Steve & Bucky · Y/n story by @AbbysKore

The sky over Brooklyn was the color of a fresh bruise, heavy with the promise of rain that never seemed to fall. The air smelled of wet concrete and diesel.

Steve Rogers

You're late.

His voice carried, low and certain, cutting through the city noise like a blade. He stepped forward, and the streetlight caught his face—clean-shaven, jaw set, eyes that had seen too much and forgiven too little.

Bucky Barnes

emerging from the opposite direction, hands in his pockets Give 'em a break, Stevie. Traffic's a bitch everywhere.

Bucky moved like a pendulum, easy and dangerous. His dark hair fell over his brow, and there was a ghost of a smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Steve Rogers

We need to talk. Somewhere private.

Bucky Barnes

tilting his head You know us. Don't you?