runaway (bucky barnes x reader)

3. crappy travel brochures and murderous intents.

"YOU CAN'T SMOKE that here, sir."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Or what?"

"Whoa, hey." Steve's hands frantically grip Bucky's shoulders looking apologetically at the security guard. "He'll put it out. Sorry."

"He better."

Bucky rolls his eyes, drops the unlit cigarette and smothers it under his feet.

"This is LA?" Bucky picks up the half crumpled brochure from the pavement; 'Welcome to the west coast, land of sunny smiles, blue eyes and beach waves' it read. The 'waves' had been crossed out supposedly a red sharpie and replaced with 'BABES'. Real classy.

"Isn't this great?" Steve stretches out his arm, sort of like a kitten would, Bucky thinks.

"Totally." Bucky scrunches up his nose as a man, hair unkempt, camera tactfully clipped under his arm, scampers across him.

"Mr. Evans, wait!" the reporter, as Bucky's suddenly realized, calls out, joining a whole hoard of other journalists hovering over mostly a so-called actor in his five seconds of fame.

"What's that all about?" Steve's suddenly hovering over Bucky's shoulder, too close to his neck, Bucky thinks.

Bucky shrugs. "Paparazzi. I think there's a special layer in hell reserved for them."

"Whoa. Feeling a little touchy today?" Steve chuckles, sipping coffee out of a Starbucks cup – that seems to have appeared out of thin air – with 'Bucky :3' sprawled messily across it thin air.

"Finally." Steve sarcastically throws his hands in the air, before Bucky can answer, muttering, "Someone you won't murder."