuring the room was empty of prisoners and guards. You finally make it back outside, the pain in your side subsiding from the adrenaline. Bucky jogs up to you as you walk towards the Quinjet, smiling at you easily. He hands you a device to contact the British Embassy about the hostages, and when you hand it back, your blood transfers to his hand. He glances down at the blood and then at your bloody hand, chuckling lightly. “Whose blood is that this time? Knock a few bad guys out?”

You wince. “No, this time it’s mine.”

His eyes grow wide. “What?! Where are you hurt?”

You wave him off and keep walking to the Quinjet. “Some guard stabbed me in the side. It’s nothing though.”

Determined to contradict you, your knees buckle, your body growing weak from the blood loss. Bucky catches you and lifts you easily, carrying you back to the Quinjet and strapping you onto a stretcher. He cuts away part of your suit to reveal the wound, handling you carefully as he stitches you up. You drift in and out of consciousness, never awake for long.

You wake up a few hours later in the Compound’s Medical Wing, Bucky’s hand gripping yours tightly. He smiles when he sees you awake, and he playfully scolds you. “From this point on, the response to the question ‘whose blood is that?’ is never allowed to be your own. Got it?”

You laugh, “Got it.”

-

-

-

taglist: @buckybarnesappreciationsociety, @coal000

[an-all-write-life]

Crayon Hearts

Pairing: Idk?? It's Dad!Bucky 😂

Warning(s): The fluff might rot your teeth

Summary: Bucky gets some good ol' father daughter time with his girl.

A/N: This is for @softhairbarnes 750 writing challenge! Congrats lovely, and thank you for letting me join!! This was my first time writing Dad!Bucky and I loved it, I'll definitely be doing more of it in the future! ^_^ My prompt was "You think after three years I would have learned not to leave you alone." And the fact that I draw like a three year old has finally been good for something!

He'd left the room for a minute. That's it. 60 seconds.

Apparently that's all it took for the situation to descend into chaos.

"Lily..." He said. "How did you...?" Bucky's eyes were wide as he took in the scene before him. Papers were scattered all around the room, crushed crayons on the carpet, marker stains on the couch and walls, and in the middle of it all, stood his three and a half year old daughter, a wide grin on her face.

"Look, Daddy!" She gestured around her. "I made pretty!"

Bucky smiled good-naturedly. "You think after three years I would have learned not to leave you alone. Especially with crayons in the room."

Lily's face fell. "Daddy not like it?"

"No, it's beautiful, princess," Bucky assured her as he swung her up into his arms. "But maybe we should stick to coloring on the paper, yeah?"

Her smile returned as she nodded. "Okay. Will you color with me, Daddy?"

Bucky nuzzled his nose against her cheek. "Of course, my little wildflower, right after we clean up."

While Lily picked up the scattered papers, Bucky took a wet cloth and set to scrubbing the walls, carpet, and couch. The colors came out without much trouble-Thank goodness for non-stainable markers. With any luck, you would never notice when you came home.

"Can we color now?" Lily asked once he was finished, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Yes," Bucky said, joining her at the coffee table where the paper and crayons were spread out.

Lily eagerly set her crayon to the paper, scribbling intently. Bucky smiled before choosing a red crayon and starting on his own creation.

Thirty minutes later, Lily set down her crayon. "I'm done!" She announced proudly, smiling from ear to ear.

"What did you draw, princess?" Bucky asked, curious to see what she had been working on so carefully.

She shook her head, suppressing a giggle as she hid her picture from his view. "You first, Daddy!"

Laughing, Bucky showed her what he'd drawn.

"Pretty hearts!" Lily exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Bucky pointed to the two biggest hearts. "See these, Lily?" These hearts are for you and Mommy, because I love you more than anything in the world. You two are the most important people in my life, and my love you knows no bounds.

"That one's for Uncle Steve, because he's stuck with me through everything, good and bad, and the other one is for my sisters and my mom-without them, I wouldn't be here."

"Who's the little one for?" Lily asked, pointing to the heart in the corner.

"Uncle Sam."

"Daddy!" She shrieked, giggling uncontrollably.

Bucky laughed along with her, loving how at the ripe old age of three, she understood how his relationship with Sam worked.

"Alright, Lil, what did you draw?" He asked once Lily had composed herself.

Lily proudly held up her picture, excited to show her father her masterpiece.

She beamed. "It's you, Daddy! See?" She pointed to her picture. "That's your arm, and oh, oh, look at your hair!"

Bucky's vision blurred as tears came to his eyes. "That...that's really good, princess."

"An' look, Daddy! I drew big hearts 'cause I love you so so much." She continued eagerly, pointing to the red blobs.

Choking back a sob, Bucky drew his daughter into a bear hug, nuzzling his face behind her ear and blowing raspberries on her skin. "I love you so much, my little wildflower."

Lily giggled and struggled against Bucky's firm grip. "Lemme go, lemme go!"

Laughing, Bucky used his fingers to tickle her stomach, causing her to shriek with delight.

Escaping his embrace, Lily ran to the couch and hid under a blanket, her little shoulders shaking with laughter.

Silently creeping up, Bucky reached out and snatched her off the couch, tossing her into the air, her hair flying as a grin lit up her face.

"Higher, Daddy, higher!" She said as he caught her.

Grinning, Bucky obliged his daughter and tossed her higher, nearly to the ceiling.

The sound of Lily's giggles masked the creak of the front door as it opened.

As Bucky tossed Lily up again, he heard someone clearing their throat. Catching Lily, he turned sheepishly to face his wife.

"Hey, darlin'," He greeted.

"Mommy!" Lily said, wriggling out of Bucky's arms and running to you, hugging your legs before you scooped her up.

"Hello, my little wildflower," You kissed her forehead lovingly. "Have you and Daddy been getting into trouble?"

Lily giggled and shook her head before excitedly recounting the day's events. "Daddy took me to the park, an' then we ate ice cream for lunch-" She broke off, her hand covering her mouth. "I wasn't s'posed to say that."

You laughed, prompting Lily to continue.

"Daddy colored with me, an' I drew a pretty picture! An' then he threw me in the air--" She gestured dramatically with her hands--"an' then you came home!"

"And what did you eat for dinner?" You asked.

"Pasghetti!" She exclaimed. "It was so yummy, Daddy makes the best pasghetti ever!"

"He sure does," You agreed. "But now it's time for bed, munchkin."

As if on cue, Lily yawned and rubbed at her eyes sleepily. "Okay, Mommy."

"Good night, sweetheart," Bucky whispered in Lily's ear, kissing the top of her head.

"G'night, Daddy," She whispered back, already half-asleep.

You smiled at Bucky before giving him a gentle kiss and carrying Lily down to her bedroom.

Bucky's heart swelled as he watched the two most important people in his life disappear down the hall. How had he gotten so lucky? To have not just one, but two people who loved him without fault. He would do anything to protect them; the love of his life, and his wildflower.

Smiling, Bucky picked up the picture Lily had drawn. He could see the love and effort she had put into every line, every color. She had even painstakingly spelled out 'daddy'; a fact that warmed his heart. This was how Lily saw him-not at the Winter Soldier, not as the fist of Hydra-but as her father. Someone who she looked up to. Someone she admired. Someone she loved. And the love of a young child is the most precious gift in the world.

He'd definitely have to get this one framed.

Everything tag list: @rogrsnbarnes @avengerdragoness @fangirlnova @sonoflac @redhoodparker @pythiaaa @silversilvercat @purplemetahuman @me-my-gifs-and-i @jaybirdxarsenal @harpertoddfangirl @spiderling-tom @superpeanutwastaken @rynne311 @miss-alys  @nxttime

Wanna be tagged? Let me know! ♥

[buckychristwrites]

A Loaded Gun | OS | b.b.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky was known for building walls around his heart, so he had no idea how he could possibly let the new member of the team break them down so easily.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: So fluffy you almost wouldn’t believe it’ll last, one scene is a little nsfw but there’s no real smut

A/N: Hello! This is my entry for @softhairbarnes 750 Followers Writing Challenge! Thank you so much for letting me participate! My prompt was the Trust trope. I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist | Tags List Form

“Why don’t you trust me?”

Bucky didn’t even bother to look up at the quiet voice that came from across the room, just continued to read his book. It wasn’t only because he didn’t really care for the source of the voice. It was also because, if he really had to admit it, he didn’t have a proper answer. Not that he’d ever say that out loud.

The book was ripped from his hands, and he looked up in time to see you toss it across the room. Though he was angered, he was also shocked. You were, after all, the newest member of the team. So naturally, that made you quiet and in no rush to piss anyone off. But clearly that feeling had been thrown out the window this day when you were actively confronting probably one of the scariest members of the crew. Bucky set his hands in his lap as he stared at your intense glare.

“What makes you think I don’t trust you?” He asked, although even he knew how ridiculous it sounded to ask. His efforts to hide his distaste for you were nonexistent. Your scoff was met with a smile as you looked at the wall for a few seconds before turning back to him.

“You changed the whole plan today, mid mission mind you, so that I couldn’t do my part,” You shifted your weight to your other leg as you crossed your arms. “You’re the only one who keeps sidelining me and I’m fucking tired of it, Bucky. It’s been six months since I joined the team. It’s time you start treating me like someone who knows what they’re doing.” His gaze fell away from you, looking around at everything except you. Was that flower painting always there? The vase Pepper set on the mantle really set the tone of the room. Had it been this freezing the whole time he had been sitting there? When he realized you weren’t going to go away without an answer, he sighed.

“I don’t think you’re ready,” He grumbled as his arms wrapped around his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, you were shaking your head.

“That’s, thankfully, not for you to decide,” You snapped. He was so taken aback by your forceful tone that he felt himself slightly sink back into his chair. You continued without noticing. “You’re putting us all in danger when you fuck with mission plans just because you don’t trust me. I didn’t ask for us to be paired up as much as we are. If you have a problem, take it up with Stark or Rogers. Otherwise, you’re gonna need to learn to fucking deal with it.” You paused to huff. “You don’t have to like me, or be my best friend. We’re just working. This is our job. Act professional for fucks sake.”

When he finally returned your gaze, somehow the fire in your eyes made his entire body go cold. But when he looked a bit closer, he could see the distraught in them as well. And then all he felt was guilty. Steve had always talked up how great you were, and Bucky had seen for himself how hard you trained. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in you. It was just easier for him to do things himself than put his life in your hands.

“Okay, fine,” He sighed. “I’m sorry.” When you didn’t look satisfied, he went on. “I’ll try not to doubt you anymore.” You nodded, but he could tell it was a reluctant one.

“Thank you,” You said quietly, turning on your heels to leave.

“I never said I don’t like you,” He called to your receding back. You froze, and after a moment you turned towards him.

“Maybe stop acting like it then? Haven’t you ever heard that actions speak louder than words?” You asked him. “I’m sure you have since you’re a thousand years old.” The corners of your mouth twitched upwards as you whipped around and left the room, leaving Bucky to his mixture of shock and amusement.

Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.

________

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, Bucky.”

“Because you know we only have-”

“TRUST, Bucky.”

Knuckles white against his tight grip on his machine gun, Bucky glanced hurriedly around the room before turning back to you. Your fingers danced across the keyboard as your eyes never left the screen a few inches from your face, the light leaving a bright glow across your cheeks. The timer now read two minutes and counting, and Bucky was starting to get restless.

“We don’t have much time,” He insisted, taking a few steps closer to you. The screen was changing at such a fast pace that he couldn’t keep up with it even if he tried. He knew he shouldn’t have been badgering you, but the anxiety he felt was seeping out of him and filling the room, and he just couldn’t help it. The team was there to stop the missiles from destroying major cities across the world and all you were doing was staring at a screen.

“Yes, I know we don’t have much time,” You said, it clear you were growing more and more annoyed at his persistence. He heard voices outside the door, instinctively grabbing you and yanking you towards the floor. Yelping at the interruption, you yanked yourself out of his grip and went back to the computer, now working while on your knees.

“What exactly is it you’re doing?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m making it so when the timer hits zero, the missiles will just detonate instead of taking off and destroy the facility,” You explained quickly. Bucky felt all the heat leak out of his body.

“But we’re still here,” He hissed. “And so is the rest of the team. It’s going to take us too if you don’t finish in time.” You shrugged without looking up at him.

“I guess you better hope I finish in time, then,” You said simply before putting your hand to the com in your ear. “Everyone needs to vacate the building right now. I repeat, everyone needs to vacate to vacate the building right now.” There was a murmur of confusion coming in through the coms.

“Since when do you have permission to give orders?” Stark’s strained voice echoed through the coms. Even Bucky was surprised at your overconfidence. You didn’t miss a beat with your response.

“Since I’m less than a minute away from blowing this place up whether you’re still inside or not,” You informed him. There was a few second pause.

“Alright, everyone out!” Steve commanded. Bucky looked at the timer. Forty five seconds.

“How close are you to being done?” He asked in a shaky voice. You bit your lip as you continued.

“Almost….done!” You jumped away from the computer and ran towards the door. “Let’s go!” Bucky followed without hesitation. Grabbing the handle, you pulled as hard as you could just as the alarms began wailing up and down the hallways. “Fuck. They locked all the doors.” Almost in sync, the two of you looked at the timer. Twenty five seconds. Bucky frantically looked around the room, his eyes falling on the window. Without a word, he grabbed you and charged towards it, shielding your body with his own as the two of you shattered through the glass and flew through the air. Your bodies crashed landed onto the ground, you groaning as Bucky stood and tugged you back to your feet.

“We have to keep moving,” He said weakly as he pulled you into a run. Bucky’s eyes had fallen on Steve, who was a few hundred feet away, when the building behind him exploded. The reverberation from the explosion caused the two of you to fall back to the ground, this time landing in green grass. When Bucky looked over, he watched the mushroom cloud of smoke and fire rise to the sky, debris raining down onto the ground.

A cough next to him made him turn his head, finding you slowly rolling over onto your stomach, pain etched on your face. When you returned his gave, you smiled weakly at him.

“See? I wasn’t going to let us get blown up in there,” You said in soft yet playful voice. Laughing, Bucky reached out and gently shoved your shoulder. He looked up in time to see Steve and Tony approach.

“You guys okay?” Steve asked. You pushed yourself off the ground and sat on your knees and Bucky, using your shoulder as support, steadily sat up.

“We’re good,” He said in a gravelly voice. Looking at you for affirmation, you have him a solid nod and he looked back up at Steve and Tony. “Yeah, we’re good.” Smiling lopsidedly down at him, Steve pulled Bucky to his feet as Tony gently helped you to yours. From the pained expression on your face, it was clear you weren’t as okay as you had claimed.

“We’ll get that fixed up at the compound,” Tony said as he put your arm around his shoulders to support you. “You did good today, kid.” From your other side, Bucky grabbed your other arm and threw it over his shoulders, wrapping his arm around your back.

“Thanks for everything,” He mumbled into your ear as him and Tony guided you back to the jet. You shrugged before smiling at him.

“What are teammates for?”

____________

“Fuck.”

It was a quiet whisper, but Bucky always had good hearing. He had just been walking down the hallway towards the bathroom when he heard it come from the kitchen. Peeking around the corner, he found you at the stove. Eyes squeezed shut, you were bringing the ladle away from your mouth with a disdained look on your face.

“You okay?” He asked before he could stop himself. Jumping slightly, you whipped your head to look at him. Once your gaze met his, you relaxed.

“I’m trying to cook myself dinner and I’m trying a new pasta recipe, but it’s missing something,” You explained. “I just can’t figure out what.”

Slowly, Bucky approached you, his hip bumping into yours as he filled the empty space next to you at the stove. He took the ladle from your hand and took a small spoonful from the pot, bringing it to his mouth to try for himself. He let out a hum as the sauce hit his taste buds. It had been a while since he’d had anything homemade, and he didn’t understand why you were questioning it. To him, it was perfect.

“Maybe add garlic?” He suggested as he held the handle out to you. Your eyebrows furrowed together as you took the ladle from his hands and tasted it again. Without a word, you nodded before heading to the spice wrack and grabbing the garlic seasoning as well as the onion salt for good measure. Carefully, you sprinkled some of both into the pot before stirring and offering Bucky another try. His acceptance of the offering was quicker than he intended as he shoved the spoon in his mouth. The slight moan that left his mouth made you laugh.

“So it’s good?” You asked him. He nodded rapidly as he put the ladle back into the pot.

“Perfect,” He told you. The way your face beamed at his compliment made his heart skip, but he shook it off. As you began to head towards the cabinet, he turned to leave.

“Do you want a bowl?” He turned back in surprise as you waited for his response. “It’s only fair since you were my test dummy. Which I greatly appreciate.” Your smile grew sheepish. “Also I just haven’t learned how to make pasta for just one person.” His laugh was loud and hearty.

“Sure,” He said, rounding the kitchen island and taking a seat on one of the stools as you pulled two bowls out of the cupboard. Your serving size was generous as you slid the food to Bucky before making your own bowl, but he knew he’d eat it.

“How’s the foot?” He asked, nodding at you. You looked down, lifting up your boot clad leg for him to see. It was a monstrous thing, that went more than halfway up your shin and looked incredibly heavy.

“I have to swing my leg out when I walk and it’s a huge pain in the ass on stairs,” You told him. “But my foot doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Only three more weeks of wearing it.” As you dished your bowl, he stared down into his own.

“I’m sorry for that,” He said, seeing you look up at him through his peripheral. “I should’ve been more careful.” When he looked back up, he found you shaking your head, a firm look having taken over your face.

“We’re alive because of you,” You said. “If I had to choose between breaking my ankle and dying in an explosion, the boot doesn’t seem that bad.” Stepping out from in front of the stove, you leaned on the island counter towards him. “I should be thanking you for what you did.” He looked away again, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you before,” He said, changing the subject. Taking a bite of the food you gave him, he shuffled in his seat before looking back up at you. “You have my complete trust now.” You smiled, it filled with mischief.

“Good,” You said, stuffing a forkful of pasta into your mouth. “I had to win your trust before I could feed you the poison I put in your bowl.” He laughed loudly for a solid thirty seconds before shoveling some more into his mouth.

“It’s so good, that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” He said, and had to look away to hide his bashful smile when you beamed at him once more.

____________

The door creaked slightly as Bucky pushed it open. Something in him made him stop, his eyes looking down at the floor as the war in his mind went on. Maybe you didn’t want to see him. It was, after all, his fault that you were in here. If you wanted to see him, you would’ve texted him or told Steve. But despite the updates he had received, he wanted to see you for himself. But now he was frozen at the door.

“You can come in, Bucky,” Your weak voice called out, startling him. He hesitated for a few more seconds before finally crossing the threshold into the room, closing the door behind him before finally turning to face you.

Thankfully, you weren’t in the same state as you were the first time he saw you. The wires and tubing were gone, and now you were only connected to an IV. Even still, you looked slightly ghostly, and your cheeks were hollow. You smiled at him as he crossed the room, taking a seat in a chair next to your bed. He assumed the other members of the team had taken turns watching over you in this chair when you were at your worst.

“It’s been a while,” You said casually. “How’ve you been?” He huffed before shaking his head.

“You’re lying in a hospital bed and asking if I’m okay,” He stated in a monotone voice. “I’m great. Just fucking dandy. Now how are you feeling?” Your head fell so it was laying on your shoulder.

“A lot better,” You told him. “But anyway, what’s wrong?” Bucky rolled his eyes at your persistence. Raising his hand, he motioned up and down at you.

“This is my fault,” He snapped. “How am I supposed to be okay?” Your eyebrows furrowed together as you stared at him.

“Bucky, I’ve been injured on missions before,” You said plainly.

“That was a broken ankle, this…” He paused. swallowing hard. “This was different. And I should’ve been more vigilant.” You stared at him in complete confusion.

“How is this your fault?” You asked him. “This happens. It’s part of the job. It’s not like I did.” He flinched, looking away.

“You almost did,” He choked, cursing himself for the display of emotion. When tears stung his eyes, he found himself wishing that he didn’t come at all. When his eyes jumped back to you, he found your own to be narrowed. Your face scrunched up as you pushed yourself upright, but you waved off his attempt to help you.

“But I didn’t die, did I?” You asked rhetorically. “And even if I had, it still wouldn’t be on you.” He opened his mouth to argue, but you shook your head. “With every mission, there’s a risk and we’re aware of it every time we leave the compound. That’s just what comes with the job.” You extended your hand to him, waving your fingers expectantly. He was hesitant, but eventually he put his hand in yours. Warmth flooded through his arm into his body at the contact, his hand feeling like it was on fire. His breath was shaky as he stared at you, soaking in the small smile you were giving him. “I trust you with my life, Bucky.”

Your words were a runaway train and he was frozen on the tracks. The impact seemed to throw his mind into a supernova. He had felt it over the last eight months since you had joined the team, and he did his absolute best to pretend it wasn’t happening. At first, it was easy. He just had to avoid you. But now here he was, falling deeper and deeper into the never ending abyss that were your eyes. And it was something he could no longer ignore. Gently, he moved his hand to entwine your fingers and pretended not to notice you biting your lip. His thumb stroked your outer hand as he looked up at you.

“And I trust you with mine.”

_____________

“Do you trust me?”

He breathed it against your mouth, as he ran his hands up and down the fabric covering your spine. Your head was against the cabinet as your fingertips trailed his chest to his lower abdomen, and then back up again. Rather than respond, you brought your lips back to his.

If someone asked Bucky how this had happened, he wouldn’t be able to tell them. One minute, the two of you were simply preparing dinner together, him washing the vegetables for a salad as you pulled ingredients for the pantry, and the next he had you sitting on the counter with his hands on your thighs and your fingers tangled in his hair. It was so sudden that neither of you had the time to overthink it.

Lowering his hands, he pulled you closer so you were pressed against him. Almost as if it was a subconscious move, you wrapped your legs around his waist, locking him there. Not that he’d ever want to move. His fingers began to play with the hem of your shirt, as you traced the lining of his pants with yours. His shirt had been abandoned long ago, and he couldn’t recall which one of you had removed it.

He moaned your name quietly into your mouth, making you whimper in response. Pulling away from you, his face and your own were only inches apart as he brought his hands to your cheeks, stroking your soft skin.

“Do you trust me?” He repeated. You nodded feverishly, launching yourself forward and catching his mouth with your own. Through the kiss, his hands left your face and went down to the elastic band of your your shorts, jerking them down around your knees. You squealed at the motion as you dropped your legs down and let your briefs and underwear slide down until they hit your feet, wiggling your feet enough for them to fall to the floor. He pulled away from you again as you reached for his pants, but he grabbed your wrists before they could grasp them.

“I couldn’t hear you, doll,” He said in a low voice, almost a growl. You forehead fell against his, your breaths quick and hot against his face. There was something intoxicating about the way you were looking at him, the mix of fire and desperation in your eyes. His grip on your wrists released as he brought his hands to your hips.

“Yes, Bucky,” You breathed out, your hands on his waistband and slowly pushing his pants downward without breaking his gaze. “I trust you more than anything.”

___________

“Say it again.”

Bucky ignored you as he squeezed his eyes shut. Of course he wasn’t going to say it again. He didn’t mean to say it in the first place. But even though he couldn’t see it, he could feel your stare burning holes through him. And he knew there was no escaping this. Naturally, when his eyes flew back open, you were indeed staring at him.

It wasn’t supposed to come out, the thought had just run through his mind. A thousand times it had crossed his thoughts but never once did he allow it to pass his lips. Until now, when the two of you had been in the middle of a surveillance mission and you had laughed at something he said. And he just couldn’t help himself. Not another word was said the rest of the time, and he had mentally kicked himself for the last four hours. But the second the two of you had returned to the compound, you spoke.

“Say it again,” You repeated relentlessly.

“I- no,” Was all he said in reply. Your eyebrows furrowed together as you crossed your arms.

“No? You can’t just say no,” You insisted. Shaking his head, Bucky turned and began to walk away. He had almost reached the hallway when he was yanked backward by his jacket.

“You can’t drop bombs and then walk away,” You snapped at him as you walked in his path, effectively blocking it. He looked around the room at everything except for you. In the year since you had become a member of the team, somehow over time you had become something more to Bucky. And he wasn’t ready to make things weird.

“Just forget it,” He said, scratching his neck. “I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t mean it.” He went to turn away again, but you grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Don’t lie to me,” You said. “We’re supposed to be honest with each other.”

It was then that he looked at you, really looked at you. He didn’t notice it before, but your eyes were filled with fear. And then he understood. You were just as scared as he was. It was written in the way your lip trembled and your tight grasp on his forearm. He stared at you, before standing up straighter and taking a step forward.

“I love you.”

He didn’t blurt it out this time, it wasn’t rash or hasty. He said it with meaning, with every ounce that he had been holding back all these months. You inhaled a staggered breath before smiling at him.

“I love you too, Bucky,” You told him. “More than anything.” As he pulled you towards him, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and leaning down to kiss you, he pretended not to notice the fear had never left your eyes.

___________________

“This way.”

Hand in hand, you tugged Bucky down a hallway hurriedly, not for a second letting him slow down. The hallways to the HYDRA facility were long and narrow, with dim lighting and little windows. It was just as scary as Bucky remembered. And the sound of boots bounding across the floor behind the two of you didn’t help. Bucky wanted to fight, but you reminded him that there were dozens of them and only two of you. The other Avengers were in other parts of the facility, so you and him were doing this alone.

Bucky’s foot skidded and he dropped his gun, but when he turned to grab it, you pulled him forward.

“There’s no time, we’ll find you something else,” You insisted as you rounded another corner, dragging him close behind. As he kept running behind you, he thought of how Natasha was going to kill him for losing the gun she let him use.

Trying each door, you threw him into the first one that wasn’t locked and quietly shut the door behind you. Bucky took a look around in awe. It was a lab the two of you had stumbled into, with machinery to the nines that he would kill to understand. His favorite thing to do when he wasn’t with you or working was watching Stark and Banner work. They were always so happy to explain to him what they were doing, and he ate up every bit of knowledge they shared with him.

“When we get home, we should watch a movie,” He said as he ran his fingers across the tables, examining the equipment to see if he recognized anything. “We could order pizza or something.” He didn’t notice that a few moments had passed before you replied.

“We’re not leaving, Bucky.”

His eyebrows furrowed together as he stopped walking.

“What do you-” He froze once he turned around, to find you facing him with a gun pointed at his head. A rush of cold filled the room as he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your lips were pressed in a firm line, your hand steady as you turned off the safety.

“I’m sorry,” You told him. “But we can’t leave.”

The only movement he could muster was to shake his head, the rest of his body was too numb to move. And his head was too filled with confusion to produce coherent words.

“What are you doing?” He finally blurted out, taking a step forward. He went to take another, but you extended the gun out further, your finger tightening around the trigger, and he froze once more. It was then he realized it wasn’t a lethal gun. It was one of HYDRA’s specialty tranquilizer guns. His throat ran dry.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” You told him, your voice slightly shaky. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far, you have to understand that.” He took in the fact that you were blinking rapidly, and he wondered if it was because you were trying to stop yourself from crying or if it was because you had completely lost your mind.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He demanded, his hands raised slightly to his sides.

“You’re my mission, Bucky!” You screeched. Your words hung in the air as all of the oxygen left Bucky’s lungs. Tears were for sure falling down your face now. “I was assigned to bring you back. To return the Asset.” His hearing seemed to go out, the sound of your voice now growing distant. He thought about the gun he was using sitting in the hallway, and how he should’ve insisted on getting it back. He thought of your eyes when he told you he loved you, the fear instilled into them. He thought of your insistence on gaining his trust. Every little thing that you had ever done that could’ve clued him into this came back to him, but they were so few and far between. You were trained by the best, after all.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked weakly, his eyes dropping to the ground.

“They said they would blow up New York,” You told him, making him look back up at you. “They know you’re here and they said they could do it at a moments notice. They said I have until midnight tonight.” Ever so slightly, your hand began to shake so mildly that if Bucky hadn’t been staring right into the barrel, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“How much of it was real?” He asked, slowly gesturing between himself and you. “How much of it was real and how much of it was part of… this?” You let out a strangled sigh.

“It was at first but then I started fucking liking you, and then I started fucking loving you,” You rambled quickly. “And then they fucking grabbed me at the store last week and told me that I have until tonight at midnight to get you or else…” You trailed off, your entire body vibrating. Everything felt vacant to Bucky, like this was just what it was meant to happen. The minute he was starting to become happy, to move passed everything that had happened, it all turned out to be fake.

“I trusted you,” He whispered, shaking his head at the floor. You let out a quiet sob, and it made him flinch.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” You whimpered. He didn’t look up at you. He couldn’t. Despite it all, he knew that if he looked at you, into your eyes that he had immersed himself into time and time again, that he would forgive you in an instant.

“Why don’t you just kill me then?” He asked, his voice empty and blank. “You can make it look like I killed myself.” You shook your head rapidly.

“I can’t do that,” You said. “I won’t do that.” Something surged through him that he couldn’t quite place. His head snapped back up to look at you.

“You’re better off killing me than letting me go back to them!” He shouted. “You know what they’ll do!”

“I won’t be the one to fucking kill you, do you hear me?” You shrieked. “I won’t fucking do it.”

“Do it now!” He shouted.

“NO!” You yelled. 

He said nothing as he stared at you. The memories of everything he had endured rushed through him. It didn’t matter who you were or how he felt about you. He’d be damned if he let anyone take him back there again. Not without a fight at least. 

Before he could stop himself, Bucky found himself lunging towards you, his arms reaching for the gun. The last thing he saw as the gunshot rang in his ears was your tear stained face, the sound of your screams piercing the air, before he hit the floor. And everything went black.

__________________________

ALL THE THINGS

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[evanstarff]

Dawn

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1650

Summary: Steve Rogers comes home.

Warnings: A bit of angst that eventuates into fluff.

A/N: This is written for @softhairbarnes​’ amazing 750 writing challenge! Congrats lovely!! ✨ You guys should check out her Masterlist - her blog is also full of pretty things. My prompt was “sunlight” and the reader is adopted.

Masterlist here.

---------

A quiet history peeled from the corners of the ceiling. It bled through the floral wallpaper and whispered echoes of conversation between past lovers from the walls.

Steve tossed the bag unceremoniously to your couch and it smacked against the cushions. Worn blue and firmly set to the papered character of your cosy apartment. Heavy and pocketed with the weariness of being on the run. Visits to the Golden City were usually full of joy. Peace.

He felt off today.

You sensed the ripple of something unsure in his demeanour. Different from the last time. The shade of concern pressed through your face as you watched him push your door shut with an agile boot.

Steve brushed a gloved hand through dark blonde locks that had grown long and harried as the days gone by. The sigh passed pink and once sweet lips, now laced in something unsettled. Unsure.

Your feet crossed the floor to stand before him and Steve felt the quiet warmth of your smile pass through his chest as you spoke.

“Hey.” He watched your eyes search his own with careful consideration. “I’m gonna go to the store.”

“It’s late,” Finally found his voice as strong, roughened fingers found your own.

“It’s only four in the morning late,” you replied.

You glanced to him when he didn’t take your usual bait. Frowned with lips that pursed and worried in the corners of your usual smirk.

“Hey.” Hands gave his own a squeeze. “You okay?”

His eyes came to rest on yours. Blue and hesitant as if trying to bury away some shadow of uncertainty.

Breaths passed between you both. A procession of unease and contemplation until Steve let go of your hands, turning to his bag and began pulling out clothes. Hooded fleece in grey, roughened jeans, a t-shirt that looked just a touch too small for his broad and hardy form, and a simple baseball cap for good measure.

Steve pulled off the heavy star-spangled shadow from his limbs. Pushed them past a back that muscled through, like currents of an ocean deep and dark. Past hips, then thighs that spoke of too many sprints and not enough direction.

Sitting down on the edge of your couch, you watched him tug on civilian clothes, leaving his boots on. Perhaps he didn't have any other shoes, you realised. Fugitives didn't tend to just walk into a cobblers for repairs, let alone one former captain.

Steve rolled his shoulders. Habitually. A way to ease the tension and memories of the days before. Rubbed his chin now furnished a dirty gold and cloaked down behind his ears to flaxen hair. Gaze drawn across the floor as he tried to simmer the restlessness from his body.

“I have an idea,” you decided at last, sitting up from the couch. “Let's go visit Bucky.”

Steve felt strings of warmth and rapport creep back to his body and touched the corners of his lips.

“Afraid of leaving me alone?” he teased, feeling the words familiar in his mouth as he came closer to you.

You scoffed, though your heart leapt. Felt your eyes narrowed to his own, bright and blue. “It’s only the 84th time you’ve been in my apartment.”

“Only.” Smart-ass.

“And you brought a lick more attitude with you this time, Rogers.” You laughed and it echoed wonderful and sweet in his ears.

“Well, I just got here and we’re already leaving?” Blue eyes beamed bright and full to your own and you felt your chest swell with a warmth that reached your face.

“I haven't seen Bucky for a couple of days,” you pressed on with a smirk. “Better make sure he hasn't been eaten alive by goats.”

Steve exploded with laughter and it softened the prickly edges of your apartment.

“Lead the way.”

You turned to the door, pulling your boots back on and wrapped the tunic around your shoulders. Threw yourself out your apartment door before you could change your mind. Twelve hurried steps down your corridor, a corner then another three down the steps outside to the night. Steve walked a little faster to catch up, boots scuffing the sanded concrete.

Fingers grazed then entwined as the remnants of the night shadowed skin on cheeks. Cool and measured through your hair and in his lungs with the promise of something new.

Steve pulled you close as you both wandered down the waking street. Tucked you into the curve of his arm shaped like you. Brought fingers to his lips and brushed his nose through your hair. The scene of cotton sheets and wildflowers curled comfort through his lungs, warm as the feeling of home.

The familiar thumps and crackles of a market rising for the day echoed through ears. You carved a path to the outskirts of the city’s improbable blend of wood and metal. He adored the structures’ glow beneath the retreating light of the stars. Traced its lines and edges to his mind for a later time handled by charcoal and paper.  

The thunder of hunger made itself known as you glanced up at Steve. Amused eyes at his embarrassed face as he felt the smile meet the curves of his lips.

“Sorry,” he laughed quietly, feeling it ease through his shoulders as his stomach twisted.

“Come,” you chuckled. “Gotta feed the super soldier before we visit the geriatric.”

You pulled away, drawing heat from his broad and steady form toward the market stalls. With hands tucked into fleeced pockets, Steve followed your easy form navigating through the quiet streets.

Hunger grumbled louder as he looked up to see you bounding back to his trailing form.

“Speed up, Rogers,” you smirked. Planted a kiss from pointed toes to his exquisite face as you pressed the offering into his hands. “Aren’t you normally up for a run at this hour?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at you. “Hilarious.” He glanced down at the package seeping warmth through his hands with soft billowed heat.

“What’s this?”

“Rolex,” you told him amidst enthused mouthfuls. Parcelled paper already torn like a toddler ripping open a gift, revealing thin fried bread and its steaming contents. Foil and paper flowered around your fingernails as he watched you chew happily, a tomato painted dash in the corner of your lip. “Consider it breakfast.”

Steve snorted at the vision before him. Messy in ways that made perfect sense and a comfort that fit in all the shadowy parts of his heart.

“What?” It was your turn to narrow your curious eyes.

He only smiled and shook his head with laughing eyes of blue. Brushed a thumb to red in the corner of your mouth and pressed his lips to yours. Soft with the breath of spiced egg melded together with bread. It was hungry and warm through his lungs and into your own.

Steve pulled away too soon. A thumb-licked smirk on his face at the hazy expression in your eyes.

“What,” he shot back, eyes teasing and amusement curling in his lips as he took a bite from his own roll. Felt the familiar warmth of a kebab shop in the secret corners of a battle-blown New York street. Memories of beloved and wearied friends chasing warmth and deprecation ached through his heart, muscle and soul.

He sighed. Eyes closed. Content and felt a quiet sense of acceptance begin to creep into his chest.

“Hey, Rogers.” You rested your hands on his forearm, breaking him from his reverie. Comforting like sunlight finding home in the splendour of the morning sky. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” he apologised for the second time since he arrived. You watched those ever-furrowed lines relax as his eyes rested on yours. Fingers tucked a stray hair behind your ears, bringing heat through your cheeks. “Had a lot on my mind.”

“Take all the time you need.” Your voice was soft and sweet against his palm and it bloomed in his heart.

Steve took a breath. Quiet. Measured. Let it out. Felt his body full and drowned with affection.

You were beautiful and he couldn’t help himself.

His lips were careful on yours. Earnest and sweet, his tongue brushing ever so lightly on yours. You felt the pleasant hum in your throat and in his grin as lips pushed more heated now. Beard brushed deliciously against your lover’s bow, prickly and sweet on your cheeks.

Strong hands threaded through your hair, warm against the skin of your neck and pressed firm behind your head. You felt your body melt into his own, almost breathless. Giggling against his mouth as lips pushed and pulled and your fingers were tangled against the fabric on his broad and steady chest.

You felt drunk and it was everything.

Steve pulled away. Again all too soon. Felt his lips graze your nose, your cheek. A quick one to your lips and then his fingers pulled yours from the fleece of his hoodie. Kissed them ever so sweetly and smiled in the way that utterly melted your heart.

“I see you took my advice,” you breathed at last, eyes laughing as Steve pressed a kiss to your mouth in response.

“Sure did.”

You fell back into step with one another, weaving your way to the edges of the city once again. Found the towering trees to the familiar pathway that led to the clearing you both adored.

The glow of the promised morning sprinkled light to the dirt and pebbled path. Well-trodden and familiar as the strong fingers that now entwined your own. The particular shade of the clearing was the kind you would find in any light. Green and gold and textured like the painted tapestry found only in the soul of your heart.

Sunlight found its path across the field. Sprinkled in golden pink across the field; hues that you could not quite describe, except in the folded parts of your soul. Bucky’s hut came into view and he watched you dart ahead, shards of grass softening in your path.

Steve was home.

---

Masterlist again if you like my things! 💗

[the-canary]

Pretend - B.B.

Summary: Denial is a strong motivator to do stupid things. (Reader/Bucky Barnes).

Prompt: “Let’s do something romantic, like plan a murder or something.”

A/N: This is for @softhairbarnes 750 writing challenge. It took me awhile to figure out how this situation would go, but it’s fun and I enjoyed it! So, I hope you do as well. 

Masterlist

Feedback is always welcomed.

Being an Avenger isn’t always what’s cracked up to be in the media. There isn’t a Tony Stark party every night, there hours are long and sacrifices are made for the greater good in terms of personal and familial relations. It’s busting from one mission to another with people that have your back, but with the possibility of never coming back to the Tower or the Compound. The highest state of being a workaholic, but you wouldn’t have it any other way because while you are a hero somewhere else in the world for either a few days or weeks, it allowed you to avoid the problems back home.

“Mission debrief with Nat and Sam,” Clint explains as he polishes his arrows, a few hours away from landing at the Compound, “Potential mission in Morocco for another three weeks.”

“Do you think they’ll need me?” you ask, turning around after you finish wrapping your hands in bandages. The last mission had left you a bit worse for wear, but it wasn’t something that wouldn’t be gone in a couple of hours though there were some wounds that were worst, but hidden underneath the combat suit you wore. Clint just frowns.

“They might,” he says, though he has to add a little extra towards the end, “But, don’t you think you should take a break? You’ve been going on like this for nearly 2 months now.”

“I--” you want to defend yourself, but if Nat knew it was more than likely that she had told Clint as well -- they were a nasty pair like that.

“You can’t keep avoiding him forever, kid,” he tells you the die hard truth of what you have been avoiding these past couple of weeks, which causes you to frown. There is stubborn glint in your that he had seen a dozen times before in all the years of knowing you -- you weren’t going to say a word, take it with you to the grave if you could, “He’s gonna come looking for you eventually.”

“I guess, I’ll handle that when it comes to it,” is the only way you respond, as Clint laughs at your attitude.

The rest of the ride is spent talking about what you want to do in the little intermission between this debrief and the next mission briefing. A nap will be nice, but you know that that will be impossible with the excitement and adrenaline still running through your veins -- maybe, finally getting to eat some good homemade food from all the leftovers that Wanda tends to keep for everyone. Food was always good to ease the body and even the heart, which you had been fighting with for quite some time now.

The hour long flight passes  by too fast as you both are already walking down the hanger as Clint prepares to take a much needed rest and you try to the best with the time allocated for you before going to go meet with Natasha and Sam. Clint gives you a good-natured pat on the back as you give him a simple shrug.

“Take me advice. It’ll make it easier in the long run,” he warns you one last time, but you don’t say anything. He waits until you leave the hanger area, for a twenty minute brief and quick shower,  to take out his own communication device and speak into it.

“She’s heading to the kitchen,” he shakes his head with a smile, tired of how you’ve been avoiding the situation, as a familiar female voice answers back.

Clint’s words hold some truth because for a while Bucky Barnes has been wondering why he hasn’t seen you in such a long time. Long missions and time apart was something he was used to since becoming an Avenger and slowly becoming your friend after the long road of recovery, but this much time apart was insane. He worried about your health and was slowly coming to realize that it might be more, though he couldn’t help but question your actions once he asked Steve why you had been on so many missions lately.

“Shouldn’t she take a break? Ain’t that part of protocol?” Bucky tries to ask discreetly as possible one training session with Steve. You had just gone on a mission to Europe and had just as quickly packed up for a mission to Morocco with Clint. He hadn’t seen you in three weeks and it was starting to drive him up the wall. Blue eyes look back to meet his, as Steve seems to pick up on something Bucky hasn’t.

“I’ve already told her, Buck,” Steve pauses from punching the bag in front of him to look his oldest friend, “But, she’s want to dive right in, hard to stop a gal like that.”

“It’s just---” Bucky stops in frustration, as he runs a hand through his matted hair and  Steve can’t help but smile just a bit.

“You got something you wanna let out,” Steve teases with a laugh, as Bucky stops for a second and frowns as he tries to organize his thoughts. He knows that your absence bothers him, though he isn’t ready to admit the reason why just yet, not to Steve and certainly not to himself.

“Nah,” is all he says before going back to training and hopefully off of what’s really bothering him.

Since then, Bucky had been avoiding the bigger picture of what was bothering him, of what he could potentially be feeling for a close friend. He had known you for quite some time now. You made movie nights for him, trained with him, had his back when pranking Sam, and if he thought about it long enough it was only natural that he was drawn to your light like a moth and while he had been trying to get back into the “modern dating scene” here and there because it was different trying to initiate something with a stranger than with a close friend -- someone that he would place his life on the line for. And while that was just a shitty excuse, it was better than the darker thoughts that swim in his head.

Maybe, that’s why it was easier to go through the routine of checking his guns, or like he was doing at the current moment -- sharpening his knife in one of the darker recreational areas, maybe just for the potential of scaring Sam like he usually did. Instead, he was welcomed with the sight of you coming into the room with a bowl and freshly out of the shower from what he could tell with your damp hair.

“Hey Bucky,” you give him a smile and he doesn’t know if it's the soldier in him or if it’s just because it is you that he can notice the tired shag of your shoulder as you walk to take a seat on the couch. There is a limp in your walk that you are doing your best to hide, since you ability hasn’t caught up to healing it, and there are bandages around your hands. The toll of your constant missions is starting to catch up on you.

“You okay, doll?” he questions, as you take a bite out of your yogurt and fruit mix. You give him a light smile over his concern, though it doesn’t stop the quick ache in the middle of your chest because this is all friendly concern and nothing more.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed in a couple of hours,” you say in a dismissive tone in regards to your ample healing ability, though he didn’t need to know you were pushing your ability to its extreme with how many missions you were taking -- you were reckless that way.    

However, instead of saying anything about your current emotional problems, you decide to stay quiet and simply enjoy the silence you have with one of your closest friends. It was better than getting your heart potentially torn apart, though physical activity might be a whole better than the metaphorical version. Yet, you want to hear his voice beyond the sharpening of his beloved knife, and maybe that what makes you open your mouth, as you lean into the couch.

“ Let’s do something romantic, like plan a murder or something ,” you say breaking the silence from your side of the couch as blue eyes turn to look at you for a moment. He’s surprised in the way you say it , but the last part catches him off guard for a moment, not sure it you are jesting or being serious.

“Why would you want to do that?” he says walking over a thin bridge, though you can tell he is just humoring you with those twinkling blue eyes and the crooked grin on his lips as he sharpens his knife.

“Clint was annoying me on the ride back,” you admit, not never going farther to the actual truth, instead moving a bit more towards your curren fantasy with a laugh, “Just wanna whack him with a bat, maybe throw him in the Hudson.”

“You’ve been watching too many Scorsese movies again, doll,” it’s Bucky’s turn to laugh at the reminder that you have watched Goodfellas and Heat one too many times, and while he didn’t watch them with you for specific reasons he had gotten too used to you quoting them and going into monologue with Sam when the situation called for it. It was a little violet, but it’s one of the quirks he liked about you.

He liked a lot about you, actually and he was slowly starting to figure that out.

“Maybe,” you admit, before closing your eyes for a moment because while you were enjoying the exchange, you hands twitched due to his laugh with the thought of just going over to him and pulling him into a kiss. It was one of your more tamer thoughts when it came to Bucky as of recently, but this was something you needed to control -- for the sake of your friendship.

“Is the something wrong?”

“Nah,” you say softly and give him a bright smile, which he doesn’t completely believe but before he can say anything else on the subject.  

“--Agent Romanoff and Mr. Wilson are waiting for you,” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice cuts in, as you quickly get up and Bucky wants to stop you, yell at you about taking better care of yourself -- that you can lean on him if need be. However, all that stops dead in his throat, as you start to walk out of the room.

“Doll,” he manages to saw, as you look at him with tired and hollow eyes but give him the brightest smile that you can -- Bucky knows that you are lying, but he’s too afraid ask what the major problem is behind your recent behavior.

“Yeah?” you answer back, looking back while standing close to the entrance way. Blue eyes watch you, completely mesmerized for a moment before putting everything he is feeling and trying to let out into two little words.  

“Stay safe,” he says, as you nod with a crushed heart hoping he would have said something else.

Yet, as stated before, you are a reckless sort of thing that push your powers a little too far when you need the most, as you end up with a bullet in your shoulder in the latest mission with Nat and Sam, and unconscious for nearly 3 days as your healing ability tries to catch up with the damage done to your body. Bucky is a mess that only Sam and Steve are able handle, and then just barely as he watches for the hospital ward whenever he can and everything that he had been denying finally blooms in front of him.

“Steve, I think I’m…”  Bucky explains what he is feeling towards you (what he is sure that he has felt for a long time under the disguise of friendship)  to the blond, as Sam watches from the other side of the room a smug smile on his face as the blond just shakes his head.

“Well, took you long enough, Buck,” Steve says with a smile, as Sam laughs. Blue eyes take in his two best friends, as if they don’t understand the struggle he had been going through for the past couple of hours since he had seen you come back on a stretcher.  And while, yes it was a serious situation both Sam and Steve already knew that you were going to pull through, and a little extra thing, that Bucky didn’t.

“You knew,” he questions before looking at Steve and then back to Sam.

“It’s been kinda of obvious for awhile, Tinman,” Sam chuckles out, “Just gotta wait for Sleeping Beauty to return your feelings.”

“And why do you think she would?” Bucky asks desperately, looking for any sign that you might feel something besides friendship towards him. Sam just keeps grinning.

“Think back to when she started taking all those missions.”

Bucky does think long and hard about the time a few months back that you started increasing how many missions you were going on and for a moment he decides that nothing is any different. You hung out, trained together, and you had even helped him decide how he was going to go dressed for his first date in quite a long time -- and there it is. He had started dating more actively and seeking your help to do so, by the 3rd you were out with Steve and Nat on a mission in Portugal and his time with you slowly decreasing. But, you couldn’t have the same feelings, could you?  

The giddiness of such potential leaves Bucky sleepless into the 3rd day of your time in the medical ward, though you are awake and talking now. It isn’t until the middle of the night that he decides to finally visit you. And there you are sitting wide awake in your hospital bed, still a clear insomniac. He comes to stand near your bed, as you give him a timid smile.

“Hey Buck,” you reach out with your good arm as he takes your hand to have him sit as close as he can. The near death experience and your feelings wanting to have him closer than usual, even if just for a moment, “Been busy?”

Bucky can’t help but frown a little at the tone of your voice, as if you think he would be anywhere else but here, so for once he decides to voice it out, “I was just sorting some things out is all.”

“Like what?” you ask, almost afraid of what he has to say in the darkness of the medical ward.  

“I just wanna know something, please” he asks timidly like a scolded child and you can’t help but hold his hand a bit tighter for a moment, “Have you been taking all these missions to avoid me?”

“I-I..and if I was?”

“Why would you do that?” Bucky questions, as you take a deep gulp of air trying not to break down right then and there.

“Because I realized that I didn’t wanna see you smiling or laughing with anyone that wasn’t me,” you admit, tears in the corners of your eyes when you realize you have his full attention, which all you have wanted for quite some time now, “ I want all of you, Bucky .”

Bucky waits until you are done talking for him to pull you in as much as he can. He grabs your cheek with his right hand, as you find yourself staring at sparkling blues that hold so much promise and feeling in them -- that wholeheartedly return your feelings. Your foreheads touch as he whispers softly if he can kiss you, which you eagerly do before he can. It’s a small peck on the lips that slowly turns hot and needy, as if savoring that you guys have finally discovered each other after being in denial for so long.     

“God, I wanna murder someone,” you can’t help but groan out after breaking the kiss and moving your shoulder just a bit due to staying still in one place for such a long time, before laying back down.  

“Maybe, when you’re medically cleared, doll,” Bucky grins, already planning some pranks for those teammates that had known about yours and his actual feelings, but in particular Sam who seemed to enjoy the constant state of limbo that Bucky had been placed over this.   

“I guess we’ve been pretty stupid, huh?” you can’t help but admit bashfully, as Bucky sinks into the left side of your hospital bed, not wanting to let go of you for the rest of the night -- not, when he finally has you so close to him after such a long time.

“Just a little,” he laughs before looking down at your figure and thinking just how lucky he was, even if it came with some stupid moves on both your parts, which causes him to stop for a moment.

“Doll?” he questions, as you look at him, “We’re gonna have to talk about you running away from your feelings when ya get out. I don’t think my old heart can handle you visiting the hospital ward again.”  

You look at him, slack jawed and full of embarrassment before agreeing with another kiss to seal the deal.  

[itsbuckysworld]

itsbuckysworld masterlist.

Hi guys, this is L! I’ve decided to start early and set up my masterlist from day one lmao. Under the cut are all my works and I’ll keep this list updated with each new writing.

As of right now (FEB 2024) requests are closed and i am in hiatus. i’m always up for a chat tho so here’s my inbox!

Happy reading, have a good day lovelies!

1K Followers Writing Challenge Masterlist here!

Secret Santa Fanfic Exchange Masterlist here!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

SEBASTIAN STAN*

*I no longer write real people fiction. 

Studious (College!AU)  ||  part 2 ||

Little Princess (dad!sebastian AU)

Little One (platonic) (Seb x reader x Chris Evans)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

BUCKY BARNES

Together

Gladly, Mrs. Barnes

Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust ( College!AU for the #wsewritingchallenge300)

The Run (for the #wsewritingchallenge300)

Familiar

Deep Breaths *trigger warning

Thou Dost Taketh My Breath Away (Knight!AU for the #augustauwritingchallenge)

Untitled 1 (College!AU. Request from this Random Starters list)

Fixer Upper (for the #softhairbarnes750)

Love Hurts (Boxer!College!Bucky AU)

Come Over, Come Closer (AU!Bucky for Becaamm’s Valentine’s Writing Challenge)

Not Cuddle Weather (for the #HBC Summer Meet Cute Week)

Yoga 101 || pt 1. || pt 2 || (for the #omnomwritingchallenge1.1k )

Two for two (for coffee-with-bucky’s writing challenge: #lyns2019wc)

My son, Spencer (for flightofthefantasies’s #BeatTheHeatChallenge)

Late Night Bangers (Neighbor!AU for elifs2kwritingchallenge)

What’s on your back? (Single Parent!AU for star’s multi fandom writing challenge)

Merry Heist-mas (Secret Agent!AU)

Save a Dance For Me (Royalty!AU for the #CMMSecretSanta event)

UPCOMING BUCKY SERIES

Love, One Shy Guy (TBD hopefully sometime before I die)

The Little Merman (TBD hopefully sometime before I go to hell AFTER I die)

UPCOMING ONE SHOTS

like a gazillion writing challenges

finishing all my hello spring prompts (link below)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

DRABBLES

Drabbles from this Dialogue Prompt List 

#6. “This isn’t a conversation we should be having” “please, I just need to know your answer” - with Sebastian

#20. “I Love you” “I Don’t Care Anymore” - with Bucky

#28. "What time?" “Wow, how romantic, I love my girlfriend and our fun dates.” - with Sebastian

#31. “… and then he came up up to me and kissed me until I was-” “I’m going to have to tell you to shut up now.” - with Sebastian

#33. “Stop being seductive” “I was being myself, but okay” - with Bucky

#40. “We’ve been driving for hours, are we nearly there yet?” “I would honestly like to tell you something other than ‘no’, but life is cruel.”” - with Bucky

#45. “I think you’re going to end up getting hurt” “I know. I’m used to it now, it’s fine” - With Sebastian

#51. “Can you give me a massage” “No, because you moan really loud and our neighbors think we’re having sex” - with Sebastian

Drabbles from this prompt list (Bucky only. open for requests. writing on weekends)

#6. I need a place to stay

#16. You’re getting crumbs all over my bed

#19. You’re satan

#47. You're getting a vasectomy. That’s final. 

#62. If you can’t sleep... We could have sex?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

DRABBLE NIGHTS: 

Little prompts from the prompt list 50 Wordless Ways To Say I Love You. Unfinished. Status: you can still request #50wwtsily

#6. Tucking your head into their neck during a hug

#36: Helping brush their hair after a shower

#40: Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh.

#49: Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Drabbles from this Dialogue Prompt List

#6. “This isn’t a conversation we should be having” “please, I just need to know your answer” - with Sebastian

#20. “I Love you” “I Don’t Care Anymore” - with Bucky

#28. "What time?" “Wow, how romantic, I love my girlfriend and our fun dates.” - with Sebastian

#31. “… and then he came up up to me and kissed me until I was-” “I’m going to have to tell you to shut up now.” - with Sebastian

#33. “Stop being seductive” “I was being myself, but okay” - with Bucky

#40. “We’ve been driving for hours, are we nearly there yet?” “I would honestly like to tell you something other than ‘no’, but life is cruel.”” - with Bucky

#45. “I think you’re going to end up getting hurt” “I know. I’m used to it now, it’s fine” - With Sebastian

#51. “Can you give me a massage” “No, because you moan really loud and our neighbors think we’re having sex” - with Sebastian

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Short Drabble Weekends: from this prompt list (Bucky only. open for requests as of 08-28-19. writing on weekends)

#6. I need a place to stay

#16. You’re getting crumbs all over my bed

#19. You’re satan

#47. You're getting a vasectomy. That’s final.

#62. If you can’t sleep... We could have sex?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: 

HELLO SPRING MASTERLIST: My works that came out of the hello spring writing event i hosted. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:

I’M STILL A BABY IN THE SEBASTIAN STAN WORLD, BUT I’D LOVE TO WRITE ABOUT THE OTHER PAPERS HE’S DONE SO I’LL LET YOU KNOW WHEN I’VE WATCHED ALL THE MOVIES AND SEEN ALL THE TV SHOWS :)

[sweetboybucky]

Moonlight

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Word Count: 7700. Hi my name is Rae and this has never happened before. Please don’t expect it to happen again.

Warnings: It be a flangst. Sad angry emo Steven is sad angry emo Steven. Maybe some language. 

Summary: Steve still dreams of it.

A/N: Here is my piece for the always amazing @softhairbarnes  ‘s 750 Writing Challenge, who was kind enough to give me an extension I ended up not needing. My prompt was “blue” and it... turned into this. A mess that took six weeks of frustrated tears to finally complete. I am sort of very scared out of my mind to post this, but I hope you like it. I have some notes at the end if y’all wanna read those, too.

My Masterlist

***

Steve still dreams of it.

The days in the war.

That horrible train.

His plane falling - the world growing still.

And there’s blue. So, so much blue. Enveloping him and suffocating him and wrapping him in arms that squeeze too tight and -

Steve closes his eyes and sees only blue.

Muscles convulse and lips part as a strangled cry rips through him. Tears at his throat and draws more sounds with it.

Fingers press to a shivering mouth. Try to quell the sobs spilling into the night air. Work through sleep mussed hair and over wet cheeks and around a frenzied ribcage. Press everything in and in and in.

It rattles him like nothing else, seeing it all again. Living through the loud days and then the quiet. The cold. Dark and still and so intense he can still feel that panic rising in his ribs. A phantom memory that lives within the recesses of his mind.

The past doesn’t evade him, even in sleep.

He curls in on himself, sucks in air through clenched teeth and feels all of it again. The pain and the fear and the frost on his skin. The icy chill he still hasn’t been able to shake.

Steve is an aching, trembling soul in a body that does not feel like his. He is a shuddering chest. A thundering heart beating in a roaring life. In a world he does not recognize. A world that never lets him sleep.

He only wishes for some peace.

***

Material covers a broad chest. Stiff and itchy and far too tight. Fingers pull thick laces tight over new sneakers. They smell so strongly of everything artificial. Chemicals and rubber.

It makes Steve feel sick.

Balmy air warms a hollow heart, sinks into pale skin he’s long since forced to stop shuddering as he steps out of the compound. It crawls into his chest and fights with the frost resting in him. Tries to chase away the ice curled around him.

It doesn’t win.

Steve doesn’t think it ever will.

He closes his eyes against the light coming from the edge of the horizon, where a new day is just starting to rise. Shakes his head once. Twice. Feels his abdomen expand with a heavy breath and fall again as the air pushes through his lips.

Feet thud along the ground. On the path he’s made for himself out here. There are no roads to follow, not really. So he runs wherever his legs take him. He stopped fighting with them long ago.

Brooklyn is a million miles away. The city and the apartment he and his mother lived in and the park he used to play in with Bucky. He would think it was another life, a different person, if he didn’t feel so much like he did then.

Small.

He feels small.

Steve races the sun.

He never wins.

***

Stark gray lines thick walls. Brightens under the touch of early morning light, the sun streaming through the windows and dusting the neutral space in its ochre hue.

And there’s you.

Steve watches from the doorway as you step up to the refrigerator. Light purple fanning over your shoulders, the t-shirt just a little too big and showcasing some logo he can’t see from the angle. Fuzzy pajama pants, crimson flannel, hang down by your feet. Drag along the floor as you turn and face him.

He freezes in his place, that chill crawling up his spine and making a home in every inch of his body. He’d thought the kitchen would be empty. Was sure of it - no one else is ever awake this early.

But there you stand, stirring something in a mug.

Looking at him.

“Good morning,” you say. Simple. Easy as anything.

He tips his head in a quick nod. The movement feels awkward. Unnatural and not completely genuine. But he repeats your sentiment, answers with a small, “Mornin’.”

Voice is strained. Rough. Like he hasn’t used it in years.

Maybe he hasn’t. Not really.

A smile cracks your expression. And he looks at you, all rumpled clothes and sleepy eyes and bright light.

And he feels seen.

Seen in a way he doesn’t feel with the others. Dodging Bucky’s lingering, concerned glances and questioning tone is second nature, has been for as long as he can remember. Avoiding Sam and Nat’s grows easier with each day he knows them.

But there’s you.

Something about you that makes cold crawl through him. Something that tells him you know. Really, truly know.

You are his worst fear and his greatest wish.

Careful words thread through tense air. Easy again, like everything you do. Delicate, a question parting your lips, “Anything fun on the agenda today?”

It snaps him out of his discontented haze. Draws a smile from a pensive mouth. Makes him move his feet for the first time in what feels like ages.

“Just meetings,” he answers. He pauses in front of the coffee maker. Fingers tremble minutely and ocean eyes glance back at you, take in the way you lean against the counter. “Think I have one or two with you.”

A gentle nod of your head. A grin of your own, only visible for him in this moment, in the early morning fog and the quiet kitchen.

Feet pad against the hard floor of the kitchen as you step toward the hall. And you turn, send him a parting glance and a simple, “See you later, Steve.”

He nods, unable to find any words to offer, and watches you leave.

***

Steve Rogers is not the man you thought he would be.

You’d expected the man from the newsreels. The suit and the shield and the million dollar grin. Commanding voice. Strong leader.

The Captain.

Always the Captain.

You’ve seen him more times than you can count. Months with the team and missions have shown him to you. And you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t captivating. That it wasn’t fascinating to watch him work.

But he’s not the man drawing your eye now.

No.

That’s Steve.

Always Steve.

He rests at a crowded conference table. Across and a few seats to the left of you. Leans back in his chair and keeps his gaze down as a woman whose name you can’t remember points at some things on a screen.

Golden lashes brush against light cheekbones. Shroud slightly sunken ocean eyes along with pale eyelids as they scan the paper in front of him. As fingers work the gel pen over the material. Full lips pull into firm line, contemplative and a little sad as he draws.

He looks worn. Tired in a way he usually hides.

You’d noticed in the kitchen, at least minutely. Just thought it was the trick of the lighting.

It wasn’t.

Azure finds its way into your view. Quick, a snap of his gaze as he looks you over. But then he’s turning back to the pen in his hand. Tracing over lines he’s drawn, a sketch you can’t see.

***

There are nights he doesn’t sleep at all.

Nights when the thought of the frost on his skin is enough to keep him from closing his eyes. When an sky blue gaze flits around his bare room. Works to catalog something interesting enough to fix on.

Nothing.

There is nothing.

It has him standing, making his way to the door and stepping over the threshold. Walking until the blank common room comes into view, covered in a quiet darkness inviting him in with a blanket laying across the cushions of the couch.

Upholstery roughs against pale skin. Slips underneath a large frame as he rests on the sofa. Calloused palms work over the blanket and drape it across shivering legs.

Sickly light fans over the room once he’s turned on the television. It lights up his face with its strange, icy hue as his eyes scan mindlessly over the screen.

He tucks the thin material over his lap tighter around his body.

The chill gets in, anyway.

He doesn’t move until the morning rolls around, muted orange light filtering through the windows.

***

Tired eyes.

They rest among pale skin. Hang over the slightest shade of purple. Shroud themselves with thick, golden lashes. Eyelids that rest just a little lower than you’re used to.

You’re not used to any of it. Have only just begun to see it in the past few days.

But Steve is tired.

And this time, he isn’t doing much to hide it.

He’s stepping up to the counter. Sliding a palm along the surface before lifting it to the coffeemaker. Pushing the button a little harder than necessary. Pulling his hand back like he’s been burned with the noise it makes.

That tired gaze doesn’t turn to you. Lips don’t part in greeting. Not for you or anyone else at the table, noon day filling the common room with life you’ve long since grown used to. With friends.

And Steve looks like an outsider.

You catch Bucky glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, Sam following suit only moments after. But Steve doesn’t look back. He only fills his mug until it’s nearly overflowing. Shrugging his way past Wanda and making his way out of the room.

It’s strange.

It makes worry settle within you, cold and heavy.

***

Steve still dreams of it.

The days in the war.

That horrible train.

His plane falling - the world growing still.

And there’s blue. So, so much blue. Enveloping him and suffocating him and wrapping him in arms that squeeze too tight and -

Steve closes his eyes and sees only blue.

It’s maddening.

Disgustingly terrible, the way all of it makes him feel. The way his body surges off of the mattress. Fingers scratch at shaking muscle and teary eyes and mussed hair. Nails bite at his skin, leave marks in their wake. Sweat lines his body, disguises the ice in his veins for a roaring fire.

He scrambles out from underneath the blankets. Pushes himself onto the floor and holds his buzzing head in sweating, trembling palms. Clips his tongue between his teeth and hopes that it will do enough to keep his cries from growing too loud.

And eventually, he’s calmer. Slightly stable, though there are still spasms lighting along the flesh of his legs. His cheeks are wet, his lips are red and raw from the sting of his teeth sinking into them and his lungs are still struggling to draw in the air he needs, but the blue has faded from his view.

The thick atmosphere of the room is too much. Makes him feel like a kid again, his mother sitting next to him as he wheezes in bed. Bucky dragging him home from the park as his vision goes spotty. 

It’s too much.

It’s all too much.

It has him standing, slamming a hand on the wall when he rises to unsteady feet and tries his best to keep himself upright. Throwing the door open and stepping into the quiet hall, more dark air peppered into his view.

He scrubs at his cheeks and walks. There’s no real destination in mind. He’s not even sure why he left his room. He just - he just did.

But it’s a soft, “Hey,” that stops him in his tracks. Makes his eyes snap open and scan the area around him. Register the view of the common room.

And you.

Curled up on the sofa. A blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a book in your lap. A concerned little line of your mouth, the same expression blending across the expanse of your face. Resting in your gaze, only barely visible in the low light of the television.

He bites back the noise working to crawl from his chest. Scrubs at his face again and hopes - prays - that you can’t see the redness lingering in his cheeks, in his eyes. Rolls his shoulders against the chill in his spine and forces out a swift, “Hey.”

A long, unsettling quiet rests over the room.

You look at him. He looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he’s not really sure what for. Clumsy fingers sift through unkempt hair. Calluses slide along a still bare chest.

“I’m -” a harsh inhale, “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’ll uh - I’ll just - I’ll leave you -”

“Steve,” you breathe, your smile turning softer under his nervous glances. “You can come sit down, if you want. I don’t mind.”

It looks like you mean it, all careful voice and kind eyes.

So he steps forward.

Takes up the empty side of the couch with a gentle kind of trepidation. Gropes against the upholstery for the throw blanket resting on the center cushion. Tucks it around himself, breathes in the tepid air. Tries to let the little warmth in the room soak into his aching bones.

A blue gaze flicks over the screen in front of him. Catches you closing your book around your index finger, sliding it away a little but keeping your place and looking at him.

“What are you doing up so late?”

He sighs, the question drawing a certain fear into his heart. “What are you doing up so late?”

You don’t miss a beat, just answer with, “I like to sit out here sometimes when everyone’s asleep. It’s nice and quiet.”

Steve had hoped it would avert your attention from him. But it didn’t, he realizes. And it’s only driven home by your next statement.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you quip, though it’s more teasing than anything. And he wants to chuckle. Give you some playful answer about hearing Sam’s snoring from three doors down, Bucky talking in his sleep across the hall keeping him from getting some rest.

But he can’t. So, he snaps up, instead. Rights his posture and lifts his head, eyes cutting to you as his voice shifts into a tone he wishes he didn’t know so well and he says, “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Defensive.

Always defensive.

Your grin falls just a little. Head tilts, eyes flash with something he doesn’t really recognize.

“Are you okay?”

He nods. Autopilot. Hardly realizes it’s his own body making the movement.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

A weird kind of realization morphs your previously lively expression.

“Steve,” you sigh. And it hits him in the worst way. Drives a hole into him that he will never admit is there.

He’s used to Bucky and Sam and Nat’s exasperated tones, their tired expressions.

But not yours. He’ll never be used to the way your features change now.

You breathe life to another heavy sigh. Set your book on the coffee table in front of you.

He turns his eyes down after a moment, tries to decide if he should leave or not as he fondles a loose thread in the velvet soft material over his legs.

“You’re allowed to feel things, you know.”

A sharp inhale. A snap of his head as he fixes his gaze on you. Jaw falling slack, fingers stilling where they rest on the blanket.

“You’re allowed to feel things,” you repeat, “and you’re allowed to tell people when you do. You should tell people.”

A heavy pause. He can feel the weight of it against him as he remains quiet.

“You -” you cut yourself off for a moment. Build a visible resolve - he can see it in your eyes - before continuing, “You can always tell me. I’m here, if you need me.”

It’s a thrum of his heart. A quiet little statement settling itself in the deepest corner of his mind.

You’re picking up your book, standing before he can say anything else, still too overcome by the reverent tone of your voice. The words you’ve allowed to be born into the moment.

Pausing before you step into the hall, you turn back to him. He watches as your smile grows just a little sad. As your mouth forms the words, “Good night, Steve.”

And with that, you leave.

He doesn’t move until the sun has risen.

***

“You’re allowed to feel things.”

Such a simple phrase.

Such a terrifying thought.

An endless stream in his crowded mind. A skipping record, playing and playing and playing until he feels sick with the idea. The things those words from several nights ago could mean.

He knows it was with the best of intentions that you murmured them. Pushed them into the air and allowed them to settle within his aching ribcage. Spread out, fan across every part of his body until it was all buzzing with possibility. With the thought.

Eyes squeeze shut. Lips purse as he shifts against his sheets. Wrestles with the need to sleep and the urge to stay awake.

He has more than one reason to forgo rest now - the dreams and your words.

Two separate demons, two separate burdens.

Each more terrifying than the last.

***

Movement lights along your peripheral. Draws your eyes from the barely visible text lining the pages of your book and past the screen of the television. To the frame of the hall, where a muscled figure rests.

Steve.

It brings you back to those few nights ago - soft whispers of your voice, words you meant with every ounce of you. Even if you don’t know him all that well. Even if he doesn’t know you.

He still deserves some peace.

“Hey,” you offer. It’s an echo of a moment that’s long since passed. A moment you hope wasn’t too much, too far.

Socked feet slip against the floor, bring him just a hair closer to the couch where you rest. And his lips tip into a little smile, traced by the light of the television as that smile fits around his response, “Hi.”

You think that’s your answer.

“Is -” he cuts himself off, clears his throat. Lifts his hand to the back of his neck and rubs desperate fingers there. “Is that seat taken?”

A languid gesture to the free end of the sofa. It makes a grin of your own split your face.

“Nope,” you answer. “It’s all yours.”

You can almost see the weight slipping off of Steve’s shoulders. Letting them settle, his chest caving just a little as he lets out a heavy exhale. As a relieved expression transforms his features.

He settles in next to you. Snags the free blanket draped over the armrest and covers his legs. Thick arms cross over a cotton clad chest, a deep breath sighed into the air as he shifts. Gets comfortable against the cushions.

Sky eyes flick to you, shine in the unpleasant light of the room. And they’re warm, looking over you for a moment before gaining a smile to match.

Paper slides along the pads of your fingers as you return his kind expression, opening your book once he’s fixed that ocean gaze on the screen.

Silence falls over the room.

Two people, resting comfortably.

***

“Hey.”

A careful greeting in quiet air. Laced with practiced timidness. A little too shaky for his liking, but the word is already out and you’re already turning.

Smiling.

Warm and full. Waving him over with a lazy hand and breathing, “Hey,” through the space between the two of you. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, move from the machine you were working on to the bench closest to it.

You look different in daylight. Light that isn’t coming from a giant screen to the side of you, illuminating half your face in a glow that doesn’t make him feel quite as sick anymore.

“How are you?”

Strands of golden hair fall onto his face as he nods. Smiles just a little and says, “I’m alright. You?”

Laughter rises from your heaving chest. “I’ve been better.” You look around the empty training room. Steve looks at you. “These machines are kicking my ass, but at least Sam isn’t in here. He’s brutal.”

He watches the little grimace that twists your mouth in a funny way. Feels his shoulders shake with a chuckle he hardly registers and notices the way your expression changes.

A long pause.

And then he’s speaking. Whispering, “Thank you,” before he can bite his tongue. Before he can think better.

He doesn’t even know what he’s thanking you for.

But it feels right.

So he says it again.

“Thank you,” he repeats, raising an icy hand to the back of his neck. Cutting his eyes away from you as he continues. “I uh -”

“It’s nothing, really. You don’t need to thank me,” you say, obviously sensing his hesitancy. And he thanks you for that in the quiet places of his mind. Sends you a little grin in response.

He finds you standing once again. Reaching down to grab your bag and passing him where he stands a few feet from the bench you rested on moments ago.

Fingers graze his arm. Soft and gentle and warmer than anything.

And with one last, “See you later, Steve,” you’re making your way down the hall.

***

Steve isn’t sure when it became a routine.

Resting on the couch with you at night. Finding you after the nightmare, staying there until you bid him good night and he can finally slip under his own covers. Get in a few more hours of uneasy rest, more of the same, before starting his day. Finding you when he can’t sleep at all. Can’t find the calm he works to command in the hours of the day. When all eyes are on him.

At night, it’s just you.

He doesn’t tell you why he doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t think he needs to. It doesn’t matter. Not really.

Not to you.

You only smile at him, soft and hopeful. Pat the spot next to you every night he makes his way to you. Every night he works to escape the demons making a home in his shadow.

And he feels better. Only a little, but better nonetheless.

Pages rustle, flipping with quick movement out of the corner of his eye. He tears his view from the flickering television. Settles it on you, instead. Watches as you flip through the book in your hands, the book you’ve held in your hands every night the past few weeks. The same book he first found you with.

It rests on your knees where they’re gathered to your chest. Shakes while your limbs adjust on the cushions. While you pull the velvet soft material resting over you tighter around your body.

Ocean eyes flick from your concentrated face to the book in your lap. Finds himself parting his lips before he can stop himself, asking, “What are you reading?”

There’s a long second where you don’t look up. Only keep your gaze trained on whatever text rests in front of you. But that sharp expression is softening soon enough. Turning to him, putting little embers of heat into the frost under his skin.

“It’s a poetry book.”

Surprise laces his features. Head tilts a little, a questioning gesture, his voice managing to sound, “A poetry book?”

You nod, smile growing a little fonder, now. Quick confirmation and a sweet grin. The pads of your fingers trace over the words he can’t see as your gaze flicks from them to his face.

“I didn’t know you read poetry,” he says.

You hum. “I do.” More letters are subject to your careful touch as your hand keeps moving over the paper. “I think everyone reads poetry, at least once in a while.” Nose turns back to him, half of your face lit by the television. “Everyone has a favorite.”

A small noise from the back of his throat. Gentle understanding. He looks on as you skim through some of the pages, stop at some poem he can’t see and let more warmth flood your eyes.

“There’s some good stuff in here,” you whisper. Eyes fix on something printed before they turn back to him. “And it’s nice to read it. Makes me forget about everything else, when I need to.”

You clear your throat, features shifting just a little as you murmur, “It’s nice to get lost in something, you know?”

A strike to his gut. The air drawing from his lungs in a quiet gasp. Careful warmth threading through him, tendrils of heat spreading down to his toes.

“Yeah,” he answers, just a little breathless. Eyes search your face. “I think I do.”

***

It’s funny, you think, how much can change in so little time.

It’s even funnier, you think, how happy that change makes you.

Laughter. Real, genuine laughter falls from lips you’ve seen every night the past few weeks. Ocean eyes hold a vibrancy you’re just beginning to know. One that turns a little gentler in the quiet moments you spend with him.

He turns to Bucky and Wanda. Says something that makes both of them smile. You don’t even know what he said but you find a grin of your own taking over your face.

And then he’s looking to you.

Seeing him in the common room, on his spot on the sofa, during the day, is something you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. The way the sun lights along his sharp jaw. Presses itself into pale skin, softens the expression that’s already doing that on it’s own.

He’s beautiful.

It hits you in a strange way. A way you don’t think is so objective any more. Not now. Not after the sleepless nights. His careful greetings and the gentle way he moves.

Steve is beautiful.

You smile back at him.

***

Nearly a week.

Nearly a week since he’s seen the blue. Since he’s slipped under his covers after sitting with you, found that same vision on his mind even after the calm. Woken thanks to that icy air settled under his skin, refusing to go away.

Nearly a week.

And Steve feels better.

That dread doesn’t linger as often as it used to. It’s hardly detectable in the moments he spends with you. The soft nights with even softer blankets and somehow softer words.

Hazy ochre and brilliant crimson stretch in front of him as he runs. As he closes his eyes and pushes his face into the breeze, feels the slightest pickle of heat in his otherwise chilly skin.

Steve doesn’t race the sun anymore.

He runs with it.

***

“You taking me out here to kill me?”

Amusement sifts into still, midnight air. Wraps itself around him in a way he’s only just beginning to understand. A way he’s growing fond of.

Eyes turn back to him, barely visible with the moon in the velvet ink sky above you as the only source of light. But he can see your grin.

“No, Steve,” you say, your movements to wherever you’re taking him never ceasing, “I’m not taking you out here to kill you.” Nose turns back toward the direction you’re leading him. And it’s only thanks to his enhanced hearing that he makes out your next statement, “I’d bring Bucky with us if I were going to kill you. Sam and Nat, too. They’d want to see that.”

He finds his own laughter rumbling his chest. Joining yours, filling the hollows of his bones and mind and heart.

And soon enough, you’re turning back to him. Grinning and flopping down into the grass, patting the spot next to you as you grip your book to your chest.

A questioning glance as he settles next to you. Wary, ocean eyes fanning around the expanse of grass on the compound.

“I found this spot when I first came here,” you tell him. He lets his eyes fall on you. Watches the fondness in your gaze as you fix it on the moon. “It’s peaceful. Wanted to show it to you.”

That small ember within him flickers with orange light.

Silence falls over the two of you then, save for the gentle sound of you skimming through your book. Flicking through the pages you’ve already worried so much. Scanning over words he’s sure you’ve read a thousand times.

Sitting so close to you, he can make out some of them. See a few stanzas of whatever poem you’re on now, lit by the stars. And it sparks a sudden intrigue within him. One he doesn’t feel like fighting, not with you.

“You ever going to tell me what’s in that book?”

It earns him a scoff. A teasing roll of your eyes and a dramatic, “I told you, Steve. It’s a poetry book. There are poems in it.”

“I knew that,” he breathes, more laughter rumbling through his chest. “I meant what kind of poems are in it.”

Eyes meet his, suddenly a little more serious but no less fond.

“Lots of different stuff,” you tell him, falling silent for a moment afterward. And he watches your expression grow just a little timid as you ask, “Do you want me to read one to you?”

A punched out gasp.

That ember turns into a flame.

He nods, every word he wants to say dying on his tongue.

You repeat the gesture. Murmur a quiet, “Okay, let me find it,” as your hands work through the material. Search for the poem you deem worthy of being born into the cool night air between the two of you.

It catches your eye eventually, whatever you were looking for. Draws a little noise out of you.

It makes Steve smile.

You tilt your face toward him for a second. Raise a brow and offer a cautious, “Ready?”

He’s not. Doesn’t think he ever will be.

But he also is. More so than he’s felt in a long time.

So he nods.

And you begin.

“Here is the ocean, this is the moonlight.”

Interest tips within him. Makes his head tilt toward you just a little as you wet your lips. As you flick your eyes to him before settling them on the page in front of you once again.

“Say that both precisely beyond either were.”

A pause. Your gaze is heavy, nearly as heavy as the weight he seems to always bear. As the weight he’s grown so used to lifts minutely.

“So in darkness ourselves go, mind in mind which is thrilling least of all. For love’s secret supremely clothers herself with day.”

Voice echoes deep within him. A steady, living presence in his trembling soul.

Ocean eyes train on you. Find you looking at him for a long minute, soft light brushing your lashes and cheekbones and jaw.

He wonders why he didn’t notice how pretty you are earlier.

“I mean,” you continue, “should any curious dawn discuss our mingling spirits, you would disappear unreally.”

Gaze settled on his face. Stars paling in comparison to you.

He thinks he likes this poem.

“As this planet, understand, forgets the entire and perpetual sea.”

Maybe it’s not the poem.

“But if yourself consider wonderful that your, how luminous, life toward twilight will dissolve, reintegrate beckon through me, I think it is less wonderful than this.”

Fingers brush along words scattered on paper. Brows draw up just a little, a fond smile curving your lips as you fix your eyes on the moon above you. Trace it with your eyes.

And then you’re looking at him. And he can’t breathe.

“Only by you,” you finish, “my heart always moves.”

The words are a thrum in his chest. A hot rush of air ghosting over him, igniting what was once embers but has become a flame. A whisper in his ear, soft and quiet and sweet and delicate.

Beautiful.

So beautiful.

And he doesn’t - he can’t

There are no words.

There’s nothing but your face and the stars painting a backdrop for you. The silence settling between you. Crushing him in a way that doesn’t feel bad. Doesn’t feel wrong.

“Pretty, huh?”

Your voice is slight. Careful. A little breathy. And it makes every thought in his head turn over, no cohesive statement left once he’s remembered to breathe. Once you’ve set your smile on him.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Pretty.”

He can’t be sure what he’s referring to.

He settles with all of the above.

***

He pushes a little farther, now.

Stands a little closer. Stares a little longer. Laughs a little louder.

And Steve catches Sam’s smug grin, Bucky’s fond nod as he takes his seat next to you at the table.

He just can’t find it within himself to care.

***

You’ve noticed.

The smile on his face grows brighter every day. And he shifts just enough for your hands to brush when he rests in his chair next to you in meetings.

It’s subtle. A change most would have a hard time finding in a man so routine.

But he’s different.

And so are you.

Knees brush as he finds his place beside you.

Close, now, on the couch.

Closer, still, in your heart.

***

“You going to be alright without me?”

Amusement shakes beside you. Makes the walk through the compound and to the jet feel lighter.

“I think I’ll manage,” Steve says, though there’s something within the words that makes you wince. A certain kind of worry. A fear that rattles whatever steady part was left within you.

But you cover it with a scoff. A gentle wave of your hand as you finally step outside, the jet coming into view. “You sure? You’re kind of codependent.”

And that smile he flashes for you is still a smile, if a little sad. Paired with a, “Very funny,” though nothing about this feels funny.

Nothing about leaving him for even a few days is amusing.

Because you’ve come to look forward to your days with him. Your moments on the couch. The way he looks when he concentrates on whatever is playing on the television. The sharp lines of his expression softening when he looks to you.

But Nat is already calling for you. Letting you know that your time with him is up, at least for now.

That fear you heard in his voice is hitting you.

“Keep the couch warm for me, okay?”

Stricken. More desperate than you hoped you’d sound. But Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Just settles his palm against your shoulder, presses it into the rough tactical gear until you can really feel it.

“You’ve got it,” he answers, somehow holding that strength you’re hoping to gain within his beautiful gaze. “Be careful.”

And for him, you will be.

It’s a rush of dread as you step away from him. Watch the fingers he had on you fall to his side before settling into a little salute just before you turn. Wave your hand at him and walk onto the jet, biting your tongue.

Cold and heavy, the weight of his absence.

You’ll miss him.

More than he could ever know.

***

He breaks his promise.

It doesn’t feel good. But he’s sure going to the sofa, sitting there without you, would feel much worse.

Rough hands lift the sheets on his bed. A weary body crawls between them. Wrestles in the space they hold until he falls limp against them. Breathes a shaky sigh into their soft threads.

Ocean eyes flutter shut. And images of those peaceful nights come to mind. Knuckles brushing, knees pressing together.

Steve thinks of you.

And he falls asleep.

***

Steve still dreams of it.

The days in the war.

That horrible train.

His plane falling - the world growing still.

And there’s blue. So, so much blue. Enveloping him and suffocating him and wrapping him in arms that squeeze too tight and -

Steve closes his eyes and sees only blue.

He is ruined.

Hands press to aching, frosty skin. They work to light warmth into the quivering flesh lining his strong body, cover wet lips and wipe against damp cheeks. Try to press everything in and in and in.

And his first thought is you. Resting on the couch. Bathed in the glow of the television. Sitting in the grass, moonlight painting over your features and dusting the pages of your book. Coating the words you whispered into the air that night.

Legs start to move, shaky as they are. Feet swing over the edge of the bed, settle on the floor as clumsy palms press to a sweaty neck.

But ocean eyes open as he remembers. A sob rips through him for a completely different reason. For something he wants to wish away, make right in every reality possible.

You’re not home.

He wishes you were.

God - he’s never wanted anything more.

Steve curls up on his bed again. Ignores how cold it feels, how any semblance of heat has left the sheets.

Maybe it was never there at all.

Steve rests on a battlefield of ghosts in the shape of a mattress. He is a wounded soldier. Bleeding out in the middle of a war he can’t win on his own. A war he has to win on his own.

Always on his own.

More noises rise from a raw throat. He hardly realizes they are his own anymore, only presses his fingers more firmly to his jaw.

He doesn’t want anyone to hear him. He does want someone to hear him. He wants to know what he wants.

Steve wants this to be over. He thought it had been.

He was wrong.

***

In the darkness of his room, his throat burns as he offers himself one, single moment of weakness -

He calls for you.

***

It rests on the end table.

Unmoving. Small. So simple, lying there against the wood grain and the blanket - your blanket - that spills over the armrest of the couch enough to touch the spine. A note sitting atop it that says, “In case you need it.”

Your book sits before him. Shrouded in darkness, but there.

He isn’t sure what he was expecting to find when he stumbled out of his room. Covered his mouth with his hand to quell the sobs and ran to the common room.

It wasn’t this.

Tentative fingers reach for it. Eyes wide and skin prickling with the signs of those embers you put within him once again. The heat you set alight in his ribcage, the heat he finds as he grazes the cover of the book.

It’s in his hands soon enough. His body curls into your space on the couch, searches out that warmth the cushions could still hold as he opens it. Finds the words you read to him under that navy sky, the words that changed everything.

Your writing rests within the margins. Paints the blank spaces between the stanzas. Most of it is illegible in the dim light, too small for his eyes to pick out.

But at the bottom, just underneath the final line of the piece, he finds one he can read.

His name.

Pressed into the paper. Etched into the book you look into nearly every night. Lying among your handwriting.

Sparking that ember into a roaring fire.

Something that blurs the line between a sob and laugh escapes him. Tears cling to lashes, fall onto reddened cheeks as careful fingers find you among the torn pages and faded text.

The book is well loved, you’d told him.

And now, Steve thinks, so are you.

***

Moonlight falls into golden hair. Frames the handsome figure in front of you in a way you hope you’ll get to see again.

The stone of worry that had settled in your chest eases up. Lifts and falls to the grass your feet rest in as you look at him. As the fear of not finding him in the common room when you’d returned from your mission fades away.

But he’s in your place, the one you’d shown him all those nights ago.

And for a long moment, you watch him. The feeling of bloody tactical gear on your skin, the soreness in your body fading as he tips his face from his lap to the stars above him.

As he sees you.

“Hey,” he murmurs. Turning just a little to face you. A gentle greeting, like the first night you spent together, the night that spurred it all.

“Hey,” you respond, stepping forward and finding your place beside him.

Soft rustling sounds to your side as he shifts, his knee pressing against the harsh material of your suit.

Eyes turn down and find your book.

Resting against his thigh. Propped open to the page you’ve looked over more times than you can count. The page you hoped he’d find. And seeing it there, in his grip, still makes your breath hitch. Even if you left it behind for him.

“You found it,” you say.

“Yeah, I did.”

A pause fills the space as he looks at you, long and hard. Says more than you think most words could in this moment, as his leg pushes just a little more firm against you.

Most words.

Not the next phrase out of Steve’s mouth.

“Here is the ocean, this is the moonlight.”

A sharp breath draws from your lips. Hands fall lax at your sides, eyes widening and heart beating just a little faster.

He doesn’t look at the book. Only keeps his eyes on you.

And he continues.

Full lips form each word as if it’s the last they’ll be allowed to say. Follow the motions of the poem you’ve found a home in.

The last stanza rings through the still air. Settles into your heart and warms you from the inside out.

He doesn’t finish it. Doesn’t recite the final line. Just keeps his eyes on you, lips drawing into a soft line. One you want to trace with your fingers, one you want to press your mouth against.

One that parts soon enough to say, “You told me I’m allowed to feel things. That I should tell people when I do. That I could tell you.”

It feels a million years away and also like it was only a moment ago when you said those words. When whatever this is was born into your world.

A soft nod of your head. He pushes himself a little closer.

Voice careful, so, so careful as he asks, “Do you still mean that?”

There’s no hesitation. No question to answer in your mind as you say, “Always.”

In the darkness, lips find yours.

And they’re soft. Sweet. They move against with you practiced ease. Like they’ve known you in a thousand lifetimes. Like they’ll know you in a thousand more.

Even that wouldn’t be enough. No amount of time with Steve will ever be enough.

Bodies press together. Chase the heat that’s missing from the night air. Fingers brushing gear and cotton and skin. Sighs that echo deep within you, sighs you whisper into his mouth.

It’s over much too soon. And he has you chasing after his lips, smiling against his chin as his hands frame your face, your own falling onto his chest.

Moonlight traces his cheekbones along with your eyes. His mouth and nose and jaw. You search every part of him. Hope to memorize all of the man before you.

“You missed a line,” you rasp, voice still wrecked from the weight of his kiss. “Of the poem.”

A beautiful smile curls beautiful lips. Fingers brush back into your hair, a warm forehead pressing against yours and that grin grazing the tip of your nose.

“Really? Because I think I just said it.”

You find your own smile.

With Steve, it’s never far away.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I guess you did.”

***

Blue is beginning to find Steve in different ways.

The sheets you bought for the bed. A sweater you stole from the depths of his closet. Sky hanging above his head as you settle on his chest. Hold your book in the hand that’s not tracing lazy patterns into the skin of his neck. Breathe sweet little sighs against him and hum when his lips press to your hair.

It’s you falling asleep against him, warm and sated and smiling, filling his chest with a kind of heat he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Blue isn’t such an icy thing anymore. Not sea or frost or suit or shield.

It’s the world he’s found. The world you’ve shown him. 

It’s much prettier this way.

***

Steve still dreams of it.

The days in the war.

That horrible train.

His plane falling - the world growing still.

And there’s blue. So, so much blue. Enveloping him and suffocating him and wrapping him in arms that squeeze too tight and -

Steve closes his eyes and sees only blue.

Years, months ago, when he was freshly awoken in a time that wasn’t made for him, he was left to deal with that on his own. Left to find that heat within himself. Scream and sob and claw at his skin until exhaustion pulled him back into the mattress his body rests on.

But like a dream he hopes stays his reality, a dream he hopes never fades, you are there.

Careful fingers trace over fevered flesh. A chest presses to his shivering back, soft and warm and real. So real he could cry. A mouth brushes along the lobe of his ear.

Gentle.

With him, you are always gentle.

You are everything.

The words you whisper to him now. The words that helped to thaw his icy mind. The words that brought him back to life. You live within them. Rest and sleep and breathe a new kind of reverence into the phrases.

You are his beautiful poem, his soft moonlight. Hope in his heart, calm in his bones.

Everything.

You are everything.

The last stanza draws sweet from your mouth. And then you stop. Brush your nose against his skin. Let him turn in your arms, curl around you. Press his wet lips to your chin as he murmurs the only words he can remember.

The only words that matter.

A whisper into the night, a line from his soul he can only hope reaches you in the way he means it.

“Only by you,” he finishes, “my heart always moves.”

***

Notes: 

The poem used is “here is the ocean, this is moonlight; say” by the incredible E. E. Cummings. Also, about the “book” the reader has in this piece - I am not 100% certain that this particular poem is in a poetry type book, it’s just my favorite and I wanted to use it. If it was, it would most likely be in Cummings’ anthology. 

I was inspired by my friends @barnesrogersvstheworld and @evanstarff to use poetry in this piece. This headcanon helped. And Stubborn Love and Tender are two fics you need to read right. now. Honestly, I should just credit Attie and Maggie for forever inspiring me. I love you both. Maggie also was a big source of encouragement as I wrestled with this one. So, thank you. 

Also, Attie’s newest heartbreaking piece that broke my heart, Love Told in Seven, hit me like a freight train and made me finally sit down and finish this. So, thanks again, Attie. I’m still mad. 

Title inspired by “Moonlight” by Ariana Grande. I also listened to her songs “get well soon” and “goodnight n go” while writing this monster, which were two other points of inspiration. I also listened to copious amounts of emo music to get in Stevie’s angry little head. 

And last but certainly not least, this piece is dedicated to my angel Jess, @marvelous-avengers  , who read multiple drafts of this story and put up with my frustrated ranting, who never let me give up on it. Encouraged me the whole way. I cannot thank you enough. I love you more than you could possibly know. 

MAIN TAG LIST:

@solarbarnes II @akamaiden II @my-meant-to-find-blog II @marvelous-avengers II @jack4xx II @buckyforbreakfast II @theglowstickofdestiny II @bucky-at-bedtime II @notimetoblog II @estelgilvala II @teawithbucky II @veronicalei II @part-time-patronus II @thunderous-flower II @thelostverse II @delicatecapnerd II @pizzarollpatrol II @laurfangirl424 II @stevieboyharrington II @yknott81 II @bucky-smiles II @buckysb-tch II @a-watson-in-search-of-a-sherlock II @heartssick II @spxder-bxck II @bottled-starr II @buckybarneshairpullingkink II @yenneffersstuff

[whitewolfbumble]

Wild Horses - Chapter 4/5

A Bucky Barnes Biker AU

Summary: Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: About 3.5k

Warnings: Language, death, injury/gore

A/N: Down we go again! Note, I am not a nurse/doctor so if you find any inaccuracies I apologize. This series is written for @softhairbarnes 750 Follower Celebration! She is my muse and a writing goddess. Hope you enjoy this fic, dearest!

MY MASTERLIST // WILD HORSES MASTERLIST // CHAPTER THREE

“Why are you down there?” The voice was low and course like a gravel road, patchy and held tight in his throat. 

The interruption to your light sleep would have made you jump a mile high and a mile across the room, but it came friendly and somehow with an edge of something like mischief. It was above you, floating down and snapping conscious reality back to your mind in a moment.

“Bucky,” you croaked, inhaling both the warm morning air and the reality of the last night at the same time.

In the morning light streaming filtered through thin pastel curtains, he was clear to you in a moment, rousing you fully awake. He was still on his back (as he should be), chest bare, head tilted and looking down to you on the floor. The bruise on his cheek stood out, a signal of what other injuries lay unseen.

“Hey,” you whispered, moving your stiff body to get up and stand with legs leaning against the mattress. “How’s my favourite and only patient doing?”

“I dunno, Doc,” he responded, though by his fondly gazing expression and that hint of mischievous tone he seemed just fine.

The slightly bruised knuckles so lightly touching the skin of your thigh you didn’t even notice as you stood peering down quiet and gentle to him.

“Can I see the damage?” you asked.

He agreed and you gingerly lifted a corner of the taped on square of gauze clinging to his side. Bucky peered down too, movements a little stiff but managing to see what you did. An ugly, but not as angry looking dual lines of his wound, stitches holding and settled in, looked to be healing. It was puffed slightly and looking bruised, but not anything unusual. Not raised or infected, little blood on the gauze to speak of.

“Looks like you’ll live.” you said with a smile moving to bend over him, hovering just above his face. A face that held a look that stopped time. And to Bucky, your look held the same.

An intimate moment, unduplicatable and unbelievingly magical, was created and held by the both of your looks. It stopped time and held you both under its power.

It was infinity quiet moment, the buttery yellow sunbeams lighting up his bruised, subtly smiling lips. His pale, drawn face was edged with that glow, eyes burning a brighter blue than you had seen.

“God, Bucky,” you breathed, caught up in the glow, in the feel of time stopping all around you. “How many times have you been stabbed to smile like that so soon?”

You chalked up your next actions to checking on him, taking care of him. But as your fingertips brushed his cheek, feather light over his bruise, you knew somewhere deep it sprouted from a need. To be close to him. To comfort him. You were drawn to him, to touch him and be near him, just as he was to you.

“Yeah, maybe gotten used to it,” he whispered, voice hoarse but softly tender too, slowly moving his hand to hold yours to him. “But haven’t woken up to a face like yours before.”

That endless expanse of time, your feeling of an unbreakable bond and bubble, was burst all too soon.

The jarring sound of the door opened, Steve coming in unannounced. It would have been hard not to notice the intimacy between you and Bucky, but he came in and sat beside his friend all the same. You stood up taking a step back and running a hand through your hair, not particularly ready for the gang to see you in your pj’s just yet.

“Morning,” Steve said pleasantly enough to the two of you. “Looking good Buck, better than usual I’d say.”

“Yeah, nothing like a good sleep after being cut open.” Bucky said back, playing along with the tease, much to your frown.

He stiffly propped himself up on one elbow, barely even wincing. Man, if you had been stabbed not some hours before and patched up by a novice in a country home you would not be doing as well as him.

“Hey, Y/N, Sam is trying to work your coffee machine but is having no luck. Mind showing him how it goes?” Steve asked you, expression blank and innocent looking enough. “I think today we could probably all use a cup or three.”

“Alright, but behave you two,” you warned, grabbing your robe off the chair and slipping it on.

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky assured, smile weak but genuine.

“We promise.” Steve said.

You weren’t surprised to find Sam in the kitchen, peering through your cupboards for the coffee grounds. But you were surprised to hear a couple other members milling around the living room, coming in with Steve obviously.

“Steve brought the whole crew with him, huh Sam?” you asked by way of a “good morning” to the man in your kitchen.

“Yeah, we’re a bit close so I’m sure most will come by and check up on your patient up there,” he responded, grounds in hand before rattling the coffee tin. “And also a bit caffeine deprived too.”

_______

And so it began. You underestimated Sam’s little comment about the gang stopping in. You thought, yeah, of course they would come and visit. Check up on Bucky, make sure he was comfortable and okay, making promises to see him again soon.

But nope.

They came, and they stayed. All of them. Or what you figured must be at least the vast majority. Your driveway was a sea of motorcycles, glinting bright in the sun. Your tiny little living room, delicately decorated by your grandma probably just the once seventy years ago, was packed on every surface with denim-clad, leather jacket wearing, grime and grease stained bikers. And when the living room was overflowing (which did not take long), they took to the front steps and back porch, drinking beer and causing your serene and timeless sanctuary to be overrun with noise and beer bottles.

You closed the bedroom door and braced yourself against it, eyes closed and fist clenched.

“Bad day?” Bucky asked. He was sitting up a little now and placed your mystery book he had been reading on his chest.

“I get that they want to make sure you’re okay, Bucky,” you started, lips held in a grim line. “But all of them? All the time? This is the third day of you being here. You would think they would have enough confidence in me to take care of you by now. You’re practically up and about on your own anyways.”

Bucky looked away from you, shrugging. “Not a confidence thing, babe. We stick together. Fly or fail, we’re in it together.”

You didn’t want to admire that, would rather fume and fuss and feel that tight feeling of anxiety in your chest until they left, but to be honest you did admire it. You didn’t have that in your life. Never had. And you weren’t about to take that away from Bucky at any rate.

Sighing, you walked around to him and absently filled his water glass, passing it to him. As usual you were caught up in your own thoughts while he took a sip, eyes fixed on you. Walking around to the other side you laid down in a huff, moving the pillow closer to your patient. Again Bucky peered down at you, the beginnings of a crooked grin on his lips.

“Okay, I won’t kick them out yet, but soon,” you muttered, trying not to thinking about the truth Bucky said to you those days go. That you could belong to this world, these people. You just weren’t sure how to act around them now, knowing what he thought. “In the meantime, where are you?”

“Chapter nineteen,” he said taking the book off his chest and opening it back up. “I skipped a chapter or two though.”

“Yeah, that one storyline is a little ridiculous, but it all comes together soon enough. Well, I’m hoping so,” you commented.

As was your routine over the last few days, Bucky picked up where he left off and began reading out loud to you. You two would take breaks, talk about the story, ramble on about life, but often you just listened in to him, more often than not inching closer until your cheek was resting on his cool metal prosthetic arm. You rationed with yourself that he couldn’t feel it, but by the upward curl in the corner of his mouth, you knew that wasn’t true. He rationed that you didn’t notice when his fingers slid under your thigh between it and the mattress, but you did.

_______

Late in the evening of the next day Bucky was already asleep and without the presence of his calming words, you were on edge yet again. The high pitched buzz of the phone didn’t help, making you jump and almost drop the cup of tea right out of your hand.

“Hey,” said Steve on the other end. “We won’t be in town tonight. We have a, uh meeting on the outskirts, so you’ll have to tuck Bucky in for bed for us. Just let him know that?”

“He’s sleeping,” you said a little dully, exasperation with this whole thing not able to be completely hidden. “But I’ll let him know in the morning. And between the ten people you left behind here and myself, I think I can manage tucking the grown man in.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” was all he said before hanging up.

You glanced back at your tea, the steaming liquid bringing up thoughts of the muscle relaxing, peaceful bath you could be taking right now… And an idea lit sparks in your mind.

You paused, debating and calculating before muttering a weak “what the hell” and deciding just to go for it. You deserved an evening alone (save Bucky) with a comforting bath and some quiet.

With determination you walked into the living room, walking up a couple stair steps to get slightly above the crowd.

“Alright!” you yelled in the house, the clamours and raucous sounds of overcompensating rough masculinity dying down eventually. “Everyone is leaving. Meaning you, all of you. Steve wants you all back at the bar. Now. He’ll be there soon for a whole gang meeting, alright? Sam is coming now to look after things here and you all better be gone before he gets in, or he’ll give Steve an earful, understand?”

Unsure murmurs were following by resolute stomps, luckily in the direction of the door. Revving and smoking exhaust from ten or more mufflers filled the air then disappeared as soon enough they were gone. 

And for the first time in days, you finally had some peace.

The bath was luxurious, the silence beautiful, and the emptiness of the house like a blanket. Cozy and comforting, enveloping and with a softness that is hard to find when filled with intruding guests. Ones that made you reflect on your place in the world, anyways.

It was in that little bubble of contentment that you took your space on the floor when you (literally) crawled into your makeshift bed. Despite Bucky innocently (at least in expression and tone… maybe not in intention) suggesting every night that you stay in bed with him, you rested your head down on the pillow, wriggling around for a comfy position on the floor. No amount of blankets could take away the hard unwavering floorboards underneath you, but you had just about enough of them to give it an honest try.

The dark room was lit by small slivers of muted moonlight, a softer and cooler light than you were used to seeing Bucky in. It suited him, actually. Yes it was cool and soft, but also had a bright white kind of passion or intensity to it, the stilled beams with none of the buzzing energy the suns rays give.

In these thoughts you faded in and out of sleep and wakefulness, happy to drift in your tranquil house.

_______

It was not yet even close to dawn, the dead of night still holding fast to the world, when you heard something. Or you thought you did, waking up just slightly enough to keep you ears open. Maybe your ruse to get the gang to leave didn’t work after all.

But the sound happened again, too soft for the clumsy gang, who happily favoured loud and unapologetic noises at all hours. It was a thud, like someone knocking into the coffee table or kitchen table. The second time it sounded your eyes opened, brain signalling this wasn’t either in your head or the house settling.

With a bit of a groan you sat up, looking over to Bucky, who seemed to be sleeping silently. Though he had greatly improved and probably could have handled a truck ride to his place, he had stayed, content to remain in your bed for most of the days and nights. You weren’t complaining about it, hard floor and all.

Carefully you stepped light toes on the floor, pinpointing with an accuracy only one who grew up here and snuck out more than once could know, making your way across the room and down the old stairs in complete silence.

When you got to the bottom step, you stopped, looking out to the shadowy main floor. Less of the moon was shining through down here, as though the farther away from Bucky you were, the more demure the moonlight. It meant dark black shapes melded into the darkness around it, the edges not so defined as in daylight, moving and morphing subtly.

You stepped down, wondering if someone had camped out on the couch or maybe had gone back outside for a beer (clearly a favourite pastime of the group). You walked deeper into the darkness of the room heading over towards the front window. Maybe if you recognized the motorcycle you would know who was here? Well, you knew a couple anyways: Natasha’s black and scarlet bike with the spider, Tony’s modern bright red bike, Steve’s navy and silver bike, and Bucky’s classic black and silver one, of course.

But hand clamped around your wrist hard, a concrete grasp that felt like they had reached bone and stopped you dead in your tracks, voiceless and shocked. It wasn’t the sudden feeling of a person coming up behind you, grabbing your wrist, but the pain and radiating fury of their strength.

The next few moment happened so fast and so endlessly slow you couldn’t process any of it. It took you a second longer to realize this wasn’t a friend but enemy that was here with you. 

The first realization hit when a fierce kick to the side of the knee sent you to the ground. The confirmation of that realization when the hand clenching your wrist held you up, and a fist collided at bone crushing speed to your face. The terror from that realization hit when arms encircled you, a vice grip like a boa constrictor hellbent on squeezing the life out of you in the most painful way possible.

You felt as though bones were about to crack, organs split open, your skin about to burst at its seams. Dead weight, you fell to your knees, bringing your attacker with you and the adrenaline induced need to get away flooded you, drowning you with a focused survivors flight reflex unbridled by much conscious thought.

You whipped your head back, smashing your skull painfully against teeth and jaw and bone. Your foot kicked up awkwardly but hard, coming into contact harshly with the man crotch. The combination sent him off balance and tumbling back, but with his vice grip unwavering, so did you.

You were pulled down on top of him, your back to his chest, head knocked back painfully on his shoulder. You felt his hands on your bare skin, the grip biting and hard, bruising and unshakable. You squirmed and shifted and tried desperately to get out his bracing hold on you, to get away but you just couldn’t.

You knew you couldn’t let him pin you, couldn’t let him get on top of you. You tried throwing your elbows back and smash your heels into him and shook and rocked and did your level best in the darkness to keep him from getting what he wanted.

You gasped, sucking the air out of the room and about to burst your lungs, as suddenly the dynamics of this fight changed.

You screamed out a choked “No!” as you felt and saw someone come down on you, stunned at a second assailant and knowing now you were doomed.

The man mounted and straddled your hips and you briefly saw a telltale glint of a knife in the darkness. You were pinned to the man below you and now the man on top of you, causing a scream to erupt from deep within your soul and lungs as though you were already dying. Horror wasn’t adequate to describe the feeling inside you, the petrified feeling of death with no way to stop it.

In a flash the knife was at your side, and squelching squirt noise following, then even quicker than you could react it was at your head, a gargle and warmth hitting your ears and temple.

You felt the warmth of blood, the gushing of it soaking your clothes and back, and you waited for the pain. Waited for the shock to subside to feel this torment, to feel the life slipping from you.

But it didn’t come. What did was the relaxed feeling of release around you. Was the man under you slowly letting go.

It wasn’t you who was dead, but the man below you, his side stabbed and neck slashed, blood soaking your skin as every drop fought to leave his body and cover you.

You looked up through tears and sheer overwhelming panic to the person straddling you in the darkness, the bright hint of blue unmistakeable even in the dim light.

You wanted to sob his name, to cry out and scream and run away from this and take him with you. But you couldn’t move, the only movement or sound just a thin whimper escaping your heaving chest.

Bucky got up off of you and you about groaned, terrified for a moment he would leave you here. But he scooped you up, ignoring your blood-drenched clothes, picking you up so your chest was to his, your legs on either side of his hips.

He didn’t take you upstairs to the bath or to bed, but outside, the night air hitting you. You wanted to breath deeply, to calm down, to feel safe and protected, but you found yourself unable to feel anything but utterly overwhelmed. You breathed in short hard spurts, hitched and struggling, feeling as though no oxygen was getting in. You held your eyes shut tightly, shock taking over.

You felt Bucky move, before he set you and himself down. You realized as the ear-ripping sound rang in your ears, that you were on his bike, still face him, with one of his arms wrapped firmly and unwaveringly around you and the other on the handlebars.

You felt your hair move around you as you both tore away from the house and its trauma, your eyes closed against him, digging deeper into him. You didn’t know when it started, but you began to shiver, then shake, and then you couldn’t stop. Not even when Bucky held you closer, leaning over you as much as he could.

At some point the bike stopped, the ringing in the background of your head dying down and buzzing silence filling its place. You were airborne for just a moment before coming back into complete contact with Bucky, your hands gripping him harder, threatening to never release from him. You heard gravel boots and felt your body bob with his steps, still not willing to look at where you were going.

You heard a door open. Steps down a silent hall. Another door, then quickly another. You felt yourself being carried up a flight of stairs, still harshly aware that wherever you were now, it was still just the two of you.

Bucky held you still, the pair of you alone in this place. You couldn’t open your eyes to find out where you were yet. Even when after a time he ever so slowly set you down on unsteady feet.

He didn’t pull away for maybe a few seconds or minutes or days, you couldn’t tell anymore. He just held you tightly but nothing like… You couldn’t finish that thought, shivering into him.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered to you, so low against your ear you only barely heard it. “You are.”

The silence after could only last so long, something needing to burst out of you lest you explode here on the spot in his arms.

“Bucky!” you almost yelled with eyes now wide, the sound jolting you where you stood and him instinctively pressing up closer against you in an instant. His eyes were locked on yours, searching and shocked. “Steve said… Steve called… He said that, he said you… you were there, but sleeping so… He’s out of town tonight, he-he’s on the outskirts… You needed to know, he said you needed to know.”

“Yes doll, thank you,” he whispered, a placating kiss pressed to your temple.  He held you again, waiting to speak until enough little kisses given, for both your sake and his, fingers running through your hair. “...You did good Y/N. You did so good.”

He cupped either side of your face, holding you back so he could look at your tear stained cheeks and wide, bloodshot eyes.

“I need you to do something else for me tonight Y/N, okay?” he said, thumbs moving across your jawline while you blinked slow and watery. “I need you to stay here, okay? You’ll be safe here, but I need you to stay. I will come back, you understand? I need you to repeat that, Y/N. Tell me what I just said.”

“I… I’ll stay here,” you whispered, trying your best to repeat his words through the numbing haze of shock. “You’ll come back… You- you promise you’ll come back.”

“That’s it,” he said, pulling you in tightly again. “I’ll come back. I promise. You’ll be safe.”

Too soon he broke away from you and was out the door before you could plead for him to stay. He would have, if you had managed it. He would have stayed instead, protecting and caring for you. He would have done that over facing whatever it was he was off to face, or whoever it was was he was off to find. He would’ve been safe and kept you safe.

But instead he left you, drenched in a dead man’s blood, alone and shaking in the dead of night.

CHAPTER FIVE 

Thank you for reading! Please leave me some feedback so I know what you thought of this chapter! I feel like whatever side of good or bad you think this is, you’ll have an opinion lol. Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Permanent Tags: @dontpanc @smodvocate @bungalowjamaica @buckybonky@methefandompanda @hangirl93 @captainrogerrsbeard @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @thisgirllikeme @jjsoccer11 @innerpandablizzard-blog @fanatic-fanfic

Bucky Barnes Tags: @bexboo616 @kaaatniss

Wild Horses Tags: @myshakespeareandarling @lunasayinprincess2 @disagreetoagree @lilypalmer1987 @verygraphicink @jsmith509

[itsbuckysworld]

Fixer Upper

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (implied female) World: AU. Modern!Bucky x Mechanic!Reader Warnings: none really. This is really bad and I have forgotten how to write so i hate it. I also started hating the plot midway through so im sorry if its rushed and bad and vague.  Summary: Bucky Barnes is no longer an active member of the Avengers, just looking for a place to settle in that’s just perfect for him. On his search his car breaks down, and the sassy yet lovely mechanic that comes to his rescue, ends up introducing him to the town that might have everything he was searching for.

A/N: This is for @softhairbarnes 750 followers celebration writing challenge! I took the word prompt: Car. Hope you guys enjoy this spin on a typical AU classic lmao. It is so bad tho.

Smooches! xoxo L

He can’t believe it.

He has a metal arm for god’s sake, a metal arm he has been able to keep in check since he left the avengers years ago. The amount of times he’s called Tony or Shuri for advice – just advice! – he can count with his flesh hand, and that’s an achievement. Right?

Of course it is. He’s got that down to a T! Mechanics, right, he’s got it. Never functioned better.

And yet here he is, with his car sputtering some type of oil and there’s some smoke, threatening to be a lot of smoke, because he’s useless when it comes to actual mechanics that aren’t his high tech arm.

So far his mission – mere soldier talk, all he’s doing is town hopping looking for a place to settle – has been a crash course. Huh, hilarious. There’s not a single place that is the perfect balance of quiet and busy for him to just merge into and disappear. Granted, he knows he probably never will disappear, but whatever’s closest to that is what he wants, and he hasn’t found it.

And now here he is in the middle of a very quiet road on the outskirts of a town he had never heard of, thankfully covered in shade by the big trees and waiting impatiently for that mechanic his phone’s F.R.I.D.A.Y told him about – Siri. Young Peter had told him it was called Siri, but he wishes he could call it F.R.I.D.A.Y instead, it’s what he knows – as he tries his best not to mess up his car anymore than he probably already has.

Bucky has never been one to judge or believe in any sort of stereotype, but he can’t help the shock and confusion evident on his face when the tow truck approaches and from it hops down a young woman in ripped jeans and boots, chewing gum like she’s the cockiest, most badass player in the football team – Natasha eat your heart out – and almost as if she was expecting a reaction like that, she gives him a knowing grin before asking him how had he fucked up his car on this nice thursday morning, correctly assuming it was all his fault, and leaving him with no words. “So?” she asks, as he bends down and takes a look at his engine, pipes and everything else. “Uhh, I-I’m not sure…” Bucky’s quick to clear his throat, fixing his cap atop his head to give himself a moment to compose, and then he tries his best to explain something he didn’t know jack shit about, however he could. “[...] and I went to check and tried to see what was wrong, it… didn’t go very well” “I see that.” the girl says, her tone mocking him, Bucky can sense it without seeing her face, and it would be amusing if he wasn’t so surprised by her.

He wants to ask her if she really knows what she’s doing after she’s spent fifteen minutes just pushing things around in complete silence – weirdly enough, as much as he loves silence, he wishes she would say something, anything – and his car is still sputtering and smoking. His flesh fingers play aimlessly with his metal ones, and his henley is starting to get itchy around his scars on his shoulder. There’s not much he or the girl can do, and when she sighs, standing up straight and turning around to face him, he knows the news can’t be that good.

“I’m gonna have to tow you back to town, check it out at the shop” “Uh, sure?”

The last thing Bucky thought was that in the middle of his search for a new place to call his own, he’d find himself in a tow truck on his way to get his car into a mechanic. Of all things that he thought could stop his progress, this wasn’t even in the list. Aliens was more like it, or Steve showing up, beat up and bloody, asking him to join one last fight. All the brunette man could do was lay back and try to remain calm. It would be over soon, right?

“Think I’ll have it ready tomorrow afternoon” Y/N, as indicated by the tag on the overall she slipped on when they arrived, said when she slammed the hood shut. “What?!” Bucky exclaimed, making her sigh. “I said–” “I heard you right. Can’t… Can’t you fix it today?” his eyebrows scrunched down, showing concern. “No” she said shortly. “Please? Is there really nothing to do to get it done fast?” He didn’t want to push but he really wanted to keep going and not be stuck at… What was the town called again? Whatever, he didn’t want to be stuck there for any longer than needed. “How bad can it be? I… I kinda need to get going” The girl shook her head no, hip jutted out towards the right and arms crossed on her chest ready to give him an earful. “Oh you need to get going? Well it would be easier to fix, if you hadn’t fucked it up more, so if there’s anyone to blame for you not getting your car today is your own damn self” “Woah let’s breathe in, Y/N!” A man came from the back, wiping his hands clean before resting his arm around her shoulders. Y/N rolled her eyes. “What’s the matter here” “This idiot fucked up his car and expects me to have it ready for yesterday” “Y/N! He’s a customer, please” the old man rolled his eyes at Y/N as Bucky stood there, completely baffled. “Pardon my daughter, sir.” Bucky waved his hand, dismissing the subject. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t but he would try to make it fine. “Sadly the shop’s closing soon, but you have my word” the old man scratched his beard before thumping the hood of Bucky’s car three times “She’ll be running smooth in no time” “You mean in 24 hours” Y/N muttered under her breath, and even though that would mean Bucky wouldn’t be leaving as soon as he hoped, he found it funny how she wasn’t going to take shit from anyone, not even her dad. “Oh, Y/N what am I to do with you.” the old man said as the girl walked away, her mood immediately changed when some of the men in the back hollered at her and cracked jokes as she slid under a car effortlessly “The best damn mechanic in this town, also the biggest attitude in this town” his laughter was contagious as he shook Bucky’s hand and promised, once more, that his car would be fixed.

Hank, the shop’s owner and Y/N’s dad, pointed him where to go to find somewhere to spend the night, saying there wasn’t much in their small town, but they had enough to host him for as long as he needed. Bucky decided to walk around to kill some time, taking in his surroundings. He didn’t care for the town’s name coming in, but after just a few minutes in it, he found himself amused at the quaint places and distinct characters that seemed to inhabit the place. He turned around, really analysing it all.

The mechanic shop was nice and well stocked, with space for about 6 cars and men with greasy overalls walking up and down the place, boping their heads along to the old tunes spewing from a nearby radio. Both the colors, the feel and the sound of the place were as if he was thrown in the 1950’s and he hadn’t appreciated it in his short argument with Y/N.

Did he live that era? Maybe not, but it resembled those movies Clint had made him watch a lot. There was a diner around the corner and a small motel just down the block, just as Hank has said. Nice picket-fence houses scattered all around, dirt paths joining them as they sank in closer and closer to the woods. A gas station, an italian restaurant, a few pubs and barbers and a small retro movie theater that for a second threw him back to New York before shipping off to London during the war. With a soft smile he continued his aimless stroll for close to an hour or two. Taking his time and really sinking in every corner of the place.

It didn’t take him long to be installed in one of the motel rooms when he checked in, with a view of the sun slowly setting in the distance, and with nothing else to do but kill time, he set foot to the closest bar after a long comforting shower. He couldn’t get proper drunk, neither did he want to, but it was the simplest of plans.

Small towns mean you run into people all the time, so Bucky wasn’t shocked when he took at seat at the bar on one of the old rusty stools, discarding his leather jacket and pushing the hair out of his eyes, and giving one glance to the left there she was. Y/N, and a lot of men from the mechanic shop, bantering loudly and laughing at the top of their lungs.

She had donned a pair of black jeans, boots and a comfortable sweater, discarding the dirty overalls he saw her in last. She turned in his direction and caught him staring. All his brain allowed him to do was send a small smile her way and pray that wasn’t awkward. There was something about her standing there, laughing and with her face clean of oil or dirt, with a whole different attitude, that felt as if Bucky was looking at another person, and it had captivated him for a moment. And it must have been someone else entirely, because the Y/N he’d somewhat met before, didn’t strike him as the type to do what she was doing right now.

With decided steps, she waltzed towards him after she noticed his presence at the bar, and the first thing that came out of her lips was an “I’m sorry” that she had to fight to deliver over the music. “What?” Bucky was confused, that was unexpected. The roll of her eyes wasn’t though. “I’m sorry, for being a jerk. I just…” her fingers toyed with the rim of her beer can before she let out a sigh “I pisses me off when people want us to fix their problems in a blink of an eye, that’s not how it works.”

“It’s fine, I get it. No need to apologise” “Well, my dad made me swear I’d apologise to you personally” she giggled, taking the last gulp of her beer. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. Of course. “Your dad is a kind man” “He’s starstruck is what it is” Y/N confidently took a seat next to him, ordering herself another can of beer with a simple hand gesture and making herself comfortable. “Excuse me?” Y/N finished her sip. “Bucky Barnes, no?” she pointed at him, eyebrows arched in a questioning manner. “The Winter Soldier?”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. His mouth opened and closed, lost, mute. Not only did he hate the reminder of being the winter soldier, but he thought he was going unknown, unrecognised. So far no one had given any signs that they knew who he was. No one was pointing or whispering or asking favours. He was searching for peace and quiet, his name wasn’t gonna get him that, ever. “I-I…” he stammered, only causing the young woman to laugh. “Relax Buck-o. He’s a big history nerd and loves the idea of the Avengers and whatnot. Tony Stark himself helped him out of a falling building during the New York attack a few years back. You’re like, his hero or something… Right under Stevie Nicks” “She is the real hero here.” Bucky raised his beer bottle at that, causing Y/N to let out a small giggle. “I think so too” “But, he didn’t say anything…” Y/N shrugged “We’re a small very laid back town, no one really cares who you are or where you come from as long as you don’t bother any other local. You’d be the talk of the town for a solid ten minutes and then everyone would be going back to their business, thank God.” she rolled her eyes at the end of her sentence. It seemed to Bucky that was her main thing, just rolling her eyes at everything and anything. “Huh, is that so?” “Yeah. Scandals aren’t really a thing here… Nothing ever happens here –” She takes a long sip of her drink, shrugging her shoulders before continuing – “You’re probably the biggest deal to ever step foot in this place since the small forest fire of 2001” “That’s amazing… not the fire… just… that no one really cares?” “Why?” her eyebrow arched in confusion and interest. “Just because…” He smiled and surprisingly she smiled back. Deep down she understood that for a town to be quiet must be a dream to him after everything that she could only imagine came with being a superhero. Y/N tilted her bottle to his, the glasses clinking. There was something Bucky couldn’t place, but suddenly he was feeling a lot more comfortable with her, and if her pulling up the barstool next to his and sitting down told him anything, it was that she was comfortable too, the small argument from earlier long forgotten, both of them deeming it not a big deal to remain annoyed or angry about. Bucky liked this a lot better.

“So, tell me about this town, I never heard of it before” The stars were shining above them, twinkling white in the almost black sky. It was late and somehow, after a couple beers and mindless chatter, Y/N found herself offering to help Bucky back to his hotel through a cool shortcut to show him more of the town, and the soldier couldn’t find it in himself to decline. More so, all he found in himself was eagerness to share more time with her and a peaceful walk. “Oh, I bet. This place is like a ghost town, I don’t think we show up on the maps anymore” Her steps and his fell into the same rhythm as they crossed the street and neared the woods down a gravelly path. “Really?” “Yeah, but it’s cool, kinda like we’re from a secret place” “Tell me about it”

There was the distinct sound of crickets and a body of water as they continued down the path, then the lake came to view. It was gorgeous, reflecting the night sky, giving off the most peaceful vibes Bucky had ever experienced, and in the distance he could see the outline of the small hotel he’ll be staying the night. To the other side, the shadow of a house cut the pretty thickness of the trees. “There!” Y/N pointed. “That’s the house I mentioned”

“The one you call a ghost house?” Bucky and Y/N took got closer to it. It was a nice place. Small picket fence that separated a little garden from the rest of the woods, blue-ish walls that he could tell were vibrant and cheerful even in the nighttime. Decently sized property, two floors, and just as Y/N had said, a rusty for sale sign.

“It’s been for sale for a while now, no takers… It’s kinda creepy but in a cool way” “No one has moved in or claimed the property?” Bucky was intrigued. Despite her tales, the house looked well kept, and very inviting. Hell, he could see himself in a house like that, or at least he can remember at some point in his life moving to a house like it. “No… I guess whoever’s selling just really wants to sell it to a person, not the mayor” Y/N’s eyes shined under the moonlight as she took in her surroundings. She’d been there many times before, running in the woods with her friends, and pranking the more naive ones with tales of the house being abandoned and cursed. It was all in good fun though. The house was just old and a town legend. “It looks nice, plus, I bet it must be amazing to go deeper into the woods now and then” “Totally. Not a lot of people come down to the lake so it’s basically the owner’s property” with a small tug to his arm she indicated for them to continue on their way to his hotel. Bucky followed, still thinking about the house as they left it behind further and further.

Walking up to the main steps of the hotel, Y/N finished another short story of whatever it is the locals did for fun around here, which she insisted wasn’t much.

“That’s… about it… Things are stupid boring around here, but we’re not really missing anything that we need. We have enough and it’s peaceful. Plus, the closest city is a 30 minute ride away so for anything big, all you gotta do is drive down”

“Everything sounds nice” Bucky just nodded, silent, thoughtful. There was something charming about the town and its people, if any of them were anything like Y/N or her dad that is. “That’s cause you’re only passing. Two more days here and you’d be going crazy I bet.” Y/N laughed as she walked away, setting herself on her way home. Bucky waved before sighing, his eyes drifting back to the woods. “Might have to test that theory” he whispered to himself.

The following day he headed down to the car shop, not before making a stop at the town hall first. “Mr Barnes!” he was greeted by Y/N’s father, Hank, oil staining his cheeks but not enough to hide the deep blush. “I’m so sorry, your car isn’t ready just yet, I-I know I promised but–” “It’s no problem Hank” Bucky smiled, rushing him and looking around the shop until he found Y/N’s frame towards the back, working on his car. Excusing himself he ran over to her, making sure to startle her for the fun of it as he came up behind her. Y/N’s squeal was the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard, and he stood there laughing as she punched him on the shoulder. “You jerk! I have a wrench I can send you to the ER in a second, soldier” her threat was empty though, the huge smile on her face said it all. “Go ahead and try” Bucky teased. “I hear it’s not ready yet?” “Yup. I was right. I actually expected you much earlier” she twisted things here and there, getting her overalls and hands dirty, not paying much attention to Bucky, so she didn’t see him shrug and cross his arms over his chest with a coy smirk “It’s fine. I might stay a little longer” Y/N stopped in her tracks at the sound of that. He was gonna stay? Yesterday he was eager to leave as soon as possible, and today he’s just so completely calm, it was unsettling. She put her tools down, standing up straight to look him in the eye. His blue eyes that had smacked the air right out of her lungs the first time she saw him, although she was an expert at not letting it show. “Really? How long?”

All Bucky did was dangle a pair of keys in front of her face. The confusion only lasted a full five seconds before she put two and two together “You bought the house by the woods!?” Bucky shrugged as if it was no big deal. Y/N laughed out loud, more in shock than anything else. “You sure are crazy. Nothing ever happens here Mister Hero” “I told you that’s perfect…” Bucky played with his fingers, nervous about what he wanted to say next, but putting it out there either way before her attention left him and went back to his car. He couldn’t stop thinking about the house and this town – and Y/N – all night long, so there were many reasons why he wanted to stay. Everything just spoke to him the right way, and looking into her eyes there was that feeling again. This was it. This was the place. “Though, for a small town you guys don’t lack paths for a man to get lost in” She laughed again, and Bucky found himself smiling. He really liked her laugh. “I can show you around, ya know,–” she coyly turned back to the car, trying to hide a smile – “so you don’t get lost every day, it might get annoying” Bucky chuckled. “You know what? I’d absolutely love that”

this might not have a part two. It’s obvious they are getting together bruhhhhhhhh, they are perfect for each other lol. But if i ever get inspired to write another part, I’ll do it.  

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Smooches, L xo <3