Chapter Text
When Steve had gotten accepted to Asteria University it’d been one of the better days of his life. A school dedicated to everything and anything magical? That only accepted students from the magical population of the world? A place where they could be themselves without worry of scrutiny from humans or the fear of particularly unscrupulous hunters? It sounded like a dream.
A dream that, unfortunately, had a financial aid package that was a little lacking. It wasn’t the worst, of course. Historic Magical Universities did tend to be a little cheaper than their human started counterparts, but it still meant Steve had taken out quite a few loans and was working two jobs in an attempt to offset the costs. His ma tried to chip in as much as she could, but as a nurse and single mother who chose to raise her son in New York City without the support of a pack, it wasn’t like she had that much to spare.
It was fine though. It was all totally fine. Steve had picked up more than a few different jobs over the course of his past three years at AU, though the coffee shop job had remained the only consistent one since halfway through freshman year. He’d even gotten himself involved with the AU pack, a hodgepodge of werewolves from all over the country, all united by their college affiliation, lycanthropy, and the insatiable urge to chase their tails when the full moon rolls around.
So he’s done fine. He’s been fine. He is fine. Everything is fine.
Everything is perfectly, and totally, and completely fine. Or at least that’s what he tells himself the first week of senior year when a horde of under-caffeinated college students come spilling through the door of Frigga’s Coffee And Tea and Loki says “Do you hear the phone ringing? I’ll go answer it,” and disappears into the back despite the fact that Steve has the hearing of, well, a werewolf and definitely didn’t hear a phone ringing.
“I’m not sharing the tip jar with you!” Steve calls after his retreating back and then turns to greet the first of many customers with his best, fake customer service smile and best, fake customer service voice, “Welcome to Frigga’s, what can I get for you today?”
“It scares me when you make that face with that voice, Rogers,” Natasha says, “Iced coffee, black like my soul.”
“So you want a blended mocha with almond milk and extra extra chocolate, right?” Steve asks as he grabs a cup and writes the order on it, setting it aside for Clint to make.
“ Exactly , this is why you’re my favorite,” Natasha says, and then, turning to the man beside her, “James, what would you like?”
The words fade out.
Thump thump
thump thump
thump thump
The man- James? Is that what Nat had called him? He’s saying something, but Steve has lost the plot entirely.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I asked what was good here?” James asks, stepping a little closer like he thinks maybe Steve couldn’t quite hear him.
Steve gets a whiff of him and resists the urge to say ‘you.’
Steve has an answer for this question. He’s given it about a million times. He knows what to say when someone asks, but instead, what leaves his mouth is “I, uh, don’t really drink coffee.”
James blinks. “...You work in a coffee shop.”
“I drink the tea. When it’s hot outside like now I really like the harvest iced. Oh, and the desserts. Frigga comes in in the morning to make them every day and there’s always new ones. The caramel apple blondie is my favorite that we’ve got today. If you like that kind of thing. Or aren’t like, vegan or allergic to anything I guess? I mean, we do have vegan options! We’re very inclusive here at Frigga’s, she’s great about that kind of- ”
“Steve- It is Steve right?” James cuts him off, glancing at Steve's nametag where his name can be seen under the multitude of stickers attached to it, though just barely. When Steve nods, Bucky continues, “I’d love the tea you talked about- the harvest one? and the blondie. It sounds perfect.”
“Oh. Okay, yeah! Yeah, that’s coming right up.
And then, just like that, Natasha and Bucky are paying and moving on and Steve is working his way through the rest of the wall of customers.
When it’s done and Steve has finished ringing people up and helping Clint with the last few coffee orders he very nearly allows himself to fall over and sink into his shame. Instead, he stays upright, which is unfortunate, because it means he has to look Sam in the eyes when he leans over the counter, coffee in hand and says, “Hey, Rogers, what the fuck was that with Nat’s friend?”
“That,” Steve says morosely, “was my mate.”
🐺🐺🐺
So here’s the thing. The very stupid, terrible, inconvienant for all parties involved, no good, absolutely life altering thing about being a werewolf.
They have mates.
Yeah, mates. Fated soulmates. The one person they’re destined to be with for the rest of their life. The One. Singular. Uno. One and Only. Grab it when you find it or you’ll never find it again, one.
This isn’t a problem, theoretically , except for if, oh, Steve doesn’t know, your mate dies , like Steve’s dad had when Steve was a baby, or if they don’t want to be with you because yeah, being someone’s destined- fated- meant to be fucking soulmate is a lot of responsibility for the average person.
Especially when the person who’s soulmate you are is a werewolf.
They’re unbearable .
Steve knows this because he is one and he’s been reliably told that he’s a handful and a half.
He’s already imagining stupid shit like keeping James fed and building him the best den and rubbing his face all over James until every inch of him smells like Steve so that every other wolf on campus or even in the tristate area knows exactly whose mate he is.
He’s spoken about 19 words to the guy and most of them are rambling and his brain is already off the rails about it.
Jesus fucking christ.
He thinks, briefly, about calling his mom to find out how she handled this, but talking about his dad has the tendency to make them both sad, a thing that isn’t always great when they’re so far apart.
Instead, he forces the AU pack to listen to his lamenting, which is definitely a mistake. The new freshmen Peter gushes, and Nebula looks about six seconds from shifting right then and there just to escape Steve’s moaning.
Sam has the world weary look of someone who has heard this all before, which to be fair, he has, in the coffee shop when it happened and then again, on the walk from their apartment to the pack meeting.
“Maybe,” Sharon starts, and Steve can already feel her judgement before she even gets on with it, “You should be getting ahold of this guy instead of whining to all of us about it.”
Nebula says nothing, but makes her ignoring Steve and his problems obvious when she stands and goes to pointedly microwave a semi-frozen burrito from her backpack.
“Can’t I just ignore it and hope it goes away?” Steve asks, though he knows that he could never actually do that. He’s always been much more of a barrel straight at your problems kind of person.
“If you weren’t you, maybe. For a while, at least. But I don’t exactly see the point,” Sharon says, tugging Steve over until he’s more or less lying across the couch with his head in Sharon’s lap so that she can pet at his hair. Werewolf packs are strangely affectionate, and it’s something that he thinks he’s still getting used to after growing up with just him and his mother for a pack. “It’s not like a mate is a bad thing, Rogers. My cousin Peg? You remember her. You met her when she picked me up for winter break last year. Well, she found hers this summer and they’re disgustingly happy.”
“Ugh,” Steve says and presses his face into Sharon’s stomach like he can blind himself to the truth. “How do you just walk up to some stranger and go ‘Hi, my name’s Steve and I’m your soulmate’?”
“You know what this calls for?” Sharon asks, instead of answering Steve’s question, “Reconnaissance.”
“You mean talking to Nat and finding out what she knows about her friend?” Sam asks.
“Shut up, reconnaissance makes it sound much more dangerous. Like I’m a spy.”
“You’re not a spy though.”
“You don’t know that. I could be. I could be here to spy on the Asteria Pack and get all the dirty details,” Sharon insists.
They’ve clearly moved on from Steve and his issues, which means he should take the chance to go get one of the cookies Peter brought to the meeting before they disappear entirely, but even while arguing with Sam Sharon’s kept up scritching at Steve’s hair, finding the sweet spot right behind his ear. It’s embarrassingly canine-esque, but whatever, Steve’s a werewolf. He can embrace it.
🐺🐺🐺
“I talked to Natasha. About your soulmate,” Sharon says, throwing herself onto Steve and Sam’s couch two days later. Steve doesn’t remember either of them ever giving Sharon a key, and yet, she somehow finds her way into their apartment without knocking on a near weekly basis.
Steve’s starting to maybe rethink his opinion on the whole spy thing.
“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Steve says and shoves his laptop away from himself, deciding this is the perfect excuse to stop doing research for his essay on the ramifications of common stereotypes of the elvish community under capitalism.
“You didn’t dis agree,” Sharon says and digs around under Steve and Sam’s coffee table like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Which, she does. “So I took it as a yes.”
“Fair,” Steve allows, though he does wonder not for the first time how much more peaceful his life at college might have turned out if he and Sharon hadn’t made friends immediately during freshman orientation. “So, what’d she say?”
“Oh, not much actually,” Sharon says, emerging from her digging with a shiny green box Steve had gotten at the dollar store during Christmas time. “We got a little… distracted.”
“Right. Is that what you two are calling it now?” Steve asks teasingly as Sharon starts loading up the pipe from the box.
“I won’t share this with you,” Sharon threatens, waving the half filled bowl at Steve’s face.
“It’s my weed. You have to share it with me. I pay too much money for that shit.” Regular weed does absolute jackshit for werewolves other than make them tired as hell, but there’s a few green witches in the agriculture department that do something with it that Steve’s pretty sure involves a moderately safe amount of wolfsbane that lets werewolves experience college just like anyone else. “What did she tell you before you got distracted.”
“His name is James Barnes, though for whatever reason he goes by Bucky apparently,” Sharon says and pauses for Steve to mouth ‘Bucky?’ to himself incredulously while Sharon takes a hit. She passes the bowl and the lighter over to Steve, and continues, “He and Nat have known each other most their lives apparently, but he ended up going to Echidna-” They both share a deeply understanding ‘ yikes’ look at that, “but I guess some shit she’s not at liberty to discuss happened so he transferred here to finish up. That’s about all I got before we were otherwise occupied.”
“You couldn’t have found out a little more during pillow talk?” Steve asks.
“I’m sorry Steve, but the last thing I want to talk about post orgasm is your love life,” Sharon says, prompting Steve, halfway through taking a hit, to choke.
🐺🐺🐺
The next time Steve sees Bucky at the coffee shop he arrives alone.
He looks tired- a little frazzled even- and Steve resists the urge to ask what might be wrong or if he’s getting enough rest.
Steve even, and he gives himself massive kudos for this, manages not to preen too much when Bucky orders a large harvest iced tea- the very drink Steve had suggested the first time he was there.
After Steve fills his order, Bucky disappears to the other side of the coffee shop, spreading out a variety of books on one of the few empty tables and pulling out a laptop to work on while he drinks at his tea and picks at a snickerdoodle.
Steve doesn’t spend the majority of his shift watching him from afar. He doesn’t.
“I’m gonna go check on the dining room,” Steve tells Loki when there’s a lull in customers. Loki blinks eyes that today are a disturbing bright red for reasons that Steve does not want to contemplate, but that he suspects have to do with making sure customers talk to him for the least amount of time possible, and doesn’t deign to give Steve a response, which Steve takes as a response in itself.
Steve sweeps a little in the dining room, wipes down a few tables and in general does things that he’s supposed to be doing, but is really doing because as he does them, he works his way across the dining room until he’s at the table next to Bucky’s.
“Hey, I know this might sound weird but can you stick around awhile? I’m off in like, an hour and I just- I need to talk to you about something.”
Bucky blinks at him over the top of his laptop, but gives a short little jerky nod and an “Ok,” which is enough for Steve.
Roughly an hour and forty-five minutes later, Steve manages to clock out. There’d been a sudden rush of customers, and Loki had been nowhere to be found, so Steve hadn’t been able to leave until he’d mysteriously returned the moment the rush was gone.
Steve is 110% positive Loki would be fired if he wasn’t the owner’s kid.
Luckily, Bucky’s still there. He’s packed up his things and moved to a seat closer to the door, but still, he’s there. He waited. It’s both a blessing and a curse, because now Steve has to figure out how to explain the whole soulmate thing.
Steve waits until they’re outside the coffeeshop and heading across campus in the crisp evening air before he says anything.
“So,” He says, which okay, is not saying much, but it’s still something.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Bucky asks. He seems wary- guarded, almost- his eyes flicking around them, the arm that seems to be made of metal and magic whirring quietly as he shifts.
“How much do you know about werewolves?” Steve asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie. It’s the time of year when the weather doesn’t quite seem to know whether it wants to be fall or not, so instead it just tricks you into thinking it’s going to be warm during the day and then gets freezing at night.
“Uh, the basics I guess? They’re born or bitten, turn into giant wolves on the full moon, and tend to come in packs?” He sounds unsure, like he’s answering a question in a pop quiz.
“Yeah, that about sums up the basics,” Steve says, and turns to face Bucky, stopping the both of them as he braces for the truly awkward part of this all, “Uh, some of us- Well, some of us, we have- Mates? Like, soulmates? And we, well we just sort of know when we first see them. And well, I, you know, knew, the day I met you. That you’re, um, well you’re my, you know… Mate.”
Bucky stares at him.
Steve shifts uncomfortably under his gaze.
“That’s uh- A lot.” Bucky finally says, and then, “Hand me your phone.”
Steve doesn’t think before he complies, just hands it over to Bucky, who taps something into it and elicits a buzz from what must be his phone in his pocket.
“Okay, you have my number. And I have yours. So you can, uh, call me or whatever, I guess? Or I’ll call you. Yeah. Maybe that’d be best. Wait for me to call. But just- Just give me a couple days first though, okay? This is kind of a lot to spring on a guy. I think I need to process.” And with that, he presses Steve’s phone back into his hands and leaves.
It’s not a denial.
It’s not even a rejection.
Still, it stings a little.
🐺🐺🐺
Bucky doesn’t reach out the next day, and Steve spends a huge chunk of his time staring sullenly at his phone, resisting the temptation to text first.
He sleeps like hell that night and then barely makes it through his classes alive the day after that. But eventually the waiting pays off when his phone rings in the middle of the night, the screen lighting up with the name Bucky had programmed in for himself, “ BUCKY (YOUR SOULMATE? WEIRD?????) ”
“Hi,” Steve says into his phone, a little breathless, “You called.”
“I said I would,” Bucky says, and Steve feels the dumb, werewolf part of himself just sort of relax at the sound of his voice. “If I’m your soulmate that means you’ll talk to me while I’m working on this presentation so that I don’t actually die of boredom, right?”
“ Yeah,” Steve says quickly, maybe a little too enthusiastically, “I mean, yes, absolutely. Of course. What are you working on?” He asks, voice a little more normal- hopefully- as he settles into his bed a little more comfortably, the sound of Bucky’s breathing on the other end of the line and the rain outside soothing the strange, frayed nerves he’s been dealing with for the last couple days.
“Breaking down the elements of a Mesopotamian spell for a bountiful harvest. It’s a lot more boring than it sounds, and to be honest, it sounds incredibly boring,” Bucky says, and Steve can hear what sounds like typing on a laptop and Bucky flipping a page in a book.
“Oh. Are you a witch then?”
“Nope,” Bucky says, giving no further explanation.
Okay, so Bucky’s not exactly forthcoming with personal details. Steve can work with that. He’s desperate to know more about his mate, but he can be patient. He can. He doesn’t care that literally anyone who knows him would argue that he cannot, in fact, be patient.
“You should tell me about yourself, since I’m apparently your soulmate and all,” Bucky says over the sound of clacking keys, “Where are you from? What’s your major? Any siblings? Or terrible mommy issues? Are any of the rumors about werewolves true? I’ve heard some interesting ones. These are all important to know if I’m supposed to be your destiny or whatever.”
He says ‘ interesting’ in a way that makes Steve blush and feel a little like he’s choking on air.
“I- The rumors are- We’ll- We’ll get to those later,” Steve says, trying not to let his brain wander too far into what exact rumors Bucky might or might not be talking about. “I’m an art history major. No siblings, or mommy issues. Or at least I don’t think I have any? But, again, I’m an only child raised by a single mother so I guess other people can be the judge of that. I’m from New York- Brooklyn to be exact.”
Bucky makes a low sort of whistling sound, and says “Asteria’s a little far from Brooklyn, huh?”
It’s true. Asteria University is nestled into the little middle of nowhere town that grew up around it in the Pacific Northwest. It’s also further from home than Steve had ever been before he started there.
“Yeah. Unfortunately for me and my mom, it’s about as far as you can get while staying in the same country..”
“Did you think about going to Echidna instead? Staying a little closer to home?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“I know that’s where you went- not that I’m stalking you or anything! I just- my friend Sharon, she talked to Natasha because they’re both nosy, and then Sharon told me. I promise-”
“Steve,” Bucky interrupts, already sounding fondly long suffering despite the fact that he’s known Steve for barely any time at all.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t care if your friend got information from Nat. Now answer the question.”
“Oh, yeah, like I was saying. I know that’s where you went before you transferred, so I mean, it must have been appealing to you on some level, but I did a campus visit and I kind of hated it? It just- I don’t know, it didn’t feel like a place I’d be real comfortable, I guess..”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, sounding almost a little distant, “I guess I ended up not really liking it either.”
“Do you like it here?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, “Yeah, I think it’s growing on me.”
Steve’s response is cut off by his body forcing a huge yawn on him right then and there, and Bucky’s voice following it, soft, “It’s getting pretty late. I should let you go.”
Steve doesn’t particularly want to stop talking to Bucky, but he reluctantly agrees, and that night, he sleeps the best he has since Bucky Barnes walked into the coffeeshop.
🐺🐺🐺
“We’re going camping this weekend,” Sharon tells Steve Friday after Steve’s last class of the week, shoving a bag at his chest. “I already packed your bag and got someone to cover your shift tomorrow, so all you have to do is come.”
“Who’s we?” Steve asks as he shoulders the bag, following Sharon towards the parking lot. There’s no use fighting her, so he might as well go along for the ride.
“Oh, you know, just some of us,” Sharon says, waving a hand vaguely, “Sam, Nat, Scott, Clint, Wanda, Pietro… and Bucky.”
“Bucky’s coming?” Steve asks, doing his best to not sound hopeful and failing miserably based on Sharon’s expression.
“Yes, and please stop looking like an excited puppy before you see him. You’re gonna scare the poor thing away,” Sharon says, but it’s too late, they’ve already reached the parking lot where Sharon’s car and Clint’s truck are parked, and Bucky is leaning casually against Sharon’s Camry so yeah, Steve basically doesn’t hear a thing Sharon just said.
“Hi,” Steve says, and wiggles his fingers in a wave, feeling a smile spread across his face full force.
“Hi,” Bucky says, mirroring Steve’s gesture.
They stare at each other for possibly longer than is strictly appropriate, but Steve refuses to be ashamed, even when Natasha clears her throat and gives him a judgemental look.
“Oh good grief,” Natasha says, “Everybody get in your assigned vehicle and let’s get this show on the road.”
Steve had this whole thing sprung on him by Sharon, so it’s not like he’s been assigned a vehicle just yet, though that doesn’t seem to matter when Sharon shoves him towards her car with a “You’re with me, pal.”
He ends up squished into the back of Sharon’s camry between Sam and Bucky, while Sharon drives and Natasha takes the front passenger seat. The others pile into Clint’s truck and then they’re off, Bucky and Sam griping at each other over Steve and Sharon and Nat chatting back and forth.
“You guys do this a lot?” Bucky asks eventually, when the sights of the small small town have given way to trees as far as the eye can see.
“Only whenever we can,” Sharon says, “We wolves like to stretch our legs and enjoy nature.”
“Speak for yourself,” Steve says.
“You’re a city wolf, you don’t count,” Sharon says, flapping a noncommittal hand back towards Steve, “The rest of us need to commune with nature.”
“And you drag the rest of us with you,” Natasha says.
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t live for the chance to stretch your wings Nat. And if you don’t come who’s going to keep me warm in my tent?” Sharon asks, leering outrageously at Nat and earning a chorus of groans from the poor, suffering trio in the back seat.
When they reach the camping spot everyone spills out of Sharon’s car and Steve spends a good minute stretching his legs and popping his back.
Riding in the middle of the backseat of a Toyota Camry is not a life choice he’d recommend.
Clint’s truck is already there when they arrive, and Wanda and Pietro have already dragged the tents out and are setting them up, Wanda’s hands glowing with the faint red light of her magic. It feels like a very unwise decision to leave their shelter in the hands of the twins, but any argument will absolutely get Steve roped into helping set them up so he resists the urge to say anything and instead takes a beer when Clint offers one.
Sam, thankfully, goes to supervise the tent building while Natasha and Sharon put together a fire.
“This is why we really bring her with us,” Steve says, leaning against the bed of Clint’s truck next to Bucky and watching as Natasha blows a string of fire onto the pile of wood.
“Who needs a lighter when you’ve got Natasha,” Bucky says, taking a long pull from his own beer. Steve is briefly transfixed by the way his throat moves when he swallows.
The trees surrounding them are huge and green, the sound of water crashing onto the beach just on the other side of them. Everything out here is gorgeous, the kind of place instagram influencers itch to take a picture of, but Steve’s transfixed on Bucky instead.
“So, how does that whole thing work?” Bucky asks, waving a hand towards Natasha and Sharon and pulling him out of any thoughts of how the sun setting is casting a glow on Bucky- the way his hair is attempting to escape the braided crown he has it in and is falling into his eyes.
“Huh?”
“Nat and Sharon. Nat’s been telling me it’s casual for ages, but…”
“It doesn’t seem like it?”
“Nah, not at all.”
“Yeah, try telling either of them that ‘casually’ hooking up with each other almost exclusively since freshman year isn’t exactly casual. They’re both smart as hell, but also incredibly du-”
“Rogers!” Sharon interrupts them and Steve narrows his eyes at her, and she narrows her eyes right back and Steve’s suddenly sure she’s been listening, “Stop gossiping and help me get food ready.”
Oh yeah, she was definitely listening.
The next morning they all split off into smaller groups, Natasha, Sam, and Sharon heading towards the beach, Clint, Wanda and Pietro heading further into the woods, and Scott hanging around the campsite poking at the fire.
Steve’s stuffed his pack with his sketchbook, his travel watercolors, and a few snacks and is lacing his boots up when Bucky plops down beside him on the bench-like stump of wood.
“I feel like someone should definitely stay here with Scott,” Bucky says just as the dying fire pops and Scott jumps back with a string of swears, “But I’m coming with you instead.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to do,” Steve points out, “I could be going to cliff dive, or something else incredibly dangerous.”
“Ah, yes, cliff diving. A sport done best by those in heavy combat boots and multiple layers of flannel,” Bucky says, nodding wisely.
“Okay, yeah, there’s no cliff diving involved. You might want to put on some pants though, we might end up going through some bush to get where we want to go.”
Bucky blinks down at his overall shorts like Steve is speaking a mystifying language and shrugs, “I think I’ll be okay.”
It turns out Steve had no need to be worried, because even as Steve ends up with torn jeans from getting caught in a patch of brambles and then tripping while climbing up some rocks to get where he wants, Bucky gets through miraculously unscathed- almost as if the woods are unwilling to hurt him.
Bucky lets out a low whistle when they get there, “It’s beautiful.”
And it is. The rocky cliffside juts out over a sharp drop into the water, choppy waves as far as the eye can see in one direction, and in another is a vast stretch of beach and even more ocean, rocks jutting up through the waves the only thing to break the long endlessness of it.
With the sun shining as the very end of summer takes its last drowning breaths before it accepts its defeat and they fall face first into autumn, it takes Steve’s breath away.
Though Steve knows that even when it’s cloudy and cold it’s just as beautiful out here. He misses home like it’s an aching wound sometimes, but when he’s out here it’s sometimes easy to forget.
“So, what now?” Bucky asks, plucking a bright purple bloom that Steve’s absolute lack of knowledge when it comes to flowers means he can’t identify.
“I was planning to paint, but we can do something else if you want?” Steve offers, “Cliff diving isn’t off the table.”
“No,” Bucky says decisively, “Go ahead and paint. I’m just gonna-” He plops down in a patch of grass and turns his face up towards the sun, “-relax and enjoy the sun.”
They fall into a silence punctuated by the waves beneath them, the birds in the trees, the occasional flipping of a page in the book Bucky had brought with him and muttered complaint from Steve when he can’t get something just right .
Eventually though, Bucky interrupts it.
“Draw me like one of your french girls, Jack,” He says, and Steve snorts but he can’t exactly say no .
He’s been itching to capture Bucky on paper since he first saw him, but this moment- Bucky splayed out in the grass, an open book set face down on his stomach and his arms behind his head, one strong and tan and the other glowing with magic, a bright purple blossom tucked behind his ear- it feels like it has to be put down on paper, as well as in his memory.
Later that night they build a bonfire on the beach.
Steve makes his way to Bucky where he’s sat with a blanket over his shoulders, his eyes aglow in the firelight.
“I made you a hot dog,” He says, thrusting it towards Bucky. The bun is a little squished from Scott sitting on the package earlier, but it’s still good, and the part of himself that he’s trying to keep in check around Bucky feels very pleased to be bringing his mate food.
Bucky takes the hot dog with a mumbled “thanks” and then, surprising both of them if the look on Bucky’s face is to be trusted, he lifts up one side of his blanket for Steve.
Steve absolutely doesn’t need to be told twice, so he slides under the blanket and Bucky’s arm before he can change his mind.
“I knew I was growing on you,” Steve says brightly, and Bucky snorts, and says “Yeah, like a tumor,” but he’s smiling enough that it feels like it lights up the whole night, so Steve really doubts he means it.
On the drive home, Bucky falls asleep slumped over with his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve spends the ride doing his best to stay as still as possible so he doesn’t wake him, and if he smooths a hand carefully over Bucky’s hair, or even worse, presses his nose into it gently to breathe him in? Then that’s between him and absolutely nobody else.
🐺🐺🐺
No matter how long you’ve been a werewolf, no matter whether you’ve been born into it or bitten, no matter what you do to make it easier or how many times you do it, one thing remains constant: Changing always fucking hurts.
Bones break. They crack and rearrange. Fur grows over skin. An entire body is reformed into something else.
There’s no way that’s not going to be 1. traumatic as fuck and 2. painful as fuck.
On the bright side, the more a werewolf changes the faster the change comes, and Steve is quickly left on four paws under a bright shining full moon surrounded by the rest of the AU pack.
Sharon raises her head and howls dramatically at the moon and Steve bumps his nose to Sam’s and then playfully pounces, trying to have a normal full moon with his friends and to ignore the drive to find Bucky.
It’s stronger right now, is the thing, with the moon high in the sky and Steve’s wolf at the forefront.
He finds himself ignoring Sam’s playful growl in retaliation, his paws carrying him in the direction of civilization instead of further into the woods like the pack would normally go.
There’s a growl- this time more serious, and from Sharon as she grabs a mouthful of Steve’s fur along his flank and attempts to drag him backwards toward the rest of the pack.
Steve noses at her face apologetically, and then, the moment her guard is let down even minutely, bolts.
He’ll apologize in the morning.
When he reaches Bucky’s house he can hear him inside, pacing, a femine voice speaking- quiet like it’s coming through a phone.
“Becca, I’m fine, I swear,” Bucky is saying in response, “They’re not going to come after me here. I don’t matter that much.”
“I just think you should come home,” The voice on the phone- Becca, apparently- says, “Mom does too. We could make sure-”
“Excuse me Becs, there’s a lost dog on my doorstep, gotta go take him to the pound,” Bucky is saying and hanging up and it takes a solid 15 seconds and Bucky opening the door to stare at Steve for Steve to realize Bucky’s talking about him.
“Steve,” Bucky says, crossing his arms over his chest.
He looks very soft and rumpled, in comfortable looking pale grey pajama pants with tiny potted cactuses printed all over them and a baggy tank top hanging half off of one shoulder.
Steve cocks his head, doing his best to look cute and not like a semi-stalker werewolf soulmate. He’s not sure how well he pulls it off, but a guy can try.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with the rest of the pack?” Bucky asks, glancing out the door at the full moon.
Steve does the best impression of shrugging that one can do when one is roughly 100 pounds of fur and teeth.
Bucky sighs and steps aside, gesturing for Steve to come inside. “I just got food and I ordered too much. If you don’t shed on my sofa you can have some.”
Steve gives Bucky a flat look, attempting to communicate a very solid ‘ No promises ,’ and then leaps onto Bucky’s couch.
Bucky disappears into the kitchen, presumably to get his food, and Steve takes a moment to snoop- to look around the house. It’s nicer than Steve expects out of the house of a college senior. For one thing it’s an actual house. More of a tiny cottage tucked into the edge of the woods that surround town, but it’s still an actual house with space to breathe in it, which is more than Steve and Sam can say for the apartment they share closer to campus.
There’s pale purple floral curtains and blown glass witch balls hanging in the windows. Amulets hang by the door and a row of crystals sit on the ledge above it. One whole wall is taken up by a bookshelf filled to the brim with books, some with cracked leather covers that look old enough that Steve would be afraid to breathe on them and some shiny and new, but all of them stacked to the point of feeling vaguely threatening.
The coffee table boasts a vase filled with a riot of colorful flowers next to a haphazard stack of books and Steve scoots a little closer to the edge of the couch, leaning off of it to catch sight of the titles, which is about the moment that Bucky sets a bag of take out on top of the stack, obscuring the title so that all that Steve can see is
PROTECTIV-
THE ART OF W-
YOUR H-
Steve shoots him a disgruntled look.
“Did I interrupt something? I didn’t think dogs could read,” Bucky says innocently.
Steve lets out an offended growl and bares his teeth.
“I’m just teasing,” Bucky says and scritches at the perfect spot behind Steve’s ear, which is really and truly incredibly unfair because it makes Steve melt.
After a moment of making Steve melt into a pile of werewolf shaped goo, Bucky stops and leans forward to grab the food. “You like Chinese food right?”
Steve gives his best ‘Of course I do, I’m not a monster, ’ look though he’s not sure how well it translates.
He’s never really minded not being able to communicate with people on full moons. Normally he’s either with just his ma, or the AU pack, so it’s never really mattered. But now that he’s with Bucky, all the jangling nerves settled now that he’s close, he really fucking wishes he could just talk.
Maybe it’s better that he can’t. There’s always the risk he’ll tell Bucky exactly how much better he feels when he’s around him and come on too strong.
Bucky sets a plate of food on the couch in front of him, and Steve tries to separate himself as much as possible from the part of himself that is very much preening over the fact that his mate just made him food. It’s a practicality matter. He knows that.
Still, he very gently takes a piece of sweet and sour chicken between his teeth and does his best not to make a mess in thanks.
Bucky falls asleep on the couch with Steve later that night, using Steve like a giant werewolf shaped teddy bear, his hands curled tight into Steve’s fur.
The next morning, when Steve wakes up human, his head is pillowed on Bucky’s chest and a large, warm arm is draped over Steve’s waist.
Steve does his very best not to read too much into it, but he does spend what feels like too long and not long enough all at once with his eyes closed, listening to the solid beat of Bucky’s heart.
🐺🐺🐺
The coffee shop always goes all out for halloween.
Which means the second the first full moon of October is over and Steve’s back to work after sleeping off the post full moon hangover they get to decorating.
The bakery chest is filled with Halloween themed treats courtesy of Frigga, and Thor puts up bat shaped twinkle lights and faux spiderwebs. Steve redoes the menu, adding doodles of ghosts and jack-o-lanterns and sundry then makes Thor hang it back up for him. And Loki, well, Loki disappears for most of it, only coming back to tell Thor that he should have gone with skull lights this year and also, he hung them too low and they’re throwing off Loki’s vibes before disappearing once again.
The next afternoon when Steve arrives for his shift, Kate, the new freshman who Clint apparently knows from elf things or whatever and who he got a job, draws a set of whiskers and a cat nose on his face and shoves a pair of cat ears on his head before he clocks in.
“Cute,” Bucky says when he sees, and Steve feels his cheeks heat at the comment. Bucky, thankfully , doesn’t mention Steve’s current tomato like qualities.
“We take the holiday very seriously here at Frigga’s Cafe,” Steve says solemnly, though judging by the way Bucky’s smiling Steve’s face paint and fuzzy ears don’t really lend to the serious act all that much.
“I can see that,” Bucky says, leaning over the counter a little bit to flick at one of Steve’s cat ears, “This is the sign of a very serious business, clearly.”
“I won’t tolerate you mocking our fine establishment,” Steve says with an indignant sniff. He lets the act fall after the barest of moments and cracks a grin at Bucky, a grin that Bucky very much matches.
Unfortunately, Steve can’t exactly just stand there grinning like an idiot at his soulmate forever, because a customer in line behind Bucky clears her throat pointedly. So, despite himself, he takes Bucky’s order and watches glumly as he heads down to the pickup window.
When the end of Steve’s shift rolls around, Bucky is still there, curled up into one of the more comfortable chairs and scrolling through his phone.
Steve’s heart does a peculiar sort of twist at the sight of him, at the knowledge- or rather, the hope- that Bucky stuck around for him.
“Oh, good, you’re off,” Bucky says with a smile that Steve matches when he reaches him, sans his apron, nametag, and cat ears. “I decided that you’re taking me to lunch.”
“Am I?”
“Yep,” Bucky says, leading the way out of the coffee shop with a wave goodbye to Clint, “I still don’t know exactly how this soulmate thing is supposed to work, but if it doesn’t involve lunch I’ll be pretty upset.”
“Well, since as your mate I’m legally obligated to never upset you-”
“Sounds like a lie, but okay.” Bucky says and Steve makes an outraged noise.
“This is harassment and against the soulmate code of conduct.”
“There’s a soulmate code of conduct?”
“Of course. You should have gotten an email with it.”
“Hmmm, must have gone to my spam folder,” Bucky teases and slides his hand into Steve’s like he’s not doing anything at all out of the ordinary.
If Steve was 12 and had a diary this is the sort of thing that would definitely go inside it. ‘ First time Bucky held my hand!’ would absolutely be written in purple sparkly gel pen with the date and hearts doodled around it.
It would be incredibly embarrassing.
However, since he is distinctly not twelve and has a twitter instead of a diary like a normal person in their early 20s, he just sort of internally has a shrieking meltdown over it.
“So, I see what the coffee shop does for the Halloween season. And the school. And honestly this whole town,” Bucky says, gesturing out the window of the cafe they’re at for lunch towards Main Street where the shops and restaurants of Asteria have started their annual putting out of jack-o-lanterns and other seasonal decorations. The town has a decent amount of pride in the fact that it hosts one of the small number of all magical universities in the country, which apparently means celebrating the magical season with relish. “How does the pack celebrate?”
“Well, this year it’s a full moon, so I guess an excruciating transformation followed by running around the woods and trying not to end up on your porch unannounced again. Usually the Technomancer Society throws a big ass party though. Careful if you decide to go, they’ll have a fucking fit over your arm. ”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Bucky says.
“What? Your arm?” Steve asks, not quite with bated breath, but still, if this is a moment where Bucky finally feels like sharing he’s going to take it.
“No. You showing up unannounced. I think I coughed up a hairball the next day from you shedding on top of me, but you know, it wasn’t that bad.”
And okay, it’s not sharing exactly, but it does make Steve take a huge bite of his sandwich to hide his smile.
“Good,” He says, once he’s gotten his face mostly under control and swallowed his food, “Cause I really can’t promise it won’t happen again. It’s just… There’s a pull , I guess, and it’s stronger when I’m shifted.”
“I get it,” Bucky says, “I mean, I don’t get it, cause obviously I’m not a werewolf so I don’t really know what you’re feeling exactly, but like, I get it and I don’t mind. I can’t say it’s insulting by any means that I’m so irresistible.”
“Oh good, I’ll remind you that you said that when I do something really weird like leave a dead deer on your doorstep or something.” Steve’s mostly joking. He thinks. He’s definitely heard of werewolves who got a little extra and hunted down big game to show how good a provider they were for their mates, but that’s not Steve’s m.o. At least he really hopes it never is.
“No. Absolutely not. That’s not allowed. I’m removing myself from that narrative.”
🐺🐺🐺
Halloween night rolls around and so does the full moon, obstructed by a thick layer of clouds but still, judging by the ache in Steve’s bones as he waits for his change to roll around, undeniably there.
“I feel like shit,” He tells Sharon, sprawled out on the forest floor, staring up at tree branches in the fading light of twilight.
“You always feel like shit before the change, Rogers,” Sharon says, flopping herself down next to Steve, her limbs sprawling over Steve’s. She’s followed by Sam and then the rest of the AU pack, slowly trickling into the woods behind them. “It’s your gentle disposition.”
“I’ll show you a gentle disposition,” Steve mutters, shoving at Sharon lazily.
There’s the crunching sound of someone walking over leaves and the entire pack perks up as someone comes through the trees.
“ Bucky,” Steve says, sure his smile is absolutely blinding at the sight of him.
“Hey,” Bucky says, smiling and Steve suddenly doesn’t need the clouds to clear so that he can see the moon, Bucky is more than bright enough. “I thought- I don’t know- maybe if I came out you wouldn’t have to show up on my doorstep and could actually spend the night with your pack. I realize now that this could be an invasion of privacy though, and that I really should have checked-”
“ Bucky,” Steve interrupts.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” He says, sincere enough it makes him a little uncomfortable. “I appreciate it. A lot.”
He can’t say much more, can’t pay attention to whatever Bucky is saying in response, because the moon’s pull has finally reached its peak and the change takes hold.
He doesn’t scream anymore- hasn’t for a very long time, but he can hear the somewhat newly turned Peter’s hitched breaths and yelps ringing in his ears and then he’s on all fours and blinking up at Bucky on his knees in front of him.
“Hey, hey, shhh,” Bucky soothes, sliding his hands into Steve’s fur, broadcasting every moment, “Shit, that looked pretty rough.”
Steve fixes him with his best ‘no shit, sherlock’ look.
“Don’t give me that judgy look, Rogers,” Bucky says, scratching behind Steve’s ears in a way that very unfairly makes him lose the judgemental look and lean into it, “They don’t exactly tell us how painful that shit looks in school, okay?”
Steve noses at Bucky’s face in acceptance of that because, yeah, okay, that is true. It’s not like they go in depth into every known supernatural species and how they work in school.
Sharon barks from a few feet away, a clear sign to Steve to hurry his shit up and Steve, with a lick across Bucky’s face that has him making an outraged noise and laughing, turns tail and chases after his pack into the woods, nipping at Sam’s heels when he gains ground and howling his delight.
There are two hooded figures in the woods, standing on a makeshift bridge made by an overturned tree, the scent of cigarette smoke and metal and something darker clouding around them.
Sam and Steve break off from the pack to investigate, staying low to the ground, ears up.
“I fucking hate these woods,” One tells the other, “Why the hell did we have to be the ones sent to this fuckoff town to track down Pierce’s special little project? I hunt big game, not damaged goods. Didn’t the old man already get what he wanted-”
“Shut the fuck up Rollins, this is important.” The other one says, stepping off the bridge and landing with a soft thud on the soft forest floor.
Something about him sets Steve’s fur on end, and beside him, Sam seems to agree.
“I just don’t get why we’re the ones who have to drag our asses across the goddamn country and into this backwoods town with it’s glorified magical liberal arts college to tromp around the fucking forest in the middle of the fucking night,” The other man keeps complaining, following his partner down off the overturned tree with somewhat less grace, “There’s better shit I could be doing on Halloween night Rumlow.”
“Stop talking for one fucking second and look up,” There’s a glint of silver in the man’s hand that he slots under the complaining one’s chin and uses to direct him to look up. “See that shit? That’s a full fucking moon you idiot. You know what that means?”
“That I could be getting a great fucking lay right now? Full moons make people crazy, man.”
“No, idiot. It means there’s mutts around. It means Pierce’s little-”
Steve misses the rest of what the man says when a soft breeze whispers through the woods, the scent of wolfsbane burning in his throat, and the dawning realization strikes that these assholes in front of them are hunters.
Fucking hunters.
Here’s the thing. There’s two different kinds of hunters when it comes to the supernatural. There’s the hunters whose game includes things like unicorns, selkies, and dragons- creatures whose skins, or horns, or scales are worth thousands of times their weight in gold. And then there’s the hunters whose prey are whatever they hate. Creatures they consider vile. Usually those are what they consider dangerous- sirens, vampires, dragons again- or things they consider cursed- Vampires, again.
Or werewolves.
Yeah, hunters really fucking love killing werewolves.
So much so apparently that they’ll break about a hundred different laws and show up at a Magical University on a full moon.
There’s laws specifically against hunting in general. Specific codes that hunters have to follow. Proof that has to be given that a specific kill is justified. But, in general, it’s illegal as hell these days and schools are considered protected.
Not like Steve can be surprised though. Humans kill other humans in schools all the time these days. Why would Steve’s kind be any different?
Before Sam or Steve can figure out what to do a branch cracks. Steve whirls onto something that seems to glow in the moonlight and when he looks back, the hooded figures are gone.
When he turns back in the direction of the glowing something it’s seemingly gone too.
He thinks, for a moment, about tracking either the hunters or the Something, but Sharon’s howl echoes in the distance, calling for Sam and Steve to rejoin the pack, and they both take off after it.
When Steve wakes up the previous night feels like some sort of bad dream.
Especially when Bucky’s there, his head bent over Steve as he blinks his eyes open, the dappled sun streaming through the trees lighting him up like he’s some sort of angel sent just for Steve.
“Hi,” Steve says, reaching up to thread his fingers through the loose curls hanging around Bucky’s face without thinking.
“Hi,” There’s a wrinkle between Bucky’s eyebrows, something like concern shading his face. “You okay?”
“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason,” Bucky says quickly, “I just- Nothing. I thought we could go back to my place and I could make breakfast. Sharon told me you guys tend to be hungry after a full moon.”
Steve notices the change of subject, but he’s frankly too exhausted to really focus on it, especially when the idea of food, and Bucky, and Bucky’s home is on the table.
“I would love to,” Steve says, and then, “But unfortunately I won’t be moving from this spot for the next hour or so due to the fact that I’m exhausted from literally rearranging and reshaping my entire body.”
“You’re an idiot,” Bucky tells him, but there’s something fond about it that means Steve doesn’t take it personally.
“I think it’s growing on you though.”
“Unfortunately,” Bucky says, getting to his feet and pulling on Steve’s hands until he follows. “C’mon, climb on.”
If it weren’t the morning after a full moon Steve might argue that he can walk just fine, thank you, but as it is, he’s tired and achy and Bucky’s back looks very sturdy and very nice, so he lets himself give into temptation and climb on, looping his arms around Bucky’s neck as Bucky’s hands hitch themselves under Steve’s thighs to keep him supported.
It’s… nice. It’s very nice.
“Onward ho, noble steed,” Steve says tiredly into Bucky’s shoulder, patting at the broad chest beneath his hands a couple times as Bucky carries him out of the woods, away from the last stragglers of the pack who haven’t yet woken up and made their way back to their own homes.