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beckzorz · 5 years

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A Walk in the Woods (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Word count: 1809 Summary: You weren’t expecting to run into arms dealers in the woods. Then again, who ever is? A/N: Day 2 of Hello Spring! Prompt for today was “stroll,” so obviously I made it the least relaxing walk you could possibly take... Hope you enjoy :3 Let me know what you think!

Mud squelches under your hiking boots. Rain over the last week has turned your favorite hilly trail on the nearby nature reserve into little more than a series of puddles streaming into each other. Fortunately, your boots are waterproof—or they are now, after that incident in March—and the gray and wet means that everyone else has taken their boots and dogs to drier climes. You, on the other hand, have no dog.

It’s just you and the woods.

You’ve already seen a wild turkey, a few frogs in the rain-ponds flooding the trail, and a young tree with buds that look like the carnivorous plant from Little Shop of Horrors. The only other human you’d seen was a photographer on the other side of an actual lake, camera aimed into the trees in search of birds.

A mile on from there, and it’s wonderfully quiet. There’s something restful about being alone in the woods, considering how congested it is where you live and how much your work weighs on you. The drive here was well worth it.

You pause at the top of an incline to catch your breath and take in the view behind you. The trees are just starting to bloom; little green shoots litter the ground, poking up between fallen pine needles and dry brown leaves from last fall and beyond.

A bang echoes through woods.

You whirl, heart racing, but all you can see is the woods. The chirping birds have gone silent, and all you can hear is the light rustle of the trees and your own frightened breathing.

“Hello?” you call.

Immediately you snap your hand in frustration. That might have been a tree falling, but it might have been a gunshot. And you’re totally unarmed. Why did you broadcast your location? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

You wait there for a minute until your pulse slows back down and your breathing is back to normal.

“Everything’s fine,” you mutter to yourself as you head on. “Everything’s f—”

CRACK.

You drop into a crouch, eyes so wide you can feel the air rushing by in your wake. Or—maybe not your own wake. A thin tree a few feet off the path creaks, splinters, and then a branch falls to the ground, almost in slow motion. It lands with a wet thump.

What the hell?

Your hands are shaking. Unarmed? Well, not entirely. You pull your keys out of your pocket and arrange them between your clenched fingers before inching forward, still crouched. The path is still empty, still silent, and then you hear it.

Crunch. Crunch. Squelch.

Footsteps, coming up from the next bend. Skin prickling, you look around wildly for a place to hide.

But too late. A man appears barely twenty feet away, face lighting up with dark glee as he claps eyes on you.

“There you are.”

You pop to your feet and run back down the path, blood rushing in your ears. The leaves and rocks underfoot are slippery; you slip, catch yourself on your hand, push yourself back up and fly down the path. Over your echoing heartbeat, you can hear the man following you, running faster than you—oh god—

You chance a look back, eyes stinging, and then you knock clean into—you don’t know; all you know is that you’re on your back in the mud, head spinning, groaning, wetness seeping through your jeans.

Two men, one the man from the hilltop and the other a stranger with a beard, hover into your spotty vision.

“Who—” you croak, then think better of it. You turn your hand to conceal your keys, your only weapon. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Well, you should’ve taken the hint and stayed away,” the man from the hill says. He holds up his gun, aims it casually at you. “Why are you here?”

“I—I like it here!” you whimper. You curl your empty hand around your churning stomach. You’ve never seen a gun so close, not from this angle at least. From here, with your eyes slightly crossed, you can see straight up the barrel. “I like the quiet! It’s quiet!”

The bearded man snorts. For the first time, you give him a good look. There’s a light splatter of blood across his coat.

“Oh god,” you breathe. You look back up the barrel of the gun. It’s shaking. No, you’re shaking.

The man from the hill cocks his gun. He studies your drained face.

“A shame, really,” the man says mildly.

Crack.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but all that happens is a whoosh of air and an oof from the man standing over you.

“Fuck!” Beardie spins, pulling out his own gun, and your eyes widen as the other man falls to his knees and then face-down beside you in the dirt.

Crack.

Beardie stumbles back. He holds up his gun, fires twice, three times.

Crack.

Beardie falls, twisting; you can see the bullet hole in his cheek, his empty eyes, and it’s enough to make your head spin.

You push yourself back along the ground, muddy water catching in every fold of your jeans, sliding into your boots, matting your hair. The man from the hill groans. He forces himself off the ground, onto his hands and knees. His gun is between you, and his eyes flit to yours before he lurches, reaching for the gun.

Adrenaline courses through your veins. You slam into him with a snarl, knocking him back onto the ground before the gun’s within his reach. The air is cold against the backs of your wet legs now that they’re not buried in the mud, but you barely notice. All that matters is keeping the gun away from his hands. Whatever had shot at these two, whoever—you prayed they wouldn’t shoot at you.

You draw back your hand with the keys and jab them into the man’s gut. He grunts, his breath heavy on your face. The mud squelches beneath you as you straddle him, knees digging into his leg, his gut, your empty hand clamped on his jaw, cold fingers digging into his skin.

“Hey!”

You ignore the call from behind. You can’t let go. If you let go—

Someone yanks you away by the shoulders, and you scream.

“Let me go!”

You slam your keyed fist behind you. Your knuckles jab into someone’s face, and you’re dropped to the ground.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

“Oh shit—hey, wait!”

You land heavily on your knees, and in half a moment you’re running back up the hill, eyes streaming, boots catching just long enough to propel you further on. The birds are singing again, you realize, and then someone catches you around the middle. You wriggle violently in their hold.

“Hey, hey, calm down, it’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt ya!”

The man holding you sets you down and steps back quickly, a hand still clamped around your wrist. You whirl to face him, teeth bared in a snarl.

The second you can see his face, your mouth drops open. Your keys drop to the ground.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” you gasp.

The Winter Soldier snorts. Behind him, Sam Wilson—Captain Fucking America!—stands up from where he’d been kneeling by the man from the hill, whose arms are now tied behind his back.

“Are you okay?” Bucky Barnes asks. He lets go of you, holding his hands open for a moment to placate any terror lingering in your system. His eyes trail down and back up, settling on your face. “They didn’t shoot you or anything?”

You shake your head, cheeks warming up under his scrutiny. Mud, tears, and who knows what else are smeared all over you, and you’ve got the two cutest Avengers looking you over.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask.

Sam’s mouth screws up. “Why don’t we start with why you’re here.”

“Uh, to go for a walk?” You look between the two men, but Sam’s suspicious expression doesn’t change. You swallow.

“Oh, c’mon, Wilson,” Bucky mutters. He raises his eyebrows at you as he gathers your keys from the mud and hands them to you. Yuck. “So you weren’t here to facilitate an alien arms deal?”

“What? No! Aliens? What, are they back?” You glance behind you, a hand clutched by your throat; you hadn’t been present for any of the alien attacks, but god, you’d seen enough up-close-and-personal video footage to have a instinctive terrified reaction.

Bucky snorts. “No. Hell no. Just some tech fallen into the wrong hands.”

“Well thanks for the fucking heart attack,” you snap. You rub your temples, shake your head. Your head is starting to pound. “Look, this has been great fun, but I would just really like to get home now.”

Bucky purses his lips at Sam, who sighs. “One of us has to stay til the feds get here.”

“Dude, you’re on point. I’ll volunteer if you really need me to.”

“Fine, sure.”

“Great. You ready?” Bucky asks you. “Which way?”

You give up on trying to wipe your clothes clean—forget the clothes, there’s no way your whole body won’t be a prune by the time you get home—and nod in the direction you’d come from. “Thanks so much, uh, what do I even call you?”

“Bucky works.” He falls into step beside you. “What do I call you?”

You give him your name, and he falters to a halt, his boots squeaking in a puddle.

Your lips twitch as you turn to look over your shoulder at him. “Sorry,” you tell him. “I probably coulda mentioned.”

“Yeah, well.” He hurries back to your side, but he doesn’t start walking. He just looks you up and down, surprise and sudden interest in every line of his face. “Didn’t think I’d be dragging a SHIELD legend out of the mud.”

“Well, to be fair, I wasn’t in the mud anymore.” You link your hands behind your back and keep walking, a smile playing on your lips. You were never in the field like the Avengers, thus the embarrassment of being caught in the mud—not to mention the gun to your face, yikes—but what you do do… Well, it’s worth every ounce of admiration on Bucky Barnes’ face.

“Can I, uh, get you coffee or something?” Bucky asks.

“That’s very sweet, but I think I need a shower more than caffeine right now.”

“I could get you a shower too.”

You pause, raise an eyebrow at him. He blinks, opens his mouth, and puts his fist to his mouth. You can’t help but giggle at his blush. He’s cute, adorable, gorgeous. You surreptitiously eye him up and down. Supersoldier? You’ll say.

What the hell.

“If you’re seriously offering after all that flailing around in the mud, gun to my face, I’ll go for whichever you prefer.”

His face lights up with a smile. Even with all the birds, the trees—it’s the prettiest thing you’ve seen all day. Maybe your whole life.

“Deal.”

#ibw: hello spring 2019 #ibwhellospringday2 #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes

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