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#james buchannan barnes
greyelfsworld · 19 days
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Happy birthday to the first guy from 107th to hit 107
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10/03/2023
He got declared dead so many times he has every right to be as old as he wants
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jamesbuchannan · 1 year
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my murderous brainwashed babes <3
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voiceoffenrisulfr · 2 months
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On The Tide - Chapter Four
Winter gets in an altercation for his ‘laziness’, and his Captain comes to his defence. Prompts met; - Quiet Cry for Help' (Double) and 'Don't Look Back' (Dozen), @multifandom-flash - 'Sexual Tension', @fandom-free-bingo (Frosty Edition); - 'Shielding Someone With Their Body' and 'Stuck Together', @seasonaldelightsbingo (Winter Wonderland) ; - '29. Hey, Wake Up!", @flufftober CW: Implied risk of violence
Check it out below the KR with the boards, or on AO3 here!
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“Hey, wake up!” I blinked in surprise, looking down at the rope in my hands dumbfoundedly for a moment before securing it to the belaying pin, the snaked figure-eight wrapping around and around before I glanced toward the voice. It took two days of sleeping between his sheets for my Captain to let me return to my duties – or rather, to commence them, at last. It was clear that the explanation of my sickness had fallen on disbelieving ears, judging from the amount of scowls and distasteful glanced I’d received throughout the morning. But this was the first time anyone had spoken directly to me, and a man perhaps five years my junior strode across the deck toward me with a thunderous expression. “You slack off for your first few days, then daydream when you finally show your face? Just who do you think you are, newbie?” I raised an eyebrow at my heavyset aggressor, entirely unphased by the several inches and hundred-plus pounds he had on me. “Sargeant Barnes. US Army, special ops.” My genuine response seemed only to anger him further – which I more than moderately expected – and he stepped closer, his chest brushing against mine, forcing me to tip my chin up to maintain eye contact. “You’re a cocky little shit, aren’t you?” “I like to think so, yeah.” He growled audibly, jaw rolling in irritation, shoulders squaring in a failed attempt at intimidation. “You think I’m going to let you get away with talking to me like that, runt?” His fingers curled into a fist by his side, the motion catching in the corner of my eye, and I tensed pre-emptively, prepared to dodge and put this ogre on his ass before he could- “Walker, Barnes, that’s enough!” My head turned minutely, never breaking eye contact, but he snapped to attention, back stiff with respect, and I couldn’t help but snort under my back. Kiss-ass. A hand on my chest pushed me backwards, firm and unrelenting despite my tensing in response, forcing me to move my feet a few inches. I glanced aside at last, finding dark, intimidating eyes boring into my own, and winced minutely. Shit. “What’s going on here?” Lieutenant Tyne snapped, looking between the two of us, his irritation clear in his voice. “This grunt thinks he’s better than us, lazing around like a piece of shit ground p-” “Enough,” the Captain growled, his eyes settling on his crew member, cold and intimidating. Now that is scary. This guy should take notes. “Sergeant Barnes has been unwell through no fault of his own. Unfortunately timed, but genuine nonetheless. You yourself once spent several days without contributing due to illness, if I remember correctly – so it feels somewhat hypocritical for you to be challenging anyone, Corporal Walker.” I bit back a grin at that, pushing a hand idly through my hair. Corporal. I wonder how mad he is that I outrank him… “But Sir-” “That’s enough, Walker,” Lieutenant Tyne snapped, eyes narrowing further, stepping between the two of us as the Corporal turned back toward me. “No. Back off. Don’t make me tell you again.” Walker looked at me briefly over his Captain’s shoulder, his gaze full of fury, before he turned away at last, muttering under his breath as he walked off without looking back. Greg turned his eyes to me instead, hard and impossible to read beyond his evident irritation. “With me.”
I paused nervously in the middle of his quarters, gaze darting anxiously. Fuck, I’m for it now… “Are you okay?” My head raised in surprise, jaw slackening. “I-I-” “The first altercation can always be a little… Uncomfortable.” He reached out, his fingertips brushing my arm gently, causing my breath to hitch in my chest. “I wanted to check on you – though he seemed far more inclined to a quiet cry for help than you were,” he added, grinning. I was momentarily dazzled by the broad smile, mouth working wordlessly. “I-I’m not… Easily intimidated,” I breathed, feeling my cheeks colour shyly at his closeness. “I could’ve taken him.” “I don’t doubt it,” he replied softly, leaning just a little closer, his head tipped slightly to one side in a way that made my heart stutter. “But we’re stuck together – it’s better if we don’t start throwing punches just yet, okay?” I nodded, and he smiled again, making my throat dry up nervously. I stopped breathing entirely as he moved even closer, his face an inch from mine, and his smile turned teasing, one side curled higher than the other as my lashes fluttered automatically. “I can’t open the door with you standing there.” Mortified, my face flamed, and I ducked out of the way quickly, stiffening at the sound of his soft chuckle. “You think you’re funny?” I snapped, straightening up and grasping the door myself, irritated and affronted by his amusement. “It’s very easy to make you blush,” he countered, his hand still on the doorknob as he met my gaze once more. “I’d say more entertaining than funny, though.” I scowled, jerking on the door, but his muscles simply tightened, the wood barely shifting as I strained. “Let me go.” His eyes assessed my face before he released the knob in surprise. “… Did I offend you? I’m sorry. I was only teasing you.” I nodded, and he hesitated again, hand touching my arm gently. “I’m truly sorry, Sergeant Barnes.” I nodded once more, placated by the softness in his voice, his fingers trailing over the thin sleeve covering my skin and raising a line of goosebumps in his wake. “I- Thank you, Captain Tyne.” I inclined my head shyly, ducking past him as he opened the door for me, returning to my work confused and uncertain. What’s happening here?
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st7arlights-spam · 7 months
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"pretty boy" but instead of it being in a derogatory way about me being trans its in the tender and slightly kinky way of a gay man in the 40s turning something hateful into a pet name for his gay lover
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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 10 months
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The List (4)
Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader
Warnings: Metaphorical addiction
Word Count: 2.6k
A/N: Not Beta’d. Thank you all so much for all of your sweet comments.
Series Masterlist
Previous Chapter
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Chapter 4
Blue skies turned gray; her nights filled with pain. The walls would never tell, Y/N was under a spell. She had spent too much time in the sun, fading the tan line on her left hand. Too much time drying her eyes. Too much time mourning the loss of someone who never really existed. Mrs. Barnes was dead, but with two little words-
Clear!
Clear!
Clear!
She was brought back to life.
The first time they married, Y/N didn’t read the warning label that came with James Buchannan Barnes. She swallowed too many pills way too fast. He was a stimulant, leaving her body feeling euphoric for short periods of time. Divorcing him was like getting her stomach pumped, but it was too late. The drug had already entered her bloodstream, her heart working overtime to pump the blood throughout her body. Like an addict, one small dose of Bucky had her scraping her hands and knees, crawling back for more. This time, she was older, wiser, and more importantly, she tasted the drug and knew the symptoms.
The crisp air nipped at Y/N’s skin. Her fingers tightened around her sweater wrapping herself like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Warm hues decorated the sky, the leaves of the trees their most colorful. The end of summer was near. Bucky’s men patrolled the perimeter as she strolled outside. Steve was away leaving Sam to accompany her.
Bumping his shoulder against hers, Sam laughed, “Keep turning that thing and your finger will fall off.”
Her eyes fell on the ring adorning her ring finger. The right hand halted, hovering over the left. After being married to Bucky and engaged to Loki, she forgot she was wearing a ring. It was an extension of her identity, trading one ring for another. Choosing the lesser of two evils, she had accepted Bucky’s proposal. A few days later a ring arrived in the mail. It wasn’t the most romantic proposal, but they had already been down that road the first time.
Y/N sent him a dull smile, “I’m still getting used to it.”
Sam paused, his hand wrapping around her bicep pulling her to a stop. Squinting down at her, he asked, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Glancing around, she sighed. Her head and shoulders drooped. “What am I doing here, Sam?” Subconsciously, she began twisting the ring again. “I’m engaged to a man trapped in prison for god knows how long.” She should be in prison beside him. He told her to go. He gave her a second chance. Bucky deserved one too, didn’t he? “I don’t want to marry Bucky just to end up divorced again. It was awful enough the first time. I can’t do it again.” She shook her head, her voice just above a whisper, “Not with him.”
The man hummed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Sam might not have known Bucky as long as Steve, but he had known Bucky with and without Y/N. He knew enough to know Bucky had never loved a woman more than he loved Y/N. It was the reason he kept her separated from his work in the first place. “Y/N, Bucky loves you. Probably more than he should.” Sam smirked. “But if you two go through with this and it ends in a disaster, it won’t end in a divorce again. You understand that right?”
Y/N glanced up at Sam, his eyes filled with sympathy. The only reason the marriage ended in a divorce was because Bucky kept her at arm's length. If he lets her in and the marriage runs its course, it will end in body bags this time. Biting her bottom lip, she nodded, “I know, Sam.”
Sensing there was more, Sam asked, “But?”
Squinting one eye, she sealed her lips. It wasn’t a secret that she loved Bucky too. Their love had never been an issue. “Loki already wants me dead. People die every day in this world, your world. I just wanted to be a part of Bucky’s. Most plants die without sunlight. I can’t grow with him if he keeps me in the dark.”
Sam pressed a hand between her shoulder blades, encouraging her to continue walking. “Well, little flower, I’d hate to see you get plucked from this world but if you are, let me know what flowers you want on your tombstone.”
“Catskills.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “That was quick, have you thought about this before?”
Ignoring Sam, Y/N continued walking. “Well, assuming I’ll probably be dumped in a body of water, Catskills grow near water. They also require a lot of sun and well, the word cat is a play on the phrase “curiosity killed the cat.” She pointed at herself. “I’m the cat.”
Sam snorted, “You’re sick, Y/N, but catskills it is.”
Y/N clasped her hands behind her back, heading toward the house, her home. The sun was drowning in the trees. Another day wasted, another day Bucky was behind bars and Loki was loose. Tires screeched up the driveway catching everyone’s attention. Steve was back.
Y/N began to step toward Steve, following as he extended a leg from his small black car. “Y/N, hold up a minute,” Sam called, jogging to reach her. “It’s getting late, why don’t you head inside. Give Steve a minute to get settled in before you start asking him questions.” Y/N hesitated before nodding. Her feet carried her toward Bucky’s bedroom.
Steve never said where he was going but she was hoping he had visited Bucky. She didn’t like the idea of Bucky sitting alone in a cell. She felt guilty sleeping in his bed, their bed, alone. Opening his closet, she snatched a plain t-shirt from a hanger pressing it to her nose. It still smelled like him, well, his detergent anyway. Regardless, it was a scent Y/N was familiar with.
A knock on the door had her breathing in the scent one more time. It was only a matter of time before Steve came to check on her. Before she could pull the fabric from her nose, the door opened. Y/N jumped, throwing the t-shirt back in the closet.
“S-sorry, I didn’t see anything,” an anxious Peter held his hands up.
Y/N huffed, her back pressed against the closet doors. With her hand clutching her chest she asked, “Peter, what are you doing here? Does Bucky know you’re in his bedroom?”
Peter scratched the back of his neck, his eyes darting around the room, taking it in. To Peter’s surprise, his boss’s bedroom was normal. Having been off limits, Peter always assumed there was some big secret locked away but maybe the secret was that the mobster was just like everyone else. Clearing his throat Peter answered, “Steve sent me. I have some news.”
“Oh,” Y/N breathed. Crossing the room, she carefully sat on the edge of the bed. Good or bad news, she wasn’t sure she should stand. With a friendly smile, Y/N patted the silk sheets, an invitation for Peter to sit.
A panicked look crossed Peter’s face, a blush tinting his cheeks as he pulled at the collar beneath his suit jacket. Peter shook his head, opting to stand in the doorway. He had already overstepped his boundaries by being in Bucky’s room, he wouldn’t chance sitting on his bed with his fiancée too. “I’m fine here.”
Y/N shrugged, folding her hands in her lap.
“Mr. Stark pulled some strings. Bucky is getting out soon, for good behavior and um-” Peter peeked at an index card in his pocket. “Steve wants you to come to him the next time Loki calls.” He glanced back up at her to gauge her reaction. It was blank. “He wants you to answer so he can trace the call.”
“I-is that all?” she rasped, struggling to find her voice. Y/N was glad she decided to sit. She would have been jumping for joy at the news that Bucky was being released, but the reality of their situation would have knocked her off her feet. Loki was still lingering. Bucky’s release means he won’t be surrounded by law enforcement. He would be an open target.
Peter peeked down at his note card once more. A shadow cast over the card causing Peter to jump further into the room. Peter shoved himself between Y/N and the six-foot mobster looming in the doorway. His hand hovering over the gun on his hip.
Steve held up a hand dismissing the young man. “I’ll take it from here Parker.”
With one last survey of the room, Peter disappeared down the hall. Steve entered the room, closing the door behind him. Unlike Peter, Steve didn’t hesitate to claim the spot beside Y/N on the bed. He had spent many nights inside Bucky’s room consoling his friend after the divorce. The bedroom alone had become a second home to Steve.
The blonde ran his hands down his thighs, “Loki’s in hiding. Nobody has seen or heard from him. No one except you, that is.” He pointed at Y/N. “You’re our only lead on Loki. I’m sure he’ll drop his number once you answer his call. He has to know you’re here, but he doesn’t know about the engagement. The wedding should be enough to draw him out of hiding once he gets wind of it-”
“What?” Y/N interrupted, her eyes wide. “You are not using my wedding as bait. This is my marriage-”
Steve snarled, “One that you already ruined. If you would’ve kept your nose out of our business, none of this would be happening right now.”
Y/N flinched, nearly missing one of Steve’s hands waving. “Is that what you think, Steve? That I caused all of this?”
He could hear the heartbreak in her voice. Steve ran his hands through his hair. He meant it but he hadn’t meant to say it. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. He was frustrated. Everyone in the house was on the hit list and his best friend was behind bars. The last thing he needed was Y/N not cooperating to put an end to the hitlist. Resting his head in his hands, Steve replied, “You didn’t see him after you left. I was there. I saw how you broke his heart. He’s finally back on his feet and you come waltzing in and suddenly you're engaged again.”
Y/N frowned, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. Sure, Bucky and Y/N were affected by the divorce, but she didn’t think about how it would affect everyone around them. She had no one after the divorce. All of Bucky’s friends, all of his men, chose him. How could they not, they were his friends first, his men first. She swallowed a lump in her throat, “Was it too much to ask to be involved when Bucky came home covered in blood? He never came home like that Steve, ever. Bucky didn’t respect me as his wife. He treated me like a child, like a princess. He chewed me out that night. I thought he was going to kill me.”
Steve shook his head, “He was scared. He was trying to push you away, so you’d stop asking about the business. If someone else didn’t kill you, he might have had to. He never wanted to lose you.”
Y/N smiled sadly, “I know. That’s why there won't be any more secrets. No more double lives. I think he gets it now.”
The blonde nodded, placing his hand over hers on his shoulder. “Bucky will want to marry as soon as he’s out. The sooner the better. His court date isn’t set yet but they’re starting to gather testimonies. They can’t make you testify against Bucky if he is your husband.”
Y/N flinched again, yanking her hand away. Steve’s head snapped toward her. “Is that why he asked me to marry him? So, I won’t snitch on him?”
Steve huffed a laugh, “Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. Bucky loves you.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m in a trap?” Y/N whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
Standing Steve began to pace around the room, spiking Y/N’s anxiety. Was Bucky really using her? Had he used her desires against her? Had all of those moments between them been a lie?
Steve stopped in front of her, a hand on his hip, the other carding through his beard. Exhaling through his nose he said, “Look, there is no life with Bucky if Loki gets to either of you first. Bucky left me in charge, this is the only way.”
Y/N turned her head hiding the tears spilling down her face. Her fingers bled trying to play a guitar that was out of tune. Bucky and Y/N would never work. He would never fully let her in. They were destined to dance on their toes around one another, never comfortable enough to put their heels down.
“I won’t marry him. Not like this,” Y/N croaked, slipping the ring from her finger.
Steve growled, falling to his knees in front of her. Snatching the ring, Steve jammed it back on her finger. Y/N yelped at his hostility.
“Quit being such a child, Y/N. If you want to be in on the plans and treated like an adult, then you need to act like an adult,” Steve snapped.
Bucky’s words echoed in her head, If you wanna be a big girl then you have to make big girl sacrifices. Surely, this wasn’t what he meant.
“This wasn’t Bucky’s idea, it was mine. He doesn’t know anything about it.”
“What,” Y/N hissed, glaring at the blonde.
Steve stood, running a hand down his face. Y/N continued to glare up at him, feeling no less smaller than him even while he towered over her. The corner of Steve’s lips twitched upward. This was the reaction he wanted. Steve licked his lips, trying to hide his smirk, “I am merely advising you.”
Y/N cocked her head, “Advising me?”
Steve slowly nodded his head, “That little training session the other day wasn’t just for your safety. If you’re going to lead a mob, you’re gonna have to know how to use a gun without closing your eyes. It also helps if you can keep your emotions in check and learn when someone is trying to get under your skin.”
Before Steve could finish his last sentence, Y/N was kneeling on the bed, shoving Steve as hard as she could. The six-foot man stumbled rubbing his chest. “You better explain yourself right now Rogers, no more games,” Y/N yelled.
When Steve was steady, he grinned, “My first visit with Bucky, he asked me to get you ready. He wants you to take his place until he gets out. Think of it as a trial run.”
“With Loki out there?” Y/N asked in disbelief, pointing to the window.
“Who better to take down Loki than the person he was closest with?” Steve mused.
Y/N jumped off the bed nearly slipping on the silk, “I don’t know, literally anyone else?”
Steve rolled his eyes, his hand on the bedroom door, “In chess, the queen is most powerful. She can move across the board. The king can only move one space at a time. There’s no room on the board for a princess. You have more power than you think. Think about my advice Y/N. You only get one shot at this.”
Next Chapter
Taglist:
@vicmc624 @winterslove1917 @hangmanscoming @globetrotter28 @athenabarnes @shara-ne @mal-adaptive-dreams @jvanilly @d3m0n8ch1ld @ppbhquinn @alysianc @firstcashheroathlete @malum-forev @missvelvetsstuff @animegirlgeeky @blue786sworld @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @alessandraavengers @ozwriterchick @nerdgirljen @emily-roberts @pandabearrrrrrr @venting402 @barewithme02 @introverbatim @buckybarnessimpp @mega-kittyglitter-1 @a-poor-gryffindork @toriluvsfics @samahenoyrhye @motivation-idontknowher @pics-and-fanfics @po55um @devil1112 @keeperofsecrets6411 @natasha-died-4-our-sins @marvel-marauder16 @sugamilkteaxkookiesxcream @mcu21lover19 @imgaybutimstraight @buckysbarne @playboystark @sarge-and-caps-princess @eviltinkerbell14 @quethekillerqueen @barewithme02 @buuuuuuucky @reader-without-a-story @5lutty5arah @queerqueenlynn
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cherryblossom-heart · 2 months
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Could you love me one last time? (B.B ModernAU!) TEASER
Bucky Barnes x Reader 
A/N: Hello, if you've read any of my other stories you know this is a long one too and in case you haven't, this is just a heads up as it's definitely going to be over 8k I hope you enjoy this teaser as I'm almost done with this story I've been working on the past 3 months (ik, long long time)
Masterlist
Summary: It was inevitable, everyone else around you could see it. You and Bucky Barnes were meant to fall for each other. Unfortunately you were also meant to break each others hearts. You left, he stayed and you thought that was it, until a wedding made you come back to face the past you left behind.
Future content warning: ANGST, toxic 'situationship' between Reader and Bucky, heartbreak, alcohol comsumption, SMUT, Bucky and Reader sleeping with other people while they have their situationship going on.
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“Do you still love him?”
And that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Did your heart still belong to James Buchannan Barnes? Was your heart still yearning for the tumultuous yet passionate and ultimately toxic relationship that had ensued between both of you?
The answer to all of that was yes and no. You didn’t miss the person you had become at the end of your "relationship," if you could even call it that; you didn’t miss the fights, the crying, and the resentment. You didn’t miss the uncertainty that came with being with young Bucky Barnes or the hole in your chest that you felt whenever he would leave.
However, you did miss his company. Not the bullshit, flirtatious, overly confident, and emotionally distant persona he would often put out. No, that dickhead was one of the reasons you never worked out. Instead, you missed the Bucky that would buy you a coffee every morning, the one that would make you laugh until your stomach hurt, the one that would invite you over to have a movie night and buy your favorite snacks.
You missed Bucky, who used to be your friend.
Natasha, the ever-observant of your group of friends, had warned you before it started. She had seen the way you eyed each other at a party one drunken night, both your eyes burning with desire as a product of the growing sexual tension you have had ever since you met for the first time.
As it turned out, Natasha was not only beautiful but also intuitive.
“Nat, please—” you drunkenly argued. Your red cup filled with liquor spilled as you tried to walk away from the redhead, but her hand stopped you.
“Listen to me. I know you want to fuck him, but you have to promise me you won’t do it.” The seriousness behind her voice didn’t register in your intoxicated brain, though, and you kept rolling your eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You half slurred, half laughed.
“I see the way you look at him; I also see the way he looks at you. Maybe one day you guys could be a good couple, great even, but right now the only thing that could come out of you two hooking up is one of you getting hurt, if not both.” Her hands grabbed your face, and green eyes met yours. “You will break each other's hearts. You already love each other; we can all see it, but neither of you is ready to be in a relationship or to compromise yet. So please, for the love of God, do not sleep with him.”
Natasha’s words were wise, and with time, they turned out to be true. The next morning you had woken up in bed alone; the only memory of him was the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and the cologne he always wore.
That was the first time Bucky had broken your heart.
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If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.
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myfirstnameisagent · 2 years
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HAIRCUTS [ BUCKY BARNES X READER ]
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PAIRING: bucky barnes x reader
WARNINGS: suggestive content & major fluff, brief mention of a knife kink, poor post hydra bucky out here doing his darn best
SUMMARY: now making his own choices, bucky decides it's finally time to have you cut his hair
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, will you just sit still?"
Despite the rolling of your eyes, you couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips as you sifted your fingertips through the soft brown locks sprouting from your lover's head. The same lover who somehow managed to go through both HYDRA and United States basic training couldn't sit still long enough for you to make the first cut. You clicked your scissors, letting your nails lightly scratch his scalp.
"I am sitting still," Bucky grumbled, arms crossed as he attempted to maintain a grumpy stature, but in reality was leaning into your touch and practically purring like a cat.
"Do we really have to cut it?" You questioned, tilting your head gently as you continued to play with the dark locks. "It's so pretty~"
"No. I'm ready for a change." Bucky shook his head, hands forming into fists as get gave a small nod of affirmation.
"Are you sure? Maybe your wiggliness is a sign of attachment." You teased softly as you twirled a soft lock on your finger before leaning in to press a kiss to a scruffy cheek. Even now his cheeks tinged a light shade of pink at signs of affection. You couldn't help the pride that seared through you. This poor man had been so lost when he was released back into the real world, like an animal back into the wild. The number of choices available to him overwhelming, from the different types of clothes down to whether or not he wanted regular plums or organic plums. Every time he was faced with a decision, he'd look at you and wait for an answer. Now, three months later he was here deciding to cut his own hair.
"Wiggliness is not a word," Bucky grumbled, silver fingers reflecting the rays of sunlight from the window as they reached up to hold out a single piece of hair as if it had personally offended him. "And I'm not attached, it's just hair."
"It is a word, look it up in the dictionary. You'll find your picture right next to it, with the caption world's grumpiest old man." You teased softly, letting your fingers run over the raised skin of his scalp. The scar tissue from the machines his head had been placed in had healed, but beneath the soft locks still laid evidence of the trauma he'd been faced with. This is why he trusted you with the scissors instead of paying a visit to a barber where he'd have to make more choices and have someone who was not you touching him, an idea he was not a fan of. "Now let's get moving."
"You're hilarious," Bucky commented with a good-natured eye roll. You sectioned off another piece of hair, combing it out and lifting your scissors only for him to adjust his position once more.
"Alright, this calls for extreme measures." You swung a leg over, moving into his lap. His arms instantly wrapped around your waist, cool metal pressed into your hip, and sent tingles throughout you. He leaned in and rested his chin on top of your chest. "James Buchannan Barnes if you do not sit still so help me God I will knick you on purpose."
He fluttered his long lashes, looking up at you with adoring steely blues that caused your stomach to flutter. "No, you won't. I'm too cute."
You squinted at him, poking him in the nose. "You have no idea what I'm capable of sir."
"I think I have some idea." He murmured, a devilish smirk on his face as he leaned in to press soft lips against your neck. His metal fingers moved up beneath your shirt and traced your spine, causing you to shudder. He fused your bodies together, eliminating any space as you wrapped your arms carefully around his neck. He bit down on the exposed skin of your neck, earning a yelp from you. You smacked his shoulder. "James! I'm holding scissors!"
"You've never been concerned about cutting me before, doll." He hummed against your skin, running his tongue over the new mark to soothe the sting. You gave his shoulder a smack, "I'm supposed to be cutting your hair, sir."
"Well, no one said we had to do it right now." You felt him pressing into your thigh, and with a smirk, you carefully sat down the scissors. You let your fingers work their way into his hair and to the ends.
"Y'know," You murmured, letting your lips press against his ear as you felt his scruff against your skin. "If I cut it off I can't do this as well~"
You gave a sharp yank, pulling his head back and leaning down to press your lips against his in a hungry kiss. That's when the super-solider beneath you whimpered.
"Mm~ I suppose it can wait till another day then."
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thepartyresponsible · 2 years
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@76ello​ misread the “playing with puppets” square on my bingo card as “playing with puppies,” and i loved that so much i wrote something for it.
so here’s a short fic about clint barton playing with puppies and bucky barnes having an existential crisis. this one might eventually end up on ao3, especially if i add more to this universe.
warnings for grim references to hydra practices and for some despair that could be read as suicidal ideation.
                                                        - - -
He could’ve been here at any point in the last sixty years. Belly down on a rooftop, staring through a scope. Eyes on a target fifteen stories down and heedless, head and throat bared, heart protected by two layers of cotton, a hoodie half-unzipped over a white t-shirt.
He’s been three seconds from a kill for the past five minutes, waiting for the call.
He’s been here – in different cities, on different continents, with different targets and different handlers – since 1943.
The only difference is that right now he could, allegedly, if he wanted to, set his rifle down.
This isn’t wartime. This isn’t Hydra. Coulson tells him sometimes: Agent Barnes, you can choose to leave.
Where would he go? He’s always been here.
The target is drinking coffee in a park. It is 9:17 in the morning. He’s blonde and rangy, clumsy enough to spill coffee on his shirt three feet from the coffee stand and graceful enough that, when he fled in São Paulo after assassinating a SHIELD informant, he lost five agents in fifteen minutes.
They were good agents, decent records. They weren’t the Asset.
The Asset would’ve caught him.
Agent Barnes would’ve caught him, he thinks, dutiful and rote. That’s Coulson’s influence shaping his thoughts, correcting him. I would’ve caught him.
Agent Barnes is a role he plays. He’s still learning the parameters. He still sometimes mises the cues.
He read the SHIELD file when Coulson gave it to him. A few weeks later, he stole three separate biographies about James Buchannan Barnes from public libraries. Sometimes, when Coulson seems especially concerned, he’ll reference some memorized bit of trivia from that dead man’s life, and the tension will ease a little from Coulson’s shoulders.
Every now and then, far less frequently than Coulson believes, a memory will surface. They don’t always match the official records. He doesn’t know which to trust. He doesn’t trust either.
The blonde drinks his coffee with his eyes closed, head tipped back, face oriented toward the sun. He’s sprawled on a bench, long legs kicked out wide.
Agent Barnes could kill him any number of ways. But Coulson likes things clean. He has a high tolerance for practical pain but almost no threshold for its recreational application. Early on, off-balance and confused, he’d tried to impress Coulson with the wrong methods. He knows better now.
Single shot to the head, whenever possible. Double to the torso if not, bullets to either side of the heart, let the ricochet tear the target apart internally, let the heart shred itself.
Coulson never told him, but he didn’t have to. Agent Barnes can read a military background in the way he likes his killing handled.
The blonde, the assassin, has never spent a day in a military uniform. It’s obvious from the way he doesn’t kill when he should.
Five agents after him, a city full of civilians, and exactly one body dropped.
The Asset would’ve turned that city into a slaughterhouse. Agent Barnes would’ve gone after the agents. The blonde just disappeared.
It took SHIELD three months to find him. Contracted for his services. He’s here to kill. So is Agent Barnes.
Maybe. Maybe he is.
Coulson tells him, sometimes, If you ever disagree with a kill shot, don’t make it.
On logistical matters, he has opinions. On ethical ones, he has no right. Anyway, he still can’t remember how. Sometimes, something will form up in his stomach and rise like a wave until it presses against his teeth – I don’t want to, I don’t like, I want – but it disappears as soon as he opens his mouth, a mirage, another lie.
He will do what Agent Coulson tells him to do. He will feel the way Agent Coulson wants him to feel, and his opinions, painted up and false, like a sunset from a movie set, will reflect those feelings back.
Fifteen stories down, the blonde has finished his coffee.
A dogwalker ambles his direction, and the blonde comes to attention, focused. Fixated.
Agent Barnes wonders, for one ludicrous moment, if this is the target SHIELD has picked out for the assassin.
But he’s not looking at the dogwalker. He’s looking at her collection of dogs, soft-mouthed, well-groomed animals, the playthings of gentle people. One of the dogs is wearing shoes, little boots on its paws to protect it from the pavement, and the greyhound is in an argyle sweater.
The assassin calls out to the dogwalker, who answers back, and, seconds later, the man is on his knees on the sidewalk, surrounded by dogs.
A memory rises, sudden and indistinct, of a pack of dogs. Of their teeth, specifically. Of being surrounded.
For a second, he’s aiming at the heart of a golden retriever. He corrects himself. In the absence of Hydra’s handlers and in the face of Coulson’s mystifying disinclination, he has learned to keep himself in line.
“Agent Barnes,” Coulson says, a disembodied voice in his ear, “your thoughts?”
He always asks for status reports in the strangest of ways. How are you? What happened? What do you think? Are you okay?
“Civilians in close proximity,” he says. But there’s only one. “Civilian,” he clarifies.
He was counting the dogs. He said civilians, and he meant the dogs.
It must be the way the assassin is reacting to them, the excited babble of his greetings, the gentle, careful movements of his hands. He’s seen mothers take less care with their children.
“I see her,” Coulson says.
“Recommend waiting,” he says, which is not a sentence. There’s no subject. In so many ways, he still doesn’t exist.
“Yes,” Coulson agrees.
The greyhound is in the assassin’s lap, head propped on his shoulder. That argyle sweater is resting over his heart.
If he had to, he could kill him without harming the dog. Such a strange thing, though. The thought that it might matter. The fact that he had the thought at all.
But he’s looking at the assassin’s hand, running down the greyhound’s back, and he’s thinking of the hands of whoever put that sweater on the dog this morning, of the soft, sheltered person who thought to put clothes on an animal, who had so much room in the list of things to worry about that the casual comfort of another species ranked high enough for action.
No one has a sweater that small on accident. It was specially ordered, or especially sought. A specific errand run with this planned purpose in mind.
Someone sewed that sweater. Someone dreamed that sweater.
There are people who care about animals who don’t even belong to them, animals they’ll never know. And he knows that because he’s watching one, an assassin who outruns the SHIELD agents he won’t kill, cradling a stranger’s pet like his own child.
Agent Barnes hasn’t held anyone since the last time he killed a man with his hands. Coulson doesn’t like that kind of mess, so he avoids it. And Coulson doesn’t use missions as a form of correction, so he’s never sent anywhere without equipment, hasn’t been dropped into hostile territory without weapons since before SHIELD found him, woke him up, recalibrated him.
It’s been a long time since he choked a man to death. These days, the only way he feels body warmth is blood splatter.
The dog is licking the assassin’s face, his neck. Teeth centimeters from a carotid. Two predators with identity crises.
Must be warm, though.
When SHIELD defrosted him, they did it with guns drawn. His eyes opened to a half-dozen barrels. No one spoke until he said, voice craggy with disuse, tongue still half-frozen to his teeth, Ready to comply.
They shot the other super soldiers. Agent Coulson did. Agent Barnes watched, but he wasn’t Agent Barnes then. He was the Asset still, and so he wasn’t anything at all.
Coulson let them wake up rabid, let them move to kill, and then the SHIELD agents shot them. Put them down. Sick animals.
He woke all of them. Even after the second one, when the Asset told him: They’re all like this. They will all be like this.
Afterwards, he turned it over and over in his head until he understood the lesson. He woke up compliant, so they allowed him to live.
Sometimes, during the long nights or the early mornings, when he’s shaking on the floor of his room at SHIELD – It’s not a cell, Agent Barnes. You can leave whenever you like – he can’t tell if this lingering existence is any kind of mercy. He doesn’t know what he would have chosen, if he’d understood at the time that he was making a choice.
If he could go back, if he could press one thought into his mind, if he could tell himself one thing, what would it be?
Wake up screaming. Wake up in a rage.
Or You’re safe now. It’s different with them.
Fifteen stories down, the assassin is telling the dogs goodbye.
The dogwalker will leave. The streets have cleared enough. He’s fifteen stories up and half a block away, and this man could be dead in seconds. He could die right now.
Agent Barnes is transfixed by his hands. He saw the dead informant. He studied the angle of the shot. Until he saw it, he wouldn’t have believed anyone could make a shot like that.
The assassin has a killer’s hands. He’s using them to straighten that sweater, tugging it down to cover the dog’s ribs. And his smile is sweet. Crooked, careless, artless. Genuine.
He cares for strange dogs. He doesn’t kill people who are trying to kill him.
When SHIELD found the Asset in a Hydra bunker, they didn’t kill him. They haven’t fed any part of him to any machines. He wakes up, and he has the same thoughts he had the night before.
He’s been alive like this for months. He hasn’t done a single kind thing for any living being.
There is, he thinks, a goodness that some people carry in their marrow. He doesn’t have any of that left. It was cut out of him. He saw it, mixed with the blood and bile that Hydra washed down the drains in the calibration rooms. Like a tumor, it was located, removed, destroyed.
Right now, there are memories burning at the backs of his eyes. A blonde man with a busted lip, shoulders set like Atlas. Small hands curled into fists.
There’s no reason the calloused hands neatening the dog’s sweater should remind him of those small, bloody fists. But they do.
For one single, swooping second, he might be sick. He might be anything at all.
“Agent Coulson,” he says. Those waves that crash into him sometimes are threatening to take him under. It’s a riptide; it’s a maelstrom. He’s trying to breathe through it.
“Agent Barnes,” Coulson says, immediately. “Status report,” he adds, finally sounding like a handler. Tense, impatient.
Down in the park, the assassin throws his coffee cup into the trash. He throws it blind over his shoulder. It flips four times, drops into the bin, never touches the rim.
“I can’t,” he says. But he won’t.
He can, but he won’t.
He will not.
He forgot what will feels like, giddy and quick, coppery like blood, inflexible as steel.
“Agent Barnes,” Coulson says, “what’s--”
“I can’t make the shot,” Bucky says. He’s taking his own rifle apart, sorting it into pieces. He wants to throw them over the side of the building, so he can’t take this back until it’s too late to matter. “I won’t.”
Once, after a mission, Coulson stared at him from across the quinjet and said: Agent Barnes, I know there’s still some good in you.
There isn’t. There’s nothing in him. He knows because he’s looked. He’s hollowed out. They didn’t leave him anything.
The very best thing about him is that, absent some outside influence, he won’t hurt anyone. He’s a vacuum; he’s a puppet.
If SHIELD thought that was worth saving, then there’s a man, fifteen stories down and strolling away, hands in his pockets, face tipped toward the sun, worth so much more.
“Agent Barnes,” Coulson says. He sounds curious, not angry. “What are your thoughts?”
“Recruit him,” he says, immediately.
Someone will. Someone’s coming for that man’s aim, for his speed, for his skill. SHIELD can’t be the only interested party.
He still doesn’t know what he would choose for himself. If he were dropped back into that moment, blinking his eyes open into Coulson’s calculating face, he doesn’t know what he’d do. He never knows what he wants. He’s out of the habit of wanting anything at all.
But this assassin, he thinks, deserves the choice.
Maybe he wants him to have it.
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buckets-and-trees · 1 year
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SEDITION: Unrest
Fandom: MCU, HP Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Thanos Word Count: 1.6k Summary: With Thanos fully returned and pursuing power, his Death Eaters are called back into service. Two of them will not quietly fall back into the ranks, but instead they may quietly unravel everything from within. Content Warnings: kidnapped and imprisoned characters, death
Sedition Lexicon YOU MAY WANT TO READ THE TWO-PARAGRAPH PREMISE HERE FIRST [origin lore, context, masterlist, characters/casting, miscellaneous explanations]
Author Notes: This chapter is a mirror of chapter one of The Deathly Hallows - The Dark Lord Ascending. As such, pieces of text that I lifted directly from the book are marked off by indentation. Also, this entire concept was initially sparked two months ago over moodboards created by the lovely @ghostlytyrantpeach and a lively discord discussion, but I returned to it this week thanks to @the-slumberparty's week 4 'Across the Universe' AU challenge.
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Thanos could never be controlled.
That was never the problem.
Before the Blip, he could be reasoned with, rarely even called for an occasion to be reasoned with because he saw reason, logic, necessity, survival, purpose.
Since his return, Thanos was not only beyond any sort of control, bending for no one, but there were precious few he deigned to even listen to. Now, with a Muggle Studies professor suspended superfluously above their heads and a wand crafter trapped beneath them in the basement, Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance, the truth indisputable: Thanos could no longer be worked with.
He’d lost sight of the cause – what cause there had been – and was wholly obsessed with Peter Parker, the boy who’d lived, who’d sidelined Thanos for thirteen years making the wizarding world think he was dead.
The downfall of Peter Parker was the driving root of everything now, and not even to extract the Aether, but simply to put the boy down. Even if the other Death Eaters didn’t see it yet Steve and Bucky did.
They were not part of the inner circle, but they were in the next collection of confidants, a place they didn’t occupy before the Blip, but had been quickly engaged in when Thanos returned. Before the Blip, Steve and Bucky had been among the new recruits, eager to join up, but not indispensable to the ranks of Death Eaters, only a few years out of Hogwarts when Thanos fell. But upon his return, with thirteen years of career and reputation building, Thanos did not overlook their significant value – access to resources, power, people, and quite a bit of influence, talent, cunning, and brilliance between them.
Steve Rogers was the country’s beloved Quidditch Captain, the one who had won them a Quidditch World Cup, and though he was looking to retire from the pitch soon, he was already being courted for a significant position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic. Steve was frequently featured in the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly – whether he wanted to be or not. His prominence in the public eye as Captain Britain, a household name and their golden boy, was something Thanos relished.
Bucky had burst onto the Quidditch scene early alongside Steve with Puddlemere United but had an early end to his time as a professional player after losing his arm. Quidditch, however, was never his first love. James Buchannan Barnes, instead of drowning in his loss of limb and career, had approached United’s owner, Alexander Pierce, who was also the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and got a job. Pierce had used a connection to place him first as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, watched his work there closely as the two departments worked together on some sensitive matters, and then Pierce had brought him into his own Department on special assignments. Bucky worked his way up, continued to impress his colleagues, his superiors, and those he interfaced with on the international front with his intelligence and attention to detail, and now held one of Britain’s seats on the International Confederation of Wizards. Another jewel Thanos prized on the metaphorical gauntlet of his power that matched the physical gauntlet for which he was collecting the stones.
Nothing about this gathering of Thanos’s Death Eaters was comfortable. The fire roaring beneath the mantle was too warm for July. The drawing room’s standard furniture was pushed to the side to make way for the long table and chairs instead of being vanished away as any of them could have done with a flick of a wand. The silence was overbearing while they waited for the final two members who’d been summoned to arrive. The dim light of the room too obscure, meant leave a hint of unease – it was dark, not cozy.
And, of course, the oldest Barton boy sitting among their ranks, only just of age, and far too young to be drawn into this. For the time being, Clint and Laura’s two younger children were spared from service to the Dark Lord, even if it had been at the expense of sending them away from the Barton Estate. Thanos had selected this family and their ancestral home as the place of command for his second Infinity War. It was Thanos who suggested it would perhaps do Lila and Nathaniel tremendous good to live with some of their distant relatives overseas and experience a different part of the wizarding world.
At last, the door opened once more to reveal the two Death Eaters the group had been waiting on – two individuals who could not have been more different in stature if they’d been designed for the purpose of contrast. One was small and lithe, with fiery red hair, moving with stealth and grace. The other had dark hair, carried himself with an air of bulky intimidation and projected importance. The former could move without commanding attention if she wished, and the latter all but demanded it in every room he was in.
“Natasha, here,” Thanos said, indicating the seat on his immediate right for the redhead, “Yaxley, beside Dolohov,” he indicated to the other Death Eater.
Most of the eyes around the room followed Natasha, and it was her report that Thanos inquired after first. The two gave very different accounts of the plans to move Peter Parker. Thanos was not pleased but seemed to put more stock in Romanov’s report than Yaxley’s. As the discussion moved to the state of the Ministry and when it would fall, it was clear Thanos was irked by the slow progress, though willing to be patient, noting that although having both Pius Thicknesse and Thaddeus Ross under the Imperiused control of Yaxley was good, he wanted Scrimgeour surrounded by their people before striking.
As the discussion progressed, Thanos seemed satisfied in scheming to take Parker in a trap during open transport.
“I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Peter Parker is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Parker lives is due more to my errors, than to his triumphs.”
Most of the Death Eaters looked away from Thanos at this admission, worried they would be blamed for certain missteps. Bucky and Steve did not look away out of fear, but instead, again, exchanged a look with each other.
“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Peter Parker, and I shall be.”
The meeting went on in its abhorrent state, with Thanos getting Clint to yield his wand for his master’s service, taunting Laura’s sister Bellatrix over the recent marriage of their estranged niece to a werewolf, and finally killing the Muggle Studies professor they’d kidnapped as little less than an afterthought.
After letting his pet snake sweep the body away, Thanos indicated the meeting was over and invited them to take tea for those who could stay. It was another test of loyalty and importance, with some being excused to attend to legitimate matters, while others were excused as a form of banishment, a sign that though they had made it onto the list for this meeting, they were near the bottom of that worthy inclusion.
Bucky and Steve were both set to attend a gala being hosted jointly between the Departments of Magical Games and Sports and International Magical Cooperation which, among other instances of pomp and circumstance, would showcase the vote of the delegates from the International Association of Quidditch in determining the upcoming site of the next Quidditch World Cup. Bucky had a hand in running logistics for the evening with the various dignitaries from other countries, and Steve, of course, was supposed to roll out in his captain’s regalia and not only charm the guests but coax the galleons out of their pockets as well as one of the evening’s hosts.
The pair did not speak until they had Disapparated from the Barton Estate.
They had not, however, transported themselves to the gala’s venue, instead opting for a seaside cove they’d frequently visited as young boys on many a summer afternoon with the Barnes family. The spot was as abandoned as it should be in winter, not high summer, with a plethora of Muggle repelling charms on it and magical intruder snares set by Steve and Bucky to make this one of the only places they could guarantee they could not be tracked or overheard.
Steve spoke immediately once they’d Apparated. “We have to get out.”
Bucky sighed. “It was always coming to this. We knew it was going sideways back then, but we got lucky.” He cocked his head. “So, what’s our plan?”
“Thanos, the Death Eaters – it all has to go.”
“We’ll need people in every camp, Death Eaters, Ministry, Muggles, someone at Gringotts, the Prophet.”
“And the Order.”
Bucky just stared at his friend.
Steve put his hands on his hips. “Buck–“
“I know, I know. I’m just not looking forward to working with those smug sons of bitches. Really. The Order of the Phoenix? They’re worse than the Masters of the Mystic Arts,” he grumbled.
“Probably wouldn’t hurt to have them on board, too.”
“Of course, you would say that.”
“Well, I’m not wrong.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“There’s the reluctant enthusiasm I knew you’d bring to the table,” Steve said with a grin.
Bucky rolled his eyes, but he smirked as well. “I’ve got an idea of where we should start,” he added.
“Yeah?”
“We start with who isn’t part of the ranks anymore, because how and why he disappeared never felt right to me in the first place.”
Steve nodded. “I know who to talk to tonight then.”
“Two birds with one stone.”
“It’s a start.”
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↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
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walkedlegacy · 2 months
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REBECCA EDITH BARNES-PROCTOR. - ANYA'S GRANFATHER
fc: lauren graham.
available for interactions upon request.
sister of James Buchannan Barnes.
mother of two kids.
pediatric nurse.
the younger sister to bucky , becca is anya's aunt , and her inspiration for becoming a paramedic. while she didn't pick nursing like her aunt did , when she brought up the idea of continuing to certify as a paramedic , becca encouraged her by saying that her job often times isn't possible without the amazing men and women taking care of the patients from the emergency to the hospital. she works in the ICU for kids , primarily dealing with high risk patience often coming from major accidents. she is married , with two kids , a boy and a girl , and currently lives in brooklyn , new york still. she's loud and confident , and can be a bit hot-headed , but she always means well.
available for threads for certain individuals upon request.
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multifandom-worlds · 11 months
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Reincarnated Love: Chapter 2 - Righteous Encounter
Genre: Angst/Fluff, mostly fluff I think
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: Brief mention of death and illness pertaining to chapter 1.
Authors Note: Thank you to the always wonderful @otome-and-fanfiction for helping me with the facts to help Juniper convince Steve she is who she says she is!
Chapter 1
Tagging: @simplyholl @buckyalpine @winterslove1917 @hannahshattuck
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Viviana Barnes - 1916 - 1944 ….Christina Johnson - 1944 - 1990…..and now Juniper Landings - 1991 -. Three lives; one mission. Find James Buchannan Barnes. 
Juniper stands in front of an exhibit at the Smithsonian, looking at her husband's face smiling back at her. She had heard about the creation of the display from someone in her previous life, but she died before she could see it. She read about him and Steve, all the heroic things they both did. A nagging feeling of guilty claws at her soul - she should have celebrated with them; she should have been at the dock when they returned to welcome them home, but she wasn’t. 
A silent tear rolls down her cheek, just like it had done all those years ago when he was leaving for the war. “I’m sorry, James..” She mumbles, gently touching the glass. A familiar stranger walks up beside her, he too, looking at the photos and watching clips that played on a loop. 
Realization dawned on her as he turned to face her, likely to initiate conversation likely about the display in front of them. She did know this man but not for who he was now, for who he used to be. 
“Ah, the famous Captain America. Also known as Steven Grant Rogers.” She spoke, a twinkle in her grey eyes. He has only met one person with eyes that colour, his best friend’s late wife, Viviana.
Steve, looking at this woman standing before him, eyes the most recognizable shade of grey he has ever seen before, a feeling of confused recognition washes over him. “I feel like I know you. Have we met before?” He questions, studying her face and trying to remember. That was when she giggled, a sound that felt so familiar and foreign simultaneously. 
“You should, Stevie, because I know you, well, knew you. My name is Juniper, but you knew me as Viviana Barnes.” She spoke with calm confidence.
Steve looks at her, utterly shocked. There was no way she could have known that name. He turns back to the exhibit, scanning all the information to see if that name was mentioned anywhere in the facts or the video clip. Nowhere did it mention Viv’s name in any capacity. How did she know that name? Turning back to her, Steve grabs her arm and unceremoniously drags her to a more secluded section of the museum, pushing her against a wall. He had to know what this woman was playing at. There was no possible way she could know about Viv.
"How did you know that name? That name hasn't been spoken in almost 80 years. There are no records of Viv anywhere; I looked." Steve spoke, pressing her shoulders hard into the concrete wall. 
Juniper looks up at him before deflecting the question entirely. “Oooooh, Stevie,” she began by using his old nickname again to try and break through to him. “That serum changed more than just your physical body, I see….” 
Steve cuts her off, not in the mood for whatever prank this woman is playing. "Stop calling me that! Only one person ever called me Stevie, and she died of tuberculosis in 1944!” The once soft look in her eyes melted away, replaced with a hardness he didn’t expect.
"I know when and how I died, Steven.” She retorts, spitting his name. “I also know your mother died of the same thing a few weeks before Bucky left for the war." Steve’s grip on her shoulders loosened slightly as he listened. “That’s why, when I was on my death bed, you took it so hard; not only did you lose your mother young, but now you had to support your best friend through losing his wife while you grieved the loss of Sarah and me.”
Steve contemplated what she was saying. He was not 100% convinced she was Viviana, but he couldn’t lie; there was no way she knew all this stuff about him if she wasn’t. He hadn’t told anyone this, not even Bucky. He released her, stepping back to allow her off the wall.
“I know you’re having trouble believing me,” Juniper spoke, the same softness returning to her voice. “If you come back to my hotel, I can do my best to convince you and explain what’s going on. Can you at least do that for me, Stevie? Maybe we could have a drink like old times sake?”
Steve reluctantly agreed, a nagging feeling in his heart. He had to know the truth, if not for him than for Bucky. Juniper smiles as she and Steve walk back into the crowded museum and toward the exit. The pair walk a few blocks to Juniper’s hotel in silence, Steve being lost in thought. There was no way this could be Viv, was there? Sure, she has the same eyes, the same hair and a very similar mannerism when speaking, but that just has to be a coincidence, right?
They make it to Juniper’s room, where she immediately offers Steve a beer which he takes, cracking it open. He looked at Juniper, sitting on the bed across from where he was standing. The silence was tense, neither of them knowing who would speak first. 
“Reincarnation,” Juniper spoke after a few minutes. “That’s what’s happening here, and I have all my memories of my previous lives.”
Steve sips his beer, “If you are who you say you are, what do you remember from your time as Viviana? And you cannot use what you just read at the museum. 
“Bucky’s sister’s name was Rebecca. She and I always went on girl’s nights when you stole Bucky’s attention. Bucky would always come home with a container of Oreos for her; I still have no idea where he got those Oreos from. Bucky would always set you up on dates, but you, being the awkward kid you were, always bailed. He always told you to stuff your shoes with newspaper to look taller.” Juniper giggles, remembering the one time she witnessed that firsthand. 
Blushing, Steve rubs the back of his neck, beginning to believe her. There was no way anyone would know that. “What else do you remember?” 
"Stevie, you would always tease Bucky about how I was older than him; you even added it to your best man's speech at our wedding. You used to call each other Punk and Jerk; it always confused me how those names came to be.” Juniper said, meeting Steve’s eye.
“Because he was a jerk,” Steve mumbled into his bottle, making Juniper laugh. It struck Steve how similar this woman in front of him was to Bucky’s late wife; they even laughed the same. He had to make a quick phone call. “Juniper, was it? I need to make a quick phone call.” 
Juniper nods as he exits the room, pulling out his phone and calling Thor. There was no guarantee that the God would answer, but a question was burning in his mind he needed to be answered. 
While Steve made his phone call, Juniper sat on the bed, staring at nothing in particular, working and reworking the apology she had to make to her husband. She has to apologize for being sick and lying to him about it, apologize for planning their future that night, knowing she wouldn’t live long enough to see it. She has so many things to apologize for.
“I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry I lied to you. I couldn’t risk you deserting the army and staying home with me. I understand if you don’t forgive me, I don’t forgive myself.” she spoke out loud to no one in particular. “It wasn’t fair for me to keep my health from you; I just did what I thought was right, given our circumstances. I’m sorry you had to find out from Steve that I died shortly after you left; I’m sorry we didn’t have more time together. I just want you to know that I kept my promise. I looked for you in every life I’ve lived, but I died before I could track you down.”
Unbeknownst to her, Steve had returned and listened to how she spoke. After his call with Thor and now listening to her, he was convinced she was, in fact, Viviana. Thor confirmed that reincarnation is real, and she likely possesses some of the physical characteristics of her first life. 
“You know, Juniper,” Steve began, sitting beside her on the bed. It was clear to her that saying Juniper felt wrong to him. "Buck was heartbroken when I told him you died less than a year after he left, and he's still holding onto the hope that you'll find him again." Juniper smiles softly.
“Do….do you believe me now, Stevie?” She questions, looking over at him sitting beside her. He was still the same 25-year-old kid she once knew, only hardened by years of unknown hardships.
“I do. I believe you, Viv. I’m…” Steve trails off, wanting to embrace her. A part of his soul he didn’t realize was broken now feels whole again. “Can I hug you?” He questions. His question was answered by the same giggle he spent hours with Bucky listening to.
Juniper wraps her arms around Steve’s neck. “Of course you can, Stevie! I can’t believe I finally found you. Thank you for believing me.”
Steve slowly snakes his arms around her, holding her tight. A new excitement blooms in his chest. “Pack your things; we’re going to New York to reconnect with your husband.” 
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girl-next-door-writes · 3 months
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@kjs-s​ created this lovely gif and I am sorry but it’s gonna hurt a little.
Bucky Barnes strolled along the bustling sidewalk, trying to clear his mind from the chaos that often haunted him. The sounds of the city faded into background noise as he lost himself in his thoughts. Unintentionally, he found himself passing by the familiar coffee shop, a place where he often sought solace.
He hadn't meant to spy, but as he glanced through the window, something caught his eye. It was you, the object of his unspoken affections, engaged in a lively conversation with someone else. The world seemed to pause around him as he processed the scene.
Maybe it was his subconscious recognizing you, or perhaps a longing that had lingered beneath the surface. Whatever it was, he wished he had kept walking. The sight of you, laughing and enjoying someone else's company, tugged at the strings of his heart. A mix of regret and disappointment washed over him.
Bucky stood frozen on the sidewalk, feeling like an unintended intruder into a moment he was never meant to witness. He cursed himself for allowing his curiosity to get the best of him, wishing he could turn back time and continue his walk, blissfully unaware of the scene that would now play on a loop in his mind.
He couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched you through the coffee shop window. Your smile, radiant and infectious, painted a picture of happiness that seemed to escape him. The twinkle in your eye, the genuine laughter at your mystery companion's words—it all felt like a scene from a movie, a scene that he never intended to witness.
His heart sank when he saw your hand resting on the guy's arm, a gesture that spoke volumes. A twinge of regret clawed at him, an ache in his chest for not expressing his feelings sooner. The realization hit him like a freight train – he might have missed his chance.
The world outside the window blurred as Bucky tried to make sense of his emotions. He had kept his feelings hidden for too long, and now he was left grappling with the consequences. As you continued to enjoy the company of someone else, he couldn't help but wonder if he had allowed the opportunity to slip through his fingers.
He was too caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t realise he recognised the man sitting opposite you, that Steven Strange was certainly no romantic threat to him. Perhaps, if he took advantage of his super soldier hearing he would have caught the topic of your conversation, which was entirely about your tragic crush on none other than James Buchannan Barnes. 
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jamesbuchannan · 1 year
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need help finding a series!! it was biker!bucky i believe and the reader runs a farm or ranch and her brother is in the same club as bucky and they need a place to stay so he brings them to readers farm. kinda vague sorry!!!
edit: i believe this is three moons ranch, which is no longer available on tumblr, as it’s become a published book. it’s by ash raven if you’d like to purchase it. you can find it on amazon. @slothspaghettiwrites
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voiceoffenrisulfr · 4 months
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Hail Hydra - Chapter Seven
Bucky gives rebellion another go – and his only comfort is taken from him. CW: Canon-typical violence, neglect, locked outside in the cold, homophobia, shock collar, cliffhanger. Prompts filled: ‘First Night’, December 7th prompt, Dead Dove December; ‘Broken’, December 7th  Prompt, Hurtcember 2023; ‘Fainting’, December 7th prompt, Whumpcember; ‘Locked Outside’, Winter Wonderland Bingo; ‘You’re Insane!’, Multifandom Flash (Double).
Check it out on AO3 here, or below the KR with the boards!
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I woke slowly, pressing closer to the warm, slender body half-beneath me, comforted by gentle hand stroking along my spine, unerring over healing wounds and fading scars. “Hey,” I whispered, shifting to rest on my chin and meet his gaze, his free hand propped behind his head to smile softly at me. “Good morning,” he breathed, fingertips moving to skirt my jaw affectionately. “I… I must go. It is getting later than I would like… I’m sorry.” I nodded once, letting those fingers guide my chin up to brush my lips against his, humming contentedly. “It’s okay… I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.” He kissed my forehead gently, slowly easing my body from his, and I couldn’t help but wince at the cold floor on against my sleep-warmed skin. “Try and get some more rest before Ivan brings your breakfast, Bucky. I will see you tonight.” I nodded softly, wincing at the sunrise that came through the door as he opened it and lighting him from behind. Ethereal.
Ivan’s typical routine was to open my cell door, toss the tray onto the floor – often scattering most of the contents onto the concrete – and back out, leaving me to eat in silence until I was called upon for more torturous experiments. But the light under the door brightened, and still, nobody came. The hours trickled by slowly, my boredom so great that I almost began to miss the torture by the time I finally heard the grate of the bolt on the door. “Американский. On your feet.” “I haven’t had breakfast,” I growled, fingers clenching into a stubborn fist, raising my head where I was propped against the wall. Short of a few broken toes, smashed with a hammer and healing slowly, I was relatively unharmed, and would not be going quietly after a day of endless waiting. All I had here was the vague routine, and taking it from me had threatened to drive me mad; I would not be meek and compliant for their ease today, no matter what they threatened me with. “Is that the next plan? To starve me out?” He snorted, and my body crumbled beneath me as he hit the control in his hand, muscles spasming automatically at the electricity flowing through my bones. My jaw clenched unconsciously, biting back the agonised scream building in my throat as he approached me. “Yпрямый Американский.” Despite my pain, the second the convulsions stopped I lashed out, his own groan of pain sounding alongside the crack of his snapping tibia as my fist collided with his shin. I scrambled upright as his leg folded grotesquely beneath him, scrabbling in a panicked excitement to my feet and towards the door. I barely made it two steps before he hit the controls once more, sending me to the ground, cursing my idiocy and clawing at the concrete, the current frying my mind until I faded from consciousness.
Awareness came slowly, with a biting wind on my bare skin and heavy weights around my limbs, shivering even in my forced sleep as I blinked into the darkness. “You will not stand? You will kneel instead.” My eyes raised at the voice, and I shifted to raise my head, but found a strong rod keeping my head bowed and knees bent. Snow swirled, eliciting another shiver, and I realised for the first time that I was outside, the drifts around my legs stretching as far as I could see, interrupted only by a pair of black boots. “Chilly out here in the evening, is it not? I thought you would be tired of the cold.” “Why am I out here?” I spat, watching the clouds formed by my words drift beyond my eyeline. “This? Oh, there is no experiment here, Американский. This… Is punishment.” The doctor’s grin was predatory as he squatted before me, eyes sharp when they found mine. “You and that предатель have been very bad boys.” “Предатель?” He smirked viciously, moving forward to drag me around by the hair, eliciting a pained hiss. My eyes rose just high enough to see the snow-smeared outline of another person opposite me, restrained in a similar manner. “Traitor.” “B-B-Bucky,” the man opposite stuttered, his teeth chattering audibly, and as I squinted through the dusk I found him dressed only in his shorts, bare legs submerged in snow, my heart stopping as pale eyes found mine. “Aleksi,” I breathed, bile raising in my throat. “No…” I can survive this, but he can’t. “Please,” I whispered, turning my eyes to the doctor once more. “Please. You can do what you want to me. I won’t fight you anymore. Please, leave him be.” He simply smiled once more, shaking his head. “Oh, I do not think so. He does not deserve forgiveness, and neither do you. Maybe watching your lover die will break your spirit.” “No!” I snarled, straining against the chains that held me fast, the bar at my back digging into my skull as I fought to straighten my head until warm liquid dripped steadily onto my bare shoulders. “You can’t do this! You’re insane!” I cried, my muscles aching as I fought. “At least I am no педик,” he spat, leaning forward with dark eyes. “Faggot.” I let out a roar of pure hatred, lunging as best my restraints allowed, hand curled into a fist as I trashed – but I was too weak, and held too fast. “Bucky.” My eyes shifted automatically at the murmur, my sensitive hearing picking up his voice even over the whirling snow and the sound of my own heart pounding. “Bucky… I-It’s okay. It’s okay.” “No. No!” I roared, tugging harder, the cuff around my throat cutting off my breath and forcing me to relent. “It’s o-okay,” he repeated, hands shaking violently as they rose to placate me. “I do not regret my actions. I-I knew this cou-could be how it ends. It is ok-okay.” “No,” I whispered, tears filling and spilling from eyes, voice cracked and broken. “It… It was just once. It was the first night. It was a mistake- it won’t happen again. Please… Please don’t do this.” The doctor smiled once more, moving closer to me, his breath warm and scotch-scented on my face. “Beg.” “Please,” I breathed immediately, trembling. “I’ll do anything. Don’t kill him – not for me. I’ll do anything you want. Please. I won’t fight; I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, just… Let him go.” He straightened up once more, hands curling into fists by his sides as he considered my request. “You want me to show him mercy? You’ll behave?” “Yes! Yes, please. Please!” I begged, straining once more. “I’ll do anything you ask of me!” He took a step back, body shifting slightly as he turned to consider the man restrained opposite me, shaking violently from the cold.
@whumpcember @hurtcember @deaddovedec @multifandom-flash @seasonaldelightsbingo
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harlequin-hangout · 1 year
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The Harlequin Initiative: Havana (Preview)
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Name: James Buchannan Barnes
Alias: The Winter Soldier, Soldat
Access: Restricted
Access Level: 5
Operative: Enhanced Soldier
Soldat has proven effective and loyal. Stronger, faster, and more durable than any of his previous tests, we believe Soldat is ready to be given command. Until further notice, Soldat shall be Acoperi’s handler on all missions. 
Name: Unknown
Alias: The Harlequin, Acoperi
Access: Restricted
Access Level: 5
Operative: Enhanced Assassin
Acoperi is meant to infiltrate and neutralize. Programmable to each target’s specific preferences, Acoperi has the ability to entice and separate, with no knowledge of her mission until Soldat activates the Harlequin Initiative. Acoperi is incapable of operation without a handler due to the nature of her programming, considering building subconscious trust between Handler and Assassin to improve mission efficiency.
Mission Date: March 7, 1957 - December 20, 1958
Mission Location: Havana, Cuba
Mission Target: President Fulgencio Batista, Earl E.T. Smith (American Ambassador to Cuba)
The Harlequin (Acoperi) has been performing well. The Winter Soldier (Soldat) will accompany Acoperi to Havana and assist in gathering intelligence to aid in bringing Fidel Castro into power. 
Cover: Mistress to Charles “Lucky” Luciano under the name Valentina Parisi
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Tag List: @vbecker10 @soubi001 @thomase1 @ozymdias @huntressandlioness1
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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 7 months
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Slipping Through my Fingers (1)
Summary: When a married woman catches the eye of Bucky Barnes, he is determined to stop at nothing to get to know her better.
Rating: Mature
Pairing: 40s Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2.7k
A/N: Not Beta’d.
Series Masterlist
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Chapter 1
Summer 1940
It was the summer of 1940. James Buchannan “Bucky” Barnes was 23 and one of Brooklyn's finest. Between his 6-foot stature, steel blue eyes, carefully styled umber locks, and charming smile the man never had trouble scoring a date. Hanging out with his scrawny banana haired best friend, Steve Rogers, only made him look better. Despite Bucky only being a year older, the contrast was too great to ignore. The war had yet to reach the United States. James was on top of the world.
“Run Buck!”
In the distance, laughter echoed off of the row of homes. Children danced in the street, jumping between puddles that gushed from the fire hydrant. The liquid ran like a river where the street met the sidewalk. That hadn’t been enough to stop the guys from playing baseball.
Water splashed beneath Bucky’s tennis shoes soaking the bottom of his trousers. He nearly reached the foreign object used for third base when the ball whipped past his head landing in the glove of the man on third base. Out! Bucky traded his quick steps for a slower pace. Passing third base, Bucky came to a halt, a glove outstretched in his direction.
“I told you to run,” Steve snarked, sitting on the step outside of his front door.
Bucky snatched the glove from his friend with a huff. He wanted to tell Steve to try to outrun the ball, but he knew the blonde wouldn’t be able to outrun it, not in this heat. Steve’s asthma would have taken him out before anyone could even tag him. It was the reason Steve was spectating the game rather than playing.
“Whatever. What’s the score?"
Steve reached beside him cranking up the hand radio. Bucky used the end of his once white undershirt to wipe the sweat adoring his forehead. Soaked in water and sweat, the shirt was nearly see through in the sweltering heat.
The crackle of the radio announced the Brooklyn Doger’s lead as Bucky slid the glove over his left hand. Steve leaned back on one hand, his other shielding his eyes as he stared up at Bucky. “At least someone is winning.”
Bucky scoffed, tapping his friend in the shoulder with his gloved hand. Steve wobbled slightly, losing his balance.
“One day, we're gonna get you in a game and I’m gonna kick your ass,” Bucky teased, turning to find his team in the outfield waiting for him. The inning was over.
“Worry about this game first,” Steve laughed. When Bucky didn’t move or reply with a snarky comment Steve jabbed him in the ribs. “What’s going on with you?”
Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman across the street. She had come out of nowhere and demanded his attention. Her hair bounced with each step she took. The A-line shirtwaist dress flattered her figure; the skirt flowing with each step forward. 
“Now that’s a woman,” Bucky gawked.
Following Bucky’s gaze, Steve frowned. “That’s Y/N Y/L/N. She’s freshly married.”
“And out of your league,” one of Bucky’s teammates joked.
Shrugging off the comment, Bucky side-eyed Steve. “How do you know?” Bucky found it hard to believe Steve had talked to the woman. Steve was awkward around women. He was constantly putting his foot in his mouth.
Steve shrugged, wiping some gravel from his palms. Casually Steve replied, “She volunteered with my ma before she died. Y/N sends me medicine sometimes.”
Steve was an orphan. Steve’s mother Sarah died back in 1936 and his father even earlier. They both died working. His father Joseph died during World War I due to mustard gas. Similarly, Steve’s mother had been a nurse in the tuberculosis ward and became sick. Y/N had been good friends with his mother, and she continued to look after him when his mother passed. She always made sure Steve had the medicine he needed. She was good.
Suddenly Bucky whirled on Steve, “A pretty little thing like that has been bringing you medicine all of these years and you never told me?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I didn’t need you scaring her off.”
Bucky crossed his arms; his muscles would be threatening to anyone else, but Steve knew better. He had grown up with Bucky long enough to know Bucky would never throw the first punch. James Barnes was a lover. Any girl in Brooklyn could attest to that. He only fought when he had to or when he was defending someone else. He defended Steve many times but outside of brotherly fights, he never laid his hand on him.
“Introduce me,” Bucky demanded.
Steve frowned, “What? No. She’s smitten with her husband anyway.”
Steve could have sworn he saw a mischievous glint in Bucky’s eye but chose not to say anything. Bucky would deny it anyway.
“Then it won’t hurt.”
“Yeah, but your ego will be bruised, and I’ll have to hear about it for the next year.”
Ignoring Steve, Bucky walked into the middle of the street calling out to the batter. “Send the next one to me.” The batter pointed the bat at Bucky, acknowledging him. Bucky ran to the opposite side of the street hovering by second base.
CRACK.
The ball soared in the air slightly out of Bucky’s reach. Had he tried, he would have caught the ball, but some things were more important than winning a game. Bucky intended to win at life. Timing it perfectly, Bucky stumbled backwards pretending to go after the ball.
A yelp cried out followed by a thud. Home run Bucky thought, catching himself before he tripped over her. Still standing, Bucky twisted his torso to peep down at the woman on her knees before him. The corner of his lip twitched upward. The items she had been carrying scattered across the pavement.
Steve shook his head watching the scene unfold before him. It wasn’t news to him, but his friend was shameless.
“Sorry ‘bout that. I wasn’t paying attention,” Bucky apologize. Before she could reply Bucky was crouching down to help her pick up her objects. He had seen Steve’s medicine enough to recognize the contents on the sidewalk.
Y/N sent him a soft smile. “It’s my fault. I should’ve known better than to walk by an active play.”
Bucky hummed, handing her the last of her items before offering his hand to help her up. With a small thank you, Y/N accepted his hand.
“I’m James but my friends call me Bucky.”
“Y/N.”
Bucky grinned, shaking her right hand. Wrapped around her brown paper bag was her left hand. The small diamond on her ring finger was enough to catch his eye. Nodding to the ring he asked, “Is your husband around to help you carry that?”
Y/N shook her head, yanking her hand back. “No. He’s working. I was just dropping this off to a friend anyway.”
“Can I help? It’s the least I can do after knocking you over.”
Y/N eyed the man searching for any reason to distrust him. Shaking her head she replied, “It’s okay. I’m actually just going across the street.”
Bucky quirked an eyebrow jabbing his thumb in his friend’s direction. “Bringin’ that to Steve?”
Her eyebrows shot to her hairline as she peered over his shoulder at the blonde sitting on the steps. He sent her a shy wave and she responded with a wave of her own. Cutting her eye to Bucky, she asked, “You’re Steve’s friend?”
Bucky rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Best pal,” he beamed with an award-winning smile. Being associated with Steve had never won Bucky the attention of a woman before. Some women fawned over how he looked after Steve, but no one had bothered to care about Steve. Y/N cared about Steve.
“Well Bucky, any friend of Steve is a friend of mine.”
Bucky’s grin deepened and without missing a beat, he transferred the bag into his own arms. Nodding in Steve’s direction, he motioned for Y/N to follow him. Holding the bag in one hand, he extended his other arm to support her as she stepped over the puddle. He expected her to release his forearm immediately, but she clung to his arm using it once again to step back onto the sidewalk once they reached Steve.
Nerves set in as Y/N passed the men waiting around to play baseball. Usually, it wouldn’t bother her but since they were waiting for Bucky to return, there was nothing for them to do but stare. Steve never mentioned having friends, so Bucky alone had been a surprise, but enough friends to play baseball really threw her a curveball.
“Special delivery for one punk,” Bucky mocked, plopping the bag beside Steve. Bucky couldn’t help but smirk at the look of horror on Steve’s face as Y/N walked beside him. He didn’t expect Bucky to actually befriend her.
“Thanks Y/N,” Steve mumbled.
“Steve,” Y/N scolded. “You never mentioned your friends.”
Steve's face twisted into a grimace. He didn’t want to correct her and embarrass himself, but she already thought he had no friends, and he was honest. “Friend,” he nodded at Bucky. “The rest are Bucky’s friends.” The sympathetic expression that crossed her face had Steve burying his head in the bag. He didn’t want the pity. He pulled medicine from the bag pretending to inspect the labels.
“I’m your friend Steve,” Y/N whispered.
Steve shook his head, “You were my ma’s friend.”
Bucky cringed at the words. Steve may have missed the way Y/N flinched, but Bucky didn’t. While Steve talked to Y/N, it seemed she wasn’t the exception when it came to Steve putting his foot in his mouth.
“That’s not fair Steve. I don’t do this for your mother, I do it for you. I don’t have many friends either.”
Steve opened his mouth to speak but Bucky slung his arm around Y/N’s shoulder. “Well, now we're friends. Steve didn’t mean it doll; the heat is jus’ gettin’ to ‘im. He’s been sassy all day.”
The two men held a silent face off, glaring at one another. Steve didn’t need Bucky to scare her away, Steve would push her away all on his own if he kept it up. Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve would have apologized the next time he saw her. He was just pushing her away to get her to leave so Bucky couldn't sink his hooks into her. Instead, all Steve did was push her under his arm.
Faking a wave, Steve fanned himself dramatically. “Bucky’s right. I didn’t mean it Y/N. I appreciate your friendship, really.” When Y/N relaxed under Bucky’s arm Steve asked, “How’s married life? You look good. Happy.”
Blushing Y/N ducked under Bucky’s arm, smoothing the skirt of her dress before sitting beside Steve. “I am happy, really happy actually.”
Steve gave Bucky a smug grin fishing the baseball that had gotten lost in the bag out, tossing it into his chest. Bucky swiftly caught the ball with a huff. “Thanks for the delivery, Buck. I think the guys need their player back.” He pointed at the crowd that had gathered in the street.
Bucky grumbled as Steve turned the radio up slightly. The announcer mocking him, “He struck out!” Bucky wished he could reach over and wipe the smug grin off of his friend’s face, but Bucky reminded himself, a world series wasn’t won based on one game. Baseball was a long game and Bucky was in it for the long haul. She demanded his attention and now he would demand hers.
Game on. 
Steve swore he never saw Bucky play a better game after that. Bucky hit every ball pitched to him, he caught every ball sent his way, sometimes he caught ones that he was nowhere nearby. Bucky was well built; he was athletic but even on his best day he didn’t care as much as he did in that moment. He was showing off.
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Firsts were important in a relationship, the first kiss, the first I love yous, the first home, the first year in a marriage. Eight months. That was all it took for Y/N and Harry to have their first fight.
Y/N had met Harry at the ripe age of 17. As a military brat, Harry’s family moved around a lot, but for a while, they were neighbors. With an unstable environment, the army was Harry’s only constant. It was all he knew, so it was no surprise when he joined the army alongside his father. It wasn’t until after his father passed that Harry returned to Brooklyn. It wasn’t long after he reunited with Y/N that he asked her on a date. He hadn’t returned to the military since.
Y/N had lived in Brooklyn her entire life. It was her home and for the first 8 months of their marriage, Harry accepted that it was his home too. But once the birds stopped chirping, the air grew chilly, and the dark skies started approaching faster, the honeymoon phase was over. The harvest was here, and Harry would be plucked from their home.
“I have to go,” Harry mumbled. His hand rubbed circles along his wife’s back. It wasn’t enough to stop the tears from splashing on their comforter.
Y/N’s jaw wobbled, the image of her husband blurry though her tears. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to be crying in the same place they made love.
“You don’t have to,” she croaked. He wanted to. There’s a difference.
Harry brushed a few strands of his thick chestnut locks from his face. “I do,” he insisted. He grasped the sides of her head pressing a harsh kiss along her hairline. With a deep exhale he whispered against her forehead, “You could come with me.”
Y/N shoved his chest. “And live jumping from place to place?” She shook her head. “Brooklyn is my home, Harry. My life is here. I don’t want uncertainty; I want to settle down in Brooklyn and grow old with you by my side.”
Harry frowned. They had never talked about Harry returning to the army. Y/N had always assumed that part of Harry had died along with his father. Harry wasn’t sure where he stood when it came to the military but when one of his friends serving wrote about a rumor that the United States might be joining the war, he knew he couldn’t let his men face it alone. He re-enlisted. Y/N wouldn’t understand.
“I’m doing this for us,” Harry argued.
It paid the bills and put food on the table.
Y/N scoffed, jabbing her finger into his chest. “No, Harry, you’re doing this for you.”
Rising from the bed, Harry slammed his fist against the wall. “I asked you to come with me.”
“Only after you had already enlisted. You didn’t even discuss it with me.”
Harry cautiously stepped forward, careful not to scare Y/N. When she didn’t move, he enveloped her in his arms. She let him. Her tears stained his button-down shirt as he whispered a string of apologies.
Eventually, Y/N broke physically and mentally. The reality of their situation settled in. She didn’t want to spend what little time they had left fighting. Her arms wrapped around his waist, trying to memorize the feel of her husband. Silently, she imprinted his voice into her brain as if it was the last time she would ever see him. Maybe it was.
Clutching the front of his shirt, she leaned up pressing a soft kiss against his neck. Again and again. Harry stuttered before falling silent. In his silence he could hear her pleas between each kiss, her lips reaching just under his jaw.
Harry pinched her chin drawing her lips to his own. The kiss was slow as if they were learning how to kiss one another. This wasn’t a first kiss though. First kisses were reserved for hellos and just as important as firsts were, so were lasts. This was a last kiss; it was goodbye.
Harry licked his lips as he pulled away. It wasn’t until the salty tang reached his taste buds that he realized he had been crying. Reminding himself it wasn’t forever, he stroked Y/N’s hair.
“I have to do this, Y/N. Big things are coming."
Next Chapter
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