#bucky verse: as autumn turns | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years ago

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Welcome To The Pack: Sinking Fangs

Summary- 10.2k Alpha Steve x You. Things have settled back on Pack Lands. Over a month has passed since you and Steve returned from Wakanda and now there is just one last thing to deal with to put the ordeal of your time with the Pierce Pack to rest, deal with Council Member Ross. Brock now has a new asset on hand and gives a preview of how efficient he is. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics

Warnings- Violence, Killing, Sex.

A/N- Wow, thank you all so much for reading this. Really it has been a passion project of mine, and Im so happy I could bring my wolves into the MCU verse. We are at the end of this story with Alpha Steve and the Little One. I hope it delivered all that you had hoped it would and enjoyed it as much as I have. Reading your comments and asks have meant more to me then you could possibly know. Happy Howling 🐺

Chapter 9 (part 2) / Masterlist

The chill tickled his senses and that was what woke Steve up that morning, his hand sweeping over the bed to find you not there, but your warmth was still clinging to the bed sheets. You haven’t been up for long. Rolling to his stomach, he moved to resettle, listening for where you might be in the cabin. But all was silent, all he could pick up was the drip-drip of the coffee maker in the kitchen, so you had been there just before, there was no rustle on the couch no sounds of your feet springing off the cabin's wood floor though. But the heavy autumn air did draw his attention to the wide-open door to the deck. Rolling up to rub at his face to waken further, Steve leaned down and grabbed sleep pants nearby to tug them on. He advanced on the deck and took a look around.

The deck was frost-covered, as well as the towering pines housing the migrating songbirds sheltering overnight and that one grey squirrel that seemed to claim the back deck as his since you started feeding them. Steve’s eyes scanned for you, and the Wolf immediately picked up your warm scent, eyes dropping to see where the soles of your feet and toes had melted a trail across the frost covered deck. Following it, he went down the stairs to the lower deck that stretched out over the lake, and there you were, at the very end with an afghan wrapped around your shoulder, legs peeking out from underneath it. Steve could see where you were arched onto your toes to keep the rest of your feet from touching the frost covered wood. Getting a quicker spring to his step, Steve approached you from behind.

“Y/N, what are you doing out here so early? You must be freezing.” His Wolf growled in agreement when you looked over your shoulder. Even as cold as you looked, your eyes were bright with excitement. “I heard geese overhead, and I wanted to see them flying south.” Once he reached you, his arms went around your waist and drew you back so that you would lean into him, your feet moving to step on top of his to protect them from the frostbitten boards and the fog coming off the lake so early in the morning. His head tilted up to look in the clear blue sky above, something about the cold made it look sharper. Sometimes he forgot that son of a bitch Pierce kept you locked up so long in his compound, like an animal in a zoo.

You missed out on the way their world would shift between warm sunshine filled lazy days to everything preparing for a long sleep. The woods were now constantly rustling with animals seeking food to store away, leaves windblown loose to swirl in patterns before falling to the forest floor to provide shelter for the tree roots. Overhead the sky would be swarmed with birds, quick off the wing as they left for winter bound destinations. Ice would soon form on the lake edges, sending the lake dwellers down into the depths to wait out the winter. And right now, your head tipped back to watch the obnoxious geese as the massive birds flew in their arrow path, carrying them out of sight.

“Winter will soon be here,” Steve said with a smile, for it was his favorite time of year. As wonderful as all the others were, the snow brought a serene calmness to The Pack. Letting the Wolves loose for days to run across the snow. It was a time his Beast was most at home in the world. The biting winds and harsh cold he was made for. While the forest snapped from the intense ice and cold, he tracked through it, laying claim to all that was his and reminding nearby packs that a strong Alpha and his wolves claimed this territory. Then for his human side, he had a warm cabin, and now his Little One filling his home and his bed. Steve finally felt that maybe things were falling into place.

You turned to face him, wrinkling your nose at him. “You know who else will be here soon ? Ross.” You reminded him with a worried look and Steve gave a soft growl at the man’s name, a pain in his ass if there ever was one. He had put him coming off for well over the past couple months since you two had returned from Wakanda. But Tony finally pushed him for this meeting, to go over what had actually happened to Pierce’s pack, and You. Pack on pack violence wasn’t tolerated among the council, supposedly. So Steve needed to explain his reasons for attacking. It was all bullshit, considering what you went through alone.

“Don’t remind me Little One.” Steve gave a huff, warm breath washing over your face as his head dropped, burying his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. “The sooner he leaves the better. Come on, now my feet are cold.” He chuckled and drew you away, and back up the stairs towards the house once more.

The morning was a bit more tense than usual. Steve was quiet, you felt like his concentration was discussing matters with his Wolf, knowing he would have to keep himself under control with the Alphas coming into his territory. Initially, he was going to refuse this meeting, but Tony convinced him that it would be a show of good faith to the council if he allowed them access and actually explained what happened. The ex Pierce pack now belonged to Caine, who told the members the council sent what happened already. But Ross couldn’t let it go. Wanting to still hear from Steve. Finally, the Alpha relented, unsure if it was entirely the right thing, but it was done with. He wasn’t one to back down from his word.

“You still going up to the yard?” You asked cautiously, knowing Steve was a bit all over the place, and his head lifted at your voice, checking his watch.

“Yea, guess I better get up there if I want to get at least one truck off to the mill.” He drained his mug and set it in the sink, grabbing his jacket as he drew up to you. “Shoot me a text if anything happens while I’m up the mountain.” His fingers grasped your chin and placed a kiss on your lips, you nodded with an encouraging smile.

“Of course Steve.” You nudged at him and tilted for one more coffee stained kiss from him, and when he left, you listened to his heavy footfalls take him down the porch and then moments later one of the pickups at the garage start-up. Once he was gone, you moved to settle on the couch, pulling your phone out to call Natasha. This had become the morning routine, once Steve headed out, you checked in with the Red Wolf.

After a few moments, Natasha picked up, you could see here setting her phone up on a nightstand before going back to packing up a duffel bag.

“Hey, you coming home for a bit?” you asked hopefully. She had been gone since she left you and Steve in Wakanda, and only heard from her now and then till you started to actively video chat her once a day. If she would pick up the phone that was. Some days when she answered it would be from a car while driving, a motel room, middle of the street. And the days she didn't, you weren't sure if you wanted to know where she was holed up in her search for the missing pack members.

“No, not yet, I picked up another lead last night, and about to go check it out.”

“Natasha, Steve wouldn't be upset if you came home. It's been weeks and every trail you come across leads to a dead end.” You say into your phone while propping it on the coffee table.

“No, I'm sure of it this time. He really fits Bucky’s description. Tall, dark hair, slight limp to his walk. Sounded like he passed through town.” Natasha sounded hopeful. So many times Natasha was sure she finally found Bucky, and it always led to a dead end.

“Was there anyone else with him?” You questioned, and her face got a bit crestfallen, shaking it slowly.

“No, nothing about the others. Has Laura said anything about Clint contacting her?”

Another shake of the head no. “Nothing, no one has seemed to hear anything. Steve’s even been reaching out to other packs. Someone named Fury is coming soon, he works for the Council, and is going to try to help figure out where they went.”

Natasha’s green eyes widened a bit. “Fury? Well damn, Uh, how did Steve feel about that?” your eyes narrowed at your packmate, yes you were still fairly new, and was reminded of that in moments like these.

“From what I understand, Steve called him himself. Why? What do I not know?” You questioned, and Natasha shrugged.

“You know Steve, he's not on board with the whole Wolf Packs need to be “policed” like the council wants to do. But Fury, he's one of the better ones. Kinda walks his own line, you know? Steve worked with him way before he was an Alpha, at an agency called Shield.”

This piqued your interest, even your Little Wolf stirred, cause Steve rarely talked about his past. “What was Shield?”

Natasha searched the drawers one last time while she remained talking. “Oh it was Wolves trained in special skills, usually combative and logistics. They would be dispatched into problem areas for wolves and humans alike, working with the military. Bucky was a part of it as well. Their team was called the Howling Commandos.” Natasha snapped the drawers shut, and went to sit on the bed, picking up the phone. “Course this was way back when. I'm a bit surprised Steve hasn’t talked about it?”

“No, but honestly Steve doesn't talk much about his past.” You worried your lip a bit and the Little Wolf brushed against your mind.

Natasha gave a shrug. “He will sometime, Steve’s time with his ex wasn’t easy. He probably just wants to forget some of that. With your help.” Natasha smirked at you, and you gave her a roll of your eyes, your Little Wolf snickering in agreement with your friend. “Have you thought about making it all official?” She eased out the question, and you wish you could give a resounding yes. You had considered asking Steve many times about it since you two have returned home.

But something held you back, the idea of being connected to someone mind and body scared you in a way that seemed so unreasonable considering you and your Little Wolf knew you wouldn't ever want another Mate. Steve assured you many times that he would share that bond with you, but only when you asked for it, and never pushed or made you feel guilty like you should ask. Plus the way you and Steve were right now, it was comfortable and content, you hated the thought of asking for more and ruining the rhythm of happiness you found with each other, even though in Wakanda you were more than ready.

“I know Steve would the second I asked him, it's me waiting. After living with Pierce for so long, Nat honestly it scares me. If Steve connected, I would belong to him. I know he wouldn’t do anything I wasn't okay with, but knowing he could. Fuck that just scares me.”

“Y/N, does he even know you feel this way?” Natasha asked softly and you shook your head. “Talk to him Y/N, Steve will want to know what you are thinking.”

Your Little Wolf curled around in your mind, growling softly. <She’s right, we should communicate with our Alpha.>

“Think about it Y/N, you open up, maybe Steve will as well.” Natahsa grabbed her duffel and shouldered it. “Listen, I will be home soon, okay? Don’t worry about me, I'm used to being out on my own quite a bit.”

“Doesn't mean we don’t still worry.” you chuckled softly and gave a wave into the phone screen. “Talk to you tomorrow Nat. Bye.”

After hanging up, you settled back into the couch thinking over yours and Natasha’s discussion with the bond. Maybe it was time to bring it up with Steve, about why you were hesitant.

Maybe he’s hesitant to? I know he has offered but-

Of course I am, I just never really brought it up.

The Little Wolf huffed out in frustration and shook out her fur as she moved to a stretch. <You have wanted it since before I came home, you were just waiting for me to come back.>

How do you know about that?

<Cause I was never actually gone, just trapped.> she responded, starting to trot away from the front of your awareness with a whisk of your tail. <Now it's simply fear holding you back. The Alpha deserves to know.>

You huffed a bit at your wolf being so dismissive. Pushing up off the couch, and going back to the bedroom to go get ready for the arrival of Ross to the pack.

Up on the mountain, the lot was just finishing up, Steve waiting with hands on his hips, watching as Sam worked the Skid Cat to load the last of the logs on. Once the last one was on, he pulled himself up the side and started working on strapping them down for transport when Sam parked the skid cat nearby, and hopped down to go join Steve. Pulling himself up the other side, both men working quietly tightening the straps till everything was safe to be taken down the mountain.

“Your awful quiet today Man.” Sam finally broke the ice while twisting to take a seat at the top of the pile, Steve making a similar move to sit next to him.

“Lot on my mind I guess.” He pulled off his heavy duty work gloves, and slapped them down beside him.

“This to do with Ross or Y/N?” Sam questioned while falling back to his palms planted on the log behind him, relaxing for a moment.

“A bit of both. Ross, I'm just ready to get him off Pack Land.” Steve admitted, and the Wolf growled lowly at the mention of the man's name. “Y/N, were good and starting to feel comfortable, and settled after everything from this summer. But is this what she wants for sure?”

<Course it is, our mate is happy Steve.> The Wolf pinned back his ear at the humans worries, sighing.

Sam listened and gave a nod. “I remember feeling that way with Sara when we first started. ‘Was she happy, would she want this to be her life.’ Nerve wracking. I wanted to ask her, but fuck I was scared that she was gonna tell me it was temporary.” Sam flashed a grin. “Then I sucked it up, and brought it up one night. Damn, she jumped me in all of two seconds, told me I was an idiot and that she wasn't going anywhere.” Sam chuckled at the memory, and Steve gave his own amused laugh. “Anyways, I had nothing to be worried about, and I don't think you do either. Y/N looks at you man with those god damn heart eyes all the time whenever she catches a whiff of you. And Ross, I know you're not happy about it. I'm glad i'm not in your position right now.”

Steve rolled his eyes at him. “Thanks Sam.”

“But you're gonna sail through it, tell Ross what happened, he's just being a prick cause you're not rushing to sign his accords.” Sam moved then to push off, sliding back down to the ground, and motioning to the truck's cab. When one Alpha refuses, others will not be afraid to say they agree. He’s afraid of more Alphas and packs agreeing with you. Come on Alpha, you're stalling. Let's get our shit finished, your best friend gonna be here soon.”

Steve grabbed his gloves and jumped down, growling at Sam. “You're an ass.” while stuffing his gloves in his back pocket and yanking the door open to get in.

“It’s a gift I’ve worked on for years.” Sam grinned, grabbing the walkie talkie and listening for the static. “Steve and I are taking the last load, clean up guys.” Once he got the confirmation, he got in, and Steve put the truck in drive and headed down the mountain.

It wasn’t long till Steve was once more pulling into the Packs compound and it hit him as soon as he opened the door. The Alpha himself bristled in Steve’s mind scenting the other Alphas on his land, and he had to push the Wolf back from the front of his consciousness, the beast set off by not just one outside Alpha, but two. Sam coming out the other side, side eyed Steve a moment to make sure he didn't lose control because he saw the situation before Steve did. Sam was well aware the moment Steve saw them, just from the growl that raised from the depths of his chest in a menacing tone before dying down.

On HIS porch, with HIS mate was Ross, Tony, and a female. Steve was unsure of who it was, but he was more focused on three wolves surrounding you that were outsiders. Heavy handed, he slammed the truck door shut, and all heads turned towards him to see him stalking towards his porch.

Tony immediately moved to a stand, clapping his hands together. “And there's the old boy now! We were just about to go up the mountain to find you Steve.” Ross gave a cold nod in agreement, and the woman sitting next to him, Steve finally recognized Ross's assistant, Judy. Steve’s gaze shifted hotly from the wolves to you, taking you in. You seemed relax, one leg crossed over another, your hand wrapped around a coffee mug, and everything in you seemed to say that you were comfortable yet alert. Immediately as soon as you saw him looking at you with such an intense look, you set your cup aside, and eased to a stand, bushing past Judy and going down the stairs to reach your Alpha, smiling in that welcome home way.

Immediately Steve loped an arm around you and pressed his lips to your temple with a whispered hushed tone just for you. “Everything okay?” you hummed a yes, exchanging the sentiment with a nuzzle to his shoulder before turning back to your waiting guests.

“They just arrived minutes before you and Sam, Alpha.” You say cheerfully, the other three following you off the porch and standing around. You can feel Steve against you, not growling, but the vibrations of silent rumbles shifted through him. Your hand lightly slides under the back of his shirt to press against his lower back, and you feel him calm down, a deep inhale clearing his mind.

“I was expecting you all much later, and I have a business to run, orders to be placed and people to keep employed within the compound and from the town below. But I’m here now, shall we go inside to talk?” Steve offered with an extended hand towards his front door. Ross once more seemed to look at Steve with disdain, making the Little Wolf in you bristle at the rudeness to your Alpha, but Steve chose to ignore it so you did as well. Judy though was another matter, the woman standing just to the other side of Ross with her tablet for notes, and she seemed to be eyeing Steve in a whole other way. A way that made you self conscious that he didn't have your bite showing any other unmated wolves he was committed. It made your jaw ache as you clenched it shut, your Little Wolf pacing now, panting slightly being on edge.

<She's a threat, I can smell her desire.> The Little Wolf's ears swept back flat against her skull, yellow eyes sharp as they watched Judy flaunt a bit in front of Steve, flashing her neck with sweeps of her hair over her shoulder and lowering her gaze in a way that wasn't necessary for anyone other than her Alpha or Mate. Now that Steve was here, you could smell the change in her, the heated desire this woman had for him. Steve must have felt you tense, cause his hand flexed on your hip and fingers pressed in the curve.

She is only a threat if we allow her to be. Your attention turned away from her back to Tony and Ross.

"Yes let's finish up with this." Ross snapped a bit and proceeded up the stairs.

As they headed inside, Steve dipped his head to Sam to whisper in his ear. Sam nodded at whatever Steve had said and stepped away from the group. You watch as he leaves, until Steve's touch pushes you gently up the stairs, wanting to keep you with him during this. You embrace for going inside, assaulted by the scent of all the extra people, but the one that was really irritating you the most was Judy. Who flung her hair once more over her shoulder, showing off the slim column of her neck.

Your teeth bared slightly, although you flashed her a smile, digging for a hair tie in your pocket. “Here, your hair seems to be bothering you.” you held out the offending tie to her and she looked at your hand with a slight wrinkle of her nose, and plucked it from your fingers.

“Thanks.” she muttered, but was quick to walk away from you. You noticed she flung your hair tie back on the kitchen island counter and stuck to Ross’s side while they settled on the couch. Judy’s nose dropped to her tablet, suddenly very busy.

Not a threat but she's annoying as hell. Steve isn't even paying her any attention. You stated confidently to you Little Wolf as Steve dropped a kiss to your shoulder while going to the bar to pour some tumblers of the Wakandian liquor to offer the guests.

“Be careful, it's strong.” he said as he passed it to Ross, Tony and Sharon. The last two he kept for you and him, once he settled in his leather chair, you perched on the arms chair allowing Steve to keep a possessive hand on your thigh. You sip it, licking your bottom lip afterward to clear the droplets collected and smirked to yourself when Steve’s fingers flexed and dug into your muscle before loosening again.

<His…>

Yes we are. You thought while sipping the strong liquor once more.

Tony, you noticed, was well aware of what Steve had given him and took a tentative sip. Ross though, shot back a heavy swallow, and started sputter and grabbing a kerchief from his pocket. “Christ Rogers, what was that?”

“It's Wakadian Liquor, courtesy of King T’Challa. So, what is it you want, Senator Ross? You felt the need to come all the way to my Pack to discuss my packs matters?”

Ross set his glass to the side, and your gaze followed to see that he completely missed the coaster, and your eyes flashed in irritation at his ignorant behaviour.

“Well as you know, the council over the American Wolves don't condone pack on pack violence. I understand the unique situation with Pierces ex lone wolf.” Ross said, gesturing towards you.

Steve snapped forward in his seat, a warning growl rising from him. “Her name is Y/N, and I accepted her as part of the Mountain Pack the day she arrived. She was never a lone wolf or lived in the no man's land. Y/N was on the run, for her life. Running from a mad Alpha looking to sell her. She was a victim, she didn't choose to cross boundaries. Treat her as such.”

To be called a lone wolf insinuated you had abandoned your pack and disrespected your Alpha. A wolf gone rogue and living between pack lines was a dangerous wolf, traveling to find a new pack was acceptable. But to live entirely feral,was rare and often those beasts went a little mad, losing their sense of human side.

Tony rubbed at his face, easy to tell that the two Alphas were going to start bristling at one another, and interrupted with a slightly cheerful voice. “Okay gentleman, let's be sure we keep to the purpose here.”

Ross nodded, this time taking a much more careful sip of his drink. “I apologize Y/N. I'm not unsympathetic to your situation.” He stated towards you, which you nodded slightly in acceptance while Steve thrummed his fingers against your thigh, impatient now. “As I was saying, there are proper procedures we must take to investigate Pierce and properly hold him accountable. Now, he’s dead. And he can't pay for his crimes. So Alpha…” Ross snapped out. “What prompted you to take those measures without notifying the Council.”

Steve slid his arm around your hip while leaning forward, moving to sit on the edge of his seat, instinctively you felt the Aloha growing angered, and slid from the arm of the chair onto his knee. You could feel his coiled muscles underneath you and you leaned back enough to feel his chest pressing partially against your back. “What prompted me, Senator Ross? The fact that Y/N had to come seeking safety while being hunted. Trackers crossed my lines, uninvited, went into my house, uninvited and tried to abduct Y/N.” Steve inhaled deeply, dragging your scent to calm his Wolf down before continuing. “Then I am told about unmated wolves being held captive and sold to the highest bidder, against their consent. But none of that matters, right Ross? Leave it to the council to sit on their asses waiting for something more? How about this, Pierce threatened to attack my pack.” Steve shifted back, easing you both back. “I went to him instead, offered to talk first. It didn't end that way. I'm not going to have any of my family threatened, especially when from what I've been told, the council had all this information and more on file. And YOU all were still waiting? For what?” Steve challenged back.

Ross glared at Tony before clearing his throat. “I don't know where you might have heard that information, but I can assure you Steve that the council has nothing but all Packs welfare in mind. That's why we were made in the first place.

“Enough!” Steve snapped his teeth behind you. “I see now that the Council was made to try to control the Packs, do away with the need for Alphas. That's what this is about right? I refuse to sign your Accords, and by me not doing so, you have other packs who are also refusing. The matter with Pierce is just showing how fucking sloppy you all are, half ass work, rather watch until its the prime opportune moment to make the Council look good.” Steve snarled out, jostling you a bit in his lap as his arm tightened around you, probably unconsciously at this moment because his anger was starting to roll from him.

“You're severely misjudging the Council Rogers, and although your opinions of us are not unknown, I say you best be watching what you say. You originally were for it, and we're still doing good for everyone, even if it's behind the scenes. Just because you and your Wolf got all tripped up saving a bitch in distress and breaking the Law.”

You felt Steve surge behind you, but you were quicker this time, your Little Wolf raging enough that your eyes flashed yellow barely containing her now. “You are in the Alphas house Senator, shut your fucking mouth if you cant be civil!” you snapped out, looming over the seated man when you pulled out of Steve’s hold. He went to stand, and you pushed him back to sit on the couch, Judy next to him giving a yelp in surprise, and you snarled at her enough for her to pull back into Ross. You turned into Tony next, who threw up his hands in surrender. “Stark I like you, you helped Steve and I when we needed it most. But how dare you bring this man to our home.” Your hand waved over Ross.

“Y/N, I'm sorry… “ Tony started genuinely but you cut him off, turning towards Ross, your anger still on the surface. You felt Steve move up behind you, but he never tried stopping you.

“And You,” you inhaled deeply and growled as you exhaled. “You left us there to be tortured and abused. You left Pierce out of control, for what? More evidence? Know how many times Pierce tried to sell me off? Do you want the details of how that happens? I can fucking show you for your files. I know you saw his wall of skins. How many you think he did that to while your precious fucking council was waiting? You know how many he skinned alive?” At this Steve rested his hands on your shoulder, angry tears welling up that you wiped away furiously before continuing. “I remember every single one of them begging for mercy, their howls and screams. It will never go away.” All three of them listened while horror crossed their faces. “Steve, listened to the bare minimum of it all and knew it couldn't continue. So don't ever, EVER come here again trying to accuse the Alpha of anything other than saving the rest of our lives.” You took a deep breath, and your glare fell on your last victim. Judy saw you snap towards her, and she shrunk into the cushions, her hands shaking a bit as she dropped her head to look away from you. “And you know that I'm with Alpha, bite or not. All the neck flashing and bare minimum presenting yourself as a possible mate does nothing but make you look like a fool Woman. I'm assuming you think you're going places working for Ross. Sweetheart, find a new Alpha to work for.” You could feel yourself getting closer to losing control and you straightened, your back slamming into Steve just behind you, and his hands tightened on your hips to steady you.

“I think my Little One said everything she needed to Ross. Leave, get off my pack’s land and don't ever show your face here again, you are not welcome.” Steve said quietly, the tone dripping with anger and a threat.

“Now Rogers…” Ross tried again to make his point across while Tony and Sharon both went to stand and remove themselves. Steve roared out from behind you, and you hitched your chin up in your resolve. “NOW!” From outside came threatening howls from around the cabin, a clear sign that they were no longer welcome, and Ross snapped to a stand, straightening his jacket.

“We're leaving, but mark my words Rogers this isn't over. There's the matter of your missing pack mates. Know where your trusted White Wolf is?” Ross snarled, and Steve started to make a move to lunge at Ross when Tony started to push them out.

“Were going Steve, Y/N, Pepper says hi.” Tony shoved them both out the doors, and from the glance you saw, several wolves were lounging in front of your cabin, Sam being right on the stairs and Sara just below him. Sam remained impassive, just his ears perking at the opening of the door. Sara though rolled her muzzle to flash her fangs at the trio descending the stairs.

Sam followed them down with Sara pacing right along with him, all three hurried to their parked vehicle as other wolves followed along. Several other packmates flowed silently into the treeline bordering the road that would lead them off the grounds.

As the vehicle sped, they were followed with howls all along the driveway, going for several miles, keeping track of where the intruders were. You and Steve remained listening, relaxing a little more the further they got. Steve's hold was loose around you and his head dropped to nip kisses against your neck, breathing in against you while you and the Little Wolf listened with perked ears until Sam and Sara both announced with their own howl the threat was gone. You sagged in against his chest, for a moment and tipped your head back to look up at him.

“I could have ripped his throat out.” You rumbled, and Steve looked down with a slight amused look on his face when he rubbed your stomach under your shirt, feeling yourself clench under his hands.

“I know Little One, apparently they lit a fire in you.” A hand wrapped around your neck to slip up to your jaw, tilting your head to the side so he could drag teeth along your neck and followed by the soft warmth of his tongue. Your adrenaline was quickly shifting from anger to lust and desire. “Seeing you get protective was fucking hot Little One. I could fuck you so hard right now.” He bared his teeth against your wayward pulse. Everything about Steve screamed danger for others, for you it was exhilarating, the slight squeeze on your neck left you whimpering as you clenched your thighs together. “Get in our bed Little One, now.” He released you and you spun to face him, grasping his face to lick over his lips and biting that bottom one with a tug while his hand snapped sharply across your ass to send you on your way inside.

Steve followed you in and watched you disappear down the hallway before he turned to lock the front door. Gritting his teeth as he leaned his forehead, feeling the Wolf shift through him with hunger for you, he was already rock hard when you lit right into Ross, Tony and Judy. Now the need to claim you was overriding all his other desires for you. Snapping back from the door, he stalked down the hallway, his nose lifted to follow your scent. Which built a hunger in his lower gut.

He was raging hard, everything said that you ached, wet heat for him to get lost in. And when he stopped in the doorway, he saw you kneeling in the middle of the bed, arching yourself while your hands traveled to your back to unclasp your bra. Steve didn't even give you a chance.

He couldn't help it, he was on you, his hands pulling you in closer to the edge, and a snap of his fingers against your back and sliding his hand around your ribs, he pulled the bra off your front to sharply inhale, catching the sight of you blinking up at him with those wide eyes shimmering back and forth between you and the Little Wolf. Hands moving to cup your breasts, thumbs flickering over the round pebbled tips while descending to claim your mouth, riding you down till you were smothered underneath him on the bed, caging you effectively underneath him. “Fuck you drive me wild Little One.”

You could feel his teeth sink into your shoulder to keep you still and make you hiss out “Isn’t that my job?” which made Steve bite just a bit harder and make you growl while arching just a bit. Your hands fisted in the soft cotton of his tee and started to shred it till you could pull it away while his hands had your hips pinned in place, slotting a knee in between your spread thighs to grind the hard muscle into your cunt, which had your jolting underneath him.

Once you got rid of his shirt, yanking the last of what was left over his head that he had to lift himself away from where he was marking you, you rubbed your aching cunt against his thigh again, dragging your nails down his muscled back while arching underneath him, seeking out that friction of his body against yours.

Steve’s hand snaked once more around your neck, slamming you back into the pillows so he could look down at you, panting as inhaling you wasn't enough, he wanted to taste you, breath you in and get lost in the intoxication that made up you. “Flip over, to your knees Little One.” Leaning over you and brushing his lips against yours while you gave kitten licks to his lips, opening to let his tongue fill your mouth in a hungry kiss for one another. Steve couldn't contain the snarl of need erupting from him, the twitch of his cock constrained in tight jeans. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down while digging in, maring the spanse of his back in deep red welts. You gasped out when he moved down to suck his mark on your neck. “Steve, you gotta let me move.” you chuckled, pointing out the obvious. Steve had you effectively captured underneath him.

The Alpha gave a warning nip to your pulse before pulling away, smirking down at you. “Sassy Little Wolf.” His palms slapped against your ass cheeks, digging his fingers in and pushing you off his knee. “One more time, flip over and let me see just how wet and needy you are Little One.” Steve commanded, and pulled back while you twisted to your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, and grasping your layers remaining to jerk them down over your ass and off your legs.

Finishing with unbuckling his belt and sliding pants down while your ass swung back and forth to get yourself in position for your Alpha, breathing out deeply while dropping your head to the mattress. You could hear his hungry groan as he moved in behind you, his hands cupping the soft globes, spreading them so nothing was possibly hidden from him. You sighed feeling the cool air brush against your heated swollen cunt, and snuck a peek over your shoulder to see Steve biting on his lip, his eyes hungry while his cock pressed against the lower part of his stomach, dripping from his own desires. A finger trailed along your weeping cunt, sliding so easily into your channel, even when you tightened around him, dropping your head against the mattress once more with a pleading whimper. “Alpha please.”

Steve stroked your fluttering and clutching walls, his finger slick with your want, and he easily stretched you open with another finger. His other hand smoothed up your back, and grasped the back of your neck, long fingers grasping around the column and dragging you up so that you were leaning on your elbow, your head tipped back to look up.

“So pretty for me my Little One, taking my fingers so good.” He gave a stroke against the soft spongy spot that made you clench around him, breathing in deeply as he dropped his forehead against the center of your back, breathing out to keep himself under control as his muscles rippled under taunt skin. You started whimpering and mewling whenever his calloused fingertips sunk back into you, snapping your back while pushing back to meet his movements. “Your Alpha is going to fill you up, leave you dripping with my cum so everyone knows who you belong to.”

Fuck you wanted that, wanted him so hard and deep in you that you would ache moving the next day, that his claim would be all over your skin, bruises from his mouth, and his seed rubbed in till it was all you could scent, leaving you dripping with need. “Please Alpha, make me yours.” you panted, and started clenching around his fingers, the coils in your belly threatening to snap. Twisting your head to muffle into the mattress, you started crying out and curling your toes while Steve started to run his tongue up your back till his chest was draped over your back, nuzzling the back of your neck with soft growls while pressing his words into your soft skin with kisses and sharp nips.

“Come on my fingers and I will give it to you.” tilting his head and sinking his teeth in enough to hold you still while you let go, his fingers dragging out your orgasm until you wanted to sink into the bed in bliss. “Nu uh uh, Little One.” Steve removed his fingers from your clenching core to hold your hip up, pushing up to take the weight off your back. “Im not done with you yet.” He assured you while you dragged in deep breaths and gave a nod. “That's my good girl, my perfect Little One.” Grasping his base, he dragged his swollen weeping cocks head through your swollen folds, tapping against your clit to make you jolt while he pressed against your entrance. Tight as you were, when he started to press into you, he was able to slide right in, burying himself to the hilt, and you flexed around him with your own groan underneath him, biting against a pillow to muffle yourself. Steve's hand moved to press against your stomach, feeling himself thrust into you, a jolt of his hips rocking you.

“Fuck Little One.” He growled and you pushed to your elbows, flexing yourself around him. A few shallow strokes went faster and harder, his hands holding your hips in place to keep him from driving you into the mattress. Steve felt so heavy and full in you and around you, it was taking your willpower to keep from falling apart feel each demanding thrust into you, but you met him back, your hands digging into the sheets and your head tipped back to get lost in the sensation of Steve claiming your body, every hitting thrust into your cunt breaking down those walls of doubt just a bit more. There wasn't going to be anyone you could want like this, except for Steve. Even now in the midst of taking you as his, he was still taking care of you, above you was him grunting out praises in how good you were to him, a hand dipped in between your legs, and rolled your clit to bring you maximum pleasure.

In the midst of this, the need to belong to him flooded you. More then the endorphins sex brought, but genuine resolve that you were ready for it, all that belonging to the Alpha would bring. You couldn't imagine not being here with Steve, and not just these moments, but all of them. The good and bad, you would remain at his side should he want you, and you wanted his immense strength to lean on as well. You finally managed to gasp out from the pleasured haze “Steve, Do it… Claim me, make me yours.”

Steve faltered over you, his hand flexing on your hips when he thought he heard you tell him to give you the bite, to officially claim you as his own. He clenched his jaw to keep from sinking a hold into you. It was a struggle for a second to keep the Alpha from taking over, he collapsed over you, pressing you down into the mattress, and hissing against your shoulder. “Little One, you want the bite?” His tongue dragged over your ear while you whimpered underneath him, nodding while twisting your head to the side to see him.

“I'm ready Steve, I know Im yours.” You whispered, Steve’s gaze scanned you, from your swollen kissed lips from earlier to fluttering eyelids, but your eyes kept contact with his, nodding again to affirm that is what you wanted with him. Pushing up to his hands, he placed a deep kiss to the crook of your neck with a deep inhale against you, committing your scent of sweet honeysuckle and arousal to memory. A scent he would never get tired of. Pulling back further he eased his aching cock from you, leaving you lifting your head in question, a slight panic in your voice that he was leaving you. “Steve-”

“It's okay, Little One, turn around. I want us to do this together.” His hands smoothed over your hips, and along the scars on your back till his hands folded over your shoulders and eased you back to kneel, your back pressing against your chest. “I got you Little One.” He nuzzled against your neck where he always favored, ever since he was first with you. Flicks of his tongue and press of his lips made your racing heart start to ease.

Reaching behind you to press your fingers through his hair at the back of his head and tug on it to lift him from your neck. You hum gently while easing around to face Steve and cup his face in your hands to crash your lips to his, gliding tongues and teeth. You both tilted into the kiss to deepen it while Steve rode you to your back, his hands planted on each side of your head and his mouth traveled to the corner of your mouth to your jawline, a nudge of his nose had you tilting your head to the side so he could drag his tongue over your pulse and leaving his scent on you. “You sure this is what you want Little One?” He growled, and you squirm underneath him to wrap your legs around his waist with a nod.

“I- We have never been more sure of anything before Steve.” you whispered and when he lifted his head to meet your eyes, you tilted your nose up to bump against his, your fingers remaining tangled in his hair. “I love you and want everyone to know it.” Your fingers slid down his neck and rubbed against his shoulders before gliding along his biceps.

“I love you to Little One.” he shifted to one arm to grasp your hand, weaving his fingers with yours, then to the other with the same action. Steve eased himself forward to slide back into you, feeling you gasp and arch underneath him feeling him thick and full inside of you, the slow roll of his hips, dragging him back and forth. “Fuck Alpha…” You buried your face in against his arm as you rolled back to meet him. “What should I expect?” you whimper, flexing your fingers against his.

Steve nipped lightly against your neck and you tipped your head back for him. He growled softly while lapping at your skin, rolling once more to fill you, press deeper to connect you two. “A complete connection Little One, we will feel one another with strong emotions even when we're apart.” another nip, and another sigh as your nerves flared with anticipation. “We won't have to be shifted for our wolves to be together.” Another promising nip and ghosting of lips against the hollow of your neck, sucking a mark there as he sped up his hips, grunting as he held back the desire to cum inside of you at that moment. “Are you ready for that Little One?” Steve asked, not willing to go through with it if you were having second thoughts.

You were overwhelmed with love for the man claiming you, and you tightened around him, drawing him in closer. With his barely held control, it made him growl with his next thrust. “Mark me Steve Rogers.” A flash of your neck made his eyes flare yellow in the moment, and he dropped to scent against your neck.

When he found the spot he wanted, one that was his favorite place to bury his face into because it was soft and warm, everything you were in his life, his tongue soothed over it, and a soft growl to prepare you rolled through his chest before his teeth laid claim, breaking through your skin. You immediately arched into him, curling yourself around his body with a pleasured scream. It left your Little Wolf howling while you came from the intense pleasure, and his body surged forward to keep your orgasm rolling through you in waves. It felt like fire and ice burned from your clenching core, and laced your body with licks of contrast, making you wither and hold onto Steve more. You sought out Steve's firmness to keep from losing yourself, and your head buried in against his shoulder, breaking a pleasured sob into the muscle. His hand broke from yours and cupped the back of your head, each surge rocking you into your mate. The urge to return the bite overcame you, and on his shoulder you laid your own mark, which sent Steve spiraling over the edge. His hips started to stutter to a stop while he buried his seed into you, groaning as he sunk over you.

The explosion in your mind was another pleasure all its own, leaving you seeing spots in your vision even when you had your eyes screwed shut and your hand not pinned down with his hand, was wrapped around Steve’s side, clutching yourself to him till there wasn't any space between both of your sex blissed bodies.

Your Little Wolf was tentative in the new connection you and Steve shared, lowering to her belly waiting to see if the Alpha would come, and sure enough the silver Alpha nudged against her, the Little Wolf rolling and nipping under his chin while rubbing against him with excited whines and yips.

You could feel him, not in the same way you felt your own Little Wolf, but the sensation was thrilling. Steve was the first to let go, gentle with a rub of his hand along your hip and a soothing caress of his tongue against your broken skin to clean off the blood the bite brought. He groaned at the warm iron taste. You unclench your jaw and let go as well, placing a kiss against the mark while sliding your hand up and down his back gently which was still rippling under your fingertips, tracing the marks you left on him gently. “I can feel your wolf Steve.” you whisper in his ear, and Steve lifted his chest off yours, tucking himself up on his elbows, his hands cupping your face, and thumbs gliding over your cheeks, smiling down at you.

“I feel her to Y/N, she's as much a part of me as he is of you.” Tipping his head to catch your lips, he circled an arm around your waist while pulling up, bringing you with him till you were straddled against his lap while wrapping your arms around his neck to stay in place. Steve couldn't stop his hands from gliding over your curves, the smooth skin along your lower back and over the swell of your hips and down along your thighs. You tentatively touch your neck, feeling the raised heated skin from where Steve bit you, your fingertips tracing the indents where his teeth sunk in. “Do you want to go see it YN?” Steve asked as he grasped your hips, ready to ease you off him now that he was no longer knotted in you, and was safe for you to move.

“Yea, I want to see it, this is the first bite that was my choice, I want to admire it.” You gave a shy grin, and Steve felt a burst of satisfaction in his chest. You were so happy in this moment, and he was effectively feeling it as well. Easing you off his lap and you tumbled out of the bed, to approach the dresser mirror, lifting your hair back to see where Steve claimed you as his.

In the mirror, Steve could see your face break into a smile, placing your palm over it. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and you twisted on your toes to approach him. Spreading his thighs for you to step through, he let his hands slide up the back of your thighs while your own fingers slid through his hair and down till your palms pressed against the underside of his jaw, tilting his face to look up at you. “Thank you for choosing me Alpha.”

Steve's fingers dug into the back of your thighs. “I would choose you again and again my Omega.” for the first time, he labeled you as his other half, the omega wolf to his alpha wolf. In the connection, you both could hear your wolves singing your bonding song.

“Oh it's going excellent, the asset was well worth the wait.” Brock smirked into the phone as he looked in the large cell used to contain their weapon. “Hold on, I will show you how efficient he is.” Turning the phone around, he tilted the phone so the camera could face into the cell, and he barked out an order. “Go get that Stark man… the one they call Happy. Let the Winter Wolf have some fun with him.” Quickly the hydra agent he ordered went to collect their victim while Brock continued to speak into the phone. “It took a while to break him in but once we did, we unleashed a killer. I had no idea he even had it in him, and makes me wonder now if Rogers has that in him as well. They were trained in the same unit.” Brock heard the scuffle of footsteps behind him, and he swung open the cell door to shove Happy inside, sending him spiraling against the cement floor. With a clang, the door slammed shut and Happy pushed himself off the dirty ground, looking for any way to get out.

“Rumlow, you know this is foolish, Tony will never let this go.” he grunted as he turned towards the bars. Rumlow crossed his arms over his chest, and smirked coldly.

“You think Stark scares me any? Bigger picture Happy. Tony is nothing, an Alpha coming to the end of his time. Along with all the other packs across the country. That council shit they all live by will be brought down.”

“Your fucking crazy Brock, I always knew it.” Happy growled softly, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. “Steve was right to take over your Pack.”

Brock gave a laugh, banging on the bars to make Happy jump. “Rogers, don't worry I have something just for him. Right now your time is up.” He backed up a bit and re-directed the camera. “Let the asset out.”

There was a clank behind Happy, and he spun around, reaching up to tug at the collar preventing him being able to shift. Fear flooded him with a sour bitter taste in his mouth, cause he could sense the danger coming for him, still hidden in the shadows. Happy’s Wolf was chained, but his fear made him struggle against the magic binding him with panicked whimpers, while Happy tried his best to see where the attack would come from. A loud snarl echoed from the room and Happy backed into a corner, trying to get as far away as possible now, giving his own warning to stay back. “Get back!” he panted in panic, still now knowing exactly where the beast would be coming from. The large White Wolf padded out, his yellow eyes honed in on Happy while licking his jaws with a bright pink roll of his tongue. “Bucky, fuck we know each other.” Happy tried pleading. Brock behind him burst into a laugh, remarking. “That isn't Bucky, not anymore.” The White Wolf flickered his ears back and forth, studying the quivering man before him and Brock’s almost bored tone filled the silence. “Ubiystvo” Kill.

It all happened so fast, just enough time for Happy to throw up his hands to try to block his throat, and a streak of white became a mauling set of jaws and rage filled snarls rose over Happy's screams while it tore into him, teeth cutting into flesh and snapping through bones. Within seconds the White Wolf got to his throat and gave a whiplashing shake of his victim, crashing his body against the bars, Happy went limp and dropped to the ground as blood flooded pristine white fur, and red seeped to pool around the wolf’s paws. Brock couldn't help the grin plastered on his face, the wolf before him waited for directions. “You can go back now. Get!” and with that, the White Wolf turned and retreated back to where he came from.

Someone spoke on the phone, and Brock brought it back up to his ear.

“Oh yes, he will be in the field any day now. We just have to affirm his trigger words and Soldat will be ready for use.”

It was several days after Steve had given you the bite, your fingers unconsciously slipped along the fresh healing mark while you sat outside around the fire with other members of the pack later in the evening. The bite had ended up sending you into a heat which Steve kept you sated till finally you both came up for air days later, deciding that it was best to let the rest of the pack know you two were actually still alive. Sara gave a knowing grin before she brought her beer bottle to her mouth to drink and once you settled down next to her, she handed one over to you. “Welcome to the Pack, officially now Y/N.” She said and laughed softly while throwing her arm around your shoulder when you sputtered on your beer bottle, glaring at her. Your eyes glanced across the fire at Steve while he wandered around, catching up on what's been going on since the two of you had been locked up in the cabin together.

“Thanks Sara, it was time. I know this is home, and I don’t have any desire to be anywhere else.” You took another swig while Steve from across the large bonfire seemed to catch a scent, tilting his head while talking to some of the logging crew. His eyes roved over the crowd till they fell on you through the flames crackling between them, and Steve smiled to himself before he turned back to his packmates.

“I will see you all up there in the morning, first thing.” he excused himself from the small group and wandered slowly around the fire, talking to a few others till he reached You and Sara.

“Ladies…” He greeted on the sly, pulling you up out of the chair and falling into it to pull you in his lap.

“Alpha, been a while.” Sara said slyly while Sam came up behind her, plucking her beer bottle from her hand and taking a swig from it.

“Now Baby, be nice. This is still the honeymoon stage.” Sam teased and Steve tightened his hold a bit, shaking his head at your friends.

“Weren't you just telling me a couple days ago that it just gets better?” Steve asked, and Sara tilted her head back to look up at Sam.

“Aww, you really say that? Someones getting lucky later.” Sara sprang up and wrapped her arm around Sam's neck, nipping at his chin playfully. Steve turned his attention back to you, his chin brushing along your neck where he left his mark, pride swelling up that now everyone could see you were officially his. He was content, feeling your Little Wolf so close to the Alpha in this new bond. You purred softly feeling the brush of his beard and tilted your head with your eyes closed, enjoying the sensation he was making along your skin.

Your fingers danced up his arm, over his shoulder and cupped the back of his neck, nuzzling back into the crook, cuddling up against him. You could feel your Little Wolf sigh in content in this moment, her muzzle stretched over the Alphas back. Her ears flickered back and forth feeling you stir in your mind.

You snicker against Steve's neck listening to her. I know what it feels like.

<I just wanted to be sure, because Im not letting this go anytime soon.> She curled up closer to her Alpha, who lifted his head to check on her before settling back down.

Neither am I.

“What are you and the Little Wolf discussing?” Steve asked against your ear, and you lifted your head to smile at him.

“About how happy we are Alpha.” you cupped his face and nipped at his lips, letting your forehead press against his. “That this was the best choice I’ve ever made for myself.”

His hands were heavy when they pressed against the small of your back, making you arch into him, the fire crackling before you, the pack all around you… Steve had to admit, he was pretty fucking happy to.

The End 🐺

#welcome to the pack #alpha steve #alpha steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #shapeshifter #werewolf #mcu au #amber writes #sweater writes

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moonbeambucky · 5 years ago

Text

Know It All

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader [College AU] Word Count: 5300 Warnings: fluff, minor angst

Summary: Your grades and patience are tested when you’re paired together for a class project with the one person you cannot stand, Bucky Barnes.

A/N: This is my submission for @jaamesbbarnes and @sgtjbuccky Milestone Celebration Writing Challenge. My prompt was “Looking for trouble, are we?” I cannot thank Sam @buckyofthemyscira enough for being a wonderful beta and helping me get on track when I was so lost with this and to Allie @all1e23 for her help with a plot conflict. My mind was working against me on this one but I hope it turned out well. gif source (x)

The brisk air of autumn winds fill your lungs as you stepped outside, energizing your body faster than the coffee you finished not long ago. Coffee was practically a requirement as a college student, a must for an early Monday morning class, especially when that class is calculus, taught by the nice but a little stiff and robotic Professor Vision.

Leaves crunch under your boots as you walk to the building for your next class. It’s a short distance away yet still you pick up your pace, huffing as you rush towards Lee Hall so you could get a good seat for your next class which happened to be your favorite.

If there was anyone more excited than you about American History it was Professor Coulson. You had first taken his introductory class a few semesters back and found he had an excellent way of bringing out new details to a subject you thought you were well versed in.

Naturally, when he was teaching another class you needed for your requirements you jumped on the chance at signing up. As you walked into the large lecture hall you glanced to the left, greeting Professor Coulson with a cheerful smile, a smile that dropped the moment you noticed someone was in your seat.

You stomped your way up the steps to get to the fourth row, stopping dead center at the incredibly annoying person you knew was testing your patience.

“Move Barnes, you’re in my seat,” you huffed, arms crossing over your chest.

A sly smirk spread across the face of Bucky Barnes, a person you could sum up in one word, slacker.

“I don’t see your name on this chair, doll.” He winked; a simple gesture that made your anger boil over.

Class was about to begin so you sat down, leaving a seat in between so you didn’t end up in part of MCU history as the girl that strangled a classmate during class.

Bucky was the only damper on an otherwise perfect class. He didn’t take notes, he didn’t participate and he didn’t ever study. If Professor Coulson called on him it was like Bucky had no idea what the class was even doing. He would always stutter as he tried to catch up, turning towards you as he sighed after successfully bullshitting his way through another question; which pissed you off even more, because despite an open lecture hall with plenty of seats Bucky Barnes chose to sit next to you.

It was obvious you were a smart student. Your hand raised every time to be called on, you took amazingly detailed notes and aced every test, which is why you had a feeling a certain someone decided his new spot would be beside you. Cheater.

If he only studied and gave a shit about his grades he wouldn’t have to try to copy off you. Well you made sure he couldn’t. During tests you hunched over your desk, curving your arm around your paper to protect the answers you spent countless hours studying for.

Throughout class you tried to ignore the eyes you felt on you, seeing Bucky’s goofy smile through the corner of your eye. He was not going to succeed in distracting you. Nope.

You were going to continue listening to this lecture about World War II and not at all think about the way Bucky’s bright white teeth stand out against the scruff of his face. He’s probably too lazy to shave just like he’s too lazy to study.

Bucky let out a chuckle when he heard you humph under your breath. His audible laugh caused you to whip your head in his direction, flaring your eyes at him before they rolled back into your head.

“By Wednesday I hope everyone will have read pages 346 to 403 just in case something pops up,” Professor Coulson said, smiling to the large hall.

Grabbing your laptop you placed it neatly in your bag, tucking away a small notepad you kept out just in case and made sure your pens were capped tightly before they went into their own separate compartment.

“Wow, you’re such a nerd.”

You looked up disdainfully at Bucky’s large frame standing over you.

“The world won’t end if you misplace a pen, you know.”

You don’t respond. Tossing your bag over your shoulder you walked down the steps, calling out to Professor Coulson with a big smile as you waved him goodbye.

“Later Phil,” Bucky said as he left.

You rolled your eyes again at his boldness. Sure Professor Coulson said you could call him by his first name but it still seemed inappropriate. Of course Bucky didn’t care.

As you continued walking down the hall, you felt a presence beside you.

“So, are you going out for lunch now or are you going to head to the library like always? There’s plenty of time in the world to study, you could take a little break you know.”

Your lips scrunched together as you frowned, picking up your pace as your feet took you faster to anywhere that was away from Bucky.

“You just gonna ignore me?”

Your fists tightened so hard they were shaking, itching to feel release if you could only punch the smirk off Bucky that you knew he had.

“Doll?”

You spun around immediately, pointing a finger in his face.

“I’m not your doll so stop saying that! Why are you bothering me? We’re not friends. Just stay away from me Barnes.”

Bucky remained in his place as he watched you turn the corner, huffing with anger. His lips stretched out flat, an uneasy smile that gave way to a small frown, wishing things were different.

Professor Vision rambled on for an extra five minutes and would not let the class go, meaning now you had to run to Lee Hall if you were going to be on time for your next class.

Beads of sweat ran down your temple as you finally got into the building, panting as you raced up two flights of stairs. Your heart was pounding like a drum against your chest as you attempted to catch your breath during the power walk to the room.

It was bad enough you were probably going to be late, with eyes on you as walk through the door, now everyone was going to see you looking like a sweaty mess on top of it.

As you pulled the door open expecting the worst you were surprised to find that no one was looking at you. Professor Coulson was addressing the class as he was discussing something he had put up on the large screen.

Even though you wanted to see what it was you needed to take your seat which was surprisingly open. Bucky was sitting in the same row a few seats away but he had left your seat open.

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, watching as you anxiously got yourself in order. It was unlike you to be thrown off from your usual precision.

“Incredible Bucky.” Professor Coulson admired the photo. “Where was this taken?”

“After the Battle of Azzano.”

Your head turned towards Bucky as he answered, with a wide eyed stare of disbelief having never heard him speak in class before, not in a real class anyway…

Before your mind wandered somewhere you didn’t want to revisit you straightened up, finally looking at the screen. It was a black and white photo of a group of soldiers, arms thrown over each other smiling despite some visible injuries; a bandage wrapped head, cuts and scrapes along their faces.

“Can anyone tell me what happened in the Battle of Azzano?” the professor asked again.

Your hand naturally shot up, smiling widely as you were called on. “About 200 members of the 107th infantry were captured by the Nazi’s, with their Captain leading an unsanctioned rescue mission to free them.”

“Correct. It nearly got him a dishonorable discharge but instead his superiors believed his actions in saving lives of not only U.S. Military but British and French soldiers who were captured as well should be awarded with a special medal, the Shield of Bravery.”

Again you felt Bucky’s gaze on you and turning your head your suspicion was confirmed. His smile was soft as he stared at you, his eyes expressing a strange aura of... Joy? Pride? You’re not quite sure and honestly you didn’t want to find out. Your head stiffened as you set your own gaze forward to begin taking notes.

As promised Professor Coulson “surprised” everyone with a pop quiz, one you know you would have aced regardless of the day you spent studying.

“Okay class, time is up. Pass your quizzes forward.”

Rustling paper echoed throughout the hall as you added your quiz to the pile you were given, walking it over to the person that sat in the row below you a few seats to the left.

“I’m gonna let you all leave early…” the Professor’s sentence was interrupted by a roar of cheers. “...but first I want to give you a heads up for an upcoming project. The details are posted online. Let’s say it’s due in 2 weeks?”

A wave of groans echoed from the back of the hall.

“Alright, 3 weeks.” He smiled as the new date went over a lot better. “Let’s make this simple, whoever you’re sitting closest to is your partner, if anything is uneven just join the nearest group. See you all next Monday!” he said, closing his laptop.

Panic flooded your body like a tidal wave, crashing down and dragging you under. It was hard to breathe, realizing the one person you wanted nothing to do with was going to be your partner for this project.

Bucky wore a smirk that made you roll your eyes and groan.

“Looks like we’re partners.” You didn’t respond.

With deep breaths you put your things away and got up, exiting the room and savoring your final moments of peace. Bucky shrugged his bag over his shoulder following you out.

You pushed open the door to the stairway, a forceful shove as a final act of letting out the anger you felt for being partnered with Bucky.

“We might as well get started,” you said, as you began descending the stairs.

“Get started?” Bucky scoffed, “It’s due in 3 weeks. We have time, doll.”

You shook your head. Of course Bucky wants to be lazy and save everything until the last minute. Well, that’s not how you do things.

“Don’t call me doll, and just because it’s due in 3 weeks doesn’t mean we can’t start now. Plus I want to get this over with.”

Bucky skipped ahead to hold open the door for you. “Uh huh, you mean you don’t want to spend more time with me?”

His tone was light and playful as his face became almost cherubic, batting his eyelashes, his lips pulling into a sweet smile that was almost convincing if you didn’t already know him.

Your face twisted incredulously. “Why would I want to spend time with you?” You shrugged your long knit cardigan closer over your body as you passed him, stepping outside into the chilly air.

Bucky scoffed again, his patience beginning to run thin. “Please doll, you’d be lucky to spend time with me.”

“Yeah right!” you chuckled, walking aimlessly beside him. “Your little act didn’t get passed me today Mr. ‘I’m going to kiss the professor’s ass with an old picture I found because that’s a great way to distract him before a quiz.’ You know it would be a lot easier if you just studied!”

Bucky’s smile soured into a sneer. “Oh like you, Miss ‘I’m scared of letting loose and actually having a good time so I’ll drown myself in studying as an excuse to be a stick in the mud,’” he mocked with a higher pitch in his voice.

“You don’t know anything about me!” you snapped, stopping on the walkway to yell at him, ignoring the looks of curious students as they passed by.

Cocking his head Bucky smirked, “Actually I do. Maybe you pushed it down but I remember you. Drama 101 with Professor Laufeyson two years ago.”

His words carry you back to the open room, where a black tiered platform with more chairs than students sat across from a stage. It wasn’t very large but the burden of stepping on it sat like a boulder in your stomach.

You remember it vividly, standing in the center as the bright lights burned away your confidence. The words of your monologue became a scramble of alphabet soup in your mind. Terrified and shaking, you stood silent in front of the class until a meek apology croaked its way out.

Head hanging low with disappointment as you sat back in your seat, watching as the rest of the class did what you couldn’t do. You hated how acting came so easy to them; to be a different person, to let go. Bucky did that with ease.

You envied him and his ability to be free and act silly or speak with a weird voice. He could do whatever the role demanded and you hated it. You hated not being good at something, hated that you couldn’t get over your insecurities, and you hated that Bucky could do something you were too afraid to do yourself.

“He was begging you to break out of your shell but you couldn’t. Guess you can’t study your way to an A for everything.”

Tears burned their way to your eyes at the sharpness of Bucky’s words. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?” You had no other comeback, you couldn’t fight the truth.

Before you gave him the chance to say anything else you took off. Feet pounding on the pavement as you raced to get as far away from Bucky Barnes, the biggest asshole you’ve ever met.

Bucky didn’t show up the following Monday. It was a relief to not have to face him after the way you left things. Not because you cared about him; you were more concerned with hoping he didn’t see you cry.

His absence didn’t stop you from thinking about him. While trying to pay attention to the lesson you cursed Bucky out in your head. Cutting class… what are we in high school? What’s the point of paying for college if you don’t even show up? But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything.

On Wednesday Bucky strolled into class just as it began. He trudged up the steps stopping at the row in front of yours. You expected him to move towards the center in front of you but instead you watched him shrug off his backpack, slouch into the chair and pull out his laptop.

Throughout class you kept glancing over towards him. His screen remained blank, turning black after neglect as Bucky rested his cheek against his palm, elbow propped up on the desk. Go home if you want to sleep during class!

When class ended you saw Bucky waiting for you at the door. With a deep breath you prepared yourself for whatever he was going to say.

“Hey,” Bucky said with much less enthusiasm than usual. You stared at him, giving a silent acknowledgement with a raise of your brows. “I need your number.”

Your response denying his request shot out like a speeding bullet. You didn’t even have to entertain the idea. Giving someone like Bucky your number would be an invitation to middle of the night calls, pranks or worse.

“How are we going to work on the project then?”

“Work on the project? That’s funny,” you laughed dryly, shaking your head.

His brows furrowed and just as Bucky was going to speak again you cut him off.

“Forget the project Barnes. I’ll do it myself and you can slap your name on it. Let’s be honest, I’m sure that’s what would have happened anyway.”

Maybe it was a harsh truth but it was a truth you knew from experience. It would be easier to complete the work on your own and have Bucky stand up there when it was time to present. He shouldn’t complain anyway, this would be an easy A for him.

“You’re a real bitch Y/N.”

Your jaw dropped open as you turned to face Bucky. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, jaw clenching tight as his ocean blue eyes were set ablaze.

“Excuse me? How dare y–”

He lifted his hand as he began to talk over you. “All this time I’ve tried to be your friend, since Drama! I say hello, I ask how you’re doing and all you do is ignore me.”

As Bucky ran his hands through his hair he turned his head away from you for a moment and you could swear the light reflected a watery shine in his yes. “You hate me for whatever reason and I don’t know why I kept trying but you don’t know shit about me!”

He began to walk away before coming back. “For the record, that picture was of my grandfather. His funeral was 2 days ago but I guess you’re too much of a selfish know-it-all to give a shit.”

Bucky stomped away this time for good, leaving you alone in the hallway feeling like absolute shit.

After finally motivating yourself to move, your feet took you to the library. Setting up your laptop you decided to do a little studying, but instead of academics you focused on researching something unknown, Bucky Barnes.

Finding him on Facebook was easy. Last year you made friends with Peggy Carter during your shared anthropology class and she happened to be dating Steve Rogers, aka Bucky’s best friend. On Steve’s profile you searched for “Bucky” and surprisingly nothing came up. When you searched “Barnes” you saw his profile, James Barnes.

Well that was something unexpected. How did you not know Bucky’s real name was James? A quick glance of his profile doesn’t show much information seeing as the most recent post was a meme someone named Sam tagged him in over a year ago. Great.

Looking at Bucky’s friends you were more successful in finding the profiles of his family. His father George rarely posted anything except for some comments on baseball and a sweet picture of what had to be Bucky’s sister. Dressed in a cap and gown, she was surrounded by her parents and Bucky, holding a diploma in her hand. Must be high school. She’s definitely younger than Bucky.

His mother Winifred’s page was a goldmine of information. It was George’s father who passed away. Henry James Barnes, a decorated World War II veteran who earned a purple heart after losing his arm in battle.

She posted several pictures of Henry throughout his life; some with his wife and the large family they had, a newspaper clipping of him with his oldest son Charles at 1955 World Series when the Brooklyn Dodgers won and the one Bucky shared with the class.

Every picture told the story of a loving husband and father who became a grandfather many times over. And there it was. Henry sitting on a floral couch holding baby Bucky against him. It made sense, clearly Bucky was named after him, and based on the other pictures posted they were very close.

You felt compelled to learn more about Bucky, going through his mother’s old posts and photos to see what you might find and what you uncovered seemed unbelievable. Student of the Month. Honors Society. The Dean’s List. Bucky was… a good student?! No, not just good, he was an excellent student.

You sat back against the hard chair wondering why you judged Bucky as hard as you had. He had never done anything personally to you for you to hold a grudge, and as you thought about what he said earlier he was right.

In Drama he tried to talk to you, tell you it’s okay, to shake it off your nerves and go for it, but you brushed him off, twisting his kindness into a condescending lecture. Even in History, when he saw you had class again together his eyes lit up. He sat beside you, asked how you’ve been and you gave him the cold shoulder.

Everything you thought you knew about Bucky Barnes was wrong and you needed to find him to apologize. You walked around campus hoping to run into him but that was useless. Now you regret not exchanging numbers.

The need to speak to Bucky grew as the days passed. Studying was nearly impossible. You couldn’t think about anything except him. Then you felt it, that aha moment. You were looking for Bucky in the wrong place.

It took a bit of digging to find Bucky’s Instagram (thankfully Steve still had his connected to his Facebook) but there it was, his life on display through vibrant pictures. Coney Island at night caught your eye, from the bright lights of the rides and games against the dark midnight sky, to other pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge with a beautiful sunset glow.

Your lips tugged into a smile while looking at Bucky surrounded by Steve and a few other friends but when you came across an old picture of him obviously drunk your smile grew into a large grin that stretched across your face.

Bucky was a mess, with glossy eyes that didn’t quite focus, long messy hair sticking to his sweat covered brow and yet he had the brightest, cutest smile ever, all while clutching a Kermit the Frog plush.

The most recent photo was of him and his grandfather with a touching caption that made your heart do a funny flip in your chest.

The circle around his profile picture turned pink and suddenly you wondered if you should click on it. If you do, he’ll know you were stalking his page but there’s a chance his story could tell you where he is. If you don’t you’ll have to wait two more long and torturous days before you can apologize.

You wanted to stop, to let it all go and begin studying for the weekend but you couldn’t. You were wrong and needed to make things right.

Click.

It’s a photo of a beer bottle with condensation dripping down onto the counter top, a faint glow of red from the lights behind the golden bar. Thankfully he tagged the location, Starks.

Quickly you changed out of lounge pants and threw on some jeans and boots, grabbing the nearest jacket and wrapping a scarf around your neck. With your phone in hand you headed out to the bar, hoping Bucky would still be there.

There was a small crowd beside the entrance, people you would normally feel intimidated by but you pushed on, passing them without hesitation as you were determined to find Bucky. Rock music blared as your eyes scanned all the people sitting at the bar but Bucky was not one of them.

A man behind the counter with dark eyes and finely sculpted facial hair made eye contact with you, flashing a big smile. You nodded back, smiling but moving along. Drinks were the last thing on your mind, although if you didn’t find Bucky you were seriously considering drowning your sorrows in whatever libation would take your guilt away the quickest.

You were nearly ready to give up until you heard it, the sound of Bucky’s laughter. You followed it towards the back, seeing a row of pool tables with Bucky on the end. He was accompanied by Steve and someone with a contagious laugh and gap-toothed smile.

Watching from afar you were happy to see Bucky happy and joking with his friends. Apparently you hadn’t blended into the crowd well enough as Bucky lifted his head and caught you in the gaze of his blue eyes.

“Well, well,” Bucky began. Since there was no point in hiding you walked towards him. “Looking for trouble, are we?”

Your heart began to race and you weren’t sure if it was from the flirtatious tone in his voice paired with the smirk he would not stop staring at you with or the fact that he looked damn good.

A simple grey sweater has never looked better, stretched across his muscular frame you never quite paid attention to before. Dark jeans stretched over thick thighs that made your mouth water.

Swallowing a nervous gulp you asked, “Can we talk?”

Bucky turned towards his friends, giving a silent look they must have understood. Grabbing their drinks they left leaving you and Bucky alone at the pool table.

“Bucky, I–”

“Hang on,” he said, walking around the pool table to grab the sunken balls from the pockets.

You waited a little impatiently for him as he racked up the balls, wanting to get your apology over with.

“Okay doll, you want to talk and I want to play so we’re doing both.” He smiled, grabbing a pool stick off the wall and handing it to you. “So what’s on the line?”

Confused, you asked what he meant as you chalked up the end of the stick.

“Well, we have to play for something, doll.”

All you wanted to do was talk to him but if he wants you to play this game literally, then you would.

“Fine. If I win, you have to stop calling me doll.” You smirked, watching his face sour with dismay.

“Really doll?” Those big blue eyes became even bigger as he pouted feigning sadness.

“I said stop,” you warned.

He dropped the pout, pulling his lips back into a sly grin. “You didn’t win anything yet, doll,” he said, winking at your unamused face.

As Bucky chalked up the end of his pool stick he mulled over ideas in his head. “Now if I win I promise to leave you alone...”

Your brows knit together with confusion. Why would he leave you alone? It should have felt like a relief and yet for some reason it upset you.

“... but first you have to give me a kiss.”

All of your worries flew away with his finished sentence. “Excuse me? No. Don’t be creepy Barnes.”

“Okay, okay, relax doll.” He held his hands up defensively. “I didn’t say it had to be on my lips alright. A peck on the cheek is fine. Deal?”

For some reason you agreed, probably because you really wanted to apologize to him. Despite Bucky’s stipulation you felt really bad for how you’ve been treating him.

Walking past Bucky you took off your scarf and jacket, throwing them on top of his familiar leather jacket. You set yourself up to break, leaning over the table to adjust the position of the cue ball and Bucky couldn’t help but stare at your backside.

“Need me to teach you, doll?”

He pictured himself leaning against your body, his hands gently sweeping over yours guiding the pool stick in the proper position. The thought got him a little too excited and thankfully you couldn’t see the way he adjusted his stance, shaking off his desire.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” you asked rhetorically, hitting the cue fiercely and sending two balls in.

Bucky’s mouth was agape in surprise.

“You don’t know everything about me either,” you smirked playfully as you set yourself up to hit the solid balls you claimed.

Leaning against the wall, Bucky tried his best to hide his proud smile as you nailed the next shot. This game might be over way before he expected and quickly he thought about asking for best 2 out of 3 to keep you there longer. He didn’t even care about the kiss, he honestly wanted to keep hanging out. Thankfully you missed the next shot and Bucky took his time figuring out the best angle to try for with the cue’s current placement.

It was now or never you decided, wishing you hadn’t walked past the bar because liquid courage would really come in handy.

Clearing your throat you finally spoke up. “I’m sorry about your grandfather.” Bucky picked his head up from the table, his face dropping to a solemn expression. “It seemed like he lived a great life.”

A simple chuckle and Bucky smiled again. “You stalkin’ me doll?” His tone was light and then he dropped it again with a more serious thank you.

Bucky took a shot and missed but he didn’t care about the game. “I should apologize too. You’re not a bitch or a stick in the mud.”

Your lips pulled into a lopsided smile. “Thanks. Well I might be a stick in the mud,” you admitted.

Walking closer to you, Bucky leaned against the pool table. “No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “Maybe more like a twig.”

He was happy to see you burst into laughter at his joke. This was the side of you Bucky had been waiting to see. He knew it was there, buried under the layers you built up in your quest to be a perfect student.

You continued to play, talking through the game as you got to know each other for real for the first time.

“I was so jealous of you in Drama. You were so carefree. I guess I twisted that in my head to think you didn’t give a shit about anything. I’m sorry.”

Bucky aimed to sink the next ball. “I do give a shit,” he said, striking the cue. “I study, but I have fun too.” He grimaced as the ball barely made it towards the pocket.

“I could probably take notes on that,” you replied.

“You would take notes. Where’s your laptop and your precious pens?” he teased.

“At home,” you chuckled. A wide smile spread across your face as you set up to take a shot.

“You look cute when you’re all smiley like that.”

The warmth of your cheeks intensified at his comment. Feeling your whole body begin to race you completely messed up the shot.

“You did that on purpose! You’re distracting me!” you grinned.

Bucky smirked, dropping his voice to a much lower octave, “Maybe I really want that kiss.”

You swallowed a lump that formed in your throat, urging him to continue playing. Things were close but a bad miss on Bucky’s part allowed you to hit the final solid ball, calling the 8 ball and sinking it.

“I’m gonna miss calling you doll,” he said, dropping his head down as his lips pulled into a frown.

“Considering I won I think I’ll let you continue calling me doll.”

His head picked up at your words, seeing the smile you wore that truly did outshine the sun.

“Oh, look at Y/N. She’s out having fun and breaking rules!” he joked.

Shaking your head, you chuckled, “Shut up Bucky.”

“Hey, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said my na–”

You caught him off guard by pressing your lips to his but as soon as Bucky realized what happened you felt him smile against your lips, parting his own to kiss you back. His arms wrapped around your body as he pulled you closer, deepening the victory of his loss.

The crowd seemed to disappear as you lost yourself in the kiss, thankful that Bucky was holding you because you felt like a feather blowing in the wind. When you parted for air, you did so slowly, not wanting to separate your lips from his.

It may be true that you’re a bit of a know it all but now as you proudly fail at holding back a wide grin you realize there’s so much more to learn about your new favorite subject, Bucky Barnes.

✨ If you like my work please consider supporting me on patreon ✨

#d&s’milestonecelebration #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au

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themculibrary · 3 years ago

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Teacher AUs Masterlist

Links Last Checked: April 24th, 2024

A lesson from Russia (with love) (ao3) - Evil_Keshi steve/bucky T, 64k

Summary: When Steve notices that Alexei's grades in English aren't too good and are constantly dropping, he offers to tutor the young Russian boy to help him back on his feet. Because he is a caring and worried teacher, of course. Also, did he mention that Alexei's dad is really hot? Oops.

All That Tomorrow Brings (ao3) - YourFavoriteRobot steve/tony M, 37k

Summary: Captain America is a seventeen year old Tony Stark's idol. Steve Rogers is his art history teacher.

(Set in Iron Man: Armored Adventures 'verse but should be accessible as a high school AU to anyone who hasn't seen it)

Dear Teacher, With Love (ao3) - fancyh steve/bucky T, 61k

Summary: In which Bucky Barnes becomes a teacher. Includes snarky teenagers, copious amounts of Starbucks, a cat named Alpine, and a soft redemption story for our favorite hero.

Everybody Wants to Rule the World (ao3) - ashinan steve/tony G, 4k

Summary: “Welcome, newbies, to the only class SHIELD has to offer on surviving this shit. I'll be your teacher today, hi, Tony Stark, Iron Man, CEO of awesome."

Falling in Autumn (ao3) - fangirlSevera clint/phil T, 12k

Summary: Professor Phil Coulson is expecting to spend his Fall break like he always does: staying home alone, grading papers and maybe baking.

Those plans are derailed when his new (and incredibly attractive) neighbor asks to borrow a rake.

Through meddling friends, and a series of seasonally-themed dates, Phil starts to learn to overcome his relationship insecurities.

Higher Education (ao3) - SteelLily peggy/angie E, 31k

Summary: Peggy has just been hired as a professor at a small New York university. Her colleagues seem fine, but there's something about one of them that makes her palms sweaty and her heart beat a little faster.

Love Is An Anomaly (Not Science Nor Art) (ao3) - ann2who, morphia steve/tony E, 45k

Summary: "I see you've met our History of Art teacher Steve Rogers," Bruce said, pointedly eyeing Tony, who was still holding onto Steve's hand. "And Steve…" He turned to him with a smile that was a touch too pleasant. "…this is my seventeen year old assistant, Tony Stark."

Peter's New Girlfriend (ao3) - sunflowerwithfeelings peter/wade T, 4k

Summary: Professor Peter let's it slip that he has a lover and the students try to figure out what she is like. Rumor's start to spread and Gym teacher Wade has some ideas.

Physics 101 (ao3) - shinkonokokoro steve/tony M, 19k

Summary: Tony teaches Physics 101. But only because he has to. Steve needs it for a gen ed.

Rank Relationship (ao3) - mafgmouse steve/bucky E, 12k

Summary: After an honorable discharge and long recovery, Sergeant Barnes takes up a position teaching a high school ROTC Military Science class.

After a series of rejections from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s high school ROTC program, Steve gets to take Sergeant Barnes's Military Science course.

This turns out to be a big problem for Sergeant Barnes.

Standard Deviation (ao3) - jennagrins, karengrins steve/tony, jane/thor T, 69k

Summary: Okay, so maybe Steve isn't Professor Stark's biggest fan at the start of term but first impressions can be mistaken.

Now Steve doesn't care what Clint says, Tony is not his boyfriend.

Teacher what cha' gonna do? (ao3) - ArieHolmesJr steve/tony E, 82k

Summary: Steve Rogers is in his last year in college which means he will soon graduate. Unfortunately, on the first day he learns that he has a new Statistics teacher- who is an asshole by the way -and things quickly turn in a way he didn't expect.

The New Teacher (fanfiction.net) - Agent-G T, 116k

Summary: Peter Parker AKA SpiderMan, has lost his job teaching at his old high school. Now he's got a new teaching job now. At Xavier's. Can he teach there and keep his secret?

the one where Bucky Barnes is a hot dad and Steve Rogers is an elementary school teacher (ao3) - pure1magination steve/bucky T, 9k

Summary: Steve Rogers is in his early 40s and hasn't dated anyone in years- not since the war. He has no interest in dating. His life is devoted to teaching elementary school.

He finds himself getting attached to a particularly smart, quiet girl who he is sure is ahead of the class. He decides to have a talk with the girl's parents about her exceptional intelligence and her antisocial tendencies.

What he doesn't know is that she is the child of single father, fellow war veteran, James "Bucky" Barnes.

with a decent happiness (ao3) - torigates steve/tony M, 16k

Summary: Tony Stark is Iron Man. Steve Rogers isn't, and never was Captain America.

Or, the one where everything is the same except Steve is a kindergarten teacher.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #masterlists #au #teacher #teacher masterlist

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libsterslobsters · 4 years ago

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Since I've Been Loving You...

Part four of The Song Remains the Same series

Summary: The Reader hadn't had many friends in her lifetime before a chance encounter in Romania brought Bucky Barnes into her life. That's all he is. Just a friend... that she may be slowly falling for. As for Bucky, dating may have changed since the 1940s, but he's pretty sure that's what he and the Reader have been doing for the past four months, and he assumes she's on the same page.. When a night in results in deep fears revealed, both parties involved learn more about themselves and each other than they bargained for.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see little bits of the future and understands every language)

Warnings: language, mild angst, slow burn (See fic "Communication Breakdown" on my page for resolution), mentions of minor character death, fluff, misunderstandings

Author's note: In this ficlet series, I've referenced the one time Bucky and the reader caught a mouse in her apartment multiple times, so I figured I'd better go ahead and write it 😉. As always, the reader is unnamed, but since these characters live in my head rent free, I call her Violet Aimes.

*************************************************

The radio is on full blast as she dances around her apartment, rearranging a cabinet here, brushing away a cobweb there. Despite the fact that the season is months away, she’s set about the task of Spring Cleaning… in the middle of Autumn.

Since she lives on her own, she rarely has the motivation to clean her apartment. She keeps it functional and hygienic, but other than that, she usually doesn’t do much. That is, until recently, when the most extraordinary thing has happened: she’s made a friend.

As a child, a huge premium is put on your ability to make people’s aquaintances. Every time you go anywhere knew, you’re asked, “Did you make any friends today?” As an adult, friends are seen as nice, but not a priority. That is, unless they can help you get ahead. Since she rarely lets anyone get close to her (it’s too damn dangerous when you see the future, not to mention speak every language automatically, and because of that, the U.S. government would very much like to get it’s hands on you), her list of friends in adulthood has remained quite short. But, it turns out what they say is true: it’s not the quantity that counts, but the quality, and Bucky Barnes is indeed a quality friend to have. He’s kind, he’s loyal, brave, and- she shakes her head- attractive, yes. He’d make someone someday a fine partner. Not her, of course. If there was ever a chance that something like that could happen between them, experience has shown her that once someone learns her secret, they immediately decide it’s best to keep their distance romantically. What was the phrase she heard a while back? Don’t stick your dick in crazy? Well, she can’t blame anyone for thinking that way, dick sticking or not, because while she’ s not crazy, her life definitely is.

Pushing all of those thoughts to the side, she grabs her broom and begins to sweep her kitchen. It’s a small space. In fact, she can only walk three paces in either direction. Still, by the time she’s finished, she has a respectable pile of trash at her feet waiting for the dustpan. Only three more rooms to go in… she glances down at her phone… forty-five minutes. Yikes. Well, if she’s going to spend the afternoon cleaning, she needs an appropriate album to listen to.

Thank goodness for streaming services, because although she has a hefty CD collection (it’s no longer the ‘cool’ way to enjoy music, but what can she say, a girl’s gotta have hobbies), if she started looking through it, she’d be here all day, trying to make a damn decision. So, instead she searches for the first thing that comes to mind: Amy Grant, Heart In Motion. It’s cheesy, but it’s bright and poppy. A perfect combination for getting her though the arduous task of cleaning. So, duster in hand, she slips her earbuds in and, once again, gets to the task at hand.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s a few minutes early, so he’s not expecting the door to be open, or even for her to be home. In hindsight, he should’ve texted and asked if it was okay, him showing up before the agreed time, but he didn’t think of it, and now that he’s in her building, well… he’ll just hang around in the hallway until it’s closer to five o’clock.

Not for the first time in the past three months, he thinks to himself that he has absolutely no idea what the protocal is for dating these days. He’s read multiple articles (Reddit is a wellspring of information that he wasn’t necessarily looking for, but there it was) and watched several Youtube videos, but one person seems to contradict another. Wait twenty-four hours after a date to call, no don’t do that, it makes her nervous, but if you call before then, you’ll scare her off with your desperation. Let her determine who makes the first move, but don’t be afraid to take control. Go with casual dates, but make them special. All in all, he can’t help thinking this was much simpler seventy years ago when there were basically three choices on what you’d do on any given night: the movie theater, a diner, or dancing. Maybe a combination of the three, and if you were lucky, possibly parking afterwards. Now… good grief. The best he can figure is to just go with his gut. In essence, get to know her, enjoy their time together. Other than that… well, he’s still figuring it out. So far, things are going slowly, and he’s okay with that. It’s really nice, actually. No pressure for either of them.

He’s still emmersed in his thoughts when he steps out of the elevator and onto the sixth floor. It’s always vaguely noisy. The walls are thin ( the building was constructed before the collapse of the Soviet Union, which he only recently learned about), and there’s several couples cohabiting on this floor who… well, frankly, he’s surprised the ones next door to her haven’t killed each other yet. However, as he gets nearer to the door, one sound grabs his attention. That of someone singing. Singing loudly, and completely off-key. He’s heard some tone-deaf people before, but wow. This is bad.

He’s just outside her door when realization dawns on him. The singer (who is either blissfully unaware of how bad they sound, or simply does not care) is her. He stifles a laugh. The voice is so comically mismatched with the girl he’s come to have quite the crush on. But hey, at least she’s having fun, if the sheer enthusiasm is anything to judge from. In fact, he kind of hates to break up the impromptu concert (although the neighbors might thank him), but he should let her know he’s here.

Thirty seconds after he shoots a quick text in her direction, there’s still no reply, and the singing hasn’t stopped. She’s just moved on to a new song. Phone’s on silent, then. Alright knocking. Just as he raises his hand to do so, his phone dings. “Come on up! It’s open!” Clearly she didn’t take, “I’m here” to mean “I’m right here, ten feet away from where you’re more than likely standing.” Alright then, since he has permission…

He can see straight through the kitchen and living room into her bedroom from the front door, so he usually averts his eyes (everyone deserves some privacy, after all), but today, before he can manage that feat, he catches sight of… is she dancing? It’s not a fox trot, that’s for sure… and is that a feather duster? None of that matters, because, still oblivious that he’s done exactly what she suggested and let himself in, she starts belting out the next verse.

“Classic case of boy meets girl, moving in the same direction.” Oh, now he can see. Her headphones are in. That explains it. “You’re not asking for the world; I’m not asking for perfection.” What’s the best way to go about alerting a person that involved in what they’re doing to your presence without making them jump out of their skin?

“Just a love that’s well designed for passing the test of time-” Knocking is always a classic. Maybe, since he’s closer this time, she’ll hear him. “I’m here to tell you, I’m here to stay. Every hour, every day.” Here it goes.

The good part is, his knocking does get her attention. The bad news-

“Holy fucking-” She jumps, startled, and if her earphones weren’t in, her phone would fall to the floor. “Dammit, Barnes!”

He tries hard, but he’s not entirely certain he’s convincingly covered his laugh with a cough.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball.” She’s trying to seem annoyed, but her own smile gives her away.

“Star Wars, right?”

“Good to know your memory still works. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

“You told me to let myself in.” Her forehead wrinkles.

“Yeah, but that was when I thought “here” meant “down the street, so you don’t have to stop singing for another two minutes.” She pushes a few escaped hairs back from her forehead. “Are your ears okay? I usually save the live music for when no one else is around.”

He chuckles. “Somehow, I think I’ll make a full recovery.”

“Thank goodness.” Stowing the feather duster, she pushes past him out of the door. “I hope my fine vocal performance haven’t put you completely off, because tonight’s selection is a musical.” Huh. It’s been a while since he watched one of those. Well, apart from whichever Disney flick they’ve caught up on recently (they never watch anything too intense; he still hasn’t figured out if it’s out of concern for his well being or because that’s what she prefers, and he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask).

He must stay silent for too long, because, cheeks slightly flushed, she explains-

“Don’t knock it just yet. This one’s a classic. Plus, it takes place sometime you’re already familiar with, so you can tell me if there’s any historical inaccuracies.”

“Wait-” He crosses his arms. “-is that an old man joke? Because if it is, I’m gonna have to start on how I woke up only to find out music has been completely ruined by the kids these days.” That’s it. Her smile is back, embarassment erased.

“We’re just gonna have to agree to disagree on that one.” Settling into place on the couch, she boots up her laptop. “Now sit down and watch Singin’ in the Rain with me. It’s the least you could do after taking five years off my life by sneaking around.”

He snickers and with a nod, sits next to her.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Here’s a historical inaccuracy for you.” She was sort of joking about that part, but it seems like he’s taken it to heart and is good-naturedly pointing out everything Hollywood got wrong about the 1920s. “Hemlines were NOT that short back then. At least, not where I was from.”

“What?” She pretends to be shocked (although truthfully, she is a little). “Don’t tell me the roaring twenties weren’t as wild as The Great Gatsby would have us believe!”

His forehead wrinkles. “I think I read that one. Didn’t think much of it.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but neither did I.” She was bored to death and hated pretty much every single character, but that’s not what’s most important right now. “How long were the dresses back then if they weren’t Debby Reynolds short?”

He seems to think about it a moment, then- “Around here, if I’m remembering right.” His hand brushes just above her knee. “That’s about as wild as it got in our part of Brooklyn, and even that was just the flappers. Of course, my Ma had them all the way down to her ankles until I was grown.” They’ve never spoken about their parents before. She appreciates the trust he’s putting in her, bringing up the distant past. Still, she hesitates before returning the gesture.

“My Mom and I didn’t have a great relationship. She was a little-” She makes a vague motion. “-not all there. She told me that my Dad came from outer space, if you can believe that.” Now that she thinks about it, that’s probably not the weirdest thing she’s ever heard, even if she doubts it’s true. “Anyway, she died when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand closes over hers, and she forgets how to breath. “Do you have any other family?”

“No.” She shakes her head, attempting to laugh it off. “Just me.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, and she’s about to make a joke to lighten the mood, when-

“I had a sister. Rebecca.” He sighs. “She’s dead now. Looked it up. I thought about looking up her kids, but it’s probably better if I didn’t.”

In a sudden moment of boldness, she gives his hand a squeeze. “Maybe one day, when things aren’t as complicated.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Maybe one day.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Despite his opinions of what music has become since he was young (and the fact that this movie really is full of historical innacuracies, but then again, he was under the age of ten when all of this was happening, so his view of the world might’ve been on the narrow side), Bucky can’t help but enjoy it. The male lead has a serious set of pipes. It kind of reminds him of Frank Sinatra. Plus, it’s bright and light and funny. Most of all, it makes her smile.

Around the halfway point, they hit pause to make some popcorn (“Not like the movie theaters, because I’m cheap, but we can doctor it.” ; he didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s been so long since the last time he had popcorn, she probably could’ve offered him packing peanuts to munch on and he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference), but now they’re back on the couch, the bowl resting somewhere between them. He’s not sure when or how it happened exactly, but at some point, they both migrated so far towards the middle of the sofa that now she’s leaning against him, pressed against his shoulder, and his arm is draped over the back of the couch. It’s nice. If only he could work up the nerve to kiss her.

They’re both laughing just a little too loudly over the scene where the voiceover goes out of sync with the picture part of the movie when a flurry of motion catches his eye. He turns his head to get a better look, and it’s just in time to see a mouse run directly over both of their feet.

“What the-” Her eyes go wide as she sees the creature and registers what it is.

“I think you might have a roommate.”

In a flash, she’s pulled her legs onto the couch, knocking the bowl of popcorn onto the floor. “Oh god! Please tell me that wasn’t what I thought it was.”

“It wasn’t. Unless you thought it was a mouse.” She shudders.

“Bucky, I really don’t like mice.” Considering he found one in his pipes a few months ago, he’s not the biggest fan either.

“I’m not too fond of them myself.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I mean, I really don’t like them. As in, I’m irrationally afraid of them.” Wait-

“You’re afraid of-” She nods, and he feels bad for it, but he has to stifle a laugh. “Doll, you realize they’re a lot smaller than you are.” He immediately regrets the pet name, but she doesn’t react.

“So are atoms. Split one and you’ve got an atomic bomb.” She’s got a point, but still…

“They won’t hurt you. Most of them are pretty shy-”

“The one I woke up to eating my hair when I was a kid wasn’t.” Well, now it makes more since.

“Maybe we can find some traps tomorrow-”

“No. I need it out of my apartment. Tonight.” Tonight… just to refresh his memory, he glances out the window. Uh-huh. Just as he thought. It’s pitch black, and he doubts it’s gotten any warmer since his arrival two hours ago. “I’ll catch it somehow. I just can’t sleep knowing it’s there.”

He starts to tell her that she’ll have better luck winning the lottery without a ticket than catching that rodent, but as he peers down at her face, he sees that she’s gone a shade paler and her eyes are wide. She really is terrified of this… mouse. Alright. Decision made.

“Okay.” Careful to avoid grinding the popcorn into the truly ugly shag carpetting covering the living room, he stands. “Can you tell me where to find a broom? Maybe a spare rag if you have it?”

“Broom’s behind the door. Wash rags are under the sink.” He’s already bent over, searching for the objects in quesiton when she asks, “What are you planning to do?” That assumes he has a plan rather than just a random guess.

“Go poking around. Check behind the fridge, in the cabinets. They like to hide out where they won’t be seen.”

“You don’t have to-” She stops short as he straightens, dish rag in hand. “-but if you do, I owe you big time.”

“Tell me the next time you have a vision of me forgetting to take the clothes out of the washer and put them in the dryer, and we’ll call it even.”

Despite his best efforts, the kitchen and bathroom lend no results. He’s really hoping to avoid poking around her bedroom (that still seems a little too personal, especially since mice like to hide in places like underwear drawers), so that leaves….

It’s completely thoughtless, him pulling the couch out from the wall while she’s still sitting there. It doesn’t strike him as odd until she says,

“You could’ve asked me to get up, you know.”

“No need.” Looks like they’re in luck. “There’s your roommate.” Wrong thing to say, because she shoots off the couch like it’s on fire and, without her feet so much as touching the ground, jumps on top of the coffee table.

“Shit! It was under there the entire time?”

“Looks that way. There’s a hole in the wall, so-” He raises the broom, but before he can bring it down-

“No! Don’t kill it!” What the- He glances at the woman still standing on the coffee table. “It has as much right to live as we do. Just wanted to get out of the cold.” Okay, but-

“What do you want to do with it then?”

She grimaces.

“Just… can you get rid of it?” Can he… oh boy. But, he’s not about to say no. That is until he realizes-

“I could if it were still here.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He couldn’t have put it better himself. “Okay, um.” She frowns, then with a sigh, squeezes her eyes shut.

“What are you-”

“Sometimes I can see something if I’m not paying attention to anything else.” A few seconds pass, and then she cringes. “Ew! Okay, bottom cabinet, right hand side in the kitchen. I’m gonna have to rewash all of those dishes.” Good enough.

Now that his mission is to catch and carry instead of kill the furry fiend, he moves more quietly, grabbing the now-empty popcorn bowl from the floor as an afterthought. He really hopes that this vision isn’t too far in the future, because although it’s preferable to the way he’s spent a lot of his time in the past seventy years, he’d rather not crouch by a cabinet for the rest of the night. He’ll do it, but if there’s another option…. Pulling open the door as slowly as he can, he catches sight of it. Hope she wasn’t too attached to that box of cornflakes, because Mickey here has helped himself. If he can just get his hand in… the mouse registers that he’s got company and starts to dart out of the way, but this time, Bucky’s prepared for it and catches it between the towel and the bowl.

“Got him!” She cheers from her place on the table, but still takes a step back when he comes nearer.

“Thank god!”

“Never been called that before.” She rolls her eyes, but chuckles.

“Thank you, Buck. Now can we get him the fuck out of here?”

“Sure, but where exactly?” He’s not opposed to letting Mickey Mouse loose in the hallway so he can go bug the neighbors, but then Mr. Mouse might make his way back here, and this seems like the kind of adventure you only have once.

“Um-” She starts to climb down, but hesitates. “Are you sure you’ve got him?”

“I’m sure.” It physically hurts him not to laugh.

“Then out in the courtyard, do you think?” She jumps from the coffee table and picks up her coat, pulling it on.

“That’ll work.” He starts towards the door.

“Don’t you want your coat? I can drape it over your shoulders?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright.” He’s about to mention she doesn’t have to come with him, but before he can, she’s by his side, one arm hesitantly wrapped around his back.

“I’ll stay close then. Can’t have you freezing to death on a mission of mercy.”

As luck would have it, everyone else is already tucked away this time of night, so they have the elevator and the dingy lobby all to themselves. Still walking side by side, she pushes open the door and they step through.

“Just set him down, or-”

“No. Let’s go to the bushes. Give him some quick and easy cover so he won’t be too cold.” Shaking his head, he makes his way towards the shrubbery. Him and his human coat.

“This seem like a good place for a mouse house?” Chuckling, she nods. “Alright then, little man. You’re officially being evicted.” As soon as he releases the mouse, she jumps back with a yelp, still grasping his arm.

“Sorry!” It’s a lost cause. He can’t hold it back. At long last he lets out the laugh he was holding back.

“I’m sorry, Doll-” Why does it feel so natural to call her that? He’ll think about it later, but right now he needs to do damage control. Even when he was coming up, it was rude to laugh at a person.

But, if she’s offended, it doesn’t show, and instead she beams at him.

“Is that the stupidest thing you’ve ever done or what?” It’s one of the strangest, but he’s been known to do stupid things, especially if it’s someone he… oh. Oh. Well, that’s not one he was ever expecting to say again. But it’s true. Somehow, although it’s under the most unlikely of circumstances, he has come to love this woman. More than that, he’s pretty sure he’s starting to fall-

“I’ll take the stunned silence as a yes.” It’s a joke and it snaps him out of his revelry. He loves her, but now’s not the time to say it. For now-

“No, Doll.” Taking her hand, he begins to walk back towards the building. “Not even close.”

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n #bucky x reader #fanfiction #bucky fanfic #fluff

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fvckyouimaprophet · 4 years ago

Text

Some Other Town

Summary: The infamous gunslinger Steve Rogers doesn’t usually stay in the same town long enough to put down roots. Not until now that is, and might just have something to do with a bartender named Bucky Barnes. Wild West AU. [read on ao3]

Author’s Note: Shout out to @sirdorkalot for for beta reading this fic, letting me babble about all my ideas for this verse, and always helping me out with the historical details.

Steve tries his best to step into the saloon unnoticed. He’s just about to the bar and certain that he’s made it when someone shouts, just above the sea of voices, “That’s Steve Rogers.”

For a moment, the world stills. People’s gazes hover over him before dropping to their respective tables, quickly averted. Steve frowns and slides down into a stool, his back facing the wall, positioned towards the door. He glances around, memorizing the layout of the room. It’s precautionary, but he’s learned the hard way not to let others get the upper hand just by knowing how to navigate the space better.

His attention moves to the bartender, and he takes him in—brown-haired, well-built, his every step precise. Something about him is unsettling, and it’s enough to make Steve shift in his seat.

“Howdy.” The bartender stops in front of him and looks him up and down, sizing him up before smiling, though it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “What can I getcha?”

“Pony of whiskey,” Steve says. He pulls his hat off and sets it down on the bar next to him.

“That’s it? Someone like ya walks into my joint, and I’m to expect ya’ll have no more than a pony of whiskey?” The bartender grins, eyes sharp and playful. Before Steve can respond, however, he grabs a bottle and a glass. The bottle hits the bar with a heavy clink, and the man grabs a rag and starts cleaning the glass.

The sound of a chair scraping the floor from across the room distracts Steve momentarily. Two men, both drunk to the point of teetering, glance away as soon as Steve meets their gaze, and he braces himself for any sudden movement.

“Don’t mind them. Dumb as a pile of rocks,” the bartender says, and Steve glances back over at him. “They won’t hurtchya.”

“How do you know?” Steve asks.

“We just don’t get many gunslingers ‘round these parts. Besides, they’re liquored up enough that they wouldn’t make much of a shot.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m a gunslinger.”

The man’s eyes drop from the holster on Steve’s chest to the one on his hip. “What does the word matter? I’m no expert, but with a reputation like yers, I’m not sure what else to call you.”

He can tell that the bartender means no ill will, yet he can’t help the flicker of frustration at the oversimplification. “It’s about executing justice. Deadwood isn’t the only place where people’s actions frequently go against the spirit of the law. Besides, I got a strict code I follow.”

“No need to get fuckin’ sanctimonious. Shit.” The bartender pours them both drinks and slides the bottle until it’s to the side, by Steve’s hat, no longer obstructing their line of sight. “Welcome to town, Steve Rogers.” With that, he raises his glass and downs his drink.

Only then does Steve notice that the man has poured him more than he asked for. He smiles and lifts his own. “It’s hardly fair that you know my name, and I’ve yet to learn yours.”

“James, but my friends call me Bucky.”

“Which should I use?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet.”

- - -

Steve only means to stay in town for a few nights—long enough to rest—but somehow a week passes, and he finds himself dragging his feet.

Even though he keeps a distance, Bucky warms up to him quickly and fills him in on the details of the saloon. His partner, a red-headed woman named Natasha, runs the brothel side of things. She spends the majority of her time in her office upstairs, but on the third night, Steve meets her.

Her eyes are calculating, and when she first grins at Steve, he feels as if she’s baring her teeth. “You try anything with any one of my girls, and we'll see who's a faster shot. I’ve made that promise to at least two dozen men, and—well—as you can see, I’m here, and those sons of bitches are resting somewhere in wooden boxes."

He meets her eyes as he answers. “I’d much rather help you keep your promise than lay a hand on them myself.”

Although she looks appeased, Natasha raises her eyebrows in amusement. “You mistook me for someone who needs your help. Fancy yourself a savior, Rogers?"

“Never said I did.”

“Then we’ll get along fuckin’ fine. I teach my girls how to handle a knife and a pistol, so we don’t need any saviors around here.” With that, she walks away and back up the stairs.

Bucky chuckles as he pours Steve a drink. “Ya’ll warm up to her.” He realizes his words, and for a moment, Bucky’s eyes widen—a small crack in his image. But before Steve can understand what it means, it’s gone, and his expression turns oddly neutral. “If ya stay, of course.”

“We’ll see,” Steve says, and he tries to make sense of the way his stomach clenches.

- - -

A week turns into two, and two turn into a month. With winter coming soon, Steve decides to settle down. There’s no need risking an early storm just to make it to the next town over. When he pays November in full before the first, however, he’s certain that the smile on Bucky’s face is warmer than it’s been before.

They spend the last warm days of autumn before the snowfall exploring the land around town on their horses.

“What’s that?” Steve asks, pointing toward a house in the distance.

“Barton and Wilson—ranchers around these parts. They come into town every now and again. I reckon ya’ve seen ‘em.” With that, he nudges his horse and clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Bucky’s horse turns around. “We should be headin’ back to camp. If I’m not back soon, Nat’ll make a fuss.”

Steve hesitates. He’s spent so long traveling that he’s forgotten to notice the world around him. But here—grass far as the eye can see, alive in the wind—it hits him. He stares, transfixed, and wonders if he’s ever seen anything so beautiful.

“Ya comin’?”

Steve startles and turns, and the breath knocks out of him. Bucky is red, illuminated by the setting sun. In the breeze, his hair billows about him, and for a moment, he looks like something out of the adventure books he read as a kid.

“Steve?”

The tone of concern is enough to jar him out of his trance. Steve swallows, and the knot in his throat goes down with it. “Coming,” he says and makes a move to follow. They ride back in silence, the cold of the coming night settling over them and seeping through their coats.

They dismount outside of the stable, and Bucky hands his horse over to the stable hand. “I’ll be another minute,” he says, and Bucky nods and walks off.

Steve walks his horse into the stables himself. “I take it that you’re staying the winter,” the stable hand says as he fills the horses’ pails with feed.

“There’s not much point in leaving town now, is there?” Outside of the barn, the wind howls. “Besides, it seems winter’s already making an appearance.” He guides his horse into his stall and closes the latch to the gate behind him. No sooner has he stepped back than does he fetch his silver cigarette case from his pocket and light one.

He stands in the stable, sheltered from the whistling wind, and wraps one arm around himself. A feeling he can’t quite place—almost like a tickle—nags at him. Despite his best efforts, it evades him, elusive, and Steve frowns, breathing in and watching the tip burn orange. He lets out the smoke curl out slowly between his lips.

He waits until the cigarette burns to the filter and he tastes ash before stubbing it out under the heel of his foot. With that, he steps back out. The cold punches him in the gut, and he hunches his shoulders forward and braces himself as he walks over to the saloon.

He’s hardly stepped in when he notices an unfamiliar man at the bar. The wide-rimmed, black hat on the bar is sleek and, much like the coat, shows scarcely any signs of wear from the weather. In front of him, Bucky pours a drink.

He can feel himself cross the room—his movements jerky and agitated. When he pulls back the stool, it scrapes loud against the floor, but he doesn’t sit down. The man who looks back at him has sharp, black facial hair and a pointed face. His eyes run once over Steve, and his lips curl up, bemused. “I presume you’re the gunslinger folks been mentioning.”

Steve glances to Bucky, whose careful smile tenses into something more tight-lipped once the stranger’s eyes are no longer on him. He runs a dirty rag over a glass as he nods his head over to two men, crooning by the piano. “Drunk bastards over there,” he says, as if to explain that he had no part in revealing Steve’s identity to the stranger.

“You needn't concern yourself with me. I’m only staying a night or two before heading further West,” the man says and lifts both hands up, palms facing forward.

“Setting out for gold country,” Bucky supplies. Despite his neutral tone, the slight downturn of his lips reveals his scorn, and Steve bites back a chuckle.

“Tony Stark,” the man says, stretching out a hand, and Steve raises his eyebrows, caught off-guard. “I take it you’ve heard of my family.”

“I hail not too far from New York myself.”

“Brooklyn, if I’m not mistaken,” Tony says, and Steve shifts in his seat, readying himself to retrieve his gun from his holster if necessary.

“You’re not mistaken,” Steve says. Behind Tony, Bucky regards him curiously. “Been told my accent’s long gone, though.”

“Then I should admit I wasn’t guessing.” Steve’s hand drops to his side, and Tony quickly continues. “I was traveling by train with my partner when I heard word that Steve Rogers, the famous Brooklyn gunslinger, had made his way around these parts. It isn’t just curiosity that brings me here.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

Steve sits down and motions at Bucky to pour him a drink. “Thanks, Buck.” When Tony says nothing else, Steve asks, “Well, are you going to tell me the reason for your visit, or should I guess?”

“I hoped it might be obvious.”

With that, Steve looks at Bucky again. “Got a clue?” he asks, amused by the agitated frown on Tony’s lips.

“None,” Bucky says, slipping easily into the role as he hands Steve his drink and leans forward, forearm resting against the bar. “What do you make of it?”

“Now, I’m guessing it’s a business proposition he’s after.” With that Steve turns back to face the stranger. “What can I do you for, Mr. Stark?”

“Tony. I don’t care for formalities when— Well, regardless. I’d like to hire you. I’m headed up to Deadwood first, and I’d feel better with a man to keep watch, and, you see, I’ve heard you’re willing to do...” Tony sucks in a breath and hesitates, “... certain jobs with the right pay.” With that, he sets a wad of cash between them.

Heat flares up in him, and Steve clenches his jaw. “Then you heard wrong.”

“If money’s the issue, I assure you I’m open to negotiations, including partnership.”

“It’s not.” Steve keeps his tone steady and downs his drink.

“I’d been told in Bandera you—”

“I’m aware of my business. Circumstances were different, and I didn’t do it for pay.”

“Sure you can’t be ‘suaded?”

“I’m certain.”

“Well, then. I see. I’d hoped we might come to a mutual understanding considering we share a place of origin, but I respect a man who sticks to his morals.” Tony tips his hat toward Steve and pays for his drink before standing. “You have my profound thanks for your discretion.”

“Naturally.”

With that, Tony walks away, pulling his coat around him with a flourish. The doors to the saloon swing shut behind him, and Steve lets out a breath.

“What happened in Bandera, if ya don’t mind me askin’?” Bucky’s voice jars his attention away from the door, and he turns himself front-facing once more.

“The sheriff and his deputy didn’t have much mind for the law, and a few people got hurt on account of it.”

“And did’ya help them see the error o’ their way?”

“Don’t think there’s much to see six feet under.”

Though he raises an eyebrow, Bucky’s expression is hard to discern. Once the moment’s passed, his eyes glance over to the saloon doors, and he shakes his head. “Fuckin’ city slickers,” he says. He regards Steve, and a playful grin spreads across his face. “I suppose I should mind my tongue considering—“ He barks out a laugh. “Brooklyn, huh? Wouldn’t have pegged ya for it.”

Steve just slides his empty glass across the counter and smiles back.

- - -

Before he knows it, the first signs of spring begin to peek through the frost. Steve waits for the inevitable question of his departure with a knot in his stomach he can’t quite explain. It grows with each passing day, yet Bucky doesn’t ask.

Then, one day, when the ground is slick with mud, Bucky turns to him and says, “I’ve been thinkin’ of buildin’ a house for myself.” The comment catches him off-guard. Since he’s known Bucky—which admittedly isn’t long—he hasn’t heard him make a single comment on his living arrangement, though Steve knows he’s been staying at the inn.

“Are you?” Steve asks.

“Been thinkin’,” Bucky repeats.

“What changed?”

“Don’t know. Suppose I’ve been here long enough. Never figured myself the type to settle, but it’s been nearly ten years.” He hesitates a moment before adding, “It’s mighty hard work—ya know.”

Steve stands still, and his heart beats hard against his chest. “I’ve heard.”

Bucky stills as well, and when his gaze meets Steve’s, Steve feels an odd sense of calm. “If it ain’t too much trouble, a helping hand would soothe the mind.”

As the question hovers between them, the knot in Steve’s stomach begins to loosen. “Okay,” is all he manages to get out, but Bucky smiles as he reaches out. When his hand touches Steve’s shoulder, Steve finds himself rooted to the spot. Bucky squeezes lightly.

His touch lingers even after he’s dropped his hand, and Steve wonders why he feels as if the breath has been wrung out of him.

- - -

Steve sets down the hammer and rubs at the bridge of his nose. A pulsing heat creeps up his neck into the back of his head, and he groans, already dreading the inevitable headache that awaits him.

“Jesus—I’ve seen folk high off of laudanum with more wits about them than ya,” Bucky says.

“Haven’t been sleeping,” Steve grumbles. If he’s honest, dreams have eluded him for years. He’s never been able to remember more than a few flashes—the smell of leather or a streak of blue. He can’t recall the last time he stayed in one place for this long, so he chalks it up to restlessness—though it doesn’t feel quite right.

Steve reaches for the hammer again, but Bucky pulls it from his reach. “Mind if we step down? I could use a rest.” The lie could not be more obvious, but Steve relents, still tender from the noise involved in their work and eager for an excuse to quit. They step down the ladder to the ground, and Steve fishes a hand-rolled cigarette out from the case in his duster jacket’s front pocket, followed by a box of matches.

The house is starting to come together—Steve thinks as he glances up at it. It’s more than a frame now, and the first floor is nearly finished, supported by locust posts. He dusts his hands on his pants, distracted as the cigarette dangles from his mouth, and Bucky swipes it. His eyes shimmer—sharp and playful—as he takes a hit from it. He hands it back, grinning as he does.

“Think you’re clever, don’t you?” Steve asks.

Before Bucky can say anything, however, a figure approaches and stops in front of the house. He glances from Bucky to Steve, and as Steve looks over, he feels the air knocked out of him. Steve immediately recognizes the greasy black hair and self-satisfied smirk, and though his mustache has begun to speckle with gray from time, he looks chillingly similar.

“This the house ya were mentionin’?” he asks Bucky.

“Same one,” Bucky says.

His eyes move over to Steve, and he hesitates, a look of near-recognition flickering across his face. “Have I seen you before?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t think so,” he quickly says before Bucky can interject. But Bucky’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth. Steve pretends to fumble his cigarette and moves forward to pick it up, stepping hard on the front of Bucky’s boot as he does. “Shit. Sorry, Buck,” he says, keeping his tone steady.

“Ain’t no problem,” Bucky says, and though his expression doesn’t shift, Steve can tell he’s picked up on Steve’s hint, as heavy-handed as it was.

When Steve looks back across him at the interloper, the man glances between them, and when he gets to Steve’s face, he hesitates again. “I’m sure of it. No matter. It’ll come to me,” he says. With a final look, he walks off.

Bucky waits until he’s out of earshot before turning to Steve. “Ya know him?”

“Crossbones Rumlow—yeah, I ran into him and his partner, Pierce, back in Tombstone. We didn’t end on the best of terms.”

“Ah, hell, Steve, what didya do?” Bucky asks and crosses his arms across his chest.

“He ain’t here with his partner for a reason.” Steve pulls off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. “When did he come into town?”

“He dropped by the saloon last night. I reckon he’s only in town for a couple o’ nights. Said a word ‘bout passin’ through.”

“Under the circumstances, I don’t think it wise I spend much time where he might see me.” The thought that he might not spend time around the saloon or even building the house leaves him hollow. He supposes it has to do with the fact that he has hardly spent a day indoors in years, though—he has to admit—doesn’t seem quite like the start and end of it.

“Might be best,” Bucky says, and although it disappears from one second to the next, Steve sees a look of disappointment flash across his face.

- - -

“Steve fuckin’ Rogers!” Brock’s voice breaks through the fog of his dreams. Within them, Steve looks around for the source of the sound but finds none. “Are you gonna show your cunt face, or are you too much of a coward?”

The follow up is enough to jar him awake, and Steve sits up and reaches for his pistol by his bedside.

As much as he hates to admit it, he knew the confrontation was inevitable once Brock decided to stay in town an extra few days to avoid the worst of mud season. Still, he hates to think how much of town is hearing this.

Steve sticks his head out the window and hardly has time to duck before a shot rings out. It narrowly misses him, and Steve grits his teeth as he lifts his head up again. There is commotion in surrounding rooms—muffled voices and, somewhere further off, a baby crying.

He makes quick work of it and closes one eye as he takes aim, but Brock is nothing but a shadow against the night sky, and Steve’s shot misses him as well, creating a small splash in the mud. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He knows it will take too long to walk downstairs, so he takes in a deep breath and jumps forward.

Despite the broken glass, he grabs onto the ledge of the window as he swings his body out of the frame, and then he drops.

The fall from the second floor isn’t as bad as he anticipates. Though the moonlit world is a blur around him, he hears the sound of Brock’s gun firing and braces himself. Although it doesn’t hit him, the bullet whizzes past his arm with enough speed that he can feel it, mere centimeters from him.

He tucks his legs slightly and braces himself just before he lands. His legs absorb the majority of the impact, but the bounce of it is enough to make his pistol slip from where it’s tucked beneath his arms onto the dirt—thankfully a drier patch of land than most. In front of him, Brock is reloading his double-barreled shotgun, but he growls, near feral, when he sees Steve.

“Sayin’ you don’t know who I am. You ‘fraid of what the truth might entail?” Steve had mostly been hoping to avoid a gunfight and bloodshed, but he knows Brock’s question is rhetorical.

Brock steps forward, and Steve barely has time to put his arms in front of his face before Brock kicks out. His elbows hit his chest, and the impact of his boot is enough to leave him coughing and breathless. Steve loses balance and falls into the mud, but the click of the reloaded shotgun spurs him back into motion.

He slides forward, grabbing his pistol and aiming a shot at Brock. It grazes his ear, blood gushing from it, and Brock hisses. “Son o’ a fuckin’ bitch.” Steve slips in the slick of the mud as he stands and teeters to his feet.

Steve lifts his pistol again just as the front door to the inn slams opens, and Bucky steps out, barely visible in the shadows, rifle in hand. For a split second, both he and Brock glance over. For a moment, all he can see if Bucky, and Steve’s attention wavers.

And then a shot rings out.

Bucky flies backward and falls against the ground, a pool of blood immediately seeping out around him, black in the moonlight.

A ringing sound fills Steve’s ears as he lifts his pistol again and takes aim, fear clutching ice-cold at his chest. But the bullet that hits Brock between the eyes is not his own. He turns, pistol still at the ready. From the distance, he sees two men on horses, riding forward, guns already lowered.

The lowered guns aren’t enough to go off of to guarantee his safety, but he can wait no longer. Steve rushes forward to Bucky. Right below where his left arm meets his shoulder, beneath the gore, is a gaping wound thorough which Steve can see bone protruding.

“Fuck,” he says. It strikes him for the first time since he woke up that he has no jacket on, nothing to press to the wound to stop the bleeding—though he’s unsure if touching it would make it better or worse. He stares, his heart pounding in his ears and his stomach churning. And for the first time in a long time, he feels helpless.

And then Bucky moves, and he groans, though his eyes stay shut.

“Did ya kill ‘im?” he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Steve knows there’s no time to explain, so he just says, “He’s cold as a wagon tire.”

At the sound of hooves behind him, he turns, pistol drawn, but the two men just walk forward past him to Bucky and crouch down. “Get the Doc,” one of them—a tall Black man with a set of pistols tucked by his waist—says to the other.

The other—broad-shouldered and dressed largely in black with the notable exception of his chaps—nods brusquely and turns to leave.

The first pulls off his coat as he bends down and wraps it around Bucky’s wound as gently as he can. Bucky stirs from his sleep and cries out in pain, and the man lifts his arms. “Shit. You know what to do?”

Steve shakes his head, and he takes a deep breath. The whole world feels unsteady beneath his feet, and his head spins. “No, but I think we ought to press down on it.” He’s seen doctors do it before. But when he reaches out and pushes, though he’s never found himself squeamish before, the squelching sound nearly makes him retch.

Bucky’s out cold now and doesn’t stir, which does nothing to ease the fear swallowing him whole. Before it can, however, he hears footsteps behind him and turns to see two figures approaching them.

“Move outta the way,” the doctor, a man named Stephen, says to him, and Steve stands up as the doctor bends down and places a bag next to him. He checks Bucky’s pulse before peeling the jacket back. He then reaches in the bag, pulls out a tourniquet, and places it around Bucky’s arm.

The look on his face reveals nothing about the graveness of the wound, and Steve’s attention draws away from it to the blood surrounding Bucky. It’s sure to stain the wood in front of the inn—he thinks. He can’t recall the last time he’s seen this much blood from something living.

The thought makes him pale, and perhaps others notice because the man with the pistols—Steve wonders if he’s the one who fired the shot—looks over at him. He appears as though he’s going to speak, but before he can, the doctor does.

“We need to move him.”

“Won’t that make it worse?” the broad-shouldered man asks.

“There’s no joy in me tellin’ you that he’s in grave condition. I’ll need to operate, and I can’t very well do that here.” He regards the three of them and frowns, and Steve swallows thickly, the fog around him enveloping him further.

“Get dressed and meet us at the Doc’s house,” the man with the pistols says. Steve opens his mouth to protest, but the man must anticipate it because he shakes his head and speaks first. “You ain’t gonna be much use to him frozen.”

Only at those words does Steve realize that he’s been standing in his union suit. For the first time since he woke, Steve looks down and feels the bone-deep chill in him. The spring morning is far from warm, and the cotton sticks to him where it’s slick with mud. Still, the thought of leaving Bucky fills him with dread.

“Should things take a turn for the worse…” Steve doesn’t allow himself to finish that thought.

“He ain’t gonna die if I can help it,” the doctor says, meeting Steve’s eyes. His gaze is steady and oddly reassuring. Steve nods and lets out a shaky breath.

“You know where the Doc lives?” the man with the pistols asks. Steve nods. He takes one last look at Bucky and heads back indoors, ignoring the looks of curious townsfolk who have stepped out to see what the commotion is about.

Steve moves rhythmically to his room and cleans himself with a wet rag, trying to ignore the faint buzzing in his ears. His limbs feel heavy, and he can feel the heaviness from the lack of sleep sticking to him like heat in mid-summer.

By the time he finishes, he still has several patches of dirt caked onto him, and he’s certain his hair is a wreck—though he’s never given much mind to it. He’s looked worse for wear during his travels. Frazzled and frantic, Steve dresses quickly and makes his way back outside.

A wave of nausea washes over him upon seeing the dark stain of the blood in front of the inn, but he keeps walking until he sees one of the two men from earlier—the shorter, broad-shouldered one—standing outside of the doctor’s house. When Steve steps forward towards the door, he shakes his head.

“Sam’s in there with him. Doc said amputation was Bucky’s best bet.”

Steve stops in his tracks, and his arm falls limply to his side. “He gonna make it?”

“I ain't been privy to that kind of information, but I reckon he will. He’s one tough son of a bitch.” It takes Steve a moment to realize that the man is holding Sam’s coat, stained in blood. Steve glances at the coat, and when he looks back up, the man is staring at him. “You look a bit green about the gills. You ain’t gonna be ill, will ya?”

Steve shakes his head and crosses his arms across his chest. He isn’t in much of a talking mood, and while he knows he’d normally push through for the sake of manners, he can’t quite find it in himself. Judging by his expression, the man doesn’t take any offense to it.

Before long, the sun begins to rise, and, with it, people start to leave their houses. He catches two friends lost in conversation as they make their way into a shop, and a pang of jealousy runs through him at the thought of normalcy. It doesn’t have time to linger, however, before the door opens and Sam walks out, eyes sunken and shirt stained with blood.

“He’s out cold,” he says and motions them both forward. Steve hardly stops himself from pushing past them all into the doctor’s house, and when he makes it inside, his head starts to swim all over again.

Bucky looks oddly small and pale against the bed, and Steve bends down next to him as his eyes fall to the bandage around his shoulder where his left arm once was. “How is he?” Steve asks the doctor, though his eyes stay fixed on Bucky.

“He’s poorly.” Gathering that his words are far from reassuring, the doctor adjusts himself and tries again. “Can’t quite say yet, but the fact that he’s made it this far—” Steve looks up just as Stephen cuts off and frowns. “A lot of men wouldn’t be so fortunate in his position. It’s a good sign.”

It can hardly be considered fortunate, Steve thinks, but he bites his tongue. Behind him, he can hear Sam and his friend whispering, but before he can try to listen closer, the door slams open, and Natasha walks in.

“Where is he?” Steve has never seen Natasha with a hair out of place, but now she looks like Medusa—hair strewn and face wild.

“You’re gonna wake him, and right now he needs to rest,” Stephen says, his voice a hushed whisper. He glances anxiously at Bucky as if expecting him to stir, and Steve can’t decide if it’s good or bad that he doesn’t.

Natasha’s eyes fall to the bandages around Bucky’s left shoulder, and her face blanches. “Jesus.” She takes a careful step forward, and the gravity of the situation seems to hit her as she crouches down next to Steve. Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve watches as Natasha’s jaw clenches, and even though nothing about her reveals it—he can sense that whatever she’s mustered to hold herself together is quickly unraveling.

“This place is too damn crowded,” Stephen says. “Give the damn boy some room to breathe.”

Sam and the other man step towards the door, and Steve stands as well, deciding that some cold air will do him well. They make their way back outside, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets at his lets out a shaky breath.

Silence lingers between them for a moment before the broad-shouldered man turns to him and says, “You must be Steve Rogers.” Steve feels a flash of annoyance, though he’s come used to hearing the comment.

“The gunslinger. Sure.”

“The gunslinger. You hear that, Wilson?” The man shakes his head and clicks his tongue.

“Sure do. Mighty presumptuous if you ask me.” Wilson—it feels faintly familiar to Steve, though he can’t quite place it. “I ain’t heard nothing about that,” he continues, addressing Steve. “Barnes talks about you.”

“Clint Barton,” the first man says.

“Sam Wilson,” the other man says.

Suddenly, it clicks. “You two are the ranchers few miles out of town. Bucky’s mentioned you.”

“Mentioned us,” Sam says. “Pretty sure we’ve heard everything Barnes knows ‘bout you, and he just mentions us.” The jesting annoyance in Sam’s voice quickly slips as the reality of the situation hits them again.

“He doesn’t like talking about his life much. Though I suppose I could’ve asked more.” Steve frowns and corrects himself. “Will ask more.” He knows if he stops believing it, even for a second, he’ll fall apart.

They stand for a moment longer before the door opens again and Natasha steps out. “I had to find out from the fuckin’ innkeeper,” she hisses, looking between the three of them. “Came down, saw the bar was empty, and when I went to the inn to check on ‘im—" She cuts herself off and presses her lips together in a thin, angry line, and Steve feels the ball of guilt in his stomach tighten.

Clint places his hand on Natasha’s shoulder and squeezes. “He’ll be alright.” Her eyes meet Clint’s, and without speaking, words pass between them. She nods stiffly and relaxes her shoulders as Clint’s hand drops.

Before the silence settles over them, Steve begins to move back towards the doctor’s house. “I might step in and check to see how he is.”

Stephen is finishing putting away his equipment when Steve enters. He doesn’t look up, though Steve is certain that he must have heard him enter. Silently, he crosses the room to the bed. Only when he kneels does Stephen speak.

“Take the chair from the table. No need to do that.”

Barely a minute has passed when the door opens again. Steve doesn’t need to look to tell that it is Natasha. When he stands up, she speaks. "Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll need to leave in a moment.” She lets out a shaky breath and reaches out, lightly stroking Bucky’s cheek with the back of her hand.

Bucky’s eyes fly open, and he jerks upward—though the movement is cut short as he lets out a grunt of pain. Steve startles, and Natasha gasps as she pulls her hand back.

“Buck—shit—you need to lay down. You lost a lotta blood and—“ Before Steve can continue, Bucky’s eyes fall to his left side, and he stares blankly at the fabric where his arm used to be.

“Well, at least it ain’t my pouring hand,” he says, and then he’s out again, limp against the bed.

The moment stills between them, the sound of Bucky’s voice echoing in Steve’s ears. “Stubborn bastard,” Natasha says, and Steve detects relief in her tone. She reaches forward, carefully adjusting him to a more comfortable position.

- - -

Bucky doesn’t wake again for four more days. The first night, he begins to shake, and his face turns red as the fever hits his body. Stephen tells him not to worry, but Steve can see the concern flicker behind his eyes. Despite Stephen’s protests, Steve spends the night with him and falls asleep in his chair.

By the end of the third day, his fever breaks. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he’s over the worst of it,” Stephen says, and Steve feels his entire body go limp. A heavy blanket of exhaustion wraps around him, and, for the first time since he was woken up by Brock, Steve is able to sleep dreamlessly.

He wakes up late in the morning, and when he sees Natasha, he knows from her smile that Bucky has woken up. With each step he moves quicker until he’s all but running, and when he gets to the house, Stephen is stepping out.

“I just gave him some laudanum, so he’s likely not to be fully present. Still, he’ll be happy to see you,” Stephen murmurs, and Steve’s eyes move from the bags under Stephen’s eyes to the way his jacket is slightly askew.

“Would it be helpful to move him to the inn?” Steve hesitates before adding, “I’ve been helping Bucky build his house, and since—” Steve sucks in some breath between his teeth and clears his throat, not quite sure how to finish the sentence, so he starts again. “I’ve had time on my hands if you need someone to help care for him until he’s on his feet.”

“He’ll have to heal slightly more before we can move him, but yes, that would be helpful. Have a good day.” His face betrays no emotion as he tilts his hat, turns on his heels, and walks into town.

Steve’s hand hovers on the handle to the doctor’s house. His chest tightens, and he tries his best to breathe evenly. The inside of the room seems oddly quiet, and Steve stands in the threshold for a second, his heart beating loud enough that he can hear it as if it’s between his ears.

“Nat?” Bucky asks, though he remains still.

Steve swallows and closes the door behind him as he crosses the room to Bucky’s bed. “’Fraid it’s me.”

Bucky looks at him with a glassy, vacant expression, no doubt from the laudanum. Beneath the delirium, something flickers in his eyes, and when his mouth curls into a smile, Steve feels the weight on his chest lessen. “Hey, ain’t ya that famous gunslinger?” Bucky jokes. He laughs, amused with himself, but the sound quickly morphs into a cough, and the smile disappears as he blanches.

The weight settles again on Steve’s chest, and he finds that oddly he has to wring his hands to stop from reaching out—though he’s not quite sure where the impulse comes from. “How you feeling, Buck?”

“Like shit,” Bucky says, and his eyes glaze over again as he settles into the bed, the drug-induced haze kicking in once more.

“You ain’t really here, are you?” Steve asks him, and Bucky titters.

“I’m somewhere else,” Bucky agrees. Steve grabs a chair, and they sit in silence for a minute. Then, Bucky turns as best as he can to face him and winces from the pain. “Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t ya leave?”

“Well, you just about died. I thought it might be rude.” He tries to frame it like a joke, though his stomach twists and knots, but Bucky just shakes his head, his lip jutting out as he tries to concentrate past the pain and the delirium.

“No, why haven’t ya ever left? It’s been over half a year.” Steve feels the ground drop out beneath him, and it must be written on his face because the crease between Bucky’s eyes deepens. “I don’t mean it the way yer takin’ it.”

The words make Steve’s mouth go dry, and he swallows thickly as he asks, his voice barely louder than whisper, “How do you mean it?”

Bucky blinks up at him behind long lashes. His eyes clear, and there’s a brief moment of lucidity. Although he can’t quite read it, something about the look, makes his stomach go cold and knocks the breath out of him. Steve sits still, terrified and exposed, though he’s not quite sure how.

And then it’s gone, and a look of confusion overtakes Bucky’s face. “How do I mean what?”

Some things, Steve assumes, are better left untouched. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the way the cold air fills his lungs. “Never mind,” he says, and he sits with Bucky until he falls asleep.

- - -

Bucky’s fever spikes again for a week once he moves back into the inn, and Steve only leaves his side to wring out the cloth he’s using to cool Bucky’s forehead. Sam, Natasha, and Clint come at various times, and once Bucky’s fever breaks, they convince Steve to step outside and take in some fresh air.

Soon enough, they settle into a routine. It’s comfortable, but Steve can sense there are things Bucky holds back. Occasionally, he wakes up to the sound of labored breathing and grunts of pain. No matter how long the fits last, Bucky never wakes Steve, so Steve pretends he’s sleeping, though he frequently watches Bucky until he falls back asleep. Although he’s certain that Bucky catches him once or twice, he never says anything, and the following morning, neither brings it up.

Bucky adapts quickly. He knows his limitations, but he finds ways to adjust, and he’s a quick learner. “Thanks for not trying to insist I need help when I don’t,” Bucky says to him one day, and Steve shrugs.

“I trust you’ll ask if you need it. You’re plenty capable.”

When Bucky goes back to work, Steve quietly continues working on Bucky’s house. He finds the physicality of it distracting. It’s a way to keep his drifting thoughts in check—each stray thought is his reminder that he isn’t putting enough of himself into it. He channels himself into each plank of wood until sweat drips from his brows, and his muscles ache. Until he feels if he pushes any further, he’ll come undone.

Still, his mind wanders.

“This is what ya’ve been doin’ during the day?” Steve jumps and looks down to see Bucky staring up at him, a curious frown on his lips.

“I was restless,” Steve says, and it isn’t a lie, though it doesn’t feel honest either.

Bucky must pick up on something because he tilts his head to the right and presses his lips together as he stares at Steve, contemplative. “Something tells me there’s no use tryin’ to pull the truth out of ya.”

“I was telling the truth.” Bucky’s lips quirk upward, and he gives Steve a thoroughly unconvinced, if not slightly bemused look.

“The full truth.” Bucky regards him for a moment longer, but before the defensive complaint slips from Steve’s lips, he motions for Steve to come down.

Steve takes Bucky’s sudden disinterest or change of spirit as a win and swings himself over the second story ledge. The momentary distraction, however, is enough to divert his attention from his landing, and Steve braces a second too late. His knees bend as he lands, but his balance slips, and he slides forward.

Steve stands back up, feet sliding in the slick of the mud as he tries to steady himself. When he finally looks up to see Bucky, Bucky is frozen, a fleeting look of recognition across his face.

“What?” Steve asks, wiping his knees in an attempt to knock the mud off of them.

Bucky blinks twice, and the expression disappears behind a composed smile once more. “Hmm?”

His voice is convincingly oblivious, and Steve hesitates before trusting his gut and answering, “There was something in your face. You — Well, I don’t know what it was, but you can’t tell me there wasn’t.”

Bucky’s mouth twists. Although he looks visibly agitated, when Steve doesn’t drop his gaze, Bucky concedes. “Ya know how I’ve been havin’ some trouble rememberin’ the details from that night when I got shot? Well, the way ya landed just there felt familiar. That’s all.” Bucky sounds persuasive, but his eyes look just past Steve in a way that makes his stomach knot.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to be any clearer.” His eyes darken, and Steve can feel Bucky slipping away, closing off.

“I mean, what about it made you remember?” He reaches out his arm and squeezes Bucky’s right shoulder. Bucky’s eyes meet his, and Steve’s mind wanders, just for a moment—just long enough to recall his dream. The smell of leather or a streak of blue. The air knocks out of him, and his hand falters and slips.

“Ya can’t ask me for my full truth when ya won’t give me yours,” Bucky mumbles.

“If you tell me yours, I’ll confide in you as well.” The answer slips past his lips. Each instant sends him falling into the next, unable to stop unraveling whatever is transpiring between them.

And then Bucky’s eyes soften, and his shoulders drop, and he’s there—no barriers left. “Ya were on the ground, drenched in mud, pointin’ your pistol right at Brock, and then ya heard the door. And when ya looked at me, it wasn’t like ya were searchin’ for a sound. Ya looked at me. Ya saw me. And it was as if, for a moment, ya forgot—” Bucky pauses, as if expecting Steve to interrupt or disagree. When Steve doesn’t, Bucky’s frown deepens, and he gathers himself before continuing. “As if ya forgot what ya were there for or that there was even a pistol in yer hands.”

Steve’s heart pounds against his chest, and he nods, hypnotized by the rhythm between them, the steady back and forth that feels as if it’s propelling him forward towards something which he hasn’t quite been able to name. He’s not entirely sure of what he’s agreeing to, but he trusts his instinct once more. “I’ve been working like this because if I pause even just to drink water, I won’t be able to stop myself from thinking about—"

“Everything alright?” Both he and Bucky jump at Sam’s voice, and they shift their attention to where Sam sits on his horse, several paces away.

Bucky glances at him, and their eyes meet, but the rhythm has been broken, and the moment is gone. It’s not Bucky whose barriers go back up; it’s his. But Steve can’t understand it, let alone stop it. Something important he can’t quite name slips just out of his grasp, and the lump in his throat returns.

“I promise you I don’t need saving most times, Sam,” Steve jibes, and he puts his attention back into getting the mud off his pants. From the way Sam laughs, Steve knows that he’s shaken any lingering suspicions.

When Steve finally dares to look up at Bucky, he is staring vacantly at the ground, and Steve can’t help but feel like he’s let something bigger than himself go. With Sam here, it’s too late to question his decision. He moves his attention away from Bucky and slips an easy smile onto his face as he falls back into conversation with Sam.

- - -

Steve is grateful that he and Bucky no longer share a room. Still, he knows that Bucky will knock on his door come morning, so he leaves just before the crack of dawn to the stables and rides his horse out past town.

He hasn’t had much of a chance to do so since mud season. Other than a few treks with Bucky, there haven’t been many reasons to leave town. The ground has dried enough that he can speed his horse up to a gallop, and he steadies his balance.

When the wind starts to hit his face, he feels a tickle of something he hasn’t felt since he first settled in town, just shy of a year ago. The sky looks endless around him—open like it might swallow him whole. Steve lets out a whoop and breathes in, and for the first time in months, the air doesn’t stop filling his lungs halfway through. Instead, he keeps breathing in until he can no longer bear the ache in his chest, and the air knocks out of him in one loud whoosh. When his eyes start burning, Steve can’t place whether it’s from the wind or something else, akin to relief, and he’s not sure he wants to.

On his way back into town, he passes by Bucky’s house, just as he left it yesterday. For the first time, the thought of leaving town and moving forward feels concrete.

- - -

It becomes easier to avoid Bucky with time. He alternates his routes and learns to stagger when he gets home and when he leaves.

One morning, he wakes up too late. It’s a narrow margin but a meaningful one. Steve has finished getting dressed and is readying himself to leave when there’s a knock at the door. He stills, rooted to the spot.

“Steve, ya in there?” Steve clasps his hand over his mouth and breathes shallowly, as if his exhale might give him away. The stillness of the room seems to carry outside, and though he doesn’t hear it, Steve has nearly convinced himself that Bucky has left when Bucky speaks again.

“I don’t know why, but I just thought maybe I hadn’t missed ya today. Maybe ya hadn’t managed to slip past ‘n’…” Bucky sighs loudly through the door. “If yer there, can you open up?”

The words make his chest ache, but he still doesn’t move. He’s never considered himself one to cower, so Steve tells himself it’s something else, though he can’t quite shake the particular way he feels. “Well, I guess never mind.” With that, he listens to Bucky walk away, each click of his boots signifying a step that puts more distance between Steve and any uncovered truths. Disappointment curdles in his stomach, and he’s left with a sour taste he can’t quite shake.

His body feels heavy, and his thoughts shatter and scatter until Steve is left numb and overwhelmed. It takes him a few moments to gather himself, and when he does, he breathes in and out, counting in his head until his body relaxes, and he can move once more.

Steve has been spending more time at Clint and Sam’s ranch in the last few months. Sam’s presence in particular has kept him tethered in a way he hasn’t expected. Occasionally, he catches them at their home. Sam brews them coffee, and they sit in a comfortable silence until one or the other remembers something to say. And on it goes until it repeats. More typically, however, Steve finds them working and joins in tasks where more force is needed than skill—leveling the ground or repairing the ditches.

In those moments, the town far away enough that it isn’t even a speck on the horizon, Steve’s mind stills. He can focus on the present, and every wandering thought dissipates.

He gets on his horse now, eager to clear his mind, and gallops until Clint and Sam’s house comes into view. When he finally slows, his face throbs, stinging from the sharp cold of the wind. Steve presses the back of one hand to his cheek and scowls at how cold it is to the touch.

Neither Clint nor Sam is home, which is no surprise. Spring has slowly begun to melt into summer, which means they’re busier than they have been. Today, however, Steve finds Sam by the fence, repairing a few holes.

“Need a hand?” He crouches beside him and offers a tense smile when Sam turns to look at him.

“Wouldn’t mind one,” Sam says. “I can show you how.”

They work for a while, neither saying much. It’s an easy enough task for Steve to get the hang of it quickly, and he loses himself in its repetitiveness. He works until his throat is dry and his shoulders are sore, and when he finally lifts his head up, he’s surprised to see that it’s later in the day than he expected. The sun will be setting in the next few hours, so Steve straightens his back and dusts off his pants.

“Want to eat?” Sam asks, and Steve nods his head. “Ain’t gonna be nothing fancy, so don’t go expecting much.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Sam makes camp bread and finishes a stew Clint had started to prepare. Clint eats fast, eager to get everything done before the sun sets, and soon only Steve and Sam are left, finishing their meals.

“You have to talk, talk.” Sam’s perceptive, Steve’s noticed, and it doesn’t surprise him that he can tell something is weighing on Steve’s mind.

Steve takes a deep breath and then speaks. “I’ve been thinking of leaving town.” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, but he says nothing, so Steve continues. “Not immediately, course. I reckon it’ll be another month or two. Was planning on helping Bucky finish his house, but after that, I don’t see much reason to stay. I’ve had to pull in my horns lately too.”

Sam nods his head and sighs. “Bucky know?”

The question catches Steve off-guard, and despite his better judgment, he feels himself bristle. “Why d’you ask?”

“You gonna take French leave?”

“Hell, Sam. Of course, I’ll tell him before I go. Just haven’t yet. Now why d’you ask?”

Sam shrugs. “No particular reason—I suppose.” He finishes the last piece of bread and stands up. “Bucky tells me you’ve been avoiding him.” The words make him run cold, and Steve stands up as well, but before he has time to announce that he intends on leaving, Sam quickly adds, “Now, trust me. I don’t plan on interfering with whatever’s going on, but what with you two at odds and you leaving town, I wanted to make sure the two weren’t related.”

Despite the fact that his clothes are stuck to him from a long day’s work, Steve feels suddenly exposed. But when he opens his mouth, his mind is racing faster than he can put together thoughts. “They’re not,” he grumbles, his voice terser than he intends on it being.

Steve finds it unclear whether Sam is convinced, but before he can discern one way or another, the moment passes. “I gotta head back,” Sam says, nodding his head towards the pastures.

“Thanks for the meal,” Steve says.

“Well, figured the least I can do is feed you considering you helped me with half the fence.” Sam claps a hand on Steve’s back. “It’ll be odd not to see your mug ‘round these parts if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Don’t mind at all. It’ll be strange not seeing you as well.” A sour feeling floods his mouth, but Steve’s smile doesn’t falter. They regard each other for a moment longer before making their way out of the house. He waves at Sam before mounting his horse.

As he rides, Steve focuses his attention on the sky in front of him—orange, with purple hue around the clouds. He’s so focused on avoiding his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice the redheaded woman sitting on her mare near the outskirts of town until he hears a voice.

“Howdy. Mind pointin’ me in the direction of the saloon?”

Steve jerks his head to take a look at her. Her wide-brimmed hat casts a shadow across her face, partially obscuring it from view, but even still, Steve makes out her calm, cautious gaze. Steve clicks his tongue and slows his horse down to a halt.

The saloon means seeing Bucky, and Sam’s question rings in his ears. “Sure can,” he says. After all, if his leaving has nothing to do with Bucky—and Steve tells himself it doesn’t—then there isn’t any reason for Bucky not to know.

“Appreciate it.” She tips her hat at him, and Steve leads the way.

“What brings you into town?” Steve asks. “Heading West?”

“Came from California, actually. I’m just passin’ through.”

“Been a while since I’ve been to California.” She’s easy to talk to, and the conversation gives Steve something to distract himself from the thought of the impending saloon.

She lets out a low hum, seemingly surprised that Steve is familiar. “Whereabouts?”

“San Francisco, a few years back.” A memory flickers through his head, and Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “You could say I had a—uh—disagreement with Denis Kearney that didn’t exactly leave me eager to return.”

“That sonofabitch doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.” The woman spits at the dirt, and Steve laughs, finding himself charmed by her lack of restraint.

“I take it you’re familiar with San Francisco, then.”

“Been there nearly ten years.”

“We must have overlapped, then.”

They make their way to the stables, and Steve hands both their horses off to the stable hand before leading them in the direction of the saloon. The woman looks wide-eyed at the town, and after a minute, she says, “Place sure has changed a lot since I was last here.”

The words take a second to sink in, and by the time they do, they’re at the door of the saloon. “You’ve been here before?” Steve asks, and they step in. His eyes immediately dart over to Bucky, and he braces himself.

But Bucky bursts into a grin. It’s the most relief Steve’s felt in weeks until he shouts from across the room, “Wanda?”

The woman next to him—Wanda, Steve supposes—grins, nearly feral, and does a half-jog across the room, her spurs ringing loud with each heavy step. “James fuckin’ Barnes.” She lets out a hoot just before they meet, and her hands make their way to either side of Bucky’s face, cupping it before she leans in and presses a kiss to his mouth.

As the ground drops beneath him, the truth pries it way out and rears its ugly head, and Steve knows there’s no denying that he’s in love with Bucky. The revelation, so carefully stepped around and pushed back, swallows him whole, and Steve’s hand reaches for a chair as he steadies himself.

And then Wanda steps back, and Steve gathers himself enough to focus in on their words, still raised in volume despite their proximity. “Why the hell didn’t ya tell me you were coming into town?”

“And have you find an excuse not t’be here when I arrive?” Wanda scoffs, and Bucky chuckles as he clasps a hand on her shoulder.

“Well, ya found yer way here. Just as sharp of a sense of direction as ever—I see.”

“Actually, Rogers over there showed me on over. You know you got a famous gunslinger in town?” Somewhere behind everything else swirling in his chest, Steve is aware that Wanda recognized him. He hardly has time to push a smile back on his face before Wanda glances over and winks.

“Think I heard somethin’ ‘bout that,” Bucky says.

Then, his eyes are on Steve, and Steve can feel himself coming undone again. The chatter of the other customers, the piano, even Wanda all fade away as Bucky’s eyes linger on his, distant as the first day Steve walked into the saloon. Steve’s fingers curl around the back of the chair, as he tries to plead wordlessly for Bucky to see him like he saw him a few weeks ago when Sam interrupted.

But Bucky looks away. He shepherds Wanda to the bar and steps around to the other side as he pours them each a drink.

Once he feels confident that his knees won’t buckle beneath him, Steve unfurls his fingers from around the chair and walks out.

- - -

Three weeks go by, and Steve begins to think that Wanda’s assessment that she’s passing through might not be entirely true.

Although there’s little in Bucky’s outward appearance to suggest a shift, something about the way he speaks to Steve feels cold. No one remarks on it, and he has almost convinced he’s imagined it when he catches Natasha looking curiously between the two of them one afternoon.

It doesn’t help that the truth looms over him. Now that he’s named it, it clings onto him with a vice-like grip, tighter with each passing day. Steve can hardly stand the way Bucky’s eyes pass over him when they talk or the fact that he never acknowledges Steve until the conversation turns in a way that he has to.

Even more infuriating is Bucky’s ability to make sure that they are never left alone in a room. The harder Steve tries to approach him, the more elusive Bucky comes. So, one night, Steve waits until Bucky has come back from the saloon and knocks on the door to his room. Faintly, Steve hears the sound of footsteps.

Then, Bucky opens the door, and he stops, his hand slipping from the handle. “Steve?” Bucky’s lips part, and he lets out a breathless oh. His guard down, he looks at Steve, raw and petrified. For the first time, Steve notices the bags under Bucky’s eyes, and he reaches out a hand until it grazes against Bucky’s. Bucky’s Adam’s bobs as he swallows thickly, and Steve’s eyes fall, fixed to it, as he wonders how it would feel beneath his lips.

The sound of springs creaking jars them both out of it, and Bucky jerks away his hand and turns his head. Wanda comes into view behind him, sprawled out on Bucky’s bed under the covers, fast asleep.

“Oh, I see,” Steve warbles—his voice hoarse.

Bucky looks back and starts shaking his head, but Steve can feel his guards slipping. He turns on his heel and walks to his room, shutting the door behind him before collapsing against it. He half-expects to hear Bucky follow him and hates the second wave of disappointment he feels when there’s no knock at his door.

Unable to stop himself, he steps forward swings his fist down against the table, pain blossoming as a crack runs through the wood. Steve gasps and curses under his breath. It hurts to tighten and loosen his fist enough to make his eyes water, but he’s broken enough bones to know he’s mostly fine.

- - -

After that, Steve returns to finish the house. He sets his back into it, wanting to get it done before summer returns full force. Bucky stops by several times, but the conversations fizzle as their eyes dart past each other. Each time he feels as if Bucky is going to say something, the moment passes.

“What happened to yer hand?” Bucky asks, motioning at the bruises around his fingers. Steve flushes, not eager to relive the humiliation from that night and thankful that from this angle, Bucky can’t see his face.

“Nothing. Messed up.”

For a moment, Bucky doesn’t say anything, and though he can’t see him, Steve gets the odd sense that Bucky is debating calling him out on his lie.

Hammering fills the silence between them, and Steve is about to look back to see if Bucky’s left when he speaks again. “Wanda’s leavin’ town soon.”

“Is she?” Steve asks, though he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. All that’s left are the finishing touches—no more than another two to three weeks of work, but with that realization comes a heavy sense of dread.

Bucky shoves a hand in his pocket and chews on the inside of his lip. “It’d mean a lot if ya came.”

Steve stills, and when he looks over, Bucky stares at him with the sort of pleading eyes Steve doesn’t know how to say no to. His shoulders fold as he nods his head. “Give Wanda word I’ll be there.”

“I mean, it’d mean a lot to me.”

Steve knows what Bucky meant, but said aloud, it still makes his chest twinge. Bucky’s face is somehow both inscrutable and open, as if inviting Steve to jump to conclusions. He hates the way it makes his resolution crumple, but he’s powerless to stop it. “I’ll be there,” Steve repeats, his voice softer.

- - -

Steve makes up an excuse and slips out the back door of the saloon an hour into sitting at the bar with Bucky and Wanda. He can hardly stand to be around the two of them. Every conversation turns into a story of their past, and after the charm of picturing the Bucky from those tales wears off, all he’s left with is the feeling that his presence isn’t exactly necessary—that the conversation will continue with or without him. Natasha, Sam, and Clint drop by as well, and they must feel similarly because before too long they leave, an excuse ready at the tips of their tongues.

The alley behind the saloon is dim and has always smelled off, but the fact that it’s empty is all Steve cares about. He moves in as far as he can go—no more than a few steps—and leans his back against the wall.

A window upstairs in the brothel must be open because Steve can hear moans from some woman—loud, staccato, and most certainly not real. He glances up at the open shutters and snorts as he pulls his cigarette case out of his duster jacket pocket.

The first drag washes over him, and Steve feels his nerves start to steady just as the door opens. Bucky steps outside and lets it close behind him properly before turning to face Steve. They stare at each other a moment.

Then, Steve takes another drag and looks away, trying to quell the building resentment in the pit of his stomach. It takes a concentrated effort not to snap at Bucky and make some comment about how I thought my absence wouldn’t make a notable difference—you know—considering.

He doesn’t. He tilts his head away from Bucky and lets out a steady stream of smoke, watching as a gust of wind hits him, curving it at a near ninety-degree angle the moment it leaves his lips. “Who’s running the bar if you’re here?” Steve asks.

“Wanda. I trust her to handle herself.”

“I’m sure she can.” Despite meaning it, the words come out with a sharp edge that surprises even Steve. Bucky looks at him, and Steve braces himself for Bucky to object.

But Bucky doesn’t. “Heard yer leavin’ town,” he says instead, lips quirking upward as he gives Steve a look caught between bemused and exasperated.

“Sam tell you that?” Steve clenches his jaw.

“Nah. If he gave ya his word that he wouldn’t tell me, Sam would never do it. He did tell Clint, however, who said somethin’ a few weeks back.”

Steve scoffs. “Wasted no time letting you know.”

“Yer the one who didn’t tell me ya were going to leave.”

The hurt seeps through Bucky’s words, though when Steve looks over, Bucky’s face is hidden behind his hair. Steve sighs and turns his body just slightly so that he’s facing Bucky.

“I should’ve brought it up. I just needed time to figure out what I wanted.”

“And what ya wanted was to get far away from here without me knowin’.” Bucky states it like a fact, not a question, and Steve frowns as he lifts his cigarette up to his lips.

He hasn’t been this physically close to Bucky in months outside of that night in front of Bucky’s room. The memory twists in him, and he breathes in and touches his tongue to the roof of his mouth, cutting through the smoke as it moves down his throat and into his lungs. His chest expands until his lungs burn, and he twists the cigarette between his fingers. It’s enough to install some fleeting sense of calm in him.

“I knew if I told you, I would never would’ve left,” Steve corrects. In front of him, Bucky’s shoulders straighten slightly, and he slowly turns to look at Steve.

“But Clint said when ya finished my house…” He sucks in a breath and lets the sentence linger before adding, “And yer practically done.”

“It ain’t have nothin’ to do with whether or not I finish the house.” There’s more he wants to say, but the words get caught. Then, Bucky’s eyes meet his, and he’s grounded to the spot, certain that the truth is etched on his face, there for anyone to discover.

Bucky wets his lips, and his hand trembles as he speaks. “What were ya going to tell me the other month? That day Sam interrupted.”

Steve has avoided Bucky for precisely this moment, this question, but he refuses to bite his tongue again. “I didn’t know it at the time—suppose I didn’t want to. You were talking, and it was like every word out of your mouth—” Steve cuts himself off and tries again. “You were right. The door opened, and I saw you, and for a second, there wasn’t a gunfight, ‘n’ Brock didn’t exist. It was just you.”

Silence hovers between them, and Bucky says nothing. He stares forward blankly in front of him, past Steve.

“Say something,” Steve begs. But Bucky doesn’t. He turns instead and reaches his hand out. It feels like a gesture to let him down easy, and Steve steps back and bristles, suddenly aware of how he must sound. “Never mind. You don’t need to humor me with some soft sawder. Spare me the lies, Buck.”

Bucky frowns, and his eyes darken. “Ya can call me plenty things, but I ain’t no fuckin’ liar, Steve.” He prods Steve in the shoulder with his index finger, hard enough that it bounces back off of it.

The words wash over him, and Steve stares, suddenly wordless himself. He drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it with the heel of his boot. “So, what are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ that I see ya too. Since ya walked through the damn doors a year ago. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“What about Wanda?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair as he sighs. “It ain’t what ya’ve been thinkin’. Her husband died. Consumption. That’s why she’s here. She can’t stand to be alone.”

“But she kissed you when she came, and that night—” Steve furrows his brow, trying to piece together what Bucky’s saying. His heart won’t stop pounding against his chest, though he can’t shake the fear that the rug will still be pulled out from under him.

“That’s just how she is. If ya were her friend, she woulda kissed ya too. And ‘bout that night, she drank ‘til she was full as a tick. She wasn’t in a state to spend the night by herself, so I let ‘er sleep in my bed.”

“Why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“Why didn’t ya?” The look in his eyes is reflected right back at him in Bucky’s. Steve’s heart jumps to his throat. There’s no use denying the truth or avoiding it. Steve’s not sure that there ever was.

“‘Cause I was scared I was wrong, and I couldn’t face it if I was. I used to rely on my good judgment, but lately...”

They stare at each other, the truth laid out between them, and then Steve leans forward. His right hand reaches up, cupping Bucky’s face as he presses their lips together. Bucky lets out a muffled sound of surprise, and their noses bump up against each other. Steve's fingers slip to Bucky's neck. He runs his fingers up just slightly into Bucky's hair; it's enough to knock his hat askew.

Steve opens his eyes—though he doesn't entirely remember shutting them—and Bucky's eyes are on him, trusting yet searching. He pulls away, just an inch away from Bucky's face, and asks, "Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare," Bucky whispers. From here, Steve can see how flushed Bucky’s face is, and for a moment he soaks in the sight in front of him—Bucky’s shoulders rising rapidly, dazed and distracted enough that he slips half an inch down against the wall.

Then, Steve closes the gap again, tightening his fingers on the back of Bucky’s neck, eliciting a soft whimper. It's messy and desperate, but Steve can't help but want more. The heat between them feels unyielding—intoxicating even. Bucky's hand falls to Steve's side, and he grips it, catching himself as Steve runs his tongue across Bucky's lower lip, coaxing his mouth open.

Bucky’s nails dig into him, sharp and painful, and Steve tangles his fingers into Bucky's hair before tugging lightly. It’s barely a reprimand, but it’s enough, and Bucky’s fingers loosen, though he continues to stare at Steve hungrily.

The world spins around him, and Steve reaches out with his other hand, pinning it to the wall behind Bucky to steady them both. He feels intoxicated, and each noise out of Bucky's mouth makes his knees nearly buckle beneath him.

Around them, the whole town drops away until it’s just him and Bucky, and Steve wonders how anything ever existed before this.

Then, Bucky rolls his hips forward. It’s unconscious—Steve’s certain of it—but tethers Steve back on Earth, cutting through this haze. Bucky is hard.

Heat rises in Steve’s cheeks until he's sure they're pink and flushed, but Bucky is too far gone to notice. He stares for a second longer, taking in the way Bucky's pupils are blown and his eyes glazed over. Then, Steve drops the hand pressed against the wall and brushes it against Bucky's cock. Even against through the fabric, it feels hot against his hand.

Bucky jerks, teetering off-balance until he catches himself. His breath hitches, and Steve rolls Bucky’s lower lip between his teeth before pulling back just enough to speak. “Can I?”

Bucky tugs his head up and down before letting his head fall backwards. It hits the wall with a soft thunk, though Bucky hardly seems to notice. He eyes flutter shut, and he rolls his hips forward, eager for more contact.

It takes him a moment to get the buttons undone and push past layers, but soon enough, he finds what he’s after. Steve’s fingers close around Bucky’s cock, and he swipes his thumb experimentally over the head. Bucky jerks, and he reaches to the front of Steve’s shirt, his fist tightening around the fabric.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Bucky breathes, and the air that comes out tickles Steve’s cheek.

If this were a different time, Steve thinks he might draw it out. He wants to see how far he can take it before Bucky relents and begs; the thought is dizzying. But now they’re in an alley, and Bucky’s body is far from familiar. Teasing—Steve thinks—can come once he knows how to draw Bucky to the edge without pushing him over.

Now, Steve just wants to feel.

He wraps his hand back around Bucky’s cock and strokes once, earning him another moan. He tries again, twisting his wrist as he does, and marvels at the way Bucky slips further down against the wall.

His lips fall to Bucky’s neck as he sets a rhythm. He starts at his collar and kisses his way up until he finds a spot on Bucky’s neck that makes him whimper. Steve grazes his teeth against it before sucking lightly, and Bucky keens.

Before long, Bucky begins to roll his hips forward, frantically trying to match Steve’s pace, and Steve kisses him hard. When Bucky starts to tremble and sweat drips across Steve’s fingers on Bucky’s nape and down into the collar of his shirt, Steve knows Bucky’s close. He tightens his grip and loosens it before twisting his wrist again and speeding up.

Bucky can hardly hold himself up by the time he comes. Steve shifts his hand down from Bucky’s neck to around his waist and pins him against the wall. He comes with a shout, muffled against Steve’s lips, and Steve works him until Bucky is shaking, raw and oversensitive.

Only then does he pull his hand out, careful not to get anything on Bucky’s clothes. He brings his fingers to his lips and tastes, and Bucky watches him through half-lidded eyes. Bucky tastes hot and bitter. He swirls his tongue around his fingers and pulls them out with a pop.

“You all right?” Bucky’s head falls forward into the crook of Steve’s shoulder, and he nods before taking deep, heaving breaths. They stand there for a minute like that, Steve supporting the majority of Bucky’s weight as he settles back into the present. Now that Bucky has come, he’s aware of his own arousal more than ever, and he positions his hips back slightly.

Nonetheless, Bucky notices. He shifts his weight eventually and stands up straight as his hand falls from Steve’s side. The bulge in Steve’s pants is unmistakable, and Bucky reaches a hand forward. When he starts to drop to his knees, it takes a concentrated amount of effort for Steve to shake his head and put a hand against Bucky’s shoulder to stop him. “Not now.”

“But ya—” Steve presses a finger to Bucky’s lips, and Bucky stills.

“Later. Shouldn’t you be getting back to Wanda before she worries?”

It’s the right decision, but Steve can tell that Bucky hates him for it. His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw as he tries to come up with an excuse, but Steve’s stern look dissuades him. At last, his shoulders drop in defeat.

“I suppose I should see to it that she ain’t by herself in there.” Bucky pouts, bordering on petulant, and Steve chuckles.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Buck. You can knock on my door when you get back, and we’ll make up for lost time.”

His words do exactly what Steve hopes they will, and Bucky swallows thickly as his eyes cloud over anew.

- - -

Steve takes a step back and looks at the house. “We ought to take a look at the inside,” he says, eager to show off his handiwork.

“Steve, I’ve seen it every day this past week. I think I know what it looks like by now.” When Steve scowls, Bucky relents and waves both of his hands—including the prosthetic the doctor made for him—up defensively in front of him. “Alright, but if this is just to impress me, ya should know ya already did that a long while back.”

Steve’s still not used to the compliments. If the past month has taught him anything, it’s that Bucky is brimming with them and always ready to dish them out, if only to see Steve flush. It’s indulgent and over-the-top, but he loves the way Bucky’s lips curl into a self-satisfied grin each time.

They step in and shut the door behind them. The inside of the house still needs to be cleaned up. There’s sawdust to be swept out, and the windows are still covered in fingerprints from when he installed them. But it’s beautiful—at least Steve thinks so. The stairs took longer than he thought to build, but it’s concrete, real, and bigger than himself in a way that makes Steve feel proud.

“So, what do you think?” Steve asks. “I reckon it’ll look better once you move in, but—"

“It’s the best house I’ve laid my eyes on.” Bucky leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s jaw. “I mean it truly.” The words are enough to make him relax, and Steve nods once before reaching out and running a hand absentmindedly up and down Bucky’s back.

They stand like that, taking in the house in front of them, and—like that—it hits him. They haven’t talked about Steve leaving since Bucky first asked him about it. It’s been present in the unspoken gaps in their conversations and passing glances, but neither has been able to work up the courage to say anything, afraid it’ll make it more concrete.

Until now—that is.

“You know where yer headin’?” Bucky asks, his voice strained.

Steve’s hand drops, and he shakes his head. “Haven’t given it much thought.”

The air between them feels thick in a way that Steve knows has nothing to do with the summer heat. Next to him, Bucky lets out a loud sigh. “I get the impression that this house is larger than I can fill just on my own.”

Steve blinks slowly, trying to ground himself. “Oh? Who are you thinking of asking to live with you?” It’s a stupid question, and he knows it. Still, he can’t quite bring himself to lean into the hope swelling in his chest.

“A long time ago, I asked why ya didn’t like bein’ called a gunslinger. Ya told me what you did was different. It had more t’do with executin’ justice than anything else.” Bucky speaks slowly and carefully, and his eyes don’t waver from Steve’s.

Steve recalls the conversation and nods in agreement. “What does that have to do with your house?”

“There’s just as much a need for justice here as anywhere else.” Despite his even tone, Bucky’s words sound like a plea. “This town could use a sheriff, and somethin’ tells me you’d make a mighty fine one.”

Steve’s ears ring as the words settle. The thought of stillness has always terrified him before, yet now he feels oddly calm, as if he’s known all along that he’s planned on staying, and the only thing he’s been waiting for is for Bucky to ask. Steve lets out a shaky breath until he can push no more air out of his lungs. “You think?”

“I can assure you so. Hooples around town fixin' for some trouble could use a lesson in justice.”

Steve steps forward and wraps a hand around the front of Bucky’s shirt, tugging him forward until their lips meet. The house—their house—falls away until the only thing that’s left is Bucky. When he pulls back, a wide smile spreads across his face.

“I expect the bigger room, or else I’ll be sore-disappointed,” Steve teases.

“Already listin’ demands.” Bucky clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth in mock-disapproval. “But I suppose—if ya ain’t opposed to sharin’, ya can have it.”

“I accept your offer, Mr. Barnes,” Steve says, and he kisses him once more.

#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #my stucky #my fics

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