#sarcinarict

[camerica]

@sarcinarict​ asked:

It's hard to find sleep when the gears are turning and the nightmares play like movies behind the dark of eyelids, sorry if the music woke you, he's catching up through the years.

     It wouldn’t be so bad, standing here, watching the bulk of a man stare off into space while Elvis plays on the Victrola except the implications of an empty nest of blankets in more disarray than usual. It’s the way he’s still, like he’d been turned to stone that tells Steve all he needs to know and he’s sorry for it, he really is.

     That won’t stop him picking up the needle and placing it back at the beginning, this one’s his favorite.

     Bucky knows he’s here, the shift in the shoulders even as slight as it was told him he’d heard movement long before Steve had come into view and the closer his steps get the more they’re drawn inward. It’s putting pressure on so he stops at the book case full of old slips and worn down records. He’s quiet for a long while just watching, listening to Elvis croon about the inevitability of love.

     His chest swells and, gaze soft and with bare feet stepping as light as he can, he moves forward to offer his hand.

[storiesofthenight]

 @sarcinarict​ liked for a starter.

Settling back in the sofa, Wanda grabbed a spoonful of cereal, a slight smile on her lips. She liked cereal, well ... she hadn’t always but it reminded her of better days, even if they hadn’t been real. Her little moment of peace was disturbed however when she heard footsteps. 

Lowering her bowl of cereal, she glanced towards the sound. “You know, it shouldn’t be this hard to just enjoy breakfast. I bet you’re also waiting to tell me just how badly I messed up, like everyone else?”

[camerica]

sarcinarict asked:

The Soldier pries open the living room window to slip inside soundlessly.

     And there Steve waits, legs crossed and arms folded over broad chest. He’s been waiting since their last contact to hear back from the asset for confirmation of target sighting. He’d nearly whittled his fingers to the nub in the interim and its everything he fears, watching that body crawl through his window like the undead.

     The Soldier hasn’t slept, there are bags under his eyes and a pronounced limp which means he’d either suffered injury or gone statue in his stakeout. The radio blackout could’ve only meant he hadn’t had the ability to safely communicate which leads Steve to believe he’s gone off script. Killed someone. And had to hide from the resulting chaos.

     He’s had plenty of time to think about the possibilities and ‘worst case’s and he’s praying he’s only worked himself up for nothing.

     “Where have you been?”

[camerica]

sarcinarict asked:

Bucky will stare him down for the next thirty minutes. (Oh shit hey you're back!)

     Yeah this is alright. It’s fine. The occasional glance over doesn’t freak him out the longer the time ticks by. Until he sets the beer bottle down by the neck of the glass and leans back, exhales softly but audibly enough. He’s annoyed, Bucky. He knows you know it.

     “Alright, what? When are you gonna tell me I’ve got something on my face? Y’waitin’ for me to figure it out?” He won’t do it. He won’t. Damn. All his fingers feel is stubble. He’s lifting both brows at his best friend. You’re in trouble now, Barnes.

[camerica]

sarcinarict asked:

                     "гребаная сука" There's your Russian lesson, Steve.

     Steve be like:

[camerica]

sarcinarict asked:

                                     A pillow already in hand, blanket haphazardly thrown                              over his shoulder and still dragging, there’s a new adornment                                                 on Steve’s floor just like old times.

     He’d been so zen he hadn’t even heard Bucky get out of bed let alone open his door and since Stark had cleared that room across the hall specifically for Bucky, he could hear everything. Right down to the nightmares. It’s not long after Bucky gets comfortable that he leans a head over the edge of the mattress and smiles down at him.

     “Come on up, Buck we’re not kids anymore. You’re gonna be sore in the morning if you sleep on the floor.” He’s already shifting to make room for him, patting the empty space heavily.

[camerica]

sarcinarict asked:

                          Ha. Ha. Steve like he hasn't heard that one a million times.

     He might have picked that up from Shuri. So blame her, not him.

[camerica]

sarcinarict asked:

                                                ❛ I didn’t know where else to go. ❜

     Third floor apartments usually aren’t broken into by window which means someone’s determined not to get caught. It’s the first thought that crosses his mind when the sound of wood sliding against wood hisses in the other room. Steve carefully lays his book down, glances to the open closet thankful he doesn’t have to make any more noise aside from pulling the shield from its cover, and slides from the bed to fetch it.

     Barefoot and humming with nerves he places himself against the doorframe of his bedroom, peering around the corner just in time to spot a dark figure looming in the small window. It doesn’t look like he’d have fit through but he’s standing there in the backdrop of moonlight and he looks every bit of six feet with the bulk to match.

     It isn’t until his eyes fall to the reflective surface of his left arm that he recognizes the shape.

     “Bucky?” Or whatever his name is now. Winter? Soldier? Is it formal to call him The Winter Soldier or had he shed all of that the moment the Triskelion came crashing down with the helicarriers? Steve hates the idea of using any moniker they gave him so he doesn’t. Bucky was his first.

     The figure freezes like time’s been stilled to nothing and Steve waits, prepared for something, anything to happen. It doesn’t.

     “I didn’t know where else to go.”

     It’d be a cliché to say that just like that his guard lowers and his senses are no longer on high alert but he’d also be lying if he said hearing that voice didn’t ease the tension in his shoulders. What’s more, there’s no bullets flying, no grenades, no aggression and in fact-

     “You hurt?” The strain in that voice tells him yes. Yes Bucky’s injured and he’s doing his god damn best to hide it from him the way he used to back during World War II. It’s almost enough to pull him in without his defenses but common sense rears its head and he stays put.