Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Images

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Another wolf one because it just came to mind. I got the idea from the Shatter Me series...

He is not supposed to be here. But you know he won't hurt you from how injured he is. You can practically smell the fear off of him, but you know it's because he doesn't want to die.

You move forward with a hesitant step, your head tilted as you watch him collapse onto his knees before falling on his back to wheeze. His head lolls to the side as he legs go limp when you finally move, gripping him by the edge of his shoulder, which is covered in leather that covers the rest of his body.

He doesn't register his movement, and you don't stop when he opens his eyes for just a few seconds, dragging him away from where he had been to somewhere further, your breath hitting his ear and cheek with every pull on his uniform.

When you stop, you move back into a form you can actually use your hands, sighing when you feel how warm he is. Sweat is heading down his body, and blood coats your hands when you unstrap the best on his body, taking every weapon out and pulling your backpack from a nearby tree to put them in.

His hair drips down, and you sigh when he coughs, wiping the blood away as you put your only t-shirt on the wound just below one of his ribs. His pain is only voiced through heavy wheezes and light groans and winces, eyes just barely on you.

The metal of his limb reaches for your neck, and you shoot it down, growling at him as you straddle his waist, your shorts now being coated in what you don't know if water or sweat, and blood. It was sinking through, but you were more concerned with how much blood was covering him, sighing when he closed his eyes again.

"What the fuck happened to you, dude?" You mutter to yourself as you patch him up as best as you can, starting to drag him with your backpack now on your back, moving through thick covered forests and night painted grounds until you finally reach your cabin, sighing when you open the door. "So fucking annoying."

Laying him on the ground, you start a fire and strip him of his soaked clothes, glad you have kept extra men clothing to lay out for him for when he wakes. If he ever does. You can hear he is alive, but he could have serious brain damage, and really, you're not too happy about him waking up in your living room due to him ruining your day and clothes.

It was late at night when you head a soft gasp, and you were transformed quickly, growling when he tried to push past you to leave. He falls back onto his wrists and looks at you with the most crazed look. But confusion. So much confusion.

"Steve?" His voice is so light, and he stands again, unbalanced. He looks at you with so much shock and fear, and just overall pain. His wounds are slowly healing. You are watching as they close up on their own. "Steve?" He asks again, tilting his head with tears filing his so pretty blue eyes.

Then he pats his legs, and looks down. He is in nothing but boxers, stomach clear of the many bullet wounds and cuts and stabs. He is still stained with blood. And jacked. Fucking ripped. And adorning a metal arm.

You sigh and lean on the door, locking it once you feel your feet keep you stable. "No fuckface, Y/N. You were on my territory, made it smell like some—hell, I don't even know. The second they smell that on me, I'm dead. So what the hell are you doing on this side of the river?"

"Do we know each other?" He asks, same softness in his voice he had just used on you. He is still full of confusion, and now shock and still carrying tears that haven't fallen yet. "Were—Were you just—Are you Hydra?"

You straighten when he stammers on his words, finding his hands shaking as he begins to shake his head. Pleads drop from his lips, and he falls on the floor in sobs, begging not to be put under again. Or wiped. Wiped.