#(idk something always felt vaguely wrong about their design. could never place my finger on what tho)

[mabepearls]

redesigned zhihao jiejie (old design left, new design right; any pronouns)

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 32

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: None

A/N: I swear this is fluffy. Maybe... Idk... Maybe I don’t even know what that really means lol. Either way, it put me in my feels. 

Also, please forgive me if there’s a slight lull after this chapter. I’m a little bogged down with work but who knows, maybe inspiration will strike.  

Tags are open!

“I’ve gotta take care of some things today,” Bucky says over his second cup of coffee. You’ve drug the dining chairs to the balcony and are watching the sunrise, it’s chilly but pleasant, the peace feeling so far from the scene that took place here the night before.

“Ok,” it was such a vague statement you feel awkward prying for details. Nervously you make the liquid in your cup spin in a slow counterclockwise motion.

“It’s nothing bad, promise.” When you look over at him he smiles, “Just a day labor thing I pick up every now and then.”

“Oh!” You honestly hadn’t thought much about how he made money.

He laughs, “We can’t all be master thieves.”

It’s a joke, it stings though. You had never wanted to be a thief, had worked your ass off so you didn’t have to be. Of course, he didn’t know that. “You know thievery isn’t my main skill set.”

He squeezes your thigh gently where his left hand’s been resting as if to assure you he didn’t assume it was. “What is?”

“Well if we go off my bachelor's degree, costume design with a nice and useless sociology minor.” His brows raise. “Didn’t know your girl was college educated did ya?” It slips out, something you’d just say casually before, ‘your girl,’ but you know it means something else here.

Those eyes narrow a bit, a smile playing on his lips, but he says nothing about it. You divert, “Not that either of those is worth shit to me now…” you think. “Maybe thievery is currently my main skill set.” You shrug.

“Nothing wrong with doing what you have to.” He looks out at the lightening sky, “I was always good with my hands. Easy enough for me to find something under the table that doesn’t ask many questions.”

“Did you used to do stuff like that?” You look at his profile, lit by the rose gold morning his eyes seem grey. Something like a smile lifts the corner of his mouth, he looks down and the few strands of hair too short to be pulled up fall into his face.

“Yeah,” he tilts his head to look at you, “dock work, construction, anything that would pay really.” He flexes his right fist, “Even entered a few boxing tournaments, won too.”

“Boxing?”

“Yup. What else was an Irish Catholic kid supposed to be good at?” He picks up his mug and drains it. “Even taught Steve how to fight. Lord did I regret that later.”

You’re reminded of what he said last night about Steve, it had bothered you, “Can I ask you a question?” You’re hesitant, afraid to open some old wound, “About Steve…”

He looks at you, studying for a second, “Sure, can’t promise how well I can answer…”

“If it’s too personal I understand…”

That gentle laugh, “Nah, it’s just that… I just don’t have it all back yet is all. There’re still some blank spots.” You nod, pausing, weighing the pros and cons of posing this. “But,” he says, “talking to you seems to… help somehow.” His smile is far more impressive than any sunrise.

You sigh and dive in, “Last night… you said he did something stupider than dying…”

“Yeah.”

“What… exactly did he do?” You take a sip of coffee.

“He went and became Captain fucking America.” You choke on your mouthful and spew into your mug coughing. He laughs, big and ringing. “Don’t drown on me.”

“I just. What?!” You wipe coffee from your chin.

“I thought you knew that. You went through my books on Friday.”

“Yeah. But, I honestly didn’t look that far into it, got too freaked that you and I had the same taste in pizza and flung the thing across the room.”

He laughs, “What, hundred-year-old assassins can’t have good taste?”

“Look it was a lot to wrap my head around in a short amount of time.” You say jovially smiling at him, “I was focused on the information about the guy I chained to the wall, not the other characters.”

“Tried to chain anyway,” he winks at you. “Guess we didn’t make it into your history books.”

You shrug, “I vaguely recall some mention of Captain America from school but to be honest the whole golden boy image didn’t exactly catch my attention.” He nods in agreement and before he can say anything something else occurs to you, “Wait!” You glare at him, “How in the sweet holy fuck did I remind you of Captain America of all people!?”

He shakes his head smiling, holding up his hands, “No. No. I said you reminded me of Steve. Steve Rodgers and Captain America aren’t synonymous. At least not to me.” A little laugh escapes him, “Steve was a 90-pound stick of a kid who could hardly breathe most days but he’d be damned if he let that stop him from trying to face down every asshole in Brooklyn.” He seems to darken a bit, “Captain America was a propaganda poster boy to sell war bonds.”

That was the image of Captain America you had in your head. Cheesy star spangled images from some battered public school history text. Then less overworked but none the less poster worthy images of him after The Battle of New York you saw when you were catching up on everything you’d missed while Hydra had you. Nothing in there felt like anything someone could connect to you.

That distant look is on his face and he leans forward resting on his knees, “I remember… seeing him for the first time after. My unit had been captured, Hydra had us, they were already trying to make… him.” The sound of metal shifting, “Steve barreled in there like some fucking berserker, against orders, to pull me out.” You like Steve Rodgers already.

“He was huge, in comparison to the kid I left in Brooklyn anyway. I couldn’t believe it, thought I was hallucinating. But no, that was him. Same bullheaded ass I had known most of my life, running into fights he didn’t have a chance in hell at winning, no regard for his own safety, just now he had the body to back it all up.”

His fists flex. “I was furious. Steve was supposed to be safe, unfit for combat, and the only thing I had to worry about was him getting the shit kicked out of him at home. Now I had to worry about Nazis and Hydra and… I couldn’t keep him safe from all that.”

A hollow laugh slips out, “Guess that’s always been a thing of mine…” He looks at you, trying to smile, sitting up, “Trying to keep people I care about safe even when they’re too stubborn to let me.”

Not sure what a good response to that is you slip your hand into his metal palm and lean into his solid shoulder. For a second he doesn’t move, and you wonder if this is too much contact, then his hand wraps around your own. Slowly he buries his nose in the fluff of your hair and breathes deep. Silence wrapping around you both.

Once the pinks and oranges of the sunrise fade to blue skies you head inside. Bucky goes straight for the closet and begins rummaging around without a word. You fill both mugs, wrapping your cold fingers gratefully around the warm porcelain.

He walks back and holds his right-hand open, palm up, “Here.” At first, you don’t see what’s there but then, laying flat, there's a key. Tentatively you lift it with your power and set his mug in his hand. The key hovers for a second before you pluck it from the air, expression questioning. “It’s not like I expect you to stay locked in here like it’s some ivory tower while I’m out,” he flashes you a smile.

A key. To this place. To his place. Suddenly it feels heavier in your palm.

His eyes are on the coffee in his mug as he says, “This is… well if you want it to be…” He looks up at you with those goddamn gorgeous sapphires and says, “your home too.”

You wonder if he knows what those words really mean to you. It may have been a while ago but he had a home once, one with a family who he loved, a city that was always his. Home was always so fluid a concept for you. Constantly shifting, crumbling, or being ripped away. Home felt like love, a thing you wanted deep into your bones but that you were terrified of because it could be gone so quickly. Still…

“I…” Despite your efforts your voice cracks, betraying your emotion. Instead, you just nod. He lets out a breath, like he had been scared of your answer, sets his cup on the counter and plucks yours from your hand.

The look on his face is so happy and relieved. When he pulls you into his arms you feel safe and warm, and wanted. All the things home should be. You realize that this place is one thing but it’s him, he is home. And goddamnit you would fight like hell against anything, even the ghosts in his head and your own, to keep him.

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