PLEASE WRITE A HS!AU WITH PUNK!BUCKY AND JOCK!STEVE I'M IN NEED /I LOVE U/
I CAN ALWAYS TRUST HANNAH TO GIVE ME FUCKIN GREAT IDEAS
[CRADLES YOUR HEAD]
ALSO I DO NOT KNOW FLAG FOOTBALL EVEN IF I FUCKING TRIED
- - -
The football sails sixty yards across, fifteen gazes following the trajectory of it as it arcs over their heads. It hits a goal post and ricochets off to the bleachers.
"What the fuck." Sam says to himself before turning, bamboozled, toward’s Steve’s direction. "What the fuck?!"
Steve squints to where the ball landed. “My bad.”
"Oh shut up, Rogers, that was amazing!" Sam roars, running towards his direction, "Damn! Who taught you that?!"
Steve laughs. “Luck.”
"Well, share the luck my man." Sam grins but then says seriously, "But I ain’t getting that ball. Technically it didn’t go in, so I still won the bet."
Steve grins. “Fine. On your left.” he teases as he jogs past Sam.
He finally reaches the far end of the field and finds where the ball has landed—just by the bleachers, laid almost too neatly at the opening of the tarpaulin covering its underside.
Steve bends down and scoops it within his hands when he sees a flash of leather jacket where the tarp—now that Steve is looking at it more closely—has been pried open. He peers inside.
"You need anything?" Leather jacket says comfortably as he slightly adjusts his sprawled form across the grass. There’s about three cans of empty root beer littered around him, and an empty kitkat bar wrapper on his chest. He gives him a small look past his sunglasses before placing both hands underneath his head and looking back up to the ceiling.
"You got a good arm." he lazily says.
Steve blinks. “Thanks.” he says uncertainly. “You know, most people watch the game on the bleachers, not under it.”
Leather jacket snickers, almost condescendingly. “You know, if you widen your stance a little and tilt your body back just a smidge, you’d be able to land that ball right between the posts.”
Steve actually laughs. “That’s quite some pointers for a person hiding under the bleachers.”
Leather jacket shrugs. “Take it or leave it, pal.”
The next practice, Steve sets his feet a bit wider.
The ball goes through.
- - -
Steve finds Leather jacket under the bleachers once again, doesn’t excuse himself, and barges through the ripped tarpaulin.
He sets a bar of kitkat on his chest and roughly presses a cold can of root beer on his face. The sight of spastic flailing is worth every shoulder punch Leather jacket plants on him.
"What the fuck, Rogers!"
Steve opens his own drink, waiting for the fizz to die down. “You know my name. What’s yours?”
Leather jacket pushes back his sunglasses that is currently sliding off the bridge of his nose.
"Barnes." he answers, peeling the wrapper off the kitkat bar and taking a ridiculously big bite through all four of the wafer sticks. Steve rubs a hand all over his face, sighing exasperatedly.
"Of course you would."
"Fuck the rules." Barnes mumbles through an insane amount of chocolate in his mouth.
Steve snickers so hard he ends up choking on a big gulp of mountain dew.
- - -
Three days after, Steve passes by Leather Jacket Barnes in the school hallway.
"I think," Steve mutters as he catches Barnes’ arm, "You missed the memo about how it’s actually not that sunny indoors." He smirks teasingly and Barnes looks away, chuckling.
He takes off his sunglasses and looks straight into Steve’s eyes.
"Better?"
Steve looks like his been hit by a slightly over-speeding truck, or an extremely over-pedaling kid on a bicycle.
"Yeah," Steve says, tone bordering on breathless, "Much."
- - -
SHIT, THOSE ARE FUCKING GREAT LOOKING EYES
SHIT
SHIT FUCK
SHIT
FUCK
- - -
With enough cajoling, Barnes ('What is your first name—how the hell is this even a normal friendship—' 'You gotta work hard for that privilege, Steve.' 'THIS IS NOT FAIR AT ALL.') finally agrees to shed off his jacket.
"Man, those are nice." Steve muses, taking an arm and looking at the tattoos closely.
"It’s coming along." Barnes answers, an elbow set on his knee as his free hand leisurely combs his hair. "I want an entire sleeve."
"Misfits." Steve muses, both brows raised, "Ramones though." he says, and Barnes looks quite impressed.
"You know things."
"Hell yeah I know things." he says, his breath fanning across Barnes’ skin.
Steve doesn’t say anything when he presses a finger tip on a particularly gorgeous splash of watercolor along the bulk of Barnes’ shoulder. Barnes doesn’t say anything when Steve starts tracing along the lines of a red star nestled in the middle of it. They only breathe along each others space, or maybe their collective space—they’re sitting so close the boundaries of where one starts and the other ends are starting to blur.
Barnes breathes out. He takes his arm from Steve’s hand.
"Just tell me what you want." he murmurs.
Steve reaches out and kisses him, eyes closed, lips moving languidly against his. He lets his fingers card through his hair, softly yet longingly. Barnes exhales sharply when they break apart just slightly, and presses his mouth against Steve’s again, short but sweet.
"Bucky." Barnes says gently.
Steve smiles adoringly, like he’s heard the one greatest fucking thing in the world.
- - -
It’s the school year’s first home game.
"Commandos, in three—one, two, three!"
“COMMANDOS!" A collective howl echoes from their circle of padded shoulders and painted helmets.
Steve breathes in and out, in and out, and looks out into the crowd one last time. He spots a black leather jacket, an unmistakable smirk, and a sign.
The rogue tide, the ocean waves, and the shore they call home [by: Nhixxie] "Well," Natasha smiles, "Welcome home, cap." She leaves, and the silence doubles in its intensity, until it’s the only sound that rings in Steve’s ears. Home has long been lost, he thinks. No amount of sound can fill a house that does not exist. One day, Bucky shows up at his door--and the sound was deafening." [credit: 1, 2]
rentboybucky said: it better be someone talking about how isaac and scott made out for like 15 minutes straight in the airport before chris argent could drag isaac away before they missed their flight tbh
Bucky comes back to Steve after weeks of captivity and torture and the first time he sees Steve look at Peggy he thinks to himself it's done it's fucking done you're gone
One night he pushes himself to go to Steve's tent to clear the air (I've been gone, I understand, I'm happy for you and Peggy, I'm not--) when he finds Peggy and Steve already there, poring over a copy of a map spread out on his table, exchanging possible troop movements and counter movements. Bucky raises a hand in apology and starts retreating back out, when Steve reaches for the neck of his shirt and kisses him brave and brazen and open-mouthed and embraces him with a ferocity he could not show anywhere else. Bucky's still slightly reeling when Steve pulls away and Peggy places a hand on Steve's back, bidding him goodnight with a kiss.
"I'll see you both in the morning," she says gently, and Bucky sputters, "Wait, are you--"
And Peggy just smiles at Bucky just as Steve does.
"We're at war, Sergeant. If we're going to die, we're gonna do so knowing we received all the love we can get."
