#postwsca

But Steve was fine.

Sure, he hadn’t seen Bucky in months, and sometimes he was at the punching bag so long that his skin started to peel off to expose the bones of his fingers, and sometimes he couldn’t find the energy to drag himself out of bed, and sometimes he went weeks without sleeping, and sometimes he thought about throwing himself head-first off the nearest tall structure, but he was fine.

He was absolutely, perfectly, one-hundred percent, fucking fine.

Steve steps back into the car and closes the door, lips still tingling.

“You don’t like blondes,” Bucky says.

There's a house in Bar Harbor, Maine.

It needs a lot of work, but so do the men who live in it.

“You said that voicing opinions is a good thing. So. My opinion is that you’re hot as fuck and I wanna do all sorts of things to you. Deal with it.” - The Winter Soldier didn't need any social filters, so why should Bucky have them? Steve... deals with it. Sort of. 

Written for this capkink prompt:

“What makes you happy?” Sam asked, looking him in the eye, smiling a little.

'Bucky does,' Steve thinks a little desperately. Bucky didn’t make him happy either though, that was the thing. All of the happiest moments of his life, all of the best decisions, Bucky had been at the center of almost all of them. He was making himself sick with thinking about Bucky now, though. Sick with grief, sick with ‘what-ifs’. Thinking of Bucky made him want to cry on a good day, and made him want to disappear into thin air on a bad day.

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Steve lives in Stark Tower and doesn't have much to do when he's not going after Hydra strongholds. He attends charity events to make Pepper happy. He goes hiking with Sam. He hangs out with Clint in Bed-Stuy and watches Dog Cops. Sometimes Tony gives him super alcohol in a sippy cup. Sometimes he sees Bucky out of the corner of his eye and wonders if it's real or if he's starting to lose his mind.