Pyrrhic

Bucky’s muscles relaxed even further- if that were possible- as Steve’s fingers ran through his hair. He let his head fall to Steve’s shoulder, nuzzling into the blond’s neck and leaving behind a few small kisses.

     “Keep doin’ that and you’re forgiven,” he purred.            “What’re you up so early for anyway?”

Everything was warm and soft, and Bucky could easily fall asleep again right away. Then again, he didn’t want to miss a moment with Steve- maybe it was worth it to get up a bit early.

Steve hums contentedly, feeling the beginnings of a sly smile curling the corners of his mouth in response to Bucky’s promise of forgiveness in exchange for attention. Just like a cat, the blonde thinks.He does know better than to say as much aloud, however, and ruin the tranquility of the moment that they’re experiencing. 

“Just...Woke up. Then I decided that I’d rather stay here in bed with the most gorgeous man in the world than go be a productive member of society. Pretty sure I’ve got my priorities in order.” 

A soft kiss to his temple makes him stir, fingers working their way through his own has time taking a deep awakening breath. He blinked groggily, squinting against the soft sun coming in through the window. Bucky made a soft noise as he saw Steve, hair shining like spun gold in the light, and closed his eyes again. 

     “Stevie…”he mumbled, scooching a bit closer to the blond chest. “Wha’ time izzit?”

An arm is draped over the brunette’s waist, holding him fast against Steve’s front, where he belongs. Bucky’s hair tickles at the blonde’s nose, but there’s nowhere Steve would rather have him now than this, so he endures it -- though he is dangerously close to sneezing. Another kiss is pressed against the crown of Bucky’s head; calloused fingers comb through that silken, dark hair.

Bucky was always the levelheaded one, between the two of them.While Steve was a firecracker with a short fuse, ready to go off at a moment’s notice, Bucky was his grounding force. Granted, he would still run headlong into fights he knew he had no chance of winning, but he always had Bucky there in the aftermath to clean him up and tell him off for being a reckless punk.

To see him like this now is heart wrenching – further reminder that this isn’t his Bucky from all those years ago, but a man wearing his face, and harboring some of his memories; someone entirely different that’s struggling to move forward in this unfamiliar world. Just like Steve. 

All Bucky’s are special, and valid, and deserve the most tender of affections –– Except for this one

“Oh, hey, Buck. Good to see you too. What was that? Sure, I’ll go fuck myself. Hey, Rogers --” 

No, this blog will not be following that canon.

Trust Steve to worry more about everybody else around him, but that didn’t come as a surprise to Tony. Steve always cared about everybody above himself. But right now he was the one that was hurt and he was trying to shrug it off as if it was nothing, Tony knew it wasn’t, he’d known the man long enough to know when he was in trouble. “Yeah, we got everyone out. Trust you to be the only guy still in the building when it falls, huh?” 

He wasn’t letting it go this time, Steve had looked out for him and his job was to do the same. “You’re not fine, Rogers.” Pushing the last of the rubble away from Steve, Tony looked the soldier over. His hand raised to Steve’s forehead where he looked to deep cut and winced. “You hit your head pretty hard. Can you stand? C’mon, lets get you some help, old man.”

@ofwarbonds continued!

We got everyone out. Steve doesn’t hear much beyond that, as relief floods through his system, and the last dregs of energy he’d clung to so desperately escape him on a long, shuddering sigh. We got everyone out. Today, at least, there would be no casualties. It’s the most he can ask for in this line of work.

Blue eyes flutter, uncertain if they want to remain closed, or attempt to open, and Steve is vaguely aware of his stomach knotting and clenching with hunger. Damn. The serum sure burns a helluva lot of calories -- but that’s a small price to pay for a strong, capable body that can withstand being crushed under a building, isn’t it? 

He’s become adept in the art of hiding. It’s a little easier each time – redirecting his comrade’s attention to the civilians, rather than himself, whenever the topic of injuries comes up; or remind a teammate of his superhuman healing factor to assuage concern – and he tells himself that it isn’t the same as lying, because he really is fine. He has to be.

Perhaps he’s a little less fine today than normal. Maybe, just maybe, getting a building dropped on you is cause for concern, even if you are one ornery sonuvabitch from Brooklyn imbued with a serum that makes you more durable than most. 

lmao I’m crying